Ezra.

Today has reminded me of Winnie the Pooh.

Chuckling as he fights against the blustering wind

watching Piglet fly by yelping for assistance

And Christopher Robin in his blue shorts, cardigan and bright red scarf.

All I want to do is bake.

Take a walk

Wearing this.

And these while petting him.

I just really love Sheep.

A side thought.

I finally went grocery shopping and felt an overwhelming amount of peace as my cabinets filled. I wish that life could be that easily satisfied. When you hear a grumble and notice cobwebs in the kitchen, simply nod, grab your keys and trot over to the market.

But life requires so much more than one decision for change.

It takes a daily pruning of self.

A

Constant

question

posed

to

the

heart.

Who do I want to be? Am I empty? Well then, lets get to work.

In the book of Ezra, the Hebrews begin to worship at the site of the temple before the ground has even been broken.

It begins with redemption of the heart.

Reconstruction cannot occur until our hearts are completely surrendered to Christ.

Otherwise we build up soggy well groomed behaviors.

Empty

and

Ambivalent.

Sad Bird's looking chipper.

You see this little guy? His name is Sad Bird and he lived on the window tint of a borrowed church van. Sad Bird represents something not so sad at all actually. In the midst of a scheduled discombobulated summer, I had the rich privilege of hopping onto a "cheap" flight to Portland, Oregon to celebrate the wedding of my authentically joyful cousin Mandee. A complete treat, like a pumpkin spice cupcake with cream cheese frosting. A time to gather for

5Rock Ranch,

S'mores roasts,

ultimate frisbee,

paint-by-number,

assembly lines,

gut busting circles of laughter,

prayer,

more prayer,

delicious home cooked food,

pizza and veggies on the patio,

Good Beer,

Beach trips,

and Photos.

When I worry about being stressed and losing little joys, I remember Sad Bird and all the jokes told while staring out his old window. The life giving weekend that reminded me of the vitality of celebration. Of Laughing. And the anticipation of another family reunion rapidly approaching in the honor of my brothers wedding.

So hats off to Good Times Van Round 2!! T-minus 19 days.

Suffering.

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

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.

Daytrotter.

"The Brothers Bloom."

Le Sac Dress.

Dishes.

Blog.

Say goodnight.

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.

So...

"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?"

Romania,.

Let it be so. This is the definition of Amen. Continuously throughout my trip in Romania I was confronted with this word/phrase. Amen translated into Romanian is Ami. I sat in a sweltering church in the village of Susani listening to an unfamiliar language, enjoying the sounds of “let it be so” over and over again. This is a community that taught me the meaning of trusting in the love and provision of our creator.

The little village of Susani is straight out of a Beatrix Potter novel; older women toting water from the well, a plethora of geese and ducks waddling in no particular direction, and I may have even seen Peter Rabbit once or twice. This old world in which I found myself contradicted itself with modern clothing styles and the occasional Justin Bieber ring tone blaring from a thirteen year-olds cell phone. Climbing into a wagon drawn by a large mare had the potential to charm me right into forgetting any kind of other life and slipping silently into Susani’s.

Our last day in Romania, I packed up my memories and video equipment but think I forgot my heart. I was not prepared to leave. Something was missing when I climbed on the bus, the plane and then my seat at Denny’s in Dallas with my parents. I tried to explain to my mom that I needed to be in Romania, that I belonged in Europe and had left my heart behind. She quickly reminded me that where ever I am, my heart is also and if I choose to ignore it I will be miserable.

2 Conrinthians 4: 15 “And he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him whofor their sake died and was raised.”

If I chose to leave my heart in Romania, I would be living for myself. I have been called to breathe life into those who presently surround me. James 4:13 says “come now you who say ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such town and spend a year there making a profit’ – yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, ‘if the Lord wills, we will do this and that.’”

I must choose to rope in my heart and plant it right where my feet are.

I had a funny conversation in the back of a stifling hot bus with a seventeen year old translator named Adelina. She told me that God was teaching her that He holds what’s best for us, even when we are willing to settle for something just good. He has the fantastic in his hands and wants to pour it all over us…again. God is funny when he is yelling into my ear “Hey Krisi! You get it? I have some amazing stories for you to be a part of, are you ready?”

Ami. Amen. Let it be so.

A side thought:

As we trekked through the great country of Romania and over the border to Budapest, Hungary I was reminded of a desire to open a Hostel somewhere in the world. Through my week of media and laughter, I understood that I have been given the ability to be relational. I love to learn about new cultures and discover the stories of peoples live. John 4:39 “Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the women’s testimony, ‘He told me all that I ever did.’” So if I can be in the business of hosting and listening and loving the quirky people of this world…let it be so. I have no idea how to make this happen, but am ready to figure it out.

Pache.

Summer is swinging

"having the eyes of my heart enlightened."

I am once again in the state of Colorado, I spent this weekend in a sweet bliss enjoying the things I am neglected eight months out of the year.

Meadow Mountain- a cafe that screams of small town warmth. I sat for two hours inhaling their incredible cinnamon coffee and a mound of french toast. Good company is what makes any place worth the visit right? I love that during our breakfast Les (one of the mayors) and his dog Zena sat down to chat about recent rescues the volunteer fire dept. had made.

A Hike- After dehydrating our bodies with caffeine, we chose to strap on our camel backs and hike up Lookout Mountain, only to be deterred a few miles in by the massive amounts of snow that seemed to have remained only on the trail we were following. But still a beautiful morning.

With an afternoon ahead of me, I drove mouse (my car) down the canyon to my favorite quirky town Boulder, Colorado. It is fascinating to sit on a stone bench eating frozen yogurt and "people watching". This is a town so full of diversity that there is no choice but to grin and observe the whiplash of hair and clothing styles strolling down pearl street, all with various destinations. When summer swarms Boulder, it is as though hibernation has been broken releasing a plethora of winter's captives to relax on outdoor patios and fresh green parks. Hundreds of bikers swerve to avoid tourists and teenagers, dogs pant on the side walks tethered to wrought iron restaurant tables. Street entertainers bravely juggle bean bags and torches with the prospect of suckering some sap from Kansas or Texas into donating a dollar.

On Sunday I chose to join the ranks of hardcore spandex sporting bikers and cycle down highway 63, which can be confused for Ireland rather than the foothills of the Northern Rockies. Ending once again at Pearl Street with a repeated dose of pomegranate froyo covered in fresh Blackberries and an amusing game of point out the Boulder natives vs. wide eyed visitors.

And now camp training begins, another year of kids, mountains, and a community that is separated from my regular life. It is a beautiful place that demands my whole heart.

In four days I will be sitting on a plane, flying across the ocean to Lugov Romania. I am under the impression that there is something very important for me to discover in my Ten day trek in the small villages of Eastern Europe. I can only hope that I have the willingness to keep the eyes of my heart open and ready.