Middle man

I'm a middle man.

I open books to the middle, and usually close them before reaching the end. When telling a story, I jump straight to the crux (this makes for a super lame story, but that's beside the point), clumsily avoiding the background. In relationships, I despise the "top three" type of questions in the getting-to-know-you stage; and I cry when I hug goodbye.

I've gotten better at saying good-bye these last few years, though. I've developed a method that almost always works for me: I simply don't think about it. I know, brilliant, right?

This method, however, takes utmost concentration in not concentrating. It's all zen, in trying to relax, breath and not channel your thoughts; I'm sure it must have some "green" properties, too, since zen and green are in a relationship -dating, but not boyfriend and girlfriend. It's okay, I don't get the concept either... but I'm sure zen and green do.

I find this method as exhausting as building up my core muscles on a skinny, little, pink, green or blue pad. I've always subconsciously thought that the more sad I am when leaving someone, the more it meant that I enjoyed our time together.

Beginnings are awkward. Endings are the end. Put me in the middle, please; I like it there.


Then I found this qoute:
"How lucky I am to have something that makes good-bye so hard" -anonymous

Breath in... now let it out. Good, now relax. That's fine, work through it. Okay, now just let the mind wander, don't think about Portland, don't think about the last time at the Sherwood Coffee Company, don't think about the last time listening to Peter talk at the Gathering, don't think about the last time you will pull into the drive at 16351 Pleasant Hill, don't think...

Distractions that I welcome

"Dan" "Callie"

As prehospital emergency care providers...

...we are taught to improvise.

Some have soul-mates, others bosom-buddies... I have blood-brothers

Blonde, adorable, smart, and just nine years old. He was showing Nolan and I his play house that he and his grandpa had built. I don't know his name, nor had I ever seen him before; we weren't introduced, but he was most hospitable and gave us the grand tour (including the jail) of the house.

Being a contractor's daughter, I was paying particular attention to the details: "Oh, how nice, you have wood floors." He kinda nods, is about to say something, then Nolan -who used to work construction- cuts in, "Laminate, I think it's laminate, you know the..." The kid is nodding, but suddenly speaks, "Vinyl. The floor is vinyl... yeah, it kinda looks like wood, but it's not." The toe of his shoe makes a dust rainbow on the floor while he talks.

Later, I ask him if he wants to be a doctor like his grandpa when he grows up. He promptly shakes his head, "I want to be a garbage man." No kidding! Me too! "I watch them all the time... they're pretty cool."

Yeah, he and I are like this.

I have a hang-over...

...in a good way.

I'm still a bit looped from the most incredible night.

It began, not on a dark and dreary night, but on a lovely summer's (almost) eve; and me not being able to decide whether I should wear shorts or a skort to bible-study. Shorts won, and I was a few minutes late to the Gathering.

Study of the word and worship of my dear Jesus was beautiful. Several times during worship, I would just stop and watch those around me pour out their hearts to Him. And He came down and loved us.

Later, some "fellowship" with my dear friends around a bon-fire. The night was cloudless and warm. The fire flickered and spit out occasional embers. Conversation lapped like waves on the Oregon Coast.

The highlight though, was country roads, a Jeep Wrangler, and a Honda 800!

Ted's jeep was topless, doorless and had big tires. The wind whipped our hair and pulled on any article of clothing that was not directly tied down.

And then, Allen's 800. Nothing more needs to be said.

Jesus, friends, stars, and the night wind. Incredible.

My name is Simon and I'm a housefly

Proverbs 31

Beautiful inside and out. A mother in all the best ways. My Mama.

My Dad and Goldilocks

My parents are Dutch Brothers' drinkers. Partly because in the town I grew up in, its more available, and partly because it's just right.

For whatever reason, Dutch Brother's is much less common here in Portland. Starbucks is the thing. And I adore having my parents take me out to coffee here.

We're at the counter, Dad looks at me and says, "You go first." I smile, turn to the barista, "Yeah, I'll have a tall skinny vanilla latte." I tilt the end of my statement just a bit, so it's less harsh and comes out with a hint of question. I feel grown-up and important (a kick-back to the days when it was a sign of maturity among my fellow junior-highers to drink coffee), because I know when we get back to the car, Dad will tell Mama how I ordered her coffee like a professional, and doesn't it taste good?

It was one of these times that Dad and I decided we wanted a tall "Goldilocks latte." We chuckled over our cleverness as we explained to Andrew, our barista, that it was a latte or mocha that was "just right: not too sweet, but sweet enough; not too hot, but hot enough."

