It's For Real

Here are the promised photos of me in my new ice skates, standing on the ice, getting ready to rail my way around the rink. Today, my third day ever ice skating, I made it around the entire rink TWICE WITHOUT EVEN TOUCHING THE RAIL!!! I even had a scary thought of setting a goal to be on a hockey team one day. The thought quickly left my head when I remembered how much I hate to participate in competitive sports. Fun 2-second thought, though.

Anonymous

Well, I've gotten some 'comments' on my blog in the past that were ads from some companies or individuals trying to sell something, which is why I decided to start moderating my comments. Blog Spam. Blam.
Today, I had another 'comment' on a very old blog and the entire thing was in Hebrew. Since I have a mild obsession with Israel and because I just started studying Hebrew, I decided to publish the 'comment', thinking it was from someone I know who knows these things about me. Then, I looked closer. There were URLs included. I decided to copy and paste. Wouldn't you know it, it was an ad. But not just any ad. It was an ad for a hotel/getaway in Tel Aviv Israel. Instead of being bummed that the comment wasn't from a fun friend, I looked at the photo gallery on this website. I read about their amenities. Now I want to go there. Maybe for my honeymoon. I bookmarked the website for future reference. www.kfarbair.com. It's kinda funky/artsy. Awesome BLAM!!!

Twirl-arina. Mmm, not quite yet.

You probably couldn't tell just by looking at me.
Even people who've known me for years may never have been able to guess, ascertain or even intuit. Except my mom, that is, since she has the special God-given powers of 'knowing' me.
The guy I rented the hybrids from probably couldn't tell either.
But, you can ask the ice...

I'M A SKATER!!! I SKATE!! (said in the voice of Bill Murray's character, Bob Wiley, taken from the scene where he's strapped to the mast of the sailboat)

Yes, folks, it's true... after 33 years of living in rink-less, frozen pond-less areas of California, the inner ice skater in me finally emerged today at the Joy Burns Ice Arena at Denver University. I held that railing like it was going out of style as toddlers whizzed past me, carving ice onto my pant cuff. Humiliated? Not even for one second!! After going 'round a few times, I even approached this, pardon the expression, bad-ass hockey chick and asked her for some tips.

"So, today's my first day out here on the ice,' I said cool-ly, 'and, uh, I'm thinkin' I should probably practice falling. So, what do you think is the best way?"
She looked around and then straight into my eyes with an intensity that only people on 'the ice' can really share.
"You know, the trick is, just don't tense up-- JUST DON'T TENSE UP! Man, snowboarders you know? If they don't, like, clench their fists as their falling... they like break their wrists and stuff, like all the time. So, just, if you're gonna fall, just clench your wrists and just go with it, ya know?"
"Yep, okay, just go with it. Okay."

What else do you do with such awesome free advice like that? Continue to skate next to the railing and then grab on for dear life before you have to clench your fist and just 'go with it'!! That's right folks, I didn't fall today, not even once!! I probably will tomorrow, though, if I get up enough chutzpah.

So, I skated for an hour. Most of that time I actually practiced stops, swizzles (which were really more like swoozles since I haven't had any lessons and just read about them on some beginner's site I found off of Google), turns and glides. Half of the time I practiced these things NOT TOUCHING THE RAIL!! I'M AWESOME!!!

So, needless to say, I was on a major high at the end of the public skate sesh. So high, I told my roommate at lunch (consumed a lamb gyro in about 5 seconds flat after that hard core workout), that I needed to go out and buy my own skates RIGHT THEN. She complied, being on the same high herself and needing her own pair of pretty skates, and we drove over to the nearest Play It Again to try some on. They had a perfect pair in my size for a super good price, but Christine wasn't convinced, so we went on over to the 'best' skating shop in Denver, where they had no skates in stock, but gave us a complete education on each brand and type of skate, blade, etc and tried to get us to order their least expensive which prices skyrocketed out of our budgets. So, armed with lots o' information, we drove right on back to the first store and bought us the cheapo ones. Good brand, lesser model. Maybe in a couple of weeks when I'm doing spins and flips I'll invest in the more expensive ones, but, for now, my beautiful, new white Jackson Glaciers are all I need to get out there, clench my fists and 'go with it'!

I totally took photos, too, of me on the ice-- well, one photo was taken of my by Christine-- and of my new skates, but I can't find the cord that connects my camera to my computer for uploading. BOOOOOO!! You'll just have to take my word for it: I'm a skater.

Would you like foam on that?

