The Fresh Prodigal

**Here's the Prodigal Son Skit that Mary and I wrote for this past LOG retreat.  Enjoy!**

Now this is the story all about how God’s love turns our lives right-side-out

Now we’d like to take a minute – just sit right there –

We’ll tell you how a prodigal son can become God’s heir.

In West Philadelphia, born and raised, 4 sisters, 1 brother, and a mother named “May”

Chillin’ out, maxin’ relaxin’ all cool was all that this prodigal wanted to do,

While his siblings, they rapped – they were totally good! – at entertaining all the people in the neighborhood.

Then it happened one night and he said, “That’s it! I’ve had it, I’m outie!  I’m done with this –

WHAT??

He went up to his dad and when he got near he said, “Hold up! –

I’m gonna let you finish – Beyonce had the best music video of all time.  All time.

He went up to his dad and when he got near he said,

“I got something that I want you to hear

I can’t stick around, I gotta get out –

Gotta go live my life:

“I’m an aduuuuuult, Maaan.

You can’t make me do my chores, Daaaaad”

So Dad gave him his cash, and with it in hand

He set out to discover a brand new land

He walked for days and all through the nights

To an interesting place with some unusual sights

When a stranger appeared who was up to no good

And he showed the prodigal around the neighborhood

But the prodigal, you see, just really didn’t know

That the stranger was only after one thing:

His dough.

He said, “Come chill with me, cuz I know a guy

He can hook us up with chicks and he’s got stuff we can buy.

Get your money in your hand, he lives on this boat.

We can do a bit of business while we’re afloat.

“I’m on a boat, everybody, take a look at me!

Straight flowing on a boat on the deep blue sea.”

“Look at this sucker, paying for my dope

He thinks we all fly, cuz we on a boat!

Look at this guy, he’s such a tool…

Buying all this stuff, just cuz I say it’s cool.”

“I got my swim trunks, and my flippie-floppies

My new BFF beside me, who likes me for me.”

Unfortunately, the Prodigal’s money ran out.

His friend whistled for a cab and when it came near,

The license plate said “LOSER” and had a dice in the mirror!

When the prodigal asked why he couldn’t come, too,

“You ran out of cash, fool. I’m done with you.”

He wanted to be a billionare so freaking bad, but he ran out of Kesha.

He didn’t even have Fiddy Cent.

How could he buy any good food, like Black-Eyed Peas?

It was Ludacris, he should just Usher himself on home.

He needs to Beyonce out of there.

He should have Rihanna home.

We should probably keep going with the story.

What about Eminem?

I got some right here. It’s a Tupac.

He looked for a job, but there was none to be found.

Except for one – taking care of pigs and sleeping on the ground.

He was pretty bummed out, all he did was cry and

pretend that airplanes were shooting stars through the night sky.

I could really use a wish right now, a wish right now, a wish right now.

He came to himself and he finally said,

“It’s against heaven and my father that I have sinned.

I gotta go home, and ask my dad

If maybe he’ll let me stay in his pad…As a servant.”

So he stood up and wiped all the dust and grime

Off himself and he made it to his home in good time.

He paused just a second, just to get up the guts

To say sorry to his dad for acting so nuts.

But before he could even open up the gate,

His father ran out yelling, “This is great!

Here you’re alive when I thought you were dead,

Take my shoes and put them on, put my hat upon your head!”

His father  made a call to all the peeps in the town

and he told them of the party that was bout to go down

there was gonna be cake and some dancing so fly

we’re all gonna party like it’s 1999.

Streamers on the windooooows! Streamers on the wall!

Balloons linin up the hall

All us havin a ball

Broooooother sisters mother fatheeeeer

Everybody in the town GET DOWN!

Brrrrum dum don bob u bob a do dum (X2)

Now everyone danced: father, sisters, and May

But big brother didn’t want to celebrate.

He thought to himself, “This just isn’t fair!

While he was living large I was hip-hoppin  here.

I was working and slaving, doing whatever Dad asked,

I was the perfect son but now he’s putting me last.

I don’t want to dance!  I don’t want to eat!

I want everyone to celebrate just for me!”

Now the father did try to explain to this kid

That a father’s love means that he will always give

Forgiveness to those kids who wander or stray

He will love all his children to his dying day.

Brother didn’t understand what the party was about

He chose to step aside and he chose to pout.

And while he was thinking that this party was lame

Errbody in the club all sang 

“Just. Like. Old times,

You are back again.

You’re alive!

Just. Like. Old times,,

You are back again.

You’re alive!”

Photos by Paul Wintz

"Cat! It's So Fat!"

Last night I fell in love.  It wasn't with a person.  It wasn't with a pair of shoes or amazing sweater.  It was with a Christmas tree. 

Last night Cat and I decided we needed to get a Christmas tree.  Now, we don't have enough space in our apartment to get a normal-sized tree, and we really don't have the money to buy anything bigger than a few feet tall.  So we made our way to the Home Depot to find a little, Charlie Brown Christmas tree.  We walked in and looked around for a second or two before I saw the sign that said, Noble Firs, 3-5 ft, $19.99.

"That's us, Cat," I said.  "Right within our price range."  We walked over to the small trees and I started laughing.  "They're so little!"  There were only a few, and I picked up the one closest to me while Cat poked around the others.  "Oh. My. Gosh. Cat!  It's so fat!!"  She looked up and started laughing.  "What?" 

"Your face," she laughed.  "You're just so excited!"

It was true.  My jaw had dropped and my eyes were huge.  Even though I was holding the tree up I was bouncing up and down in excitement.  "I love it!  It's so fat!"

The clerk came over to us.  "You guys want to look at it?  I can hold it if you want me to." 

I handed it to her and started skipping around the tree.  "I love it!"

Now the clerk started laughing.  "You're so excited!  You're making me excited!"

I laughed.  "I'm sorry!  I just love Christmas so much!  And I love this tree.  It's so fat!!" 

Both Cat and the clerk laughed.  I looked at Cat and clasped my hands under my chin.  "Please can we get it?  It's so fat!"

She nodded.  "I guess so, if you really want it." 

"Cat?  How can I not want it?  It's so fat!" 

