Imagine.

So today could quite possibly be the happiest day of my life.

And here's why...

I got a tattoo.

That word instantly stirs up feelings in

you. Whether it's feelings of disgust, joy, intrigue, judgement, anger, regret...whatever it is, there's a feeling that brews inside you when you talk about them.

You either love them...or you hate them...or you like them, but only on other people.

I've always been a liker. I like to admire them on the skin of another. But today I became a lover...

I got a tattoo...somewhat on a whim. I've been brewing up a picture, an idea, a location on my body of what and where to get one. But in the depths of my heart, I never knew if I would go through with it.

So I'm a big fan of the imagination. We encourage children to have one, and advise them to never lose it...yet we scorn them should they have an imaginary friend. Never understood that one.

Anywho...imagination is a beautiful thing.

Someday I imagine myself sitting under a willow tree...a joyfully weeping willow...writing pages upon pages for novels that will one day be published.

I imagine a world where people believe that change lives in the little things. That you're not foolish to believe you can change the world. One small decision at a time.

I imagine words together that have

the power to make people cry...to make people wail...to make them scream and shout for joy.

I imagine art spilling out of my hands in the form of drawing, painting, playing the piano and the guitar, penciling words on paper.

I imagine up things that make me happy. That make me warm. That make me hopeful.

You should too.

We always encourage children to never lose their imagination. And yet, in the same breath, we tell them not to run away with their imagination. Which is it?

It seems as we grow older, it's quite inevitable that our imagination simply runs away...without us. We climb inside a box where ideas are no longer innovative and fresh...but stagnant and stale. There's no adventure. There's no risk. There's no all call for bravery.

I think I'd like to hold hands with my imagination and

simply frolic away...or run away, should the mood strike.

So....in that, I decided to implement a permanent reminder...to cling tightly to my fleeting imagination...

in the form of a tattoo.

Some of you might be familiar with my infatuation with unicorns. Well I guess I wouldn't call it an infatuation...more like a soft spot for them. For me, they're sort of a tangible representation of my imagination...without really being tangible, considering

they don't really exist. They're majestic and beautiful and quite honestly, they bring me joy.

Call me crazy.

Yes, I got a unicorn tattoo. And I can't look at it without smiling. I'm bubbling over with joy because I have a vibrant and imaginary talking creature colored onto my inner left ankle.

Cultivate whatever feelings you have about it, because I'm learning to care less about what other people think...and care more about what makes my spirit soar.

And for now, my spirit is holding hands with my imagination...galloping, soaring, over my ankle bone and off into the land of make believe.

God had quite the imagination when he thought this world, this body, into creation.

And this body, this body is fleeting, temporary. For most, tattoos are too permanent. For me, this body is not permanent, so I'll choose to fluff my spirit, and bring joy to my life, through a permanent tattoo on a temporary body.

Thanks God for art. For expression. For imagination. And for creation.

Defeated.

It's the freakin' weekend baby, I'm about to have me some fun.

Or so we thought.

Sunday night is our Friday night, for those of you who aren't privy to the canyony life we live out here. And this Sunday night is special....because it's the beginning of a 3, count 'em 3, day weekend. We had to work on good ol' Martin Luther King day so we get our comp day this Wednesday.

The ladies and I hopped in the car and hit the road at about 5pm on this rainy Sunday evening. Just about 2 hours ago...we were on our way to Spokane, Washington..or as some would call it, Spokompton. There were beautiful plans of midnight milkshakes at Sharis, quad bike explorations in the hills of Deer Park, pottery painting at Polka Dot, and quality time with Papa Schultz. But alas, Papa Jesus had some other plans in store.

Let's roll back the clock a little...

It's mid afternoon.

It's raining.

And when it's raining down here, it normally means there is snow at the top of property.

Snow=bad.

So some balmy qualms start to set in about 5 hrs ago while the interns are hard at work...turning over camp from the Family Worship Center camp that has just left. It's 2:30 in the afternoon when we start hearing frantic calls over the radio about how three buses have gone off the road on the way out of camp. Gone off the road, meaning they're hanging out in a ditch. Stuck. Can't get out. Muddled words are murmured among the interns.

We've heard stories about camps getting snowed in. If they can't get out, they have to come back in.

Do you know what that means?!

We have to feed them. We have to house them. We have to entertain them.

Utterly unexpectedly.

Muddled words are muttered among the interns. It's our Friday night, and there's a potential catastrophe in our midst.

All that to say, the buses made it out.

Rolling forward to 5 pm. We are off work. The camp didn't get snowed in. And now it's our turn to try and make it out to civilization.