They liked me.

www.tatteredcover.com

Snapshot

In prayer last week, I got a snapshot impression of burgundy painted walls, telescope lights and a glass bakery case. A coffee shop? Probably. A job, perhaps? Maybe. Days later, on a walk downtown with my fantastic friend and housemate Christine, I mentioned the image I'd gotten.
"I think I'm supposed to look for work in a coffee shop with burgundy painted walls and telescope lights."
"Okay, let's look for it."

I love people who believe God like I do.

We were actually walking around looking for good places for her to put in an application, but every time we passed by a Starbucks, a Peets, an Ink!, we peeked through the windows at the wall color. Lots of sage green. One with bright red and white. No burgundy. I let it go.

Days later I was having breakfast with my incredibly, artistically- talented friend Cami. I mentioned the prayer impression I'd gotten to her. She smiled and said something like, "Well, God can do anything!" Ah, how true. We quickly moved onto other more fascinating subjects and then it was time to do more hanging out elsewhere. She suggested the Tattered Cover bookstore . I didn't know that the Tattered Cover had a bookstore in Highlands Ranch where she lived-- about a half hour drive from where I live in Denver. The Tattered Cover is legendary here. It's one of Denver's must-sees. I was up for a peruse.

I was busy talking about something probably unimportant when we walked through the front door, so I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings much, only to notice that Cami kept walking toward this little cafe section and I kept wondering why since we'd downed more coffee than either of us needed at the breakfast place. Then, she stopped and just stood there, looking forward. It took me a bit and then I shut up and looked ahead, too. Well, wouldn't you know it. Burgundy walls. Telescope lights. Glass bakery case.

She nudged me forward. Feeling a little foolish, I walked up to the counter and addressed the down-to-earth-looking woman standing behind it.
"I just have a question. Do the other Tattered Covers in Denver have coffee shops in them as well?"
"Yes they do."
"And, are they owned by Tattered Cover or are they a separate entity?"
"Are you looking for a job?"
"Actually, yes, yes I am."
"Stay right here."

I stood right there and shot Cami a quizzical look. She shot one back and pantomimed that she'd be reading some magazines in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner. Shortly after, a thin, grey, curly-headed man strolled out from behind an 'employees only' type door.
"You looking for a job?"
"Actually, yes, yes I am."
"What area do you want to work? Downtown? Colfax? Here?"
"No, either downtown or Colfax-- I live in Lodo, so those are closer."
"Oh good, 'cause we're hiring for the Lodo store and are closing out applications today. You have time to fill out an app?"
"Um, yep."

It took me a while to fill it all out. They ask a lot of interesting questions like: what 3 sections of the bookstore would you be found in? (religion, travel, art) and, what makes a great coffee shop? (friendly, helpful staff; consistency and quality of beverage and food; cleanliness; good music; comfy places to sit...)

I completed it with gusto and went to hand it back to Wayne who then asked if he could give me a preliminary interview. I had to get through Wayne first. He liked me. He passed along my app to personnel. They liked my app. I got a call from Chuck. I had an interview with him and Jackie this morning. I liked them.

I'll let you know if they liked me back in my next inspiring blog...

By the way, thanks to 'anonymous' for leaving me that encouraging note on my last entry. It's bugging me that I don't know who you are. Annoying. Intriguing...