"ha ha ha." Actually, I don't know if Andrew was even that enthusiastic.

Outside, sat about five white-curly-haired, sweet-looking old ladies. My Dad turns to me with a sparkle in his eyes, "They're the Goldilocks' club... not too sweet, but sweet enough; not to hot, but hot enough."

We laugh all the way to his truck, stopping just short of waking K and G from their nap in the backseat.

A time and place for everything

So stop me now, if you don't want to hear this.

Honesty is a good thing. Transparency is a good thing. And perfectly timing one or the other, or both of these, is a beautiful thing.

I'm a blurter. I've so strived after being completely honest and transparent that I often say things that shouldn't be said -at least not at that time. There is a time for sharing, but just now? Mmm. Not a good time.

Yeah, well, see... In about two weeks, I'll either be living in a ditch or on to new heights... at the moment the ditch is looking mainstem.

And what are they, the poor people I've just bestowed with this lovely information supposed to do?

Next time you see that behold-I'm-now-going-to-be-transparent-and-honest look come over my eyes? Shut me down. And if you're afraid? Just turn and walk away.

After all, Jesus is my tell-all, not you.

A new joy

I'm standing, shifting my weight from one foot to the next.

The guys would be picked through first. Then the girls would be sifted through. Girlfriends/crushes usually made the first cut. Second were the athletic ones, then came "You take one, we'll get the other." Or if there happened to be an odd number, we were "lumped."

Today though, I had my "A" game on. It felt good. And I tried to keep the bounce from my step as I went to high-five my teammates. Several tube-socked, gangly guys were still shifting from one foot to the other in the line-up.

I was chosen. I wasn't a left-over. I wasn't a "you're on my team because we're nice and play with everyone; and just to show you how nice we are, we'll toss the ball in your direction occasionally." No. I was chosen.

And He has chosen me. If there was ever a team that I would want to be chosen for, this is the ultimate. It's as though the universe had Olympics, and I was chosen for our solar system's team (wonder what our jersey's would look like)... only better.

God didn't invite me because I had something to offer Him. I've minimal talent, looks, brains... yeah... all that (see humbled beyond comfort). No. Rather, because He is.

God has never left me shocked or despaired; He is the God of Hope and the Prince of Peace. But He needs to be God. He needs to be put in His rightful place.

I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted, and the train of His robe filled the temple. Above Him were seraphs, each with six wings: with two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another: 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of His glory.'
At the sound of their voices the door posts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.
'Woe to me!' I cried, 'I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.'
Then one of the seraphs flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the alter. With it he touched my mouth and said, 'See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atone for.'
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?'
And I said, "Here I am. Send me!"
He said, "Go..."

God has chosen me. And He knows me, whom He has called.

Could this be butterfly kisses?

Portland is incredibly green. But it always seems a bit cloudy (is that just me? 0r does anyone else notice that too?). Last weekend, my family hailed from the Sunshine county and sprinkled a few sunbeams on the valley.

How sparkley they made it!

Humbled beyond comfort

I was told from the beginning not to compare; it will either set me up for failure, or it will set my standards too low, and make me satisfied with a less of person than who God has made me to be. I've also been told that its not what I do that matters, but who I am.

But here I am, attempting to achieve all four matters at once and not succeeding at any one of them. It's easy not to compare when I'm quite satisfied with myself. But when I want to be something that I am not (nor can ever be?)... then the gate is opened, and I can't seem to resist.

Before, when I had a set back or failure I could always turn to one of my resources, and use it as a crutch until something else in me was able to shoulder the load. If I was not the smartest, then I could be the pretty one, the one who had a little "extra" that made people like me, even if I didn't quite make the cut; and if I was not the most attractive, then I could be the smart one, marking sweet "A's" on all my works; and if neither of those was working for me, then I would turn to my personality, my family, my hobbies... I could always find something that would make me worthwhile to the society that I lived in.

And now, I've exhausted each of my resources. I've compared myself with the least of them and have come up empty.

Perhaps now, God is able to use me. Perhaps it was Him who allowed me to run out; after all, anything that I did have was a gift from Him, to be on lease for just a bit, until He deemed that I no longer needed them.

I asked Him to break me, so that I could have as intimate relationship as possible with Him. And once again, He has remained faithful. How does it feel to realize that I have neither the things that I do, nor that which makes me who I am? It feels like the tears that refuse to break from the corner of my eyes -I can't even feel the relief of pitying myself.

