Chasing Tumbleweeds.

I went for a run yesterday morning and it was absolutely comical.

Absolutely and completely comical.

I was laughing out loud as I fist fought the wind for ownership of the trail. With every punch, the wind just got angrier and pummeled my face, my body, with it's ferocity.

Have you ever tried running into fierce wind? Not only is it a phenomenal workout, it's absolutely entertaining. I was grinning from ear to ear as I tried to make myself skinnier to avoid the windy slapfest.

As I reached my destination...a sandy plateau over-looking the John Day River, I sat in silence, letting the wind cascade over my body, watching the wind flicker over the surface of the water, chasing the current over the bubbly pebbles.

I told you I live in a wonderland.

Once I returned from my run, after chasing tumbleweeds for an hour, I sat in my upstairs common room, profusely sweating, awaiting a turn in the shower. Daniel and Ashley and I talked about the John Mayer concert they were attending the following evening. I was eagerly anticipating a weekend of solitude at my house as Ashley and Sonia went to Portland and Krista went to the Tri-Cities to spend time with her sister...but then I outlandishly said, "What if I just went with you guys to Portland?...but I coudn't get a ticket to the concert..isn't it sold out?" And Ashley said, "you could buy a scalped ticket." And then Daniel said "You can have my ticket."

Wait...hold up.

He said, "Yeah, you can take my ticket. I've been debating whether I really wanted to go or not."

Sonia got pissed and ran into her room. Then she came out and had an honest convo about how she was upset with Waniel for bailing...it was a refining moment for Daniel. The friendship reached a new level. There Sonia goes again, making people into better versions of themselves. Love that about her.

All that to say, Daniel gave me his concert ticket and I'm sitting in yet another cozy coffee shop in Portland, as my friends are out shopping the day away. I decided to abstain from the consumerist adventure because I'm really really good at buying things I don't need. Really trying to work on that whole self control issue...and I just love sitting in coffee shops...soooo, here I am...anxiously awaiting my free John Mayer concert.

Someday, I'll play the guitar as well as John. What?

Aroma.

Have you ever felt it? Like really felt it? Like felt it so much that it was absolutely undeniably so?

Have you ever felt the hands of the Lord kneading, molding, sculpting your heart in a way that couldn't be described as anything other than divine?

You know I only ask because I'm feeling it. Feeling it like I never have before. I'm feeling it so much so that I have to take deep breaths to make room for His hands, so much so that I have to hold the hand of whoever is closest to me so that they might feel it to, the reverberations of His work, of His irrefutable love, trickling through my fingertips.

Today was a magical day. Truly. Just when it seemed like we wouldn't get off work until 6 or 7 pm due to the daunting amount of cleaning we had to get done...we got off at 4:25. It really was like magic as toilets got cleaned, beds got made, cubbies got dusted, and carpets got vaccuumed. Time stood still as our busy hands produced glistening countertops and pretty porcelain potties. We won't talk about how many hair strand casualties there were. Strands of all sorts.

As soon as we got off work we headed to town for my intern event.

At the beginning of this year the interns were locked in a room and told to devise a mission statement as well as a list of non-negotiables for our year at camp. One of our non-negotiables was that once a month an intern would plan and execute an "intern event" in which every intern must be present. Our non-negotiables have sorta fallen by the wayside as time has gone by due to exhaustion and other unfortunate variables...so this month I grabbed the reins and invited everyone to Dairy Queen for a beautiful celebration of the sugary Sunday kind.

And everyone came. All 11 interns were there...and one intern leader even joined the festivities. It was quite astounding. We all rendezvoused at Taco Bell where we got plenty of icy stares as the 12 of us devoured dirty tacos, whilst laughing and shouting. Poor poor Taco Bell staff.

Then we popped on over to the DQ, which is only about three blocks down the road.

And praise the Lord, Janet was working.

Janet is wonderful. She is beautiful. She is delightful. Humble. Graceful.

She's been working at Dairy Queen for 9 years and she will soon be celebrating her 70th birthday.

