On waiting

"But do not let this one fact escape your notice, beloved,

that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day.

The Lord is not slow about his promise..."


2 Peter 3:8-9

Makin' it work

I am not planning to recap Project Runway this season - although there appears to be NO shortage of bizarre characters - but let's just talk real quick about last night.

First off, I miss Bravo. I know that the show is the same, etc, etc, but Bravo is cool and trendy and fabulous, and Lifetime is the home of movies that I watch on the couch when I'm sick. For what it's worth, I also miss New York City and Parsons, although I'm sure FIDM student Lauren Conrad is pleased about the move to LA.

Also, did the challenge seem a bit vanilla? A red carpet look and a $200 budget? Where was the trip to the grocery store? The race across Bryant Park? An insanely small budget or major plot twist? The task at hand was rather boring to me, which made the lack of quality that came out of it even more disappointing.

Heidi and Tim are still my favorites. Michael and Nina Gaarrrcia never disappoint, either. Lindsay Lohan, while looking strung out and spray tanned, actually impressed me with her strong point of views, although i just about DIED when Qristyl (actually her name - I didn't just decide to run my finger down the top row of my keyboard) said that her red carpet dress would be worn by someone like Miley or Lindsay to the VMAs. LiLo's deadpan face was priceless.

This season was cast for the first time by the folks who cast Real World, and oh. my. gosh., can't you tell? Whereas in the past, it takes a good 3-4 weeks to master all of the characters - and they are characters, because there's no way real people like this exist in the world - and remember who they are, I think that every single person last night made a unique impression in some way. I'm concerned about the level of talent, though, because it seems that personality took precedence over skill and/or taste. We'll see how it goes... I have no doubt that it will be plenty entertaining, but will we really get the next Christian Siriano?

Nevertheless, some of the most memorable crazies of the night were...

• Johnny, the ex-crystal meth addict. I use "ex" in the loosest of ways. He made me nervous.
• Malvin, the creepy androgynous dude (I think he's a dude?) with the out of control hair. He also made me nervous.
• Ari, who doesn't sketch and instead does handstands while dreaming of space/soccer ball diaper dresses.

On another note, there are actually two designers from Charleston and one from Savannah - I hope the South represents! Although based on Carol Hannah (now that's a Southern double-name if I've ever heard one)'s ramblings on being blond and Southern and stereotyped and then forgetting what she was saying mid-sentence, my expectations are rather low.

For all my complaining, I'm still super excited about the season, as the bones are the same and it's one of my all-time favorite shows. We'll make it work.

Auf wiedersehen!

Just another day at the office

Coworker AB welcomed new employee LT to his team by sending a company-wide email. His email ended with the following:

Sadly, her facebook profile is set to secret agent status so I can’t find a picture of her, so here’s what she might look like if that Microsoft Clippy thing drew her:

OK. I know AB is a boy, but this looks nothing like poor LT. Feeling nostalgic for the elementary school days of Microsoft Paint - and curious as to whether it really was much harder than I recalled - I set out with a test. To draw Lauren and Bethany:

Turns out, it was actually no harder than I remembered. AB just wasn't very good at it.

Bethany and Lauren quite enjoyed my drawing, but had a request: to add myself. Done and done.

Bethany, desiring to spur on some friendly inter-office competition, forwarded above picture to AB. The following email chain ensued:

AB: Wow… that’s actually recognizable.

Jamie: I do think that your use of the spray can for freckles was quite genius. I can’t speak to anything else.

AB: I think this means war...

Game on, AB.

But unfortunately, I was quite busy and didn't have the time to craft a Van Gogh-esque portrait. So I did the next best thing. An AB-esque portrait.

To which AB replied,

Yes. That's blood streaming down my face. If you zoom in, you'll see little blue tears, too.

Just another day at the office.

Chakah

If you've been reading my blog since the beginning of the year, you know that I declared 2009 The Year of Hope. Since January, I've been digging into what biblical hope is. I've learned that hope is a confident expectation. I've learned that hope is knowing relief will arise. I've learned that our hope is found in Christ alone.