We paid (the clerk was still laughing at me) and took the little, fat tree to the get a fresh cut on it's trunk.  The tree was so short and light that the guy who was cutting the trunk had to keep stopping and resetting the tree.  (The tree ended up with a very lopsided trunk as a result.)  I was so excited.  The whole time he was cutting the tree I was jumping up and down and yelling, "Cat!  It's so fat!"  I was doing a little dance, and as I glanced over toward the first clerk who helped us, I saw her laughing again.  At that moment the little tree almost fell off the table.  I lurched toward it and Cat laughed as I reached my hand out, as if to catch it.  Luckily the tree didn't fall, and I began dancing again.  I turned to Cat.  "It is a bad thing that I've already named it 'Norbert'?" I asked. 

After the bottom was cut it was time to wrap Norbert in netting so he would fit in the backseat of my car.  Orion (yeah, that was really the name of the guy who was wielding the chainsaw) grabbed Norbert and went to throw it through the net-wrapping-contraption.  Norbert was so fat he didn't make it through on the first try.  "Norbert!" I yelled as he crashed to the ground.  (Speaking of "ground," Cat was pretty much on the ground laughing at this point.)  Orion looked at me - was that fear I saw in his eyes? - and grabbed Norbert off the ground and shoved him through the contraption.  He came out the other end wrapped tightly and Orion handed it to me.  "Thanks!" I chirped as I grabbed my fat Christmas tree and began to head toward the car. 

"You, uh...You guys need any help taking it to the car?" Orion asked.

Cat and I looked at each other, then shook our heads.  "No thanks," Cat said.  "Our car is just right here."  Orion nodded and heaved a sigh of relief.

I opened the back door of my car and gently heaved Norbert in.  "Oh no!  Cat!  The door won't shut!"

"Can you scoot it in any further?"

I reached my hand in and scooted Norbert as far over as I could.  "Let go of me, Norbert!" I yelled.  My hand had caught on both a tree limb and the netting.  I yanked and finally freed my hand.  I closed the door and skipped over to the driver's seat. 

After we drove home I grabbed Norbert, the Noble Fir, out of the back of my car and hauled him up the stairs.  When I reached the front door I had to stop.  "Cat!  We can't both fit through the door!"  It was true: the tree was too fat to fit through the door with me, even wrapped up.  I had to shove Norbert through the doorway first, and then follow. 




Norbert - Wrapped up and put on my desk.

  After wrestling him into the stand we pulled Norbert inside and put him on the desk in the living room.  After spinning him around a few times we finally decided he was placed just right and cut the netting off.

"Oh my gosh, Steph!" Cat yelled.  "It's so fat!  Norbert is so fat!"

Norbert - Unwrapped

After sitting back and admiring Norbert for a while we pulled out the Christmas lights.  Norbert needed some decking.  So, we wrapped a single strand of lights around him (I was a little afraid it would take 2...he's just so fat!) and laughed together.

Norbert - With lights!



"He's just so fat!" we said. 

It's true...And it makes me happy every time I see it. 

"If Grace Is An Ocean We're All Sinking"

Last weekend I had the opportunity to spend time away from the stress and pressure of everyday life. 

I don't think there are words to adequately describe the experience.  See, when I was in high school I was involved in a youth group called LOG (Love of God).  LOG was important for me...LOG taught me that I could actually be loved for being myself, not because I shared the last name of some pretty incredible people.  LOG taught me that I was worth being cared about and listened to - by people other than my family - even though I might not have been the cutest or the smartest.  LOG taught me how to know Jesus, really know Him, and what it means to love Him. 

LOG was pretty important to me.

Luckily for me, LOG is still a part of my life.  I was asked to be on the Spiritual Advisory Board (a.k.a. LOGBoard) when I was out of college.  Elisa told me to think about it and pray about it - and I used all my self-control to do so - and then said, "YES!!"  My role on LOGBoard is to do a bunch of behind-the-scenes type stuff.  Mary and I are a unit (sometimes called, "Phary"...take the last few letters of "Stepha" and "Mary") and together we write some pretty amazing skits (if I do say so, myself), and get a lot of the more practical things done.  I am also supposed to be there to pray for and love and lift up the high school students who are involved in LOG.  It's kind of funny how I am always the one getting lifted up and loved.

Last weekend we had a retreat where we rented a camp up by Lake Cachuma.  Cell phones are discouraged, but you don't get reception anyway, so it's not too rough to keep them put away.  iPods are discouraged, but there's no time to sit and listen to them, so what's the point of having them?  Watches are discouraged, because up at that retreat you get the chance to be outside of time.  It's tough the first time to have no watch, but after that you begin to appreciate it.  Time has no meaning up at LOG, except that you sleep at night and wake up in the morning, and God is always present. 

While I haven't exactly been screaming it from the rooftops, I haven't made a secret of the fact that life has been a little rough lately.  I have felt weighed down by all the things I have to do.  I am slightly afraid of checking my email, because while there is always one more reminder of something I need to do there is also always the possibility that I will have an email asking, "Why didn't you do this?  Did you forget??"  I feel overwhelmed sometimes, and all I want to do is run away (not the healthiest way of dealing with my problems at all). 

In the weeks leading up to LOG this all reached a peak, of sorts.  I was feeling down-trodden and frustrated and guilty, too, because I was looking forward to the weekend, but only to get away from it all.  I was excited to spend the weekend with my close friends, other LOGBoard members and high-schoolers.  I am sorry to say that I wasn't necessarily excited to spend the time with God. 

Fortunately He met me where I was.  Last weekend I was wrapped up in love and taught a valuable lesson.  Sometimes we need a slap in the face.  Sometimes we need to get knocked out of our complacency.  We need to realize that the path we are headed down is going exactly that way: down. 

My life lately has been the slap.  I was skating along and somewhere along the way had lost sight of what was truly important.  I got caught up in my own world.  I forgot to look outside myself.  And then my life - which wasn't too hard really, however much I had moaned about it - got hard.  I was suddenly left feeling like the things I had before were gone.  I was left without the things that distract me from the important things in life. 

And then, because God is good, I was wrapped up and held tight when I felt most vulnerable.  The slap in the face was soothed by the hug afterward.  And with my eyes cleared from the distracting stuff I was able to see the most beautiful thing of all: Grace.  I saw that even with my faults, my distractions, and my missteps I am loved.  I am offered forgiveness and the grace to stand back up and begin to walk again. 

Mary gets Group-Hugged!

Quite the lesson, really.  And it was taught by high-schoolers. 

