A Voice of Hope

Remembrance

I read a post this morning that took me back a "few" years. To 1991, when I was working at Paramount Pictures.

It's odd, really, because I was thinking longingly of the Paramount lot just this morning. Working on a studio lot is much like being on a college campus, complete with the annoyingly stupid students employees and people in crazy outfits (Candy the hat-lady anyone? Or her friend the cat-lady?). There are beautiful little parks and quad areas, old, unique historic buildings, small convenience stores for sundries, the commissary, and all the huge warehouse size studios, not to mention actors in crazy costumes and stars just popping up out of nowhere.

This morning I was specifically thinking about the commissary, and how it stayed open all morning and through the early afternoon---shut up. I was hungry and running late and knew the building cafeteria would close shortly after I got to work. Anyway, I started really missing studio life and especially Paramount. I spent nearly 13 years on that lot. Thirteen very impressionable years. I loved working there -- even when I didn't love it. I loved working on the lot, loved working in Hollywood and in the entertainment industry, loved working in television, even though I was just a lowly "assistant"; I loved it. And there are days when I really miss it. It's like being in a family, I think. There's a camaraderie and sense of pride for your studio home, and you can complain and moan about it endlessly but no outsider better say anything bad about it or you'll snatch 'em bald-headed. And now matter how long you've been gone, you still get homesick once in a while. Once it's in your blood, there's no getting it out.

So this morning I'm already missing my "home" and my peeps, when I read this post by Ron Moore, the executive producer of Battlestar Galactica (one of my favorite shows; if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend renting the DVDs and getting hooked. It is one of the best pieces of television out there) and I started missing Paramount all over again.

At the risk of writing an overly long post, I want to tell the story of my encounter with Ron Moore. I'd love to send him an email about it but I cannot find an addy -- and he'd probably be bored silly with it anyway -- so for now this will be my "open letter" to Ron. If you're not up for a trip down someone else's Memory Lane, now would be the time to get some popcorn.

Back in 1991 I was a young dreamer with big plans to be a television/feature film writer-producer. I'd been working in television development for two years, and was very ready to move on. I wanted to work on a television show, so I interviewed with every show on the lot that would give me 30 seconds, including Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG). In fact, that was one of my earliest interviews. I met with Ron and Brannon Braga one beautiful late spring morning to interview for a job as their assistant; a job Ron described as "Den Mother" to a bunch of crazy and wonderful writers who needed nurture and a lot of cleaning up after. I did my best to impress them with my knowledge of Trek history, scripts (I'd read every single one for the two years prior), characters, and storylines, as well as my enthusiasm for the franchise itself, without sounding too much like the drooling fan I was.

I have admitted before that I am a Trek fan. A Trekkie (not Trekker; I'm old school, not a snob about my fannishness) who once collected tons of memorabilia. I've since divested myself of most of it, but the fan within refuses to die. I watched TOS (The Original Series) as a child -- though I must admit that at first I hated the show because it supplanted my beloved "Lost in Space" in the prime 3pm viewing time. But I soon forgave and embraced TOS as my new beloved favorite. As a pre-teen/teen I read every Trek fiction book there was (passed between my two sisters and me), went to all the Trek films within the first week, if not on opening day; and, as part of my 21st birthday celebration, went to my first Trek Convention during Star Trek's 20th anniversary celebration year, where William Shatner and others regaled us with stories of their adventures during filming. When TNG began airing, I never missed an episode (though I did miss episodes of subsequent iterations of Trek). I don't know if my pure-fan heart was obvious to Ron and Brannon -- I tried not to look like a complete dork -- but I was in heaven just being in the Hart building among such history. And I wanted that job soooo bad.

The interview was in the same office I had met with Hans Beimler and Rich Manning a year or two before (can't remember now). Ron mentions Hans and Rich in his post, and as I read I remembered realizing that his office was their old one during our interview, but I'd forgotten that fact till today. Anyway, if memory serves (sometimes it doesn't), Ron told me as our time ended that I was their pick of the people they'd interviewed, but that they had already offered the job to someone outside -- a friend or friend of a friend, something like that -- but had to go through the union-required three lot-employee interviews. They were very apologetic for making me "waste" my time and seemed sincere in both their apologies and their desire to offer me a job. I was bummed but I understood. It happens. I was just excited and happy that I'd made a good impression and a good contact for the future (btw, that policy of having to interview three lot employees was eliminated from our next union contract because so many of us had gone on wasted interviews and complained very loudly about it).

