Three Cups of Tea: in the airport

While delayed at the airport (on my way to snowy white Christmas in the midwest), I picked up for the first time a copy of Three Cups of Tea. I usually read books rather quickly (I read Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao in one sitting), but this one has taken me a long time to read -- because I keep crying. Every page, something makes me tear up. And I hate doing that in public. It's one thing to read a book on the plane, but it's another when I've got tears running down my face and I'm sniffling like I have a cold.

So, I haven't finished the book, but so far it is an incredible read. It's been out for a while, and I'm embarrassed to admit I didn't read it sooner. But it is an amazing. I recommend it wholeheartedly. Please read it. If you don't have a copy, please visit their website to purchase a book instead of buying elsewhere. It helps support their cause. When I get done, I'll post more about Three Cups of Tea.

Also, from their website, I learned about Pennies for Peace. That's a project I'd like to think on -- and hopefully participate in even though I don't teach a class of students.

More to come in the new year...

And how did your year turn out?

On lai nhung ngay thang cua nam qua, minh phai noi rang co rat nhieu that bai, va co le cung co nhieu thanh cong. Co nhieu niem vui. Co nhieu canh em ap, am ap trong long. Nhung sao long lai co mot ti hoang mang, nhu la co mot cai gi do hoi thieu xot. Co le minh khong du ngon ngu con nguoi de noi len cai "trong khong". Dung ra khi dem nhung on phuoc, co nhieu hon la minh co the nho. Ky uc la nhu vay do! Chi nho duoc nhung gi cu the cua ngay hom nay va hom qua. Con truoc do -- nhung gi tot thi bien mat va di vang, con nhung gi xau xi, sao no cu bam vao tam tri minh!

Chinh tri, kinh te, xa hoi -- nhung chuyen do cua 2008 cung lam minh buon, chan nan, that vong, nhu la minh mat di niem tin noi cai "goodness" cua con nguoi. Niem tin bi dan dan bi tuop di, tuop di. Boi gi? Boi su trong doi, boi su cho mong.

Trong mua le Advent, minh da mong cho ngay Chua Giang Sinh.

Trong nhung ngay cuoi nam 2008, minh mong cho Tong Thong moi, uoc mong cho mot su thay doi Lon! Mong cho duoc phuc hung, duoc doi moi, de khi mua dong qua, thi minh se nghinh don (spelling phai nhu vay khong ta?) moi dieu moi me, tot dep.

Nhung trong su cho doi mong moi, minh van co ve hoi buon buon. Buon cai gi, chang biet. Chi biet rang co luc thi noi buon no sau sac hon nhung luc khac.

Hom GS trong HT, ong MS hoi tat ca co muon lam "Mari" cua cau chuyen Chua GS hay khong. Minh co chap nhan su cho doi, ban long chap nhan su hoang mang, cam tam nhan lanh su dau don, buon ba, kho khan, thu thach, v.v. Anh chang goi ke ben minh noi Yes. Nhung khong biet minh co du suc luc de lam nhu Mari hay khong. Co du cung rang, chung chat, va nhan nai de dong vai Mari trong suot cuoc doi cua minh? Rui ma minh khong du cang dam, thi chac chan la Chua se giup minh, di nhien. Nhung sao it ai nghi den viec Mari luc ban long co bang khuang, va co the noi cham re noi "toi bang long."

Bang long di em... Voi trong trach nang ne nhu su cho doi cua Mari -- minh ganh noi hay khong? Va rui minh khong biet ket cuoc la tot dep va vui tuoi, thi minh co cam tam bang long khong?

Cho doi nam 2009 co ve nang ne nhu vay do, vi cai goi la "tuong lai sang lang" no that ra khong sang lang. Mot it sang, nhung nang ne kinh khung. Heavy voi su mon muon, hy vong, cho doi...

Tong Cuu Nghenh Tan. Nam moi phuoc hanh!

