Visionaries, chain-smoking and bad dreams.

I'm not one of those people who puts a lot of stock in my own dreams. That isn't to say that I can't take seriously the dreams of other people. When someone tells me that they had a dream and they derived some kind of lesson, or direction, or message from it I find myself a bit jealous. Whether or not it was God speaking, and whether or not they heard exactly what he wanted them to hear, I can't say...but I just really like the idea of learning great truths or receiving some kind of instruction or insight while sleeping. In my opinion, this is a SERIOUSLY good use of time.

I'm also not a person who has ever had recurring dreams. Unless you count the entirety of high school, during which I was chain smoking in every single one of my dreams. The smoking was never a central part of the dream plot...just this little habit I had on the side. Every single dream for four years. Smoking. (Including one that was set at an indoor water park...still smoking.) This is particularly fascinating since I haven't smoked a single cigarette in my entire life. I did have a few theories about that whole situation, but I'll save that for a different day, and apparently my dream-self decided to end my tobacco addiction when I started college. Since then, I haven't noticed any patterns in any of my dreams.

Until a few months ago.

Dream #1) Apparently I had agreed to cover a shift at Granite Sports, one of my very-part-time jobs. And apparently, on the day I was scheduled to work, I decided I had more important things to do so I completely blew off my obligation. About four hours past the time I was supposed to be at work I was overcome by guilt and I showed up at Granite to find my boss covering for me. The rest of my dream consisted of me apologizing all over myself and my boss saying, repeatedly, "This just isn't like you..." So I apologize more. And more. And then he - as kindly and sadly as you can imagine - fires me. And I leave...apologizing all the way out the door. And then I wake up...feeling like a terrible person.

Dream #2) Apparently my friend Chels had told me she could get me a job working a few spare shifts at Aeropostale and apparently, I had thought this was a genius idea and taken her up on the offer. (Let me pause the story right here to say...this is just ridiculous. First, I REALLY don't need another job. Second, I would have to be pretty desperate to work at Aeropostale. It's just not my thing.) So the dream begins with me showing up fifteen minutes late on my first day and the manager (played by a gay Stanley Tucci) really ripping me a new one about my irresponsibility and lack of integrity. Meanwhile I apologize and apologize and apologize, in between me telling him repeatedly that "This just isn't like me...", and Chelsey awkwardly standing nearby, really wishing she hadn't given me such a good recommendation. The dream ended with Mr. Tucci - not so kindly or sadly - firing me. On my first day. There was also a small bit in there somewhere involving Chelsey traversing a 3" wide ledge in stilettos due to a missing staircase. But that seemed to be somewhat irrelevant. So I leave...apologizing all the way out the door. And then I wake up feeling like a REALLY terrible person.

Dream #3) I remember almost nothing from this dream...not who was in it, not where I was...just the apologizing. Profusely. And then I woke up feeling like a terrible person.

And then, a few weeks later...

Dream #4) In this dream I am leading what is quickly becoming the worst Young Life club EVER. The entire twenty-minute scene is me standing in front of a room full of teenagers while I frantically shuffle through a huge pile of blank paper looking for my club plans. And of course...I'm apologizing.

Clearly...

I have issues.

I don't need to pay someone $75/hour to tell me that. But what DOES, in fact, puzzle me is why my dream-self has, as of late, become completely neurotic. Because my waking-self has always been just slightly neurotic (usually comically), with no mentionable episodes within the last, oh, eight years. So, why the recent flare-up of crazy?

Now, if I was paying someone large sums of money to psychoanalyze this situation, they would probably find this fact to be pertinent: these dreams started a week after I came on full-time staff with Young Life. But then, what might throw them for a loop is the fact that I have been on part-time staff for the organization for the last four years. And my new job description varies only slightly from my old one. So, I'll ask again...why the recent flare-up of crazy?

My dream-self is an over-reactor. A drama queen, it seems. She stresses me out...and she needs a cup of tea on my porch.

But seriously...a tiny bit of introspection seemed to be warranted. So I poured myself that cup of tea and did some introspecting.

And here's what it seems to boil down to (when you disregard the discrepancy that dream-self seems to be collecting W-2's like they're Beanie Babies circa 1994, while real self just downsized from 4 jobs to 1.3 jobs): investment.

