“One of the best prayer letters I’ve ever read!” raves Matt I.

“Hands down the best missions support letter I’ve ever read,” says Kris K.

“Dang, this is long–but well worth the time to read it!” responds Mel I. (I know it’s lame to quote myself, but hey, this is my website, and I can do whatever I want!)

Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve read the reviews and now you’re probably anxiously waiting for me to finish this introduction so you can get to this famous support letter!

First some background: My best friend, second cousin by marriage, friend I’ve known the longest–known as Dorc to everyone who grew up with her–is traveling to Asia with a team of three others to teach English at a university. She turned down summer teaching jobs, income, and a chance to see her best friend (me!) in Sac next month because of this trip. To prepare for her trip, she sent out support letters petitioning for prayer and financial support.

For those of you unfamiliar with “missions trips,” you typically send out a “support letter” to people in your church and other friends/family members to ask them to partner with you in your volunteer work. This “work” could take the form of building a church in Brazil, organizing children’s activities in Mexican slums, or providing medical care to villages in China. The intention is to have your friends and family support you financially, covering the costs of your trip. It also is essential to have people praying for you. At the end of the trip (and sometimes during the trip, depending on the trip’s length), the supporters will hear from their friend and get updates. As partners, we really value these updates!

Before Dorc sent out her letter, she told me she was nervous that it wouldn’t be well-received. “It’s not your typical prayer letter,” she said. This just made me more curious to read it. I have written and received many, many support letters in my past. Many of them sound the same. You read about how God is teaching them lessons–but often don’t hear what those specific lessons are. You read about how God is blessing them–but often don’t hear what those specific blessings are. Everything is really vague. And, yes, to keep the reader’s attention–and to keep the letter to a page–succinctness is needed. But when succinctness overcomes details and value to the letter, I feel that’s when the unofficial 1-page rule can and should be broken.

In Dorc’s case, it really worked. I’m not here to provide an analysis of her prayer letter from a writer’s standpoint. I’m here to say that I’m proud of Dorc…proud that she defied the normal standard support letter and was REAL. She not only opened up about herself–she also gave us something to think about. Her lesson doesn’t just apply to people who think they have to make sacrifices to go on a missions trip. Her letter challenges all of us to think about what we’re holding on to…what we’re putting off before we finally “seek first the kingdom of God.”

You won’t get any warm fuzzy feel-good Christian bubble emotions with this letter…and that’s what I love best about it. What amazed me most is that my own husband who gets annoyed when people (especially me!) are long-winded in their letters and e-mails, told me how much he enjoyed reading it.

I’m shutting up now. Finally. Now read Dorc’s letter.

Don’t forget to click on the other links after watching the video.

This past weekend, Seattle hit temperatures that sent everyone scurrying to the water, to buy fans, and to shed clothes. The front page headlines of The Seattle Times on Saturday read something like, “Temperatures Set to Spike,” with a graphic of the temperature for the next few days—89, 94, 90. My friend, Gina, from LA was in town, and she took a picture of the newspaper, finding it quite hilarious. I was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, while she wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I was sweating just looking at her.

We had breakfast at Coulon Park where, at 9 a.m., families had already marked their territory, bringing out BBQ grills, blankets, and umbrellas. Cars were lined up to launch their boats into the lake. I was already sweating by 11 a.m., and working out in the yard probably didn’t help. Even though I grew up with 105+-degree summer temperatures and have always lived in a place that reached temps that high, I never have and probably never will enjoy hot weather.

Despite the discomfort, Matt and I set off for Georgetown’s Artopia event. Squinting and sweating from the sun, we were on the lookout for photo opportunities for a photography workshop that we’re taking through a community college. Our homework assignment was to bring a few shots to class. Here are a few from our excursion:

I dreamt again that I was hanging out with people from Footworks, and one of the friends in the dream was Rolly. In the dream, we all knew he shouldn’t have been there, so we were all shocked and really happy to see him. But he wasn’t really alive. He reassured us that he was OK, and I was immediately sad that he wasn’t really going to stick around. I woke up right then with a really sad, sad feeling in my heart. I almost started to cry until I realized I had been dreaming—and then I went back to sleep.

