Hot Topic.

Not like the store, although I was a fan of that store in middle school. All those fat cartoon infested shoelaces and fun patches to decorate my Jansport. Tangential. Hot topic, not like the store, but like the most recent tidbits of life that I'd like to share...

So the news as of late...

I no longer want a baby. I had a dream. A very vivid one. One in which I had a baby. I woke as if from a nightmare. I never remember my dreams. Ever. But I remembered this one. God speaks through dreams. He spoke through this one. I no longer want a baby. Not now at least.

I'm trying out for a roller derby team. The Santa Barbara Brawlin' Betties. Wish me luck.

Ginger peach tea is spicy. But so tasty. Townshend's Tea in Bend. My third favorite place in central Oregon. Third to Sisters Coffee and Antelope Cafe.

I shipped my life off in a 9"x13" envelope three days ago. A writing contest for Glamour Magazine. The prompt was "My Real-Life Story."

My new friends are Florence & the Machine, and Mr. Hudson & the Library. Music people. Music. Check 'em out.

I'm learning how to time travel. You will see the results of my efforts in about one month. Possibly less.

Fiber One bars hail from the devil's lair.

And I'm addicted to tattoos.

Perplexity at its finest.

I feel like garbage. I honestly feel like I just got hit upside the head with a club, you know, one of those ones that cavemen drag around? Yeah one of those. My head is aching. My throat, yeah it closed up about two hours ago. Every swallow is a wretched bag of nails fighting against the contractions of my esophagus, clawing, digging. Hurting me.

It all happened so suddenly. I was wandering along, minding my own, scrubbing some poop chips out of some toilet bowls and then 'BAM! You just got hit with the sickly stick.' And now I'm laying in bed...attempting to rest, to no avail. I tried sleeping and failed miserably. I started watching Bette Midler in her smash hit Beaches, and yeah, she's entertaining and all, but that doesn't change the fact that there's a feral cat unwillingly residing in my throat. If only I could let him out.

If only I had spoken in tongues last night, then maybe the Holy Spirit would have a little mercy on my feeble body today, in this moment.

So last night was pretty unbelievable. I'm having some very mixed emotions and lots of dizzy thoughts about the happenings of my encounters of the evening.

City Bible was here at the ranch. About 750 people herded into camp five days ago and as I said, I'm feeling dizzy and disoriented about them. They had worship in our club room every night and I had been told throughout the week that I needed to experience it. I'd heard bits and pieces about the goings on of these said worship services, but obviously the cliche holds true, you have to see it to believe it, so I went.

Last night.

Josh and Shannon and myself arrived at the Round Up (our club room, their sanctuary) and found some seats in the back amidst the middle school aged kids passing notes to each other. Oh, I forgot to mention, the age range of these City Bible folks is predominantly middle school to college age, with some seasoned pastors floating in the mix. But we were not to be fooled by the uninterested kiddies in the back, because there were another 700 kiddies in front of us who were sold out for Jesus. And I mean, Sold Out...like you couldn't buy a ticket to any other thought bubble in their mind. Jesus holds their master bubble wand. Or at least that's how it appeared...

Until I hung around for a little bit longer.

The service started out with the most intense prayer time that I have ever experienced. And I loved it. But at the same time, I was scared out of my mind. There was a group of 5 or 6 people up on stage who held the title of Prayer Team...and it seemed their job was simply to one up each other. They would pray into the microphone and command every person in the room to raise their hands up to the Lord. They would shout and emphatically cry out to the Lord for about 3 to 5 minutes each and then the next person would take the mic and shout even louder, pray with more fervor, more passion, there was jumping and screaming, followed by....the speaking in tongues. The last guy to pray commanded everyone who had received the gift to pray in tongues. The club room was full of 750 people shouting, screaming, hands lifted high, tongues flailing about.

Is it wrong for me to be a little frightened at this point?

After the expenditure of prayer, the screen comes down, and there's a four minute music video of their worship team performing a song. A DVD promotion if you will..