As we sat in the corner booth at the Dairy Queen, all 12 of us, we laughed together, took pictures together, and indulged in countless calories together. And then we invited Janet over so that we might dwell in her presence. Fortunately she was on her lunch break. At 7:30.

She laughed with us and told us stories about when she was young. She flattered us with unnecessary compliments, telling us how tremendous we were and that she really enjoyed our company.

And then after we had a few photos with her, she had to go back to work, but before she turned away she got teary eyed and talked about how God is so powerful. I had no idea that Janet was a Christian, but Sonia and Daniel and I have had such a potent bond with her since the moment we met her months ago. She reeks of the Lord. So when she started crying and telling us about how God just wants us to crawl up into His arms and love Him the way her 16 month old granddaughter does, I knew why I was initially drawn to her.

So folks, please know, that even if your words aren't necessarily boldly speaking of the Lord, the aroma of Christ emanates from you. Let others bask in it. As I sat at the feet of Janet tonight, I felt like I was sitting in the presence of Jesus Himself. Her pungent aroma drew me in and her words this evening were affirming, comforting, heart-warming, and life-changing.

Thank you Janet.

Thank you Dairy Queen.

Thank you interns.

And thank you Jesus.

For the ways you sculpt my heart into the masterpiece that you long to gaze at.

Blue Skies and Joyful Pies.

Dancing Through Life.

I am happy.

Happier than I've been in a long long time.

I just spent the last hour of life talking to Jesus, and He really is a great great friend of mine. I gave him all my qualms, all my discomforts, my dreams, my worries, and all my excitements, knowing that He wants to carry those things in His basket.

And I feel good. So good.

Maybe it's the 5:45 am Pilates, the falling leaf mug of perfectly creamed up coffee, or the breakfast of champions that I indulged in with a beautiful friend that's causing the good feeling...or maybe it's my utter delight in the Lord that's filling me up. You be the judge.

God is good. So good.

I live in a wonderland. Everyday I wonder how I got blessed with such a magical opportunity.

I live in a community of wonderful people. Everyday I wonder how much more affirmation, comfort, and overwhelmingly kind words I can hold in my heart.

I get to work in a wonderful uplifting environment where the people I work with are the same people that choose to walk beside me in my hurts, walk beside me in my warm fuzzies, walk beside me in my confusion, my excitement, my trials, and tribulations.

And in case you were wondering, one of my porcelain unicorns and a reference to my tattoo played the star in this past weeks program at College Work Week. That's right, Amadeus is famous. Seems fitting.

After writing the last blog, I really thought my heart was fit to pop, but today moreso than ever, my heart feels too small to contain the joy. The other night at CORE we were talking about times when we worship with total abandon. We talked about what environment we have to be in, what condition our hearts have to be in, what company we're with...all the variables necessary to be able to worship with complete and utter abandon. Mine happens when I'm running...and when I'm driving. Today on my drive to Madras I let my heart dance in abandonment. And my heart honestly felt too small to contain the love and the joy...so I cried. I wept with joy....I haven't done that in ages, if ever.

Today is a good day.

Forgive me for getting emotional on you.

Go dance with abandon.

Fit to pop.

Have you ever really thought about the things that make your heart full? The things that drop quarters in the bank of your heart...

Today I went on a run with Tex, my kitchen co-worker, and running really fills me up. You know what else really fills me up?

Knowing that I've been an inspiration to someone.

Tex is registered for his first half marathon in Eugene on May 2nd and today he ran the farthest he's ever run before, and probably the fastest he's ever run before, too. We ran 9 miles today and I've never been so proud, and so full.

So full. After running 9 miles, I went to dinner where I absolutely gorged, so much, so fast. And now I'm lying plump in my bed before I go indulge in a pop for celebration Sunday.

It's a beautiful life.

Oh, I have to mention something else that fills me up that's sort of been consuming me lately. It's this little thing called dreaming...and not the kind you do in your sleep. It's the outrageous, outlandish, imaginary dreamworld that I really really like to dwell in.

Another dream Sabrina, really? You're so full of 'em. Imagine that. I'm full. Of dreams.