It’s weird that I dreamt about Footworks friends and Rolly because I hadn’t been in touch extensively with many of them, except for Hong and Marie, over the years. Emails were exchanged with a few old friends, but nothing sustained.

Also, my co-worker’s husband (mentioned in this entry) passed away on Friday. His mind was pretty alert, but he was ready and waiting for his body to shut down, and his sons and my co-worker had a long time to prepare for his passing. Even so, I don’t imagine that anyone could fully be ready to lose someone, especially someone so close. Many people at work have been keeping in touch with my co-worker, calling frequently, bringing over meals, working in her yard–just trying to give her some contact with the outside world since she has been staying at home for the past few weeks. It has been a draining, emotional experience for her, and I wonder how she feels about coming to work. Anyway, she’s a complete stranger to pretty much everyone who reads this, but please pray for her family if you remember.

The dream and my co-worker’s husband’s death were reminders about the fleeting nature of life. It also was a reminder that I am thankful for every moment, as short as they may seem, with loved ones. Last weekend, and the weekend prior, my parents and grandparents stopped in Seattle before and after their Alaskan cruise. The time was short, but sweet. I finally updated the photo gallery with pics going back to Jen’s visit in April up until my family’s recent visit. Check them out…

It’s 4:45 already on Saturday afternoon, all I’ve had to eat today are two waffles, my clothes and body are stained with dirt—and I’m absolutely loving it. For the past few weeks, any free moment on the weekends and weeknights have been spent in the yard. It is taking me a long time to work compost into the soil and get it ready for planting–and then figuring out where to plant everything is another story. I’m about halfway through with planting in the area that I’m focusing on, though.

I can see why my dad loved being in the yard so much after a day of sitting in a cube. In the morning before I go to work, I stare at my yard. When I come home, I walk by all my plants to see how they are doing, and I notice every little bit of growth. The bud of a flower that has opened up a teensy bit more since the previous day, a new leaf that is a shade lighter than the more mature leaves, the upright stature of a plant that may have been more wilted the day before. It is so satisfying to see all these small signs of growth, which may go unnoticed by someone who isn’t as invested in the yard.

Since 10 am, I have been planting, digging, watering. It’s been raining on and off, and now that I have come inside and called it a day, I see the blue sky peeking through. But my lower back is telling me to give it a rest.

As I was out there, I felt completely content, at peace, and not anxious about anything. Usually my mind is going a mile a minute, flying from one subject to another, eventually wondering how in the world my thoughts got where they were. So it was such a huge relief to be out there and not hindered by thoughts of things that have been on my mind all week–things I want relief from, to not think about for just one hour. Today, I got six hours away from those thoughts and was able to enjoy the moments as they happened, the dirt under my nails and on my clothes.

Other developments in our yard: Our unending supply of blackberries (aka the enormous, invasive, ugly blackberries in our yard) are now gone! We met our neighbors and teamed up with them to hire someone to remove the bushes. Hooray! (Before and after pics…)

Congrats to Whitney, the first plus-size (in other words, REAL size) contestant to win America’s Next Top Model!! I was rooting her from the start because she was pretty and plus-sized, but her attitude started to annoy me. She just seemed too cocky. Plus, she always seemed to turn on her sexuality a little too much. I actually thought the runner-up, Hawaiian Anya with the weird speaking manner, would win because the judges seemed to rave more about her throughout the season. Plus, she won a lot of the challenges, whereas Whitney might not have won any. (Correct me if I’m wrong?) But I guess that was all to just throw the public off to THINK that Anya would win. Ooh, Tyra and the editing people, you’re so sneaky!

I think Whitney will be a good Cover Model representative since she carries herself well and is eloquent, opposed to Anya who talks like a little kid and seems really airheady (but to give her credit, though, she seems genuinely nice–of course, I could tell all this just from watching her for an hour on TV each week).

(I still haven’t watched the last two episodes. I’ve been recording them each week since we have small group during the time of the show. But curiosity got the best of me and I just had to find out who won!)