And then the worship begins. The worship team is composed of about 78 people. There are drummers, guitarists, bassists, pianists, vocalists, contortionists, and maybe a few exorcists. Ok. there might not have been 78, but you get my drift. The stage was swarming with "worship leaders" and I put that in quotes because I'm not sure they all deserved the title. There was one guy on the end whom I'm certain had a microphone that was intentionally muted. His face contorted fiercely as he sang but I couldn't hear a word. Perhaps it was the 750 raging kids in front of me, jumping now, jumping and screaming and sweating, hair swinging and slapping with the violent motions of their bodies, perhaps it was that commotion that kept me from not only hearing mute boy on the end, but from experiencing the Holy Spirit that each of the seven pastors had proclaimed was present every time they took the stage.

But then something happened. Something pretty transcendental.

I don't think it was coincidence that I ended up at worship with Shannon and Josh. Josh whom I had major beef with at the beginning of this year due to his biting sense of humor, and Shannon whom I know the least out of all of my roommates here at camp, despite the fact that I share a small group with her. I don't think it was coincidence that I stood in the middle of them during this outrageously charismatic worship service.

I've always been hesitant about raising my hands up in worship. This year I've gotten pretty comfortable with lifting them palms up, supine if you will, but elbows tucked safely at my sides. Sorta half-assed if you ask me. Like, hey God, here's what I have, but I'm still gonna hold it pretty close to me, heaven forbid my elbows should leave the comfort of their nest built on the brim of my love handles.

But this night was different. I've never lifted my hands up, fingers extended, arms outstretched, completely exposed and vulnerable, in utter surrender to the Lord, but this night, this night I did. A crowd of 750 people doing something that your heart longs to do as well, well that's just peer pressure at its finest.

And low and behold, as I relinquished all vanities and did exactly what my heart longed for, I legitimately felt the Holy Spirit moving in me. He moved in Josh and Shannon as well as I turned to either side and witnessed their hands in the ayer air ayer as well. It was neat to worship with utter abandon with the two people I least expected. God is moving.

After worship their was more prayer. And more prayer in tongues. The pastor did an all call asking for those who have never spoken in tongues to reach out to the Lord, to lift their hands up, because those who ask will receive. I looked at Josh and said, "I'm scared." And then I raised my hands. Then Josh and Shannon did as well and immediately we had about 10 people gathered around us, maybe more. Apparently there's some rule about those who can speak in tongues not being able to pray over those of the opposite sex, because 9 of the 10 people around us were men, and so they all laid hands on Josh, while the solitary female laid one hand on both Shannon and me. The girl proceeded to pray in tongues, and then interpreted for us. Her tone continued to escalate until she was shouting at us to release our doubts and to not be scared, to just speak what the Lord was putting into our brains.

I'm sorry. But I just don't have the gift. I do believe in it. I believe that the gift of speaking in tongues exists. But I believe it's just that, a gift. A gift not bestowed upon all of God's children, but a select few. And I am not one of the few. So although that anonymous woman prayed her little heart out, that doesn't change the fact that Shannon and I just don't have the gift.

But it was quite the experience nonetheless and I wouldn't trade it an for any amount of Pokemon cards or Pogs that you try to offer me, no matter how valuable you claim them to be. I don't think the novelty of being prayed over in tongues can ever wear off.

And as I try and sort through these dizzy thoughts and emotions, I keep coming back to the amount of admiration, ovation, acclamation that the pastors of this church receives. The congregation chants their names, dotes on their every word. And there are several of them. A pack of pastors, leading all the little lambkins Beyond, as their token word of the week proclaims. Each pastor has a personal assistant, and a gaggle of girls swarming around them at all times. They have pastoral parties with wine and cheese and suits and ties. They have $800 snack bar tabs that I'm certain are paid for with the tithes of their myriad minions. It just seems a little fishy that the pastors hold a little more clout than the Creator. Perhaps there's a little too much man worship for my liking.

Nevertheless God moves in the silliest of ways, and last night he moved through my hips and out my fingertips as I danced and sang and shouted to the Lord, rejoicing in the gift of voice, of movement, of free will.

But I still feel like garbage in this moment. Perhaps I'll try to sleep again.

Good night.

Stretch.

A few of my toes and a couple of my fingers are currently feeling slightly uncomfortable. I cut their nails too short a moment ago and they're squealing in agony.

My stomach is what some might refer to as "lobster" status. I got burnt today. Adding to the discomfort.

Yesterday I squatted about 267 times as a means of harnessing small children for a giant swing. My quads are wailing today.