And so I leave you now with the words of the theme of LOG 42.  The song, How He Loves states it much better than I can. 

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh, how He loves us.
How He loves us, so.

We are His portion and He is our Prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes.
If grace is an ocean we're all sinking.
And Heaven meets Earth like a sloppy wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
And I don't have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way

That He loves us,
Oh how he loves us.

Oh how he loves us

How he loves us, so.

Reflections on Thanksgiving

I have a confession to make: I am a material person.  I like stuff.  And what's worse, sometimes I like stuff just for the sake of having it.  It doesn't matter that I buy something and it usually ends up forgotten within weeks.  It doesn't matter that it simply clutters up my house.  It doesn't matter that I don't actually need it.  I have been intrigued by ads, and seduced by commercials.  I buy, I regret, I shrug, I move on.  Very rarely do I appreciate, or even really enjoy, my purchases.

That has had to change.  Now, if I am going to be completely honest here I have to admit that it did not change because I chose to change it.  No, God - in His infiite wisdom (that I can't completely see yet) - decided that the time had come for me to open my eyes to what was going on.  He offered me a job that looked like it would pay a lot of money and I took it.  Then He let the bottom drop out from under me, at least, that's what it felt like.  I had to build a client base.  I had to build up my time.  I am still not working full-time.  And because of a few months of paychecks that couldn't even cover my rent, I am indebted to people for more money than I can even imagine. 

I've been discouraged.  I've been tired.  I've been selfish.  I've been angry and bitter.  I've been stressed and anxious.  I've cried so much lately that I won't even watch a remotely touching movie, because I'm flat out tired of crying, even good tears. 

But in the past few weeks I have been able to get a glimmer of hope.  My dad sent me a couple of texts that I have saved onto my phone, and I look at them when I am discouraged.  Don't let money rule your life. And, the one that brings tears to my eyes every time, I am NEVER disappointed in you or any of my children.  I know what a gift you are from God, and I appreciate every one of you.  Or there is the birthday card my mom wrote to me: Don't give up before the miracle happens.  Simple, really, but somehow more encouraging than the best pep-talk.

And in this time of stress and discouragement, uncertainty and questioing of whether the bills will be paid or my loans will default, I have been able to go through an amazing change.  I am starting to appreciate the beautiful things in life again.  I am starting to forget that my bank account looks pretty grim.  I can jump up and down about a free coffee drink from Starbucks and really feel that excited.  I can get a hug from a high schooler and feel uplifted for the rest of the day.  I can give thanks at the end of the day for what I accomplished that day, because I am learning to see what it is I truly do. 

I work with special needs kids during the day, and one evening a week (so far) I tutor children who may not have specific special needs, but need a lot of extra help.  I sit on the floor all day.  I let mothers cry about what it feels like to not know what having a "normal child" is like.  For some of them I am the only person outside of their family they see all week.  For some of them I am their only friend.  I teach two-year-olds that it is not okay to throw blocks across the room.  I teach them that hurting their parents is not acceptable.  I teach them that even though they are struggling to place one block on top of another they are wonderful children, worthy of love.  I listen to sixth graders struggle through books that my second-grade sister is reading in class.  I help them understand that "I've" has the exact same meaning as "I have."  I sit with them and listen to their stories of being bullied because they can't read in class.  And I let them know that I love them and want them to succeed. 

I'm not perfect.  I come home at the end of the day and am exhausted.  My back hurts, whether from sitting on the floor all day or bearing some of the burdens of the families I work with or a combination of both I don't know.  I can be crabby with my sister, when all she does is say "hi."  Sometimes I just want to sit and be by myself.  But I am learning that through it all I am being molded into the person that God wants me to be. 

You see, growing pains always hurt.  And I am going through some pretty intense growing pains. 

I hope at the end of it I have actually grown.  I hope I am that version of me that God intends for me to be.  My prayer lately has been that I will learn the lessons set before me, so I don't have to go through this again...Maybe it's not the perfect prayer, but I think it's a start.  I hope so at least. 

And so, on this day of Thanksgiving, I am going to offer a prayer written by someone much more amazing than I could hope to be.  Fr. Gregory Petrov was a priest in a Slavic prison camp - where he ultimately died - and even in those horrific conditions was able to write a beautiful service of thanksgiving to God.  Last night at church, when we celebrated the service, I was struck by this song:

That which is broken cannot be restored, but Thou canst set aright those whose conscience has become decayed; Thou restorest the soul to its former beauty in those who have lost it beyond all hope. With Thee there is nothing that cannot be put aright. Thou art all love. Thou art the Creator and the Restorer. To Thee we sing praise: Alleluia!

 To God be the glory, now and forever - in good times, and in bad. 

Job 1:21



"You look like you can help me....6663!"

This Halloween I did something that I have never, ever done before: I spent Saturday night of Halloween weekend in Isla Vista.  What's more, I spent part of it on Del Playa - the biggest party street in Santa Barbara.  Now, I think, in order for this story to really make sense I need to back up and begin at, well, the beginning.

Thursday night I sat on the patio of Fr. Nicholas and Jan's house with Mary, Cat, Garrett, Fr. Nicholas, and Jenn.  We were at a choir party (which should really be a blog entry in and of itself) and I turned to Fr. Nicholas as we ate. 

"So Fr. Nicholas, are you excited about your first Halloween out of IV?"

He laughed.  "You bet I am."

The conversation then turned to how horrible the situation is in IV during Halloween.  Which roads were closing?  How many extra people were already in IV, waiting for the party to start?  How many injuries do you think there will be?  Oh!  Are we having Vespers on Saturday night?

"Of course we are," Fr. Nicholas answered.  Even though it will be difficult to get into IV?  "We will do it if only for one reason: someone needs to pray for that city."

We then started wondering how on earth the city supervisors (or whomever is in charge) actually let the party happen each year.  After all, there is a serious crime spike over the weekend, not to mention all the unreported assaults, rapes, etc.  It is simply unsafe to have that many people (anywhere between 30 and 40 thousand) in such a small space (one square mile - but mainly on one street) under dangerous influences. 

I brought up Cal Poly and Mardi Gras, and how that used to be comparable to Halloween in IV.  My freshman year of college they started a campaign called "The Party is Over" and now Mardi Gras isn't an issue.  Jenn was amazed.  "We should start that here.  I wonder who we would have to talk to if we want to get that started?  I know tons of people who would sign that."  She then went on to talk about the Santa Barbara Street Medicine group that she volunteers with on Halloween.  She explained that a first aid station is set up at our church, and that she has actually gone into the thick of the partying to search out people who are lost, hurt, or confused and help them. 

