Capitol City

Hello Foot, Meet Mouth

2011-12-02T07:41:00.000-06:00

One of the things I get to do at my job is help men and women obtain vital documentation such as a birth certificate, social security card, state ID or license. I've practically become best buddies with the people at the MVA, and I've been known to call other states to try and get a birth certificate for someone who didn't know how to spell his mother's name.

Yesterday, I was helping Sally, a resident here, get her birth certificate. Sally (not her real name) is in her thirties and a mother of seven- yes, seven- children. She's hilariously funny, loves to cook and loves her children fiercly.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number to the Department of Health, as Sally sat in my office.

me: "Hi, my name is Liz and I work with incarcerated men and women. I'm working with one young lady to help her get her birth control."

CRAP! What did I just say?!!

"I mean birth CERTIFICATE, birth CERTIFICATE" I yelled into the phone, as the lady on the other end of the line died laughing.

We're just trying to be realistic

2011-09-23T17:14:00.000-05:00

The other night- after a Sunday spent looking at houses- M and I put together a list of what we would want in a house. Of course I had to share.

Priorities:

3+ bedrooms (2+ upstairs)

2+ bathrooms (1+ upstairs)

full basement with separate entry for rentable apartment

has NOT been fully renovated or flipped

back yard (or yard generally) large enough for garden

good bones (not more than 100k in renovations needed)

brick or wood exterior (not asbestos or vinyl siding)

front or back porch (covered)

Pluses:

1+ Fireplace

detached garage/workshop

basement with bath & kitchen included already

detached single family home

original wood floors in good condition

second story porch

central air

large master bath

Jacuzzi out back

Wine cellar

Sauna

55 bedrooms

indoor water slide

horse

original maid and butler

dungeon

trap doors

library

money bin

treasure (preferably enough to cover the rest of the cost of the house)

chapel and chaplain

brewery

distillery

smokehouse

tobacco curing shack

teepee

Let's be honest here: the original maid and butler are non-negotiable, people. And I'm hoping that I'll finally, FINALLY, get to actually keep a horse at my house, like I used to beg my parents for.

I guess it made a lasting impression...

2011-08-22T12:14:00.000-05:00

Five years ago, a group of friends from our church here in DC used to go down every Friday afternoon/evening to the sand volleyball courts by the Potomac River and play a few games of pick up. Having played volleyball very, very momentarily in high school, it was always a fun time to connect with friends, get a tiny bit of exercise and impress people with my amazing serve. Which I'm obviously very humble about.

One Friday that summer, we had just finished a set of games and decided that the logical step after completing said games was to go gorge ourselves on local Mexican food. A little place down on the Hill (where 99.9% of our friends lived back then) was chosen and we made the drive across the city, sweaty and sandy, but in a good mood and ready for even more of a good time.

Sitting down at a booth once we arrived, I looked up and realized that there were more friends there than I had expected. So of course I scooted (scootched?) down the bench, hoping to make room. And then I felt a very sharp, sharp pain and a little throbbing.

My foot was gushing blood, punctured by a broken beer bottle that was lodged under a table.

I don't remember exactly what happened next, but I know I didn't scream or cry. I think I motioned that my foot was gushing blood (in case people couldn't see it) and I tried to hop back to the bathroom of the restaurant. Did I mention that my foot was gushing blood? Spurting, really, is a better way to describe it. I'm pretty sure there was blood on the walls.

Finally making it back to the bathroom, I began to feel light-headed. Did I mention blood was shooting out of me? I sat down in the bathroom and was immediately swarmed by well-intentioned women who worked at the restaurant. Unable to understand what they were saying to me, all I could really understand was, "This will stop the bleeding" as they poured coffee grounds on my foot. Reader, I swear to you that I am not making this up. Thankfully, one of our friends finally had the bright idea that I needed to get to the emergency room, and so one of the guys carried me out to his car (this would have been somewhat romantic had I, 1) not been gushing blood and 2) been in a clear state of mind). Finally arriving up at the emergency room, the doctor took one look at me, told me the worst part was the coffee grounds that had been poured into the wound and then gave me three little stitches to sew me up (did I mention he had to first dig out the coffee grounds? Oh yes. That was not pleasant.)

Needless to say, the restaurant felt very, very bad. They covered the medical costs, but still felt remorse for the "emotional damage" that had been done. How to repair that? Why, free drinks every time I came in of course! And reader, I'll be honest. I took advantage of it (as did some of my friends). When a bill would come near, I would wince and say, "oh, my foot," always guaranteed that the bill would be taken care of.

(Ok, I didn't really do that. But I thought about it once or twice.)

This past weekend, over five years later, M and I were craving Mexican food and decided to stop by Las Plas for the first time since moving back. We shared a meal, I had sangria, he had a beer, and we were about to ask for our check when.....

Free drinks appeared. Not just one, but multiple. Like, flowing. And, sure enough, the waiter who had been there on Bloody Friday walked over to me to say hello. Did you catch that the cutting incident was OVER FIVE YEARS AGO? The waiter even asked me where I had been the last two years (I have good friends who didn't even realize we were gone!) He said, "I still remember you. It's good to have you back."

I guess it made a lasting impression.

Seven Words

2011-08-01T16:52:00.000-05:00

I don't know why Mr. L is at the Pre-Release Center** and I may very well not want to know. A man in his mid-40s, Mr. L has spent most of his life in and out of prison, most of it being in.

Mr. L says "I can't read real good." What he means by that is that he can't read at all. Besides his name, there are very few things that he can spell correctly or even write; even though he graduated from high school (yes, you read that right) his basic language, writing and reading skills are lower than those of the 3rd and 4th graders I tutored in Chicago.

This is not ok.

And so one of the mentors that I work with, Miss J, tutors him for 3 or 4 hours a week. Persistent, hardworking and always affirming, Miss J takes hours out of her schedule (during the middle of the work day at that!) to come and spend with Mr. L, literally starting with the ABCs. Miss J constantly has to remind Mr. L that the levels stated on the books they're using (ages 5-6, grade K, 1 and 2) aren't what's important; what's important is that he's learning.

Last week, Mr. L had a test. Write down, in order, the days of the week. Miss J was certain he could do it, and told him that she knew he could. "You already know the last three letters of each and every one of them. All you have to remember is the others!" Miss J reminded Mr. L. But after just a few minutes, Mr. L shoved his paper across the table, filled with what could only be described as jibberish.

"Mr. L, you know this. You can do this. You know the answer!" Miss J reaffirmed as she pushed the paper back across the table to Mr. L.

And this time, after another 3 or 4 minutes, Mr. L slowly passed the paper across the table. "There, I'm done. I think I got it."

Glancing quickly across the words, Miss J knew that he had written each and every day- all seven- perfectly and in order. "You did it!" Miss J cried.

And what Mr. L said next is what brought me to tears as Miss J told me this story over lunch one day. "Never in my life have I spelled seven words correctly, all at one sitting. I didn't think I could do it."

Seven words. And a jolt of self-confidence so desperately needed.

_______________

**The Pre-Release Center is a county facility at which inmates may serve out the last 3-12 months of their sentence. Focused on rehabilitation, employment and support, the PRC provides the much-needed step between full incarceration and civil society. As the Welcome Home Program Coordinator, I get to match the residents of the PRC up with mentors from around the greater Washington area.

A new look

2011-07-17T10:20:00.000-05:00

Having somewhat settled into life back in DC, the next obvious thing to do was to update the blog. But because I am:

1) technologically slow
2) somewhat lazy when regarding said technology

I...

3) decided to keep the blog address (hydeparkheroes.blogspot.com) as it is and just change the title and pictures. Nifty!

The main picture you see here at Capitol City was taken last night, as the last few guests of a small "welcome home" party grilled, talked and watched the sun set and the moon rise. It was pretty breathtaking, if I do say so myself.

And I have a feeling that our life here, especially in the next few years, is going to be breathtaking as well. From new jobs (me with inmates, M with economists), to a new apartment- and hopefully someday soon a new home of our own- to old and new friendships, the whirlwind has already begun. But in a city and among a population that likes to pride itself on how busy they are, what does it mean to live well here, to work for and create calm and peace in every day life, and to live intentionally in relationship, where most people have a deeper relationship with their blackberry or iPhone? I think we have a lot to learn.

And one last thing. You'll notice that the title of this blog is Capitol City (hence the picture), not Capital City. Though both could work in this particular context, because I'm always trying to make the world a better place, I leave you with a link concerning the difference between the word "Capitol" and "capital." It's really not that hard, people. Thanks, Grammarist.

It's good to be home.

All That's Left

2011-07-01T07:43:00.000-05:00

All that's left now in our apartment is a blow up mattress, a couple pairs of shoes, some clothes and odds and ends that will make it in the car for our travel across country.

As much as we have been looking forward to this move, it's hard to believe it's actually here. Driving down Lakeshore one of the last times yesterday, I was struck by how much we don't deserve any of the amazing blessings that have been given to us, especially in these last few weeks. How many times did we doubt that something would work out? How many times did we (ok, maybe I) question if God really wanted us back in Washington, DC, as nothing seemed to be coming to fruition? How many times did I wonder if He would really provide for all of our needs?

And now we're here, on our last day in Chicago. While I've been preparing and hoping, I will still be sad to leave many things of this city behind. An amazing community group (and three of our favorite kids in the world), an incredible job and rent about half the price of what we'll pay in DC. Even the skyline, the lake, the views will be something I no doubt reminisce on, as I look out at the squatty (though beautiful) DC skyline.

There's still quite a lot to get done today. Bank run, cable box return, POD pick up, final car packing and clothes washing, plus my last day of work. But tonight we will make sure that we celebrate this city that has been home for the last 22 months, that has been a place of education for both M and me and- most importantly- a place of substantial, beautiful growth.

And finally, it's official

2011-06-23T10:38:00.000-05:00

Well, it's official. M and I are moving back to Washington, DC!

Today, M accepted a position doing his "dream job," and I accepted a position last Friday working for an organization I'm really excited about as well. It has been amazing to see these things come together in just a matter of weeks.

And the reality is that- while we've worked hard and done our "due diligence"- we also know that we have been blessed beyond measure in getting both of these positions. As I've said before, the health and wealth gospel that so dominates even mainstream American churches tends to make us think that if we love God then He's going to bless us with a job, a happy family and a white picket fence.

How wrong we are to believe that this is the case. God doesn't promise us material blessing. He promises us more of Himself.

It is with that perspective that we are, therefore, overwhelmed (in a very good way) by what we have before us. And we are so thankful that we have this opportunity. Next weekend, July 2nd, we'll trek halfway across America, back to our home of DC. Sure, we don't know yet exactly where we'll be living, but hey, that's minor, right? We'll finally be able to take a couple of days off and enjoy the Eastern Shore, and will end our "holiday week" with M's family in Alabama. And then, once again, the hard work of laboring with Him to see His kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven, will start again.

Now, what to do about the name of this blog...

My Proudest Moment

2011-05-23T22:21:00.000-05:00

On Friday, the Breakthrough Youth and Family Services had its 10th annual Youth Awards Night. Dinner under a tent, a robotics demonstration, artwork, dance and drums, the night was absolutely awesome for the 450 or so friends, family, youth, volunteers and donors who showed up. As a tutor myself on Thursday afternoons, I was excited to celebrate the hard work of our kids.

And yet the thing that struck me the most about the night wasn't the awards or the cute dance or the great bucket drummers. It was this video, "My Proudest Moment" (which I actually didn't get to see until today). Watching it reminds me of the wonderful work that Breakthrough is doing. That God is doing through Breakthrough.

My proudest moment? Being even just a tiny, itsy-bitsy little part of the work that God is doing in this community and in these kids' lives.

A HPH take on the Royal Wedding

2011-05-01T10:20:00.000-05:00

Did you hear? Prince William married his long-time girlfriend, Catherine Elizabeth Middleton!!! I know, I was completely shocked when I heard it, too; I mean there had been NOTHING on the news for weeks, no months, about the blessed event. And in true British royal style, a small, intimate affair was completely pulled off without even a hint to the mass media. Yet again, the royal family has succeeded in keeping their laundry (dirty or otherwise) out of the public eye.

Right.

So what did we here at Hyde Park Heroes think of the wedding? I'm so glad you asked! Because I am a true connoisseur (yes, that's spelled right) of all things royal as of, well, yesterday, I thought I would fill you in on my thoughts on the matter.

1. It's a ghost!

When Kate first stepped out of her hotel into her sweet ride, I thought "Oh, she's borrowing Grace Kelly's dress! What a symbolic gesture to the hundreds of thousands of Americans who care more about this wedding than the Brits do! And what a great way to save cash in troubled times!" Upon closer examination, of course, I realized that while the dress did look strikingly similar to the former Queen of Monaco's 1950s look, Kate's dress was beautiful in and of itself. I really do mean that. And of course showed a lot more skin. Which is always appropriate for a wedding, right? I mean have you ever seen "Say Yes to the Dress"? Especially that see-through "looks like lingerie dress" that all the Jersey girls love? Classy. We've come a long way in 50 years...

2. Can't see the forest for the trees

While I like to think that the trees that were brought into Westminster Abbey made the whole affair look a little more, well, "British country shabby chic" I would have been SO PISSED if I was one of the guests who had flown in from Lesotho or Israel or the Jersey Shore or wherever and was stuck looking at a stupid British tree. Wow, it's a oakus maximus. How thoroughly boring.

3. Not his best side

I get that dear William isn't supposed to watch his bride walk up the aisle (which, good Lord, took long enough! Get there already!) Unfortunately, it also gave us a 3 1/2 minute view of his bald spot. Poor guy; each day he looks more like his fuddy duddy father (are you allowed to say that about the future King? Of course! That's why we fought the revolution!) Someone get this man some Rogaine!

4. See no evil, hear no evil...

I literally laughed out loud when I saw this picture.

Not because kiss one and two were both slightly awkward, but because of the priceless face (and hand placement) of the little girl on the left. Poor thing, it was so loud! And besides, she's only like what, four? Enough with all the pomp and circumstance already. Someone get that girl a lollipop.

5. I think someone wore this to prom

I'm sure Pippa is a nice, sweet, ladylike young woman, even if her name is horrible. But I'm also pretty sure that I saw this very same dress at our high school prom in 2000. Is she going retro?

______________________________

Ok, ok, I've been a little harsh (and I haven't even mentioned the ridiculous fascinators worn by some members of the royal family). But when we spend so much time thinking and talking about one royal wedding, we're inviting in a few snarky comments. That said, it truly was a beautiful day and, hopefully, a sign of good to come for the royal family. More importantly, I think it would do us good to remember the words of the Anglican priest who gave the homily:

Every wedding is a royal wedding with the bride and groom as king and queen of creation, making a new life together so that life can flow through them into the future.

Every wedding is about more than who wore what, what the flowers looked like or the hats that someone wore. Every wedding reminds us of our place in creation. Every wedding reminds us of the gift of oneness. And ultimately, every wedding reminds us that we are the bride of Christ.

Now to pick out my tiara...

If You had been here...

2011-04-26T21:37:00.000-05:00

As of late, I've been struggling with a few specific issues where reality has not lined up with my expectations. Frustrated, tired and ready to just give up, my mentor encouraged me to turn again to the story of the death of Lazarus.

In case you don't remember the story (found in John 11), Lazarus- the brother of Mary and Martha- was ill. The sisters, knowing the healing power of Christ, sent for Jesus. But instead of immediately coming to their aid, Jesus takes his sweet time, eventually showing up after Lazarus is dead.

Mary and Martha are pissed (that's the Liz translation.) First Martha confronts Jesus: ""Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. ²²But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you." Then, a little later, it's Mary's turn: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."

The Gospel tells us that Jesus was deeply moved by Mary's weeping (apparently Martha's matter-of-factness was less moving), and upon seeing the dead Lazarus, Jesus himself weeps. Eventually, we see that Jesus wakes Lazarus from his slumber, and lots of people believe. Yay!

But the part that really hit me this time isn't the healing; there is something about the words of both Martha and Mary that sum up almost exactly how I feel about some of the things I'm struggling through right now: "if YOU had been here, my brother would not have died." It's the feeling of, "Come on God, you're the ONE PERSON who can do something about this!" "If you really loved me, this wouldn't have happened/been happening."

But what does Christ do? Wave his magic wand? (Well, eventually, yes. But that's not the point.) He, first and foremost, meets each woman where she is- validating their frustrations and standing with them in their struggles.

I think sometimes when I struggle with things that I know God could do something about, I miss the part in the middle where Christ enters in with our sufferings. That he literally wants to mourn with us. I'm so quick to have him "work His magic" that I forget that a big part of real relationship is allowing Him into these horribly intimate moments of despair and hurt.

And then I see His words at both the beginning and end of the passage: "Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him" and Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

I have to believe that the experience of frustration has some sort of purpose in producing belief. I don't really understand it completely, but I can't deny that it's very clearly there. There is something to be said about believing we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living and, ultimately, as Jesus himself says in this passage, rest in the promise of life eternal: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die."

I've been reminded and encouraged that Christ wants to enter in with us in our times of pain. Not just so He can "make it better" but because this is what real relationship looks like. And at the same time, I'm encouraged that He does sometimes do things to help our unbelief, to encourage us to trust and believe more deeply in Him, His providence and His grace, ultimately pointing to the greatest thing He ever did, laying down his life for us.

A Big Week

2011-04-17T08:52:00.000-05:00

We'll be spending Monday night through Sunday morning in DC. It's a big trip.

M was recently selected as a Presidential Management Fellow, and this week is the three day job fair (hard to explain exactly how this works, but it's not just a normal job fair- people are actually interviewing you and hiring you, if not on the spot, then within a week or two.) And since it overlaps nicely with Easter- when our favorite church has our favorite service (and it also happens to be M's birthday), I get to come along, too!

It's a big week. The reality that we will be moving back to DC once M graduates is finally really sinking in...and I honestly can't hide my excitement.At the same time, there are a lot of unknowns- what exactly will M be doing? What will I be doing, besides basking in the glow of being back in DC? Where will we live? How muggy and hot will it be this summer in DC? You know, life-changing questions.

So if you're the praying type, we would definitely appreciate your prayers. Not just for a safe trip, but for a successful trip. That those positions M is most interested in would also be the most interested in him. And that, ultimately, he would be able to use the skills and abilities he's been given to make our country a better place. (Cue cheesy, patriotic music. And a few waving flags.)

Holding Our Arms

2011-03-28T11:32:00.000-05:00

March has been quite a hard month. While there was a wonderful week of vacation with my family in California and a couple of days of fun for me with friends in DC, the reality of the end of M's time here at the University of Chicago is sneaking up rather quickly.

Most of our days have been spent applying to jobs, networking as much as possible and lamenting the current federal budget problems and general economic climate. Now is not the easiest time to be looking for a job, to say the least.

And so we have prayed. And cried, and prayed and cried. We are asking God to continue His faithfulness to us, and to remind us of His goodness. And yet even in this, we must know that His goodness does not mean that M will get a job that he loves or that he'll get a job at all. Of course that is what we hope for, but God's goodness to us does not always manifest itself in the way that we would like it. I know too many people who love the Lord with all their heart and yet have no job, no home or no family. God's goodness is that we are allowed to be worshipers of Him, to know Him more and to be in His presence, not that we have a nice job and a big family.

Last week, I hit a wall. Exhausted, overwhelmed and feeling discouraged, I asked friends to pray for me, even as I felt that I could no longer pray for myself. And in that time, God reminded me of this passage:

Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed; and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed. But Moses' hand grew weary; so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; so his hands were steady until the sun set. And Joshua defeated Amalek and his people with the sword. (Exodus 17:11-13)

I am so thankful to those who have been holding up our arms, even as we are exhausted and feel like we can't do this anymore. I'm so thankful for a stone to sit on and the arms that have taken the weight off my arms. And I am so thankful that as the sun sets, we are assured victory, even as we do not know exactly what that victory will look like.