I recently put our boxwood shrub on craiglist, asking for any takers to come over and dig out the shrub for free. This is not just any old shrub. It’s a decent size, and would probably cost some money (and a lot of time) for people to end up with something this big.

I got a few replies, and offered it to the first person who replied. My first mistake: Offering it to someone and letting her come pick it up a week later. We’ve had a lot of experience with craigslisters who tell us they are “very interested” in something, ask us to hold it for them, and never pick it up. Sometimes they call to ask us to hold it another day. Most often than not, they just don’t show up. By then, other people who have expressed interest are no longer interested.

Matt told me not to hold it for her, but I did anyway. She was planning on getting it this coming weekend, and yes, she said she was “very interested.”

After talking to Matt about it a little more, he convinced me to just tell her that the shrub needs to go ASAP, offer her a chance to get it tonight, and then open up the offer to other people. Normally, I don’t like rescinding offers, but we know how common it is to get burned when you start promising things to people—and I actually would prefer to get the shrub out of the ground before the weekend, too.

So I e-mailed the woman, asking if she could get it tonight. I apologized and used Matt as an excuse for having to change our plans. Her response was something along the lines of how inconsiderate it was for me to back out after I gave her my word (and rightly so…I’m guilty, especially after thinking how flaky craigslisters could be), and how I should at least dig out the shrub and keep it in a bucket for her. (Does she remember how big they are?? I don’t have anything to hold it!) And the kicker was that she asked if I had a backbone to stand up to my husband.

At first, I just felt bad for backing out on her, but then I just boiled up when I read the sentence about not having a backbone. How DARE she say something about a perfect stranger over something that is FREE!!!! I was just enraged, so of course I furiously typed out a response, my heart beating quickly the entire time.

I didn’t reveal my complete anger over her words, but I said something along the lines of how sorry I was that she felt like she had to attack a complete stranger, and how she had no right to say that, and that I couldn’t believe she would stoop so low over something free. I also said I’m glad she’s not getting our boxwood bush.

But that was my second mistake: I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me. Doesn’t the Bible talk about how being nice is like heaping hot coals over someone’s head? But, if I was sugary nice just to make her feel guilty, would that have been any better than letting my anger show? I am genuinely sorry that I shot out that reply so quickly. If I thought about it more, I would have been more apologetic about backing out of the agreement, but also would have just put in a polite one-liner about how I’m sorry she was so upset that she was attacking a complete stranger. End of story.

Oh well, I failed that test, but we just learn from our mistakes.

Matt and I went to the Mariners game last night, courtesy of one of his co-workers who was looking for someone to use her tickets. Normally, we’re up in the nose-bleed section, but this time, instead of climbing higher and higher up the stairs, we were at the second level, below the box seats. What a treat!

But this only meant we got a good view of the fight that broke out on the field after the Rangers’ pitcher nearly hit Mariners player Richie Sexson. All the players ran to the field, bringing me back to those high school days when a fight would break out and attract swarms of people like a magnet (or like me to free boba). I was just appalled. I guess I’ve seen trash-talking during basketball games and those moments when teammates have to hold each other back (again, like high school), but I had never seen a fight break out during a baseball game.

I was so disgusted. People cheered. I booed. If everyone got up and left when fights broke out, maybe the players would feel a degree of shame and realize how immature they were being. You get paid big bucks, you’re a role model, and you really want to go home and tell your kid that you started a fight at work?

Granted, there was some underhanded animosity on both sides, but who would be the bigger man?

I was talking to a co-worker (a big baseball fan) at work, describing the situation and my reaction to it. His response? “We have a word for that in our household: Girls.”

But as much as I could judge the guy who throws the first punch, I realize that many times, I want to strike a blow–maybe not physically, but verbally.

Take for example the clerk at Safeway last week. She accidentally rang up my box of cereal with the items belonging to the woman in front of me. The box of cereal was at that point of the checkout counter that was hidden behind the checkout machine, and I wasn’t peering down the conveyor belt to see what was being rung up–and neither was the woman paying for everything.

The woman finally noticed she was about to pay for a box of cereal that wasn’t hers, so she mentioned it to the clerk. The clerk had to take it off the receipt, so the woman apologized. The clerk said, “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” They both looked at me.

