And, the winner is.... Kansas City!

This morning, coming home from work, I realized: I like KC. No, I like KC. I like KC!

I love how "ragged around the edges" and a hillbilly-flavor is "in" here.

I love the way sticky and sweet mingles with cool and fresh after a big thunderstorm.

I love the single track MTB trails.

I love the "Preach it, brother!" that rises from the congregation when the pastor steps in front of his pulpit to emphasize a point.

I love the storm and funnel cloud warnings that bleep over the radio. And then I love sitting outside watching the formation of the clouds until the storm passes over.

I love that I know that the reason I like KC is because Jesus has made me to like it. And how I love Him!

The Sackett's youngest sister

Gypsy. Vagabond. Delinquent. Floater. These are the newest titles that have been assigned to me (along with lecture about staying in one place -or at least keeping the same PO box- for at the least 1 year). If I had a six-foot two frame with a chiseled chin and a not-particularly handsome face, then these names would be home to me. My last name would also be Sackett, rather then Little.
And I would look like this:
Rather then this:

But I don't, and I do.

Even though I may not have Sackett's incredible waist to shoulder ratio and deadly aim with a sawed-off shotgun, I'm generally okay with being a vagabond. I see new people, experience different cultures and get to live a cozy little me-centered life.

And that is where the problem is.

Sackett and I have more in common then I thought.

He never wanted to invest in the lives around him. But invariably, within the first several chapters of the book, Sackett would get roped into helping someone out of a narrow alley (the plot of the book). And then, at the climax of the story, Sackett would realize that he had lived his life missing out on one of the most important things we humans have in this life: relationships.

And therefore, invariably, before the story closed, Sackett had to make a choice: he could go on living how he had always lived -free and wild, with his only responsibility being his morning cup of coffee; or he could have the love of his life, and a place in a community, where he'd be required to go to barn raisings and church picnics.

The only time Sackett didn't chose the church picnics, was when Louis Lamour wanted a sequel.

So far, nobody has requested my gun hand to keep Kansas City from the outlaws. But it's come down to my own climax. Life joys are in relationships -I want that. I want to pour out my life for others. I'm exhausted of doing whatever I want, for whatever's sake.

Only... is it horrible that I don't want to give up my fly-with-the-wind freedom?

What's that verse? "It is for Christ's sake that we've been set free..." and "everything is permissable, but not everything is benificial."

More mountain biking firsts

First time:
-imitating "George" in George of the Jungle... I watched out for that tree and left the side of my face imprinted in it.
-spending more money on bike accessories then on accessorizing myself to go biking.
-"wasting" the water at the car wash on my car, after using the "first fruits" on my bike.

And all I can say is, "Rock on!" Literally.

Did you ever wonder...

...what it might be like?
to suck the juice from an orange through a straw?
to greet a Frenchman with kisses?
to have a dream where you thought you were falling but discovered you were flying?
to have a conversation with seven different people in seven different tongues?
to find a piece of fluffy lent in your belly button? (ask Denver -he knows)
to find out that there is something to do in Missouri and Kansas?


Well, there is. it's mountain biking (or rather rugged trail biking, as there's really no "mountains")

I'm wild about mountain biking. I know, I've only been twice. But then, I've only had the bike for three days (I'm planning another excursion for tomorrow).

It's like dancing with the trail. It's not about muscling your way up a hill or across country. It's
all in how gracefully you can navigate a
single-track sandwiched by trees and paved with crooked rocks.

Here's my mountain biking firsts:
-thanking God a helmet is strapped to my head.
-finding my chain fell off while traveling down hill toward a large creek -luckily it wasn't the brakes that "fell off."
-realizing my back tire kept flipping over my head on steep down grades was because I kept breaking in the back without the breaking the front.
-finding out that I can navigate a stream and switchback at the same time.
-forgetting to annoy nature (specifically a turtle crossing my path) with pokes and prods.
-realizing mud is fun on the bike as well as off.
-wishing I had called someone to let them know where I was biking, because there was a chance that I break a leg or arm.
-enjoying Missouri.



Oh, by the way, I dubbed the bike "Tige II" after its previous owner -a crazy pro bicyclist who works with me at station 1132.

Puke of the brain

I saw a shooting star.

"Puke of the brain" is a Dani California phrase.

The crickets are louder then Norah Jones.

A jogger cools down in the dark.

I'm researching the lifepak 12. Homework -thanks to my preceptor who swore that he would make me cry before my 4 weeks with him were up. Maybe when I retire from the emergency field, I'll take up poker.