I pushed a massive yellow scaffolding about 64 times across a 15 yard span today. My delts and traps will wail tomorrow.

My body is beat up. I'm exhausted.

I feel like I'm in the last three miles of a marathon. The physical pain couldn't possibly stifle the elation I'm feeling about nearing the finish line. I have one month left in this place. One month. Every day is a step towards the big FINISH banner. And every day remains a sacrifice. This job has been the most physically taxing experience of my life. More brutal than any marathon. But you gotta die to live people. I've loved every minute of it. OK, maybe not every minute. But most of them.

I've been a chef, a housekeeper, a snack bar attendant, a videographer, a barista, a skate park supervisor, and a giant swing operator in this year of life.

I've challenged my capabilities and learned to believe in them in more ways than I can say.

I've grown up. A lot.

I've grown into my skin.

My heart feels like it fits comfortably in the cavity created for it. For once it doesn't feel constricted. Stifled. Smothered with bitter pillows.

And now I think I'm ready, ready to bungee back into the real world.

One month left.

Boyz.

So I'm kind of on this kick right now where if I think a boy is attractive, I tell him. Only through facebook messages and hand delivered shout outs at dress up dinners thus far, but they're truths nonetheless.

I think you all should try it. I think we need to banish this whole play it coy, mind gamey wall that society has stacked up brick my aching brick. If you find someone attractive, just tell them. Just because you find them attractive doesn't necessarily mean you want to date them, it just means that they have certain qualities about them that you enjoy.

And I think people should hear that. It might do a bit towards banishing the sickly shouts coming from Satan's corner of the ring.

Well that's all I got.

Oh yeah, summer is overrrrrrr!!! Over the mountain and through the woods, back to housekeeping I go. Hoorayyy!

Clutch.

Ok friends. It's the last week of camp. I'm sitting in my little hole in the wall behind the club room listening to 100 teen moms sing and clap with utter abandon.

It's the last week of camp and I just spent the past hour and a half saying goodbye to a dear friend and her family. The Hamiltons have been out here for about as long as I have. They worked for Mark 2, which is a special needs ministry out here at the ranch...and now they're leaving, moving back to Texas. I got a bit of a reality check when they shared the news that they were leaving. My heart was saddened and I was talking with Krista about it...and she was like, "Sabrina...you're leaving too."

That's when it hit me.

I'm leaving too. In just over a month.

So then I got back to my second home, the video suite, and started reading through blogs that I had written at the very beginning of this year. And I'm near tears. It's incredible to read where my heart was at a year ago. People, if you don't journal or blog or write little letters to yourself every once in awhile, you need to, because it's absolutely indescribable, to be able to see the transformations in your life, no matter how small.

I'm serious.

I was engulfed in a conversation about two hours ago, a conversation about how my life is going to be different when I move back to Santa Barbara. It will be different despite the same jobs, the same house, the same friends that I had before I moved to Oregon. It will be different because I am a new creation. It was so fun to share with my friend Kathi about the ways I'm going to speak out...the ways Jesus is going to challenge me...a little nerve-wracking, but fun nevertheless.

It's YoungLives week here at camp. A hundred teen moms and their babies. Remember how I was sharing with you about how I want a baby? This week has the ability to stifle that desire or make it blossom beyond belief. I'm nervous.

And now I have to go film the obstacle course.

A couple weeks ago I was challenged to walk through that camp week as if it was my last. Well I've reached my last camp week and it's so easy to wish it away. I'm so anxious for summer to be over, but my prayer for this moment, for this week, is that I wouldn't wish it away, that I would remain present and teachable.

Why don't you live this week as if it was your last also. It very well could be.

Newsies.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

I did it. Yup. I did. I yelled at a camper today. Ok, maybe yell isn't the correct word choice, more like questioned fiercely.

Today was my second to last field games film sesh. Field games ends with a crud war. Today, a campie looked directly at me, and then threw crud directly at my camera lens. Point blank. I got so mad, and said "Why would you do that?!" And then I immediately felt bad as he looked back at me sheepishly and said, "I don't know." About three minutes later a girl tried to shoot a can of shaving cream directly at my lens. Ridiculousssss!! Middle schoolers have no concept of monetary value. Obviously.

