God: the Master Gardener

God is crazy creative.  I love how all of like is a parable that points us towards him.

When you add water to a seed in the right environment, in rich soil and in favorable weather, a beautiful things happens.

It grows. 

Carrots: one of my winter crops

 It grows a lot.

From a little thing, a little speck that could be lost in the dust, grows life.  Beautiful, green, life.  God infused it with whatever chemistry it needs to transform from a negligible capsule into a unique something.  A unique, complex creation that exudes life and breath.

It doesn't happen overnight.  Or even over a few nights.  It takes time.  Some plants take just a few weeks to mature, and some take months.

A big, bright zinnia, 4 months in the making

I love that Jesus describes faith as a seed that grows.  Granted, he doesn't go into detail about the plant after it takes root.  In this parable, he just talks about the environment the "seed" needs to grow: protection from temptation, from the tempter, and to be deep enough in the soil to get a solid foundation of roots.

But what then comes next?  It has to grow more if it will be any good, if it will produce fruit, flowers, or more seeds.

It has to fight of the pests that would like to eat it (like temptation, it will never go away).

My baby snow peas; they survived an attack by snails :)

It has to have the room to grow roots (weeds can so easily overshadow it, block it from the sun, steal its water and nutrients - like our worldly desires for power, sex, and money).

It has to be pruned so it will produce good fruits or flowers - taking out the dead, dying, and weak parts to allow the energy to go to the good parts.

This marigold plant is wasting its energy on all of those dead flowers, and this new bud - which usually takes just a few days to emerge - has taken weeks.

It has to fight of disease (weariness?), it has to get plenty of water and sun (like food - spiritual food in the Bible, teaching, and prayer), and it needs some good organic matter in the soil to give it the nutrients it needs (like we need a pick-me-up from the rest that God so brilliantly designed for us).

And did you know, some plants need others nearby to pollinate.  It's not incredibly likely that corn will pollinate itself.  Stalks of corn depend on the wind to blow its pollen onto another corn plant - which means the pollen needed to make the corn grow is often blown away from the baby ears of corn on the plant it originated from.  It has to be plants in blocks of rows because it relies on the other's pollen.  It's like community.

Okay, peppers don't need community.  But look at all of the cute peppers hanging out together :)

I have to say, I never thought I'd learn so much about God by gardening.  I swear, every day I go out to my garden, I feel like I finally "get" a parable or an image from the Bible or something new about who God is and the earth He created.

He's a pretty cool fella with very fun ways of getting his point across.

Running Youth

It's fleeing.

I last saw it 4 or so years ago.

4 years ago, I was confused.  My hand hurt.  Why did it hurt?  I hadn't knocked it, I hadn't bumped it.  Had I done something in my sleep?  Why was it so swollen and why did it hurt so bad?

Doctor 1 wasn't so sure.  Maybe it was a sprain?  I should see a specialist.

Specialist 1 wasn't so sure.  Wear a splint, he said.  Do some tests, he said.  Take it easy.

Then I got this weird back pain.  Bad back pain.  I-couldn't-move-without-crying back pain.

Doctor 2 wasn't so sure.  Take some Vicodin, he said.  And see the physical therapist.

I took the tests, I saw the right people.  No clues, no evidence.

More tests, Specialist 1 said.  An MRI, he said.  So I dragged myself to the lab with the big machine, and I laid there with my arm stretched way above my head for an hour or so.

Oh, that's funny.  "You should see Specialist 2," Specialist 1 said.

Specialist 2 was a nice man.  I liked specialist 2.  And he made things clear.

"Psoriatic arthritis."  Arthritis with the bonus of psoriasis.  I'd need treatment.  Serious treatment.

And that's when it ran away.

I had to switch to Specialist 3.  He was nice.  He was conservative.  And had terrible taste in art.

His treatments didn't work.

I went back to Specialist 2.  For a year or more.  His treatment was better.  His receptionist made me feel cared for.

His treatment makes me violently ill when I'm in the sun for more than 15 minutes.  But I wasn't in pain.

Then I moved, into a new town and into the offices of Doctor 3 and Specialist 4.

I don't trust Specialist 4.  But my options are few and I went anyhow.

He gave me shots.  Painful shots, shots that I made my medic-in-training friend administer to me, because I'm way to squeamish to do it myself.

And then I went to Specialist 5.  When my psoriasis was getting so bad that I wanted to rip my skin clear off my muscles, because I was pretty sure that would be less painful.

He dug a hole into my arm.  I don't know how deep the hole was, I didn't look.  But I smelled it.  I smelled the sweet-salty smell of my own flesh burning, when he had to close the wound from the biopsy.

"That's not psoriasis."

What?

"You don't have psoriasis."

Are you sure?

He was sure.  He was also pretty sure that I'm allergic to shellfish.  Or sharks.

How can you have psoriatic arthritis if my skin problems weren't psoriasis?  Why hadn't anyone ever done any tests like that before?  Why did they let me stay on supplement that I was allergic to, and never think twice about sending me to another doctor who might know more, if they were unsure?

What now, now that my diagnosis is unsure, and I don't trust a single one of my doctors?

I wish I didn't have to be a big girl all the time.

Bakebakebake

I love to bake.

My last house had a cramped kitchen, which made baking quite difficult.  My new home as a big, wonderful kitchen with a huge island.

