Lyric of the Week

But I'm thinking of what Sarah said, that 'Love is watching someone die.'

So who's going to watch you die?

-What Sarah Said by Death Cab for Cutie

Blackbird Wonder

I don't know that much about Bobby McFerrin, but the more I hear his work, the more I think I really like the guy.

They danced to one of his songs tonight on So You Think You Can Dance. It was ridiculously cool.

It probably doesn't hurt that I already loved this song. But even if it was a song I didn't like, hearing McFerrin perform something like this would almost certainly win me over.

He even makes his own echo.

Crazy.

Just listen.

Bobby Mc Ferrin - Blackbird
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Lyric of the Week

Finding my way back to sanity again

Though I don't really know what I am gonna do when I get there.

-Breathing by Lifehouse

Netflix: Epic Fail

I recently participated in a free, one-month Netflix trial. And guess what?

I failed.

That's right. I failed the trial.

At least that's what I am telling myself.

Since it was free, I signed up for the 3-DVDs-at-a-time version and spent a considerable amount of time filling out my queue with more movies than I could watch in a year, much less a month (when all was said and done, I ended up with 54 movies in my queue). I moved the three movies I was most anxious to see to the top of my list and received them in the mail just two days later. And then, and then, I set those three movies down excitedly on my coffee table....

.....where they remained unopened for 28 days until it was time for me to send them back and cancel my trial before I got charged.

I had Netflix for a month and didn't watch a single movie.

Well, that's not entirely true. I did watch one instant-play movie the day I signed up.

But still.

I think the point of offering free trials is to get you hooked and make you wonder how you ever lived without such-and-such a service so that you'll sign up for it. Unfortunately for Netflix, it just showed me how impractical their service would be for me right now.

My biggest gripe is that I still really want to see Lars and the Real Girl (which was in my house, on my coffee table for 28 days....but we're not going to talk about that....) and now I am going to have to pay for it.

Boo.

Ultimatum

Dear Boxelder Bugs,

Get out of my house or you will die.

Consider yourself warned.

All my love,

Eva Joy

Roommate Ramblings

I actually started this post almost a month ago, but then life got busy and I never finished it. Oh well. Here it is with some verb-tense changes and the addition of a few post-move observations.

News flash: I am getting got a roommate!!!!

She moves moved in on Oct 28th; I could not be more excited about this new development.

And what do I do when I am excited (and when I am missing evernorth)?

I make lists.

T7 Reasons I am Excited for My Roommate to Move In:

1) She loves Jesus. And she likes to have conversations about Jesus. And I have things I can learn from her.

2) The girl is friggin' hilarious. Seriously.

3) She has one of the best music collections in all of Rochester. I have high hopes that our time together will play a significant role in saving me from my limited musical experience.

4) I have found that the longer I live by myself the more protective I get of my space and my time and my convenience. I am looking forward to having to be mindful of somebody else again and to have those little opportunities for service that arise more frequently when two (or more) people do life together.

5) Rent money.

6) It is going to be way more convenient to coordinate our viewing of So You Think You Can Dance.

7) It just might be all the motivation I need to get some of my stuff cleaned up and organized. (Post-move observation: This came true in some ways but not in others. For example, the effect on my desk and bed-mess was minimal, however, the effect on my closet was downright astonishing.)

Post-move addendum:

8) That girl can cook! I now come home to the delicious fragrance of homemade goodness and I have been generously invited to partake of said goodness on frequent occasions. I think I have officially decided that she makes the best (and hottest) chili I have ever had and I have a new-found hope that someday I might be the fortunate recipient of a fabulous plate of jollof rice.

9) She has made all kinds of fabulous contributions to the house including, but not limited to: non-slipcovered furniture, beautiful artwork to adorn the walls, an upright vacuum cleaner, a blender, TiVo, Netflix, a whole bookshelf full of books that I have not yet read, Nigerian peanuts and a fabulous laugh.

10) Her presence significantly decreases the amount of time I spend talking to myself and/or singing out loud and I, in turn, feel just a little less crazy.

T1 Reason I am NOT Looking Forward to My Roommate Moving In:

1) I am not sure I am in good enough shape for it. You see, nearly every time I hang out with my dear friend, I leave with a sore stomach and a headache from laughing so hard for so long. Therefore, until my body gets in better laughing shape, I am mildly concerned that the first few weeks (months?) could potentially be so fun that they become mildly miserable.

Meh. The pros WAY outweigh the cons.

Can't wait for her to move in!!!!

So glad she's here!!!!!

Ephesians 1:1-14

A prayer of response.

Blessed be! Blessed be! Blessed be!

My heart yearns to see you receive the glory you deserve. How unspeakable that I should be a recipient of your glorious grace. I am humbled by my inability to obtain righteousness on my own. I depend wholly on the sacrifice of Christ on my behalf. I rest in his righteousness alone.