So the news as of late, I want a baby. A couple days ago I got to hang out with my friend Teagan and her new baby. We went to Smith Rock for a little rock climbing sesh. Man, that is a big rock. If you've been there, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you should google it. I was astounded. Definitely a rock climber's heaven. I'm not a rock climber and I was even feelin' a little giddy. Katie, Teagan, and Teagan's boyfriend Matt all got their climb on, while I sat in the shade gazing at baby Madison. I've shared this pretty openly the last couple months...this past 6 to 8 months I've thought more about marriage and babies than I have in my whole life. And it's because I'm surrounded by it. There are babies all over my community. Lots of them. And living and working with two very young married couples who are interns with me gets me pondering. We had a wedding out here at camp and so that was consuming the minds of all for awhile, and now, every time I sign onto facebook, another friend has wed. Got me yearnin' for a husband and some babies in the womb.

I know. I know. You think I'm crazy. But am I?

More news as of late, I'm obsessed with Vimeo. Every time I have a spare moment I'm all up on that website getting inspired.

Watch this...http://vimeo.com/10704940

and then watch this...http://vimeo.com/13768695 (there's one really inappropriate scene in this one, close your eyes)

I'm working on assembling my own production crew for my STA video. It's gonna be so sick. I'm so amped for this project. It's gonna be so fun to assemble...so fun, that I might not even care if I win, because it will be so fun to create. Ok, ok, I do care if I win, but I'm still so stoked.

I'm stuck on stop motion. I am soooo fascinated by this idea...

Please watch this...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzRKEv6cHuk

and then watch this...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtbQ4J3RfQ8

and one more...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKWdSCt4jGE

I know, I'm getting carried away. But I've discovered this new avenue that I just can't turn off of.

Some more news as of late, Amadeus has taken the backburner to Mr. Snidely. Yesterday at the welcome, work crew kids kept coming up one by one as they got wind of the permanent stache on my index finger. I would show them my unicorn but they were so much more entertained by the Snidely. I also learned how to do "the reject"...which everybody thinks to be "the jerk" but they are ill-informed. What people think is "jerking" is actually "rejecting." Soooo...yeah. I'm workin' on it. But I'm white, so it's a little more complicated.

I just practiced doing the reject and now I'm sweaty.

And it's time to get my booty to work sooo...

G'bye.

Oh..ps...I watched an 88 yr old woman and a 90 yr old man ride the swing yesterday. Epic.

Portland Ink.

                                        














Sorry these pictures aren't the greatest..but wanted to give you a peek. I'm obsessed with them sooo...yeah.

Open hands.

Helloooooo and welcome. Welcome to week 9.

We got about 660 campers and leaders on their way to the canyon right now and I'm sorta feeling on top of the world right now.

"Sorta" being a severe understatement.

Let me just re-cap yesterday for you. Yesterday being one of the best days of my life.

Well I'll start you off with the night before yesterday..

So, it's night 4...which is the night I produce my final copy of the camp week. I was in the process of exporting, importing, and burning and I ran to the sassy for a treat and a visit with friends.

I ran into Krista while I was there and she said "Oh hey, wanna go to Portland with me?"

And I said, "Umm...yeah right, that's ridiculous. For just a day? You're gonna drive all the way to Portland" (which is a 3 1/2 hour drive out and a 3 1/2 hour drive back) "for a day?"

The conversation ended with me saying yes, of course. Although I was hesitant at first, I thought what they hay? We could all use a little more spontaneity in our lives.

So she told me we were to rise and be out of the house by 6 am the following morning.

I ran back to my hole in the wall aka the video suite and finished my work for the night. And I have to admit, despite the major freakouts of this week, I'm pretty proud of Week 8's DVD.

And then I ran home to sleep.

We left the house at 6am sharp and I thought I would sleep on the drive, but I was terribly mistaken. Krista and I had beautiful and intense and wonderful conversation the entire drive. I'd been praying for those minutes, those moments, with that girl, for some time now.

We talked about a lot of things but one of the things we talked about was the concept of living life open-handedly for the Lord, and how I can bring that back with me to my life in Santa Barbara. I'm essentially resuming the life I had prior to moving to the ranch. Same house, same jobs, and a lot of the same friends. How am I going to cling tight to the new me that came up out of that water on July 23rd?