As much as I despise driving during any sort of uncertain conditions, I decided to drive the first leg of the journey, little did I know how short that stubby leg would be.

It's still raining as we drive out of camp. And about 15 minutes in, it's snowing. We get to the treacherous hill that leads to the "top of property" and I look at Krista for affirmation. "Should I take the truck route, or should I try the hill?"

"I think you can make it up the hill. You just have to give it more gas. You need enough momentum but don't give it too much gas so that your tires spin out."

So I go for it. It legitimately takes all the courage I have within me to attempt trying to make it up this snowy mountain, considering I've lost control of my car twice in the past and almost threw up both times, and my body seizes up with paranoia at the hint of snow or ice on the road.

So this is huge.

I make it about halfway up and then I start sliding. I freak out. Stop the car. And tell/demand that Krista drive the rest of the way. We grab the chains out of my trunk, the ones my dad gave me that he recovered from deep in his scrap shack behind the house.

Krista and I attempt to put them on...while Ashley and Sonia hang out in the warmth of my backseat. We try unsuccessfully to strap em on for about 10 minutes, when here come The Wagners. All 6 of them. And I think there might have been some cousins or other friends along for the ride.

They're on their way into town to go to church, when they happen upon us, stuck on the side of a mountain, helplessly trying to out chains on my tires.

I hate the snow.

Lance Wagner gets out of the car and for a merciless 40 minutes, attempts to help us put the snow chains on. Either one of my tires has elephantiasis and is grossly larger than the other one, or one of my snow chains is crippled and can't fully extend it's limbs. Regardless of the affliction, one of my chains doesn't fit the tire. And we tried relentlessly to make it work, only to bow down in defeat an hour later.

I'm sure the Wagners missed their church service. Krista is going to miss her tattoo appointment. I'm nearly missing some fingers due to frostbite. And what did we gain from this debacle?

1. Make sure both your snow chains fit properly before there's snow on the ground.

2. Don't leave home without a flashlight.

3. Make sure you always have chips present, for times of great emotional stress.

4. And when all else fails, turn the music up really loud and dance in the rain...or snow.

And now we're back home...disconsolate, but safe.

But it's still the freakin' weekend...and I'm determined to have me some fun.

Unstable.

I'm too emotional.

I'm reading a book called the Emotionally Healthy Church and my emotions, there's just too many of them. And they're too intense for my liking. Sometimes I wish I could rip them out of my heart, individually, and set them on a shelf. That I could go visit them when I want to feel them, and not when I don't want to. I could check out the exact one I want to feel at the exact time. Like checking out books from the library. Wouldn't that be nice?

So my question is how do I become emotionally healthy when I can't control my emotions? I can't get a grip. And my condition, I'm gonna call it a condition because it's not quite a disease yet, nor is it an ailment, it's a condition because at this point it can be a good and a bad thing, my condition has too much power over me. Just a few words can have the power to dramatically shoot my mood, up or down. It goes both ways.

I would say I'm on an emotional roller coaster, but that's just a little too cliche for my liking...so we're gonna go with an emotional mechanical bull. And I can't hold on tight enough to remain stable in this life of mine.

Different people in my life have the ability to turn up the speed on the bull. It bucks faster and my one hand isn't strong enough to keep the grip. Not even two hands could sustain me. So I plummet off the bull, into late nights alone weeping in my bed.

Other people have the ability to slow the bull down. Slow it down so I can maintain my balance, causing feelings of pure elation, pride. Helping me feel like I can do this. I am capable. Their words stack up confidence, freedom, prestige, and poise. They make me feel worthy.

But just when I get comfortable, someone comes along and cranks it up a notch. My flailing heart tries desperately to hold on, but alas, there's no stability, there's no rhythm. And so it careens off into the darkness, along with this weak and insufficient body of mine.

Things don't always go your way.

People are gonna say things that hurt.

Grab your riding gloves and hold on tight.

It's a long and exhausting ride...and maybe someday the people that slow it down, will beat the people that speed it up.

And someday I'll get a grip.

But for now I cry out to the Lord to pick me up off the ground, dust me off, pick me up, and cradle me in His arms.

I can't get back on the bull just yet.

Horseshoes and Poop Chips.

There used to be a time when the only socks I wore were the ones I took on runs with me. My feet used to frolic freely in flip flops, toes dancing in the sun. Now I find myself satisfying the insatiable appetite of the dryer, as it eats half of every pair of socks I own. I wear two, sometimes three, pairs of socks on a daily basis here in Oregon. My toes are pasty, as is the rest of my body. So long sunny Santa Barbara. Hello cold, dark, sad little Antelope.