Scheherezade stole all my words

I am a bad storyteller. No plot, poor character development -- no motivation -- and really bad dialogue. I am also horrible with transitions. Endings are even worse. And while watching tonight's production of The Arabian Nights at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre, I realized I have no clue about suspense and The Cliffhanger.

And as I sat entranced by the unfolding narratives, I started thinking about the poems that were (not) sitting in my apartment, on my bookshelves, in my notebooks, (not) on those pages. Why can't I get them written accurately? What words escape me still, preventing me from finishing these poems, this manuscript? In one of Scheherezade's tales, Sympathy the Learned says words are the destruction of worlds. They can be -- both by their presence and their absence, both by their utterance and their silence.

And isn't that what Scheherezade the storyteller was doing? She was building a world -- many worlds -- out of imagination, out of words that she uttered and out of words that she did not. Indeed, the queen of cliffhangers is really Scheherezade. For each tale that she told, there was a cliffhanger that saved her life and that of her sister's. So perhaps each cliffhanger is like the end of a verse in a poem? The space where she stops at dawn like the empty whiteness at the end of a line pulling you farther until you wrap into the next line of the verse, until the next dawn?

She is the poet, the trickster, the storyteller, the writer, the playwright, the puppeteer weaving story within story within story -- until you forget which story frame you're in, until you're completely sucked into the tale, you've become the character -- you, you are the Sheik, or Sympathy the Learned, or even the Madman. Transformations happen before your very eyes as one character melds into another, as one scene dissolves into another and another then yet another...

My mind is still reeling with images from the stage. The sounds, the colors, the music. Oh, the music was beautiful, melancholy, happy, funny, poignant. I was blown away by the entire play -- the actors, the script, the scenery, everything. But nothing I say suffices. Maybe all the words were used by Scheherezade when she told her stories...

I jump into the car and I shout to my brother, "This was the most amazing thing ever!" and he simply nods. "Cool." How unoriginal: "amazing," "cool". Are those the only words in our vocabulary? There are thousands of translations of these tales, and I am struck dumb by this translation, this rendering, and all I have left is "amazing."

That's why I can't write these poems. That's why these tales were told by someone else. I'm simply without words. Simply without.

a Poet, a Cellist, a Violinist, and the Queen of Soul...

will be attending a party with a purpose-driven conservative and a dean of the civil rights movement. To celebrate our first biracial president. One big happy family? Read it here.

Roaming God Charges

Imagine if we had to pay Roaming God Charges. If you leave your home and come to church or temple or prayer house, then there is a set fee that you have to pay- let's say $50 for once a week, $75 for 3 times a week, and $100 for 4. Nights and weekends cost more, naturally. Rollover minutes are only available on a family plan, but you'll need to have 5 or more sign up to be considered family. That way, you'll only pay a bundled charge. But, if you want to access God from outside your "range", you're gonna pay roaming charges in order to dial a signal.

Or, imagine it as "pay as you use." Access to God -- whether through prayer, vision, or voices -- is $2.50 for the first minute, and $0.25 every minute thereafter. If you don't dial God, then you don't pay.

Or, imagine this: God is a central hub where you need to plug into, in order to recharge. The farther you stray, the weaker you are. If you're completely out of range, then you lose. Low battery. Lost signal. No bars. Darkness.

Thankfully for us, God's "mobile" -- everywhere, anywhere, accessible all the time.

In this Sunday's OT reading from II Samuel 7:1-11, 16, God tells Nathan to tell David that God's priority is not on building a temple. The great thing about a tent is that it roams much more easily than a grounded building. God has been moving through, within, around, and with the people for generations. Wherever they traveled, God was with them. And no roaming charges. Zilch.

God says to David "I have been with you wherever you went". No roaming charges. Accessible all the time -- wanted or not.