So a new dream. I was browsing le internet yesterday morning, dancing around on one of my favorite sites, marathonguide.com...and then somehow, someway I ended up on this girl's blog. A girl that wants to be the youngest female to finish a marathon in all 50 states. She will be 28 yrs and 8 months old when she finishes. Then I got the notion that perhaps I could beat her. I'm 22 and a half and I've already knocked 8 states off the list. That means I have to do 42 marathons in the next 5 years. Totally totally feasible. So then I spent another hour browsing various marathon websites.

Oh this whimsical life of mine.

That's all I got for now. I'm full.

Intense Divine Heart-Sculpting.

They always say you can't judge a book by it's cover, but I always do. And I think I always will.

I still read books with ugly covers. But only if they're recommended, or if they're required reading.

The book I'm required to read with my intern community right now is called A Work of Heart. And the cover has Michelangelo's sculpture of David on the front. Not ugly by any means, but not necessarily a book I would pick off the shelf and devour like all the other books with really fun covers that I buy simply because of their cover and not because of their notoriety.

All that to say, I should really work on my judgmentalism toward book covers, because even though this cover art isn't necessarily raptly gripping my attention, the words in this book are potent and powerful. It's called A Work of Heart and the subtitle is Understanding How God Shapes Spiritual Leaders. That's something else I'd like to put my two cents in about. It seems that books can't get published these days, unless they have a subtitle. It's like the title itself just isn't good enough anymore. The title no longer tells what the book is about. It's the subtitle that's the clincher. It's the subtitle that now sells the book.

Anyway, understanding how God shapes spiritual leaders. Not just leaders, spiritual leaders. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of leader I am, and if I can even be considered a leader at all. I often think of myself as a follower, but if you ask anyone around me, they would tell you I'm a leader. I just don't know myself very well I guess. I'm convinced that's why I'm out here in the desert this year. I'm out here to not only fall deeper in love with the Lord, but to get to know myself better, to get to know the girl that God is pursuing a sacred romance with, because honestly, she's a stranger to me sometimes. I've denied the truths of my past for so long, denied the ways that some pretty pivotal circumstances have affected me, and in that I've denied the real me. I've always prided myself on rising above. Remaining resilient. It's good to rise above, but those things are still a part of me. Those things still effect who I am and who I will remain. It's the process of integrating those tragedies in such a way that I am able to grow and recognize, that without those tragedies, I wouldn't be who I am, I wouldn't have the desires, the passions, the abilities, the dreams.

So I was just doing my allotted required reading for the week and answering my questions for my core group that's meeting tomorrow night and I decided that I wanted to reflect via blog, because I think this stuff is pretty darn powerful, even if the cover isn't all that visually stimulating, at least not for me.

So one of the questions I was asked to answer involves courage and fear. One of the lines in the book says, "Many spiritual leaders do not lead from courage. They lead from fear."

I've never been a big fan of writing in my books, because I absolutely despise de-facing them. I treasure my books. I consider them my most valuable possessions. But I'm working on getting better at underlining things I like. And I really liked this line. So I under-lined it.

How true is this line? Throughout college I led from fear. I was afraid that if I wasn't the best possible YoungLife leader that I could ever be, if I didn't hang out with high school kids with every free moment of my day, then I wasn't fit to glisten in the eyes of my co-leaders, my team leader, my area director, my God. I was afraid that I wouldn't be a good enough Christian if I didn't have X amount of kids at club, X amount of kids on the bus to camp, X amount of kids accepting Christ. It's putrid. It's vile. It's a horrid way to live. Constantly believing that you're not good enough. And yet I did it, I've done it my whole life.

Many spiritual leaders do not lead from courage. They lead from fear.

I think that this year has been a slow transition of leading from fear, to leading from courage. I've dared to be brave in outlandish ways this year and I've never been so joyful, so exuberant, so elated in my whole life. To be brave, to have courage, is to have the most powerful weapon.

And then I started reflecting more on this year...and how in 6 months, people are going to be asking me, "So what did you learn during your year in the desert, your year in the middle of nowhere, your year in constant community?"

