Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog

Jeremiah. The first chapter. The verse: 17.

Get. Yourself. Ready!

I'm still trying to figure out what this means, but I woke up with it in my brain.

If people doubt that God still speaks through His word, send them to me. Be warned though; so far all I can do with this verse is point and hyperventilate. Get yourself ready. That's Him talking, TO ME, terrifying me with the power He's offering. Yes, power is the word. The verse warns me not to be terrified of them. Why be terrified of them? God's doing a fine job scaring the bejeezus out of me all on His own. His plans for me (just in claiming me for His own) are HUGE. And I can't quite fathom it. Heck, in truth, I can't fathom it at all.

This is the fear of the Lord, and it is on me. Luke 4:18. My God (!), I can't be shy. It's not allowed. I have to be soft and mighty. I have to get myself ready. There's no more hide and seek; just seek. There's no more excuses. . . . And the plain fact is, I know I will fail--or at least feel inept (Jer. 1:6). Yet, He doesn't accept excuses (v. 10), because in Him, I don't need them.

"What do you see, Valonna? What do you hear?"

"Get yourself ready for God knows what."

--Part of an email exchange on 18 September 2009

Prayer #1

This is my prayer, Lord: that You reveal the secret petitions of my heart so that I'll know what I desire.

Let my heart yearn for communion with You, to such a degree that men, career, friends, and finances take a backseat. I want to turn to You first with happy news, aches and pains, and emotional woes and complaints. I want Your advice, to hear Your voice telling me, "This is the way." Please help me to follow You, to discern Your will. Don't let me be deceived back into the old comfort zone. Let me ask with authority for things I long for, and I will rely on You to take care of everything.

This is my prayer, Lord: that I love You first and foremost, that You bless me in that.

Yet Another Awkward Epiphany

You know that point in fiction where the character speaking gradually slows to a halt, mid-sentence, goes slack-jawed, and does a mental about-face? It's smooth, seamless, and a dozen other things that make the audience wish they had an epiphany every hour, on the hour.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, that has never happened for me. Reality is usually messier and--without fail--more embarassing. Take my complete lack of humility in career transition for instance. It should have gone something like this:

Valonna: Good morning, God. Love ya. You're awesome, which you know of course, 'cause you know all. I was thinking about trying to find a new job that's right for me, suited to the talents and passions you instilled in me. I ask most humbly for your blessing in the search, transition, and new adventure. Guide me, and I will follow you.

God: Thanks for coming to me with this, Valonna. I love you, and I'm always happy to give you your heart's desire. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you that I'll make certain the timing is perfect for my plans before you see much happening on your end.

Valonna: Oh, absofrigginlutely. You're infallible on that score, never late, rarely early. Just keep talking me through the process so I don't go batty.

God: Of course.

Instead, the conversation went something like this:

Valonna: Oh, yeah . . . God, I've decided you will bless me with a new and completely friggin' awesome job. You couldn't have given me these talents and passions for no reason, so I will let you do your thing and hook me up. I expect everything on my timetable and on my own terms. Naturally, this will be a stress-free and easy process.

[God rubs his forehead, chuckles ever so minutely, and grins at his Son.]

Valonna: [looks around for source of laughter] . . . God . . . ? God . . . ?

Um, yeah, humility is never my forte. And in a meeting Wednesday, mid-sentence, nearly slack-jawed, I found myself stricken with Epiphanitis. (Thankfully a pretty mild bout, whose side effects happen to include a runny nose.) I've been expecting all this blessing from God, wrestling around with Him, struggling to keep up my faith. All without ever asking Him for the blessing, without exercising any real faith. Now I'm pinned, convicted, rather humbled; embarassed as usual.

Thankfully, God's not too into embarassing me. That's all my own doing. He was totally cool when I went back to Him and said . . . .

Really? You expect to eavesdrop on all of a girl's conversations with God? Nope, no verbatim recountings on this one. Suffice it to say, we're cool, we've discussed timing, humility, etc. I know I'm decidedly in the dark on some things, but He's drilling me on how to get over it. Namely, He's whispering in my ear, "Chill out. Don't worry. I won't leave you out in the cold. I didn't give you those talents and passions for no reason, but you don't see the full picture. You'll come along fine. Stick with Me, and you will be blessed, just by virtue of hanging out with Me."