Whatever, women!! It wasn’t my fault, either. If I’m putting my items onto the conveyor belt at one end, am I supposed to be watching the items on the OTHER end, too? I didn’t apologize. A few more times, the women went back and forth about how it wasn’t the other person’s fault. I ignored them.

When it was finally my turn to get my stuff rung up, the clerk was pointedly rude to me. I know everyone has their bad days, but I had just overheard several minutes of friendly chattiness between her and the previous customer? I decided to let it go, but at the very end, I noticed that she didn’t even bother bagging some of my groceries. She bagged most of them, but she just left the last bag sitting UNDER my items. The items weren’t even half-sitting in the bag–they were right on top of the bag. So I reached over the counter where you sign checks and stuff and bagged them myself. She saw me, and she stood there watching me reach over. Finally when I was done and had put that final bag in my cart, she handed me the receipt.

Ooohh, I wanted to have words with her (and not nice ones, to be clear). Of course, I never think of things to say until after I walk away. And it’s not like I’m expecting to be served. If the clerk looks busy, I’ll bag my own groceries. I don’t have a problem with that. But if she has bagged most of them, and then just leaves the items on top of a bag and watches me bag them–that’s not normal.

I know I tend to complain a lot about customer service or treatment from other people, but it’s mostly when I see a difference in behaviors of how the other person treats someone else and then how they treat me. If I see them being consistently rude, I think, “Man, they’re rude! They must be having a sour day.” But if it’s like “smile, smile, smile, frown” (to me), I get really irked by that. And it’s not just toward me. I see how people in stores treat other people who look like they don’t have money or they may smell. I get the same treatment when I’m in sweats and a frumpy sweater. It’s not right.

So anyway, my point of it all was that I may not be like Richie Sexson, to outright let my anger and frustrations out in a physical way. But I can certainly understand the emotions leading him to respond that way. And if my thought process was quicker, I’d probably be letting loose some verbal cannons, too.

Matt and I celebrate our three-year wedding anniversary today. Three years doesn’t sound like much, but the years really have gone by fast.

Today I was talking to a co-worker whose husband has ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) and is expected to die within a couple of weeks. He has lost all use of his body except above his neck, so he can still talk and eat. But he’s confined to a wheelchair and basically needs around-the-clock care. My co-worker told me today that her husband told her, “I’m ready to stop fighting. I’m ready to go.” And my co-worker said that she is ready to let him go. “I never thought I’d be giving up,” she said.

But it helps that he’s ready. And what has pulled them through this all is their faith and their unwavering trust that God continues to bless them in the midst of this incredibly difficult trial. My co-worker talks about how they were able to get the wheelchair-accessible van that they wanted–at a lower price than expected–or how a neighbor came to visit JUST when my co-worker needed to go somewhere, but still needed someone to watch her husband. She cited several occasions where she felt God provided for them at just the right time–and it is those times that pull them through all this.

It’s simply incredible to see her positive attitude, yet you know she is hurting but ready to accept what is to come. She doesn’t know how she really will react when it happens, but she is ready for it. I keep thinking how difficult it must be, to be married to someone for 27 years and to watch them deteriorate before your eyes over the last two years, and to know that they will die much sooner than you expected. What happened to growing old together?

And then I think that even with only three years with Matt, I would be devastated if something like this happened to him–and how much harder it would be if we were together for 27 years? I don’t know how she does it, but it really makes me thankful for each day that I have with Matt. Despite my outbursts and complaints at times about how mauh-faun marriage (and Matt) can be at times, I am truly thankful for him and love him so much.

(BTW, tomorrow is my two-year anniversary at World Vision and this week marks our two-year anniversary here in the Emerald City! Whoo-hoo!)

“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.” I have to be honest and say I’m a pretty loud gong right now. There’s a layer of nasty yellow crud–possibly cooking oil–caked at the bottom of my Ninja Turtle cup and it’s been sitting there overnight. I’m trying to get it out without having to use a sponge or stick my fingers down there, and my thoughts are far from loving right now.

(Wordpress tells you when someone else has linked your blog to theirs, and apparently, this website has my previous post on their site…)