Flash forward a couple of months. I'd finally managed to land, at the very end of the "staffing season," a job on the show "Dear John." Two weeks later I get a call from Ron Moore (himself!!) stating that the woman they'd given the job to had quit to take a better job on another show and I was their first choice to replace her. Oh. My. Gosh! Star Trek! Ron Moore! Wants me!! How cool is that!!

I had the most bizarre mixture of excitement, pride, and sorrow I'd ever had in my life. While I was elated and humbled that they would remember me and, even more, want to hire me, I knew I could not in good conscience leave the show I'd just started to go work for someone else. I was later told repeatedly that I'd been foolish to think that way; that many people left shows during production to take better offers. But that's just not who I am; I didn't want to leave my bosses and co-workers in a lurch the way that other assistant had just left Ron and Brannon and the TNG staff. I had to, with much respect, honor, humility and sorrow, turn down the offer. And explained all this to Ron (at least I think I did).

It. Killed. Me. Can I tell you? It utterly killed me to turn that opportunity down. But I just had to for the sake of my own integrity and conscience. Not to mention that I felt Ron and Brannon would always wonder if I would leave them should a "better offer" come along (is there such a thing??). I don't ever want my bosses to think I'd leave them hanging.

I look back on it now and sometimes wonder where I'd be, what I'd be doing now, if I had taken that job. I think I would have stayed till the end of Ron's run on the various Treks, and perhaps followed him to his next few shows, if he was willing -- or I was interested. Ron went on to work on two of my favorite sci-fi shows, Roswell and the aforementioned BSG, so that would have been very fun. But I also wonder what it would have done to my conscience and my heart. I'm a pretty sensitive girl, and when I violate my own code of ethics, even in a minor way, it weighs very heavy on my soul. I usually don't survive long before I have to correct the error and make things right. And I don't know how I would have made that situation right.

I also don't know if I would have ended up leaving Hollywood behind and living in India in 2001 and Cyprus in 2002-03, and eventually moving to Nashville three years ago. As sad as I am that missed the opportunity to work with Ron, I think the former would have been the greater tragedy. My life is so much richer because of these experiences. I realize each time I look back with longing and a pinch of regret at that summer day in 1991, that as painful as that decision was, it put me on a path that I would not change for all the precious gems in the universe.

I have deep respect for Ron as a writer-producer and as a person. Our one meeting meant the world to me both as a Trek fan and as a prospective assistant, and his phone call and job offer did more for my ego and self-confidence than I can truthfully measure. To him it was probably just a quick call to solve a frustrating problem; to me, it was a solid affirmation that I was in the right business, on the right track and had what it takes to succeed.

Ultimately I think my life took the direction it was meant to take. I'm convinced that was summer day was a defining moment in my life, and a gift of a new direction -- even though that new direction wasn't reavealed for another nine years. Isn't God amazing? And isn't Life good! Man, I am blessed.

Living The Real Thing

Sometimes I miss Southern California. The last 24 hours I've had several bad bouts of SoCal homesickness.

Some friends from Mosaic called me last night. One friend is visiting from Oklahoma and three others gathered at the home of a fourth, where the first was staying (got all that?), to hang out and visit with the long-lost friend. My name came up and someone got the cool idea to call me and let me in on some of the fun. I loved it!! I got to talk to each one for a bit, even though some of them were distracted by children and cooking "issues," (clean that oven yet, Deb?) and it was so, so good to hear their voices. I miss their fellowship.

Then today, after some good fellowship with new friends from church, I wandered into the Disney Store and got huge pangs of SoCal-homesickness again. I miss Disneyland! Most of all I miss the ability to just go down there whenever I want (I used to have the premium annual pass; the one with no black-out days) and just soak up the atmosphere. While historic Franklin has some of that Main Street feel, it just isn't the same as the Disney version. Sad, isn't it; how often we prefer fantasy to reality?

That's something I'm realizing more and more these days: how often in my life I traded in reality for a fantasy of my own making, choosing to live inside my head instead of in the moment. My grammar school teachers called it "daydreaming," but fantasizing is a much truer definition. I wasn't just idly passing the time, I was escaping reality, which was either too boring or too painful to stay connected to. So I created a different life for myself in my head, complete with a different family, home and even city. I started this habit so young I can't even remember a time in my life when it wasn't a part of my day. It got to the point that I didn't know how to live completely and always "in the moment." I still don't.