Huh. You got a soundbite after all, and yes, He really does sound like that.

Waste of Time and (Blog) Space

Why is it so very easy to waste time?

I can waste time window shopping, looking up words, spying on everyone’s Facebook and myspace, checking out new books, movies, music. I can wander the annals of emails new and old. I can research something to wear to the international Christmas musical.

What I should be doing is something else altogether.

This is usually laundry, my chore-room for the week, fixing lunch for the next day at work. I could really benefit from some time reading the Bible, kicking it with God, myself, or nature. I might also call a friend I haven’t spoken to in what seems like forever. I should write more frequently than I do also.

These are all infinitely better uses of my time, better than wasting it doing who knows what. Does this produce any extra productivity on my part? Not really. Guilt moves in for a play at superiority, but even that emotion doesn’t get much air time when it comes to my play time. And that’s what it is: play time. I want quite greedily to play and be irresponsible. Being responsible has garnered limited benefits in the past, so why should the present be any different?

And yet, a part of me recognizes that responsibility may take a while to incur any cool fringe benefits. That’s what everyone in high school/college is working toward, right? And all the entry level peons? Yes, they’re usually working toward a specific goal, and their eyes are on the prize. Maybe I should select a prize to give myself for not wasting so much time. Then, window shopping might take a back seat to more important pursuits.

Fighting Getting a Big Head

Lately, I’ve been told several times by different people that I’ve lost weight or that I happen to look especially nice that day (implicitly saying I usually look nice). To which I say this: thank you. Now there are a few theories at work here, one being that I look better because I am in process of shrinking; the appearance is collateral to weight loss. The other major theory is that I am mid-self-actualization, developing more self-esteem, which in turn leads to coincidental glow and shedding my disguise; the weight loss is collateral to the self-realization.

Yeah, I said collateral.

This is not a negative thing here, and I sure as heck don’t mean to take out any loans. But I wouldn’t be Valonna if I didn’t tweak words to my whim. And I admit that my money’s on the second theory. Whether it’s hopeful thinking or simple factoid, I think part of the work God’s done on me this year includes rendering my disguise (read: weight) a superfluity. ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, I’m really not trying. Yeah, I happen to be eating less, partially due to budgetary crises, but I’ve never before gotten sick to my stomach just because I ate something sugary. And that’s happened a lot lately. Weird. We’re talking someone whose sweet tooth can normally put other people into diabetic comas.

Something strange is happening to me. Basically, I’m coming to the realization that there will still be sweets tomorrow if I have none today. There will still be Haagen-Dazs even if I don’t buy the pint of peanut butter chocolate. Needless to say, this is not a cognitive epiphany I’ve reached but rather a psychological—or, for the more spiritually inclined, spiritual—one. Put bluntly, I simply don’t need that kind of sustenance. Instead, God sustains me through Himself, friends he provides for me, and good ol’ piece of mind.

Now, I promised myself not to exceed a page; therefore, to be continued.

Rain on Grieg's and God's Parades

It rained for the first time in a long while in the city last night. Of course, this is the only occasion in 5 months when I haven’t had an umbrella with me at all times. But it wasn’t a dire circumstance, because true to Bay Area precipitation, the “rain” was really more like a heavy drizzle.

It was lovely.

Don’t ask me how, but this gave me the biggest yin to take a bath, just chill out with some awesome music. (At which point, I realized some of my absolute favorite classical music was at a friend’s house.) So, I ran a bath, grabbed my laptop and a good Grieg CD, and settled down to live it up. My plan was simple: listen to the wind blow the rain over the above skylight and get pruny while faceless musicians hammered out Grieg’s piano concerto. . . .

Then the first five minutes was gone, and I made the second unhappy discovery of the evening. I was having trouble doing nothing and not rushing to get one thing done as I advanced to the next. Had my life, my work, my friends—my self—become so constantly kinetic that I couldn’t simply be in the current moment? I, who had always prided myself on being able to sit still and revel in my own imagination, found myself hard-pressed not to run forward to the next thing.