I also learned that to hope is to wait. Well, I thought I learned that. In actuality, though, I scratched the surface of the lesson in my brain but was not prepared to learn the lesson in my life.

I have to be honest. I think on a certain level, I thought that by casually studying hope, I might change rather quickly, or that something miraculously hopeful would pop up immediately. Like, in February. Oh me of little faith! I forgot that, most likely, God was going to ask me to wait patiently in hope as I let the truth seep down all the way to the depths of my heart.

And so my study on hope has turned into a study on waiting, although I know the two are one and the same. So I am waiting. And waiting...and waiting. Waiting for God to do a new thing. For him to answer a few very specific prayers. For him to refresh, to heal and restore. I'm waiting.

This brings us to Hebrew lesson #2.

We've already discussed QAVAH, one of the Hebrew words for WAIT that also means "to hope for, to look eagerly, to expect with intensity." But there are two other Hebrew words that are translated as "wait" in English - DANAM, which means "to become silent and still" (found in Psalm 37:7 - "Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him"), and CHAKAH, which means "to wait or to long for." Chakah expresses a burning desire, a longing for something you want desperately.

Chakah is found in the following verses:

Isaiah 30:18

"Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;

he rises to show you compassion.

For the Lord is a God of justice.

Blessed are all who wait for him!"

Note: Both "long" in the first line and "wait" in the last line are the Hebrew word chakah.

Psalm 33:20

"Our soul waits for the Lord;

he is our help and our shield."

Interesting. One type of waiting is leaning forward in anticipation and hope. Another type of waiting is just being quiet before the Lord. And a third type - chakah - is intrinsically tied with longing.

Beth Moore made an interesting note on this in our Esther Bible study two weeks ago. In referencing Isaiah 30:18, she commented, "It's not a wait without a longing; otherwise, it's just a passing of time." I've never thought about it that way, but isn't it true? They say a watched pot never boils, but that's not exactly the case. It eventually boils - it just feels like it takes 2 hours instead of 2 minutes! Such is the case with waiting in our lives.

The hope is found, though, in a key truth in that same verse, Isaiah 30:18. Because not only are we chakah'ing - God himself is chakah'ing too. Let that sink into your soul as you wait, as you long. The Lord above, sovereign over all creation, who "does whatever pleases him" (Ps 135:6), is also longing and waiting. And as Beth Moore said, "If He's waiting, then there's something that the waiting is for."

So, dear friend, as you wait on the Lord... waiting on him to hear your plea, crying out with a burning desire, longing for him to answer your prayer, begging him for that thing you want desperately, chakah'ing... remember that he's longing, too. His heart, in all its sovereign glory, is aching for the day when all will be restored and his plan will be revealed. He longs to comfort you, to show you compassion, to do the very thing you are praying like crazy that he will do. But if today is not the day, then there is a purpose for your waiting. Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt.

Rest in hope... danam.

Lean forward with great, hopeful expectation... qavah.

And have hope that, in your deepest longing, the Lord is longing too. As you wait, remember that he knows the plans he has for you, and that they are plans to prosper you. To give you a hope and a future (Jer 29:11).

Have hope in your longing... chakah.

I Wish I Was in Dixie

There are exactly four cities in the United States that my heart aches for on rotation: New York, Atlanta, Nashville and Athens. Don't get me wrong, I love to travel to other cities, love to vacation and visit, love to experience their cultures, their restaurants, their beaches, their monuments, their streets, their music. But these four are the ones I love. Some days, I'm in New York and am dying to be in Nashville. Others, I'm homesick for Atlanta. And Lord knows there were plenty of Georgia days when I ached for the Manhattan skyline.

But today, my heart is longing for Athens.

Athens. There are all kinds of T-shirt sayings that are spinning around in my head right now... things about living a good life and going to Athens when you die... things about Athens getting in your blood and never being the same... things about the best five or six years of your life. Athens. The classic city. The promised land. The best college town in America. Home of Sanford Stadium, The Grit and R.E.M. Athens, with her green North Campus, rows of sorority houses, and Arch that stands tall. Mexicali, Son's, Jittery Joe's, The Grill, Snelling. Georgia Theatre and the 40 Watt.