Every Tribe, Tongue and Nation

I've been meaning to get to the Spanish service that Church in the City has on Sunday afternoons, but until today hadn't made the effort. After being sick all week, I had a slow morning and so decided to skip English service and go Español this afternoon. It felt like coming home.
The first person I met was Brian. Brian is an older gentlemen who has lived in Denver since '57. He was a little disheveled and, well, he is white, like me. He refused to speak to me in English and so we had some Spanish chit chat before the service. He has been teaching himself Spanish over the years and is pretty good-- about where I was after 6 months in the DR. When we walked into the sanctuary, he introduced me to the Pastors and then to a lovely older Mexican woman named Marguerita. He took off and so I sat with her and listened to her talk and talk and talk about the Lord. I could not stop smiling. I don't know what it is about Latin Christian culture, but they LOVE to talk about the Lord and about faith and about trials and how God uses the trials to strengthen them. I am always humbled and built up after listening. And, also following Latin culture, everyone else who walked in the building (either before or after the service) came up to say hello, shake hands, exchange names and a 'Dios le bendiga, hermana' (God bless you, sister). The pastor never has to encourage Latinos to greet others-- it's ingrained in them. Also, If you don't know this, all Spanish worship songs are passionate and all about the Gospel. They are always completely focused on Jesus and His worthiness, not on ourselves. Because of this, they lead one into a place of worship of the Holy and I always feel the presence of God when I am singing Spanish worship. The prayers, too, are different than the prayers we pray in English. They always focus on His power, His majesty, His mercy, His blood. By the time the preaching is about to start, I am already filled with the Spirit. Today was no different.
The Chilean pastor had a burden to share his and his wife's testimony of their conversions, faith walk and life as missionaries (Brazil, Honduras, Equatorial Guinea and now Denver). He had his wife sit up next to him and they tandem-shared their mutual journey. With tears consistently leaking out the corners of my eyes, I listened for over an hour to story after story of times when they felt that God had abandoned them and then, after prayer, how God miraculously came through. With tears consistently leaking out of the corners of their eyes, they implored us to not forget the mercies of God, to not forsake praying for His promises to come to pass, to not become weary in well-doing and to pray always, in all circumstances, believing.
I needed to hear that today. Big time. I thought a lot about my call to nations and about how God has not removed that call from my life, even though I am here in Denver. In fact, downstairs, just below us, as we were having church in Spanish, there was another service going on in Indonesian. I could not help but reflect on my time in Indonesia 6 years ago and how just being there for two months made me feel connected to the people worshipping downstairs. I thought about how excited I am to start Hebrew classes at this same church in January and I wondered at God's excellent craftsmanship in bringing me to a place that has an Indonesian congregation, a Messianic congregation and a Hispanic congregation. In just one building I see God's thread in my life and marvel.
After service, I walked outside and met a young man coming out of the Indonesian service. He is Chinese, speaks little English and sometimes attends the Indonesian service with his wife who is Chinese Indonesian. He gets bored, he says, because he doesn't understand Indonesian. He and his wife, Macy, are fairly new to Denver as well and are looking for friends. I didn't get to meet her since the Indonesian service was still going on, but I plan on spending some time getting to know them in the future. What an awesome day. That's all I can say.

Never Alone

In just two days we celebrate Christmas. Before I chose to believe that Jesus was the only way to the Father, the only way to freedom and salvation and redemption and restored relationship, Christmas was a lovely time of homemade cookies, handmade stockings hanging over the fireplace, our traditional Christmas tape (now burned onto a CD) that my dad mixed many years ago, German Apple Pancakes in the morning, ripping open of presents. Come on, it's the best time of year. It's the best day. After I decided to believe in Jesus and call myself a Christian, Christmas actually continued just about the same, though I now recognize the gospel truth being sung out through many carols (how could I have missed that message all those years?) I can't say that I spend lots of time preparing my heart during advent or that I meditate for hours on his birth and what His coming to earth really means. I am one of those who LOVES the American tradition of Christmas and all that it entails. Neighbors exchanging baked goodies, Charlie Brown's Christmas, all the colorful wrapping paper and bows... I LOVE it!
This year, however, is a little different for me.
I'm not at home. It's my first Christmas without my family. I've never missed a Christmas. I thought that I would be okay with it. I mean, we celebrated it early since my brother and his fiancé, Stacy, were going to spend Christmas in Connecticut with her family and my little nephew, Gabriel, was going to spend it with his mom. And, I was leaving for Colorado. It all seemed okay. Then I got here and found out that Gabriel had to leave his mom's and come back to his daddy's. They couldn't afford to buy him a ticket to Connecticut, too, so they had to postpone their trip. They're all there, right now, at my mom's having Christmas parties, baking cookies, singing carols, hanging out the stockings, wrapping presents. And here I am, in a new city, watching the snow fall down, sick with a cold and spending endless hours with my roommate's Siamese cat Puss Puss Elvis while my roommate is at work. I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself, but it's not working.
This is when it hits me that maybe this Christmas can really be about Jesus. Even though I'm sort of at odds with Him at the moment as I question His motives for moving me out here, I can't help but feel inexplicably drawn to be nearer to Him than ever before. Loneliness has a way of doing that. As I watch out the window at the snow falling, I also catch glimpses of homeless men making their lonely tracks along broken sidewalks. I don't have any words of wisdom to write. I just feel sad as I watch them. I shoot up a prayer of thanks to God that I can be inside with a heater on on such a cold day. I think about God and kind of end there. I don't have all the answers. But, because Jesus came to earth, I can have Him. Not in the flesh. Not to be able to hug and smile at and crack a joke with, but I can have His presence because He promised it to anyone who would believe in Him. And, that warm relationship is just about all I want right now. I want that sense of family. The homeless men probably want that, too. Jesus was born all those years ago just so we wouldn't have to be completely alone, whether we have people around or not.
So, this Christmas, it's just me and Jesus. And Puss Puss Elvis.