The Modern Mocha

"The modern mocha is a bittersweet concoction of imperialism, genocide, invention, and consumerism served with whipped cream on top." ~Sarah Vowell

My decision was an overwhelming one. I found Mocha Club (http://www.mochaclub.org/) at least a month ago and had yet to decide on a project to support.  How do you choose one, when there are so many in need?  But at only $7.00 a month, I knew without a doubt that this was a phenomenal outreach.  $7.00 a month.  People can rationalize not forking out the $30, $40, $50 a month for larger, better known programs – we need that money for our iphone bills, our hair appointments, or to pay for the 500+ channels on our plasma flat screen TV’s.  But $7.00...how can we defend not giving $7.00 a month?  The challenge for me, was deciding how to give.  What’s more important - child mothers?  HIV/AIDS?  Orphans?  Clean water?  Education??

Tonight I entered a contest on a friend’s blog – how many lattes would she drink this year.  Hmmm…if it were me asking this question, the answer would be easy – count the number of days in a year and then multiply by two.  Or maybe three, depending on what the year has in store.  While I was doing my calculations (my guess, btw, is 243) I was reminded again of Mocha Club and I decided tonight would be the night that I join.

For 45 minutes I went back and forth through the various projects.  There are only five, but they’re all important, I couldn’t decide on which one.  Giving doesn’t have to hurt and what I like the most about Mocha Club is that $7.00 a month is relatively nothing for most of us.  I could do them all…and then, when finances get tight, bail like so many others do, or I could keep putting it off, not giving anything because I can’t decide on the “best” one to support.  Or I could pick something and donate just two lattes a month.  I wanted to pick, but I couldn’t.  Slightly overwhelmed (and admittedly, slightly annoyed that my effort to give was stressing me out) I got up and poured myself a glass of water.

I drank the entire glass and poured another when it occurred to me that I was holding my decision: clean water.  My two glasses of Crystal Geyser bottled water came from my refrigerator because my local water, provided for free, “tastes funny”.  Granted it doesn’t taste like mud or spread disease, the way it does in the Sudan, but still...My third glass of water reminded me that I am truly blessed – blessed to have a favorite water when so many have none at all. How many times in the last year have I talked to people about what water they prefer?  Arrowhead is too salty; Dasani is distilled; she only drinks Poland Spring because she knows the source personally and he only drinks Fiji because…well, I can’t remember why.  My personal favorite is Deer Park and anything less is just only…“ok”.

So please - check out http://www.mochaclub.org/ and find a reason to give.  It doesn't have to be water, there are four other projects you could support.  But I’d be psyched if you would join with me – my team is Missmiangels (http://www.mochaclub.org/joinme/missmiangels - I know, I know, my creativity is astounding…thank you, thank you very much, thank you…) and give $7.00 a month so the Sudanese people can have clean water.  Remember, the human body is between 60 - 70 percent water...

Love y’all,
~M~

See Jane Run

I ran three miles today. Three miles, without stopping. Three miles, in intervals, which I’m learning is best for thick chicks with relatively zero background in physical fitness. Three miles all the same. Grinning almost the whole time.

God is working in my life and I can feel it every step of the way. I haven’t written in the last few days, because no one thing has risen to the top of my awareness. I am constantly bombarded by all of the different and unrelated ways that God is working and moving in my life. The only things that are consistent are that He’s working, and that I’m letting him. It feels amazing and exciting and encouraging…

I mark the calendar as time passes and I wonder what the next month will bring…52 weeks ago, I wouldn’t run if my hair was on fire. Where will I be 52 weeks from today…?

“…those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Isaiah 40:31

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.” 1 Cor. 9:24-25

"If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets…?” Jeremiah 12:5

“However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace.” Acts: 20:24

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” Hebrews 12:1

Love y'all,
~M~

Home Is Where the Heart Is

“The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence!”… “Remember Lot’s wife!”…I reminded myself of these saying for days – weeks – before I finally allowed myself to seriously consider the possibility that I may want to return to the Metro DC area. Still, tentative, I planned a visit to see how it would feel. Carefully I took mental note of every feeling. The giddy excitement when it was still six weeks away. The way I accidentally referred to it as “going home” in a conversation with a current co-worker. The stomach ache and the way I procrastinated when the time came to head to the airport to return to California. The way I stumbled when a fellow passenger on my flight asked me where I’m from – I caught myself saying “the DC area” before I replaced it with, “Washington state”.