I am overwhelmed by the realities of what I have received - every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, adoption as a child of God, forgiveness of my trespasses, and an inheritance guaranteed by the Holy Spirit.

Unworthy! Unworthy am I!

Yet it is I whom you have chosen that you might be praised for your glorious grace.

Why do I struggle so to live in the reality of what I have received? Is it a matter of belief? My mind assents to the truths contained in this passage. But the belief alone does not stir me. God, by your grace, stir my affections! Grace and more grace!! I am ever falling upon it.

I commit myself to the study of your Word. As I look, reveal yourself to me that I may see and, in seeing, may I be transformed in such a way that you receive praise for your ever-present glorious grace in my life.

You have freely given so much. May my life be a testament to the riches I have received.

Faith Story

There is no denying it: I am a storyteller.

But there is one story that I don't care to share very often - the story of God's redemptive work in my life.

I joined a small group recently and we spent our first night of Quaker fellowship (split guys and gals) sharing our faith stories. It was a burdensome night for me and I left feeling conflicted and frustrated. I don't like the script I've been given. I want to play a different role in God's story line.

I want a different story to tell.

I shared those thoughts with a dear friend of mine and she graciously reminded me that ultimately, mine is a story of REDEMPTION and, therefore, is beautiful in its recounting despite its occasionally jagged plot line.

A friend of a friend recently wrote out his testimony for a seminary class and posted it on his blog. It reminded me that I was given a similar assignment in my evangelism class this past spring, so I tracked down my paper. As I read my own story, I found myself focusing less on what I have been saved from and more on what I have been saved to. That shift in focus filled me with peace and my understanding of God's grace in my life fell upon me in a fresh way.

So, dear friends, please allow me to tell you my story.

It is one of my new favorites.

FAITH STORY

I grew up in a strong Baptist household and like every good Baptist, I have a conversion story.

I must have been 4 or 5 years old because I remember the sea of blue that surrounded me as I learned about heaven and hell in my AWANA Cubbies group. I snuggled in close to my sister that night as our parents tucked us in to our queen-sized bed. I asked her if she thought I was going to heaven and in true sisterly honesty she told me no. With fear gripping my heart, I asked if she was going to heaven and she confidently stated that she was. The thought of eternity apart from Hannah left me panic-stricken so I asked her what I could do to go to heaven with her. After leading me in a 7-year-old’s version of the sinner’s prayer, she informed me that I needed to sing Jesus Loves Me and then calmly reassured me that I would be with her forever. Oh yeah, by the way, Jesus would be there, too.

I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

I was a very well-behaved, moral child which made it difficult to be a Christian. It is hard to be saved when there is nothing you feel you need to be saved from. I lived comfortably in the church’s culture and felt well-settled into my life of safety and security. One day in 5^th grade, I got in trouble for using my entire allowance to buy a shoe-box full of candy, but other than that I made it through my childhood with a pretty clean record. Or so I thought.

For as cunning as Satan can be, he sure does screw up sometimes. If he would have left me alone, I would have been perfectly content leaving Jesus on the flannel graph and measuring people’s level of Christian maturity by the quality of their tater tot hotdish. Instead, I found myself entangled in a life of secret sin that left me desperate for a savior. I headed off to a Christian college (because that is what Christians do, of course) hoping to find freedom, but instead I threw myself even deeper into the masquerade of Christian perfection and found myself paralyzed by fear in a sub-culture that appeared to offer even less grace than the world, much less Christ.

The summer after my sophomore year, I headed to the East Coast to live with my aunt and uncle while I worked at a hospital in Pennsylvania. Jesus was there, waiting for me beside a backyard pool in Downingtown. I was concerned with getting a tan; he was concerned with transforming my heart. So I met him there every morning, searching the Scriptures while soaking up the sun. He taught me about himself, and I learned about myself in the process. He taught me about my identity in him, about freedom and victory and joy and grace. He taught me to pray - not just to be ritualistically thankful for my food - but to actually commune with him, to pour out my heart and then listen to his response. I came to him bitter, angry, defeated, ashamed, hopeless and insecure. I left grounded, softened, humbled, broken, complete and satisfied.

We spent that entire summer together there in Downingtown and I fell deeply in love with my Savior who was quickly becoming my Lord. I begged him to come back to school with me and he did, although I found it more difficult to hear his voice when it wasn’t being carried on the summer breeze. I went back to Downingtown the following summer, ready for an emotional pool-side reunion only to discover that he was no longer waiting for me there. He had relocated to a place much deeper within me, waiting to be discovered through spiritual disciplines and to be drawn out in community.

He has been there with me ever since, patient in my wanderings, faithful in my failures, and responsible for my victories. I have an ever-increasing burden for spreading the glory of his name among the nations and it seems that he has been preparing me to take part in his work by helping to meet the physical and spiritual needs of a broken world through medical ministry.