At the seminary, we've been in deep conversations about online programming. There are discussions in all sorts of avenues with many different partnerships about the grand possibilities of expanding theological education to meet the needs of an increasingly globalized world. Instead of making people go to seminary to "study God" and the history of the church, more and more, theological education is being brought into the local congregations. Instead of defining seminary as an onsite, one location of learning, we're going mobile. We're going global. We're virtual. Classes are offered online and webstreamed. We do distance learning, we have extensions and satellite locations. We creatively move toward different models of theological education in which the institution of learning is flexible, transformative, mobile, moldable into something unique, i.e. contextualized.

It's not to say that we scoff at the onsite community. Everyone says the residential program is an invaluable experience. And it is, but it isn't the only way. Just like accessing God isn't a one way model. Do congregate in a place of worship, for a temple was eventually built for Yahweh. But, look, it wasn't the first thing, and it wasn't the only thing, and it surely wasn't the final thing to focus on. God is mobile. No temple or structure confines God.

Moreover, as a people of God, we are on the move with God -- mobile, accessible, free-ranging. WE are on the move WITH God: Via con Dios. Wherever God is, there we are. As Christ is embodied in us, then where we are, God is. Mobility. Free of roaming charges.

a Case of the Middle Child Syndrome?

There are days when nothing - or few things - go right. You missed an important phone call. You forgot an important note for the office. The wrong people were consulted for a project. The right ideas come a little too late, and the wrong ideas are blurted out too soon. The words you choose aren't perfect -- in fact they're absolutely the worse words in the English vocabulary to utter at this particular meeting. The people you meet -- try as you might, you can't seem to get on their good side. They turn their bodies away from you in a conversation and look the other way -- body language that effectively silences any hope of reconciliation, introduction, familiarizing. They appear onery, but only to you, because everyone else finds them cheerful, kind, generous. You, however, are dismissed like insignificant children not spoken to at the dinner table. The phone call you expect never comes. Who knows if the text message you sent was received. Everything - nothig - is out of sync.

All this was my day. My ordinary, extraordinary day. And it was my friend's super birthday, too.

Did John the Baptist feel something akin to this lack of synchronicity? He was neither the first (not a prophet, he says, not a prophet!) nor the One to come. Sadly, his was the voice crying in the desert. Neither the one with the elder-child responsibilities, nor the favored. Neither the first, unique voice, nor the final, lasting impression. Stuck in the middle.

How frustrating it must have been! Continuously striving to distinguish yourself, to get it done right, to get your point across. Not the smartest, nor the sweetest. Not the prettiest or the most desired, longed for. Something in between. Something to "tie things over". A bridge, but not really a bridge -- merely a disembodied voice crying in the wasteland.

What does it mean to be stuck in the middle? I'm not so sure how this connects, but I think of what's happening all over the globe. The earth is dying a slow, torturous death -- decay, destruction, pollution. Here we are in the middle talking about what we've inherited and bemoaning what we're leaving behind (or not leaving behind). Again, it's like we're a people stuck in the middle. Not the Adams or Eves of the beginning when the earth was rich and plentiful. And not the children who will inherit an earth transformed by Christ's second coming. We're the ones in the midst of the death and decay b/c we can't figure out our problems or live out our solutions.

And look at what's happening with the economy. We're neither the banks nor are we the automotive companies, but boy are we steeped in the middle of it. Right up to our elbows and eyeballs. We're not the ones who caused "it" but we surely are in the midst of "it" whatever you want "it" to be. We're not gonna fix it, but we definitely are living "it".

I'm falling into generalities now, so let's bring it back to NOW. Advent. This Sunday is the fourth Sunday in Advent. We are in Advent. Stuck in the middle of anticipation and waiting. We're wallowing in all its ugly glory. The frustrating mystery, the throat-clenching unknowing. The waiting, the waiting... the waiting. For something to happen. For someone to come. For some.

Remember this?

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

Be

Stocking up on Toilet Paper like it's my Lipstick Effect

You've heard of the Lipstick Effect? Well, I can't afford to think of cosmetics. Because, well, I can go without lipstick but I can't go without toilet paper. No sir.