Jesus says that His yoke is easy and His burden is light. I wonder, when I will be willing to trade my patched army sack, infested sleeping bag, and grocery cart with tin cans, for His cot under the Willow with a glass of lemon water.

Oregon welcomes you (Oregon being me)

strike up the banjo... She'll be wearing grandma's long johns when she comes... she'll be wearing grandma's long johns when she comes, Oh! She'll be wearing grandma's long johns, she'll be wearing grandma's long johns, she'll be wearing grandma's long johns when she comes. ... and fade out.

I don't think my grandma has long johns, but if she did... my sister would be wearing them when she came.

Thankfully, it doesn't take full-body underwear with a butt-flap to bring Chelsea home, because, she's here! I personally caught a glimpse of her in Portland, Sunday, AND Monday! She was seen with a scruffy looking Alaskan, that held a similar look to Bob Dylan... any leads on who he may be? He seemed like he had potential to be charming -in a scruffy way... then I saw his Skinny Raven t-shirt. The audacity!

Oh look. Now she's wearing one too.

On procrastination

Case in point: I started this blog a week ago; I squeezed one sentence out (later deleted) about procrastination, and then became distracted. So it sat, day after day in my blog draft box, wishing to be posted. I'm posting it now. Why? Because I'm hiding from some other task, until it too is near due, or past due.

So if you have your bibles, turn with me to the book of Romans. Romans chapter 7, starting in verse 14. If not, I won't be putting it up on the big screen over your head -too bad for you.

And that, friends, is my view on procrastination.

The Creator's pallet

This is what I call color for the soul. Look hard. Drink deep. Know that God is.

"Well, if you looked at me, you'd never know... that I come from a trailer park with meth and a tornado"

I broke my sacred code of the internet last night. I did IT. I passed on a chain letter... to my beloved friends and family.
THEN, I received the letter back today (as requested in the instructions), from the person I least likely expected. And I allowed him to marry my beautiful sister!!!
I was "ROTF" half way through reading it.
Here IT is in all its glory:

If you opened it, you have to do it.Then, send it back to the person who sent it and you and the rest of your friends!

Two Names You Go By:

1. Denver

2. the big D

Two Things You are Wearing Right Now:

1. Muddy Jeans

2. t-shirt

Two things you expect in a relationship

1. willingness to argue

2. money for beer

Two of Your Favorite Things to do

1. drink beer

2. Argue

Two Things You Want Very Badly at the Moment: - and always

1. beer

2. cheetos

Two pets you had/have:

1. chucky the cat - the only cat that would ever drink beer with me

2. all the other cats

Two people you know will fill this out

1. I don't know anybody who fills these out, except J, and she already did

2. I almost never fill these out, so I'm not sure

Two Things You Did Last Night

1. Said I was going to bed early
2. Stayed up until 1 am drinking beer

Two Things You Ate Last Night:

1. beer

2. Raisins

Two People you Talked With Last Night

1. chucky the beer drinking cat

2. Chelsea, my wife

Two Things You're Doing Tomorrow:

1. drinking beer

2. taking to chucky

Two Longest Car Rides:

1. K-falls to anchorage

2. back to K-falls

Two Favorite Holidays:

1. Easter

2. Thanksgiving

Favorite Beverages:

1. at this point, are you even curious? beer.

2. Hot Chocolate or a Latte

Now, here's what you're supposed to do....And Please do not spoil the fun. Hit forward, delete my answers and type in your answers. Then send this to as many friends you can think of, INCLUDLING the person who sent it to you.

The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about those whom you "know" or thought you knew. JUST TWO THINGS....

The things listed that resemble normalcy, like "Hot Chocolate or a Latte," "Raisins," "Said I was going to bed early"... those are mine. Yeah...

The free t-shirt challenge

I'm a sucker for free "event" t-shirts -the kind that you get for your participation in some sort of activity.
People talk of love languages, this is one of mine. If you want to make me feel really loved, give me a t-shirt that you somehow obtained without paying more then three dollars.

Last December, I was able to visit my darling Fan Base in Anchorage, Alaska for a 10 days. One of the main draws of Anchorage was the Skinny Raven's pull-up challenge.

It went something like this:

Chelsea: You think you can really do 7 pull-ups?

Me: Yeah. I'm sure you can too, you just haven't tried.

Chelsea: No. I know I can't. You're sure you can?

Me: I know I can do seven... maybe ten, but definitely not more than that. They only asked for seven, right?

Chelsea: Yeah. Guys had to do seventeen, or something like that, and girls had to seven.