When I was a freshman in college I stumbled upon a job at podiatry clinic (read "foot doctor"). I had virtually no medical experience, and - though I enjoyed the job - it was no secret that I was not exactly seeking a career in...foot care. I just needed to pay for textbooks, right? In less than a year the doctor I worked for sent me on an all expenses paid trip to a medical conference in Chicago. At the time, I remember thinking he was making a terrible investment. I actually told him this, reminding him that I was only going to be there until I switched schools, or found a job more suited to my major (sociology) or moved to Africa. He told me to book my flight to Chicago. I ended up working for him for five years. He made a - risky, perhaps - investment, and it "paid off".

Four years ago, before coming on staff with YL I sought advice from Pam, our regional director. I told her that I felt like God was calling me to vocational ministry, and that I loved Young Life, but that I was wary of taking the job...I might only be there until I started grad school...or moved to Africa (that's my classic fear-of-commitment excuse...I'm sincere when I use it, but I fear I borderline abuse it.) I distinctly remember her telling me to "try it out for a year, and see if it's a good fit." Looking back this comment is hilarious to me, because anyone that works with an association or business or ministry, whether faith-based or not, knows that longevity is key. You don't put someone on your team and have them jump start the organization in a new community if you think they're going to bail after a year. Pam knew that. But she - and Corey - saw something in me I didn't (and often still don't). They made a - risky, perhaps - investment. I won't say it's "paid off"...that would be terribly presumptuous of me. But, for what it's worth, my one year trial period did turn into what is now going on it's fifth year.

For some reason - in my head - I'm a flight risk. But I have been greatly blessed. By people who are willing to put way more in my lap than I believe I should be trusted with. And by a Savior who, in his great grace, glues my feet to the floor when necessary.

I have much to learn from these (and many other) people who have seen me - not just for who I am, but for who I have the potential to be. I am mostly near-sighted. I tend to see the present reality, and not far past it. But vision is a incredibly valuable characteristic. It is a common quality among the best teachers and leaders and mentors and parents and friends that I have known.

God's pretty good at it too. He's well known for taking the long view, for seeing where people could be if they listen and obey. Moses. David. Peter.

I desire to have this kind of vision. To love people where they are at, but to be discontent to see them stay there. To have the wisdom to know when people are short-changing themselves. To invest more in people than they believe they are worth.

So, back to psycho-dream-self....

I'm a little nervous about the new job. Well, the old job...expanded. I'm a little nervous that I won't live up to people's expectations, that I won't be able to do it well enough, that I'll let folks down. But I am grateful for people who see more than what is already there...

I Whistle A Happy Tune

I know. You probably think that the 40 Days campaign without coffee killed me, and that's why I haven't updated this blog in nearly three months. This is not the case. I survived the campaign - quite swimmingly, actually - and I (along with several hundred other people) raised some good money to help build wells and install water purifications systems in several countries across Africa. (And don't worry...I'll hit you all up again next year.) So, that is not my excuse for my lack of writing. Rather, this spring has just been a little busy, and so many other things always seem to take precedence over sitting down for long enough to produce a cohesive stream of thought.

Since I last wrote here I have taken a trip to Omaha to hear Chap Clark speak about youth culture (a word to the wise in youth ministry...don't miss a good chance to hear Chap Clark speak), taken a trip to Fort Collins with the Hill City High School band, taught a few yoga classes at the Y, enjoyed a couple of Rent-a-Mom gigs, and worked a little here and there, among a few other things.

As I write this I am in Sioux Falls in the home of some new friends, surrounded by good friends (who are all watching The King and I...which is why this is poorly written...I'm easily distracted by Rodger's & Hammerstein). We came here for the wedding of some other friends, where I got to see some old friends. Quite the delightful weekend.