I laid hands and prayed the Spirit over two people today; and they weren't healed. I'm still trying to believe -with that faith I've never had. If you know my back ground and are wondering why I would even do such a thing, this explains it (open "how to heal the sick").

Cars idle at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill.

Bugs keep falling on my keyboard, as though they've been shocked by the light. I wonder if my brain is being shocked and falling down down. Like a fly.

I talked with photographers, painters, wood carvers, and metal workers today at the 10th annual Town Center Plaza Art Show. I accepted their business cards, wishing in my mind that I had a place to put their $2500 works of art. And wishing that I could create $500 pieces of worthless decorations.

I go back to work tomorrow. I wonder if I had another 24 hrs off, if anything would change.

God loves me -more then anything. And I love Him -more then anything. He loves me more, though; I wish I could love Him more, too. But I don't. I know one day, my love will increase. But the best part is, He loves me.

On our days off...

...K and I ride into town in style:
A.
B.

C.A prize for the first one who can tell us which "animal" was our ticket to town.


No one knows where the two strangers came from. But they rode fast and furious. Unflinching. Locals whispered behind curtained windows and closed doors. Who were they and what was their purpose?

....but since I can never wait that long, and even if I could wait, I can't keep secrets...

We went country, back to our roots: Hello, Jack Stack BBQ!

He was a good boy.

If only I had a BIG sandbox

Push the dirt around. Dig a hole. Pretend it goes to China. Make a crater. Make a bridge. Fill the crater with water. Watch the bridge collapse. Stick the hose in the ground. Watch the water bubble up through the sand. Avoid the cat poop. Make a mountain...

One of my favorite past-times during my carefree, lazy growing-up summers, was playing with dirt and water. You could almost always find me, a little pony-tailed girl, playing in the ditch under the big willows, or making a river down the driveway with Mama's flower-watering hose.

If only I had this, back then(!):





The fire guys took me out to learn how to "knock a hydrant." A 101 on how to hook up a fire hose to a hydrant, in case of a fire.

Now I know why they love their job so much! Water -everywhere!

As if a candy bar isn't enough...

...try that deep fried.

Preceptor: We're going to Shawnee Days... they have deep fried candy bars!

Me:

Preceptor: They are soooo good! I have them every year the carnival is in town.

Me:

Preceptor: Oh, don't worry about it, it will be my treat!

Me:

Passerby: So what, you guys waiting around to see if anyone around here drops with a major heart attack from all the grease?

um.... no, actually, we're doing as the carnies do in carniville... dying with them????

Preceptor: Mmm, yum! What do you think?

Okay, I take back all that I didn't say. Pride and prejudice is lost when a wicked treat is around.

*Surgeon Generals warning: This menu not recommended more then once in a life-time. If consumed don't worry about calling the medics, they'll just eat the rest of the bar.

First things, first: Are YOU offended?

"I must ask you first, are you offended by profanity and cursing? ...it's a common thing around here, but..."

Pause. A bit too long. "Yes?" an eyebrow raise

I knew this is where I'm supposed to say something, but what do you say to that? Do I like it? No. Do I enjoy it? No. Am I going to purse my lips when someone uses it? No... err... maybe... in a bit of a knee-jerk reaction?

But in all reality? The language they choose to use, is theirs, and it's not my place to play regulator to their conversation. I would prefer if they understood that I didn't enjoy, and would volunteer not to use profanity... but that takes a bit and accompanies the respect that comes with knowledge -not with me saying "That offends me, please DO NOT use it."

With that said; if you are at all offended by profanity, please stop reading this post now. I mean it.

No, I really do.


FUCK YOU!

Fuck your fucking head! I need a fucking paramedic! I'm dying... I don't want to die... fuck you! I'm fucking having a heart-attack here! NO, fuck you!

Shit... I'm a fag, man! I'm not going to fucking hurt you, dear! I'm fine! Well, I'm not fine, but you fucking know what I mean! I love all the ladies... I'm a faggot, man! Fuck this.

His eyes were glued to mine, and mine were glued right back.

The soft restraints were cinched on his wrists and ankles. His head was lifted off the gurney, veins jumping from his shoulders, neck and head. Bits of fresh green grass were scattered across his naked chest and abdomen -evidence of a previous argument with the police.

I wished that I could reach out and touch him, and that touch would somehow relay to him Love -the Love of Christ. Why didn't I?

He was loaded into the ambulance. A fireman leaned over my shoulder, "You might want to go un-fuck your head after this one." I turned and smiled; I love these brothers of EMS.