And the past week or two I've been thinking about a new tattoo. I wanted to get something in the palm of my hands. Something to remind me to always leave them open. And then the words "without hesitation" floated across my mind. So often in so many areas of my life, I hesitate. With finances, with speaking, with listening to and obeying the nudges of the Lord.

And so I decided at some point, I'd like to get "without hesitation" tattooed in the palms of my hands. I was telling Krista about it during our convo and we talked about how we'd never seen anyone with tattoos in the palms of their hands. Well, she got fired up and said "Let's do it. If we can find a place that will take us, we're doing it."

And that sealed the deal. We got to Portland and talked to some friends about where we could get the tattoos done, reliable sources mind you, and then we headed to Powell's, the biggest book store in this country. It covers an entire block of downtown Portland. I was on Cloud 9 in that place. After purchasing 4 new books, we met up with Molly Margaret Miller, one of Krista's summer staff girls from first session. We grabbed lunch with her at Red Robin and it was magical. We grabbed lunch, but not before we passed several dodgy looking strip clubs, one advertising rubdowns, shower shows, and stripper poles while another advertised a $3 breakfast room. What in the world? We had a laugh and I almost shed a tear about how much this world is suffering in the darkness.

And then we got tattoos. I'd post a picture but I don't have one yet. We both got "without" on our right wrist and "hesitation" on our left.  We decided on wrists instead of palms because we were told that tats in palms fall out after a couple months and they hurt like hell. Todd the tattoo artists words exactly. And wrists are so much more symbolic as Jesus had His pierced with nails.

I also got a matador mustache on my left index finger. It's name is Mr. Snidely and the laughter it has produced in the past 24 hours has already made the permanence of it sooooo worth it. I can't wait until I'm 80 and still whippin' out Snidely for pictures with my grandkids.

I arrived home from Portland to find a brand new car. I mean, it was still my nifty '04 Corolla, but it had been washed inside and out so that it now looks immaculate and the oil had been changed. Steven did it. Steven is the waterfront intern out here and he's incredible. His servant's heart is admirable and unbelievable. And I am blessed to call him friend.

New tattoos and a new car. And then I headed over to the Inglesby's and got a new book for my birthday. Maggi made me a blueberry milkshake and we rocked out on Guitar Hero for a bit.

And then I got the news. I had headed home to hit the hay when I checked my email and found out I got the job.

Katie Campbell, Sonia Malmquist, and myself are doing program for the work crew summer staff reunion!! EEEyayahhhh!! So freakin' excited. I couldn't stop jumping around my house in my knickers screaming my head off to an empty room.

And so I head out, to film another Day 1, in which we welcome 660 new kids into this holy place, where they will experience the abundant love of Christ.

I challenge you to evaluate your life, and decide if you're ready to live it open-handedly, without hesitation, as God has called you to.

Good day kind friends.

Basketball and Boob Sweat.

Today has been five hundred times better than yesterday. Really. I counted up the calamities of yesterday and the delights of today and the difference was five hundred. Exactly. Don't doubt me.

I went and spent some time in the sportscenter. Yeah, we got a 2 acre building here dedicated to sweating and stretching. There's skating, rock-climbing, basketball, an aerobics center, not to mention foosball, billiards, and ping-pong. Yes, I said billiards, because if I said pool, you might have gotten confused, because we don't have a pool in our sportscenter.

I got to hang out with my good friend Katie, who brings joy to my soul.

Then I entered into the longest game of PIG ever in the history of the world. PIG is supposed to be a more concise version of HORSE. Not this time. Our PIG game lasted about an hour. But it's ok because I won. But not without my ruthless armpits wreaking havoc on my periwinkle Women's Weekend YL shirt. The sportscenter summer staff boys were as ruthless as my armpits. They poked fun. So I left.

I can't help it. I have a sweating problem. I've yet to get it diagnosed, so alas, I do not have a medication to shrink the pores, or dry them out. So I suffer. From excessive sweat.

I just spent the last forty-five minutes watching STA travel videos, oh, and learning about Matt. Watch his video "Where the hell is Matt?" I aspire to create fun videos like this someday. Also, if you haven't already, look up The Buried Life. Maybe someday my 50 marathon adventure will get turned into an MTV miniseries. Ha!