I wish I could say that things are slowing down, and that I'll have more time to write in the next few months (which I do for my own benefit far more than yours), but I'd be kidding myself. Next weekend I'll be in Parkston with my other best friends putting on a weekend for middle and high school girls (side note: the opportunity to do ministry with my very best friends - both through Young Life, and church - has been one of the greatest blessings of my life...more on that some other time). Then I get to spend 10 days in the middle of June at Young Life's Camp Malibu in British Colombia with several of the planet's coolest people (a.k.a. - my Hill City Young Life kids). In July my little sis and I are making what is sure to be an epic trip to Minneapolis to see the New Kids on the Block AND the Backstreet Boys in concert (seriously...how cool are we?), immediately followed by a week at the lovely Crystal Springs Baptist Camp in Medina, ND...serving in the position of rec director (i.e., "Captain of Fun"). So that's the first half of my summer - I think I've got some pretty awesome stuff going on the second half too, but my brain can only handle six weeks at a time.

Anyhow, this was more or less a worthless post, but Yul Brynner is now demanding my undivided attention, so I'm off. Peace out!

Forty Days

Disclaimer: The following is a shameless plug for a fundraising campaign. You've been warned. :)

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As you are reading this, 884 million people are drinking water from unimproved (i.e. potentially dangerous) sources. One-third of those people live in sub-Saharan Africa. We can do something about it.

In 2005, Jars of Clay started a non-profit organization called Blood:Water Mission to personalize and raise awareness about and funding for the HIV/AIDS and water crises in sub-Saharan Africa. You can learn all about it here. Two years ago the fine folks at Blood:Water thought up a clever little annual campaign called "Forty Days of Water." You can read about it here.

Now, here's the part where I try to convince you to participate in the campaign:

"Forty Days of Water" works like this:

1. Starting on March 9 (following traditional lenten season) you give up all beverages, besides tap water, for 40 days.
2. During this time you save the money you would have spent on other beverages...coffee, orange juice, soda, coffee, wine, smoothies, coffee, tea, chocolate milk, Naked juice, kombucha, coffee...
3. At the end of the 40 days (April 23rd...which is actually 46 days - 40 fasting plus six sabbath) you take the money you saved and send it to Blood:Water Mission.
4. Blood:Water uses your money to build wells in Uganda, providing clean drinking water for many people who have never had any before.
5. Lives are saved.

Here is why you should participate in this campaign:

1. To help others. As my little bro put it, "Or, I could KEEP drinking my coffee, and still send them $50, and we're all happy." It's true. The money you will save by participating, and therefore contribute to the fundraising won't be a huge amount. Last year I only ended up sending in about $75. But the money is only part of the campaign. The other two parts are solidarity and awareness. By making water your only beverage for six weeks you are experiencing a tiny bit of what our friends in Africa experience everyday - limited choices concerning what they consume. And the more we have in common the more we care. The more we care the more we help. Also, giving up other beverages is conspicuous...in our culture, choices like this don't go unnoticed. So every time someone asks you why you're sitting in a coffee shop drinking hot water, you have a chance to engage them in conversation about an important issue they might not be aware of.
2. To help me. I know. It's terribly selfish. But this is my third year participating in the campaign, and I've learned that it's a lot easier to stick to it if you have comrades. I mean, I roast coffee for a living. If I could make a living drinking it, I would. So giving it up for six weeks requires a tiny bit of will power. And I am weak. So, so weak. So please...help a sister out and jump on my little water-drinking band wagon.
3. To help you. If you're like me, you probably consume to much sugar, aspartame, or caffeine. It won't kill you to cut it out for a month and a half. Just sayin', man. Just sayin'. Also, doing something to help other people is proven to lower your blood pressure.

So, there is my shameless plug. If you decide to participate, let me know so we can order water in coffee shops together.

Nothing of substance here, folks...

I've been sitting here at my computer for two hours now. Catching up on some reading, browsing pretty things I'll never buy on etsy.com, cleaning out my email inbox, perusing album reviews, and an assortment of other lazy-Sunday-afternoon-in-a-coffee-shop activities. And the whole time I've had this blog window open in the background, but nothing to put in the little blank box with the blinking...blinking...blinking...anticipating cursor.