And while my friends who look at my TP stockpile laugh like I'm a crazy old woman, I can safely say that I will never, ever run out of toilet paper. Not even if THE major earthquake hits.

So there.

a Sport of Solitariness

I prefer to snowshoe as opposed to skiing. Mostly because I'm bad at skiing. Or rather, I don't ski. I don't know how. I have never gotten off the bunny slopes (there is an horrific video of me trying to ski at Vail no thanks to dad's home videos), and no amount of sheer will could overcome the weight of gravity that pulls me down to the icy ground. My sense of coordination fails to keep me moving, and my legs have no power to keep me upright. I lack the control that holds my body in check, no tension to flex the muscles necessary to hold my positions, no energy to power the drive. If I allow gravity to pull me down the slopes, I'm flailing like boneless jelly and have no control to pull myself together for a stop.

On the ice, I feel out of control. And self-conscious. I am at times a victim of gravity, and at times motionless, the only person standing still, frozen, in a sea of people active and energized, their skis whizzing along the ice and snow with determination and a sense of direction. They move their bodies, jumping on the lift and rising into the cold, biting air. They are suspended above the world, overlooking the snowy white landscape scattered with evergreens. At this elevation, the air is clear, cold, and the people down below are nameless, unrecognizable specks. The wind is still. Focused. Soundless gathering of energy, the tight control. Then... the answering push over and downward, swooping slopes and exhilarating momentum... The pull, the challenge, the freedom of flying by one's self, alone, released from trappings of words and expectations. Trees, rocks, snow, people blurring into one white landscape...

Rilke writes about living in a solitude that I envision can be just as white and vast, and I am enticed by the notion of being enshrouded in that lovely soundlessness. But I am a creature of bad habits. I thrive on moments of solitariness, yet I also crave the energy, the thrill, the hustle and bustle. Most of the time, though, I live in an imbalance of too much solitude or too much in the center of things. When I'm not frozen in the midst of the world, I'm either too long at the top of the slopes by myself, or am a tangled, uncontrollable, jumbled mess coming in full speed at the bottom of the hill without any mechanism to pull myself back in place.

One day, I will find that perfect speed down the slopes, relish the crisp air, gaze in wonder at the snow, languidly swish through the flashes of green trees, and then bring myself to a controlled stop when arriving at my point of destination.

That is what I will do. In my dreams. For now, I'm sticking with snowshoeing.

December Moon by May Sarton

One night when I was visiting Grand Rapids, I was awakened at 3:30 a.m. by the sound of hard scraping from the driveway. I knew the cold meant snow, and I felt it in my bones. But I never thought about the folks who get up at that ungodly hour to go scraping snow off of people's driveways. What did they think about? What did they do? Did it feel like they were at play in the dark? Did they think about making shapes instead of simply clearing away all that white flurry packed on concrete? Did they ever want to pile the snow in front of people's front doors like gift packages to be opened? Were they ever beguiled by the white snow reflected in moonlight -- tempted to momentarily forget their jobs and simply marvel at that snow silence?

Before going to bed
After a fall of snow
I look out on the field
Shining there in the moonlight
So calm, untouched and white
Snow silence fills my head
After I leave the window.

Hours later near dawn
When I look down again
The whole landscape has changed
The perfect surface gone
Criss-crossed and written on
Where the wild creatures ranged
While the moon rose and shone.

Why did my dog not bark?
Why did I hear no sound
There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?

How much can come, how much can go
When the December moon is bright,
What worlds of play we'll never know
Sleeping away the cold white night
After a fall of snow.

Greg House and Stephen Colbert?!

After all this time watching the Colbert Report, I just noticed that Colbert keeps a picture of Dr. Greg House tacked on the wall behind his desk. Why have I never ever noticed it before?! My two favorite characters on TV. Two of the most attractive men. Two of the biggest egos.



