Removed yet not exempt

A tornado touched down in the city where my sister and her family live. And I don't really like that one bit.

We have been talking in my British Literature class about suffering, and how far removed we are from it ... until it affects us personally. We have come to the conclusion that this is the way it must be, or we would be in constant grief over the death or suffering of someone. We must find a way to distance ourselves from pain, so that when it does affect us ... it can reach us. We have been talking about natural disasters and wars, and how we feel for those affected, but then our day continues. We see the commercial of the starving African children, and then the channel changes. Does that mean that we have a callused heart? I think not ... it just means we are protecting our heart.

I've been storm tracking, seeing the abundance of tornado touch downs in the south lately, and I've been more interested than ever before. Until this year, tornados were something that belonged in movies, in "Twister" or "Wizzard of Oz." Now I read of them and know that real people are affected. And then today. Today the tornado touched down in Madison County, right where my sister lives.

I was there about a month ago, visiting. Alabama, its a real place. There are real, breathing people there. And of those people, my sister, and her husband - away on his base, and my four neices and nephews that are so dear to my heart I barely believe that I can love my own children someday more. When I was there it rained, non-stop, not an Oregon rain, but a scary rain .... a rain that howls. In a sermon on Sunday, the Pastor said he believed the sound of howling wind is the closest thing we can understand to the groanings that the scriptures talks about. I think about that little apartment where my sister is, and of the earth groaning around her. And I want to be there.

I remember being a little girl and running to the arms of my sister when I was scared. It didn't happen very often, but it did happen. She was my comfort. I remember being so young, and having croup, and she rocked me on the front porch. When I was in Alabama last month, we found ourselves at the windows, night after night at 2 am, watching the lightening bolts and listening to the thunder crack and whip. And it was comforting that my sister was there.

One of the articles reporting on the storm in the south quoted a man saying that tornados were something he expected to happen in Arkansas, not MIsssissippi. I scofffed ... but cought myself, I do the same thing. We always expect it to happen to someone else, not to me, I'm exempt. Well, this tornado may be 2000 miles away, but it hits very close to home. I am not exempt.

I know that these events could scare me. The enemy would love to terrify my heart into believing that a natural disaster is creeping at the door of my life. And you know what? Maybe it is. Mt. Hood could blow up tonight, and I would be covered in ash. But I am not going to fear disaster. I am not going to fear fear. I serve a good God. A very good God indeed. And he has said that he has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love and sound mind.

We went for a walk

We took a walk today, me, myself, and I. We walked past my dream house, and an orange house, and a house with a breakfast nook. While we walked spring was above my head, and beneath my feet. We discussed amongst ourselves the neighborhoods, and the diversity that lies from one street to the next. How there is a sense of security when strolling in an over grown ally behind large gabled houses, but a sense of defense when walking down a broad street, on the sidewalk in front of an "apartment" complex where the name is scratched out.

We talked about how there is a class distinction here in America, here in Portland, though we assume it to be a foreign thing from our historical missions teachings. We fought between ourselves of whether we felt we were in a certain class, of whether we considered ourselves to be "higher" than another. One of us said no, absolutly not, there is no distinction, not here, not in America. Another one of us said yes, I think there is ... there is a feeling of entitlement. Me ... Ya, I feel it. I find myself feeling like I am exempt, like I am entitled to more. But I am so far removed from the reality of truth.

I, myself and I, we are applying now for DHS help, so I can live and eat. This is the very program I am attending school to better understand and change so that people are not dependant upon it. Am I exempt or entitled? I think not. One of me says, yes I am ... but the other part of me catches this attitude and wants to rid the other half of it. I don't want to feel entitled, I am not better. The Lord, he does not see class. There is no difference in his mind between the dream house, or the orange house, or the named etched out apartment complex.

We returned from our walk, and we picked a little bit of spring from the park where the homeless sleep. Its the same spring that grows on my safe bubbled campus. We put it in a clean vase, me, myself and I. We put that little bit of spring in a vase.