In California I was fearful that I wanted to return to the area for an old flame. But this weekend I came to realize his influence is significantly less than I thought it would be. While I still saw all the places that could well have triggered memories we share, I didn’t think about him much at all. Not until Saturday, when I realized I could inadvertently run into him the next day at church. Immediately after the church service, I sat anxiously in my seat, not sure if I should or could make my way into the crowded lobby. To go, would be to risk interaction with someone significant from my past. To sit, would risk not facing the memories of this place the way my trip was meant to do. I stayed seated until the sanctuary was semi-empty and those moments were the only ones in my whole time there, when fear and emotion got the better of me.

I can honestly say, however, that was my only battle with fear and past hurdles. My overall assessment of my visit is that I really do like the whole DC area and I have to go back. I have to go home. Until this revelation, I looked at the DMV like it had snatched me, chewed me up and spit me out. I had failed there. Just days before my trip I finally summoned up the nerve to tell my mother (by email, the chicken way!) not only that I was going to visit but that I was doing it because I think I want to move back. My mom replied, displeased as expected and as I struggled to hold my ground, I came upon the key to it all – there is nothing wrong with Central California, it’s beautiful here. But I don’t fit here. I don’t fit here, and until recently I didn’t think I fit in DC either…but if given the choice, I would rather be in an environment where I’m forced to grow to fit, then shrink to fit.

DC challenges me to grow. I have to be patient, when English is not the first language of so many. I have to be organized – even to just get from Point A to Point B. I have to be decisive, because there are always so many options there. I have to be confident and outgoing because everyone has somewhere else to be (and usually as soon as possible). Since moving to California, I’ve developed the annoying trait of flushing scarlet when I’m talking in front of my office mates. Mianna, the public speaking major who never had a problem speaking in front of hundreds of people, now physically reacts when in front of just four. I’m shrinking already.

So I don’t know when or how – or where – I’ll go, but I’ve officially decided what my next step will be. The last three years have been an opportunity to discover more about myself and now that I know – and I want to go home. And now, I finally know where that is.

Love y'all,

~M~

Cage the Elephant

What a difference a year makes. One year ago, I was happy. My life was headed in a direction I’d prayed and prayed that it would go. I’ve thought about things since then and yup – life was good. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Some work had to be done, but everything I’d always wanted was coming together. And then, suddenly, one year ago to the day…it was over. I’ve been wondering all week how today would feel. Part of me thought maybe I wouldn’t even notice, since I’d long ago stopped tracking the months of progress and until only recently it hadn’t even occurred to me the “significance” of today. The other part of me, though, wondered if I would get out of bed at all. It’s been a year(!), but when I think about things for too long, I can still feel the ache in my chest.

What a difference a year makes. I live in California now – sunny, Mediterranean, California. A Shangri-la destination I never thought I’d live. I’m 30lbs lighter and three clothing sizes smaller. I work out five days a week and I can feel the changes in my body and my endurance. I’m gearing up for my first half marathon relay. I haven’t earned a single hour of sick leave since I moved here, but can see the pay off for the appointments with my councilor that I commute an hour for; I can see how facts and events in my past affected me. My relationship with my family is different and as a result, how I relate to the opposite sex is different too. I now live in a postage stamp sized studio cottage and I’ve never been happier – it’s just enough space for me, no more, no less. I’m learning so much from the teacher at my Bible study – an organization called Community Bible Study, that I first learned about in DC, but didn’t have the opportunity to attend regularly. I’ve found a great church that is welcoming and has lots of opportunities to get plugged in.

What a difference a year makes. I’m now healthy in mind, body and spirit. I have never felt better. About a month ago, I started wondering if the feelings I have of missing DC where because “the grass is always greener on the other side” or because I really do miss it. It was a daily thought, I couldn’t figure out the answer to. Do I really want to go back? I decided the best way to know for sure would be to visit. Then, as things came together for my visit, I was invited to also interview for a job while I was there. The opportunity prompted me to think more seriously – and literally – about whether or not I want to return.

What a difference a year makes. For so many years before this last one, there have been things in my life that went unacknowledged. Things that I saw, but had been taught or had learned to carefully and diligently turn my head away from and refuse to acknowledge. I very carefully ignored any figurative “elephants in the room” that where in my presence. I ignored and suppressed and made excuses, until I couldn’t do it anymore. For me, this has been a year of caging the elephants in my life to prevent any future damage...and it feels great. The interview in DC fell through, but I’m just two days away from my visit and I can’t wait. I see it as an opportunity to see a geographic area through healed eyes. Will it be brighter? More pleasant? Or maybe (more realistically) it will be the same, but I will be different. It’s an exciting thought…

Love y'all,
~M~