I drove to work in pouring rain. I drove home through falling snow.
And the snow is still falling. And sticking; covering everything in sight.
Yes! I love it.
Thank you, Jesus. You made my day today!
Monthly Archives: January 2006
Watch E-Ring Tonight
My friend Scott Reynolds wrote tonight’s episode of NBC’s E-Ring (7pm CT, 8pm ET/PT). I’m soooo excited for him!
I remember when he and Amy first came to Mosaic. Scott worked several jobs to make ends meet, one of them being a freelance script reader. He continually worked to hone his craft, writing one script after another, reading and analyzing every script he could. His tenacity and determination deeply impressed me. I had great faith in his talent, but sorry to say not much in the industry to recognize it. I’ve seen far too many incredibly talented writers never get a break. I got pretty jaded toward the end of my time in Hollywood.
Amy, his wife, worked as an art designer for a couple of series before Zane was born. Both were always committed to bringing the light of their relationships with Jesus into the lives of others. I loved it. I love seeing their passion and talent and commitment. And I miss being around them. Their lives always inspired and challenged to reach beyond my grasp.
They both have worked their share of sh*t jobs, so I was so excited to hear that Scott had finally been able to get a script sold AND produced. But then to hear that the script we will see tonight was the key that finally unlocked the door for Scott–that shortly after filming wrapped on the ep, he was offered a staff writing position— holy cow!!! It was like that scene at the end of "Working Girl" — I literally shouted, "he made it!! He made it out of ‘below the line’ and into ‘Above the Line’! Woohoo!!!!"
Please watch E-Ring tonight. Support a man (and his wonderful wife) living his dream. And for some pics from the set — including a couple of Benjamin Bratt — check out Amy’s posts here and here.
HT: Niza
Oh. My. Gosh.
Call me slow. Call me out of the loop. Call me… dumbfounded….
I can download season 2 of "Battlestar Galactica" from iTunes for $2 a piece.
Whoa. iTunes was dangerous when I could download all the music my little heart desires (and it desires a lot) for a buck a tune. But tv…? SciFi tv?? Deadly.
And too cool for words!!!!
Yeah. I’m a geek.
By The Way…
…my right ankle is still killing me. I’ve taken to wearing one of those ace bandage ankle supports and my sneakers to work. I seem to aggravate it just by walking. Certain positions my foot naturally lands tweaks it just enough to send a shock of pain all the way up to my ears.
I’m still avoiding going to the doctor. I hate paying him just to have him say, "yep. You sprained it. Elevate and ice and stay off it."
Stay off it. Yeah right.
Nashville Bachelor-Little Brother and the Single Life
No, ABC’s latest bachelor — from Nashville — is not my little brother. But I felt an affinity for him as I watched the Bachelor’s debut tonight, being a home-boy and all, and being a young doc at Vandy. I felt very big sisterly as I watched him roam his new chateau, meeting all these women and picking who would stay.
I suppose I’m showing my age by talking "little" and "young" about an eligible, and obviously handsome, early 30s man. I’d probably find him interesting and engaging if I met him in person. Perhaps even be attracted. I certainly won’t turn down a date invitation from a 33 year-old (should one just happen to come). I’m not an idiot.
But watching Travis on tv, he just struck me as a kid in a candy store: wide-eyed and ready to try everything. And in need of a big sister’s rolling eyes and wise counsel. His choices in who got roses struck me as from a boy who still hasn’t quite grown into a man yet.
Don’t get me wrong, for the most part I liked his choices. I was especially rooting for Sarah from Nashville. But red-haired Sarah? Come on. She’s 23 and acts it. Perhaps even younger. At least the Sarah (is that her name?? Too many Sarahs….) from Canada seemed more mature, and confident in her own skin.
My heart broke, though, for the girl-Doc from Florida. She completely shot herself in the foot talking about how she’s ready to move "into her reproductive stage of life". For a woman who’s got such schooling, she proved she’s really lacking in people smarts. Or at least men-smarts. I mean, really. You don’t just start talking babies on the first date. And, contrary to her convictions, there really are other reasons to marry besides reproducing. There’s companionship and partnership and love and enjoyment and fun. But the poor girl was heart-broken when she didn’t get a rose. To the point of threatening not to ever date again, though I’m sure she’s since reconsidered that choice.
I understand her frustration. Sometimes it seems that men just don’t want the same things we women want. Other times it seems they are just callous, free-wheeling self-centered jerks. Oh, but we love them! We dream of them. We long for one of our own. And then, when we get one, we wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into.