Five hours later: The time is about 0730. The fire chief strides into our office. "Fuck you!" He points. We all laugh.

Welcome, to Medic 1132.

*And now, I'm left here, knowing that I will click "publish post," but wondering if it is the right thing to do. Is my point taken? Is one exception made, only to let loose a flood? Is the love understood?

The place in my mind I didn't want to go

Driving is my prime thinking time. If ever I need "a break," and cannot go for my classic meandering walk across open ground, I dash for the Sheep Jeep. Hardly pausing to unlatch the emergency brake, I'll role down the windows, find a CD that plays sister to my mood, and envelope myself with my thoughts.


Last night was one of those times. And here, my friends, is my epiphany: I like... no, I love, all people. A little humble, eh? Just wait...

In moving to the midwest, one of my biggest fears was that I might find myself racist. What?! I knew in my head that we are all equal, that we were all created in God's incredible image. Differences in culture and skin color I tend to enjoy -but would I here? Here where there was strong concentrations of different "people groups"?


In the Northwest, I was rarely presented with those types of differences; albeit, I was raised on a Native American Reservation, my siblings are from around the world, and the population style is extremely diverse.

For some reason, my heart was wary over what my reaction would be. But last night I realized I loved every sort of people; and it was my selfishness which brought along my fear. I was scared that "they" would view me differently, treat me differently, react to me differently.

Now, my heart knows what my head had already realized.


God loves, and He was given me love -it is so incredibly exciting. Ah, yes, His strength is made known. And He is so delightful!

P.S. My drive took me to Longview Lake.

Kansas City as I know it

It's a bit early in my time here to claim that I know Kansas City. Even after my three months, Istill won't truly know the city and what makes its heart beat. But first impressions are lasting, and here's mine:

wake of hills-Old Glory-brick-sticky heat-fluffy clouds-"did you hear a gunshot?-weary-history-money-freeways-gentle people-harsh city-Jack Stack BBQ-Target-big rain- lightening-Nickle Creek/Tracy Chapman/Eric Clapton-new hope-white walls-tanktops

Chelsea and I had left Cheyenne, Wyoming seven hours earlier. The Sheep Jeep had pulled us through miles upon miles of flat country in Nebraska and Iowa. So when we entered Missouri, and little grassy bubbles began appearing in the fields, we were sure it was some of the most lovely country we had seen.

Our path lead us to the old heart of Kansas City. Chipped and moldy brick buildings gathered around the streets, while large trees towered between them. In all their old glory they were beauitful! Until, that is, we arrived at our destination. My apartment.

Yes, it had wood floors, white walls, and tall windows like the pictures had promised. But the hall floors hadn't been swept since the 1950's, the only thing keeping the grass short was the early point in spring, and the windows appeared as though they were held in by super-glue. The maintenance man appeared through a crowded alley, to unlock the apartment and show us our room. He wore a 5-o'clock shadow, barefeet, and a muscle-t stretched over his beer belly. When showing us our room, he worked to unlock a door that had a "Beware of Dog" sign hanging on it, until his girl-friend explained to him that that wasn't the right door.

Chelsea had told me, before agreeing to accompany me on my trip, that I had better have a place figured out before we arrived. She had been through the whole speed apartment dating thing twice before, and was not interested in round III. Now all she could say was, "I knew this was going to happen." And all I could say was, "I had a place... the pictures were nice."

After a lot of discussion fixed around those two sentences, we found a hotel.

The next morning, Chelsea found a nice place on the other end of the city, a country club of sorts. I signed the lease while still rebounding from the original place. I'm now severely tempted to go out and buy a fishing rod at the new Bass Pro shop down the road -how else am I to justify my four stocked fishing ponds?
My suburbia. I can't help but think of it as some sort of people farm -we're all quite organized in our little stalls.

My butterfly bush just beyond the railing of my little patio

The Traverse continues

Oh, yes, Dorthy. We ARE in Kansas!

I'm not a fan of the wizard of oz, and actually have never read the book or seen the movie all the way through... but I'm feeling quite "Dorthy" like, and only wish that I pretty, red, sparkly shoes.

I'm here in Kansas. Actually Kansas City, Missouri, but I'm working in Kansas, so we'll count it.

My Fan Base stayed true through the whole "moving" event (more on this later), and blessed my new little three-month home with a lovely coffee-press and the sweetest kitchen towels.

My "stuff" is spread everywhere, and nothing but my already-slept-on, twenty-dollar, air mattress bed, looks like it has a purpose.

You can tell what I'm to be doing this week (besides, enjoying my new pool, in the muggy MO weather, between thunderstorms).