Five hundred times better.

I'm better today.

Kill me now.

It started with people eating my chips without my consent. Petty, I know.

It escalated with crusty dishes in the sink this morning for the ohhh...millionth morning in a row.

And it's exploding with a really disorganized program team and too many 14 hour days for my liking.

Tears are dribbling down my cheeks as my fingers feverishly tap these darn keyboard keys, anxiously awaiting the alarm of the oven timer. My comfort for the moment is food. Although, I wish it was a nice bag of cheesy Doritos, I'm gonna go ahead and settle for the next best thing, Tater Tots.

I am experiencing my very first nervous break down and I really don't like it.

I just wish summer was over. Remember that time a couple weeks ago when I was raving about how absolutely amazing my job is?

Well it's official, I'm burnt out.

It's just too much for one person. If I had just one summer staffer to walk through it with me, just one, all would be dandy. But it's just me. By myself. And I'm strugglin'.

And so many people could point their fingers and say "Neener neener, I told you so."

And they would be right. Because they did. Everyone was so worried about this lonesome job and how it would effect me. And I was like, no, I thrive alone and blad dy blah dy blah.

I'm tired. I'm weak. I'm overwhelmed. I'm anxious. I'm frustrated.

And I can't find Jesus.

Higgledy-Piggledy.

Sipping iced coffee in Sisters whilst listening to some smooth jazz. Couldn't be more content.

I've been dreaming all day. You know how I do.

I've been scheming up ways to lasso next summer's STA World Traveler Internship. And I'm slightly obsessed with the idea of winning that thing. For the past couple days, it has consumed me. Swallowed me whole. Google it right now and tell me that I'm not absolutely perfect for this job. They want someone who can write, edit video, and take sweet pictures...and obviously loves to travel.

Helloooooo!!

I'm gonna go ahead and snatch the Young Life catch phrase for this one and say that I was made for this.

Fo real dough. Over-risen, sticky, sloppy, floppy dough.

So anyway...I've been sorting through years of pictures and videos, decoupage-ing ideas together on the canvas of my brain. I think I got it in da bag. I've never been this confident about anything in my whole life.

I'm going to see Despicable Me tonight. Word on the street is that there are fluffy unicorns in it. Tickle me pink.

Another session ended today. Third session peeps are rolling into camp as I speak. Type. Sit. And then we only had four weeks left of summer.

And then I only had two months left in this year long internship. Less than two months. Hot dang.

And onto heart matters. I've started gearing up already. Arming myself for the battle, the battle of being torn away from this place. I know I'm going to lose and lose miserably, but nevertheless, I will attempt to protect my heart, most likely with an empty bag of Doritos and a couple crushed pop cans. Yes, sometimes I eat my feelings.

After the crushing waves of nostalgia settled down this morning, I started thinking about life in Santa Barbara again. I talked to my brother. And he wants to move with me. So now I'm on the hunt to find him a job. I love my brother deeply and since the day we were wrenched apart (I was 11, he was 6) I've longed to live with him again, to be able to see him daily, and affirm him and encourage him, and just be his big sister.

So God willing, I'll get what I've always wanted. If you know of any jobs suitable for a young and handsome, hard-working eighteen-year-old high school graduate, please holla atcha girl.

Cha girl being me.

Seven videos down. Four to go.

Summer is leaping over my head like sheep in sleep.

I've been proposed to and professed to countless times this summer. High schoolers and middle schoolers alike. Should I be flattered, because I'm feeling a little unsettled. It's just a ploy to get on the camera.

I gotta say...I love the middle schoolers, not because they compliment so freely (a young girl yesterday said to me, and I quote, "Have I told you that you are absolutely beautiful?"), or because they are so tiny and precious, or even because their energy is astronomical...it's because for the most part, they aren't about the opposite sex yet. They aren't constantly sunbathing. They're fun...instead of finicky. Not to say that I don't like high schoolers. I do. I just love middle schoolers a little bit more. Which is a bit unconventional according to the common consensus.

So I don't feel bad for picking favorites. Because they're always the disfavored.

Um, hello Wyldlife, yeah, I think I'd like to lead you in a couple years, when I'm done globe-trotting.

Ok, get out of my head now people. I'm starving. Tis time to feed my face.