boxing day.

i am not canadian.

sure, i have the t-shirt with the maple leaf on it. and i definately say "eh?" a lot; though mostly because so often in my past i've refused to take my mom's advice and wear earplugs to concerts.

but i am about as american as they come. and we americans on the whole tend to take a lot for granted and not give much back. it's a societal ill on which i could expound at length, but for now let's just say we can learn a lot from the holidays observed by our commonwealth friends.

take boxing day. the day after christmas if you're from canada, the u.k. or the land down under, you participate in a "traditional celebration dating back to the middle ages, of which the primary practice is the giving of gifts to the poor or to people in a lower social class." (thank you, wikipedia.)

i'm not sure why america never got in on the action.

this year, some friends and i decided it was high time. a day at spent at the grocery store, k-mart and the family dollar yielded thirty pairs of socks, thirty pairs of mittens, and thirty brown bags bursting with a homemade (if makeshift) christmas dinner. we could easily have created one of those never-seems-to-get-old mastercard ads. "socks for thirty: $21.75."... you know the drill.

the external thermometer on the dashboard registered 17 degrees when we pulled up at the denver rescue mission. its neon sign declaring "Jesus saves" served to illuminate the huddled mass of people doing their best to keep warm and hoping against hope to be admitted for the night. the man we met who worked on staff said that most of them would make it in that night. but already this winter one man has frozen to death.

our thirty little packages were gone in three minutes.

so, too, were the thirty mcdonald's hamburgers we bought to supplement. the people who get in will be fed tonight. but to pull away without having satiated every person lining that street corner felt callous. it reminded me of something out of james; in the second chapter where he writes, "suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. if one of you says to him, "go, i wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? in the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead."

we did our best. we loved sixty people tangibly. but more than that, we found ourselves forced from our habit of turning a blind eye. we're determined to plan ahead, spread the word, do more.

like most of my friends, i'm in the process of being swept up in what it means to "live as an ordinary radical" thanks to shane claiborne's "the irrestistable revolution." his indefatigable search for authentic faith delves deep into the heart of what it means to follow Jesus. (listen to me. i should work in his publicity department.) he contemplates what it would look like if we, instead of embarking on hairbrained schemes and praying that Jesus would bless them, undertook the kinds of things that we know Jesus blesses.

and blessed are the poor.

i have lots of thoughts on this. how i wish they were coherent.

one thought right now though is first and foremost.
it's snowing again.
Jesus, keep them warm tonight.

discovery!

ray lamontagne has a song called "hannah."

i know, right? exciting.

my name isn't one that frequently inspires lyricists to put pen to paper and craft soulful melodies. their exertions seem to be reserved for girls with names like "adelaide," "jenny," and "michelle."

so i listened to it.
i don't think it'll make it onto his greatest hits album.
not really his best work.
but i will overlook its defects because i love the way he says my name.

"come to me, hhaanneh. hhaanneh won't you come on, to me?"

oh, i'm comin', ray. you don't have to tell me twice.

george leonard swallow.

my opa lost his wife nine years ago today.
with stooping shoulders he conveys how much he misses her.
hollow-chested, he walks with a limp now.
his once full beard lies across his sunken cheeks
white and wispy, like down.
but his laugh lines are there still,
even when his eyes are sad.
those eyes are dimming; they are watery but deep
the grey-blue of the sea he loved to sail.
they are the color of the atlantic that he conquered.
he is brave. he is very brave still.

p.g. wodehouse

and why i love him.

"the drowsy stillness of the afternoon was shattered by what sounded to his strained senses like g.k. chesterton falling on a sheet of tin."

here's a thought.

discovered something today.
essay writing has sapped the poetry in me.


if you need me, i'll be working on my metaphors.

my heart (is far away from here).

maris wrote me a song once.

i cried when she played it because it spoke what my heart couldn't, and that is something precious.

sometimes i get weighed down and my little "tear-cup" fills a little, but it's hard to find words, even to tell Jesus.

and i have two kindred spirits who know me inside and out, and i treasure that. we are little girls together, and we are wise beyond our years together, and we crave adventure and are content together. i am blessed.

i hope they know.

Christmas Cards.

Meet my happy family.



Merry Christmas from the Team.

to update.

It snowed yesterday.

I called home to report my first Seattle snow. It was snowing there too. Tyler Eide wasn't impressed: "Isn't it always snowing in Colorado?"

The family went Christmas tree cutting yesterday. I am sorry to have missed that tradition; it's a favorite. But Lerin and I participated in the selection and set-up of a Christmas tree for Tyler's house instead, and it wasn't a bad substitute.

Lerin Herzer is the best snow day companion I can think of. We bundled up and set out for lunch in Fremont, only to be met with the first few flakes as we walked. We stopped in the middle of the street to revel in them (read: we squealed a lot), and despite their sloppiness (Seattle snow is understandably wetter than what I'm used to) we were determined to eat lunch outside.

I feel bad for our waitress. But chicken tikka masala tastes better in the snow. And we left a good tip.

My little red boots (my pride and joy) are suede, and weren't very pleased with the soaking they got, but running through puddles hand-in-hand with Lerin on our way to the Fremont Library and then back to Peet's for vanilla chai was utterly worth it. They're second hand anyway.

We stopped at Dusty Strings to examine their latest crop of harps before joining the boys in a trek to Ballard for the perfect Christmas tree, which they purchased and tied securely (?) to the rearview mirrors of Tyler's not-so-snow-worthy Honda Civic. To its credit: we only spun out a few times.

But Tyler likes to drive in the snow; so on we ventured to the top of Queen Anne Hill, which is where the real magic was happening. And just when I thought Seattle couldn't get any more beautiful.

The boys' house is tastefully decorated with lots of twinkle lights and holly from the trees outside, and the tree is only slightly lopsided.

Four days 'til Christmas. :)