Actually, that's a lie. I have plenty to write in here. In fact, I've started seven or eight different intro paragraphs and deleted every single one of them for one reason or another. Too cliche. Too whiny. Too shallow. Too self-centered. Too revealing. Too preachy. Too churchy sounding. Too trying-not-to-sound-too-churchy sounding. You'd think I was writing an article for the Times. Once upon a time, there was a period in my life when I could churn out 5-10 essays a week, either on my blog, or for school, or on a Perkins napkin. I could write 500 words at the drop of a hat...about the price of tea in the student union, or the history of my friend Matt's grandpa's hat, or even the mundane and/or trivial events of my day. But now I clearly take myself too seriously. This is a tragedy and something must be done. Not sure what, though. Probably should quit reading so much well written stuff....more tabloids. Then I could lower the bar, and be satisfied with my petty ramblings and excerpts from my running, inner monologue.

That being said...my inner monologue has sounded something like this lately: Am I doing my job well? Why am I so critical of people? What should I do with the change in my piggy bank when it's full? Do I like where my roommate put the couch? How can I love people better? Why do I continue drinking diet soda when I honestly believe it's terrible for me? How should I feel about health care reform and why? Who knew that your friends all becoming moms would change your life so much? Can wearing Chanel No. 5 automatically make you classy, even if you're wearing sweats and haven't washed your hair in two days? What does God think about my schedule? Am I a good friend? Did I forget to return Dinner for Schmucks to the redbox? Why did I waste two hours of my life on that movie? Should I keep doing yoga even though Mark Driscoll thinks it's demonic? What the heck is going on in the Middle East? How wrong is it that I find Justin Bieber strangely cute, even though he's, like, 12 years old? How much of what I do/read/eat/think/say/write/listen to/buy/wear is about projecting an image of who I want people to think I am? And very important...how late am I going to be to the movie I'm supposed to be at in 18 minutes, because I got carried away with this silly rambling?

You can eat bugs in America too...

I grew up in a subculture of Sunday school classes and VBS weeks and missions conferences that constantly begged the question, "Will you go?" In it's broadest sense the question was referring to the foreign mission field. But more specifically, at least in the mind of this eight-year-old girl, the call pertained to some undisclosed location in the Central African jungle, or perhaps the Amazon, where everyone ran around in loin clothes, no one spoke english, and the threat of Malaria was imminent. There were only two options for accommodations: a grass hut or a tree house, neither with running water. The job description mainly centered around sharing the Gospel with these people who had never heard Jesus' name - but accepted your words eagerly - and, secondarily, convincing your audience to quit eating each other. Oh, and there were spears involved. Definitely spears. The whole thing was vaguely reminiscent of the Jungle Cruise ride at Disney World. Or maybe not-so-vaguely.

"Will you go?" they begged, over and over.

And every time they asked this question I cried, "Yes! Yes! I WILL go! Pick me! Send me! I'll go!" (I cried this silently, within my heart, because the mood was always very solemn on such occasions, and I was a very good little eight-year-old girl when I was at church.)

Thus began a twenty-year obsession with ethnic food and tree houses and Jane Goodall and pretty much anything having anything at all to do with anything even remotely related to Africa. (As a side note, I find it somewhat ironic that these Sunday school teachers seemed to be painting as bleak a picture as possible of the situation. And the more dangerous and savage it all sounded, the more I fantasized about it.)

And so, when I graduated from college, put in my one year notice (yes....one year...I don't rush into things) at my then-job, and notified the management (upper-upper-management...that being God) that I was now available to go to Africa and save the lost tribes of the Congo (and eat bugs and give up hot showers) I think I half-expected Him to thank me profusely and put me on the next flight to a grass hut.

But He did not do this.

While I was busy spending endless late-night hours googling third-world missions organizations and emailing contacts in Lesotho and Mauritania, God was busy making arrangements for the actual next chapter of my life...thirty miles from my hometown. I was exhausting myself trying to kung-fu-kick down closed doors and stacking milk crates to climb in high windows, oblivious to the fact that God had just blown off the entire south-facing wall. (I'd like to think that God wasn't really frustrated with me during this whole time that I was barking up the wrong tree. That instead, maybe he was happy to have me distracted and out of the way while he did all the prep work. I'd like to think that.)