I turned to Mary.  She nodded, and I looked back at Jenn.  "How does one go about getting involved in this?" I asked. 

"Do you want to stop by?  You might have to sign waivers and stuff, but I'm sure they would love to have you."

"Well, it's my church," Fr. Nicholas said, half-joking.  "And I give them a very high recommendation.  I say they can do it."  We all laughed, and I turned to Mary as the conversation drifted to other topics.

"Mare," I said.  "I really think we should do this."

"I know, Steph.  I think we should, too." 

The decision had been made.  We were doing it.  After Vespers on Saturday night we would stay late and ask if they needed any help.

Saturday night rolled around and I left extra early for Vespers - it still took me about double the length of time to get to church than any normal Saturday evening.  And although it was only 5:30, there were people already getting into costume and party mode.  I arrived at church and stood, fascinated, as I watched group after group of party-goers walk past.  I looked at a few other church-goers and shook my head. "It just doesn't sound fun," I said. 

After Vespers I was told to come back in a few hours, as that would be when extra hands would be needed.  I told Mary, and we tried to work out the best way to get into IV.  We could park far away and walk, or we could bike.  We could drive in and hope there would be a space left in the church parking lot (the spaces would be sold as a fundraiser for the homeless outreach our church does).  We decided to try our luck with the parking spot, so at 11:00 Mitchell, Mary, and I slowly drove into Isla Vista and made our way to church.  We pulled in and explained that we were volunteering, so we were waved in. 

After a few minutes of confusion, in which we were told we needed to pay for the parking spot, then told we didn't need to, then told we did need to, and finally told we didn't, we introduced ourselves to the other volunteers - mostly pre-med seniors - and waited for a carful of partiers to come to rent a parking space. 

In the first hour there were about 2 cars, so we did our duty and rented out the spaces.  After a little more time we looked at each other and decided it was time to don the reflective vests and head onto Del Playa (DP) to see if there was anyone who needed help. 

As we walked down the street, heading toward DP, we passed the search and rescue station.  The firefighters, cops, and search and rescue workers who were sitting at the station smiled and waved at us as we walked by.  We smiled and waved back, and I felt slightly excited by the sense of acceptance and camaraderie that was shared. 

After passing the search and rescue station we turned onto Del Playa.  Suddenly I was on full alert. 



Yeah...This is really what it was like.

It was like Disneyland - but a warped, twisted, evil Disneyland.  No matter which direction you were walking, you were walking against the flow of traffic.  People in costumes came toward me, and I had to dodge to keep from being run over.  At one point Mary was afraid she would be thrown up on.  People were yelling at us as we walked past: "Caltrans!" or "Construction workers..." or "GO GIANTS!"

We had walked to the end of the street when a girl dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz stumbled up to us.  Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she seemed to be struggling to figure out who to look at.  Finally she clapped her hands together.  "You look like you can help me...6663!" 

We stared at her for a second until I said, "You need to get to 6663?" 

"6663.  I wish I could sound smarter than that.  6663."

We looked around.  We were at 6679 so we turned around with her and headed back the direction we came from, toward 6663.  As we walked together we were extra careful - there were mounted police and drunk people everywhere and this girl was drunk.  She looked at me with big eyes as we walked.  "Oh man.  I was like a lost puppy when you found me.  This is so scary.  I can't find my friends.  I was in totally the wrong direction.  This should not be allowed."

"It would definitely be much safer if it wasn't allowed."

We chatted some more as we walked - she was completely oblivious to all the people and potential dangers around - and when we finally found 6663 she turned to give us all hugs.  "Thank you so much!!"  She ran into the house (which looked pretty dark).

A police officer pulled me aside.  "Are you guys helping people who are lost?"  I nodded.  "Well I sent a guy on his way up there.  He's a white guy wearing flip flops, jeans, and a tank top.  He's looking for his hotel."

I told him we would look for this guy to help him find his way, and told Mary and Mitchell the description the cop had given me.  "Seriously, Steph?  That could be anyone."

We never found that guy... I hope he's okay.  Because let's be honest: if he was looking for a hotel he was in the wrong part of town.  There are no hotels in IV. 

It was a long night.  We left IV at around 2:30 am.  But it was a good night.  For all the people, and the sadness, knowing that we helped that one girl made it all worth it.  For one night I was able to keep my mind off my problems and help someone else.

I think I have found a new tradition for my Halloweens.

Philippians 2:4

A Jar of Happiness

Today I have the afternoon off.  Being ambitious, I decided to clean my room.  I mean really clean my room.  I pulled out boxes that have moved from house to house to house with me but that have never truly been opened.  I was doing great, going through things and separating them into "keep," "give away," and "throw away" piles when, true to form, I got sidetracked.

I got to a box from 9th grade or so, and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.  It was an old jar - probably about 100 years old by now - with "HAPPINESS" taped to the lid.  I opened it up and discovered about 100 slips of paper inside.  On each slip I had written something that made me happy.

Here are just a few things I found written on those slips:

-Hot Cocoa
-That time we went to Disneyland and Jobie made up songs about everything
-Mom and Dad getting remarried
-Camping with Gary and Amanda
-Twins
-That time Cat and I went into Shoney's because we saw the Illinois baseball team had stopped there
-When Mom smooths my hair back
-Guys in football uniforms
-Country songs
-The Harry Potter Series
-Mr. Seal (he was my favorite stuffed animal as a kid...and yes, he was a seal)
-Celebrating Sister Day
-Boiled custard
-Different accents

These are all things I wrote down in 9th and 10th grade, but they still make me happy.  I am going to put this jar on my dresser and add to it.  I think it can do us all good to have a jar of happiness - something to look into when we are a bit down. 

And now I want to know: What's in your jar of happiness?

James 1:17

"The Substance of Things Hoped For"

I heard a priest say once that "faith is the substance of things hoped for."  It struck me as almost lyrical: a poem in the midst of prose.  I was smitten.  I liked the line so much that I did something I never do in church, and in fact is something that usually shocks and offends me when I see others do it (remember how I said I'm trying not to judge? Yeah...It's a work in progress.).  I pulled out my phone in the middle of the sermon and opened up to a "NEW TEXT MESSAGE" page.  Now, I did this to send myself a text of that pretty little quote so I could use it in a story later.  Maybe it could be a character's quote, maybe a theme.  Who knew?  I liked it, and I am always on the lookout for story fodder.