Me: Yeah, I can totally do that many.

We finally worked out a time when Chelsea and I could go down-town for a bit, shop around, complete the pull-up challenge, and get the long sought after FREE Skinny Raven t-shirt.

We walk in; I look around, trying to pretend interest in random articles of clothing; my fingers tracing the fabric on this jacket, commenting on these shoes, flipping over price tags, etc. My conversation with Chelsea is strained. Every muscle in my body is tense, like a fighter about to go in the ring. I couldn't wait to feel the cool fabric of my "tee".

We finally spot the chin-up bar. It's set in a doorway towards the back of the store. Chelsea and I look at each other.

Chelsea: You can do that many, Jocelyn?

Me: Yeah. (shrug) Its only seven. Not that many. I'm sure if I was more in shape I could do ten or twelve. But I haven't practiced at all... So who do you talk to about doing the chin-ups?

I find someone who is only semi-busy. I tell him I want to attempt the pull-up challenge. We walk over to the doorway with the bar overhead. It looms taller then it had when we first walked in. He brings me a chair. I climb up, grasp the bar. It's cold. And strong. I pull myself up, away from the chair. He pulls it away, so it won't impede my action. Everyone in the store stops shopping and gather their faces in my direction.

I'm like a fish on string. Only less tasty. I wiggle a bit and flop, but no matter how much distance I get between the floor and my feet, the bar doesn't get any closer to my chin.

Semi-busy guy: You want to try again?

I do. Several times. But the picture of the fish keeps returning.

Chelsea: I thought you said you could do pull-ups?

Me: Yeah. Me too.

Next time, Skinny Raven, I will get my t-shirt. I've been practicing my fishing skills.

...and my hands smell like horses

Once again, my inside cowgirl reminds me that her time is not over. I'm not a horse-lover, but I do love so much about them.

I've been pony-shopping for Kayce and Garrett. And today I rode my first four-legged creature since September. To be simple: it's been a while. A long while.

I was "bucked off."

Well, it was actually more of a fall, or a somersault, and I did imagine it ending up rather graceful. Sure. The pony tipped just a bit forward, and oops! off I go.

Please pray and be open to God leading you to donate to my "bronc-riding lessons" fund. I feel He is calling me to sharpen my riding skills, but at this point I'm simply trying to pay my Starbucks bill, let alone groceries, gas, and riding lessons. Another lesson in faith, right?

The adorable pony, Kades' Princess, that did my number:

*If anyone is interested she is still for sale: a beautiful little Welsh Cob, Section B mare

Girl meets God

I was recently asked to share "my testimony" in a small group of girls that I meet with every Sunday night. My curiosity about testimonies was pricked and for the past couple of weeks, I've been praying and fasting about it. Yeah, okay, so I wasn't fasting, and my prayer didn't involve any sack cloth... it was, however, sincere. I realized that it isn't my testimony at all, but God's (something my mind had been aware for a long time, but my heart had yet to grasp.)
So here it is, in all it's classic form:

Girl meets God. Knows little about God, but falls in love anyways. Makes a commitment. Tells everyone. Lets time go by. Realizes she also let God go by.
Girl wants to be with God.
Girl is angry at herself for ignoring God. Tries to punish herself, by letting more time go by. Is really sad.
God loves girl. Comforts girl. Girl loves God more then before. Tells God. They are happy.
Girl lets time go by. Realizes she also let God go by.
Girl wants to be with God.
Girl is angry at herself for ignoring God. Tries to punish herself, by letting more time go by. Is really sad.
God loves girl. God teaches girl about His love. Girl lets God forgive her. Girl loves God more then before. Tells God. They are happy.
Girl lets time go by...
God loves girl... Girl loves God more then before...
Girl lets time go by....
God loves girl...
repeat

They go where no one dares to go

I'm infatuated with the garbage man. Any garbage man.

It began Monday. I had woken up early for my first rotation at the VA Medical Center's OR . Dawn flooded the valley and garbage man #1 had just finished his first round. He did a few stretches, then hopped in his truck.

I thought about him all that day, and night, and today.

I crave the manual labor. The alone time. The excitement of snatching things out of dark, back alleys and returning them before anyone notices.

I saw another garbage man. Garbage man #2 was picking through his dust pan, before dumping it in the trash. Probably looking for gum wrappers for his collection. I decided he must not be a real garbage man.

Garbage man #3, enter: he was doing something like putting garbage in his truck.

They inspire me, to say the least.