Please forgive but I got the pictures from hughlaurie.net and Zune Insider.

Dick Hindman Trio

This past Friday, I went to see the Dick Hindman Trio at the Jazz School in Berkeley. Phenomenal music, and such cute, cute gentlemen! CB was my favorite to look at... He looked literally like a little bobblehead figurine seated behind his drum set, bobbing away. He keeps a mean beat. Solid.

Dick Hindman? Nothing that I can say could describe him. His humor, his skills, his musicianship, his experience. Everything sounded so perfect. Perfect.

And the bass player? Such gorgeous sounds. A deep soul soothing toe tingling warmth that reverberated from the belly of the instrument all the way to my bones. Like there was a string tied from the bass to my belly button and he was plucking my heartstrings...

It was amazing.

Listen to Sheena's Song (Sheena is his wife) here.

Are you planting another tree to replace the one you chopped down?

Our upstairs neighbors have already purchased their freshly cut Christmas tree. Soon they'll be stringing popcorn and other organic ornaments. They'll have lights and maybe even fake snow and possibly the little Christmas time trains that circle the base of the tree.

I envy the fresh smell of pine, the sticky sap, the needles falling everywhere, the bushy arms sticking out everywhere stealing space that we don't have in the living room. But today is only the 2nd day of December. Isn't it too early for Christmas trees? It's hardly Advent -- how can we already be decorating? Do I put out the ornaments and the bells and reindeers and stockings? Do I string up the lights? (And what does all that mean when I will most likely be spending Christmas with the parents in snow country? Is it worth doing it here in our own little apartment?)

Where do you make room for a plastic Christmas tree pre-decked with flashing lights? Next to the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree purchased from Urban Outfitters? In the middle of the room surrounded by books and unnecessary furniture? Out in the back yard facing the blinking lights of the city sprawled below? Opposite the little phalaenopsis orchid that has lost is yellow blooms?

What if, for this year, we didn't put up anything...?

Stop this madness

The Revised Common Lectionary readings for this coming Sunday, Nov. 30th, are:

• Isaiah 64:1-9
• Psalm 80: 1-7, 17-19
• 1 Corinthians 1:3-9
• Mark 13:24-37

This Sunday's reading from the OT has the prophet Isaiah crying out to God to save God's people. The UMC Worship Helps site says:

The prophet in Isaiah 64 cries out for more than help. He cries out for a decisive personal intervention by God that will not only mean the world sees God in action, but that will change or destroy all the rules of the powers that be. That's what "tear open the heavens" means. Nothing less will do, the prophet cries, almost cathartically. Where do people where you are need to join the prophet's cathartic cry? "We can't take this anymore! Stop the madness! God, fix this!!"

It's a bit manic because desperate times require desperate pleas. And suddenly I'm reminded of what happened on Nov. 4th. The people of the U.S. basically cried out "we can't take this anymore! Stop the madness! God, fix this!!"

And surely with God's help, as a people we fixed it. We elected a leader that will hopefully lead us out of this wretched mess that we are in. Though we are from different faith traditions, God as the Creator of us all has heard our desperate, desperate cries and we have had an intervention. This wasn't just a political coup, it was an intervention that changed everything.



Read the lessons online at Vanderbilt Divinity Library.

Beginning anew

Since this Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent, this is the perfect time for me to start a practice that hopefully will help me in the coming days. Recently, I stopped producing the worship bulletin for my church (a different organization necessitated ceasing the printing of these bulletins), and am sad for it, b/c it was a wonderful reflection/meditation opportunity for me. Working on the bulletin allowed me to think about the lectionary and the worship themes throughout the week, in preparation for the coming Sunday.

As a result of this lack in my life, I've decided to start doing it again, but instead of publishing it in the worship bulletin, I'll be posting the materials on nothing but HAT's.

I hope this exercise will be edifying and nourishing for me, and helpful for you, the reader.