I've thought about that line a lot, turning it over in my mind, whispering it to myself.  I've even meditated on it a bit.  I have never quite found the right place for it, though, and so it remains repeating its gentle rhythm in my mind. 

My mom and I were talking recently and she said something along the lines of, "I just keep hoping."  I made the pretty natural response of, "That's all we can do."  And I was immediately struck with the thought of living a life of hope.  What does that even look like?  Is it a good thing or a bad thing?  Is it positive, always being hopeful, or terribly sad that you are always hoping and never achieving?

And what, if it comes down to it, does that phrase truly mean?  "The substance of things hoped for." 

Merriam-Webster offers the following definition for substance:

             1: essential nature : essence

             2: ultimate reality that underlies all outward manifestations and change

             3: physical material from which something is made or which has discrete existence

      

Substance, it would seem, is a foundation.  Substance is the inside of something - substance is what "makes up" an object.  So if faith is the substance of things hoped for, it must follow that faith is the foundation of our hopes.  Faith is the stool we stand on when we are aiming for something beyond our reach.  So often we want something - whether it's physical or spiritual, material or ethereal - and we can't quite get it.  We have to wait.  We have to have faith that it will work out however it needs to. 

This is something that I am still working on.  Because having faith that things will work out usually means trusting that it will work out - which in my case tends to mean letting go of control.  As my dad said to me today, "You need to trust that God has everything in control."  And this is a hard lesson for me.  But somehow, thinking of trust as faith, and faith as a stool or a building block, I find myself able to relax a bit.  It's almost as if the beauty of the phrase allows me to close my eyes for just a moment and breathe deeply.  It allows me to feel secure on a strong foundation, if only briefly.

So, I sit here typing a message to myself and hoping I can draw encouragement from the phrase I have come to love so dearly.  "Faith is the substance of things hoped for."  I think a life of hope isn't such a bad thing, as long as we stand on a foundation of faith.  Faith in God, faith in ourselves, faith in those around us. 

I hope you can draw some encouragement, too.  Take a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

Lots of love,



Psalm 33:22



The Hills ARE Alive!

Last week I was invited to go to "The Sound of Music: Sing-Along."  I was excited (especially because some pretty spectacular people covered the cost of my ticket...Thanks Joanne and Mary!!) and ready to sing when I arrived at the Gish house.  Mary moaned a little bit about not owning a nun's habit and not being able to dress up, but we hopped in the Speier's van and headed to the Arlington.  Mary and Taylor and I did a great job of embarrassing the junior high girls (Tati and Jordan) by singing "The HIIIILLS are aliiiiiiive with the sOUnd of muuuuuuuuusic (aah ah ah ah)" at the top of our voices from our parking spot all the way to the theatre. 

Once we walked into the theatre, tickets in hands, we gawked at our fellow movie-goers - the ones who did dress up.  Over there was Maria as a novice!  And there was Captain von Trapp!  And look at the von Trapp kids! 

We waltzed down the aisle and found a row with some friends, and sat down - still embarrassing the younger girls.  We sat enthralled at a "Behind the Scenes" short documentary, but we were ready for the main attraction.  When the lights lowered we leaned forward in our seats and clapped with the rest of the audience.  As the opening credits rolled I was suddenly struck with awe: I was watching The Sound of Music on the big screen.  This movie was released in 1965 - 21 years before I was born.  It's a modern-day classic; everyone knows about The Sound of Music.  And I was watching it on the big screen. 

Wow.

But as soon as Julie Andrews came into view my awe was replaced by delight and as the music swelled I glanced at Mary.  She looked back at me with a grin on her face and then took a deep breath and belted "THE HIIILLS ARE ALIIIIVE..."  I laughed in pure delight and joined in.  When Mary, Taylor, and I supplied the first "Aah aah aah aahs" the rest of the audience erupted in laughter.  This, of course, set the three of us off in giggles, and I found it hard to sing along. 

Amazing, right?

The audience was great: people were cheering and yelling out advice to the characters on screen.  And behind us people were playing kazoos during every song.  I leaned over to Mary.  "They have kazoos.  Next time..."

"Next time we are bringing kazoos.  Definitely." 

I was swept along by the storyline, even though I have seen the movie countless times before.  I wasn't the only one, though.  There were audible gasps and claps sprinkled throughout the audience.  There was laughter when we all saw there were lyrics posted for the song the nuns were singing - in Latin.  Mary and I had a grand time translating for everyone in the theatre...Completely ignoring the fact that I speak no Latin and Mary speaks very little.  And when Maria and Captain von Trapp kissed for the first time a group of people behind us set off some poppers.  We jumped, and I turned to Mary again.  "They have poppers.  Next time..."

"Next time we are bringing poppers.  Definitely."

As I was enjoying myself and the movie I was suddenly pulled out of the moment.  I watched Captain von Trapp refusing to give into the Nazi generals and I sent up a prayer of gratitude that I have never lived in a time or place in which my life has been put in such danger for saying a simple word: No.  I sent up a prayer of thanks that I have never had to leave my home to save my life, and I have never had to live in fear and hiding.  I know when I saw the movie as a child that I could figure the Nazis were bad - Brigitta says it very well in the movie: "Maybe it's the flag with the big, black spider that has everyone so nervous."  Anyone, at any age, who sees that flag knows it isn't a flag portraying goodness and light.  But I had never before understood what it really meant to live in that shadow.  Even now, never having lived like that, I can't truly understand it.  And I sent up a prayer of thanks that I can't understand it.

Just as I - and most of the audience - were completely engrossed and heartbroken that Rolfe had joined the Nazis, and were breathlessly hoping he wouldn't betray the von Trapps the poppers shot off again.  I jumped about a mile high in my seat, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Mary had put her hand to her chest. 

"That scared me so badly!" she laughed to me.  I nodded in agreement.  But I was glad, because it yanked me out of my heavy, contemplative mood.  I was back in the joyful, excited mood I had begun the night in.  We finished the movie the same way we started it: laughing and clapping and singing. 