I’ve reached a lull. A definite lull. We’ve had our two short, too consecutive holiday breaks and now we’re back at camp with not much to look forward to. “Looking forward to” is an expression often used as a means of demonstrating excitement, anticipation, so in that sense there’s nothing really to look forward to. Unless of course, I could dig deep into the depths of my soul and muster up some excitement, some enjoyment, something other than the egregious emotions that live in me regarding all that is DEEP CLEANING. Have you ever cleaned anything deeply in your entire life?

My deep cleaning tasks of the past couple days involve, but are certainly not limited to:

1)Pac-vacing creatures. Yes, creatures. There are assorted stuffed animals displayed throughout camp. Not cuddly ones on beds. Menacing ones that were once living that now hang lifeless on walls. And I vacuumed their faces, their ears, their fur. Disturbing huh?

2)Removing “poop chips” from inside copious amounts of toilet bowls. Sonia coined the term “poop chips” as we knelt in neighboring stalls, laughing at the ludicrosity of our situation. There we were, cradling the toilet as if intoxicated, and we were indeed intoxicated, on the infamous “1/2 pink,” the only chemical strong enough to eat through toilet bowl rings. Tangential. There we were, cradling the toilet bowl, pumice stone clenched in hand, scratching away at the fecal matter of some nameless faceless human being. There’s nothing to do but laugh. Or cry. But we try and refrain from the latter.

3) Steel shining the kick plates on the cabin room doors. Steel shine the kick plates. Nothing but the best in YoungLife. If you’re like me and aren’t aware of what a kick plate is, I’ll enlighten you. There are steel plates that are screwed to the bottom of doors. Guessing by the name, they’re meant for kicking. I’m not really sure what their purpose is, aside from getting scuffed up when they’re kicked. Heaven forbid someone should kick a door without a kick plate. Your foot might fall off? Anyway, I steel shined the kick plates. I knelt on the ground and sprayed “liquid luster” and wiped in a circular motion until those kick plates shone like new. Like new, until someone utilizes that kick plate to its utmost ability…and kicks it.

4)De-bunked and re-bunked approximately 180 beds. By de-bunking, I pulled the mattresses off. By re-bunking, I put the mattresses back on. I’ve yet to figure out the exact reasoning behind this physically taxing task, but I do what I’m told and I did. So I took all the mattresses off. “Purpled” them (Purple is another word for disinfect here in Canyonland). And placed clean, clean being an understatement, mattress pads on them, and then tossed them back in their bunky home. I call clean an understatement for the mattress pads because we wash them, but no amount of washing could free them from the dirty fuzzy balls that live on them. Putting a mattress pad on is a simple painless task. Putting 180 mattress pads on is uncomfortable. By the end of the monotony my fingertips were raw and tingly. Let’s just say it was a magical encounter. Magical being a snide and sarcastic overstatement.

5) I “oranged” horseshoes. You had to go back and read that one again huh? Orange is another word for Pledge, or 409, or basically any sort of surface cleaner…wood, formica, iron, plastic, porcelain…you name it, we orange it. The horseshoes are a very creative, very decorative way of hanging towels in the bathrooms. I dusted the crevices of horseshoes that live in bathrooms. Another magical encounter.

Those are my top 5. The others didn’t make the cut. They’re hanging out with the carpet scum and the urinal algae, sobbing in the corner.

Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, deep cleaning is arduous. It’s tedious. It’s draining and defeating. Deep cleaning will wear away at your soul. It will wreak havoc on your body. It’s ruthless, and endless, and seemingly useless. Everything just gets dirty again.

So what’s the use?

Well this is where God’s sense of humor comes in. He teaches me through cardboardy puzzles. Why wouldn’t he teach me through poop chips and creature cobwebs? We lady interns clean buildings that will inevitably get dirty again just hours after we clean them. We worldly humans commit sins that the Lord washes away, sins we will inevitably commit just hours after we’ve begged forgiveness.

I attempt to deep clean buildings as the Lord takes a stab at deep cleaning my heart.

I just met with my mentor, Lisa, again a couple days ago. And man is she something. Something pretty divinely placed in my life.

She has lengthy experience in counseling children of addicts.

So this last meeting, she ripped my eyes open, and she ripped my heart open, too.

So in case you weren’t aware, addiction runs rampant through my immediate family. My mom is a meth addict. My step dad is an alcoholic. My brother is a pothead. Two of my aunt’s have been strung out on meth and heroine. My grandma was a chain smoking closet alcoholic. And I wouldn’t be surprised if my bio dad is addicted to painkillers.

As you can see, addiction is on a rampage, etching it’s name into my veins.