I'll be throwing things out during the week, not on any designated day, but it must all be posted before midnight PST on Saturday.

As for the specific content, I'll have to think on this... If you feel inclined, please leave suggestions in the Comments section.

un-Expired

Since my visit "home", I've started loading up on hours of Vietnamese t.v. watching -- which includes and all things brainless: variety shows, kung fu movies, epic films, etc.

Not that these things are usually brainless b/c they can contain great moral content, but it's mostly b/c I get to watch w/o having to over-analyze.

However, earlier this evening, I sat and watched in dumb amazement, speechless, as one of the show's commentators talked about how at 25 year old, certain women are considered "expired goods" if they have not married and produced offspring.

In Vietnamese, it's something called being "e". (Sorry, I can't do diacritics on this site for some reason.)

There's so much more to "e" than meets the eye, and the negative connotations defy definition. Expired, unwanted, soured, etc.

Picture the sad, lonely looking zucchini that for some reason has been left out far too long and no customers want to purchase. Picture the pickled vegetables sold in jars gathering dust on the shelves which no one seems to want. Picture the lone gerbera daisy and her droopin petals, the flaccid neck no longer able to hold up the browning head. Picture the unmatched sock which you finally have to donate after failing to locate its partner after three months of searching.

Lucky for me, despite being past the 25 year mark, I'm happy. Education, career/vocation, church, family, friends -- there is much to be grateful for. Unlike what some folks tell me, I don't feel my life is incomplete. Perhaps when I meet my future spouse, he and I will feel our lives more in sync, but right now my life is not unfulfilled. Despite what people think, I don't feel at all like that lonely "e". Am not sitting dusty on some shelf somewhere hoping to be salvaged. This is to say I've taken myself off the shelf, and am jolly about traipsing through life. If you, too, want to skate away, let me know...

Why I am lucky

This is what I see:

My dad wields his digital videocamera, pointing it in every direction trying to capture images of beautiful fall colors -- red, orange, yellow, brown, green leaves on the tall, tall trees. And the shining blue surface of the lake reflecting into his camera lens.

My mother is slowly wending her way around the lake, with my father following behind, recording with his camera her beautiful walk, hips sashaying back and forth -- this was what he loved about her when they were young, and loves her for it still. She's looking for leaves to dry and press into poetry books for me, her aspiring poetess. There are at least half a dozen that she's collected, and holds up to the camera for him to see... the organic shapes still vibrant with reds and oranges and yellows like unwritten poetic images.

My parents' backyard fills with white, white, white snow. The trees line their back fence like mimes standing with outstretched arms frozen in the air. Steam from mom's coffee cup wafts up, clouding dad's camera lens, and he steps back with the camera to show her sitting with the door to her back, the snow still falling. Half her face is lit by the white snow's reflection. Somewhere behind her I see a green and lush pepper tree.

At 10 p.m. when the neighborhood must be asleep, they are still singing hymns. Alongside dad's guitar strumming, mom's voice is a high soprano, and dad sometimes chimes in with the alto, other times with the bass. They do this every once in a while, singing favorite hymns and recording them onto cassette tapes. I think 10 years from now we won't hardly stand to listen to them, but they are precious nonetheless. This moment of them singing at the same microphone, mom holding the hymn book while dad plays the guitar, will never be forgotten, never be repeated in quite the same way. I want to listen to them forever, even the flat notes, but they interrupt to ask me to join them.

We get to return once every few months to find the rooms all furnished and ready for our use. Cottonballs, towels, linens, etc. all set out waiting for our arrival. We find a particular kind of shampoo that they have set apart for us. Or perhaps a little fruit that they've saved for our enjoyment. So much love. So much.