As we danced our way back to the car (still embarassing the younger girls) I was somewhere in the Alps, not on State Street in Santa Barbara.  My mind was drifting along, brought back to Earth by the laughter of my friends.  I joined in, singing along, and we tumbled into the car, just in the knick of time, too, because rain drops were beginning to fall from the sky. 

We all agreed that the evening was almost magical.  As we drove back home I looked at our little mountain range (no comparison to the Alps!) and imagined them ringing with the sound of music.  Back at Mary's house I hopped out of the van and gave hugs all around, then hurried to my car to avoid the rain. 

As I started my car I looked in my rear-view mirror for another look at the mountains.  I could swear they were singing for me.  I smiled hummed back at them, then pulled my car into the road, ready to go home and sleep. 

Lots of love,

Psalm 98:4

"We make every party we go to. Come on, Steph!"

This morning when I woke up I was at my parents' house.  This was because at 4:50 am I had to be there to "watch" my younger siblings while Dad drove Mom to the airport.  It was so nice to wake up to the smell of bacon cooking, get an early-morning hug from a 5-year-old, and hear "Good morning, Girlie" from my dad. 

I couldn't stay, though, because I had to be back at my apartment and ready to leave by 9am.  Why is that?  Because I was part of a team in the Alzheimer's Association's Memory Walk.  The team was Fr. Gordon's Walkers, and was in honor of my Granddaddy, who has been living with Alzheimer's for years. 

Lara would be at my apartment at 9 and together Cat, Lara, and I would pick up Mary and Libby, who would be waiting at Mary's house.  I got home in my pj's (sighing over how nice it was to wake up at my parents') and tried to wake myself up enough to change into some workout clothes.  This was to be a 5k, afterall.  My eyes were drooping as I heard my phone buzz.

Ima try to stop by starbucks.  Let me know if u want something.

I gave a little whoop in my room.  oh man! i would love a tall coffee with hazelnut and cream please! 

My morning was already a thousand times better than the previous day had been.  Lara showed up and the three of us headed to Mary's house, then off to the zoo!  We made our way toward the check-in tables and waited in line, only to be told that if we had already registered on-line we could just walk in.  This made no sense to us, as the line we were standing in said, "Registered Walker Check-In."  This tale was next to the "Non-Registered Walker Check-In" line.  So when we were told we didn't actually need to check in we looked around, confused.  Oh well.  We figured those of us who had raised $100 would go pick up our T-Shirts.  That would be 2 of us.  However, the lady handing out shirts handed one to each of us.  When we told her that not all of us raised enough money she shrugged.  "We have extras."  Neat.  We each got a shirt!  We put them on over our other shirts and met up with our other team members, then headed up the hill.

We got about five yards in when one of us said, "I think I need to go to the bathroom."  The rest of us heartily agreed.  A bathroom break was needed.  We were singing songs and laughing about the Capybaras (or, as we called them, the R.O.U.S.'s) and probably driving everyone around us nuts.  We wandered up the hill, dancing and fake-power-walking.  Music made it's way toward us.  "What is that?"  We looked at the program that had been handed to us as we walked in the zoo.  (Yes...They gave all us walkers a piece of paper to carry with us as we walked.)  "Umm...This is Ulysses S. Jazz, according to the program."  Ulysses S. Jazz was fun, and made me think of The Great Gatsby, and a joke Mary had made a few years before: "A cocktail?  For me?  Why thank you!"

After finding an empty table to sit at (and some free coffee, of course!) we listened to the Pre-Walk information.  Well, to be perfectly honest, we didn't pay too much attention.   After all, we needed to figure out if that guy who had been talking was Gary from "Gary and Catherine in the Morning on 101.7" and that takes an awful lot of energy.  "Let's go introduce ourselves and take a picture!" Lara said.  Mary and I agreed, and Libby and Cat laughed at us as we tripped across the lawn.  When we reached the edge of the stage, however, we couldn't quite make ourselves go up to him and introduce ourselves.  "What if it isn't him?" Lara asked.  I stood there, camera in hand, trying to gether the courage to talk to him. 

"Sheesh," Libby said, walking up to us.  "I'll go talk to him."  She did, and it turns out it was him.  So the rest of us rushed over and joined them. 

"This is so cute," Gary, of "Gary and Catherine in the Morning" said.  "This hardly ever happens to me!" 

Note how he standing...Yeah, silly Gary from "Gary and Catherine in the Morning."

We laughed our way back to the table and finally took a good look around.  No one seemed to be as pumped for this walk as we were.  "We are making this party," I said.

"We make every party we go to," answered Cat.  "Come on, Steph!"

We had to agree.  While our team was laughing and cheering and having a fabulous time, the other teams seemed to be half-asleep, or just plain boring.  I shook my head at them and gave a little prayer of thanks that our team was so incredibly fun, and then noticed they had a designated "Team Picture Area." 

"Guys...Should we go get our team picture taken?  Come on!!"  We jumped up (well, I jumped up, and was quickly followed by Lara, Mary, Libby, and Cat, and then later Sunny and her daughter Melody) and hurried to the "Team Picture Area."  I'm fairly certain there was dancing and stylized running involved.  We got ourselves organized and took a picture.

Not everyone was there yet, so we took decided to wait patiently for them...



Our first try.



Everyone listened to Lara telling us all to smile.

After that was our warm up.  We should have known by the warm up what the walk would be like.  A geriatric aerobics instructor got in the stage and lead us in a series of marching moves and arm swings.  After one song ended she said, "Alright!  Let's do another one!"

...........

"Alright.  That was actually it.  Okay, let's head over to the start of the walk."  Our team walked (read: "hopped, skipped, and jumped") to the starting line and joined in the speedy countdown to the beginning of the walk.  We where whooping and hollering and cheering and grabbing the stickers that were being handed out and walked over the official starting line. 

"Okay, where to now?"  We looked at each other.  There was no set route.  We shrugged at each other.  "Why don't we go over there?" 

We spent the next forty minutes or so (really, it was quite possibly less) wandering around the zoo, taking plenty of breaks.  Like at the gorilla enclosure (our first stop):

Mary was trying to be invisible.

Or the playground:

Lara decided to catch a ride on the turtle.

Libby needed a break...So she sat down in an egg.

This was pretty much how the walk was for us...

After those 40 minutes (total...breaks included) we walked back up the hill.  "So that was what, a .5k?" 