This called for discipline. This called for a Psalm 46:10 exercise. So, I needed to be very still and start listing off some of the ways that God was, well, God. I needed to exalt Him. In my ignorance, in my fears, in my expectations, in my doubts, in all the ways I hoped He’d come through for me and mine. I needed to think about all those ways in which my life had changed in the past year (fun and unfun), and exalt His hand in those, too. . . .

Did I do that?

No. I managed to concentrate on the task for a little while, but just like so many of us self-deprecatingly admit, I failed to fully invest my time with God for more than a brief moment. Then, it dawned on me that the water was getting cold, the concerto was nearly finished, and I still hadn’t washed my hair. I had to laugh—silently, so as not to wake my roomies—and remember that I can indeed do all things through Him who strengthens me. So, even though I’d failed yet again, there’s always the next time I humbly approach God for a little of His quality time.

God on the Floor

Never before have I felt crushed to the floor by God’s will. Tonight took care of that hole in my repertoire. Not only did I feel His command, once I was lying face down on the floor, I was hard-pressed to move. And I cried so hard, buggers dripped from my stuffy nose.

I’m not telling you this to gross you out. I’m telling you this because . . . well, in actuality, I’m really just talking to hear myself talk at this point. This is what is known as catharsis. What my old professor (he is old, but also is my former professor) called “mind sprints.” Not supposed to stop typing ‘til the cursor reaches the bottom of the page. And if it’s not coherent, so be it. Frankly, what is coherent to me is frequently incoherent to others, so it’s no real loss if a mind sprint finds its way into the “eh?” column of people’s Valonna dealings.

Anyway, before tonight, I had always been “able” to say, “No, thanks, God. I’m good. No need to put my face on the carpet in order to bond with you.” He was having none of that, would not take no for an answer, and other clichés. Instead, I admitted I was overwhelmed, with nowhere to go but down on the floor before I could move upward again, and it struck me: vulnerability reeks.

Like those filthy rags we’re warned about in the Bible.

Yet there I lay, admonished, knowing I had to acknowledge not only vulnerability, but fallibility. Where was my back-up plan, my self-reliance? My friggin’ I-am-an-island-ness. God had stripped that away, as surely as He had my address during my Peregrination Period. I begged money from my mom, only to have it absorbed into bank overage fees, leaving me nothing, no money whatsoever for transportation or food.

And yet my friends all state, “He never gives you more than you can handle.” His strength is made perfect in my weakness. Well, I sure feel weak, but I'm not seeing how I can handle anything prostrated on the floor. Except maybe a hunger strike.

Yo, Yosemite!

As some of you know, I had a class field trip earlier this month to Yosemite for my Geology of National Parks class. In case you didn't already know, I've returned to SF alive and in one piece. Indeed, with all the talk about bears and the 442 reported incidents in the park this summer, I was concerned about remaining unscathed. Luckily, however, bears featured little into my weekend, so without further ado, I will attempt to recount some of the highlights.

Thursday: I chose to carpool in the professor's group, because I knew he'd discuss the material on the drive to the Park, and he'd also know most of the ins and outs of the rules. I'll say up front that I wasn't disappointed on either count. We discussed the New Madrid fault and gemstones during the hours of landscape I'd yet to become acquainted with (I rode shotgun, so I had the best view.). The trip really began to sink in when my ears starting popping from the rise in elevation. And by the time we started on the Old Priest Grade, with its steep, narrow lanes (what does California have against guardrails anyway?), my stomach was bunched into coils of anticipation and anxiety. I thought we were surely about to enter the Park, but we still had an hour more, winding up and down and around lines of Pacific Dogwoods and varied conifers.

We arrived at our campsite in the early afternoon, in plenty of time to wander around before we were set to rendezvous for dinner and plan for tomorrow. So, sans professor, Chris, Tom, Saki, and I wandered over to Happy Isles, where we got our first real Yosemite views: rockfalls tumbling into tree roots, rocks being eroded in rivers, friggin' huge rock faces in the distance. This was merely a taste to whet the geological appetite for the weekend. But, hey, why rush things, right? Better to go back to camp and schmooze with everyone. At this point, I realized something very important for girlie girls like me: having 4 experienced campers (Capy, Chris, Adam, Dave the Prof) and a boy scout (Tom) in your camp is a necessity if the camp doesn't include log cabins and electricity. They built the fires, cooked the meals, helped erect tents, did the heavy lifting. I confess there were times I felt utterly superfluous to the group.