Thanksgiving gratefully

This Thanksgiving, you'll find me in the cold weather of Michigan, in the midst of family in a house with a little white door adorned with autumn wreaths, surrounded by barren maple branches like sculptures in the sky. You'll find a little bit of scented candle on the full dining room coffee table, and a full pot of soup in the lemon-scented kitchen. Upstairs, red-lined satin sheets and ginger-scented body lotions. On the phone, half-started conversations with friends and emails from long-distance loved ones.

I'm not Blue, and I'm not Yours, and I'm not skating away from any Rivers, and I'm not hiding myself in ice castles in the sky. Everything, and I mean everything, is as it should be. For now.

Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now"

Both Sides Now

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and they snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way that you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
And you leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions that I recall
I really don't know love
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say I love you right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

Oh but now old friends they are acting strange
And they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

It's life's illusions that I recall
I really don't know life
I really don't know life at all

Missing you

This is simply to say I've been missing my friends lately. Many of them. Some I've heard from recently and some I've not heard from in a long while. I hope you are well, and I hope that your work, your ministries, your schooling, and your family/families are also doing well.

Zebra stripes

Here Come the Elephants

Orangutan in hiding

(This is for Mrs. Oja)

Hungry hungry hippo!

See the hippo?


No? Look more closely...





Ta da!! Hi there...


I had the greatest time visiting the St. Louis zoo in October... I have never been this close to a hippo before... It was pretty cool. And, I learned that hippo skin releases something like slime to help protect their skin... Hehehe. Very cool.

On My Knees: lyrics

There are days
when I feel
The best of me
is ready to begin
Then there's days
when I feel
I'm letting go
and soaring on the wind
'Cause I've learned in laughter or in pain
How to survive!

I get on my knees! (x2)
There I am before the Love
That changes me
See I don't know how
But there's power
When I'm on my knees

I can be
in a crowd
Or by myself
and almost anywhere
When I feel
there's a need
To talk with God
He is Emmanuel
When I close my eyes,
no darkness there
There's only light!

I get on my knees (x2)
There I am before the Love that changes me
See I don't know how, but there's power
In the blue skies, in the midnight
When I'm on my knees
I get on my knees (x2)
There I am before the Love
That changes me
See I don't know how, but there's power
When I'm on my, oh, when I'm on my
When I'm on my knees

On My Knees

Somehow this song is fitting for this moment in time...

Obama Victory Poster

Want an Obama Victory poster to celebrate our win? It's designed by Shepard Fairey, the artist who created the iconic HOPE poster.

I just got mine. Click this link to get your Obama Victory poster.

Yes we did... Change is ours!

However, now that I think about it... stating that it is "our win" perpetuates a divisive mentality that might be hurtful for the reconciliation of our multi-party nation. Maybe we should celebrate the unity that we seek, not necessarily our win over the "other" folks. Right?

Right.

One Love: Playing for Peace Through Music

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole: Somewhere Over The Rainbow

Obama Victory sticker by Shepard Fairey

Want a free Obama sticker to celebrate our victory? It's designed by Shepard Fairey, the artist who created the iconic HOPE poster. And MoveOn's giving them away totally free--even the shipping's free.

I just got mine. Click this link to get your free Obama sticker.

World Reacts to Obama election

Change Can Happen

Three Graces

An Historic Election: Yes We Can

"These are difficult times for our country. And I pledge to him tonight to do all in my power to help him lead us through the many challenges we face.

I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together to find the necessary compromises to bridge our differences and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited." - McCain concession speech, Nov. 4, 2008

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

We are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

...

I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it's been done in America for 221 years -- block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do.

This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

- Acceptance Speech by Barack Hussein Obama, Nov. 4, 2008

EVERYBODY GO VOTE!!

Election 2008 Voting Information

Today, November 4th, is Election Day! Remember to vote—not just for Barack Obama, but for Congressional, state, and local candidates as well.

IMPORTANT NOTE: MoveOn members overwhelmingly oppose California's Proposition 8 (a ban on same-sex marriage). Please vote NO on Prop 8.

