A book in a weekend - that good!

One of my favorite features of Amazon, and my Kindle, is that I can send first chapters of books to it for free. Right now? I have over 100 first chapters waiting there for me. Will I read most of these books? Probably not. But I do like looking them over from time to time, finding something interesting I'd heard or read about, and rediscovering it. Occasionally I buy the book, and more often than not, I delete the first chapter. It's kind of like browsing in the bookstore but I get to do it in bed or on the couch.

This weekend I had had enough of the week. The news, the bombings, Angela being sick and me being able to do nothing about it, query letters sent back unopened, et cetera. So as I laid in bed Thursday night I flicked on the Kindle and noticed a first chapter I had sent just a few days earlier: Nia Vardalos's Instant Mom. I'd heard about the book first on Twitter, where several of my favorite writers lauded the memoir of Vardalos' experience making it in Hollywood and adopting a little girl. I was intrigued. I loved My Big Fat Greek Wedding (yes, there's a DVD copy on my shelf) and the fact that she was nominated for an Academy Award for writing the screenplay. Love that.

So Thursday night I started reading that first chapter of Instant Mom and couldn't stop. Then I got upset because I didn't have enough money in my Amazon account to buy the whole book. (Yes, I know you can link a credit card to the account and no, I don't want to. I use gift cards only. Even if I have to buy them myself which I did on Friday.)

So Friday night I started reading again. And I read for two and a half hours. I read until my eyes were red and blurry and I could barely keep them open. And then Saturday? I finished the book. But I didn't just read the book. I felt the book. I sobbed opening for about 45 minutes Saturday as I read of her getting her daughter and learning how to take care of her (which sounds excruciating and exciting and wonderful all at once). I grinned as I read about her daughter finally choosing her own name and deciding that she was home to stay. And when I finished the book I thought about how open and honest and interesting the story had been. (And just a little bit about how much I want to work with Vardalos.)

Is it a book about adoption? Yes. Is it a book about Hollywood? Yes. Is it a book about perseverance and patience? God yes.

I often think about how my family and friends see me. What they think of me and how they must shake their heads in confusion at my choices and life. I was never the traditional Midwestern girl I saw all around me growing up. I didn't marry right out of college or have a baby right out of high school. I went to grad school and then grad school again. I took jobs, sometimes three or four at a time, that didn't pay well (or sometimes at all) because I loved the experiences. I loved teaching and writing and having time to explore life.

Do I regret some of my choices? I don't know. If I did, it would mean I wasn't a happy person, and I didn't believe I was exactly where I am supposed to be this very minute. If I did, it would mean I regretted so much more than just those choices, that I regretted the outcomes and the consequences.

As I read Vardalos' story I kept thinking about my own life and how much I want things other people have. How much I want a loving caring husband, like she has. How much I want children and a career and well, just everything. But then I realize how much she had to struggle to get there. How much we all have to struggle to get here or there or wherever we are. And as I wiped the tears, oh, they were such happy tears for her and her family, I felt peace. As I closed the book (powered down), I said a prayer for her family and for my own. For where she started and went, I will take a cue and follow. I will forge my own way, my own path, my own life. And it will be amazing. Just like hers.

UPDATE: I tweeted a link to my blog Monday morning. I included Vardalos' twitter handle in my message so she'd see my tweet. This is the response she tweeted back:

"We're even, you made me cry too. RT @sarahlknapp how much I freakin' loved #InstantMom. LOVED. #myblog" -- and she linked to my blog.

Love that!

A bowl full of love...

This Christmas morning the grandneighbors, Emma and Lucy (and Jack, but being a baby, he's still a little less active in these interactions), gave Mom, Dad, Angela and I our gifts and excitedly watched as we opened them. I had an inkling of what was inside as their mom had quizzed me a week earlier as to what my parents' favorite kinds of cereal were. Here's what was in the boxes:

The personalized bowls with their little handwriting and drawings, made specifically for each one of us. How much did we love that? Oh, there was also cereal too - but that's long gone now.

I took these pictures last week. Angela and I, Mom and Dad, had used the bowls for over three months. And then one day I left mine in the sink all day and the blue marker on the bottom started coming off on a plate. So it was time to recycle them. But not forget them.

Love drawn with little hands.

Living the NBA Dream

We all know the stories of how this actor or that actress became an overnight success. How Mark Zuckerberg founded Facebook in his free time at Harvard. How some people just figure out or get it figured out for them very quickly. That has not now nor ever happened to me.

I went to college to be a journalist. Well, really, I didn't know what I wanted to be but I knew I loved to write. Well, I take that back. I didn't know I loved it. I just did it. It was part of who I was. Since before I can remember, I have been filling notebooks with words. Long rambling stories. Short, not very good poems. And then in college I started writing nonfiction. I took a personal writing course where we wrote about ourselves. That led to me being published, for the first time ever, in a real newspaper. Not a college paper, a paper that you buy on the street out of the box for fifty cents. Then I took assignments for the college paper and started back in with the fiction classes, this time more disciplined and purposeful. By the time I left college I had part of a screenplay typed out and half of a novel. The screenplay I would go on to finish, the novel, not so much.