But I'm learning.

And what I'm discovering on a daily basis is that Life is so much sweeter than I ever fantasized it to be! Not easier -- because everything in my fantasies was that easy-hard where the sweat is just as fake as the "reality" it comes from -- No, not easier. Just sweeter. There is a richness, a deep richness to Life that only comes when you are truly present in every moment intimately connected with Jesus that cannot be adequately described, or understood, apart from reality.You cannot create this amazing---how do I call it??? --- this amazing depth and fullness of life in your head; you cannot imagine it even if you have the creative genius of a thousand Lucases and Spielbergs. I've at times been accused of dwelling too much on the pain I experienced four years ago when my parents died and my team fell apart and my dreams disintegrated before my eyes. But the thing is, it's not the pain I dwell on, it's how God met me in the midst of that pain and made life so incredibly sweet. Oh so sweet!! Even though I was in agony, Life was so full and rich and sweet. And still is. Still! You cannot create that. Only God can do that. He started me down a new path and into a new life during that time, and I wouldn't trade any of it for all the world. It showed me just how good Life really is when you spend it staring into the Eyes of Jesus. Oh, God I am blessed!

Last night after I said my goodbyes to my friends, I didn't hang up. I stayed on the line and just listened to the fellowship of old friends as the receiver was carried (apparently across the room) to its cradle. What an amazing experience! It was like I was there in person, just listening to the various conversations and watching these wonderful friends enjoy each other's company. Once the connection was severed and the line went dead I felt deep pangs in my heart. I miss the fellowship of these friends. They are amazing, beautiful, dynamic God-dreamers who so often inspire me and fill my heart with warmth and goodness.

It would be so easy for me to romanticize our time together, re-framing it in my head as perfect and holding it up as a comparison to which all my current and future communities of faith must measure up. It's what I've all too often done throughout my life, compared the present to a romanticized past and found the former severely lacking. But that's just as much living in a fantasy as my "daydreams" were. While the times these amazing friends and I had together were God-ordained, they were far from perfect. We argued and fought and hurt each other, we stumbled over our own brokenness, and struggled with our own issues and insecurities. We made each other cry and shout, and not necessarily in good ways, and we didn't always forgive or admit wrong-doing. And if we were to spend more than 24 hours cooped up together, even after so long apart, I'm sure we'd all walk away frustrated by silly little annoyances that totally grated on our nerves to the point of distraction.

Sitting in the silence after that wonderful phone call I had to remind myself of these things; I had to go back in my mind and remember some of the bad times and hard times to bring myself back into a balanced perspective. No matter how much I miss them or how dear they are to my heart, their's is not the only sweet fellowship I have ever had or will ever have in my life. God has other friends in waiting for me, some of whom He "conveniently" arranged to have invite me to lunch today so that I could experience the truth that my quota of friends isn't filled yet. There will be more "e'spose your toes" groups, more amazing song-writing sessions with talented musician friends, more four-friends-singing-groups, more New Year's Eve drop-in parties, more middle of the night conversations that last till dawn, more sweet fellowship with amazing God-dreamers. Isn't He amazing?

And Disneyland? Well, Main Street is just an airplane ride away. And anyway, Fantasyland is fun to visit, but I don't want to live there anymore.

PS -- this is me not long after coming back from overseas in 2003. Not sure why the Rippys let me play with a sharp object... From the look on my face, that wasn't exactly the wisest decision they've ever made. ;)

PPS -- I stole this picture from Ron's MySpace page. Sshhh!! Don't tell him.

Refining Fire

The following is an excerpt from my newsletter from April 30, 2003, while I was serving overseas as a missionary. I re-read it the other night as I was looking through old files (hunting, of course, for something completely unrelated). However, the lesson God was teaching me at the time seems so relevant to what I experienced this past month.

Isn't it crazy how I'm still struggling to learn the same lesson four years later! Yet, as I look back at what happened in that four years, the storm in my life that had been brewing for nearly a year at the time of this newsletter and then exploded with violent force just two months later, I realize how invaluable the insight in this newsletter was for me, and how it kept me deeply connected to God and confident of His presence through the darkest time of my life. Discovering that God truly wants to be not just my Savior or my God, but also my bosom friend created a new reality in me that continues to this day. What I said in that newsletter four years ago about God's desires for our relationship have now, four years later, become reality.