History

2011-03-03T21:51:00.000-06:00

M and I have recently gotten in to learning more about our families and their history. As a student of history, what others before us have experienced has always been fascinating to me; sometimes when I think about what my grandparents or great-grandparents saw in their life, I'm blown away by how privileged we are to live the life that we live.

In this case, I'm particularly thankful I wasn't around in the time of M's great uncle.

Robert Laird, Jr. was 24 when he was (according to the Pensacola Journal) murdered by a mad Italian barber (who may or may not have been in the mafia.) According to reports, Robert had accused said Italian barber of shaving him out of a dirty cup. Holding a grudge, a week later, the barber murdered him.

Oh, but it gets more bizarre.

Arrested a few weeks after the murder, the Italian barber set himself on fire, placing a burning blanket over his head and burning himself from the waist up. He did not actually succeed in ending his life, however, and suffered on another three months before succumbing to complications from his wounds.

Ah, family history.

The Coming Spring

2011-02-21T19:03:00.000-06:00

On days like today, it's hard to not be discouraged by the continual gray of February. Rain, sleet and snow seem to be nearly a daily companion, causing headache-inducing traffic, short tempers and angry mouths (or fingers). I know that spring is around the corner, and yet sometimes I cannot see it for the dreariness that seems to surround the city.

And yet there is reason to hope. New grass, a day of sunshine, temperatures that reach into the 50s. Just little tastes of what is to come, a glimpse into the land of the living, a promise that the dead of winter is not a year-round reality.

We've had little glimpses of our own "spring" in the last few weeks. A good meeting here, a positive conversation there, reconnection with old friends and the excitement of travel and relaxation soon. All little encouragements of what is hopefully to come.

And so we will continue to watch and pray, looking for more positive signs of the coming spring. And at the same time, I will continue to pray that I will treasure the winter for what it is good for- contemplation, reconnection, quiet. Even in the dreariness of winter there is still purpose. I don't want to miss what is here, now, because I can only think of what is to come.

There is purpose, even in winter.

The best brussels sprouts you will ever eat

2011-02-03T17:32:00.000-06:00

Quite a statement, right? But friends, believe me, these are some dang good brussels sprouts. (And who knew it was "brussels" and not "brussel"?)

I was first turned on to brussels sprouts from a friend who told me about the amazing sprouts she had at another friend's house. Then last night, I consulted Mark Bitman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian- a gift from another friend (did you know M was a vegetarian until he suddenly started eating meat on our honeymoon? True story) added some bacon and came up with this.

1 lb brussels sprouts, trimmed and cut in half.
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 slice uncooked thick-cut bacon (you can add more), diced
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

1. Coat a large oven-safe skillet with olive oil. Heat oil on the stove top on medium to medium-high heat.
2. When oil is heated, add brussels sprouts, cut side down. Sprinkle with garlic, bacon, salt and pepper.
3. DO NOT TOUCH THE SPROUTS. If you're anything like me, this will be extremely hard. But just let them be! It's better for them, and for you. Trust me. If you have to do something, you can shake the pan a little.
4. After approximately ten minutes, remove sprouts from stove top, stirring. Do you see their golden beauty? Yep, that's because you left them alone.
5. Place skillet in 450 degree oven for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
6. Enjoy the best brussels sprouts you will ever eat.

The Intruder

2011-01-29T16:20:00.000-06:00

"What is HE doing here?"

I looked up from my fried chicken and noticed a man who had stepped just inside the doors of the fellowship hall. He cautiously moved forward, as if even he was unsure of what he was doing.

"What could that black man possibly want?"

His pants were worn, his boots had some paint on them and he wore a Gators sweatshirt. He seemed slightly uncomfortable, but almost as if he was looking for someone.

I looked away. I figured he probably had a meeting with someone, and whoever had said those comments just must not have known he was here for an appointment. Right?

Until five minutes later, when he was still standing there, and the whispering (in groups at this point) had gotten louder. Looking back over at him, there was something in his face that struck me deep inside. As the groups of whispering grew ever louder, something inside me snapped. And I walked over to him.

"The Gators weren't so hot this year were they?"

A smile spread across his face. He replied, "I know, they sure were missing Tebow."

"I would too if I were them!" I laughed. And his smile grew.

But then, one of the whisperers walked up to us. "What do you want?" she said, a fierce look on her face as she approached him. Immediately his face changed.

"Is the pastor here?"

"No."

"Well are there some members from the church that I could talk to?"

"I'm a member of the church. You can come in the kitchen and talk with some of us."

And with a solemn look, he followed the woman into the kitchen.
_______________________________________________

I don't actually know what happened to the man. I don't know if he was looking to talk to someone, or was asking for money or food or a ride somewhere. But whatever it was, he was bold enough to walk into a church- a church, imagine that!- and look for help. And I know he was turned away.

When he walked through those doors, he wasn't greeted with the arms of Jesus. He wasn't even greeted with a smile. He was greeted as an intruder, an outsider not just of the literal church and its members but an outsider in respects to race and, judging solely on his clothing, probably economic class. The man's situation- that he would walk into a church he doesn't know and ask for help- hit me deeply.

But even more heartbreaking was the church's response. I don't think the church necessarily should have given him money, if that was even what he was asking for (though I do believe that we should most often err on the side of grace). But the man wasn't even treated as a man, but more like an annoying fly that needed to be swatted away. He was interrupting our meal, afterall. His humanity forgotten, there was no reason to talk with him, to welcome him in or to show him even one bit of dignity.

And I wept.

Forgive us, Lord, we pray.

An unexpected trip to Florida

2011-01-19T18:23:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow morning- 6am to be exact- we head out to Pensacola to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of M's grandfather.

Pop has struggled with Alzheimer's for a while now; I remember meeting him just once a couple of years ago when he was still cognizant and living at home. But M and family have shared quite a few stories with me, making his passing just a little bit more bittersweet.

And with his passing, I've been thinking a lot about his generation- The Greatest Generation- and all that they experienced. Pop himself fought (and lost an arm) serving in Europe in World War Two. He raised and loved four children and 4 grandchildren and worked hard all of his life. And from what I gather, he was pretty darn funny, too. The Greatest Generation strikes me as a generation who understood sacrifice, knew the realities of and importance of family and knew how to kick back and relax with a good beer. They didn't need the internet, they didn't even need cell phones. And while I know it's always popular to look back with a nostalgic glance that often doesn't see clearly, I can't help but think theirs was- and is- a generation to be respected and emulated.

2011: The Year of the Spreadsheet

2011-01-02T11:52:00.000-06:00

I have a weird love for Excel spreadsheets.

Chalk it up to my three years in monitoring and evaluation (also known as that time in my life when I was surrounded by people much, much smarter than me). Or maybe it's the simplicity they afford, with all the magic formulas out of view. Or maybe it's all the colors you can use to color code things. Pink for economic analysis! Green for financial! If/then statements! Pivot tables!

Even now, as a Volunteer Coordinator, my love for spreadsheets is pretty evident. Good Lord, if you had seen my Christmas Store matrix. 4 tabs of spreadsheets, y'all! What can I say, I love them.

But I have to be honest. Beyond listing out info on schools M was going to apply for (two years ago now), I've never really used spreadsheets in my personal life. They've always been relegated to that area also occupied by suits, 7am alarms and sack lunches.

Until now.

Just yesterday, I realized that spreadsheets are a great way to create a family budget. And they're great for calculating a "desired salary" for the job M will hopefully be getting in the next few months. (Sidenote: his desired salary is that amount at which we can live in a small apartment and pay bills.) And they're also great for planning meals, creating an easy shopping list (and remembering if you had stuffed peppers three days ago) and tracking what you're actually eating. Yippee! My love can now come home!

So hear ye, hear ye! I now pronounce 2011 the year of the spreadsheet!

I'll be sending you a template with all the appropriate formulas later.

It's the season of giving. Even for political candidates.

2010-12-28T18:32:00.000-06:00

Whatever your political persuasion, I think what Bill, Breakthrough's Chief Operating Officer, says is key: it's important for people in our community (and any community) to feel that their voice matters, that someone will be thinking about them when they cast a vote or make a policy. I know the reality of politics. But I also know that good policy matters, even- and especially- in urban communities like East Garfield Park.

And let's be honest...the video is a pretty great advertisement for the work of Breakthrough!

In the Bleak Midwinter

2010-12-11T17:26:00.000-06:00

Ok, it's not quite "midwinter" yet. Is it even winter yet? God, please, say it is. Because I'm already cold and grumpy. In a loving, happy sort of way, of course.

Things have been really crazy lately, due to my role in the Breakthrough Christmas Store (it's not too late to donate new toys and gifts for parents to purchase at a discounted rate!) and M's finals (which he ROCKED by the way! Or at least has rocked the two he's taken at this point- one law class and one policy class). But we've still made an effort to get out of the apartment and enjoy the beauty of the season.

First stop, the University of Chicago Harper Library (please note: there are not actually any books here. Apparently there were at some point.) I like to sit here and just stare. Come to think of it, that might freak people out who are there studying...especially since I usually have a goofy grin on my face as I'm sitting.

M's enthusiasm is somewhat less than mine. And by "somewhat less" I mean that he doesn't bat an eye. Chalk it up to being surrounded by the beauty of the campus on a daily basis. I, however, just FEEL smarter sitting here. Smrtuhr. That's me.

Also, it sort of reminds me of Harry Potter and/or Oxford, which both make me happy. Sigh.

Then, since you know M is German and all, we have to stop by the Christkindlmarket.

It's the largest German Christmas market outside of Germany apparently. And they sell authentic German Christmas stuff at authentic (read: outrageous) European prices! Yesss!! It's also a great place to have a reindeer propose to you, as one of our Breakthrough interns, Rae, found out. (They're writing about them all over the world, y'all! Seriously, google it. Oh and watch the video on YouTube. I like the homeless lady at the end.)

And when we're tired of walking around, it's always nice to come back to the apartment and relax.

This afternoon, I made some wonderful granola (healthy) and some of my favorite cookies covered in sprinkles (not so healthy). Does anyone else remember eating these cookies as a child? They always remind me of being a kid. Later, as the next winter storm hits tonight, we'll have homemade vegetable soup with bread and prosciutto on the side. Ah, the life.

So maybe it's not such a bleak time of the year after all. Beautiful buildings, yummy food and fun markets make the snow much more bearable. Oh, and then of course there's moments, as you sit in the holiday traffic, when you see gems like this...

Merry Midwinter!

It's a Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln, Johnson Christmas

2010-11-22T23:46:00.001-06:00

When I was in high school, I took AP American History where, in an all-night study session for the big test, I memorized the names of all the presidents to the tune of Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

Many times since then, I've impressed people with this stupid human trick and thoroughly amazed and enlightened them, no doubt. And if this isn't a reason to invite me to your holiday party- I can do Festivus, Christmas, Kwanzaa or Hanakkuh/Chanukkah/Hawnickuh- I don't know what is. Granted, I've had to add another Bush and an Obama, but it's relatively easy if you just smash everyone past Carter into one breath. (Please don't shoot me for that comment, presidential historians.) And come on, it IS pretty cool when you think about it.

That is, until "Christmas music on the radio" season comes along. And oh, friends, it's already come along. In fact, it came along about a day or two after Halloween.

And when it does, all of a sudden, when the beautiful Christmas song Hark the Herald Angels Sing begins to play, I can't help but think about Millard Fillmore and Rutherford B Hayes. And let's be honest. They don't exactly inspire a lot of holiday cheer.

This face doesn't exactly say, 'Merry Christmas'...

Santa's younger cousin, perhaps?

Washington, Adams, Jef-fer-son, glory to the new born king!

Thankfully I didn't memorize all the members of the Supreme Court to Frosty the Snowman.

So that's what they mean when they say "quilted"

2010-11-15T18:14:00.001-06:00

I just don't even know what to say, except, every time I enter the bathroom at our church here in Hyde Park, this is what I see. And so I'm finally sharing it with you. (Yes, this is now the second time I've taken a picture in a bathroom.)

Marvel at its beauty, friends.

And without further ado, I bring you "Quilted Midwestern"

(Not to be picky or anything, but for some reason it annoys me that it's out of order. I'm just saying. Unless the person between square one and two used a lot of...well...you know...)

My Thoughts on the Matter

2010-11-06T11:56:00.000-05:00

I might as well resign myself to the fact that 90% of my posts these days have to do with what I spend the majority of my day doing. Lucky you. Because you were getting tired of hearing about wine corks and rainbows, weren't you? You can really only take so many rainbows.

Having only officially worked in "urban development" for a little over a year, people still think it's appropriate to ask me what I think "the answer" is. I usually say, "Choose B or C, they're the most common answer."

Hardy har har. Not really. Seriously.

Americans- especially Christians- want to know what the answer is to urban poverty. They want to know what to do, what to fix and how to move forward. "If we just had better schools, we could fix the problem of urban underdevelopment." "If we just had more men present in their children's lives, we wouldn't be sending so many kids to jail." "If there were well designed, low-priced housing units, we wouldn't have the gang problem that we have." "If only there wasn't so much disparity in our justice system, whether that be sentencing terms, the way we handle different drug charges or the relationship between police and individuals in inner city America." "If only there was affordable healthcare." "If only people would just get jobs."

Yes. The answer is yes.

And yet so much more. The truth of poverty is that it's not a simple fix, and we do a great disservice to the reality of humanity when we think it is. It would be so much easier if the answer fit into three simple steps, or lined up with one political party platform or another, or didn't require us to think seriously about our own attitudes and sins, both individual and corporate. We would rather change the educational system than actually extend ourselves on behalf of the poor. We would rather tell men to man up and be with their families than live out our lives beside those who are struggling. We would rather believe that we have all the answers than listen to those who have so much to give, so many assets, in their own development.

Don't get me wrong. Our country desperately needs power players to lobby on behalf of more equity in funding for schools, lower student to teacher ratios and improvement in classroom standards. We need investment bankers who will consider how to provide housing with equity, without over-gentrifying- and pushing out- communities. We need programs like Put Illinois to Work that help place individuals in jobs, learn skills and hopefully become more employable. We need churches that will support Mom and Me programs or healthy mentoring relationships for young urban men. We need to support those who are doing all these things with our prayers, our finances and our time. And we need to take the time to acquire wisdom, to better understand what's really going on in urban America.

But most importantly, we need to do all of these things- and more- with dignity, not to solve a problem, but to truly love our neighbors as ourselves.

That's why I love Breakthrough- that in everything we do, we are trying so desperately to do it with dignity and respect, recognizing an individual's gifts and talents, and extending ourselves- and our network- on their behalf. We fail sometimes. But as we fail, we learn, and as we learn we grow into better servants. Hopefully better servants that will be a part of the kingdom of God coming on earth as it is in heaven.
_________________________________________

If you're still reading, 1) I'm impressed and 2) you might be interested in learning more about the many faces- and facets- of urban poverty. I've blogged before about reading suggestions, but want to add a couple more books to your reading list.

One- which I'm probably partial to- is Breakthrough's Executive Director's book The Invisible. If you want to read the story of a woman following God's call on her life- and what you can do, too- read this book. Another, suggested to me by another coworker, is Code of the Street, written by Elijah Anderson, a professor of Sociology at Yale (or at least he was when he wrote the book). A third, Restoring At-Risk Communities by John Perkins (read ANYTHING by Mr. Perkins!) has more "practical ideas" and serves as the "official handbook of the Christian Community Development Association." If you're a Tim Keller liker, check out Ministries of Mercy: The Call of the Jericho Road.

So What Do You Do?

2010-10-24T12:46:00.000-05:00

People- especially those not from Chicago- often ask me what exactly Breakthrough does. It's not a simple question, and there's certainly not a simple answer. But if you happen to be one of the people wondering, here are three videos that will tell you more.

Children & Family Services from Breakthrough Urban Ministries on Vimeo.

Breakthrough Fresh Market from Breakthrough Urban Ministries on Vimeo.

Breakthrough Adult Services from Breakthrough Urban Ministries on Vimeo.

I am so thankful to be a part of the transformative work of Breakthrough.

Estate Sale

2010-10-17T19:15:00.000-05:00

I imagine that when he approached the Teacher that day, he already had a pretty good idea of the pat on the back he was going to get.

Pushing through the people, with their babies, their diseases, their needs, the young man stepped up to the Teacher himself.

The question was meant to be a straight forward one. Tell me what I need to do and- if I'm not already doing it- I'll get on it. I'll check off that box. I'll do what I need to do to get the results I want.

But the Teacher knew the man's heart. He knew what was at the man's core, and that- despite his actions of purity- his heart was far from where it needed to be. "There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then, come follow Me." But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich. ** _______________________________________

I can't help but think that many of us- like the young man- walk away from the true heart of the Gospel, sad that we will have to make what we believe to be such a great sacrifice. Whether it be our wealth, our power, our comfort or our family, we are saddened by the idea that we can't keep those things that we hold so close. But Teacher, isn't my outward obedience enough? I've loved you. I've been good since I was just a young kid. I've kept your law. I've loved people. Isn't that what getting eternal life is about? Do you really need this extra sacrifice?

I don't know what it is that fills your heart, sucks your time and steals your thoughts. Maybe it's the deep yearning to be someone, to have a voice and to earn the approval of men. Maybe it is the rampant materialism, so pervasive in our culture- from over sized houses to walk-in closets, to $700 pairs of shoes. Maybe it is your deep desire to just be comfortable, to have enough, to not be in want. For me, it is all these things and probably more.

But like the rich young ruler, the Teacher is calling His children, His church, to something more. To a life dedicated not to the decorating of a house or the seat in the board room, but to a life lived for Him and poured out for others. A life that gives sacrificially to others and follows Him to those places where others are hurting, abused and dying, where there are deep physical, spiritual and emotional needs.

Maybe you'll be one of the very few who can truly have these other things- the power, the money, the comfort- and still have the Teacher seated at the center of your heart. (What is impossible for mortals is possible for God.) But I suspect that more often than not, it is these things that cloud our heart, blur our vision and keep us from truly surrendering ourselves to the transformative power and work of the Gospel. It is these things that, while not keeping us from church, or fellowship or even prayer or reading, keep us from the heart of the Teacher's message. We are so deeply, deeply afraid that He will call us to more, to sacrifice these things that in so many ways define us. And we are so completely afraid of this sacrifice.
_____________________________________

More than anything else in my life, I want to have the Teacher seated at the center of my heart. More than children, more than a home, even more than my husband, I want to take the Teacher at His word and follow Him. Don't get me wrong. I hope and pray that M gets a wonderful job to use his God-given passions and knowledge, that we're able to own a home one day and that we have a house full of children. I hope that we can use our home as a place of ministry, providing a safe haven for the orphaned and widowed, and feeding the hungry. If this isn't what the Lord gives us, I know that as long as we are following His leading, we will be ok. And yet in some ways, this scares me more than I can even imagine- sacrificing so fully, giving up my own agenda and own way.

But even just in this year of living so differently than we ever have before- I've learned that this "sacrifice" really is no sacrifice at all. Yes, loving Him costs me everything...and yet costs me nothing. Sometimes we are so afraid of the sacrifice that we can't even imagine how we might go on living without it. But when He is in His right place, I am my best self and my Father is most glorified in me. And whatever sacrifice there might be quickly transforms into great joy. That is the Gospel.

**(Luke 18:22-23)

My Bank Account Thanks You

2010-10-05T23:11:00.000-05:00

Remember how a couple months ago I blogged about getting reimbursed for some doctor's bills that I had (wrongly) paid and insurance had (wrongly) not paid? Oh you don't? I'll refresh your memory here.

Notice the date of that post. August 1st. Notice the date of today. October 5th.

And that, my friends, is how long it takes to get a reimbursement from the University of Chicago Hospital Center. Two months and four days. Did I mention that somehow in that time they were still able to send me another bill? But not a reimbursement? Oh, right. Of course. (Please note, we got our tax refund check last year in less than two weeks. I'm just saying.)