I spent four glorious years in Athens, living everywhere from a tiny dorm room in Brumby to a Southern mansion on Milledge Ave to a little yellow house with glass doorknobs, hardwood floors and a washing machine on the back porch. I walked to class. I went to date nights and sang "Dixieland Delight." I stayed up all night studying at Waffle House. I developed the richest friendships, grew exponentially in my faith, made the happiest memories, and, somewhere in there, even got a degree.

And I went to football games.

I am quite certain that there is nothing like a fall Saturday in Athens. (That's probably on the back of a T-shirt somewhere, too.) Crisp fall air...or blazing heat or freezing rain, depending on who we're playing. Seas of fans in red and black, with the girls in Sunday best and the boys in red pants and bow ties. Tents, grills, big screen TVs, sweet tea. Pick-up trucks blasting country music and old recordings of Larry Munson.

The action between the hedges. Uga trotting around and laying on his bag of ice. Players fighting through blood, sweat and tears in silver britches. The trumpet blasting the Battle Hymn. Munson's iconic voice reading, "Glory, glory to ole Georgia." Clips playing of Dooley winning the National Championship and Richt winning the SEC title. Even spelling "Georgia" at halftime. The Redcoat band playing, with the tuba section bomping to "Tara's Theme." The excitement of the first touchdown. The devastation of losing to your biggest rival. The hopes that this year will finally be the year.

There is nothing like it on the whole planet.

So, with 18 days left until the first game of the season - which I will be watching from a bar in New York with a sea of Georgia fans-turned-New Yorkers - I am aching, yearning, wishing, longing to be in Athens. Home of my alma mater. Best college town in America. Classic city. Promised land.

Summer, sand and salad

Yesterday was sticky sweet. Crazy humid. A dead of summer heat wave. I went to the beach with friends all day and came back sun-kissed and tired, sandy and salty.

Roommate Hannah recently loaned me Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg. It's really one of the most lovely books I've ever read, and I can't recommend it highly enough. Molly has a really charming writing style, but the most magical thing about this book is that it's actually making me want to cook. (Well, that, and Julie & Julia.)

So last night, blazing hot in New York City, Hannah and I decided to be homemade like Molly. We showered off the heat, went to the grocery store, and bought our ingredients. We returned home, cranked the Frank Sinatra and Harry Connick, Jr, and set the oven for 400 degrees.

It was fun, and our finished product was delicious. We gobbled it up in ecstasy while watching the season premiere of Mad Men, and we were devasted when our plates were clean. I think I can confidently say that the dish we prepared is my favorite thing I've ever cooked...but then again, we all know how short that list is.

So without further adieu, please enjoy Molly Wizenberg's recipe for Bread Salad with Cherries, Arugula, and Goat Cheese.


This isn't so much a recipe as a formula. It's the kind of thing you bang together on a summer day when you happen to have some ripe cherries and a hunk of chewy, day-old artisan bread. It's so simple that you don't really need precise quantities, although I will give you some to start with. From there, just taste and tweak to your own palate.

• 6 ounces rustic white bread, preferably day-old
• Olive oil
• 1/2 pound cherries, preferably Bing, halved and pitted
• 1/8 teaspoon pressed or crushed garlic
• Balsamic vinegar
• Salt
• Arugula
• Fresh goat cheese, coarsely crumble
• Black pepper

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Using a sharp knife, trim the crust from the bread, and discard the crust. Tear the bread into rough bite-sized pieces. You should have about 4 loosely packed cups' worth. Dump the bread out onto a rimmed baking sheet, and drizzle it with olive oil. Toss to coat. Don't worry if the pieces aren't evenly oiled; that's okay. Bake until crispy and golden in spots, shaking the pan once, 8 to 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, put about one-third of the cherries in a small bowl, and crush them lightly with a fork, so that they release their juices. You don't want to mash them completely; just smash them a bit.