Earlier in this newsletter I discussed a cd-rom project I was putting together to be used for advocacy and mobilization by the various unreached people group teams working in my region. I was at the point in the project of rewriting, revising, refining and polishing. As errors or problems were uncovered by my proofreading teammates testing the cd, I became increasing frustrated and discouraged, struggling constantly with a worry that I would never get the cd-rom "right".

I have seen this process repeating itself in my walk with Christ lately, as He points out the inconsistencies, clutter and messiness of my heart, and works to move me from a woman of average character toward one of strength and godliness. I am so grateful for His deep love, and His longing to see me become who He knows I can be! But I have to tell ya, there are many days I feel overwhelmed and frustrated. And l often wonder if I’ll ever get it right.

In my failure and frustration, however, I have seen God pursue me with unbelievable abandon. The more time I spend with Him, the more I realize I’ve been missing the point of my refining fires for far too many years.

While He is very concerned about my character and desires to refine it; and while life isn’t ultimately about me and what I can “do” for God, what I have learned lately is that the ultimate purpose of the refining fires in my life is to draw me into a deeply intimate relationship with Him. He longs to be my most intimate companion, my bosom friend, as Anne Shirley would say; the first one I want to talk to in the morning and the last one I want to hear from at night, the first one I call when something amazing happens and the one I turn to when the unthinkable occurs. He is relentlessly pursuing me, in a way no hero in any romantic story could ever come close to! And He has made it clear He will never give up.

I admit, this all sounds so “me-centered” and writing this felt almost arrogant. But I have experienced the reality of it. Truthfully, I cannot fathom why the Awesome God of the Universe, who could have anything or anyone His heart desired, would choose me. But I am so grateful He has!

No Way! Cool....

That's what I said as I watched the credits roll through the beginning of tonight's episode of 24.  Seems Tim Iacofano (pronounced Ice-ah-fahn-oh) directed this episode, and has been a producer of 24 since 2003 (is that when the show started??).  I remember Tim when he worked as an executive for Paramount Pictures' Network Television division (I can't remember now what his title was when he left -- VP of Production??).

Anyway, I always thought Tim was a cool dude, even though I didn't know him very well.

I have a silly story that doesn't involve him personally, just his name. I was filling in for another executive assistant up in the admin building one day (this was on the Paramount lot) and I got a call from a woman who was very insistent her call was expected by the senior executive (one of Tim's bosses).  She wasn't on my "put through" list so I inquired further into her claim. Eventually, in exasperation, she said she was, and I'm quoting directly now, "a good friend of Tim Iya-coh-fano (how most people who don't know Time would pronounce his last name phonetically) and he told her to call this executive (who was actually Tim's boss)."

I had to give her points for chutzpah. But then I kindly told her I knew she wasn't a good friend of Tim Ice-ah-fano's, because if she were she'd at least know how to properly pronounce his name.

She hung up on me. Imagine!

The Path To 9/11

I watched Part One of this two-part mini-series on ABC tonight. I have to say, I was blown away, both by the production values of this MOW (aka Movie of the Week) and of the information it provides.

It is excellently written, acted and produced. It could rival the best episodes of 24 in its suspense and realistic feel, though it did move rather slow in a few areas. But production aside, what it reveals of the events leading up to September 11, 2001 is insanely mind-bending.

Some of it it is already known, in the arrests of various Al Qaeda operatives on their way to, or shortly after, a terrorist attack. But at one point, we apparently had a clear and perfect opportunity to take out/arrest/kill Osama Bin Laden back in 1998, but was not approved at the last minute. Richard Clark, NSC for President Clinton and now an ABC adviser, defends the move saying that the CIA operatives there would have been cut down in the attempt and it would not have been successful.

I don't believe him. And even if he is correct, wouldn't it have been better to have tried back then, with the element of surprise on our side, than what has happened since? It seems to me that Clinton's advisers and cabinet were more afraid of what their Boss and what the Congress would do to them if any Ops against Bin Laden and Al Qaeda than they were intent on protecting and defending the citizens of the US. And Clinton was far too busy defending himself because he couldn't keep his paws of an intern to pay real attention to what was happening in the world, nonetheless in his own ranks.

It will be interesting to see what mistakes and missteps the Bush Administration made in the months and days leading up to September 11th. Because you know they made them. Ain't nobody perfect in this world.