Oh, and the icing on the cake? We got the check yesterday. Then, when M got the mail today...there was another check. For the exact same amount. From the exact same hospital. For the exact same account.

You can't make this stuff up.

(And no, we are not going to cash check number two. Or rather, M says we can't, despite my plea that it's the payment of "interest.")

2010-09-26T08:59:00.000-05:00

Two years ago tomorrow, M and I said our vows to each other.

It was a morning wedding (possibly best idea ever). We gathered early at our beautiful church on Capitol Hill, had the full Anglican communion service and then headed out to the brunch reception on the banks of the Potomac River. It rained on and off, but that made it all the more beautiful.

We left the next day for a two week stay on the Mediterranean coast of Croatia, with a stop in Paris and a little time spent inland. I still dream about returning to these places one day again soon.

The trip was a whirlwind. The next twelve months of our lives were a whirlwind. I've lost count now, but counting from the day of our wedding, we went to something like ten weddings in the course of the next year. And then there was the applying to grad school and then the planning for a move halfway across the country and then actually making the move, and then settling in, adjusting to the new nature of long-distance friendships, finding a job, finding a new community.

"Two years" sounds so little when we say it to each other- and yet in the best of ways, it seems like so much longer than that. It's hard for me to now remember my life without M in it (we started dating in 2006, so apparently my memory only holds good for about 4 years). I know my life before having M in it was good, but I also know that it fundamentally changed- and fundamentally changed me- when he entered.

I love my husband more than I can even try to express. I cannot imagine my life without him; even thinking about a day without him makes me get emotional. He is the strongest man I know, and yet also one of the most humble (maybe that's where the strength comes from). He's ridiculously smart but doesn't have to prove himself to anyone, even when I want him to (which, let's be honest, happens a lot). He is a calming force. He is hilariously funny. He will be such a wonderful father one day. He is a great, great cook. He loves Florida football. He makes me work out and play tennis, even when I don't really want to. He is a man who lives every day trying to figure out what his faith means in the world he lives in; he is a man after God's heart.

So here's to these two years. May the joy of the first two continue- and grow- for the many years to come.

A Respite

2010-09-15T20:08:00.000-05:00

The University of Chicago at dusk.

A Holy Disappointment

2010-09-07T23:32:00.000-05:00

It's an odd phrase, that's for sure.

And yet I believe it is a "holy disappointment" that God is cultivating in me- a disappointment that I have no doubt Christ felt concerning His followers during His own life here on earth. (And I dare say we have plenty of evidence to assume that God had a bit of that same feeling toward Israel.)

It's a disappointment that we, the (American, middle/upper class) church, are so often more focused on our own personal development than on the spreading of the Gospel through love and good deeds. A disappointment that we care more about talking about romantic relationships than talking about God's concern and command to love and serve others. (God does care about romantic relationships and personal development. I'm sure of it. But from what I can tell from His Word, He's got a lot more He wants to do in us and through us than that.) It's a holy disappointment that so many of us are missing out on the Spirit-filled life- one that produces great fruit- because we are too consumed by the rest of the stuff around us. It's a disappointment that while many churches are doing the good works that give life to faith, so many more are not.

It's a disappointment that Satan sometimes uses to paralyze me, to make me cynical and sarcastic. And yet it is a disappointment that- when I allow God to really use it- drags me to my knees as I beg God to make us- ME- better followers of Him.

And ultimately, it is a disappointment that reminds me of what's so great about the cross. That God would allow His Son to die for people like you and me who- by ourselves- are pretty darn disappointing, even on our best days. This disappointment reminds me that things are not as they should be- and yet there is a way that things can be made right. There will be a day when things are made right.

And while I long for the day when there is no longer a need for holy disappointment, I will allow God to cultivate this holy disappointment in me today, that I- and we- might better serve Him.

Isaiah 58

2010-08-29T17:10:00.001-05:00

I've been meditating on these verses for quite some time now. I can't help but think this is what God is still saying to His people.

Shout it aloud, do not hold back. Raise your voice like a trumpet.

Declare to my people their rebellion and the the house of Jacob their sins.

For day after day they seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways, as if they were a nation that does what is right and has not forsaken the commands of its God.

They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them.

"Why have we fasted," they say, "and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves and you have not noticed?"

(can't you just hear the whining?)

Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all your workers.

Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife, and in striking each other with wicked fists.

You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high.

Is this the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for a man to humble himself?

Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?

Is that what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?

(you tell them, God! And...err....me...)

Is not THIS the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--

when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help and he will say: Here am I.

If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.

The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.

-Isaiah 58:1-11

The man

2010-08-26T20:10:00.000-05:00

I don't actually know his name.

Though he greets me nearly every morning by name, I'm ashamed to say that I can't remember his. But I know exactly who he is. He is the man that every morning- or nearly so- is out front watering, cleaning or doing something outside the building. He's a resident at Breakthrough, and he treats it as his home, always washing a window or floor.

I don't know his story, either. I suspect it is similar to the stories of the other men and women that come through our doors. It's a story in which he is the victim, the perpetrator and every other role in between (just as I have been in my life). Perhaps he has broken relationships, perhaps he never finished high school- no one else in his family has- perhaps he used to have a steady job before the plant/office/company down-sized. Or maybe he's floated in and out of different jobs for all of his adult life for a variety of reasons. He has been wronged by a system that makes him a piece of paper or a number or one left behind, where it is nearly impossible for "someone like him" to succeed. And frankly, I imagine that sometimes he's tired of trying. I would be, too, if I had experienced all that he has.

I wish- how I wish!- I could just categorize him in that big lump of "lazy" and blame him for not having a job, or a place of his own or a steady income. I'm sure that is true of at least some percentage of the urban poor I see on a daily basis. But God, how I wish it were that simple! I know that's not the answer, though- it's too simple. Instead, I know that it is "simple" things like supply and demand, bad policies and- yes- evil hearts, that have kept him from getting a job.

The thing is, even if it were that simple- if he was just lazy or an addict or whatever- there would still be more expected of me and my response to him. I couldn't just tell him to go get a job, even if that were the only problem. I couldn't just write him off, without a second thought, an invitation in or a crumb (Isaiah 58:7-9). I couldn't just wish him well and send him on his way, without clothes, without food and without sustenance (James 2:14-17).

I couldn't. WE can't.

This is not a discussion about policies- though that conversation most definitely needs to be had. It's not even about who's to blame- though I promise you there is plenty to spread around.

It's about a Man. A Man who calls me to service outside of myself, my concerns and my needs. A Man who, for MY sake, became poor (2 Cor. 8:9). A Man who reminds me that He is happy when I am doing justice to my fellow man and loving mercy (Micah 6:8)- not because it makes me feel good inside, but because in being made like Him, it is in part what I was made for. It's about a Man who "had compassion" (over and over and over again throughout the Gospels). On the poor, the orphaned, the widowed. And on me.

A Man who- because of His life- changed the way that I am to live mine: in service to Him by serving others. And that is what has made all the difference.

Finally, a "Garden"

2010-08-21T16:27:00.000-05:00

There are some real benefits to living in an apartment.

Granted, I can't actually think of them right now, but I'm sure there are some. Low maintenance costs, maybe?

Unfortunately, outdoor living space is not one of them. And as much as I've talked about how I would love a garden, our small third floor walk up doesn't really work for a green thumb.

Until now.

These herbs, courtesy of my cousin Allie's wedding (sidenote: herbs make a beautiful centerpiece for reception tables!!) are sitting pretty on the ledge outside our living room window. Just last night, I cut off two cups worth of basil to make a beautiful pesto and I'm trying to figure out what fun things to do with chocolate mint (it really smells like chocolate!)

It might not be the fresh vegetables I would love to one day grow, but it's a start. And while we have to thoroughly wash everything since bus and car exhaust from Hyde Park Boulevard does make its way up here, it's definitely a great place for these little herbs to get some sun and some rain. And that's a start.

It Was Bound to Happen

2010-08-17T20:33:00.001-05:00

Tonight we had dinner with friends downtown. Having driven directly from work, I pulled up on one of the many busy streets of Chicago, did my little pay for parking sticker thing and was on my merry way. Until, of course, we returned to the car about 2 hours later and saw this.

Ah, yes. Our first official "Welcome to the City now give us money" letter from the Mayor. As someone who is quite proud of her sign-reading ability, I'm ashamed to admit that apparently in my rush to park, I had missed the sign (above the pay for parking sign) that told me I couldn't park on the street from 4pm-6pm.

DANG IT!!!!!!

Looking over the ticket, things didn't look good. $60 price tag. (Also, sidenote, I noticed that the states of license plates printed on the ticket are "other," which you write in, OR Illinois- duh, Iowa- nearby, Michigan- even closer, Indiana- practically the same place, Ohio- midwest, Wisconsin- cheese is a Chicago favorite, and....TEXAS??? Of all the 44 other states to choose from, you print TEXAS??? What does this say about Texas drivers? Geez!)

But then I looked a little bit closer.

Look at that blessed, blessed "other" box.

Do you see it? Can you make out those letters? C...A. CA. California. I DO NOT HAVE CALIFORNIA TAGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (There's no way to mistake that for a D and a C is there? I mean I'm not going crazy, am I? Unless the guy was dyslexic? I know, I don't think so either.)

So as far as I'm concerned- and I am concerned- we're off the hook. Sure, a tiny, itsy bitsy bit of my conscience thinks, "Well, I should probably still pay the ticket." Granted, the other 99% is saying "HELL NO" much louder. I mean, if we don't get a ticket in the mail, we can just chalk it up to "ticketing error" right? I mean does the city of Chicago REALLY need our $60? I'm pretty sure the producers of "Transformers III" are contributing enough to cover my little piece...

Multiplying Like Rabbits

2010-08-08T18:04:00.000-05:00

We're not. At least not yet. If possible, we would like to have lots of kids (4 or maybe more). But like I said, we're not the ones multiplying like rabbits quite yet. Check back in a few months.

I'll tell you what's multiplying like rabbits. The Hyde Park rabbits, that's what. I kid you not, we saw at least ten rabbits of all shapes and sizes on our walk yesterday. In the bushes. In the road (hmmm...someone might want to talk to them about that...) In the grass. Granted, if I could live in the bushes near this, I probably would, too.

At least rent would be less.

Why should it surprise me that there would be rabbits galore in Hyde Park? I don't know, maybe it's because CHICAGO IS THE THIRD LARGEST CITY IN AMERICA! (I mean it's not exactly Mr. McGregor's garden. Even though the British do now own the formerly-named Sears Tower.) And yet, here they are. In all their cute, hippity hoppity splendor. In the middle of a city.

And I have to say, there's something beautiful about that. That nature continues to exist in this little corner of Chicago. One of the things I love most about Chicago, actually, is its green space. It was designed that way- parks galore. And I appreciate it. Trees and grass and beautiful flowers are a much-needed break from pavement, skyscrapers and highways.

Now if only I could find my recipe for braised rabbit.

It's a Good Idea to Check

2010-08-01T20:27:00.000-05:00

I am not in love with the health insurance industry. My "unlove" is for a variety of reasons that I won't go into here (because- let's be honest- you're not reading Hyde Park Heroes to hear me talk about such things)

And so in that strong feeling of "unlove" I always begrudgingly payed the hundreds of dollars in bills (I'm not kidding. I even considered posting them here) that we received after M or I went to the doctor, even though I thought we would only have to pay the co-pay. Even though they were just routine check ups, or maybe one test. But you know. Loopholes or something.

That was soon to change. A couple weeks ago, M went to the dermatologist to get some spots on his back checked, but I first called our lovely health insurance provider to make sure it would be covered. I was promised, and I quote, "you'll only be responsible for the co-pay." Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus!

And then the bill came. $137. Scramble to check coverage documents. Copay = $20. Not $137. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Hit head and yell not nice words about insurance company. I had had it with the loopholes.

So, being the proactive, responsible citizen I am who complains when they don't like something, I called up our insurance company. Punch in policy number. Punch in birthdate. Punch in the name of your second cousin's dog. Forget the name of your second cousin's dog, so start over again. Finally- FINALLY- a real. human. being. And then I began, in my sweetest, most sarcastic voice.

Me: "Yes, hello Sally, thanks for talking with me. I just have to see what is going on with my bills. Despite your lovely company saying you'll cover everything but the co-pay, I'm still getting bills that are nearly seven times my co-pay. Or more. AND I AM DAMN TIRED OF PAYING THEM!!!!!!!!!!!"

Sally: "Just one moment, ma'am. Let me see what's going on."

(pause. pause. click, click. pause.)

Sally: "Oh! I see what's going on! You're getting billed by the doctor AND the hospital facilities where you're being treated. Are the offices of your doctors in a university hospital or something?"

Me: "Well, seeing as how on my insurance statements- that, I'll remind you, your company produces- clearly identify it as 'The University of Chicago Medical Center' I'm going to go with YES."

Sally: "Oh, well then we need to adjust your claims. I'll do that now."

Me: "Adjust them up? Or down? Or to the left or right?"

Sally: "Oh, down, ma'am. You've been paying far too much."

silence.

Me: "I'm sorry, can you say that again? Did you, the insurance company, just say I'm..I'm...paying...too MUCH? Are you joking?"

Sally: "No, ma'am. I'm not kidding. And I'm sorry you've been paying these extra costs. Wow, it looks like we're talking about around $500, aren't we?"

Me: "Holy freaking cow. You're going to send me $500!?!"

Sally: "Well, no. But the hospital will be refunding you shortly, I'm sure."

Me: "I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I'M GETTING BACK $500, I'M GETTING BACK $500!!!"

Now, granted, the hospital hasn't actually sent our refund back just yet. (I'm calling- again- tomorrow.) And the insurance company said there was no way to make sure this didn't happen again, except to call them each time we go to the doctor. But yeah.

It's a good idea to check.

An Unexpected Joy

2010-07-27T23:28:00.000-05:00

An unexpected phone call last Wednesday morning led M and I to turn around (we had both just arrived at work) get the oil changed in our car and head south. Tuesday evening M lost his childhood best friend; we didn't yet know when the funeral would be but- even though they hadn't talked since high school- M knew we needed to be there. So we just picked up and left.

We drove over 1,000 miles down to Florida, spending the night in Nashville, then again with Mason's parents in Alabama, finally arriving into Pensacola on Friday morning. By some gracious gift of God (I really believe that's what it was) my immediate family and some of my extended family were on their annual trip to Destin and M and I were able to spend a few hours with them, before mentally and emotionally preparing ourselves for Saturday morning's funeral (the visitation on Friday was just too much to handle we decided).

But what we found at the funeral wasn't what had been expected. In high school, M's friend had gotten involved with the wrong crowd, the wrong things. And we didn't have much hope for a happy ending. So when the crowds pushed in (and there really was a crowd) and the family walked in, my eyes began to tear up.

But then someone began to speak. Rather than hearing a story of despair, fast lives and fast cars, we heard something else. We heard about a life that had been transformed, some four years ago. Through the funeral preacher- and the friend's notes in his Bible- we got to see inside the very private, spiritual musings of a young man whose life had changed. We heard of a man who had discovered who he truly was and what he was made for; and who wanted to tell others about what he himself had realized. We listened to the story of a man who found peace, with himself and with the world.

And at that point, my tears stopped. Suddenly this wasn't just another "sad story" of a "good kid gone bad." It was yet another amazing story- an incredible reminder- of redemption. Tragic, yes, and to be mourned, for sure. And yet...there was something more there. A peace that was so much bigger than the casket in front of us. Almost as if, even in death, the friend was not defeated. It was a simple reminder that lessened, even if just a little, the sting of death and loss.

And in that moment, there was an unexpected joy.

Yes, I said pineapple

2010-07-18T12:37:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about summer is that M doesn't have to study every evening. Not only does this mean that we can go work out together (it's so much easier when someone else is expecting you to do it) but it also means that M cooks dinner quite a bit.

Anyone who knows anything about M knows that he's a great cook. I would even venture to say that he might be better than me (and- yes, I'm bragging- I'm pretty darn good). He's much more creative and willing to try things until he gets them right, making up his own proportions and such. And 9.5 times out of 10, he gets it spot on the first time. How did I get so lucky??! Did I also mention that he's brilliant, humble, wise, calm, quick-witted, athletic, a true leader and super attractive, inside and out? Because he is. Just saying.

So anyway, since he's not studying a million hours a day (I am not exaggerating), he's been cooking quite a bit. So when he offered to make dinner the night I had planned to make lasagna, I couldn't refuse.

And, dear Jesus, it might have been the best lasagna I've ever had. It had the perfect proportion of sauce, cheese, spinach and noodle and he added a tiny bit of pepperoni to give us a little bit of protein. But the best part? The best part was...the pineapple. Sprinkled on the top, with a coating of mozzarella on top of that, I could have probably licked the pan clean it was so good.

I don't know why it never dawned on me to add pineapple to lasagna. I love it on pizza, which is basically the exact same ingredients, but I never thought about it outside of the confines of deep dish or thin crust. But seriously. Do yourself a favor and try it. If you like pineapple on pizza, you'll like it on lasagna. I guarantee it.

Just Call Me Nadal

2010-07-10T15:15:00.000-05:00

M and I have been playing tennis together for over three years now. And by playing tennis, I mean that he hits the ball very softly towards me and I still sometimes miss it. I admit it. Tennis isn't my best game. But I love playing it, love being outside and am glad it makes him happy to play, too.

And I'm getting better! He's started doing his little spin ball move on me and he legitimately has to run after quite a few of my shots (I'm learning ball placement. Finally.) Granted, I'm the one doing the most running, but hey, I need the exercise.

With a forecast of partly sunny and 85, M and I headed out to the University tennis courts again today, having been shut down yesterday when they were all full. Despite no room yesterday, we were able to play in our own little cage today so I didn't have to worry about hitting other people with our balls (I have no idea what this layout is called, but there are two courts in each "cage," ie, there was no one on the other court).

And then, about five games in, the clouds parted, a bright ray of sun appeared on me and...I WON A GAME AGAINST M FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't remember what the score of the game was, but what matters is that I BEAT HIS ARSE. WAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Rafael Nadal, watch out. This Hyde Park Hero is comin' to get ya.

(Now is probably the point where I should mention that M then went on to beat me soundly for the rest of the day.)

Michael W. Smith might just be right

2010-06-30T20:40:00.000-05:00

M and I just returned from a (slightly extended, due to complete failure by Delta) trip back to DC for our friend Brittany's wedding. It was a wonderful time to catch up with friends, spend some time relaxing and not, well, really do anything (minus the whole wedding coordinating part. Minor detail.)

We are cute! And bright!

And when we finally touched down last night, I thought to myself that- as much as I hate to admit it- Michael W. Smith might just be right. Friends are friends forever, if the Lord's the Lord of them... (everybody now!) The ladies and gentlemen we spent our weekend with are people that we haven't seen- in some cases- in nearly a year and, in other cases, in a few months. And yet-- these are still mostly the people (outside of our families) who know us the best, who love us the most and who we hope to continue to foster friendships with for years and years to come.

And then something else hit me: this group, this community, is truly a gift. It's not just about having fun (though I think riding around with his friend in the cop car might have been one of the highlights of M's time in DC)...it's about rejoicing together, weeping together and ultimately sharing life together.

Of all the things I miss about DC, I can honestly say that this community I'm describing is what I miss the most. Don't get me wrong, we have a fledgling little community here in Chicago- but man, oh man, I don't know if I ever realized how great I had it. And yet, more than ever before, I also realize how important it is; to have people there when you're hurting, there when you're rejoicing, to spur you on towards love and good deeds and sometimes say those hard words to you. At the heart of it, I believe this is what we were created for ("No man is an island" ring a bell?) I believe that deep- and often suppressed- inside all of us is a desire to be a part of something bigger than ourselves, to be loved and encouraged, to mean something to others and to have others who mean something to you.