There is still a lot of work to be done in my heart and mind. My flesh rears its ugly head more often than I care to admit and my spiritual heels get sore as I dig them in and demand my own way. But God (two of the sweetest words I know) remains faithful and continues to show me the all-surpassing wisdom of his ways.

I am learning to love the Church again, not with a cynical, self-righteous love (yes, I did actually act like there was such a thing at one point in time), but with a humble, sacrificial love that longs to see the Bride of Christ pursuing him with an undivided heart. I am learning to repent of the religion that I so often choose to value over my relationship with my Savior. I am learning to obey because I am accepted, not to feel accepted because I obey. And I am learning to rest daily in his atoning work on the cross which covers me in his righteousness – a very beautiful truth considering that I still can’t make a tater tot hotdish that’s fit to feed a dog.

The Eagle Inside

Disclaimer: This story is better told in person.

However, I keep finding myself trying to reference it on my blog only to remember that it's not on my blog.

But now it will be.

Backstory #1: I talk to myself. A lot. I always have and the habit has grown exponentially worse in the three years that I have been living alone. As a matter of fact, my social awareness of when I am talking out loud has grown so numb that at times I have proclaimed my thoughts to no one in particular in a new habit that I like to call Twitter: Live!

Backstory #2: This past spring, I went to an event sponsored by New Life Family Services called "Laugh for Life." The comedian put on a good show but the real kicker came toward the end of the night when the monologue took a serious turn. Mr. Williams picked up his guitar and played some prayer-background-type-music while explaining that in the midst of all of the humor in his life, he has managed to write two serious songs and he wanted to sing one of them for us. He told us the powerful background story while strumming quietly on his guitar. And it truly was a powerful story.....

He had been hiking on a mountain somewhere and had seen an eagle soaring in the sky. (As someone who has a "thing" for birds of prey, I was instantly drawn in). His son loves eagles, so he wanted to take a picture for him. Unfortunately, he had no camera, so he made his way down the mountain until he came across a gift shop where he bought a disposable camera for $32. As he reascended the mountain, a storm rolled in bringing rain and disappointment as he realized he missed his opportunity to capture the eagle on film (and he was out $32).

However, as he rounded the corner of the walking trail, instead of an empty sky, he saw the eagle using the winds of the storm to soar even higher (make sure you don't miss the sermon illustration there). He wrapped up the song intro with the statement, "In that moment, this is what I heard the eagle saying to me...."

(Music picks up; audience eagerly awaits the powerful song)

"CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!"

I didn't even see it coming. Judging by the crowd's reaction, I would say about 85% of us took it hook, line and sinker. And it. was. hilarious.

The perfect storm: The following afternoon, I went to my local Dunn Bros. for a cup of coffee. The place was packed and I literally sat down at the last open table in the entire joint. I was thinking about how hard I had laughed the night before; I was also getting ready to see my sister the following Monday. With both of those thoughts rolling around in my head, I began to practice the eagle story which I was so very excited to share with her.

Yes, I practice telling stories. And having conversations. I am my father's daughter, after all.

And of course, I was practicing the joke out loud. How else was I supposed to know what my eagle caw sounded like?!?! You have to practice jokes like that out loud. It would be quite presumptuous to walk into that joke blindly when the entire punch line depends on your ability to pull off a convincing eagle caw.

By the time I got to the end of the joke intro, I was completely in my own world. When I got to the part where I was cawing like an eagle, sitting at a table all by myself in the middle of Dunn Bros., the only thing that brought me back to reality was the stare I received from one of the ladies at the next table over.

There is absolutely no way to recover from that.

So what did I do?

I pulled out my book and pretended to read while meanwhile, under my breath, I practiced telling the story about "that one time when I was sitting in a crowded Dunn Bros., drawing the attention of the patrons around me as I talked out loud to myself."

Except this time I left before I got to the part where I had to caw like an eagle.

Putting Rochester on the Map

Imagine my surprise when I opened this week's edition of WORLD magazine and found the following picture:

Ok, so it wasn't that exact picture. I mean, Chinwe and I were not in it.

But it was a picture of that exact goose.

The story underneath:

"Rochester, Minn., police arrested an out-of-town man on Sept. 27 after an officer discovered the man kicking and punching one of the city's goose sculptures. The 28-year-old from Salt Lake City, whom police did not identify, had been in town for a wedding and told officers the goose statue angered him. Authorities say alcohol was involved." -WORLD Magazine, Oct 24, 2009

Kicking and punching.

I don't get it.

He was such a nice goose.

I laughed outloud on the shuttle when I read the story. I mean, I laughed outLOUD. It was embarassing. Not quite as embarassing as cawing like an eagle while sitting alone in the middle of a coffee shop, but disruptive nonetheless.