Rocking in La Grande

White House Coffee is located on 4th st. in downtown La Grande Oregon. Its an old plantation style house, remodled, cooler than any shop I've found yet in Portland. And that is saying a lot. In side there were rooms, one with books and a sliding ladder. The lady makes her own chai from scratch, she learned how when she was in Philidelphia. They serve stumptown coffee, which if you are anywhere away from Portland is a comforting home like feeling. They serve their coffee and chai in local handmade blue pottery cups that you can take home with you for only $10, too bad I just bought one at the Saturday Market! But the best part ... the best part of all, is that it had a porch. A massive covered front porch. White washed, with black trim and a bright red door. Twelve black rocking chairs surrounding black Ikea tables. We sat in those black rocking chairs and rocked. We rocked and drank our chair and coffee, and ate pastries acquired from the bakery on Second st. It was 62 degress and raining. Muggy, but under our covered porch, we were dry. We talked about weddings mostly, Sharells. And ours. About how wouldn't it be amazing if we could own a coffee shop like this? About how cool my mom was for learning to text! About Sarah going to India. And of what kind of people must have lived in that house when it was first there .... why was the house first there anyway? We talked about church, and school, and high school, and friends from high school. We talked about feeling old, and the season of life were in. And we kept rocking. We had no where else to be, rare yes, but we had no where else to be. So we just kept rocking. I love Saturdays when they are just as they should be. Sleeping in. Discovering a coffee shop that adds peace to the world and restoration to our souls. A Saturday with some of my closest friends, at a coffee shop, in La Grande.

Rocking and having no where else to go.

ripping love

your ripping me apart your tearing at my heart I'm shredding, bleeding, oozing your rubbing, digging, scraping you clean... and clean... and clean your purity is untouchable your love is unstopable rip me love, rip me apart please dont stop tearing at my heart

My life in song

feels like I've been here forever

why cant you just intervene

He is jealous for me

keep holding on

this is my prayer in the desert

when all within me feels dry

Blessed be your name

when the road's marked with suffering

that God is the God who provides

you never said the road would be easy

but you said that you would never leave

keep holding on

ill stop praying for an escape

and ill trust you God with where i am

and believe that you will have your way

you never promised that this life wasn't hard

but you promised you'd take care of me

I'll fight and defend

I will declare God is my victory

and He is here

keep holding on

just have your way

oh how he loves us

how he loves us oh

and even if i dont survive

ill still worship you with all my life

all of my life

in every season

you are still God

I have a reason to sing

Blessed be your name.

*This is a compilation of lines from a number of songs I have been listening to:

Oh How he loves us by John Mark Mcmillan

Dessert Song by Hillsong

Keep Holding on by Avril Lavigne

Have Your Way by Brit Nicole

Mama Sirens

I was at a MAX station and I heard a siren, an ambulance. And I said a prayer for the person the siren was rushing towards ... then I resumed back to my previous thought. It was like I was watching TV and a commercial break came, and went. But I went back to the commercial.
Why did I pray for the siren? What made me do that? I always do that.
Why do I always do that? Because my mom always did that.
I remember being little and driving in the van with mom, and every time she heard a siren she would pray. Lots of time in her head, and I would try to talk to her, and she wouldn't respond. Then she would tell me she was praying. Some times she would pray out loud, just start praying. Sometimes she would announce she was going to pray, sometimes she would ask me to pray. When she would ask me to pray, it was not one of those times that was up for discussion or debate, it was just time to pray. Sometimes she would pray when my friends were in the car. I would get embarrassed. I don't know why. I don't know why I would get embarrassed of her praying, all my frirends were Christians. But even so, she kept praying for sirens all those years. And now ... now I pray for those sirens.
I was sharing this with Angela and Heather. Ang said she prays for sirens too, becuase her mom always did. Heather said she was in the van one of the times my mom prayed ... and she has been praying for sirens ever since too.
Its kinda funny, cause its just this thing. Its a siren, but we hear them all the time. Its this habbit I did not know I had... and I have it because of my mom. I really like that. I keep being told thatI am like my mom, that I do things like my mom, and though we (Harmony and I) scrunch our noses at that ... we know it is a good thing. Because my mom is a mom who prays. Thank you Mama.