Which means I've been baking :)

So far, I'm most proud of my peach cupcakes with Swiss Meringue Buttercream frosting I made to welcome my roommate Brianna back from her mission trip to India. I subbed 1/2 of the oil in the cupcakes with applesauce, and you couldn't tell at all.  And the frosting was from my Martha baking book, so of course that was a winner.

Yes, that is "welcome home" in some sloppy Hindi. :)

The smells of soil and mildew

My new house has been an adventure thus far.

It can't be more than a few decades old, but after years of college-aged guys living in it, it has the wear of a much older home.  Broken electrical sockets, spit on the walls (about 15 or 20 feet off the ground... kind of impressive, actually - and the reason we haven't been able to clean it off yet), mildewy old carpets, broken blinds, dented doors (I think the guys who lived ere used to kick in the door instead of turning the knob to enter the house...).  And the list goes on.

At least we have a nice landlord who is fixing a lot of it.

And the house does have its perks.  Mostly, my beautiful little garden that is doing quite nicely.

LOVE this basil plant.  It grows back like crazy.

My adorable little chives.

 Cucumbers!  I think they might have gotten a disease though... we'll see how they pan out.

Peppers, but I think they're growing too slowly to get any peppers before it gets too cold for them.

Lettuce!  I had my first little harvest today, so they can grow me some more :)

<3 my Marigolds

And Zinnias!

Corn!

The house also come with some nice yard bonuses, like these lovely little flowers, and a huge plum tree:

Also we live about a 5 minute walk from some delicious wild blackberry bushes.

Also I've been able to decorate a bit.

Also we have nice friends who take care of us and fix things :)

Ah, this house.  Both terrifyingly janky and wonderfully awesome.

Updating, finally!

Hey there lovelies :)

It's been a while!  Whoops.  I now keep up a blog for work, and so I forget that I have my own blog to update.

So, so much has changed in the last two months.  I moved into a wonderful new home with some friends from church, I started leading a Life Group (Bible study) at my church, I started an organic garden, almost all of the other members at my organization have ended their terms, and I'm gearing up for a position change at my organization in a little over a month.

I'll have to update more soon.  But basically, life is good.

Oh, other than my general frustration about how things tend to work out in this country.  I love America, but nonsense like this drives me crazy: the Supreme Court passing up a case basically because too many female employees were mistreated by WalMart.  Nonsense.

Cigarette Smoke and Terrible Situations

Most mornings, I walk out my front door and am greeted with fresh, crisp Sonoma air.  Full of the smells of moisture, pollens, plants, and animals that reside in the creek about 30 feet away and all about the county.  It's a nice way to greet the morning.

Some mornings, I walk out and immediately greeted with wafts of smoke from my neighbor Leanore's cigarettes.  I smells like my grandmother did, so I don't mind.  And in some ways, Leanore reminds me of my grandmother.  She's spunky, she speaks her mind.  Now, that smell of smoke means I get a nice conversation with Leanore as I walk towards my getaway.  We've talked relationships, we've talked work, we've talked politics.  Just about everywhere you can go in a nice neighborly conversation.

Easter morning was rushed.  I was late to celebrate with my church just how cool Jesus is.  In my mixed-confused culture, I only care about being late insomuch as others care, so I try to be on time - even though to be frank, it doesn't matter to me too much.  So I walked in a hurry out the door to quite the unusual situation.

It smells like smoke.  There are tears in Leanore's eyes.  It's not a triumphal day for her.

Her son-in-law died, suddenly, a few days before.  She's concerned for her grandchildren, for her daughter, for his family.  A couple of neighbors also come by to talk, but clearly don't want to be there.  After some conversation, after the subject changed a few times from the death and the family, I excused myself to go to church.  I think I made the wrong choice, but I did leave.

There aren't words.

What do you say when someone is experiencing such a close death on the anniversary of the rising that in one fell swoop, saved humanity - if only they accept that?  I don't think he knew Jesus.  I'm certain Leanore doesn't.

There just aren't words.

This week has brought a new experience walking out the door: cherry cigars.  Leanore's son-in-law was also best friends with a guy a couple doors down.  This week he's spent a lot of time outside, smoking cherry cigars.  Days in a row, I've found him in front of his house, in front of Leanore's house, in front of another neighbors.  Always with the distinct scent of that smoke.

I'm so in awe of everything Jesus did and is doing and all of the promises of what will come.  I love my God deeply.  But being in a neighborhood mourning two losses in the last 6 months, the awe turns into a funny little cocktail of thankfulness and pother.

There's no end here.  Because they're still living it all.

It's not Friday. And this isn't Santa Barbara.

No, despite that terrible Friday song going through my mind, it's not Friday.  I have work tomorrow.  And then a long Sunday.  And then work again.  So I'm about a week away from a weekend.

All week, every day this shortened week I had, I was daydreaming of Santa Barbara and the highly fabulous weekend that I was blessed with.  Friends, worship, more friends, chili cookoff, farm, friends, a mansion pool party, my favorite church on the planet, pancake brunch and hangout like the old times, friendsfriendsfriends, boba, my 3rd favorite coffee shop, beach.  And awesome friends.

And this isn't Santa Barbara.  It's far from it.

I don't dislike it here, but nothing quite compares with that fabulous home I knew for four years :)

Ah, what a great weekend it was.  All that fun is thankfully enough to propel me through this non-weekend I have coming my way.