The free food was DELICIOUS.  And even though we weren't exactly tired out from our oh-so-strenuous walk, we did enjoy the time sitting together laughing about who said what just 10 minutes ago and enjoying our sandwhiches and cookies. 

And it was all for a good cause.

Ephesians 5:2

In Which a Workout Video Kicked Our Butts

Hey!  What are you up to at around 5?

I opened my phone and read the text.  I set down the Moon Sand I had bought for work (yes...you read that right) and typed back my response.

idk...i was thinking about doing a workout video but it can wait.  why? whats up?

I silently hoped Mary would want to do something.  I have to honest here: I had done the workout video the day before and was struggling to move like a normal human being.  I was looking for any excuse to avoid it today.

I wouldn't be so lucky.

Im babysitting and dont want to drive all the way home before log.  *Note: "LOG" is a youth group both Mary and I are involved with, and there is a planning meeting every week.* Ill do the video too!!

My heart dropped a bit.  Sounds good, I wrote.  We continued texting a bit, just talking about workout videos and the like, and then I went to see a client and Mary went back to babysitting.  I got home at about 4:45 and changed into workout clothes, still holding onto a thin hope that maybe, just maybe, Mary would want to do something other than the video. 

5:00 rolled around and I checked to make sure the DVD was in the player.  5:05 came.  I filled a glass with water, remembering the previous day.  5:07 came and I texted Mary.  Are you going to be here soon or should i go ahead and start without you?

Go ahead!  I'll be there soon!

My last hope was gone.  I sighed and turned on the DVD.  "Alright," I muttered to myself as I took a deep breath and tried to get my aching muscles to move.  "I'll do it." 

I was 12 or so minuted into the video when Mary walked in.  "Oh, thank God!" I stopped following the DVD and paused it.  Mary laughed. 

"Tough workout?"  She sat on the couch. 

"Come on!" I said.  She groaned.  "Mary, come on.  You said."  Now that I was in the workout I needed to finish it. 

"I don't know if I want to do it."  She shook her head. 

"Well I don't want to workout with someone just watching me do it."

"Alright!"  Mary got off the couch and stood next to me.  "Let's do this." 

We worked out side-by-side in silence for about 30 seconds, when Mary asked, "Wait, is that supposed to be Carmen Electra?"

"That is Carmen Electra.  And that guy is her trainer."

Just then the trainer said, "If you're doing this right it's going to be difficult to talk.  Well, if you're doing it wrong sometimes it's still difficult to talk."

"Did you hear that?" I breathlessly asked Mary.  We looked at each other and busted up laughing. 

The trainer changed exercises.  We were on our backs doing hip raises.  "I don't think I can do this!" I gasped.   We tried, though, until the trainer said to do the same thing, but this time with one leg off the floor. 

"For reals?" Mary asked as we did the first raise.  "For reals?  For reals?  For reals?" 

I collapsed on the floor, laughing.  "Mary!  I can't do it if I'm laughing!" 

"I'm sorry!  But it's really hard!" 

We moved onto hands and knees, doing leg lifts and push-ups and a number of other torturous exercises.  Mary looked up at the TV, "Steph...Even Carmen is having trouble with this."  It was true.  Carmen Electra was obviously focusing and struggling with the workout. 

"I'm shaking," Carmen Electra said on the TV.  "That's good right?"

"Yes," her trainer said.  "If you are shaking that means you are pushing your muscles to their limit, which is what we want to do." 

"But what if my muscles don't shake, they just don't work?" I asked the TV.

Mary laughed.  "I can't work out because they won't move!" 

We laughed together breathlessly.  The laughter turned into groaning when the exercises got tougher.  The trainer on TV started struggling, too. 

"AAHHH!" Mary yelled. 

"Take heart, Mare," I said.  "There's only about 10 minutes left."

3 minutes later I was the one yelling. 

Finally, finally, the section of the DVD we were working out to ended.  I struggled up and pressed the "Stop" button.  There was no way we were continuing this workout.  My body just wouldn't do it. 

"That was good."  Mary said.  I wiped the sweat that was dripping down my face and nodded.  "That was good.  I mean, at least we laughed.  That's a bit of an ab workout, at least."

I nodded again.  "Yeah."  I was breathing hard, my hands on my hips.  "It was good." 

We looked at each other and laughed again, both of us wiping sweat from our faces. 

I got a text from Mary this morning.  It said, "Sore.  lets do it again today"

The length of this torturous workout?  30 minutes. 



Hebrews 6:11-12

The Judgement to Love

Every once in a while we hear the same message over and over and over again.  The first time we hear it we may think about it for a bit, nod our heads at what we see as the "value" of the lesson, and then move on.  The second time we hear it we focus on it a little more as we think, Sheesh.  Maybe I should pay a bit more attention to this.  After all, I've heard it twice now.  The third time we hear it we figure we've heard it already so yeah, we drop a minute or so of our time on it and then move on, comfortable in the knowledge that we've done our duty and thought about this oh-so-important message for as long as we needed.  If we hear it again after that we tend to feel annoyed - or at least I do - and the message becomes a burden.  Seriously? we wonder.  Again?  Well I'm not wasting anymore of my time on this junk.  I know it already.  If we hear it anymore we ignore it.  Haven't we already wasted enough of our time on it?  We ignore not only the message, but the uncomfortable feeling that maybe we really should spend pay more attention to it.

I've found myself in this cycle lately.  In so many places I've heard this message: Don't judge.

It comes up in many different contexts.  I've heard it in a sermon at church.  I've heard it from a friend telling me a story.  I've heard it from a visiting monk speaking about his beloved monastery at Mt. Sinai.  I've heard from the parents of children I work with.  I've seen it played out on TV.  Just today I heard it from my dad.  The words may be different but the underlying message is the same: Don't judge.

I went through the "message cycle" and finally realized I couldn't just continue to ignore it.  Now let me be frank here: It's never comfortable to take a true look in the mirror.  At least it's never comfortable for me.  I'm too worried that I won't like what I see.  And if I pay attention to this message of not judging I'm forced to confront myself.  Am I judgemental? 

I don't know if I am brave enough answer that question.

So, instead of answering I decided to skip that part all together.  Really healthy, I know.  Instead of dwelling on whether or not I am an incredibly judgemental person I've decided to act as though I am.  (Do you see how this saves me?  I can keep hoping that I'm not...)  I've thought about all the times in the past I've heard people talking about judgements.  I've thought about conversations I've had with my priest about judging.  I've dwelled on this a lot lately.  And I've realized the response to judgement has been in front of me all along.