It had to be rough to be Travis in Paris. No, really! I know you’re laughing, but think about it a moment. 12 driven, hungry women vying for the same one guy. That’s some nasty mojo. And you have to be a woman to truly understand and appreciate the truth of that statement. I truly believe if women were in charge of war-making, war would be a truly hellish thing. Guys just shoot guns and drop bombs. Women gossip, tell lies wrapped in truth and truth wrapped in lies, betray and back-stab…. all while smiling sweetly and swearing true friendship and loyalty. If this guy managed to come out of this whole experience unscathed by the bloody realities of women-group life, it was nothing less than a miracle.
This is my first experience watching "The Bachelor". Perhaps that’s obvious in my post. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach watching the whole thing, but I’m gonna give it a shot, if for no other reason than to root for Doc-Travis, and pray, and cringe over every poor choice, and cheer every good one and then pray some more — even though the whole thing is already over — just like a good big sister should.
Good luck, Doc Travis. You’re gonna need it!
Baby Steps
I went to small group/home group "host" (read: leader) training this morning at my church, The People’s Church. My stomach has been tied in knots ever since.
The thought of stepping back into leadership, however "easy" and "short" it may be, scares me more than I thought it would. The commitment is different than it is at Mosaic. Life Group leaders back home are usually identified by other leaders and apprenticed for a while before the group multiplies and the new leaders take the second group. Its a process you go through and prepare months for. And it’s a commitment of usually at least a year — if not longer.
At TPC, hosts can sign up without having been a part of a group. They just feel led to open their homes to people. And the commitment starts as a 7 week trial deal. Try it, see how the group fits, how you fit. Then go from there. If the group fizzles, no pressure, no worries. It just wasn’t meant to be a long one. You can try again. Or join another group already established.
The training was much simpler and more direct as well. Of course, anyone who’s had any contact with Mosaic knows that anything is more direct and simple than Mosaic. Not that things are difficult at Mosaic. Its just that the leadership is so very esoteric; they’re deep thinkers. Even years ago, when Bro. Tom and Carol were casting the vision. So the training is much more about the concepts and philosophies, not the practical how-tos of creating a basic, doable life group meeting.
So why does this all scare me? I think its because I’ve been thrown off this horse twice, no, three, times now and the idea of getting back on brings back unpleasant memories.
Leading is hard. No matter how short it is. No matter how "easy" those above you make it. It takes work. It takes sacrifice. It takes a piece of me. It always takes a piece of me. And that leaves me raw.
So why am I doing this? I don’t know. I just have felt since I moved into my new place that I needed to do this. And maybe even wanted to do it. I don’t know why I want to… I just do… Is that weird? Then last Sunday the announcement was made that they were looking for leaders for this particular series, lasting 7 weeks. And before I could really think about what I was doing, how I was committing myself once again, I’d filled out the information card and put it in the collection bag.
I could give you some of the reasons swimming in my head. I want to meet new people. I want to make some friends. Small group is the best way to do that. I have a nice little place where people can meet, so why not open it to a group? And its not so much "leading" as it is "facilitating". Or so they said this morning.
Honestly, all those reasons are good. And true. But this afternoon as I drove home from the training I finally discovered the true reason I’m taking this baby step out of my nicely padded comfort zone I’ve been making for myself since I left Mosaic Nashville’s "team": I’m doing it for God. But not in that holy, spiritual way. It’s like a little kid that pulls the paints out and makes a mess on the living room floor. I just want to make a pretty picture for my Dad. If He hangs it on the frig, all the better. But ultimately, it’s for Him.
When did I move from doing things because I was supposed to or expected to, or because I wanted others to know the love and intimacy I have with Jesus, to just wanting to paint a pretty picture for my Dad, just dance a crazy dance for my Beloved?
Just Call Me Grace
Last night I wandered into the yard to greet Cirrus, my landlord’s dog, who was faithfully "guarding" the house. As best a long-haired dachshund can guard a house. It was dark, and no one else was home, so relatively little light fell on the lawn. As I headed back across the yard to my front door, I was swallowed by a hole that just jumped out and grabbed me. Oh, it was a deceptive, sneaky little thing. Appeared out of no where and then vanished again as soon as I was nose to dirt with the grass. I hate that.
One ankle bent one way, the other ankle bent the opposite. I don’t think they were meant to do that. And then I did the most amazingly grace-less face-plant smack into the grass. Lucille Ball would have been proud. I’m sure there was at least one angel watching that grimaced, "that’s gonna leave a mark." And another I’m sure that called out, "watch out for the–! Never mind." Too bad they didn’t bother to intervene.
My ankles screamed at me in utter agony, which I thought was rather unfair, considering they were the ones who decided to go in opposite directions. I had no say in the matter.