I am so, so thankful for these friends and the others (college roommates, amazing Florida friends, pastors who love us) who are important actors in our lives and who- we hope- will continue to provide this important thing called community moving forward.

This doesn't mean I'm now a Michael W. Smith fan.

Bright Lights, Big City

2010-06-19T19:05:00.000-05:00

I've just this week realized something about Chicago.

It's a BIG CITY.

Don't get me wrong, I've known all along that it's bigger than DC, even bigger than Houston. And certainly bigger than any other Midwest city- not that I really know or care about many of those.

But, gosh darn it, Chicago is a big city. This week, as I've driven M downtown for his internship (side note: his office- an intern has an office??- has two large windows that look out over the Carbide and Carbon building and this cool, wavy new condo building) I've been struck by the number of people. They're everywhere. On the roads, on the trains, in the cars, in the taxis. Maybe it's because East Garfield Park isn't exactly overflowing with people and Hyde Park is more college town (nerdy college town, but college town nonetheless) than downtown. But I've just really been struck by the thousands and thousands of individuals walking to and from work, up and down Michigan Avenue and circling the city on the L.

While DC will probably always take the prize for "most fanny-packed tourists per capita" Chicago is overflowing with tourists all its own. From places like Small Town, Iowa and Middle of Nowhere, Indiana, Chicago is- for so many people- the epitome of the Big City. I don't know for sure what it represents, but I think it might be a bittersweet mix of industrial development, capitalism and Americana. It's midwestern enough that these tourists don't feel too out of place and yet different enough that a trip here can feel like a trip to a somewhat foreign locale. There is something familiar and yet so completely unknown that it's exciting and daunting all at the same time.

And it is finally now- in this now 10 month adventure in Chicago- that M and I realize how much we love the city. Not necessarily the specific city of Chicago, but just the grander idea of the city. In the city, you can't help but rub shoulders with people who are altogether different. You can't beat the cultural and artistic opportunities it affords. The city is always thriving and teaming with life; yes, sometimes quite heart-breaking and oftentimes depressing, but thriving nonetheless. Deep inside of us there is a desire to continue to live out life in a place like this, where traffic will most likely drive me to the point of insanity and we will never be able to afford a house the size of the ones we grew up in. Which we most likely don't need anyway.

And yet under these bright lights and in a Big City, we will choose to live our life. And just like the draw those fanny-packed tourists feel, this experience- so familiar and yet so unknown- will no doubt continue to be both exciting and daunting at the same time.

We Are the World

2010-06-13T11:35:00.000-05:00

I readily admit that when it comes to world geography, I'm a bit of a snob. Chalk it up to being a History and Political Science major, where I had to learn all the countries (and capitals) of Europe, North and South America and Africa (interestingly, my worst geography is still Asia). Or maybe it's that I've been fortunate to travel the world relatively extensively. Or maybe it's that I worked in international economic development. Whatever it is, I also admit that I'm embarrassed by the lack of knowledge of world geography for most Americans.

As we've been watching the World Cup this weekend, I can't help but think that most Americans had never heard of Cameroon or Cote d'Ivoire before today. And most probably don't know that Slovenia is different than Slovakia, which is different from Serbia. Yugoslavia? Yeah, it's no longer a country. Neither is Czechoslovakia. And Austria doesn't have a coast.

But why does it really matter? What do these little boundaries mean anyway? We're America! That's what matters! (Never mind the fact that Americans would riot if someone accidentally referred to us as Canada or Mexico.) Knowing geography matters because people matter. People around the globe matter. And just as the people of Canada (few that they are) have different traditions and a different history than America, the people of Slovenia have a very different history and traditions from Serbia. I'll never forget reading Robert Kaplan's book Balkan Ghosts. Kaplan suggested that if his readers wanted to understand the political, religious and social turbulence of the Middle East, they should look to the area formerly known as Yugoslavia. In essence, he summed up why I think history and geography are important: if you want to understand what's going on in the world, you need to understand its intricate past and its geopolitical present.

Now who knows where Lesotho is?

Why I now love hockey

2010-06-10T18:31:00.000-05:00

Like 98% of the residents of Chicago, last night M and I watched the Blackhawks take on the Philadelphia Phlyers (ok, it's Flyers, but shouldn't it be with a PH? I agree.) I have to admit, I think it was the first time that I actually watched an NHL hockey game. I vaguely remember going to a game of the Houston Aeros- yes, that's how it's spelled-with my dad when I was younger, but they're a part of the AHL- American Hockey League- and they play in Houston, Texas so they don't count.

And now I'm going to say something that will most likely make EVERY diehard hockey fan squirm. I submit that hockey is a truly, truly beautiful sport. I know, I know. Blood, teeth everywhere, fighting, hitting. Big men covered in pads running into each other. Men throwing themselves over the walls of their little team box thingy. (technical term)

All that aside, I can't get over the beauty of the skating. Even when the men playing look more like Transformers than humans, it's amazing how the players glide down the rink (?) so effortlessly (and slam against the plexi-glass so effortlessly, too). And even when they're punching each other, it's in such a fluid, graceful movement.

And really, could anything be more beautiful than this?

Congrats to the newest holders of the Stanley Cup, the Chicago Blackhawks!

My own little war zone

2010-06-01T18:40:00.003-05:00

(Before I write ANYTHING I want to clarify that I am not actually comparing my story below to a real war zone. Also, I saw Vince Vaughn today at lunch and had to tell someone.)

After a weekend of not using the car at all (it was parked in Egypt because our famous neighbors were in town and our street was shut down) I got into the car this morning and realized that I was pretty much on empty. Not really wanting to fill up at the local BP that will run you $3.19 a gallon, I got about $5 worth of gas and then headed to work.

After lunch, I mentioned to my co-worker S (actually, that's confusing because there are 3 "S" names upstairs. Not kidding. Out of, like, 10) that I was going to go get some gas. She told me about a gas station in the neighborhood where I work that I had never seen before, where the gas is ridiculously cheap. She warned me "it's always crazy" but I didn't think much of it.

Then, I pulled into my own little war zone on the corner of California and Fulton. Never in my life have I seen so many cars going for so few pumps. Of course at a price of $2.81 (I think that was right), what do you expect? It was literally, crazy anarchy (this is why I think government/rule of law is a good thing!) I cringed MULTIPLE TIMES as cars came thisclose to hitting me. And then there was the dude with the thumping, loud music, and the lady who decided to take half an hour to figure out how to use the gas pump. (I'm thinking if you haven't learned by now, don't even try.)

I wanted to flick people off. I wanted to yell at these stupid people. And then I started thinking...it's funny the way people behave when going for what they consider to be "theirs," myself included. You could just see the tempers rising, and people starting to lose their cool. Maneuvering in and out was a mess and I am truly shocked, SHOCKED that someone didn't pull a gun by the time I left. Not that that's the way to fix a situation, but that's the way it rolls a lot of times in my hood.

And then I started thinking a lot about the violence in East Garfield Park. At one point this year, more people had died in Chicago due to violence than in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. What is it that makes us think it's ok to take life (whether by literal death or chewing out or demeaning, or destroying) for something? Is the gas, or your honor, or that piece of candy, or those extra profits really worth the value of a human life? What kind of culture do we live in when self, profit and property come before respect for one another? It's not a white thing or a black thing, or a poor thing or a rich thing, because it manifests itself across all racial, economic and social divides. It's a human condition thing. Why do you we feel so threatened by anyone taking what's "ours"?

And then I can't help but think of this guy I've studied. He said that when someone asks for a tunic, you give him the one off your back. When someone asks you to go one mile, you go two. The reality is that there's no room for selfishness in living out this call. There's no way you can think of yourself before your neighbors. Because, in fact, this Guy said there were two basic rules we were to live by: loving His Father and loving others.

What would our own little war zones look like if we truly lived like this?

I think this is my upstairs neighbor

2010-05-29T11:21:00.003-05:00

PLEASE, PLEASE STOP JUMPING OR THUMPING OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT YOU'RE DOING.

Thanks.

Our Newest Challenge

2010-05-26T20:36:00.003-05:00

We can't claim the name Hyde Park HEROES if we don't awesomely take on challenges, right? RIGHT! So our newest self-inflicted challenge? Living on a budget.

I know, I've written about budgets before. Multiple times, actually. But now we're taking it to a whole new level. Not just "track what you spend" but "take out only a certain amount of cash every 2 weeks and only use that." And yes, there's this stuff called "cash" and "coins" that are not made out of plastic, are considered legal tender and have pictures of dead white guys on them. It's the wave of the future, I tell ya! Who comes up with this stuff?!

So the plan now is to see how well we can do with this set amount of cash. It means actually thinking before plopping down a couple hundred for new clothes (actually, I can't remember the last time I did that) or having multiple dinners out. And we're not doing this because we're dangerously in debt or because we think credit cards are completely evil- though they're most definitely NOT your friends. We're doing it because, as I've said before, we believe that how we spend our money matters. Consciously choosing to take only a certain amount out and using only that means thinking more seriously about where it's going. It means building in, even if just for another second or two, a pause and a reflection. "Is this what I want to spend my money on? How does it reflect what I support and believe?"

It's most certainly not going to be easy. It's not a lot of money. And I do quite enjoy spending money on non-necessities (this is not to say we are cutting all non-necessities, but we will be spending less on them). It's a challenge that we believe will make us live more responsibly and will make us better stewards of what's entrusted to us. Let's see what happens.

Nine Months Later

2010-05-20T11:40:00.004-05:00

June 5th will mark my 9 month anniversary at Breakthrough. And as I’ve written before, it’s hard to imagine that in this transition to Chicago, the Lord would make clear to me His plans to involve me in the work He is doing in urban America. I am more certain of this calling than ever before, though I can only dream of how it will manifest itself in the months and years to come.

At some point, if you’re a thinking, feeling human being, you get to the point where questions of inequality, faith, power, racial justice and mercy begin to haunt your waking and your sleeping. Why is it like this? And, maybe even more importantly, What am I called to do about it? Government programs or pulling one’s self up by one’s own boot straps or just trying harder or sending more money…God, how I wish the answers were that easy!

I can’t help but think that the Lord is deeply, deeply saddened by His children’s unwillingness- or maybe just oblivion- to His very clear calling to love our neighbors as ourselves. He has asked- commanded, really- us to love the “least of these,” not because they are a project to be fixed but because, in serving others, we reflect the grace and mercy of Christ and, in turn, learn something more about who God is. In the process, He transforms us, too, as we’re all in need of a Savior. I am certain God is encouraged by the mentors, the foster parents, the people praying, the tutors, the people sharing meals with their neighbors who don't look like them. But how many of us does that really, truly include? What would it look like in our every day lives to live out God’s calling to love our cities? Would we pray more? Would we give more? Would we serve more?

Maybe we don’t “do” because we don’t know exactly what to do. Maybe we’re uncomfortable leaving our safely-guarded homes, or we don’t feel like we have anything to give. Or maybe we want to fix things, but don’t know what the answer is, so don’t want to try. Or maybe we’re so consumed with ourselves that we don’t see anything outside of us. Or maybe we have our own misconceptions to get over.

I wish I could tell you what the answer is. I wish that right here on Hyde Park Heroes I could say “do xxx and poverty will decrease, racial injustices will stop, and we’ll all live as one big happy family.” The reality is that this side of heaven, I don’t actually believe it’s possible. And yet…we’re still called to do something. I can't tell you exactly what that something is. Realistically, it will look different for each of us. Some will feel called to vocationally serve, as I do. Some will be called to give. Some will be called to volunteer. The point is that inaction is not acceptable.

I would suggest you start here: down on your knees, asking God how you might love as He loved, serve as He served. Pray that He would be at work and use you in that work. Search the Scriptures to know and believe what God is saying. Read books about this work (I list a few suggestions below). Seek out people who are doing this good work. Step out in faith. Oblivion is no longer an excuse.

I long for the day when there is a holy city, where there is no more weeping, no more pain and no more injustice. It’s not going to be here, and to believe that it can be is foolishness, as long as people are imperfect. And yet every day Christians around the world pray that thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

What would it look like for you to be a part of God’s kingdom coming in urban America?

Book Suggestions

"Truth and Social Reform" (Vishal Mangalwadi)

"When Helping Hurts" (Steve Corbett & Brian Fikkert)

"Theirs is the Kingdom" (Bob Lupton)

many, many more!

They're Not Mine

2010-05-09T18:26:00.003-05:00

When I was little, I used to travel with my mom to a women's Bible study called BSF (Bible Study Fellowship, I think.) I don't remember exactly where it was, but I do remember the fun things my friend Rachel, Dan and I used to do while our moms studied the word; things like tracing our bodies on big, white butcher paper and making fun kids crafts. I don't remember much about what we learned or even (beyond the butcher paper) what we did. But I know that the Lord was present, that we were learning and that we- at a very early age- were a part of a community of believers.

If I don't remember what we, the kids, did, I certainly have no clue what our moms did. But before I left for India in the summer of 2004, my mom shared with me one of the things she was told one of the first times she attended BSF.

Her leader challenged the class- mostly young moms- to pray that the Lord would remind them that their children were not theirs. Are you kidding me? my mom thought. This is my baby, my little girl. MINE.

And yet, even with those feelings deep in her heart, I think my mom began to pray that she would believe in the Lord's goodness and faithfulness. That she would remember that- above all else- I was the Lord's, not hers. That she would do me harm if she kept me from doing all that the Lord would call me to in order to protect me or, worse yet, keep me for herself.

And so, in 2004, probably with deep worry (that she bravely did not show me) my mom and dad let me go off to India for six months pretty much by myself. It is because she knew that this was what the Lord was calling me to that she was able to let go. It was probably this same spirit that led my parents, again, to let me go off to DC without a job, without too many friends and without a place to live. It is again, this conviction, that strengthens them when I tell them about the shooting that happened around the corner from my workplace, or M and my deep desire to live a messy, urban life in a "dangerous city."

The greatest gift my parents ever gave me was to trust in the faithfulness of the Lord and His good plans for my life. They could have orchestrated it (or continued to pay for it :) They could have demanded alarm systems, "safe places" and living down the street from them in their safe suburban neighborhood. They could have held on tightly, even as the Lord said "No, she is mine."

I hope one day, when M and I have children, that I can draw upon the example of my mother as I, too, learn that even as I birth and bring up these children, they are not mine. That the greatest gift I can give them isn't to protect them or hold too tightly to them, but, rather, with assuredness to say "they are Yours."

Happy Mother's Day.

In European News...

2010-05-06T22:14:00.003-05:00

In case you bought into the bit that all Brits are stodgy, I point you to this.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Official_Monster_Raving_Loony_Party

Oh yes, the Raving Loony Party. I think the States might have a few politicians who are unofficial members of that party, too...

Something BIG

2010-05-03T17:27:00.002-05:00

On Saturday, May 15th, I'll spend my day with about a thousand other Chi-towners out in the neighborhood of East Garfield Park. Why? For this.

When I Grow Up from Breakthrough Urban Ministries on Vimeo.

Friends, family and neighbors will gather to officially kick off our Breakthrough Dream BIG campaign, as we work to create a place where families can come together in community and where community can come together as family.

It is, in fact, a BIG dream. In East Garfield Park, less than 40% of all youth graduate from high school. It's easier to become a drug dealer than a doctor. There's disinvestment, empty lots and hurting hearts.

And yet.

Nearly 100 kids arrive at the door of Breakthrough after every school day ready to- wait for it- learn more. Men and women in the interim-housing program open the Word together and study what it has to say. Every month, nearly 800 families in the East Garfield Park neighborhood alone take part in Breakthrough's "client choice" Fresh Market.

God is at work here.

And that's why I believe in this BIG dream. Raising 15 million in a shaky economy isn't easy or- to be honest- fun. But then, when you're certain that the Lord is in something, what's easy and fun don't exactly matter. Because the truth is that God is BIG. And He promises us that He will accomplish His good works, when we submit to His leading.

Don't misunderstand. Plenty of youth have and will slip through the cracks and end up pregnant, alone or bouncing from house to house. Men and women will leave the interim-housing program, only to find themselves homeless and jobless again a year, or two, or three later. I don't pretend to begin to understand why exactly this is: I think it's a mix of broken systems, broken individuals, broken programs and a broken understanding of what it means to love our neighbors as ourselves.

And yet.

We're still called to Dream BIG. To work- FIGHT, even- for the things of the Lord: love, redemption, community, justice, peace and transformation. I am so blessed to be a part of an organization that fights for these things.

So I challenge you to Dream BIG with me. To believe in a God who accomplishes great things. Who has something to say to us about how to love our neighbor. Who cares about poverty, disinvestment and justice. Who longs for His children to be in a place of deep love and knowledge of Him. Who is doing BIG things here in East Garfield Park.

To learn more about the Dream BIG campaign, visit www.breakthrough.org/dreambig

Not for the Faint of Heart

2010-04-24T18:15:00.002-05:00

Or stomach, for that matter.

At the corner of Elizabeth and Lake Streets in the West Loop, you'll find Peoria Packing, my newest love. We originally found it back in February when we were showing a friend around the city. And after that one trip...I was hooked.

If you know anything about Chicago- or Upton Sinclair- you know of the city's (in)famous love of, well, meat (and casseroles. It is the midwest, after all). Lake Street is Exhibit A. Meat packing store after meat packing store, which really means giant walk-in refrigerators with literally EVERY PART OF THE ANIMAL that you can imagine. Need a pig head? It's here (you can thank me for not posting that picture). How about an ox tail? Yep. And the most ridiculously large rack of ribs? It's here, too.

And here's the best part. The meat is CHEAP. For instance, I got a huge pot roast, 3 full chicken breasts (which is equal to six separate chicken breasts-that I broke down myself, thank you very much) four thick-cut pork chops and a bunch of ground beef, all for $32. THIRTY TWO DOLLARS. Now, I'm thinkin' this meat ain't organic (which I really would prefer if, say, we had more disposable income) but for what you get, it can't be beat.

So I spent my Saturday afternoon doing a little meat packing of myself, breaking down my chickens, packing and freezing the meat and then making half of the huge pot roast, just as so many midwesterners have done before me. Now I just need to find a good ground beef casserole recipe...

They've Probably Got Something for That

2010-04-16T17:56:00.008-05:00

Last night, M and I ventured once again to Chinatown. And let me here pause and rail against the Chinatown of DC. DC, you know I love ya. But really? Writing "Starbucks" in Chinese does NOT a Chinatown make. Or Urban Outfitters for that matter. And certainly not Ann Taylor Loft.

The thing about Chicago's Chinatown that is so thrilling is that one, it actually appears (to someone who has never been to China) to be somewhat authentic to at least a small piece of daily life in China (minus the millions of people, but, whatev.) Secondly, nearly every other store is some sort of weird "pickled or dried stuff in a jar" sort of store. Doesn't that just make it feel more real? I submit that it does.

And so, of course, we went into a few of the stores. And we saw items such as this.

Those are dragon balls. Giggle, giggle.

Sorry, I can't help it.

But. Wouldn't you think they would be...

Ahem.

Anyway.

These, according to the looked-slightly-out-of-it-but-probably-a-very-nice woman, are good for weight loss. Thanks for pointing that out, ma'am. In fact, she said, this tea squeezes the fat out of you. Well in that case, please, give me a couple pounds of this magical treatment. Only problem...one ounce of this stuff costs $7.50. For those of you who aren't math majors, that's a whopping $120 per pound. Um....one ounce will suffice, thanks. I'll ration.

The crazy part is that these beautiful balls (sorry, I'm still giggling) aren't even close to the weirdest or most expensive things in the store. There were, of course, dried shark fins that cost over $400 a pound. And according to the internets, shark fins do all sorts of things from lowering your cholesterol, to making you happier to giving you mercury poisoning. Fun stuff! And there was ginseng everywhere, which is good for, well, I'll let Wikipedia tell you (and why did they have so much of this stuff?!). Or maybe you would be interested in the dried oysters or scallops, and their, shall we say, pungent aroma. Then there were the HUGE mushrooms- I'm not kidding when I say they were at least a foot in diameter- or the whale flipper in the glass case. God only knows what else was in that crazy store. (Because many of the signs were only written in Chinese, and I'm assuming God knows Chinese, so He would know.)