What I do admire about Bush is that once the attack happened, he came out and said what everyone in the Intelligence community knew since the early 1990s: we are at war with this guy. Bin Laden declared war on America, on Americans, on every single one of us unless we convert to Islam or until we are all dead. Every last one of us. He declared that back in the early 1990s. He made it known to the world. And September 11th was just one in a many attacks he's made on us. But more importantly, Bush not only declared war, he backed it up with action. He was ruthless in his pursuit. That is, until Bin Laden took refuge in the mountains of an American ally, Pakistan, who still claims allegiance to us over Bin Laden/Taliban.

If Pakistan's leaders really believe that, they must be completely out of touch with their own people, who are aiding and abetting Bin Laden and the Taliban even today. Personally, I think Pakistan's leaders are playing both sides of the fence because they get benefits from being on America's side but I think their hearts really belong to Bin Laden. That's just my opinion.

Bush started so strong. He was kickin' ass and takin' names. But he seems so impotent now. What happened? What happened?  I have to wonder if He got so frustrated with Pakistan that it caused him to turn and kick Saddam in the balls, which drug us into an unwinnable position in Iraq. And somewhere along the way he lost his way.

Back to "The Path of 9/11", I can see why many Clinton loyalists cried foul over this movie though. It doesn't shine the best light on Clinton. But that's really Clinton's own fault, not the fault of the 9/11 Commission or the filmmakers. He sucked at foreign policy. Even Clinton fans have to admit that. He just sucked at it. I don't know if he just didn't care, or if he just completely lacked comprehension of it.

Failure doesn't belong just to him, though. It seems clear that it didn't just filtered down through his underlings, but it had percolated unchecked through the intelligence and law enforcement agencies for years; perhaps due to Reagan's failing mental health or the elder Bush's lack of trust or belief in Reagan's policies.  There was a gross lack of communication and trust between intelligence agencies and a whole lot of people who just didn't see any of it coming till it was too large to stop.

Whatever you may think of Clinton or Bush, I think ABC actually made a very wise and valuable choice in producing this film. How many of us actually took the time, or would bother to take the time even now, to read the whole 9/11 Commission Report. But we're all more than willing to watch a mini-series for a few hours, especially one that's aired uninterrupted -- as in without those stupid, pesky, annoying commercials. And perhaps some of us, like me, just might get curious enough to read the real thing and actually have a better understanding of the world we live in and events leading up to the attack that woke us up to the fact that we really are at war. Not because we declared it so, but because someone out there really does want us dead.

Comfort Music

Finally. The migraine I woke up with has subsided. I'm sitting on my bed, fan blowing a gentle breeze, listening to Martina McBride sing Christmas carols.

Yeah, I know its only August. I used to listen to Christmas music starting around April. But since mom and dad died I haven't had the heart. It's been too painful. So this feels like a giant leap forward. I actually wanted to listen to it tonight.

Christmas was always a special time when I was growing up. Mom made lots of candy, the fake tree (dad hated the mess and danger of real ones) went up and got decorated the day after Thanksgiving and didn't come down till several days after New Years. Sometimes my oldest sister or my brother, or both, and their families would come and celebrate with us. Mom would always play Christmas carols at the piano and we would sing, each of us kids taking a part. I usually sang alto. Don't know why -- especially when, as a senior in high school I discovered I was actually a first soprano -- I just love the sound of harmony. I love making harmony to someone else's melody. It's just no fun to me to sing the melody. Too easy and too generic.

Speaking of... One Christmas I remember with particular fondness was that year. My senior year in high school I was part of the Chamber Singers (our elite, madrigal group) as well as another elite group Girls Vocal Jazz. We as the Chamber Singers spent much of the holiday season singing at various functions and wowing every audience that heard us (we were so good that we had to compete at the college level so we wouldn't sweep every high school level competition we entered -- even at some of the college level ones we garnered top level awards). But my favorite part of the season were the evenings we went out caroling around some of our own neighborhoods, just for the heck of it, for the joy of singing. Awesome! I'd never had so much fun as that year.

I also remember the first time I went overseas. I visited some workers in Japan and China in mid-October 1996. I remember thinking, after being in China about a week, how Christmas would never be as cheerful or free-spirited for me, for I now had seen how much overseas workers sacrifice for Jesus and His Kingdom. How could I ever be so selfishly happy at Christmas knowing that so many were in foreign, often rural and poverty-stricken places unable to spend those beautiful holidays with family and friends, safe and warm by a fire, mantle hung with stockings.