Then I took a few years to move through life. I gathered experiences, both good and bad, so I'd have something to write about though I wasn't aware of this at the time. I went to grad school and started teaching. I wrote professionally for newspapers and magazines. I moved to Mexico, er Arizona, and then to Los Angeles. I finished that first screenplay and got some positive feedback and then even more negative feedback. Then I wrote two movies in less than ten months. The spark had taken hold, the fire was lit. There was no turning back now.

It's been almost eighteen years since I graduated from high school and started seriously studying writing and seriously putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. Eighteen years. And many people ask, what do I have to show for it?

Well.

Um.

Yeah.

When I first moved to L.A. I heard someone say in a class or lecture that becoming a screenwriter is like becoming a professional basketball player. There are only so many spots, it's really freaking hard to get a tryout and then you have to fight to stay on the team, much less on top. That analogy stayed with me. I want to play in the NBA and a day of my life hasn't gone by in four and a half years that I haven't thought about it, planned for it, dreamed about it, worked for it, prayed for it, and knew somewhere inside of me that I just wasn't cut out for it. Some days the positive side wins, other days it doesn't.

There have been moments of hope. When someone reads my work and talks to me about it, tells me she likes it or it's funny. When I make an industry contact or feel like I've written a good query letter. When I get replied to or retweeted by someone I consider famous on Twitter (yes, to me, an executive producer on Community is famous). When I come up with a really good story idea (looking at you female baseball team owner script) or finish a spec script that I'm particularly proud of (looking at you Modern Family and Big Bang specs).

There have also been moments of utter sadness and despair. These are experienced mostly by myself, or Angela or occasionally my parents and writers' group. This is not the face I want to put out there to the world or Facebook. You will never see me write a status update talking about how much my life sucks. Because it doesn't. Yes, I have written bad scripts (see first script ever written) and have bad ideas (construction worker who inherits family wedding planning business, you might have been one of them - the jury's still out). But guess what? Those are so 'first world problems'. For almost five years I have been writing. That is my job. To be a writer. Just like those NBA-wannabes who spend their days shooting free throws and doing layups. My job is to practice. Practice practice practice. And I do.

I've met many self-proclaimed writers in Los Angeles who don't have a finished script to show me or even talk about. That baffles me. Or when people say they've written a script. As in one. One single script. I just don't get it. Time and time again I hear screenwriters say they wrote ten or twenty scripts before they hit it. And I believe them. I believe them when they say they've written fifty drafts of the same TV pilot. Why do I believe them? Because that's what I've done. That's what I'm doing. I have a solid portfolio of nine scripts at the moment. Nine. Yes. Nine. Nine scripts I would be comfortable handing to anyone who asked to see them. Friends. Showrunners. Directors. Producers.

And so that is how, when my friend Sonora told me this winter that she was looking to produce a sitcom pilot next year, I got the job. Yes, it's true, we're friends. But we've also worked together when I was a Production Assistant (PA) on her webseries last year. And when she asked to see samples of my writing before she even brought up the sitcom venture, I emailed her my entire portfolio. I showed her what I could do, I didn't just tell her.

So that's my big, little, medium-sized, whatever you want to call it, announcement. I am writing (well, I am making notes at the moment, the writing will happen soon) a sitcom that is on track to be produced. And no, I don't want to make a mountain out of a molehill. There are no contracts, there are no sure things here, there usually aren't in this city. But there are plans and hopes and dreams. There is the real possibility that in a year's time, my words will come out of the mouth's of actors on a soundstage somewhere in this city. And to me? That is freaking unbelievable. Truly.

Tuesday I was driving north toward my house, about two blocks away from home, with a car full of groceries. I was thinking about the meeting Sonora and I had had two hours earlier when I saw it. The Hollywood sign. I see it almost every day from a distance but the luster has worn off. When I first moved here it was exciting and now it's become common. But Tuesday, when I turned onto my cul-de-sac, I almost had to pull over the car. I was just smiling, staring at the sign and thinking, well, this wasn't the plan but it'll do. It'll do just fine.

What was the plan? Sell a movie right away. Get a Nicholls Fellowship and write the next masterpiece. Then it was get a staff job on a TV show or become Aaron Sorkin's assistant. Maybe PA on a show or become an assistant director. Honestly? There never was a plan. I'm a writer, I figured I'd make it up as I went. And so far? I guess I'm doing okay. Especially when I think about that soundstage and what's going to happen on it a year from now.

Dinosaurs!