But my favorite? Oh my favorite. By far. And crap, why didn't I get a picture of it?

Sea cucumber.

I will spare you the details of what this lovely little thing looks like (because seriously, it's worse than the Washington Monument). But, like ginseng, these bad boys were everywhere. And coming in at about $50 a pound for the small, dried ones, quite a good buy. Apparently sea cucumbers are not only a delicacy in some Mediterranean countries, it's also good for lowering high blood pressure, treating disorders of the kidneys and reproductive organs, reducing arthritis pain, possibly HIV therapy and a whole host of other things. It's a miracle underwater plant/animal thingy, people! A miracle drug! Patent it now!

So whatever ails you, it's good to know that Chinatown is the place to go. (That should be their public television ad!) Because, let's face it, our medicine might as well be made in China.

Everything else already is.

Things I Wish it was Still Appropriate for Me to Do

2010-04-10T09:02:00.004-05:00

Sidenote: I think I've been into lists lately.

Confession: I'm now 28. And at 28, some things just aren't appropriate to do anymore. I know, I know, "fight the man," "do what you want to do" blah blah blah. But let's be honest. If you saw me doing some of these things, you would totally judge me. Totally.

Here's a partial list I've come up with of things that I would love to still do but feel like I probably shouldn't because I'm supposed to be an adult now.

1. Take naps in the middle of the day.

2. Blow huge bubbles with my bubble gum (which, OF COURSE would be the really fruity, sugary type)

3. Watch cartoons on Saturday morning (though I HAVE watched them while working out)

4. Skip.

5. Wear adorably cute, frilly dresses. (Hey mom, maybe you could smock another one for me!)

6. Eat gummy fruit snacks with my lunch every day.

7. Stick my tongue out at people when I'm mad at them.

8. Throw myself on the floor when I'm mad (I'm not sure I ever did this, but it appeals to an emotional person such as myself)

9. Wear one of those really cute blow-up inner-tubes that has an animal's head on it. When I go to the pool and the beach. Not just around.

10. G0 to the local pool and go down the water slide.

11. Play in the sprinklers.

12. Have an Easter egg hunt.

13. Finger paint.

14. Sleep with my Tigger stuffed animal.

15. Sell lemonade and rice krispy treats and cookies outside for a profit. Without a license.

The good news is that, one day when we have children, many of these things will suddenly become appropriate for me to do again (maybe not #8, but I'll let you know). I think I will SO be that mom who is more into playing in the sprinklers than her children are.

And I'm ok with that.

Really Weird Things about Me

2010-04-06T19:42:00.005-05:00

The blog has been a little serious lately, so I thought I would lighten it up by letting you know just a little bit more about me or, rather, some of the weird things about me. It starts with this:

- I was once run over by a float in a parade.

- From the age of about 12-18, I turned my feet sideways while going down the stairs because of a book I read.

- I cry every time I see a baby being born (so far this has only been on TV. Including The Office.)

- I once broke my thumb dancing to my Disney record on my Fisher Price record player.

- I used to hate pickles and bell peppers but now love them.

- I have taken language classes in Ancient Greek, French, Spanish and Arabic.

- I used to play "Bar" when I was little.

- I love- and I mean LOVE- lima beans.

- I also used to play "Orphanage" when I was little.

And there you have it.

Of course, M just said, "You never even told me half that stuff." Oops. That's why they say you're always learning something new about your spouse, I guess. And somehow the fact that I played bar as a child hasn't really figured into our relationship until now.

Go figure.

Ok, Ok, My Ten Books

2010-03-29T21:17:00.003-05:00

I know, I know you've all been waiting to see when I would respond to David Frum's blog challenge of naming ten books that have influenced my worldview. Honestly, I knew nothing about it until my friend Jonathan mentioned it on his blog.

This was much harder for me than I expected. There are lots and lots of books that I love (Make Way for Ducklings is at the top of that list), but I don't know if I would say they've influenced my worldview. And yet if I love them, something about them has probably stuck with me and influenced the way I think, react or act. So below are ten books that, in some way or another, have influenced me.

1. The Bible. Cliche, right? But as someone who professes to be a follower of Jesus, the Bible has deeply influenced the way that I think and feel about the world. It reaches (hopefully) into every area of my life, from the way I treat people (again, hopefully) to the way that I spend my time (hopefully) to the things I believe are worth fighting for (still hopefully!). I truly believe that from the first page to the last, this is the most influential book I have ever read. Yes, even the lists of names part.

2. The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I sound really smart right now, don't I? I picked this book up while I was in India (don't ask me how that happened, because honestly I don't remember). But I do remember the amazing story of the "simple" Prince Myshkin and his willingness to fight for Nastasya despite the ridicule of others. Honestly, I don't think you can read The Idiot without thinking of Christ or a Christ-like figure (of course I think the same about the movie Moulin Rouge and people think I'm crazy). There's also an element of societal condemnation (or the condemnation of certain types of behavior in society) that I think has influenced the way that I view our current society. I'll leave that there.

3. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith. Oh. my. gosh. I LOVED (and continue to love) this book. It is the quintessential coming of age story in the slums of Brooklyn, New York. In my life, this book's influence was quite far reaching, from giving me a context of what it means to grow up as a girl no matter what time period you may live in, to the realities of life in the slums. I just read this again earlier this fall and found it even more powerful than before.

4. The Magician's Nephew, by CS Lewis. The first in the "story series" of the Chronicles of Narnia, I just read The Magician's Nephew this fall (I apparently did a lot of reading this fall). It is the creation story as it has never been told before (and I won't spoil it for you so you can read it yourself!) It taught me to think of the story of creation in a completely new way, as a beautiful act of art, rather than a list of things that were made in a certain amount of time. That is literally changing my "world" "view". Ha!

5. Truth and Social Reform, by Vishal Mangalwadi. This book fundamentally changed my perception of the Christian's responsibility to social reform. I read this while studying at L'Abri in England...and really, anything you read in an English manor house is probably going to make an impression on you. The book is no longer in print, but if at all possible, get your hands on it. Mangalwadi, an Indian, writes of his struggles to figure out what his faith has to say about social reform, even as it is linked to evangelism. Absolutely essentially important to read.

6. Basic Christianity, by John Stott. Really, almost anything by John Stott. The basic fundamentals of what it means to be a Christian. Not an American Christian or a rich Christian or a poor Christian or any other ridiculous label of a Christian. He depicts the judgement deserved as no one I have ever read before, and yet also depicts the grace extended as I've never seen before, too. Rocked my world.

7. The Beautiful and Damned, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Great Gatsby could also be up there, but B&D influenced my worldview even more. In one short sentence, B&D shows us the dangers of irresponsible living, living that thinks only of one's self. Very powerful.

8. The Decameron, by Giovanni Boccaccio. In particular, the Second Story. Anyone who knows anything about The Decameron knows that it's quite raunchy in some parts and just plain gross in others. But the Second Story, in particular, profoundly impacted my world view and my thoughts on evangelism an the reality of the Christian faith. Encouraged by his friend, a Christian, to visit Rome to learn about Christianity, Abraham (a Jew) makes the trek to the great city. What he sees, instead, is complete debauchery by the "religious". His friend-completely disappointed- approaches him when he returns, fully expecting that he'll have nothing good to report. Here's the part that gets me. Abraham responds: "Unless I did not see things straight, I found no holiness, no devotion, no good work or example or anything else in a single man of the clergy. On the contrary, lust, gluttony, avarice and worse things...for all were at their work to ruin the Christian faith entirely and ban it altogether from the world...Yet when I notice their aim is not fulfilled, but that your religion continually grows and becomes more bright and clear, it seems to me very evident that the Holy Spirit is its foundation and support, so it must be the truest and holiest of all faiths." Wow.

9. Balkan Ghosts, by Robert Kaplan. Changed the way I view the world known as "former Yugoslavia" and most of the geopolitical situations around the globe.

10. Vogue's Book of Etiquette, 1948 printing. If you want to see the way people used to treat one another and behave, you've got to glance through Vogue's Book of Etiquette. I don't know if I can say that it changed my world view, but I can say that it definitely enlightened me. Maybe one day we can return to a more civil society (without the ridiculousness of some of the customs, too)

I know as soon as I hit publish I'm going to regret at least a few of these or some of the ones I left off. But here they are. Read, ask questions and check them out yourself.

More like our Grandmothers

2010-03-26T20:09:00.003-05:00

There's a New York Times Magazine article making its way around Facebook right now called the The Femivores Dilemma that I highly recommend you check out. The article itself is but a tiny glimpse of a neat little revival of sorts (minus big tents and people passing out) among young, hip- and oftentimes urban- families.

I have an apron just like that

The jist of the article is to tell us about a growing trend toward home-grown, unprocessed food, even-gasp- chickens. The idea is that it's not only healthier, it's also, somehow, more pure, more community-focused and less, well, consumer-driven. Like the majority of our grandmothers had, this new trend focuses on sustainable "kitchen gardens" that can feed a family, save money and ultimately allow women (and men) the opportunity to again work with their hands and bring life out of dark soil.

There is a feminist piece in the article that I won't go into (though I find it enlightening)...what is more interesting to me is this paragraph:

As I rustled up a quick dinner of whole-wheat quesadillas and frozen organic peas, I found my thoughts drifting back to our conversation, to the questions she raised about the nature of success, satisfaction, sustenance, fulfillment, community. What constitutes “enough”? What is my obligation to others? What do I want for my child? Is my home the engine of materialism or a refuge from it?

At its heart, I believe these are deeply spiritual questions, questions that I wish the American church in particular would take more seriously. These are questions, as we have budgeted and cut and downsized and budgeted again, that M and I are taking a long, hard look at. What is fulfillment? What is enough? What do our lives say are the answers to these questions? While we can't literally have a kitchen garden (but will be planting tomatoes and some herbs on our itsy bitsy back staircase), how do we make decisions that reflect our belief that our worth is not found in the things we possess, the restaurants we eat at or even in the neighborhood we live in? How do we live responsibly, not because it's "cool" right now, but because we believe it's part of our Christian calling? How can we encourage others, others who strive and strive to reach the top of that ladder or make that extra million or whatever it might be, that these worldly pursuits, while they may be golden, are fleeting? Do not read this as a condemnation of enjoying trips or food or homes or what have you- but do see this as a condemnation of the Gospel of More Stuff.

I don't know the answers. Even still, I know these are all questions worth asking.

Eastern Comfort?

2010-03-23T19:15:00.005-05:00

This past weekend, M and I finally took the plunge and paid the majillion dollars to go to the world-famous Chicago Art Institute.

It was worth the majillion dollars.

First of all, you can come in and out all day. That means that you aren't held captive to eat their ridiculously expensive and probably bland food. Instead, you can go to Five Guys. (Yes, it exists here. Believe me.) That also means that you can park in the metered "2 Hour Parking" and just feed the meter every, you guessed it, two hours. And save yourself the majillion and one dollars you would pay to park in a garage.

The Art Institute is phenomenal. Check out my pictures on Facebook for an idea of all the amazing art. But there's one thing in particular I want to bring your attention to.

Chinese pillows.

Yes, Chinese pillows.

"Those aren't pillows!" you're thinking. Well, you're thinking wrong. They might look like big lumps of stone (which they probably are). But they're not. They're pillows. Don't believe me? Here's my proof:

The little description claims that these "supported the neck while sleeping and allowed an often elaborate hairstyle to remain intact during the night." Hmm. Two points to make here: one, how freaking long is your neck that one of these things fits comfortably underneath it?? And two, I'm from the south. Don't tell me about "elaborate hairstyles". Have you seen Steel Magnolias? Or any Dolly Parton video? I'm just sayin'.

I mean surely they didn't find these things comfortable, did they? A hard stone under your head? I can imagine they were as comfortable as getting your hair shampooed in a salon every night. For eight hours. Didn't they have feathers they could stuff in cotton and call it a real pillow? Or use their arm? Or a rolled up floor pad or something? Anything softer than...a stone?

Eastern Comfort. Nothin' like it.

Hello, Cupcake

2010-03-19T17:50:00.002-05:00

In the late summer of 2006, my office was having a small party for something or another. Though I am usually a big baker, for some reason (which I don't remember now), I bought cupcakes for our party at the grocery store. You know what I'm talking about, right? Those sometimes oddly-colored concoction that are half cake and half icing? And you start shaking after eating one because of all the sugar?

Yeah, one of those.

At the time, one of my co-workers, MG, took a cupcake up to her office, maybe to eat it later, maybe to look at it...I'm not sure why exactly. And there it sat.

And sat.

And.....sat.

Molding, right? Going through some process of decolorization, surely.

Nope.

That's right. Nothing happened. Nothing. When I left in August 2009 (THREE YEARS LATER) the cupcake- while maybe slightly smaller- looked exactly the same. In fact, MG and I were just emailing today and she told me the cupcake remains, just as before. Like God, the cupcake never changes.

Mmmm. Go getcha one of those.

I take back everything nice I said about Spring

2010-03-15T08:30:00.004-05:00

Spring, I'm beginning to loathe you.

You flirt with me with your 55 degree weather. Your "jacket-less" days. Your blue skies.

Then you dump what seems like 20 inches of rain, cold temperatures and strong wind on me.

Oh, and did I mention the cold you gave me? Why is it that EVERY TIME you show your little face, I get sick? And end up wanting to cut my head off because it hurts so bad every time I cough. But I can't stop coughing or sneezing because of that horrible stuff in my throat. Awesome, Spring. Just awesome.

I hope your fairer cousin, Summer, gets here soon.

Rest

2010-03-10T22:00:00.004-06:00

Tonight, our small group dove into Joshua 15-21. In all, a pretty boring read. (What, I'm being honest! I'm not really into land allotments, ok?) But the last three verses of the reading really caught my eye and, I believe, can speak to so many of us.

And the Lord gave them rest on every side just as he had sworn to their ancestors; not one of all their enemies had withstood them, for the Lord had given all their enemies into their hands. Not one of all the good promises that the Lord had made to the house of Israel had failed; all came to pass.

The rest Israel received was no doubt very different than the one promised to us (unless you are out conquering lands and slaughtering people. If you are, we need to talk.) But these verses in Joshua closely resemble someone else's promise of rest. Jesus. The whole "Son of God" guy.

"Come to me all you who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for my yoke is easy and my burden light."

I believe that over the last few years, the Lord has taught me- and given me- an amazing appreciation for rest. Not only that, He's taught me how to rest. Not like "rub my feet and bring me a pina colada" type of rest (though let's be honest, I sure don't mind that either) but a "find peace and rest in ME" sort of rest. It's not only a blessing but a promise to those who draw near to Christ. And it's something woefully missing from so many American churches.

Maybe it's a symptom of this generation, or maybe it's a DC thing, but there seems to be a competition in so many of the Christian communities that I've been a part of toward being "the busiest" or "the most stressed out" or the most "totally overwhelmed by all the things going on in my life." Don't get me wrong, I'm not mocking how stressed we all think we are (ok, maybe a little) and I'm certainly not saying I've got it all figured out and that I don't get stressed at times. But I can't help but wonder how many of us are the busy Marthas in the kitchen, totally missing out on the blessing of being a Mary, just resting at the Lord's feet, soaking it all- and Him- in. And surely, SURELY, if the Son of God didn't get stressed out by all HE had to accomplish (that whole salvation thing) we can have a better perspective on our own lives, right?

But then what do we do about it? How do we change it? How do we learn to rest? (Even this stresses us out. We want to do, do, do!) I think we have to go back to the beginning. Asking God to give us a right perspective on our place in this world. When we start to learn that we are mere tools to be used by Him, we also start to understand that the world doesn't revolve, or stop revolving, by our strength or actions, by what we accomplish or don't. This is not to say that the things we do- or don't do- aren't important, it's to say that it's not really up to us in the first place. The LORD is in control. And in that, there is rest.

I am so thankful that the Lord has given me this time of good rest these last few years, especially as I know that as kids come and family grows, things will probably be stressful. But no matter what, my prayer will be that the Lord will continue to give me rest on all sides, that I might truly press hard into Him and learn to rest because I trust that He will accomplish His good works.

He is good and in that I will rest.

The Seasons

2010-03-07T13:28:00.003-06:00

Like most of the country, Chicago is finally leaving behind it's cold, bitter winter and pressing ahead to the joys of spring. Granted, it's still in the 30s and I still have to scrape ice off my windshield in the morning, but it's actually RAINING right now instead of snowing. Woohoooo!

Yesterday, M and I took advantage of the 39 degree weather and trekked out to Promontory Point. It's a little point of land that jets out into Lake Michigan and gives you a beautiful view of the "Floating City." (I made that up. But seriously, doesn't it look like it's floating?)

I have to admit, Chicago- at least when it's sunny- is a beautiful city. The mix of architectural style actually adds to the feeling of diversity around the city. The streets are wide, there's a plethora of parks and the lake's sparkle adds to the city's beauty. I can only imagine it will be that much more beautiful in the coming months.

I can't help but think of the cycles of the liturgical year during these times of transition from one season to another. The winter has been a good time to think, proclaim and repent the darkness of the soul, and look forward to a risen Lord, exemplified by the new life of spring; and ultimately to look forward to the day when there is no longer winter...just the joyful, all-consuming beauty of spring.

Both literally and figuratively, I'm looking forward to the day when ALL of the snow is gone, I don't have to wear a heavy coat anymore, the skies are no longer sad and I can finally let my feet breathe in flip flops (ok, that last part might not be figurative). When the dreariness of winter passes into the hope and brightness of spring. Winter is no doubt good for the soul...if only to make us that much more thankful for spring.

The B Word. Take Two.

2010-03-02T19:11:00.003-06:00

Again, not THAT B word. Or the bad one, either.

This one: budget. Everyone's favorite topic!!

Let me just say, if you're on a budget, you really, really shouldn't be getting this magazine. As we are. (Don't worry, we got it for free. And yes, it's really free, even though when people say "it's free" it's normally not. Trust me.)

If you love travel (check) and culture (check) but have very little money at the moment (check, check), the LAST thing you need to be looking at is a magazine about travel. I don't care if it has the title "Budget" in it. Because I'll promise you something. You will want to take every, single trip they mention in the magazine. Of COURSE I want to hike some unknown mountain in the Amazon (are there mountains in the Amazon?) And the Taj Mahal on your cover?? ARE YOU PLAYING WITH MY HEARTSTRINGS, BUDGET TRAVEL? "DREAM TRIPS"?????? AAAAHHHHHH!

Just a few days ago, I was thinking how thankful I am that M and I have both been able to travel pretty extensively (me more so, but with the name change, all my passport stamps are gone). And then what shows up in our mailbox? This little gem. Awesome. Way to feed the addiction.

I fundamentally believe that I am who I am today because of my experiences traveling and living abroad. From an early age, I remember that every summer we would take a family vacation somewhere. Boston. New York City. Alaska. California. Italy (that was a spring trip but, whatever). And always Florida. My thoughts, convictions and beliefs are in many ways shaped by those I have traveled and worked with around the globe. M and I want our children (and I promise I will let you know in person or on the phone when that blessed day comes rather than hearing it first on the family blog) to experience different cultures, around America and beyond. I especially believe its important for those who claim the Christian faith to see what that faith looks like outside of the often-biased walls of the American church. Obviously travel can become an unhealthy obsession, and often feeds (especially my generation's) angst against settling down, picking up responsibility and, well, growing up. But it also provides lessons that are best learned over a shared cup of Indian chai or an unidentifiable Rwandan carbohydrate brick. These are things I want our children to experience. These are things that I want to continue to experience. Just as I never want to lose sight of the reality of the lives of those who have a different experience than I do in this country, I also never want to lose sight of the reality of the lives of those who have a different experience than I do around the world.