Silly me. Years later I discovered that, even when things on the field (yes, I myself become one of the very missionaries I swore I could never be, because I could never bear the sacrifices they make) are blowing up in my face, I could still enjoy, be cheerful, even joyful throughout the Christmas holidays because I was with Jesus -- the best Christmas present of all. One I'm still unwrapping.

The first Christmas without mom and dad, however, is probably one of the most painful and yet most fulfilling Christmases of my life. There was such grief and sorrow and such a hole in my heart. It was a daily battle to just survive; I think that's when depression truly gripped me. It drug me into an abyss that I'm still trying to climb out of. But the relationship that grew between my sister, Nina, and I nourished my deeply thirsting soul, literally to the depths of my being. We grew so much during that time. And we grew so close. She means the world to me!

I don't know what brought me to these Christmas moments tonight. I know there are some who may read this and think, "yikes! Don't remind of all the shopping I've got to do and all the candy-making and decorating and hustle and bustle and...." I guess, for me, I'm realizing afresh what Christmas is about for me. I think it means different things to different people. For me, its about family. Not the mom-dad-sister-brother family - though those relationships are important. But those who act like family, who embrace me and whom I embrace as family would; those willing  to go to the deeper, darker places in my heart with me and those willing to expose their own hearts; those who purpose in their heart to know others and be known.

That's why my Mosaic LA family is truly family and means so very much to me. They dug into those places and lived there with me. They didn't "do life" with me, they were part of my life and made me part of theirs. Their hearts belonged to me and mine to them, in a way that cannot be explained, only experienced. How I miss them! What a wonderful gift from God they still are to me!

I think I may have found a community like my Mosaic LA family. I don't know yet. It will take more time to feel that out and discover for certain. In the meantime, I will continue to unwrap my Greatest Christmas Present of all, wait for the leaves to fall and the air to chill and for the sweet aroma of Christmas to arrive.

1 Year Ago...

on this very day I arrived in Nashville.

About 9pm I drove into town (while talking on my cell to Larry) and met John and Jamie at Fido, had some good chai and conversation, then followed John back to the home of his parents, who were so gracious to allow me to live there until I found a place of my own.

My how time flies!

My She Community

In memory of Helen, I stole a couple of pictures off Wendy's blog, cropped and re-posted them here.

Helen, on the left, with Wendy (center) and Debbie in Verona, was an incredibly vivacious, rowdy but yet all woman crazy friend. I never knew her as well as I'd liked. I'm one of those girls who watch women like Helen and Conna do insanely funny things from the sidelines. Not because it's safe there. But because I just don't have the mental/emotional agility to think up those kinds of things, and I lack the personality to be able to carry them off.

I can't remember if it was Conna's or Helen's birthday that the two of them led a large group of our friends into a local firehouse and got the firemen to serenade the birthday girl with "Happy Birthday". All because the one said she'd always wanted to be serenaded by firemen and the other took up the call to make it happen.

Add Debbie into that mix, the intellectual who always fascinated me, and Wendy the soul-lover who connects on deep levels with pretty much everyone, and you've got a crazy, wonderful, mind-bending she community.

But it doesn't end there. There's still Leticia, Sylvia, Irene, Joyce, Kat, Niza -- and of course my sisters, Nina and Cathy. Those are my peeps. Women who get me. Women who get it. Who get that deep relationship and community is forged in the fires of honesty, authenticity, transparency and conflict resolution. That's not an easy thing to find.

I remember a time when Conna (the red-head on the bottom of the "chick-stack"), Wendy, Sylvia, Leticia and I formed an accountability group that met every Wednesday evening before Life University. We shared our hearts with each other; our burdens and our joys, our needs and our abundance. It was out of that abundance in each others hearts that we were each, in turn, nourished by the others. Even though that group in that form and time, whose theme became "e'spose your toes", based off Syl's fear of ever revealing what she deemed the ugliest feature about her body, her toes, was only for a season, the relationships forged there have lasted a decade.

It's the same with Irene and Joyce, two roommates, one a Weigh Down buddy, one a former team leader; Kat, my precious friend whom I met at Paramount, and Niza, whom I first met through Kim and now could never imagine my life without. Each one of these women brings into my life significant God-dust and I would not be who I am right now without them. Nor will I be all that God has for me to become.