Addiction is hereditary. It’s genetic. It’s passed on from generation to generation. Therefore, I am at a genetic disposition. An incredibly unfortunate disposition.

I have to preface the next statement by saying that Lisa told me she can safely say that I am unlike anyone she has ever encountered before. Which was baffling and encouraging.

She then followed that comment with the words, “you’re an addict.”

Come again?

I’m shaking just remembering the encounter. I can safely say that those words rocked my world. And not in a good way.

But I needed to hear them.

I’m not an addict in the conventional sense of the word. I’m not addicted to substances. I’m addicted to perceptions. I spend 2/3 of my day consumed by what people think of me. I refrain from speaking in groups. I refrain from praying out loud. I write letters for fear of audibly making a fool of myself on the phone or in person. I look myself in the mirror countless times a day trying to convince myself that I’m beautiful. That I’m beautiful. Beautiful to who? Perceptions. They’ll get ya. They got me.

The whole cause and effect law of life is a pretty funny thing. As the Lord continues to unveil this darkness in my life, I can immediately pin the blame on someone else. There is a cause and there is an effect. I can try and fault my parents for neglecting me as a kid. For never asking me what I felt about things or telling me that my opinion mattered. I could blame them for instilling fear in me that I still live with today. I should. I would. I could. But I’m not going to, because as much as I’d like to have the sweet and savory taste of revenge lingering in my mouth, that would allow Satan a foothold. So instead, I put on my God glasses and see all sin the same. Their sin is my sin and I know for sure I won’t be the first one to chuck a stone.

So I try and picture the Lord, kneeling at the base of my heart. He’s armed with a toothbrush and a pumice stone, scraping, scrubbing, wiping away the grimy build-up. It’s ludicrous. It’s ridiculous. It’s absurd and insane. But it’s necessary. And so I tilt my head back and laugh. Laugh to keep from crying.

God give me strength.

New Dawn, New Day, New Year

It's a new year. In case you weren't aware.

It's 2010 and I don't know how to pronounce it. Do we say two thousand ten, twenty ten, or just ten? That's my predicament right about now.

Just three days into the new year and I'm just now compiling my list of "new year's resolutions." Please don't laugh at my feeble attempts at keeping them.

So here they are...I would appreciate a drum roll please...

Sabrina's New Year's Resolutions for the year 2010:

1. properly and consistently train for a marathon like I have never done before. I have a lofty aspiration to run three marathons in three states in one month. The month is October. The states are Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Virginia.

2. write one electronic newsletter per month.

3. Write the equivalent of one letter per day, which means I can write 30 in one day and be done for the month. Doesn't seem fair, but it is.

4. Change my eating habits. Which means I'm no longer allowed to eat 37 pieces of candy a day. It will be hard, but I'm praying that I can manage.

5. Hold tight to my budget. Canceled a credit card today. I'm feeling accomplished.

6. Work on being emotionally healthy. Haven't figured out all the parameters of that yet.

7. Adhere to the intern contract I signed at the beginning of this year. Even the things I don't necessarily agree with. I signed it. I guess I should follow it. So that includes memorizing John 1:1-18. Hold me accountable.

8. Mastering the balance between time for myself and time for others.

9. Perhaps make an effort to actually answer my landline once in awhile when it rings, and maybe even call people back when they leave messages on it.

10. Staying in hot pursuit of the Lord. Dwelling in His presence throughout my days and not only in my "quiet times." Challenging myself and others in this faith I hold so dear.

And that's all I got for now.

Here are the steps I've taken towards meeting them:

1. in training for the marathon I've yet to run this year, but I blame that solely on the weather. There's ice out there man. And I ain't got no yaktracks yet. But I did go on an eight mile run and a six mile run while I was home for Christmas.

2. I just sent out January's newsletter about 20 minutes ago. Did you get it?

3. I wrote 6 letters so far today.

4. Haven't had one piece of candy today, though I did eat a chocolate chip cookie and 6 fig newtons.

5. Like I said, I canceled a credit card today. I don't have any scissors handy or I would have cut it up by now.

6. Emotional health..3 of the 6 hand-written letters were to my bio dad, my step-dad, and my brother.

7. I'm on verse 13 of John 1 and I finished the allotted intern reading for the week. Go me.

8. I spent all of today on myself and all of yesterday on others. Good balance?

9. I'll answer my landline when it rings next time. Promise.

10. Today, I actually felt like I was hanging out with Jesus. It's been a few days since I could say that.

A resolution is a firm decision.

Firm decisions made. Firm steps taken.

Now it's your turn. What do you have to say for yourself?

Go make a resolution or something. It's a new year for goodness' sake.