So about those around-the-world tickets...

Friday Round-Up

2010-02-26T17:16:00.002-06:00

Praise the Lord, it's Friday! Here's what happened this week.

1. I somehow pushed the cork of our wine bottle INTO the bottle, instead of pulling it out. What can I say? I can do amazing things. I also sprayed red wine all over my white shirt in the process. Awesome!!

2. I drank 20 full glasses of water at work over the course of the week.

3. It snowed. Again.

4. It was butt cold. Again.

5. I finally got a new pair of jeans that look halfway decent.

6. I learned who invented the stoplight. (Thank you, Breakthrough youth Black History Month celebration!)

7. I made an awesome PowerPoint.

8. I successfully kept myself from mindlessly watching TV. We did watch Lost, but that's not mindless. AND, Lost (and new episodes of The Office) are part of our Lenten agreement with God.

9. I purchased our tickets to DC for Easter.

10. I arrived EARLY to work 3 days.

11. I almost ran out of gas twice.

12. I brought my lunch to work 4 out of 5 days. And the other day doesn't count because we were celebrating all the February birthdays.

13. I added 30 people on my LinkedIn profile in an office competition. And I would just like to say that what should matter is how many you have, not how many you can acquire in two weeks. I'm just saying.

14. I did the "2:30 Candy Dance" around the office. Don't ask. It's sorta scary. And there might be children watching.

15. Umm...probably lots of other stuff but those are the standouts.

Ok, so when I list it out like that, it doesn't really amount to much, does it? But hey, it's the small victories, right? RIGHT?!

Have a great weekend!

Top Things I Love

2010-02-23T19:52:00.005-06:00

Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I blogged. But...it was my birthday and then we were in Florida (it was great, thanks for asking) so I am WAAAAAY behind. Anyway. My apologies. Let me fill that void now that has been in your life.

Let me tell you about the top things I love. Obviously, numero uno, God (does the Trinity take up numbers 1, 2 and 3). Number two, Mason. And number three? Let me introduce you to...

No, not Delta. THE COOKIE! Biscoff, to be exact. Now that's not REALLY the thing I love the third most in the world. Because you can't forget family and champagne stoppers (sidenote: the stopper is so good that I'm still drinking the bubbly goodness of the bottle M got me for my birthday. No, I didn't drink it all that night.)

But OH MY GOSH! What is it about these little cookies?! EVERY time I fly Delta I feel my heart beat just a little bit faster when I hear that little drink trolley headed my way. Ok, I'm slightly exaggerating. I even ate the cookies on 3 of the 4 flights to and from Florida this weekend, despite my low sugar diet...and subsequently only felt slightly guilty by all the "bad food" we ate the rest of the weekend.

Maybe it's because they're European? Or because they're sweet but not too sweet? Whatever the reason, I love them. A lot. And they're practically free, right? Minus that whole "$250 you just paid for a ticket" thing...

Table for Two

2010-02-15T18:10:00.004-06:00

M and I aren't really into celebrating Valentine's Day (mostly because my birthday is two days later...wink, wink, nudge, nudge), but this year we decided to replicate the amazing breakfasts we had on our honeymoon in Croatia. What does this entail? I'm glad you asked! Prosciutto. A fresh baguette. Two types of cheeses. Fruit. Rich hot chocolate. Strong coffee. (Let's be honest, the only thing missing is wine...and since it was breakfast....well I'm not THAT much of a lush). And really, does anything say "I love you" quite like bread, cheese and prosciutto? I think not!

*WARNING* IT'S ABOUT TO GET A LITTLE SAPPY*

Looking back over the three years and a few months that M and I have been together (about one and a half of marriage), I'm pretty sure that I couldn't have created anyone more perfect for me. It is literally amazing to get just a small glimpse through M's love for me of Christ's love for His church...even when she is emotional, irrational or selfish. (Of course I am NEVER any of these. EVER). How good God has been to us...for our love for one another, yes, but more importantly for His love for us!

We will now return you to your regularly-scheduled witty and sarcastic postings.

The Rules

2010-02-11T16:08:00.003-06:00

Because we live in an orderly society, their are certain rules that we all must abide by (unless you think you're above them--I'm lookin' at you Maryland drivers--in which case you ignore them and totally annoy the crap out of everyone else). These rules are a little different depending on where you live...for instance, did you know that in the country of England they DRIVE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD??! I know! Oh! Oh! And in the Czech Republic PEOPLE YIELD TO BICYCLES. Mind-blowing!

Apparently, like these other exotic locales, Chicago has its own set of rules. Here are five that I've observed so far. Let's call them "Chicago Winter Rules."

1. If you park in front of my sidewalk, it's totally ok for me to shovel my sidewalk ONTO your car.

2. Lawn chairs and orange cones really do save a parking spot. And if you take it, your tires will be slashed. (I wish I were kidding. I'm not.)

3. It is not my problem if a huge piece of snow flies off the top of my car and smacks your windshield, making it impossible for you to see for a terrorizing 30 seconds.

4. It's so much more fun to yell instructions from across the street at the "foreigners" (ie not from Chicago) who don't particularly know how to get their car out of the 2 foot wall of snow (see rule number 1) that is around their car. You wouldn't want to actually cross the street and HELP.

5. It's really fun to scare these same "foreigners" by telling them that it will still be snowing in mid-June. And the reason it's fun is because it's true.

Oh, Chicago...

An Open Letter to Target

2010-02-07T11:11:00.004-06:00

Dear Target,

Let me say this up front. I love you. (This is not to say that I don't have a problem with some of the things you do, but...well...I'm working through it.)

Now let's be honest. If I'm looking for quality, or something that will last me more than, say, a year- give or take a few months- I'll turn to my other loves (Banana Republic, Nordstrom's, local boutiques) to get the job done. And if I want jewelry that I will literally wear forever, I'll probably try and convince M to buy me something from Tiffany's again. And if I need a staple pair of shoes that I'll wear at least 4 times a week, Kate Spade is my girl (ok, so this has only happened once, if you don't count the adorable KS wallet my sister got me for Christmas. But still, a girl can dream, right?)

But I love you. I love that I bought the wreath on our door (the one that's been hanging there since September) from you for $19. I love that I can buy three new pairs of pants (because my other ones don't fit and I don't want to invest in really nice pants until I'm at my goal weight) on our current budget and not hyperventilate. I love that toilet paper is so cheap, but I don't have to buy 14,589 rolls like I would at Costco (I've got bigger issues with Costco anyways). I love that you make cute lingerie for lingerie showers, and cute baby things for baby showers and cute birthday cards for birthday parties...and everything in between.

But.

Seriously?

Your entire shoe section yesterday was sandals. Flip flops. Open-toed heels.

Really?

You realize that I live in Chicago now, right? CHICAGO. Where it hasn't been above 35 in about two months. CHICAGO. Where it's odd if there's not at least some snow on the ground from November through March. CHICAGO. Where it won't be time for sandals until, well, probably June. All I wanted was a cute pair of boots (since I left my last ones in a hotel in Atlanta). In February. When people are still wearing boots. And will be for another two months. Is that too much to ask? I know, I know, you roll stuff out in your stores nationwide. But last time I looked it ain't real balmy around most of the country right now. I'm just sayin'.

Don't get me wrong. I'll continue to love you. I'll continue to buy cute clothes from you (oooh, and maybe bathing suits in a few months!) and I'll still buy your toilet paper and laundry detergent and makeup brushes. And I'll still turn to you for cheap wrapping paper, cute cards and other gifts. But. You let a girl down, Target. And I think you deserve to know.

And since I know you're probably feeling horrible about all this, I can send you my address for some "we're sorry" gift cards. It's the least you can do, right? I couldn't agree more.

Love,

Hyde Park Heroes

The View from the Bathroom

2010-02-04T23:24:00.008-06:00

THE BATHROOM!!!

I'm not even kidding. This is the view from the 96th floor women's bathroom in the Hancock Building. And yes, I had my camera. In the bathroom. Actually, it was in my purse, which was in the bathroom with me. Which sounds much less weird. Right?

Hear ye, hear ye, should you ever come to visit us in Chicago, we have to go to the Hancock building. You can either pay $15 to go to the "observation deck" (which is inside) or pay less than that to sit at a cocktail table and knock back champagne. Guess which one we chose...

And you really can't beat this view. Chicago, 96 stories up.

Uh, what?

2010-02-02T21:25:00.003-06:00

Two "Uh, What?" moments today (sidenote, this is a new series on my blog. As of right now):

1. Ok, so like 94% of America, I'm watching Lost right now.

Uh, what?

I mean...huh? I get the whole Locke's body thing. And I understand that somehow they're not there but they are there, without being there. Right? And Miles still talks to dead people and Sawyer is still a bad actor and, man, I wish I had Kate's arms.

Other than that...um, what? Who are these new hippie people?? What's the deal with crazy Jacob? Is Locke the bad guy in the dark vest who is Jacob's arch nemesis? This is just getting ridiculous. And there's still 30 minutes to go...

2. One of my little kindergarten kids that I tutor on Tuesdays through Breakthrough said today, "Miss Liz, you have big eyes. Like a hamster."

Uh, what? And...thanks?

Compassion Tourism

2010-01-27T15:50:00.005-06:00

I was really struck the other day by a phrase my colleague Mike used in one of our meetings.

Compassion tourism.

It's a lot of things, but it's partly the idea that so many of our "compassion ministries" or "urban ministries" look like day-long field trips to some exotic place. You know, like loading up your SUV with a group of friends and going and seeing the Amish. "Ooh, look how these people live! We should buy stuff from them! And take pictures! They're so not like us! That was fun!" I think it's a natural reaction to want to explore that which is "other" to our experience, and it's normal to be intrigued.

But.

The problem is when our work as the Church stops at compassion tourism; when loading into our cars, driving to the "bad part of town," doing some sort of service, taking some pictures with the cute kids, and then going right back to our regularly-scheduled programming is enough for us to get our fix, check that box, what have you. Don't get me wrong. As someone who works in full-time "urban ministry," these acts of service can very, very much be a blessing to those of us who are laboring day in and day out in these areas. But it sure can also be frustrating as car after car pulls in, pulls out and totally misses the whole point.

The point is that transformation- of communities, of us- doesn't happen at a drive-thru. Relationships aren't built in a quick two hours a year. And as long as you're "just visiting," you'll never fully see what could be. How often do we allow our hands to get dirty in the complications of poverty and injustice? Do we really take the time to start the messy process of relationship building, rather than just stuff giving or policy creating? Do we dedicate time in prayer, every day, for those organizations that do? I am the first to proclaim that not everyone can devote their life to this sort of work...and expectations of anything close to that are highly problematic. I also recognize the incredible importance of having those "in the trenches" help to educate those who aren't. But here's something everyone who professes Christ can and must do: love God and love others. Compassion tourism isn't sacrificial love.

Too often our "loving people" (very much like our "loving God") has to fit within our time frames, our ideas and our social or political convictions. If it can't be accomplished in a day of service or doesn't jive well with what we think about the world, we're probably too busy, too important, too...something to do it. But that's not the life we're called to live. That's not what Jesus taught, and it's certainly not a picture of the thriving church.

Maybe the problem is that we know, deep down inside, that it's not going to be easy or comfortable work. (Should this surprise us? I hope not.) Really, truly loving God and therefore loving our neighbors is dangerous work. It will have implications for every single second of your day. It will mean looking at the world in a different way. It will mean looking at our finances in a different way. It will mean looking at each other in a different way. And yet ultimately, it will make us better worshippers of Him.

I am hopeful for a day when the Church universal will again live out its calling in the world. When we, the Church-especially the Western church which seems to lag behind its counterparts- will no longer be bound by comfort, blinded by fear and drunk on our own selfish and, yes, sometimes petty needs. There are already bright spots: I can tell stories of lives transformed, of devoted prayers, of community restoration. And yet...

The road is long. Just as a living faith is an act-filled process, so loving our neighbors is as well. Let's start by putting away our cameras. Getting out of our cars. Putting down our stopwatches.

Let's go inside and sit for a while.

Did I mention I know* Meryl Streep?

2010-01-23T17:26:00.007-06:00

Last year for my birthday, M and I traveled with our good friends Katie and Dave to New York City. (Sidenote: have I told you how much I miss being able to get on a bus and go to NYC? Seriously. If I tried that from here it would 1. cost a bajillion dollars and 2. take a bajillion hours to get there.)

If I could recreate that weekend every time I go to NYC I would. Why? Well I'll tell you why. First off, it was New York fashion week and WE were there. Not guests inside, mind you. But there, all the same. The list of famous people we saw is too long to list, though I will mention Heidi Klum (who is beautiful, but looked a little orange) and Whitney Port and that horrid Olivia girl. I felt like a 13 year old all over again, taking pictures of famous people! Not that I really did that when I was 13, but, whatever.

And then...my uncle also happened to be in the city and told us about this phenomenal jazz venue in Harlem. And by venue, I mean woman's living room. Every Sunday, Ms. Eliot opens her Harlem apartment up to anyone and everyone to come and experience some of the world's best jazz. She serves hot wings and kool-aid, and charges a great "zero" for entrance. If you love jazz, you must go to Ms. Eliot's living room before you die. Nearly all great jazz musicians have played there at one time or another.

And in case those two experiences weren't enough, we had reservations that evening at Babbo down in the West Village.

Sound familiar? It's Mario Batali's restaurant. I love him! Even his orange Crocs, which I normally hate. But seriously, that man can pull them off. (Note, I saw him a few weeks later and, sure enough, he had them on. In early March. In New York.)

When we walked in, I checked in with the hostess for our 9:30 reservations, and then just sort of stared off into space while we waited. You know how it can sometimes appear that you're staring at someone, but you're actually not seeing them? That's how I was...just sort of looking, but not seeing. Until. My eyes started to focus on the object I had been looking at. (Focus. Focus.) Hey...that looks like... (focus)....hey, whoever it is is looking back at me and smiling (focus)...HOLY CRAP THAT'S MERYL STREEP LOOKING AT ME AND SMILING!! Of course, as any woman would do, I immediately whisper as quietly as possible, "KATIE! THAT'S MERYL STREEP." (I'm really classy like that.)

My obvious next thought is, So if Meryl Streep is here, who else is? Why look, there's Maggie Gyllenhaal with a big group of friends. And Rachel Zoe, back in the corner with her husband. And, what's that Dave and M? Meryl Streep is with JIM FROM THE OFFICE? Holy crap. We're like in the pantheon of actors and actresses I like. (And stylists.)

So that's how I know Meryl Streep. *Granted, she doesn't know my name, but we made a connection, you know? I could just feel it.

Oh, and the food was the most amazing food I have ever eaten and it was one of my best birthdays ever.

In fact, it was all so great that I returned to NYC a few weeks later and went to Babbo again with my friends New York Meg and New York Nancy (and DC Mandy), for Meg's birthday.

And ran into Luke Wilson.

But that's another story.

Comcast Math

2010-01-21T14:54:00.004-06:00

So I've written before about my pure, unadulterated hatred of Comcast. (See below. I don't know how to link to it). I know, I know, we could choose to not have cable and get internet from someone else. But it's just so much work, you know? And I would rather just whine.

M and I decided that, because our "six month promotional rate" was about to double to a three-digit bill, we would contact Comcast and cancel our cable. Besides, I watch WAY too much HGTV and, according to M, "trash" on Bravo. I'm sorry, I find Millionaire Matchmaker an amazing anthropologic study of our society and relationships.

Since they make it impossible to cancel online, that meant the ever-dreaded phone call. I dialed the number and, after choosing the "If you are thinking about dropping your service button" (I'm not THINKING people, I'm DOING), a very sweet older lady came on the phone.

Me: "Hi, we currently have cable and internet and would like to cancel our cable."

Her: "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that (and she actually sounded like she was. Where do they get these people??) Is there any specific reason?"

Me: "Well, I think it's robbery that we pay so much for a service when we have no other choices in cable and only one or two in internet providers. It's a monopoly, ma'am. Or at least an oligopoly." (Or something along those lines)

Her: "I understand. Well let me take a look at your account and see what I can do."

Me: "Uh, well, we really just want to cancel it."

Her: "Ok, hold please."

Intermission of, not kidding, at least seven minutes. I think they do that in the hopes that you'll get fed up and just hang up.

Her: "Hello, ma'am. I'm back! Would you like to add phone service?"

Me: "What? No! I want to cancel my damn cable!!!"

Her: "Ok, well, if you were to cancel your cable, your bill just for the internet would be $70. If you decide, instead, to take up another six months of our promotional offer, we could make your bill for cable and internet $77, inclusive."

Me: "Cable internet costs $70?"

Her: "Plus tax."

Me: "So we can KEEP our cable and our internet, and pay approximately the same price as we would for just internet."

Her: "Well. Yes."

Me: "Since I don't even want to get into a discussion about your apparently very large profit margin on each and every service that you supply, we'll just keep the cable. And in the meantime, look for internet that is much, much cheaper. Somewhere. Hopefully."

Her: "Great! And thanks for choosing Comcast!"

Me: "But I DIDN'T choose Comcast! You guys-"

Her: "Click."

I'm still trying to figure out who won here: me or Comcast?

I'm betting on Comcast.

Move Over Bobby Flay

2010-01-18T14:36:00.005-06:00

Actually, I'm not really a big fan of Bobby Flay. Not sure why...maybe it's that he's so...everywhere. He's the poster child of the Food Network. Throw Down with Bobby Flay. The Life and Times of Bobby Flay. Iron Chef Bobby Flay. Like Rachel Ray. But anyway.

With the long weekend, I was able to spend a significant portion of my time cooking. And in case you don't know me by now, I love cooking. Love it. I love making things up as I go, like my new wholewheat carrot muffins. Or my pork tenderloin recipe. And so, I give you my...

stuffed poblano pepper with homemade tortilla chips and a fresh tomatillo sauce (salsa verde)

It looks delicious, doesn't it? And it was, my friends, it was. And here's the great thing: it's healthy (or, I should say, not as unhealthy as a lot of Mexican food)! Those chips you see? They're baked. Yep. Small corn tortillas, cut into slices, with just a tiny bit of olive oil and kosher salt. The poblano pepper? I "roasted" it over our stovetop (ie held it over the open flame and rotated it) and then stuffed it with a very spicy, very lean ground beef, green chiles and my version of a Spanish rice- no cheese necessary. And of course the piece de resistance, the tomatillo sauce. Hyde Park produce had beautiful tomatillos (which are technically out of season, but...) that I just had to grab them up. Man, it was good.

I've yet to find a healthy, authentic Mexican restaurant in Chicago (minus Rick Bayless, who we simply can't get reservations for and usually can't afford, though he's amazing), so it's nice to know that I can cook up my own, healthy version of some of my Mexican food favorites. Now it's on to the margaritas...

You'll Thank Me Later

2010-01-14T22:41:00.003-06:00

I used to think that this was one of the most irritating statements you could hear. Really? You know OH SO MUCH BETTER than me? And you think I'll actually THANK you for this pain/frustration/what-have-you that I feel is being inflicted on me right now? Puh-leeze.

And yet...I think this is exactly the sentiment that the Lord is saying to M and I right now.

As most of you know, the transition from DC to Chicago wasn't without shed tears, missed friends and lots and lots of frustration. At times, it seemed like this was exactly what we WEREN'T supposed to be doing. Who picks up and moves to a city they've never lived in with no job, no friends and a butt-kicking hard education in front of them? Apparently the Hyde Park Heroes.

And yet...