Some people are brought into your life only for a season. Wendy's perfected the art of not letting this happen if she can help it. :) But regardless of what we try, some people just aren't meant to belong in our small circle forever. My friend Judy is one of those. She came into my life in '87, when I desperately needed someone just like her. And a year or so later, she drifted out. But a little over two years ago I discovered her on Classmates.com and we've kept in (inconsistent) contact ever since.

Conna, well, Conna's a woman all to her own. She's one who's always in my heart, even when she's not in my life. She's one of those rare gifts from God -- she and Kimberly Michelle -- mind-bogglingly complex and special. Even when she's not right in front of me, she's in my head, in my heart, in my very soul. She's one of the few people who can see the weirdness of who I really am and not be offended or frightened off. Perhaps that's because she's got a weirdness of her own that matches mine. I've said it often before, and I'll probably say it till I die, if Conna were a man, I'd marry her. She'd be my "match".

Helen, I guess, was just one of those people I wasn't meant to keep. She was always in that "cool" group of people I couldn't quite fit into -- though Wendy and Conna always brought me in anyway. I watched her from a little distance and envied her energy and love of life. As she struggled with cancer, and her own decisions to seek alternative therapy until the cancer had spread too far, I stood amazed and dumbstruck at her resilience, resistance and refusal to just lay down and die. I had counted her as "dead in a few weeks" more times in the last few years than I care to remember. Yet each time she bounced back. Each time she beat the odds, beat the cancer down and once again triumphed over the indestructible.

When she lost her battle I was stunned. I had come to rely on the "fact" that Helen would always be there as my model/encouragement/challenge to fight hard, never give up and beat the odds every time. Each time I've hit my lowest points, my heart has gone back to Helen and her fight, and I remind myself that this beautiful, amazing, (still single) woman is fighting the battle of all our lives and if she can keep going, keep hoping, and laugh in the face of death, then so can I. It probably sounds selfish to think of my puny loss of Helen as an inspiration, especially in light of her realized glory in the presence of Jesus. But her death was a severe blow to my soul.

My friend Julie gave me a pink "Breast Cancer Awareness" bracelet a couple of weeks ago in honor of her sister, Nancy, who's currently battling it. I wore it off and on until Helen died. Now I wear it every day. It reminds me of my She Community. Past, present and future.

It reminds me that some women will pass in and out of my life, some will linger for a while, some will park for a lifetime (thank you Jesus for Wendy!!). But all will leave their mark. All will leave an indelible imprint on my soul where their lives have pressed in upon mine, our hearts have bled together and our souls intermingled until we look like, sound like, act like one another. Each will leave me covered in God-dust as we walk through Life side-by-side, or one behind the other. I hope I add as much to their lives as they have added to mine!

How I love these women!

Happy Ascension Day, Mom

Two years ago today, around 5am, mom died. She's now in heaven with her Beloved, and her earthly lover. No more dementia, no more living in a mental fog, no more wearing Depends, no more wheel-chair boundaries, no more suffering or pain. She's young and restored to her youthful beauty. Thank you Jesus! I know she is in a better place.

But I miss her more than my heart can bear!

PS -- Yes, my parents died six days apart. Six months apart in age, nearly 61 years of marriage, over 65 years of knowing each other... God knew what He was doing when He brought them home together. Dad first, because a gentleman always goes a little before the lady and prepares the way, opening doors and clearing the path for her. It was the best for both of them.

But those of us left behind still struggle with the gaping holes the loss of these two wonderful saints of God left in our lives.

Oh, my baby, when you're cryin'
Never hide your face from me
I've conquered hell and driven out the demons
I have come with a life to set you free

Oh, my baby, when you're dying
Believe the healing of His hand
Here in Heaven we will wait for your arrival
Here in Heaven you will finally understand
Here in Heaven we will wait for your arrival
Here in Heaven you will finally understand

Worry not my daughters,
Worry not my sons
Child, when life don't seem worth livin'
Come to Jesus and let Him hold you in His arms

"Come To Jesus" - by Mindy Smith

Ascension Day

Dad died two years ago tonight, at 11pm.

Now he's in heaven, where there's no more crying or sorrow or sadness. no more deadlines or traffic or stresses or hurts, no more death or pain or frustration.

I envy him.

I hate July.