And I think I will respond that "This is the year I grew up. The year I learned how to be raw, to be naked, to be unashamed with my emotions, with my past, with the woman I am, the woman God has made me, designed me to be. This is the year. The year that changed my life."

So when I first started reading this new book A Work of Heart, I wasn't too into it. The print is really fine. The pages take like 5 minutes to read each, which is ridiculous because I'm normally a pretty fast reader, but 5 minutes a page? sheesh. So that immediately turned me off from the book. I gauge my interest in a book by how quickly I can turn pages. And if it's taking me that long to get through a page...then, it seems the book's not very interesting. But really it's just a really meaty book. As I continue to push myself through the pages, I begin to find these golden nugget lines that I want to remember forever like:

"All the leadership insight and expertise on the planet cannot, in the end, overcome a case of spiritual heart disease."

"Although we have the best churches humans can build, God remains conspicuously absent in many of them."

"They sometimes see individual or significant events as important, but they often fail to connect the dots of their life experiences."

I like that, connecting the dots of life experiences.

"Some of your great heart hungers may still be unsatisfied. God may be using these to create space for himself in your heart."

"Leaders delude themselves if they think victory comes without conflict."

"One mark of genuine spiritual greatness is compassion for one's tormentors."

"intense, divine, heart-sculpting activities." I just like the way that sounds.

"The conflict-allergic leader who shrinks from all conflict and gives into fear will fail to preside over an expansion of the kingdom."

Conflict-allergic. That's good.

And this one's my favorite...

"The process of sanitizing prayer cuts God out of the healing loop."

Oh man, that's good.

We often choose to censor our prayers. But God can handle emotional outbursts. So let those emotions out. I'm really learning what it means to express myself this year. Expression is a beautiful thing.

How do you choose to express yourself? Think about it. And then go do it.

And then we reached maximum capacity.

The end.

And oh yeah, stop judging those books by their covers. Seriously. Who told you that was ok?

Drought.

Forty-five minutes until this beautiful Sunday of celebration draws to a plump and weary close.

What is Celebration Sunday you ask?

Well ya see, the season of Lent is forty days long. But Ash Wednesday is 46 days before Easter, which leaves a whopping gap of 6 days that actually don't count as a part of Lent. At least I don't count them, and many others don't either.

When you observe Lent, you normally give something up, something near and dear to your heart, so that when you give that said thing up, you lean on the Lord in its absence.

In my case, it's sugar.

I gave up sugar because I was becoming addicted. Laugh if you must, but it's true.

So in it's absence, whenever I crave it, I look to the Lord for strength in abstaining from it's seething sugary screeches, as it calls my name perpetually. Sugar. It's wretched.

You never really realize an addiction until you decide to abstain. The absence of the substance causes withdrawal, a time when your body can't function as it tries to cope without the substance. Friday and Saturday of this week, I experienced some serious withdrawal symptoms. There was extreme irritability, slight headache, uncontrollable salivation, and emotional sensitivity. I was at my most vulnerable state and I'm only 3 weeks into Lent.

So then we get to Sunday, beautiful Sunday. So that whopping 6 day gap I was speaking of earlier is composed entirely of Sundays. Celebration Sundays. Every Sunday you get to indulge in whatever you gave up for Lent. In my case, I can binge on as much sugar as I want. I know, it sort of defeats the purpose of beating temptation throughout the week, when I'm just going to succumb to the urge on Sunday, but it's a celebration, so I'm going to observe it with as much gusto as possible...that's why I ate...drumroll please...

2 chocolate chip cookies
2 banana nut muffins
2 Ghirardeli chocolate squares (one milk chocolate, one caramel chocolate)
1 peanut butter brownie
1 large Dr. Pepper
1 warm apple empanada
1 small mint oreo cookie jar blizzard (that was supposed to have cookie dough in it, but Janet forgot)
and
1 piece of funfetti birthday cake from KyGuy's bday that Deanna saved for me to have on this special celebration Sunday

That is outrageous. I think I'm going to go throw up now.

In the words of Sonia Malmquist, "There's nothing celebratory about this. I'm feeling violently ill."