So one morning - four months before my declared "last day" - I was working at the clinic. I had just returned (literally - I'd pulled into town just six hours earlier) from a missions trip to the Dominican Republic and upon clocking-in had told my boss that yes, I would be taking Jesus to a jungle...just as soon as He, you know, gave me a lead...of any kind...at all. The trip had been a sort-of "testing the waters" for me and after a week of hauling bricks and learning Spanish hymns and hugging little Dominican children I had decided that the water was perfect and I was ready to dive in. Right now. Any moment. Just say when. All systems go.

On my lunch break that day I checked my voice mail and had a message from Corey, the area director of Young Life, the youth ministry I had been volunteering with for the last five years. He wanted to hire me. To start Young Life in Hill City. Today.

So I did what any reasonable girl would do. I locked myself in a podiatry exam room and called my mom while having one of those low-grade, jetlag/"I'm-in-my-early-twenties-and-I-have-an-ill-defined-idea-of-God's-will-for-my-life" induced anxiety attacks. The conversation, in short: my mom pointed out that I loved working with Young Life. I loved the hills. They actually wanted to hire me. And that for the last two years every plan I had cooked up to do ministry overseas had fallen apart. (She may have also said something about not letting me ever live in a different zip code than herself - not over her dead body. But that part of our chat is a little fuzzy.)

She's a wise woman, that mother of mine.

Four months later I came on Young Life staff.

Shortly after accepting the job, while I was still feeling a little shaky about my decision to commit to being in America for an undetermined amount of time, I ran across the parable in the book of Matthew, where Jesus says that "he who is faithful with little will be entrusted with much". I told myself that that is what God was doing with me right then. Giving me little (Hill City) to see if I could handle much (a third-world country).

I was an idiot.

To think that the kids in Hill City (population 970) were somehow less significant to God, that he wanted me to go there to "practice" ministry and then when I had honed my skills he would turn me loose on something more glamorous and noticeably self-sacrificing...well, like I said, I was being really dumb about my whole philosophy of calling and God's will, and greatly misapplying Jesus' words.

As I began to get to know the kids in Hill City, to hear their stories and see their pain, to be invited into their lives, to love them, to laugh with them, I realized that I was being given so, SO much. I began to be filled with a sort-of overwhelming, divine sense of responsibility. My job here was no longer something to be taken lightly, to be seen as some sort of dues I needed to pay before I got what I really was aiming at.

I've been in Hill City three-and-half years. Getting to share Jesus with all these amazing, hilarious, wonderful high school students. I have been blessed and broken and stretched WAY further than I could ever have imagined.

I do have electricity. I do have running water. I don't have malaria. But I do have a tree-house in my yard that I can sleep in whenever I feel like it.

I still dream about Africa. I got to go there and love on beautiful Swazi people for a week in 2009, and it was amazing. I still feel this tug to share Christ with one of the hundreds of people groups in the planet who have no access to the gospel, and to help meet their physical needs for food and shelter and medical attention, and to seek social justice for them, and to learn their languages and customs. I still daydream about raising my own children someday in a country where a culture of entitlement and self-centeredness isn't pervasive. I still hope to live in a grass hut.

Maybe God is preparing me for that. Maybe God is preparing me for something I haven't even dreamed up yet. Maybe God is preparing me to stay in Hill City for a long time. Who knows? But as long as I'm here, I'm going to strive to be faithful with the so much I've been given.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hund-....

2010 - I crunched a few numbers, and here is the last year in numerical review. Then I realized it sort of looks like a bad "Seasons of Love" cover. Ah well.

29,519 - Miles put on my car

11,278 - Miles negligently put on my car between oil changes

4,740 - Pounds of green coffee beans roasted

3,010 - Approximate ounces of coffee consumed

212 - Rounds of Dutch Blitz played

77 - Number of times we sang the Bumble Bee Tuna song at YL club, by request.

32 - Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins at my niece's 2nd birthday party

21 - Bottles of Sprite exploded on stage at Young Life's Timberwolf Lake in August

19 - Pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream eaten with my sister

18 - Pounds gained from eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream with my sister

11 - US States Visited

9 - Stitches received by YL kids, due to events occurring at YL club

3 - Babies born to best friends between October 19-November 5

2 - Rounds of Dutch Blitz won

1 - Stage light broken by exploding bottle of Sprite at Timberwolf Lake in August