Sunday, October 31, 2010


Cancer is not good. But it is not the end.
Deeply rooted in our being, when all hope is stripped from us,
we cry out to Boet. The Christ.
Where is the sting of death? It's here. Daily.
Why do we rejoice in the death of Christ?
Because it was not the end.
"Laughing with" By Regina Spektor

Saturday, October 30, 2010

An ode to food and friends.

A Saturday.
Lazy mornings with pillow talk and room cleaning.
Lunch in the water garden.
Native American Literature....Blood and Thunder.
Monks. Bottomless Coffee in a tea cup. Study. Chat. Study.
Strolling through HEB. Grocery shopping for the first time in a month.
Choosing a delicious sweet red wine. Stemless glasses.
Kale Chips. Eggplant Parmesan. Table Talk with a new friend.
Say goodnight.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Just be.

Sometimes I seek after peace so fervently I become exhausted. I know I am broken and try way to hard to perfect the art of it. How ridiculous. I either make a failing attempt at perfect outwardly behavior, or a failing attempt at inward brokenness.

"To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of satan, to torment me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weaknesses. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12

The more I realize that I cannot accomplish anything righteous on my own count, the more I recognize the precious redemptive grace of Boet, The Christ.

Side Thought.
Ciao $20.
Monday night I was sitting at Starbucks, earbuds in, Native American Literature deeply capturing my attention. You see I had a plan, take the twenty out of my wallet (Thanks Dad) and buy groceries to satisfy my empty cabinet. However, no matter how mediocre, the funny thing about plans is how they seem to fizzle when life gets in the way.

Ten minutes into my enraptured reading, a Buick containing the sobbing mess of a Baby Boomer abruptly jolts to a stop next to my patio seat. Peering out at me with puffy eyes, Edna, in a state of desperation pleads for gas money so she can go to her Granddaughter in the hospital. Well of course any sensible person would assume this to be a scam. "Oh Krisi you didn't!" I can imagine a friend saying to me. A swindle, an outrage. But how was I to know? Is it my place to decide who deserves compassion and who does not?

And then it hit me.
(Just as I was typing this out, with the plan of taking a different angle.)

I was so willing to love on a stranger and not let my doubts of her authenticity rule my actions.
Yet I spent an entire weekend with my family, constantly prodding and scrutinizing their words and actions. YIKES. Again I say, "is it my place to decide who deserves compassion and who does not?"