This is the first season of Lent where I've actually been persistent and not given up on what I've given up. I think it's because I've been enlightened to Celebration Sunday. I'm not really sure why I haven't referred to every Sunday of my life as Celebration Sunday. I think I will from now on.

Let's celebrate Sundays why don't we? Let's celebrate Sundays by actually celebrating the sabbath. Does anyone celebrate the sabbath day anymore? Does anyone even rest anymore? Rest, do you even know what that word means?

Let me re-introduce you. Go take a nap outside next Sunday. Please. And if you can't sleep, at least read a book and lie in the springtime sun.

Rest. We need it like water, but alas, our country is going through a drought.

I pray that you would have deep rest this sabbath Sunday. Deep deep rest. It really is necessary, pivotal to a healthy lifestyle. So drink up. God knows you're de-rest-ated.

Well Behaved Equines.

I haven't made very many scriptural references in this adventurous blog of mine but who's to say I can't start now huh?

This morning at our staff meeting Mr. Rich Ellerd shared a story with us that really resonated in my heart. The chord that was struck down in the depths of this beating heart of mine was that of consumption.

To be consumed.

Consume.

The word plays several different roles as it takes over.

There's that of eating. That of drinking. That of buying. That of using up of a resource. That of completely destroying. And that of absorbing all the attention and energy.

I pick my poison time and time again, and the label on the vial is CONSUME in big, bold, wretched letters.

Whether it's eating, drinking, buying, using up, completely destroying, or absorbing all my attention and energy, it leeches the life right out of me. The claws are in deep. The fangs are embedded. I'd like to think the pain of it is unbearable, but then I find myself tossing back a few more drops of the vile liquid, which would then defeat the description "unbearable" as I so willingly subject myself to the monotony.

That last blog spoke of my lack of inhibition with food. Once upon a time I drank a lot. And not the sugary purple drank that comes from a packet. The drank that slowly but surely rips your life out from under you so you're left with nothing but the broken shell. I often, actually always, buy things I don't need. I don't adore and protect my environment the way I want to. Hence, the completely destroying and the using up part of consumption.

And then there's the head honcho. Absorbing all the attention and energy.

Attention and energy.

If I had a nickel for everything that absorbs all of my attention and all of my energy on a daily basis, I think I'd have at least ten dollars jingling in my pocket. But alas, there is no jingling and I'm left with a list.

A list of all the things that have taken over my thoughts.

Sometimes they're happy. Joyful. Incredibly life-giving. But still consuming.

Sometimes they're putrid. Unsightly. Forlorn. Inexorably life-shattering. And still consuming.

My mom's addiction.
My brother's unhappiness.
My dad's cowardice.
My other dad's unwillingness.
Boys.
Image.
Future.
Grief of loss.
Books.
Knowledge.
Dreams.
Love.
Giving.
Chocolate.
Soda.
Fatigue.
Jealousy.
Money.
Running.
Emptiness.

I am consumed. Always.

And then I hear a verse. A verse that wakes me up from the dream that I dwell in within my mind. A verse that holds my hand and tells me,

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." - Lamentations 3:22-23

Because of His love, I am not consumed. Because of His love, I am not consumed.

I am not consumed, because of His love.

His compassions never fail. His compassions are new every morning. Every morning, He gives me new things to be thankful for. I think it's ok to be consumed by the things that are life-giving. I think it's ok to be consumed with the love of God. Because when He is the recipient of all of my attention and energy, then I think that I can give this life away, as He is calling me to do.

It's finding the eyes, the eyes to see, the eyes to choose what I'm going to be consumed by, what I am going to consume myself with. Is it joyful? Is it healthy? Is it due to God's great love? If not, then I'm tossing it off a cliff, because I'm tired of being consumed by things that pinch off pieces of my life.

What's consuming you dear friend? Please press pause on this fast-paced life you're living and reflect on the things that consume you.

Are they life-giving?

You're in control. You choose where to direct all your attention and energy.

Which direction is the arrow pointing?

Babies in Bowels.

Vacation is often a time of gluttony.

But when your lifestyle is often just as gluttonous, you can't really blame your excessive eating simply on the expression, "It's ok, I'm on vacation."

