From Jonathan Lethem’s Proximity People:

“People who read stories about imaginary people while real people stand before them unsung and unappreciated. People who read stories and experience real emotions while finding it difficult to feel real emotions when presented with the difficulties of their living friends. Science-Fiction people. Historical re-enactors. Pen-pals. Those who fall in love remotely, projecting cherished values onto those distant from them, values that they never identify among those nearest to them. Constructors of time capsules. People who write in journals or diaries never intended to be read during their lifetimes. Anonymous authors. Anonymous donors. People who comment anonymously on the blogs of their friends. People who at parties glance over your shoulder while they speak with you, searching for a better option. Necrophiliacs…”

Love beyond anything else is a dying to self. (I didn’t fully comprehend its implications when I wrote that back then; I smugly thought I did. Please. I am horribly young and ignorant. I now at least understand a bit more.)

It is not thinking too much or too little of you. We were both wrong and right, and I should be able to tell you why, confidently and without bitterness.

It is painfully fitting that Greg talked about death as vividly as he did of life during his Easter sermon, when he recalled the resurrection and renewal that changed the course of history. Jesus took the whole world in his hands. In my microscopic, self-involved little heart, surely there is room for forgiveness, of myself for the most part. False idols and pride were plucked out of my hands, without my realizing they were burdens, and with lightness there is amazing relief.

I am so thankful that these recent circumstances have also added new challenges to my faith, and want you who read to challenge me to fully express why Titus 3:5-8 summarizes my source of comfort:

“He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.”

What is this delicious-looking piece of fudge, you ask? Well it is NOT fudge, it is one of Anjie’s special brownies, made from regular cake mix, only she used sweet potato puree instead of oil.

What you get is brownies that are more moist, less rich, and actually have the exact texture of kueh. Which made me wonder why no one seems to have invented chocolate kueh (until now!), because it’s an amazing combination.

Remember, love is a dying to self.

It means not talking when I feel needy, because it’s time to take on those monsters with solely God on my side. It is calling just to hear the sound of your voice, without this needing to hinge on making plans; it is taking great joy in the fact that I’m treated with the utmost respect, and to return the favor.

Love is letting you know how important you are through my actions without creating an ultimatum. It is about not fighting for time – recognizing we still have a very long way to go (collectively and individually).

It is choosing not to tell you I love you, when I know my heart isn’t in the right place. It is quietly letting you reveal yourself in the most unexpected of ways.

Love is about knowing, and the peace that comes from knowing.

1 John 4:18.

I’m again in one of those situations where I have a post-it note full of blog post ideas (dating all the way back to Feb) that never actually make it into being. Regular writing will come in stages; I’m just going to have to wait for the next time. For now I’m just rolling on present information.

I decided to take part in the annual Charlottesville 10 Miler. This year’s beneficiary is PACEM, an interfaith collaboration of local congregations and community partners which helps the homeless find shelter at night, particularly during the winter months. Charlottesville goes a bit crazy over this event; people come into town from different states just to take part and roads are closed off to make way for the runners.

I wondered what motivates people to run. I myself had no real rational argument. Up till about two years ago, I was physically unable to enjoy anything resembling a sport (this includes frisbee and Captain’s ball). I was also the last girl in the 2.4km line-up through all of JC. I’ve rarely been to the gym before this semester. Then in January, I started going and to my surprise found that running made me feel more emotionally organized, for lack of a better phrase. I read about the Darfur 5k and Winnie and I start training for it (it’s for a good cause, it’s a good goal to have, why not). We ran it on a freezing but sunny February morning through the campus and surrounding neighborhoods. Winnie mentioned the 10 miler afterwards; my response was “haha very funny!” Then I mentioned it to Eric, who, though not a runner himself, for some reason made it his mission to infect me with enthusiasm for the idea.

When I was running today thinking “Why on earth am I doing this anyway”, the C’ville community broke out in a full force Barnabas wall. The race was so organized that there were volunteers of all ages and races every step of the way cheering you on – not just shouting encouragements and handing out water, but having a FANTASTIC TIME doing so. Bands were playing in front of churches along the route, African-American gospel at one point, bluegrass as we ran through downtown. My favorites were the applauding construction workers on the mall and the little boy with round Potter-like glasses offering high fives to every runner who passed him.

This beautiful little volume is a book of original poetry and short stories by my ex-RA (and first friend at UVA!) Annie. It dropped into my hands when my Desktop Publishing professor was passing around samples of past projects in class. Our final project is to select and compile material – any kind of writing, not necessarily your own – into an anthology for publication via Lulu.com. We are also expected to design the interior and exterior layouts.

Many of us call blogsurfing a guilty pleasure. But I have personally found that this habit can swing from voyeurism to inspiration. Some bloggers – close friends, acquaintances, celebrities – have made me roll on the floor laughing, pick myself up when I relate acutely to something they’ve said, and ultimately want to become a better (and infinitely more prolific) writer. I wish I could say this about half the books I’ve read.

My project idea is to create an anthology of blog posts and in the process consider whether reading online writing in print form can qualify as the same sort of experience. Is writing still good writing if it’s not as accessible? Can it still be understood and appreciated outside of immediate context?

So here’s where I call for your help. If you’re interested in helping me out AND getting one or a few more of your blog posts published in print form, contact me! Comment! Email! Do something! I’m still trying to narrow down my content to a specific blogged-about topic or age group of bloggers, for example, because this is merely a semester-long project and won’t require more than about 15 entries (to make my life easier during typesetting). But I still hope to compile as diverse a collection as possible.

Spread the word!

Hobbies can screech to a halt when your tools malfunction:

The film SLR I inherited has not yet been able to get past picture 9 on a 36-exposure roll without jamming. Sometimes I wonder if it, like me, is adjusting to new physical and emotional environment, shaking itself out after growing used to the freezing Canadian tundras my uncle probably frequently trawled it through.

Oh and our old oven enjoys mangling foolproof recipes – it has so far succeeded in burning one and a half batches of madelines and a carrot cake. Perhaps I am simply not very good at baking i.e. understanding ovens’ individual temperaments? But my mum has complained about failed cream puffs as well, so I will not entirely give up on blaming technology yet, and will test it with cornbread mix later.

Charlottesville, VA – two weeks before presidential elections, Jason Mraz makes his voice heard.