When the bread is nicely toasted, turn it out into a large bowl. While it is still hot, add the garlic, and toss well. Set aside to cool for a minute or two. Then add the cherries, both the smashed ones and the not-smashed ones, and toss. Add 2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar and toss again. Add 1 tablespoon olive oil and a pinch or two of salt and toss again. Taste, and adjust the vinegar, oil, and salt as needed: if you taste the bread and the cherries separately, they should each taste good alone. When you're satisfied with the flavor, add about 2 handfuls of arugula and toss one last time. Finish with a generous amount of crumbled goat cheese and a few grinds of the pepper mill, and serve.

Southern Charm

My mom recently mailed me an article from Southern Living entitled, "15 Ways to Charm Her" with subtitle, "Want to impress a Southern girl? Just think, 'What would my grandfather have done?'

(click image to enlarge)

Let me just say, y'all, I love everything about this article. From killing bugs to fixing things to wearing boots to pulling out chairs, Southern Living really hit the nail on the head. But my favorite by far is tip #2...

[TWO] Know that the SEC has the best football teams in the nation. Big 12 fan? Hmm, perhaps you should keep walking.

That's right. Glory glory to ole Georgia!

Traditional

I love traditions. In fact, love may not be a strong enough word. Am obsessed with seems more appropriate.

So yes, I am obsessed with traditions. Mostly, I like to think of this as a good thing. I like making memories. I like consistency. I like to know what to expect. I think that traditions are special, and homey, and comforting.

However, like with all obsessions, sometimes I'm obnoxious about tradition. I get kind of emotional and freaky if even the smallest, mundane tradition is not adhered to. Like the year when my mom politely suggested that we have Christmas breakfast in the kitchen instead of the dining room, and I replied with a tantrum that went something like, "We're not having Christmas breakfast in the dining room?!?! WE ALWAYS HAVE CHRISTMAS BREAKFAST IN THE DINING ROOM!!!!!!"

Nevertheless, with a smidge of reason and a dash of flexibility, I think my love obsession for tradition is generally well-received and appreciated by my friends and family...I hope.

So here are a list of a few traditions - some old, some new, some that I have just now decided will be traditions - for our annual friends' beach trip, which I suppose has become a tradition in and of itself:

• Suzanne's guacamole. The best ever.
• A lingerie shower and bachelorette party for at least one person. Seriously.
• Eating at the Red Bar in Grayton Beach
• Playing movie Pictionary
• A late-night trip to Wal-Mart
• Breakfast the last morning at Broken Egg Cafe. We always share an "appetizer" of Bananas Foster French Toast.
• Taco night, also directed by Suz
• Dinner at the Crab Trap
• Black Cherry Fresca
• Evening hot tub field trip
• Massive bowls of Puppy Chow

I recognize that well over half of these traditions are food-related. Perhaps we should add in some traditions like "Daily morning jog on the beach" or "Water aerobics with Jen."

Phrase of the day

esprit d'escalier

esprit d'escalier (e-SPREE des-kal-i-YE) noun, also l'esprit de l'escalier (les-PREED les-kal-i-YE)

A French phrase that literally means "staircase wit," esprit d'escalier is "the sense of thinking of a clever comeback in an encounter when it is too late. The phrase can be used to describe a riposte to an insult, or any witty, clever remark that comes to mind too late to be useful—when one is on the 'staircase' leaving the scene of the encounter."

Back to reality

I spent the last five days on vacation with my best friends from college. We lazed on the beach, ate ridiculous amounts of puppy chow and laughed a whole lot, among many other things.

More blogs and pictures to follow, but for now, enjoy a few photos from my new QuadCamera iPhone app.

A story of hope

This is a story of hope.

This is also a story about two journalists who trespassed and were taken captive. Sentenced to 12 years in a labor prison. Separated from their families for 140 days.

But it's mostly a story of hope.

A story of never giving up. A story about fighting the good fight. A story of being rescued from captivity and restored to a life of freedom. A story of knowing that, against all odds, you belong to a greater story that will, that must, that has to prevail.

This is also story of amnesty, which is what Laura Ling thanked the North Korean goverment for granting her and Euna Lee.

Amnesty. From the Greek word amnestia (the same root as amnesia), amnesty is a legislative or executive act by which a state restores those who may have been guilty of an offense against it to the positions of innocent persons. It includes more than a pardon, in as much as it obliterates all legal remembrance of the offense.