Love.

I'm not talking about love in the sense of the gooey, happy feeling we get when we see those we care about.  I'm talking about the choice we make to act in love.  I'm talking about the choice to be kind and loving even though it may unpopular, or that guy really might be frustrating.  Some people call it Agape.  Some people call it "doing the right thing."  It's the same thing: Love. 

It can be hard to love.  We love our families and our friends, but we have a hard time loving the neighbor downstairs who causes a fuss about the parking situation.  We easily love some of our colleagues but just can't stand that new guy who thinks he's so great when really he just gets on everybody's nerves.

I spoke with my priest about this a few years ago, and what he said to me comes up often in my mind.  He told me two thing: 1)When you make a judgement say a prayer for that person, and 2) The cycle has to stop somewhere.

So often we feel judged, or are judged, by a person and in response we turn around and think poorly of someone else.  Or we feel that we need to be better than everyone else, so we think the worst of them.  I am struck by a story Fr. Pavlov (the visiting monk from Mt. Sinai) told:

      There were two monks in their monastery.  When the heiromonk entered the room of one he found it to be extremely messy.  Instead of judging he thought to himself, Wow.  This monk spends so much of his time in prayer and in the pursuit of the spiritual life that he has no time left for cleaning his room.  He moved on to the next monk's room.  He found it to be spotlessly clean.  This time he thought, Amazing.  Just as his spiritual life is clean and clear, so is this monk's physical space.  He judged neither man.  We, in this day and age, in our ignorance, would judge both. 

I was struck most by the end of the story: ...in our ignorance, [we] would judge both.  I know I would.  But this would be a perfect chance for me to use the advice I was given.  Choose to love by saying a prayer.  Sometimes we are given insight to a situation, and it could be horrible.  But rather than using that insight to judge, I hope to (and I have been told I need to) use it for love: pray, and if necessary, act.

And I need to try to end the cycle, at least in my life.  I can't control what others do, but I can love them, and try not to judge them.  And I think I will be able to find some peace there.  As my dad told me this morning, if I'm the one responsible for deciding who is right or wrong, or for deciding who goes to heaven or hell, no one will make it, not even myself.  Because my own standards and judgements (that are quite possibly incorrect) will get in the way of grace.  I can relax a bit, knowing it isn't up to me to do anything about it but choose to love.  And so I will make the effort to make the judgement of love. 

And maybe someday I can look in the mirror without fear.  Maybe.

1 Corinthians 13:1

Daydreams

Sometimes I wish I was somewhere else. 

Don't get me wrong - I love my home and I love my family and friends and the people around me.  I know if I really did leave it would be extremely difficult, like transplanting a tree whose roots are intertwined with countless others.  Possible, but terribly, terribly painful.  But sometimes I just want to leave and explore and maybe stumble upon an adventure.  What's so surprising to me is that in one day - in a span of about 3 hours - I can daydream about being in two entirely different places.

One thing I love about my job is the freedom to meet my clients (read: preschoolers I work with) at places other than a house or preschool classroom.  As it's October plenty of parents (and I) feel that going to the pumpkin patch would be a fun, seasonally appropriate thing to do.  Here in Santa Barbara the only true pumpkin patch is Lane Farms: a smallish family-run farm that has pumpkins, a hay ride, scarecrows, a corn maze, and farm animals. 

As I walked around Lane Farms with my 2-year-old client and his mom and aunt I lost myself in the whimsy of the farm.  Now I realize true farm life isn't sentimental.  I know it means being up before light and down after dark.  I know it's a physically demanding life, and that - more than other occupations - farming begs the mercy of the weather. 

Yet, even knowing this, the simple beauty of the farm drew my mind away from the chaos of balancing work and home and stress, and into a pleasant, if instantaneous, daydream.  For a split second I was miles away, walking in the sunshine and watching a tractor working.  I looked up at my client's mother and asked, "Can you imagine what it would be like to live like this?" I gestured to the still tractor.  She wrinkled her nose.

"I know, right?" she answered.  "It would be terrible." 

Not quite what I was thinking. 

I nodded and made a non-committal sound and turned back to her son with a small sigh.  Thoughts of farm life would have to wait until I was no longer working.

However, as soon as I left Lane Farms I was rushing to get ready for a concert with the girls.  At 6 o'clock I pulled into my friend's driveway and within 15 minutes we were on our way to the Santa Barbara Bowl.  We arrived at our seats in time to hear the opening act sing her last 3 songs.  This was a surprise, because the opener started exactly on time - unheard of in music.  I don't have much to say about her...I'm sure I would have enjoyed her songs, but her voice was breaking by the end of her 40 minute set.  She also announced to the crowd that this was her first official show.  I turned to my friend.  "If her voice is this tired after her first show on her first tour I don't think she will last very long."  It will be interesting to see what happens with her carreer.

But the opening act (whose name I just can't remember) is not what triggered my next daydream.  No...Jason Mraz did that. 

If we are focusing on quality of voice, well, Jason Mraz's voice was almost stronger at the end of his set than at the beginning.  And he had a way of singing and interacting with the crowd that almost made it seem like he was singing directly to Section G, Row J, Seat 14. 

Let's ignore his commanding stage presence and skilled dance moves, the emotion of his singing and lyrics that reach out and grab the heart-strings.  The moment that stands out most clearly in my mind is the moment I have come to expect at every concert I attend.  Every person in the audience was standing and singing the lyrics back to Jason Mraz.  He stopped singing and closed his eyes and listened to the sound of thousands of people serenading him with his own lyrics.  It was that moment when I had the wistful thought of, 'I wish I was on that stage right now...' 

Suddenly I was gone.  I wasn't standing in the audience.  I was in another city, standing on a stage, listening to the sound of thousands being touched by my words.  

Somehow, not even three hours after wishing to be wearing a sun-hat on a farm I was now dreaming to be living the life of a musician. 

But, in all honesty, when the concert ended and I yawned, exhausted from the work week and the excitement of the evening, I was simply happy to be one of the girls.  Stumbling from laughter and - for the moment - carefree, I was happy to be me: A child development specialist living a quiet, sometimes stressed, mostly happy life in Santa Barbara.

Psalm 139 :7, 9-10