We've learned so many things here, things that- while we very well could have learned them back in DC- wouldn't have been learned so quickly or so deeply in our "previous life". We've learned the importance of community in a person's life, in raising a family and in pursuing the higher truths. We've learned how to love one another deeply and how to trust one another with every aspect of our lives. I've learned that there is a vocational calling on my life to help people "love their neighbor," especially in urban areas of high dis-investment, segregation and distrust. M has learned that he loves studying public policy and that he's quite gifted at these things. We've learned how to really study God's Word, not just because we should but because we love it and know that there are great, deep truths to be pondered and discussed; truths that make an eternal difference. We've learned how to live wisely on the (few) dollars that we bring in, not because we're cheap but because we believe that what we spend our money on is a reflection of what we value. We've learned that true friendships are worth their weight in gold and that they don't blossom overnight, making us even more thankful for those friends who continue to love us, seek us out and respond to our emails.

Gosh, and that's only after 5 months.

No matter where we are next (and we are definitely hopeful it will be a return to the city and community that we love) it is good to know that God not only met us here in Hyde Park but led us here, too. That even in times of supreme frustration and confusion, there can still be a plan and a purpose and maybe, just maybe, wonderful things to be learned and experienced.

And for that we are thankful.

The Snowy Day(s)

2010-01-10T11:23:00.002-06:00

For all my hemming and hawing, it really is beautiful.

Date Night

2010-01-02T10:21:00.009-06:00

For a while now (it all blurs together these days, but it started back when we were dating) M and I have set aside Friday night as date night. Sometimes it's with friends, sometimes it's low key and sometimes it's a quick jaunt to Europe. I'm kidding.

Since this Friday night's "date" was watching the Gators slaughter Cincinnati, we went out on Wednesday instead. And THIS was our date.

Yeah, it is what you think it is. But before you call PETA or stop reading or throw up or do whatever it is you do when you see a dead duck, give me a second.

Calm now? Great.

We ventured up to the Northside of the city to try out a place called Sun Wah barbeque that we had read about. It's a traditional Chinese-style place, well known for its meats and cheap prices. And let me just say... while I do NOT especially like duck, this place was AMAZING. AMAZING. The meat is incredible and you don't feel like you're filling yourself with white rice all night (since I'm no longer eating white rice, I'm happy for that fact.) They serve you tea when you sit down (don't you wish every restaurant was so nice?) and the prices? Well let's just say that we ate like four different animals and didn't even pay $30. Sun Wah is a bright spot (ha ha, sun...get it?!) on a strip of less-impressive Thai and Chinese restaurants. Go.

But since we didn't BYOB to Sun Wah, we wanted to end the night with a nightcap. After the first place we tried turned out to be pretentious and crowded, we finally made it down to our local watering hole, Woodlawn Tap.

It's not very impressive from the outside (especially since you can't even really tell it's there...Starbucks is a little overwhelming) but man, it is everything GOOD that a bar can be. Originally opened in 1948, the bar claims that it serves people from Nobel Laureates to the local pipe layer. In fact, when we walked in, we were impressed by the fact that, while practically on the campus of the University of Chicago, the mix of people there was amazing: white and black, blue collar, white collar, old, young. It just feels like a good bar should feel. (Not to knock you DC- or downtown Chicago- but bars full of Hill staffers and lobbying assistants can't hold a candle to Woodlawn Tap). They still take cash only, they use the original cash register (you can kind of see one on the left side of the picture) and they serve hamburgers, fries and hot dogs for practically quarters. We didn't try them, but they looked good.

And the best part?

They can mix girly drinks, too! I know it's a bit sacrilegious (yes, that's spelled right, because I checked) to go to a place like this and order a Cosmo, but I just can't bring myself to drink beer. It tastes like pee. And I like to enjoy my drink, thank you.

Bottoms up, boys!! and...uh....Nobel Peace prize winners....

That was fun!

2009-12-28T18:27:00.010-06:00

M and I just drove back from Kentucky, where we spent the Christmas holiday with my extended family. It consisted of:

Lots of cookie decorating..

Yes, that's a 3 cookies on top of each other. Guess who made that one...

Lots of presents...

And you can't even see all the gift cards

Lots of people (this is table one of two)...

It IS Kentucky, after all...we're all related!

Lots of eating...

The world-famous chocolate chip cookies

And lots of funny pictures of M.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year to you and yours!

There were probably unicorns, too

2009-12-21T20:28:00.005-06:00

First of all, I want to confess that I've been a little slow on my blogging lately. Mostly because work has been really busy with our Christmas Store (huge success!) and because by the time I get home I'm exhausted and don't want to look at a computer. So, there you go. But now, I've returned!

This weekend, M and I flew to Atlanta for approximately 30 hours to go to my cousin Patrick's wedding. We really, really enjoyed ourselves and it was great spending time with family. Granted we'll see them again in two days but, whatever. Best part, besides the actual wedding during which I cried like a baby (this is nothing new), was sitting in our hotel room with my sister and her husband, cousin and soon-to-be cousin in law drinking champagne out of plastic cups. Our family is from Kentucky, after all.

On the plane ride home, we floated, err, flew above a big storm. You know, like when you look down and it's just a blanket of white below you? You take off and it's gray and gross and then you get above the clouds and...well...it's just magical.

SO magical, in fact, that Mason and I saw BOTH ENDS OF A RAINBOW. It was actually a rainbow circle.

Can you see it? And no, it wasn't the reflection or anything. It was a big rainbow circle!!! And don't we win some pots of gold or something for this? Because I can send you my address, Mr. Rainbow. Although since you're magical, you probably already know it. (Just don't send chocolate gold coins, because we're trying to cut back on our chocolate intake. Thanks. Love ya!)

2,520 hours later...

2009-12-14T19:49:00.003-06:00

In case you're too lazy to do the math, that's the number of hours that we've now lived in Chicago. And despite some very, very long days in the beginning (anyone remember that I worked for a bakery?) the days have flown by. M is done with his first semester and- after a crazy week this week- I'll be able to rest and relax a little next week and into the New Year!

To celebrate this 2,520 mark, I've put together some of the funny (and horrible) things that have happened to us since our arrival.

It took three men an hour and a half to figure out how to get our couch up our very narrow staircase.
I worked at a bakery for a week and was then cussed out in French when I quit for a job that paid a lot more.
I worked at the University of Chicago law school for two weeks, where people thought I was related to the "Laird" part of the "Laird Bell Quadrangle" at the law school. I sort of let them believe it. But we might be!
I cried every night for the first two weeks that we lived here.
I somehow landed the most amazing, rewarding and fulfilling job I could have ever imagined.
I bought a champagne stopper that has changed my life.
We traveled to Georgia twice to attend weddings.
M saw Oprah.
M went on a fun Chicago scavenger hunt while I worked.
We went Mac.
The Gators lost to Alabama. Gross.
We realized that most people outside the Beltway don't think every day about policy or politics.
I learned how to use Skype.
I was greeted nearly every day by a butt-dancing, whistling crossing guard.
The car battery died.
We went to Iowa. Almost as exciting as the car battery.
40 degrees now feels like spring.
The car slid on ice when I was driving and I got really scared.
We successfully hosted Thanksgiving.
We're still here.

Nothing too earth-shattering, but quite a few of these are accomplishments that I think we can be proud of, or at least are things that we can now look back on and laugh or say, "Remember when..?" These three and a half months have literally flown by. And while I probably miss friends back in DC now more than ever, we're being provided for and learning to make our way in the Second City. That's all we can ask for. Oh, and a little warmer weather.

Nope, it's Christmas

2009-12-08T19:10:00.004-06:00

Ok. So my last post WAS titled "It's Practically Summer." But I was using hyperbole. Or a parabola? Or a hypoallergenic? Whatever. Y'all are smart. And whatever you may have been led to believe by my previous post, it is COLD. BUTT COLD if I might be so bold.

But then, it's supposed to be cold at Christmas, right? Because who can go to German Christmas Markets (Christkindlmarket) and pay ridiculous amounts of money for a Christmas ornament (I just accidentally typed organ. Ha!) when it's not cold outside? And you can't drink mulled wine from an adorable green boot cup thingy at said market if it's not cold, right?

(Yes, that's really what the market looks like. Little red and white tents. But they didn't draw in the thousands of people who were there, too.)

And snow is quite purty. Oh, gray sky, how gorgeous you are. Really. Isn't everyone's favorite...color...gray? Hmm.

Ok, but from the INSIDE of my house, the snow looks pretty! Look at how it lays so perfectly on the branches. I feel like I should be singing Christmas Carols and drinking eggnog as I look at this picture. Ahhh, the holidays.

But just one word of advice. If you're going to live where it snows, you really should invest in snow boots. Really. Trust me. Because otherwise you're stuck like this poor girl.

I mean what kind of idiot would not have snow boots and live in Chicago? And then be stupid enough to think that tights and pants, with flat slide on shoes would keep her from falling on her butt in the snow/ice AND keep her warm. Certainly not ME. You know me better than that.

(By the way, I wear a 9 1/2).

It's Practically Summer

2009-12-05T18:42:00.004-06:00

Have I told y'all about Hyde Park Produce? Oh, right, yes. Just every other post. But in case you don't remember, it's one of the best produce stores ever!! EVER!! As long as you don't buy the expensive organic other stuff (who needs organic flaxseed boxed macaroni and cheese? Apparently lots of people in Hyde Park). For that we go to the hell hole that is Village Foods. But I digress.

Last week I went into HPP to get a few vegetables for the week. (By the way, I have successfully fed M and myself on broccoli, canned tomatoes, rice, zucchini, squash, a frozen chicken breast and peppers pretty much this whole week.) Anyway. When I walked in on Wednesday, my heart stopped for a second.

Wait.

Is that?

A PINT OF STRAWBERRIES FOR $1.99!!!!!!!

YESSSSS!

Not only were they cheaper than I have EVER seen them, they also tasted so amazingly great. Sure, there was something deep, deep down inside of me that thought, "Hmm. I don't think these are in season and I'm supposed to care about that" but that thought was quickly replaced with, "Mmmmmm."

Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Now I'll watch the snow fall as I munch on my summer treats.

It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Finals

2009-12-01T22:06:00.003-06:00

Remember those things, those "tests," we had to take at the end of the semester in college? Apparently they exist in Masters programs, too. Shocking, right? And apparently they're a lot harder than writing some BS paper about the impact of blah blah blah on blah blah blah. Not that I EVER BSed my way through a paper in college. Ever.

M is in full finals mode, studying until well after midnight in one of the Harry Potter-esque libraries (my brother-in-law coined that term) on campus. I don't really understand what he's studying, so I'm not much help, especially since everything is extremely quantitative and I haven't taken math since, oh, high school. Not an exaggeration. I'm more of a words gal, myself.

In one short phrase, M is working his arse off. And I, in my sappy, newlywed state, am so proud of him. He gets things I can't even begin to understand. He can explain to you the intricacies of game theory (have him explain what that even is) and can tell you more than you probably want to know about statistics and running regressions. It's so amazing for me to hear him talk about how the things he's learning are an integral part of good policy making and how he believes now, more than ever, that this is what he's supposed to be doing. We're just praying an employer thinks that too. Dear God, please.

But for now, all we need to do is get to December 11th, when this semester- and all the finals- are over. It's beginning to look a lot like the end of a semester. Thank God.

Pretty Much I'm Martha Stewart

2009-11-29T20:25:00.005-06:00

Minus that whole insider trading and jail piece.

My in-laws came to town this week for Thanksgiving...and can I just say: we got the job done! The whole event was spectacular, if I do say so myself. The food was great, the turkey was perfect, the homemade rolls were just right (A, my sister-in-law, made them) and the pies were to die for. This was the menu: turkey. obviously. broccoli cheese casserole. mashed potatoes. cornbread stuffing. rolls. sweet potato casserole. home-cooked green beans (despite M's pleas to have canned ones. Ugh.) pumpkin pie. Kentucky bourbon pie. cranberry sauce. Massive amounts of moaning and patting of stomachs. red wine. white wine. water. more red wine.

Since you could't all be here (really, we meant to invite you...really...) I've included some of the best shots below. Look at how well that table is set with our so-fantastic Kate Spade china! And crystal! And I even had little leaves to sprinkle on the golden tablecloth! Watch out Martha...Liz Laird ain't playin.

These People Cannot Drive

2009-11-19T23:03:00.003-06:00

I hate to make such sweeping statements, but...

1. Drivers in Chicago do not move if they even HEAR a siren somewhere off in the distance. "Wait, is that a siren? I'm going to stop in the middle of the road so the girl with the DC tags has to swerve to miss me!"

2. Lanes do not matter here. Admittedly, some of the lanes are quite narrow on Lakeshore and on Congress Parkway. However, this does not mean that you can be halfway in my lane. I will honk at you.

3. Yellow light means stop. For the rest of the world, red means stop. Oh no, not here in Chi-town. YELLOW means stop. Sometimes green means don't go, too.

4. It doesn't matter if you're going into or out of the city during morning or evening rush hour. You will sit in traffic. Period.

5. Rubbernecking is a city-wide sport. Even when it's just looking at a construction site.

Don't get me wrong. DC drivers (or, rather, Maryland drivers) are pretty horrible. But Chicago? Well, there's something special about Chicago.

The Cupboards are Bare

2009-11-15T12:43:00.003-06:00

Last night M and I literally came to the very end of our cupboards. We had flour, sugar, butter and egg, two cans of tuna and four pieces of white bread. What's a couple to do? Make poundcake and tuna sandwiches of course! (Sidenote: I was supposed to go to the grocery store yesterday but didn't. So it's sort of my fault.)

Don't get me wrong, we're not living in poverty. We're just living on 1/3 of the income that we used to (I'm seriously not exaggerating that) so we're a little more "aware" of how we spend our money on food and other sundries. Don't you love that word, sundries? I sure do. Anywhoo, the good thing about living on a lot less is that you become more creative in your cooking, hosting and entertainment. Instead of going out every weekend, we go on picnics or go to free lectures or concerts and then come home and eat soup. Speaking of soup, I make it ALL the time. I usually throw in a couple cans of tomatoes, and then some fresh vegetables and a chicken breast or some type of meat. It's good, it's cheap and it's easy. And cornbread? Has anyone looked at the price of cornmeal lately? It's like 99 cents for five pounds. So lots of that, too. Good thing M is a master at making it. We've learned what cheap wines and champagnes we still enjoy and feel comfortable sharing with friends and we've learned how to use cheap vegetables like carrots, potatoes and onions to their full extent. Sometimes we splurge on things like arugula (ok, pretty much every week) but I'm proud to say that we're learning how to be more wise with our money. And losing the exra padding that's piled on since we started dating. At the same time, we're able to still give to the causes that we believe in and able to support friends in ministry with financial gifts. If someone would have told me our "new" income and told me that we would still be able to do all of these things, I'm not sure I would have believed them. How much I've bought into the lie that money is important for happiness.

And it's about time. Most of you probably already do all of these things and could give me a few more lessons on how to be thrifty and chic. But I think this is a lesson everyone should be lucky enough to go through: you start to learn that money doesn't grow on trees (oh my gosh, I sound like my parents) and that entertainment doesn't have to revolve around spending lots of money on food and drink. And new clothes. And really adorable Kate Spade shoes. And great jewelry. And...oh gosh...I'm fighting back tears.

Don't get me wrong. Hopefully our income will increase when M finishes school (if it doesn't, I want a refund from the University) and we'll be able to enjoy nice dinners slightly more often than, say, never. But I hope we'll also be able to be more generous toward the organizations and church that we love and think more seriously about using the blessing of having a sufficient income to bless others; not just by giving money to some cause or another, but also by giving of ourselves and our time which sometimes "cost" a lot more. I think this is a lesson that we needed to learn. Hopefully it will be a lesson we remember as we move into the next stages of life, buying a home, having kids and, well, being grown ups.

"One of these Things Is Not Like the Other. One of these things Just Doesn't Belong""

2009-11-13T22:14:00.002-06:00

Hint: It's the iPhone. You REALLY don't need to be talking on your phone when you're in a public gym on a treadmill.

Thanks.

I hope this is a sign

2009-11-08T12:55:00.004-06:00

It's November 8th. And it's currently 64 degrees outside. Do I need to remind you that we live in Chicago? The city where everyone talks about the ridiculously cold winters? I laugh at you, Chicago weather!

It was such a beautiful weekend that I took some comp time on Friday and M and I went on a fantastic picnic. Just about a mile from our house is a phenomenal and relatively unknown area: Jackson park. Originally used for the Chicago World's Fair in 1893 (no, I will not get tired of talking about it), Jackson Park is a maze of ponds, streams and beautiful wooded areas, and the perfect spot for a picnic. Especially when it's in the 60s outside.

We ate prosciutto, cheese and french bread, lounged on a blanket and enjoyed the beautiful day. (Minus the goose droppings, which seem to be everywhere. Stupid Canadians.) M even took a break from studying for about four hours! This is big, people.

So maybe Chicago weather isn't that ridiculously scary thing that everyone keeps warning me about. I mean I was certain that it would be snowing by early September the way people were talking. Ha! It's already NOVEMBER! Take that!

(Remind me of this post in February when it's -20 and I'm whining about the weather.)

This is Why We Do It

2009-11-03T20:44:00.004-06:00

Last Friday, Breakthrough (the organization I work for, in case you missed that) held its Annual Benefit out at the Hyatt Regency O'Hare. By the end of the night, we had raised nearly $900,000, roughly 1/4 of our operating budget for the year. That's pretty amazing for an event that was free to anyone who registered.

The night before the big event, we all started to go loopy with the late nights, sticking labels, organizing volunteers and counting attendants and worried that with the current economy, etc etc etc. this year wouldn't be as successful as years past. But then a colleague wrote the following email (some parts have been removed) that I think reminded us all of what true success looks like.

Here's the email:

I have to admit that there are times when I feel anxious, overwhelmed, frustrated, even angry with our work. In my lowest moments I even question if what we’re doing can make a difference. Is there really hope on the horizon for our community? Are we really able to stand against the onslaught of the enemy that rakes the families of our neighborhood over the coals time and time again? Can we really turn the tide of addiction, violence and despair in the lives of those we encounter?

In those moments I always find myself turning back to Isaiah 58 and God’s call to his people to stand against oppression and injustice. It’s not simply a feel-good call to charity, but it’s a mandate to be God’s hands and feet – his foot soldiers in this battle against the injustice and oppression attacking our community.

Look at the progression in verse 6, God says:

⁶ "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?”

We are called to loose the chains and untie the cords of the yoke – to bring comfort and relief to the suffering. But we can’t stop there, we must work to set the oppressed free – to come along side the oppressed and bring them into the freedom of the Kingdom. BUT not even that is enough. God calls us to “break every yoke” – to completely obliterate the system of oppression so that the same cycle of injustice can’t be repeated. That is an amazingly powerful image to me. It’s a call that challenges us to continue on in spite of the overwhelming challenge ahead of us. A call that forces us to think bigger, think bolder about the purpose for our work.

And, lest we think this is something we can do from afar and without personal involvement, God says in verse 7.

⁷ Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

God makes it clear that we are to be personally involved – sharing our food, providing shelter, clothing the naked. But I think the most cutting, powerful statement in this chapter is the call to not turn away from our own flesh and blood. Wow. Think about that for a moment. Sure we say that we believe that all people have innate worth and dignity because they are created in God’s image. But we often forget that we all share the same masterful Creator - that we are all truly family in the most real sense of the term.

It’s simple to dismiss the indigent, the addict, the gang banger, the homeless pan handler, the felon, the teen mother, or the child who’s never felt the love of their father or mother. It’s so easy to turn away. How much more would our lives be affected if instead we saw the addict as our son, the prostitute as our sister, the felon as our father, the teen mother as our daughter, the pan handler as our brother, and the indigent widow as our mother? Would it then be so easy to turn away? To turn our backs on our own flesh and blood? Yet this is exactly who God reminds us that they are - fellow children of the same masterful Creator, members of the same Family.

I want to challenge us (myself included) to move beyond thinking of the network model as a way to provide a support network, or open doors of opportunity and access to those whom we serve. Don’t get me wrong, those are all important byproducts of connecting people. But the power of the network, to me, is the call to bring disparate children of the Father together. It’s a call to not turn our back on our own flesh and blood, but instead to choose to partner our lives with family members whom we’ve tended to forget. To bring joy to the Father by loving our Kingdom brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers.