I crawled on my hands and knees to my front porch, all the while wondering how I would explain this to my doctor, threw my gym bag up the stairs, wondered if anyone had ever before sprained both ankles at once, clawed my way to my feet hanging onto the porch column for support, wondered how in the world I was going to get to the doctor the next day with both ankles swollen and sprained and in pain, and slowly, tenderly, gingerly stepped up the porch steps to the door and into my home, wondering how I would explain this to my co-workers and still be taken seriously as a professional–well, anything. I mean, really. Do you take me seriously after this??
Yes, I elevated my feet to help slow the swelling. No, I didn’t ice them — couldn’t take the cold! Yes, they swelled up — but one went down by this morning. The right ankle, however, looks a little like a tire with a bulge in it. No bruising, though. Not that that’s much comfort.
I also pulled a muscle I never knew I had in my right calf; one that goes all the way up the back of my knee. I know this because it screams obscenities at me every time I move my lower leg, my foot, my ankle– pretty much anything on the lower right side of my body.
That’s just not right. My body should not be screaming at me period. And especially not bad words.
Oy, I’m getting old.
Too old to be this "graceful". Oh, it was cute when I was little. Watch little Lu walk into the door jamb and bounce back with a smile. Even when I was 20 it was sweet and funny that I walked off curbs at night and banged into clearly visible open filing cabinet drawers. But to be 40 and still falling victim to perfidious "dips" in the ground and knavish pieces of furniture (yes, I sleep with my thesaurus, deal with it) is rather, well, sad, don’t you think?
Not to mention painful.
Someone bring me another Advil, please.
Reality Check: A New Beginning
New Years. January 1st. Resolutions. Do-over. Starting fresh.
Lots was made this weekend about New Years resolutions. Everyone from ABC News to my pastor reminded me that my "secret" resolution to lose the weight for real this year is the #1 resolution made this time of year. And usually broken by the 2nd. Or the 5th. Some of us may even make it to 15th before falling off our exercise bikes.
A new year is seen as a clean slate. A chance to start over and get things right this time. We are temporal creatures. We measure our lives in decades and our history in centuries. But I had a reality check this weekend.
It doesn’t have to be January 1st for me to get a clean slate. It doesn’t have to be a Monday for me to "start over". I get a new beginning every time the second hand moves. Every time the sun rises. Every time it sets.
Jesus gives me a new beginning every moment of every day of my life. Now, I know what your thinking. "Oh, gawd. She’s going all religious and cliche on us." Not so.
My new beginnings are never pie-in-the-sky fluffy things. My new beginnings are borne of fire and mud. They are gritty, broiling things that burn to my core and cover me with the dirt of humanity and divinity. Yeah, I’ve discovered Jesus is dirty.
No, not that kind of dirty. Sheesh. What happened to that particular New Years resolution??
Jesus is dirty with the dirt and mud and muck of life. He gets down in there, where roots meet water and dirt. And He digs. And plants. And tends. And weeds. And He plays. Jesus seems to love a good mud fight.
Lately I’ve been living in the house. I’ve been inside my cozy cocoon, hiding from the pain of the holidays, covering my ears and pretending I don’t hear the cries of my own soul still on fire with grief and loss. The deaths of my parents haunt my soul at the holidays.
Sorrow and loneliness overtook me this weekend. Everyone had "someone" to kiss. Even Rachel had Joey on "Friends". I thought my heart ached for someone of my own. But I was wrong. My heart ached for the muddy fiery touch of my Beloved. My Jesus.
He was outside. I was inside. In my attempts to block out the pain of the holidays I’d left His side, out in the garden. Playing in the mud.
I cried out to Him and, instead of coming in to hold me, He called me out. Out into the rain and lightning. Into the mud of life.
And I stepped outside.
It’s been so long since I’ve been out here. I’ve spent years curled up inside by the fire; Jesus beside me, wrapping me in His wings and letting me shiver till the cold finally left my soul. We’ve dug our own gardens inside, near the fireplace, tending to plants inside. I needed that time to heal. I needed it. And Jesus knew it.
Then He went outside and I watched from the windows. In and out He’d go, and I tried to follow but I just couldn’t bring myself to stay out there…. and He’d always come back in for me.
I feel strangely empowered. Like I’ve never felt before. I feel ready to take on the outside again. Ready to face life head on. To take on challenges that have long stood in my path, mocking me for my weakness and keeping me tied down emotionally, spiritually, even physically.
I know this "new beginning" has always been here, waiting for me. But this is the first time I feel ready to take it on. Perhaps that’s what January 1st — and Mondays for all us life-long dieters — is really about. Its the day we finally feel ready to shed the past and move confidently into the future, heart, soul and body.
As I sit here, swinging on my porch swing and watching the sun set on the first day of 2006, I feel so different than last night. I am full of hope and confidence. In my future. In my God.
In Me.