Where and when do I vote?

Find your polling place, voting times, and other important information by checking out these sites and the hotline below. These resources are good, but not perfect. To be doubly sure, you can also contact your local elections office.

• Obama's VoteForChange site: voteforchange.com
• League of Women Voters' site: vote411.org/pollfinder.php
• Obama's voter hotline: 877-US4-OBAMA (877-874-6226)

What should I do before I go?

• After you've entered your address on either Vote For Change or Vote411, read the voting instructions and special rules for your state.
• Voting ID laws vary from state to state, but if you have ID, bring it.
• Check out all the voting myths and misinformation to look out for: http://truth.voteforchange.com/

What if something goes wrong?

• Not on the voter list? Make sure you're at the right polling place, then demand a provisional ballot.
• If you're voting on an electronic machine with a paper record, verify that the record is accurate.
• Need legal help? Call 1-866-OUR-VOTE.
• If you encounter a problem, try to videotape the situation and submit it to VideoTheVote.org

Want to do more?

• Text all of your friends: "Vote Obama today! Pass it on!"
• Make calls from home for Obama.

Now, everybody go vote!!!

Water fountain

Yes We Can

http://yeswecan.dipdive.com/

One of two Cathedral Basilicas

...In St. Louis. Weather was quite agreeable. More basilica to come...

At World Head Quarters

I didn't think that it would fit into my schedule but we managed to find our way to the Anhauser-Busch brewery in St. Louis. Who knew, but the St. Louis location is the world headquarter of this famous brewery. The landscapes were beautiful. The technology is unbelievable. The history is amazing and continues to expand. I'm not a beer drinker (the Sis calls me a dessert wine snob), but some of A-B's special beers are pretty good (I like the Mojito beer). :)

I have never, ever seen bottles and cans of beer get filled so fast in one minute. Unbelievable!

Penguins

Butttttt...

So here are the little cuties whom I met at the zoo in St. Louis.

Cut paper lace banner

The last night of my stay in St. Louis, I was fortunate enough to attend a worship service where Dr. James Forbes preached about "having a conversation with God about elections." He was brilliant, naturally, but I'm not posting about his talk. Take a look at the pictures of the banner that hung in the sanctuary of the church (where the service was held).

The banner is made of 16 separate pieces designed by liturgical artist Ellen Phillips of Atlanta, GA. All the cutting was done by hand by members of First Church (in Webster Grove, MO) and St. John's UCC in north St. Louis city. Says the church info sheet:

This artistic expression is the first of four that our churches will be creating this year as part of a worship renewal grant we received through the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship in Grand Rapids, MI. [The 16 separate pieces] remind us of our communion with God and God's creation. As you look up, you'll see many expressions of God's wondrous creation, and in the center, you'll see the communion chalice and loaves of bread, symbols of our communion with God.

View from the Arch Gateway

After taking the four minute tram ride from groundbase to the top of the arch way (630 ft high!), we get to look out the East and West windows of the arch.

St. Louis Historic Courthouse

More of the St. Louis Arch Gateway

For all named and unnamed

While walking around downtown, I came upon a little event hosted by the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network (ACS CAN). I thought this is an appropriate time for me to post about it... especially so many of my loved ones have been affected in some way or another by cancer of one kind or another.

There's this little bus that they drive around. It's called the ACS CAN Fight Back Express. This little bus is traveling around the nation telling people about and talking with people about cancer and how we as individuals and as a nation can fight back cancer. And everyone who's been touched by cancer -- in whatever way -- is asked to sign the bus, as a symbol of spreading the news. Today, the bus parked under the arch, and finished touring MO as the 48th state. The FBE now heads back to D.C.

You should check out the blog and read up about the American Cancer Society.



More importantly, inform yourself on the positions your presidential candidate holds regarding cancer research. Check out what Obama and McCain are saying in response to questions about cancer research, treatment, and prevention issues.

Take action because you CAN.