Amnesty. A word bursting with hope.

Never forget. We were once captives, enslaved by sin. We were hopeless. We were in a foreign land. We were separated from the one who loved us most. We deserved death.

But we have been granted amnesty in Christ Jesus. We have been restored. We are guilty no more, and

there

is

now

no

condemnation.

(Rom 8:1)

We are pardoned, and as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us (Ps 103:12).

Never forget your story of pardon. Your story of rescue. Your story of amnesty. Your story of hope.

"The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners..."

Isa 61:1

Mad Men Yourself

Have you MadMen'd yourself yet?

Here I am giving a presentation at Sterling Cooper, presumably to the Playtex client on Jackies and Marilyns. I am armed with blue eyeshadow, a newspaper and a martini, because why not? It's the '60's. And an imaginary cartoon.

p.s. SO EXCITED for the Mad Men premiere next Sunday!

Follow that Chick-fil-A

Yesterday I had to travel to Philadelphia for work. It's a 2 1/2 drive there, so coworkers and I rented cars and headed out to the City of Brotherly Love. I set out with the intentions of finding Bachelor Reid and somehow striking up a conversation/relationship/marriage with him while there, but for some reason, none of that happened.

Instead, I got a treat that's probably just behind finding my soulmate. As my coworker and I drove up I-95 (in a pick-up truck while listening to country music, mind you), I got the bright idea to find a Chick-fil-A. Fortunately for me, Taylor used to live in Atlanta and got on board IMMEDIATELY. Making good use of our iPhones, we promptly got off at our exit, Google Mapped directions from "Current Location" to the nearest Chick-fil-A, and followed the call of that little red bubble that was emanating from the QuakerBridge Mall in Lawrenceville, NJ.

As we sat in the food court eating our #1 combos with sweet tea (!), Taylor asked what I miss most about living in Atlanta. I said 1) family and friends, 2) Chick-fil-A and 3) going to Athens to football games in the fall. Maybe my excitement caused me to exaggerate where Chick-fil-A falls on that list...but I don't think so.

Summertime is finally here

This summer has been flying by. Flying. I know everyone says it, and I probably say it every year too, but this one really seems to be stuck on fast forward. How did it get so late so soon? I think for me, it's mostly because it monsooned through all of June, and I had guests in town through all of July. In a way, my regular, routined, hot, humid summer felt like it started when August rolled around. Which was yesterday.

In an effort to grab summer by the horns, I marked August 1 with a lovely mini-vacay. Six great friends and I woke up early Saturday morning and high-tailed it to Penn Station, where we caught a train out to the Jersey Shore. (Note: I have never traveled anywhere via Penn Station when I was not breathlessly sprinting to the track. Something about that chaotic little land practically forces you to be just 30 seconds away from missing your train out of the city. Always.)

But, by the hair of our chinny chin chins, we all seven made it on the same train, in the same car. We sipped our iced coffee and reminisced about sorority and fraternity life - which, by the way, when you recount the tales of rush and cooks and houses and rituals, sounds RIDICULOUS - and got out to the sand by 11am. From there we soaked up the sun, wandered into Pier Village for lunch, and snoozed. We also got attacked by a rising tide, which was, um, refreshing?

After 6 hours on the beach, we took our sun kissed (or sunburned, depending on who you asked) selves back into town for dinner. We ate tacos and guac at a little Hawaiian restaurant, and then perched ourselves on a pier to people watch. A few of us even attempted to sneak into a wedding reception, although we were far from successful. Finally, as the sun began to set, we stopped by Carmella's - no relation to the Soprano - for some gelato. The day ended with us running (what can I say, I like symmetry) to the train station and then crashing on the ride home... delirious from the sun, exhausted, rosy-cheeked, bellies full of ice cream, laughing hysterically.

Now that finally sounds like summer has arrived.

"Summertime is finally here

That old ballpark, man, is back in gear

Out on 49

Man I can see the lights

School's out and the nights roll in

Man, just like a long lost friend

You ain't seen in awhile

And can't help but smile"

Kenny Chesney

(because every summer song is by Kenny Chesney)