Needless to say, I'm on vacation, and I think I might have eaten enough food in the past three days to feed a moderately sized village in India for two, maybe even three, weeks, depending on the average age of people residing in the village.

And I'm feeling guilty.

I've been working on this whole self-control idea for awhile now, well, since Lent started. And I thought it was going well. I mean, the resistance has been nothing less than an arm and a lanky leg for me, considering the pending addiction I had been teetering on the edge of. I was becoming just a little too fond of all things sugary.

So I gave it up.

Not a day goes by where I don't croon for it, swoon for it, beat someone with a jagged spoon for it. But I think I'm doing well. I haven't had a soda or a dessert, a candy or a cone, aside from sweet celebration Sunday, in three weeks now.

I'd give myself a solid pat on the back, except I've substituted.

I'm on vacation and I feel like I have a baby in my bowel. I've over-eaten at every meal in the past three days. Over-eaten so much that I feel violently ill. So violently ill that I'd actually punch someone in the gut so that they might return the favor and allow me the sweet savory reprieve of having to digest and unwillingly harness the calories of the said over-eatery. I'd punch them. They'd punch me. And I'd spill my guts, my foody guts, splashing all over the cracked concrete, and then I'd wipe the residue from my lips, pop a Tic Tac and sigh with inexcusable relief.

Except I couldn't muster the courage to punch anyone. And I couldn't muster the courage to do the finger throat thing. And I couldn't muster the courage to admit my folly. So I sat in my chair after every pound of nachos, every pound of burrito, every pound of pizza, every pound of dirty burger, and wallow in my own regret.

Why do we do it? Why do I do it? Forgive me for lumping you into my gluttonous regime. After every sickening meal, I ask myself the same question.

And despite my inability to come up with an answer that will suffice in time for the next meal, I find myself spiraling down the rabbit hole of just one more bite. Then the next meal comes and I haven't found an answer so the question, poof, disappears, and I pummel my intestines with more solid foods than they could ever handle.

Self-control. Tis the fruit of the spirit I wish I had in my basket. I fear I already ate it and the nutrients didn't stick. Didn't resonate. Didn't pummel my intestines enough to get my attention.

Oh well, I guess I'll just sit back with another infant sized burrito and try and wrap my mind around what it might take to actually refrain from eating enough food to sustain a small village.

Food. It baffles me.

Novocaine and Narcissism.

The dental office is a treacherous place.

I hadn't been to the dentist in roughly 10-12 years due to a lack of dental insurance.

Well now I'm on YoungLife staff and if you didn't know, YoungLife benefits are nothing short of phenomenal.

So I called up the dentist with my newly acquired dental insurance.

Come to find out those roughly 10-12 years really did a number on my pearlies.

Grand total of 9, count em 9, cavities.

Ugh.

So today was the day I would enter into the dental office, reluctantly and slightly clammy, to get half of my cavities annihilated.

It started with a pleasant little teeth cleaning. And it was pleasant. I actually enjoyed the scrapeage. I thought a little bit about becoming a dental hygienist, simply so I could scrape the decay out of people's mouths. I think I'd really enjoy that.

So that part was fun. But I was disillusioned by the fun of the cleaning.

I popped a few chairs over, to sit in front of my slightly attractive dentist, feeling perky, a little too excited for the drama that would ensue.

He swabbed me with the local anesthetic and then shot me up with the long wretched needle. I had an out of body experience briefly at that moment. I looked at myself lying in the chair with a giant needle gun syringe jaggedly hanging out of my mouth as the right side of my face started to sag. I looked at the assistant lady as she shoved the "bite block" into the left side of my mouth to keep my mouth pried open. I looked longingly at the slightly attractive dentist, who's unfortunately married, and then I looked back at my pathetic body lying in the chair. Then I pointed and laughed. And as I started to cackle, my out of body experience zapped off and I  was myself again, pitifully trapped in the dentist's chair.