Hands-down highlight: Going stargazing and seeing the Milky Way for the first time.

Quirky Valonna-ism: I put Saki and my tent in a tree-fairy ring. I figured, why not?

Friday: 6 am wake-up call, instant oatmeal, caravaning out of camp at 8 am. First up was Stoneman Meadow, where we heard about Tis-a-ack, an Ahwahnichee woman whose face is on one cliff, while her papoose, Royal Arches, is below North Dome (her husband). Next, another meadow, where we spotted a bald eagle, I fought with a boy for my own binoculars, and we saw the Map of North America (mafic inclusion) on a cliff face. The map, by the way is cut off at the Mississippi, but as one guy said, "Who needs Florida anyway? It's just a big swamp."

Next, we drove up toward Sentinel Dome, and I couldn't help marveling at the Pacific Dogwoods all over again. Apricot, mango, persimmon leaves: breathtaking. As we hiked toward Sentinel's summit, Dave told us the differences between lodgepole pines and Jeffrey firs. And it started to snow, just when we were reaching our 8000-foot target. This was where we stopped for lunch, and by the time we were finished eating, the clouds were beginning to clear. Wow!

Down we went, past smoky and milky quartz dikes, toward ginormous fissures in the rockfaces. I'm proud to say I managed to crawl out to the edge of them and not throw up. We talked base-jumping, suicides, avalanches (Seven Brides for Seven Brothers style). Then we hiked back to the cars; our school day was done at 5:00. How's this for weird: Michael, one of the fellas in my camp, comes from Carbondale, and knows Lambert's Cafe.

Hands-down highlight: the view I earned atop Sentinel Dome of Half Dome, the Clark Range, and the Star King.

Quirky Valonna-ism: What a glorious hot shower at the end of the day--followed by rain all evening.

Saturday: Happy to report that the "real" rain did not invade our tent, and I awoke moderately refreshed for the serious hiking in store. I'll keep this brief, because, frankly, I think my brain shut off a few times to allow my body not to panic at the heights or stop from exhaustion. You see, we hike/climbed 2000 feet to reach the top of Nevada Fall (6000 feet). This is serious altitude for a girl who was raised on less than 400 feet elevation.

Anywho, getting back to the narrative, we made our way up a rocky quasi-staircase to Vernal Fall, next to the Emerald Pool. Don't worry, we made plenty of Oz jokes. This is where we ate a snack before the real workout of the day, climbing up the rocks to Nevada Fall. These make you thankful for long legs, make you consider wishing for longer ones. When I finally reached the bridge over the Fall, that separated me from the rest of my class, I truly did feel the endorphin high runners get. I felt like I was strutting as I shuffled over and plopped down next to some of my compadres. First order of business, guzzle the last of my water as I ate a sandwich. Second, study a bit for the test that Dave would give in just over an hour. Third, lay down against the rock that curved perfectly against my back, sunning myself, not caring a bit about how sweaty I currently was.

Hands-down highlight: The comaraderie around the fire that night, all the geology jokes, the further definition of "geo-sexual studies," which isn't as perverse as it sounds. Many of us taking turns yelling out the name Elmer. Don't ask me why. In short, the whole night.

Quirky Valonna-ism: I brought up the rear for completing the climb to Nevada Fall, so I declared I was guarding everyone's back. Report: No bears.

Sunday: 8 am intended wake-up call, but I got up at 7:30. See what too much nature does to a body? Time to dismantle our camp, prepare for one last little trek through Yosemite. Our carpool opted for Lower Yosemite Fall. We lingered there for about an hour, then started back to the car. On the way, we came upon about 7 baby Bambis, and I found my favorite dead tree to date.

We started the drive home, stopped for In 'n Out Burgers along the way, and arrived back in the city to clear skies, fog just enveloping Sutro Tower at 4 pm. I headed home to enjoy solid walls and a real bed. Ah, back at home, but what an adventure. We all bonded so much during those four days. It seemed strange to go back to the classroom that Wednesday, after we'd spent such so much time in the field.

Hands-down highlight: The Whole Weekend.

Quirky Valonna-ism: I may voluntarily camp again.