Isaiah paints an incredible picture of what happens when these things come together – when we break the yoke of oppression and get our hands dirty in the process by caring for our own flesh and blood instead of turning away. When we corporately fight to break the yoke and personally partner with those we’ve forgotten, amazing things will happen.

⁸ “Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

⁹ Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

¹⁰ and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

¹¹ The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.

¹² Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.”

May we not shrink back, but work with boldness, freshly empowered by His Spirit to call together the Children of the Kingdom to break the yoke of oppression, break the hardness of our hearts and bring shalom to our Family.

*******************************************************************************

AMEN.

Domestic Goddess

2009-11-01T16:55:00.003-06:00

I'm not into calling people "goddess". I think it's just a little ridiculous. However, when it comes to ME...

I'm a domestic goddess.*

As M studies for his last midterm on Monday and I recoup fro

m our huge Annual Benefit (over $880,000!!!) I've spent the day wandering the city, grocery shopping, folding laundry and making delicious treats. Like the oh-so-delectable Reese's peanut butter cup cookies. Want the recipe? Why, here it is! I made it up myself (or, rather, modified the chocolate chip cookie recipe I've been using since I was about 8.)

1 stick of unsalted butter, softened

3/8 C sugar

3/8 C brown sugar

1/2 tsp vanilla

one egg

Mix all of these ingredients together. Add...

1 1/8 C flour

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

2 Tbp creamy peanut butter

a dozen or so smashed up Reese's Peanut butter cups

Bake at 350 for exactly 10 minutes. Let cool, if you can keep yourself from shoving them in your face. Other leftover Halloween candy can also be used...I'm going to try Baby Ruth next time.

You see? I'm a Domestic Goddess! Now I'm going to go make a spicy stew for dinner and then probably iron something. Or something.

*I am a domestic goddess as far as cooking goes. Cleaning is a whole different story.

Halloween on Memory Lane

2009-10-28T21:06:00.002-05:00

When I was younger, I always wanted to wear a bumblebee costume for Halloween. I’m not exactly sure why that particular costume created so much desire in me, especially considering how horrible I look in yellow AND the fact that I am deadly allergic to stinging insects, but I was adamant. The yellow and black striped leotard, the fishnet stockings, the black tutu, the headband with bouncy balls on it…I wanted to be the cutest gosh darn bumblebee in the neighborhood. And yet, it never materialized. Maybe my parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided that I would look just too ridiculous. Or maybe mom didn’t know how to make something out of stretchy leotard material…and she always made our Halloween costumes. Or maybe my parents had an aversion to their 8 year old daughter wearing fishnet stockings which are usually reserved for…shall we say…women of more experience. Whatever their reason, I was simply not going to be a bumblebee.

I do remember, however, the year that I was Sleeping Beauty for Halloween. Decked out in a light blue satin dress that mom had made- of COURSE it was the light blue one, since everyone knows that Sleeping Beauty’s pink dress was just plain ugly- I also had the pleasure of wearing a ridiculously long blonde wig. Obviously dressing up. Obviously not real. And just for further explanation, for those of you who don’t know what great looks I’ve been blessed with, let me describe. I have dark eyes. Dark hair. Very dark eyebrows. I really didn’t think that anyone would actually think the blonde hair was mine.

I learned then a lesson that has served me well ever since: never underestimate the stupidity of a high school student.

That “Sleeping Beauty Halloween”, as I was trick-or-treating with my father and sister, a group of teenagers came up behind us as we moved from house to house. You know the type; in fact, you probably were the type. Kids who wear their normal clothes and claim to be dressed as the “cynical youth of our generation” or would wear their sports uniform and be the famous athlete who plays that sport. Let me just say that even as an 8 or 9 year old I didn’t buy that. Go buy your own candy at the store, and then go in the woods and drink beers or smoke cigarettes or do whatever it is you cynical youth of our generation do.

But these kids were there. Even though they had been following us for a few houses, no one really had said anything and they generally affirmed my conviction at the time that people between the ages of 14 and 18 were generally stupid and not worth my time…I would rather be playing dry cleaner or orphanage (yes, I played orphanage), thank you very much. So they minded their business, we minded ours…until…one of them spoke. She was probably about 16 or so, dressed in what I now only remember to be jeans and a tshirt, though I’m sure she was trying to be a hippie or something. I guess, looking back, I shouldn’t mock this poor girl who was at least kind enough to offer a few words to the little Sleeping Beauty she kept running into. But passing her on my way from the door of some house where some man had probably given me a toothbrush or apple (that rant is for another time…who gives those out on Halloween?! All of American society has agreed that Halloween night is, in fact, the night that it’s OK to not brush your teeth and eat so much candy and sugar that you make yourself sick. It’s as American as the Constitution and the NAACP suing people!)…but the girl smiled at me and said, “Oh my GOSH. You are, like, SOOO cute! Oh my gosh, and is that like your real hair? I bet so. It is sooooo pretty.”

I think I probably stood there, stunned, for a second. Did I hear you incorrectly? Did you just ask me, the little girl who looks more Slovakian than Swedish, if this ridiculous long blonde wig is actually my hair? Do you not realize that one of the main tenets of Halloween is that you dress up to resemble something you are not? Oh my. No really…oh my. I just stood there. And then my dad called, “Let’s go!” from the driveway and I was gone, leaving stupid- high-school-girl-who-obviously-knows-nothing-about-Halloween-or dressing-up-or-the-basic-rules-of-skin-tone-and-hair-color behind to join her friends again. It would be years before my confidence was again restored in the teens of today (and it took a nose-dive when my sister reached that age). In fact, I don’t think it was until I myself reached the oh so mature age of 14 or 15 that I realized just how right, witty and pretty much perfect teenagers really are. At least this one was.

Happy Halloween. Or Fall Festival or whatever you want to call it.

I think the guy upstairs is throwing himself on the floor

2009-10-26T21:29:00.003-05:00

It's really the only explanation for the noise, really.

Every day, usually in the afternoon or sometimes in the evening, we hear a LOUD thump, thump, thump, thump (repeated a lot) from upstairs. At first I thought maybe Man Upstairs was dribbling a basketball on his floor/our ceiling. Or a medicine ball. Because people do that, right?

But then yesterday, as I ate lunch with new friends in our kitchen, it sounded like the Man Upstairs was throwing himself on the ground. This wasn't a thump. It was a loud thunder. Repeatedly. What are we supposed to do about that?

Because the thing is, we don't know who the guy is. We only know it's a guy because sometimes we hear him walking around upstairs and he sounds like a guy when he walks. So we can't really go up and say, "Hey, you ok?" when we hear the thumps. And I've tried pounding on the walls (not out of frustration...just...to alert him to the noise) and that doesn't work either. Maybe he's deaf ("Justice for Gallaudet!")? Or maybe he just doesn't care? Or maybe he, like the guy in "Devil in the White City" is killing people and lugging them off to a furnace in his apartment. I mean it happened once. Seriously. Read the book. It's true.

Either way, between the radiators and the loud neighbor, sleep hasn't been coming so much the last few nights. Here's hoping we have a freakily warm winter here in Chicago and Man Upstairs stops, well...doing whatever it is he's doing.

Attack of the Swine

2009-10-20T21:12:00.003-05:00

I don't actually know that it was swine flu, but it makes it more fun, doesn't it?

This weekend, I came down with something. And by something I mean head spinning, coughing my lungs up, throwing up and a fever. Fun times, right? Oh, and did I mention that I got a flu shot three weeks ago?

In case that wasn't fun enough, my infirmity coincided with my parents' trip up here to visit our new digs. I was fine Friday night and most of Saturday, but Sunday was just horrible. Being sick when you have guests? Not fun.

But now it's Tuesday night and I'm finally on the mend. Granted, I can't really talk and that whole coughing the lungs up thing is still going on, but my head isn't spinning quite as much and I don't feel like I'm going to lose my lunch (or dinner) every five minutes. And it HAS been nice to spend the last two days sleeping, since that's been few and far between since the ridiculously loud radiators first turned on. I've been so out of it that I've actually slept through the whistle and clap of those darn things. The flu, or swine flu or whatever, really takes it out of you.

And maybe just to show the swine whose boss, I'll have bacon in the morning.

Dancing King

2009-10-15T21:09:00.002-05:00

On my way to and from work, I quite often see a man that I just HAVE to tell you about.

On first glance, he looks like a crossing guard. I think he has a badge and a hat and maybe a neon vest? Now that I think about, I'm not sure exactly what makes me think he's a crossing guard. Maybe it's that he's standing on the corner with a whistle.

Except...he's whistling a beat. Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! And he's not waving cars by. He's dancing. Like full on "elbows move down towards hips and hips thrust outward" (also known as "humping the air") to the beat of his own whistle. Sometimes he changes it up, turns around and does the butt pump instead. I have no idea who this man is, or where he comes from. But man, does he make me smile.

You do the math

2009-10-13T17:50:00.007-05:00

One of the things about M being a student at the University is that he has to prove that he has healthcare or else pay for insurance out of pocket.

It can't be that much, right?

Wrong.

The cost of insuring both M and myself through the University for a total of just over 3 months is $1,854.00. Yes, that's over $500 a month. For health only, ie not dental. I know, because we just got a bill for it.

The "cost" of my insurance coming out of my paycheck for better coverage is about $100 a month, and includes dental.

Am I the only one who thinks that's crazy?

Odds and Ends

2009-10-06T21:48:00.002-05:00

There are a ton of different things I've wanted to blog about but just haven't had the mental clarity to compose a full, witty blog post. So here they are as jumbled bullet points.

-People who take up an extra ten feet when they parallel park really annoy me. I know that at your undergrad schools of Princeton, Harvard and Yale you had valet parkers, dear Chicago students, but please learn. Thank you.

-We bought a Mac. Yep, we did it. A MacBook Pro to be exact. Don't know what that means but we are loving it! Believe it or not, we've saved up some extra money and with our other computer driving me insane nearly every day, we decided to go ahead and go for it. Man, I'm a believer.

-The radiators are on here. It's October 6th, people. Oh, and it was a high of 60 today. Did I mention that they radiators first came on hissing and whistling at 4:30 this morning. That was pleasant.

-M is really good at this school stuff. I thought I was smart, but I look at his homework sheets and it looks like another language. What a smarty pants!

-I love my new job. Love, love, love it. And I actually love my commute...I drive right by the lake, then cut across at approximately the Sears tower (or whatever it's called now) and out to Garfield Park. It's weird to love a commute. But there it is.

-I have yet to make cookies for the neighbors, but I'm taking some in to the office tomorrow.

-I have as of yet not met any Chicago gangsters.

-I have not been to Starbucks once since moving to Chicago. Not even once.

That's all the news that's fit to print round these parts.

I love Wisconsin.

2009-10-03T17:40:00.008-05:00

I know. It wasn't exactly what you had expected to read. But Reader, I loved it. Maybe it was the fried cheese curds. Keep reading.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, we escaped America's Second City last weekend for our first anniversary. M surprised me, but I had a hunch we would be going north. I had no idea that I would find Wisconsin to be so beautiful.

First of all, it's not flat. Seriously. There are hills everywhere. And while there's tons of corn and cows (and cheese, I guess), it's really beautiful. Lots of streams, rivers and lakes, probably because it's so close to Minnesota which has like a million or something. And it's full of little towns like this:

Mineral Point, Wisconsin. M booked us in this beautiful, historic inn (it used to be a brewery, but now the top two floors are fantastic rooms. They still brew their own beer out back.)

We spent the weekend just lazing around, exploring Mineral Point and enjoying the perfect weather.

And then we went to Iowa. Yep, Iowa. I mean when you're 30 minutes away, you've got to make the short drive, right? Notice, however, that I didn't entitle this post I love Wisconsin AND Iowa. Because, let's face it, I didn't love Iowa. Dubuque, Iowa in particular, I guess, since I can't throw the baby out with the bathwater. Or whatever that saying is. Maybe it was the fact that it was a Sunday. And there was literally no one ANYWHERE. There was one coffee shop open (yes, Iowa, I contributed $3.22 to your economy. You're welcome.) It just wasn't really anything to write home about. Oh, except for this.

This, my Southern friends, is the MISSISSIPPI RIVER. IT'S BLUE UP HERE. Not brown, not muddy. Blue. Clear. Extremely beautiful. Upon further review, this view made Iowa worth it.

So that was our weekend away, I'll spare you the romantic details, but it really was exactly perfect, especially because of the before-mentioned fried cheese curds. "What the heck?" you might be thinking. "Curds? GROSS!"

No, no my friend. I am salivating even writing about them. These fried little nuggets of, you guessed it- cheese curds- are an appetizer, served with varying sauces. And we're not talking about mozarella sticks from your local Olive Garden. We're talking high-quality, exceptionally yummy cheese. Fried in some sort of cornmeal/flour batter that was unbelievably good. Yeah, I know fried foods are bad for you. And fried cheese is probably even worse. But man they're good. And so Wisconsin if you know what I mean.

And in this perfect atmosphere we celebrated, laughed, looked longingly into one another's eyes, etc etc etc (fade to black) and thought a lot about what has happened this past year.

Wisconsin is known for its cheese, afterall.

The Wait is Over

2009-10-01T18:56:00.003-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen:

As of Monday, October 5th, I will be the newest employee of Breakthrough Urban Ministries, on the West Side of Chicago (www.breakthroughministries.com). I will serve as their Volunteer Coordinator, ie, be a liaison between the Program Directors (programs=men's shelter, women's shelter, kids programs-mentoring and sports, outreach to prostitutes) and volunteers, helping keep everyone happy, involved, etc etc and spending lots of time cultivating relationships. The perfect job for me? Quite likely. I love liaising.

Breakthrough's model of urban involvement is unlike any other organization I've heard of before. I can't really do it justice in just a few sentences, but I'll try. We've all heard it's not what you do, it's who you know, right? Breakthrough strives to specifically built up networks (call them "communities") of people to surround those who are part of each of these different programs. Therefore, when participants graduate from a program or from a school, they aren't suddenly left in isolation to fend for themselves and somehow market their skills to people who already have ideas and prejudices against them. Instead, each person has this network, this community, to continue to reach out to, to be encouraged by, to encourage. They may walk out of the door of a program, but they don't thereby walk into isolation. The reality is that it's these sorts of networks/communities that we know (because we've all experienced it in some form or fashion) that make a difference in our lives. That call us to that "better life", that help us network to find that job and help to encourage us when we're feeling less than our best. I think this just might be the way to help transform communities, be they urban, suburban, rural, black, white, Asian or anything in between.

And so I start on Monday. It's been a long road. In the last month, I've held four different jobs. No really, I counted. MCC. Consulting. Bakery. Law School. Each job has taught me a ton about myself, about people and about the value of work. And now, here I am. Health benefits. 401k. Paid vacation. I have never in my life been more thankful for a job. And the fact that I couldn't have dreamed up a better position? Utterly priceless.

One Year Later

2009-09-24T21:25:00.003-05:00

At approximately 10:30 (ok, it was an Anglican service, so let's say 11) on Sunday, September 27th, M and I will have been married for one year. ONLY one year. A WHOLE year. It's weird how it seems so much longer than that (in a very good way) and yet also so much shorter than that (in a very good way). We've had lots of changes...uh, hello, Chicago?...but I think we would both attest to the fact that we're stronger, more faithful, more loving people today thanks to the faithfulness of the Big Guy in the Sky. That's a technical, Biblical name, by the way. It's F3jfhfa in Hebrew. Wait, is that sacreligious?

M has planned a surprise get away weekend (surprise in that I don't know where we're going) for us and I'm REALLY looking forward to enjoying one another and a new adventure somewhere within driving-distance of Chicago. I'm also supposed to find out about a particular job (details, should I get it) on Monday or Tuesday, so it's nice to have something else to keep me, um, engaged pretty fully for the next few days.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

And anyways, we're married. It's legal.

Oh gosh, I hope my mom isn't reading this...

More gratuitous pictures of Hyde Park

2009-09-20T10:29:00.006-05:00

I still sort of walk around in awe. The weather has been perfect since we moved in, so many afternoons this week we've just taken in the beauty all around us. It's pretty amazing.
Someone left their office window open. How do I get that office?

This has some technical name. I call it "the gate." Sounds reasonable enough.

Uh. Does this freak anyone else out just a little? Whose anatomy are they trying to receive? What does that even mean?! Are they going to...

Just think about the pretty buildings and flowers...ahhhh. Bliss.

Possibly the greatest invention. Ever.

2009-09-14T20:31:00.003-05:00

Not the champagne bottle (though it's definitely Top Five)-- the thing on TOP of the champagne bottle.

Friends. Romans. Countrymen. THIS LITTLE DO-HICKY WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE. Mark my words.

Always wanted to come home and have a glass of champagne after a long day? (Am I the only one raising my hand?) Liked the idea of a glass for dessert? (...uh...guys?....) This, my friends, is your ticket. The champagne stopper/preserver thing. That's the technical name at least.

Right before we left DC, M and I went on a "gift cards from the wedding that we really need to spend" shopping spree. I've always loved champagne, but M isn't quite as in love with it as I am. That means that I either 1) had to drink a whole bottle (uh...not that I ever did that...) or 2) throw away anything I didn't drink or, 3) not drink champagne (horrific, I know.) Until we came across this little guy. I know I've seen these before. It just never registered in my brain that I could own one of my own. Once you've had your fill, you simply pull the side metal things up, then press the little thing down on the bottle, closing the arms around it. Air-tight seal. Preservation of bubbles. No more waste!!

This is my testimony: my life has forever been changed. No longer do I feel guilty buying a bottle of champagne. I can buy it and drink it over approximately four days (I've never saved enough to keep it past then, though I would bet the little seal thingy would work longer) and- I know, I'm probably going crazy here- the champagne is BETTER the second or third day. Bubbles galore. Great, crisp taste. True bliss, really.

This, apparently, is the life of a Hyde Park Hero.

"We Don't Have Any Paper"

2009-09-12T17:05:00.006-05:00

This week, I had another interview with an organization that gets me really excited. I'm trying not to get my hopes up (they've crashed and burned more times than I can count) but, needless to say, I really, really hope that I get this job.

The night before the interview, I wanted to print my resume, cover letter and the job description in order to have them on hand at the interview. Since we don't have a printer, I knew I would have to find some sort of store where I could log in to my email (I also lost my USB thingy majigger) and quickly and easily print.

First stop: Office Depot. I walked over to the oh-so-professional looking "Copy Center," waited a few minutes in line and then asked where I could log in to my email in order to make a few copies of a document. I was briskly told that I would not be able to log in to any of their computers, as they're not for private use. "Right, I understand that, but I'm just retrieving two documents to then pay you to print for me."

"We don't do that."

Ok, cool. On to the next store.

So I looped back to 53rd Street, where I had just passed one of those UPS printing/copying/shipping stores. I went in to one of the two computers sitting in the storefront, logged into my email and pulled up the documents. I turned around at that point to get a little help from the guy at the desk.

Me: "Hi, can you help me print something?"

Man: Stare.

Me: "Is that possible?"

Man: "We don't have any paper."

Me: (looking up at the printing/copying sign) "What do you mean?"

Man: "We don't have any paper."

Me: "Well, sir, I'm just printing three pieces of paper. You have three pieces of paper here, right? I mean this is a printing/copying store."

Man: "We don't have any paper."

Me: (angry at this point) "I'm sorry sir, but that's a load of sh*t. It's your RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINTING COMPANY TO HAVE PAPER."

Man: "Yeah, we don't have any."

Me: "Ok. Fine. I'll go home, get my OWN paper, and then come back and print my three pieces of paper."

Man: "We close in five minutes."

Me: "You close at 6 pm?? So what do you suggest I do?"

(pause)

Man: "You should go to FedEx Kinkos."

With pleasure.