Honestly, I can't think of anything worse than having to cough when you have four hands, a bite block, two cotton swabs, a sucker, a sprayer, and a drill crowding up your mouth. I was miserable. I'm trying to get over a cold and the lady was doing a terrible job of relieving me of the urge to swallow. Isn't that her job? Shouldn't her job title be "Official Swallow Reliever." I guess that could be misconstrued.

Anyway, my perkiness, my excitement, had indeed fled the building. I had to get 5 of my 9 cavities filled today. The initial anesthetic wasn't enough so I felt the dentist drilling the hell out of my nerves for approximately 57 seconds before I finally realized that it wasn't supposed to feel like that.

So then he numbed me more.

Making my face sag even more.

I found myself day-dreaming about death as I laid in that chair. I got to a point where I was so uncomfortable, a point where my heartbeat was escalating exponentially, a point where I felt like my bowels were about to lose control of themselves. And at this point I imagined myself passing out and dying of a heart attack in the dentist's chair.

I told you it was a treacherous place.

This daydreaming then cascaded into the thought of what will people think?

They'll tell stories of Sabrina dying at the Dentist. How pathetic is that? Of all the ways to die, she went out in a plasticky chair with a paper bib around her neck, plastic goggles on her face, and a drill in her mouth.

Since when do you have to wear goggles at the dentist? I guess since the "Official Swallow Reliever" started getting sloppy and started allowing some of the mist from the spray gun to explode out of my mouth and all over my face. Yup, that definitely happened too. The splatters on my face awoke me from the tragically fatal daydream where I imagined myself dying in their chair.

So as you can tell, I'm alive to tell the tale, and I just went to the bathroom to check out the damage. Looks like I should have paid the extra 10 bucks per filling in order to get the tooth colored substance, rather than the silvery puddles of mercury that are sitting in the beds of my molars. They're ugly. And I hate them. But oh well. I'm not going back.

Until next month when I have to get the other 4 on the other side of my face filled in.

Damn it.

I also don't think I've ever been so self conscious as I am right now, as I sit in the middle of a cafe with a terribly unfortunate drooping face. I can't smile. I can't chew. And I tried to take a sip of water, and it dribbled out of my mouth and into my lap.

Pity me.

Old men whistling.

I'm sitting in Sisters Coffee again. Surprise surprise.

They're beginning to wonder what I do all day here. I'm beginning to wonder as well.

I sit here for entire days at a time. I read. I write. I dream. And I plan.

That's what I do here.

So I've been reading East of Eden. Reading Steinbeck makes me feel good about myself. Knowing that I'm reading a classic novel that has been read by millions before me makes me feel like I'm getting in on some sort of loop, like I have inside knowledge or something. I imagine myself aging to perfection on a warm August night, sitting in a well worn rocking chair as the sun sits low on the horizon. The sounds of old men whistling and screen doors creaking shut wander into my ears as I watch another day lay down it's weary head. All the while, the weathered pages of an old Steinbeck novel find refuge in my lap.

Reading Steinbeck makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, to use another exhausted cliche.

I'm also reading a book called Heroic Living. The author is Chris Lowney and the subtitle of the book is "Discover Your Purpose and Change the World." Sounds like my kinda book ay? Lowney is a former managing director for J.P. Morgan & Co. and the first line of the book is "You were born to change the world." Wow. That statement is closely followed by "You can make the most of this unique opportunity by mastering three vital skills:
1. Articulate a purpose worth the rest of your life.
2. Make wise career and relationship choices in this changing uncertain world.
3. Make every day matter by mindful attention to your thoughts, actions, and results.

Sounds pretty legit, huh?

I've been thinking a lot about these three little quips. What's my purpose? What's going to be my career? How do I make the most of my life?

Big questions. But the sooner I figure out the answers, the sooner I can change the world. Right?

Here I go, processing through writing again. So therapeutic. That's what I'm going to tell the baristas next time they ask me what I do all day here, "Oh, ya know, just going to therapy."

Sonia and I are sitting here, anxiously awaiting 10:00 so that we might go gallivanting over to the local thrift store. You know how I am about those magical whimsical little havens. And this one in Sisters seems exponentially promising.

I'll be back later to tell you about the the treasures I find there.