I had a hard time remembering what it's like back in Michigan but I don't think there are as many billboards there as there are here. Here in Los Angeles there are billboards everywhere. Digital, regular, moving (buses and cabs), et cetera. And so, when a movie's going to come out in say, three or four months, by two weeks into the ad campaign I'm usually sick of the billboards and ready not to ever see those actors or that tag line again (I'm looking at you Tom Cruise or Bruce Willis who are everywhere in my neighborhood and have been since I moved here five years ago). But, a month or so a new, giant billboard on Highland Avenue (the street with all the palm trees that everyone thinks is representative of all of Hollywood, it is not). And I did a double take. Jurassic Park. Yes. Jurassic Park. Not number four or five or whatever is next. Not for a ride at Universal's theme park just up the road. Not for a new fragrance (come on, you know they pitched it). But for the movie. The original. The anniversary release.

And not just any anniversary. The twentieth anniversary.

I did some mental math. Could it be true? Could I have been in high school when it originally came out? Yes. And did I want to see a movie that was twenty years old in the theater, now, two decades past? Yes. Yes. Yes.

I'm not a huge scary movie buff (though, I have been turned into a Walking Dead fan but it's true, I hide my eyes when I hear walkers coming). But I love a good thriller. And I love a good adventure tale. And back in the early nineties, I was a huge Michael Crichton fan. I read all his novels. I was in love with ER from that very first minute of the pilot. And I remember reading Jurassic Park the summer it came out in paperback and being scared to death. Yep. I had nightmares. I dreamed that baby raptors were eating human babies in their cribs (you're welcome for that image - it's haunted me for over TWENTY YEARS). And I remember waking up in my bed, in my old room, in the heat of the summer, and feeling my heart race and being terrified because the dinosaurs were killing us. That's some good writing.

However, I also remember finishing the last page of the book, closing it, and smiling to myself thinking, okay, it's over. They can't get me. (And if you read the book, you'll know why.) That's quite a book. That's quite a writer.

So Saturday Angela and I headed to Burbank to catch an early morning (10am) screening of Jurassic Park 3-D on IMAX. I was so excited. I haven't seen the movie in years but I knew I'd love it. And? I did. It was like hearing a song you haven't heard in forever but still knowing all the words and loving the melody and being able to jump right in and keep up with the beat without any problem whatsoever. Though I didn't remember salient plot points or key supporting characters, I knew the story. And what was great was being surprised all over again. How cool is that? That a twenty year old film can surprise and delight and scare us so much?

The theater was packed, there were audible gasps and utterances of surprise throughout the movie, and at the end? Applause. Wild applause. I love that. I love that an author created this world that does not exist and that filmmakers were able to create it. And that the movie still holds up so well. I love that.

No more blank pages

Two weeks ago today Angela and I flew to Vancouver, Canada. Not my first trip to Canada, for sure, but something was special about this particular venture. Because we were flying, we got our passports stamped! I cannot tell you how exciting this is. Angela and I applied for our passports about eight years ago, around the time the U.S. and Canada decided a driver's license wouldn't be sufficient to cross the border. See we have family across the border and head over once or twice a year usually. But...they don't stamp your passports. They scan them, look at them, and send you on your way. Blank pages in tact.

The same goes for Mexico. Once Angela and I moved to Yuma, Arizona (aka basically Mexico) we spent many Saturdays or 195 degree summer days crossing the border into Algodones, Mexico or some other border town to have lunch, cheap margaritas, buy cigarettes for Marine friends stationed oversees, etc. Then we'd wait in line to walk back over (we drove once, only once) and flash our passports but still no stamps. Not even when we asked.

But two weeks ago that all changed, we got stamps after waiting in customs for about half an hour to exit the Vancouver airport! How exciting! And then Saturday morning? We woke up to the gorgeous view at the top of the page. The view from our cousin Doris' condo. Amazing.

We spent three full days in Vancouver, flying in Friday night and back out Tuesday morning. The flights were luxurious compared to what we're used to. Two seat rows, so no one was stuck in the middle, free movies (this year's Oscar nominees and movies still not out on Netflix!) and TV shows (um, yes, I did watch three episodes of The Mindy Project thank you very much), and very very pleasant people. So basically, I only want to fly Canada Air into Vancouver when I travel anymore.

Then Saturday we headed out for three full days of sightseeing. And I mean full. We hit the suspension bridge, the aquarium, parks, bays, harbors, museums, markets, shops, restaurants, taverns, pubs, and a few more restaurants. I had some amazing British Colombian wine, some locally made shortbread cookies that were amazing and some grape bread that I'm okay with not ever having again. Oh yeah, and I ate duck for what may be the first time ever. And loved it. And there was live music playing as I ate sitting in a giant leather chair. Very cool.

Basically, we had the best time ever in Vancouver. We played in the snow and picnicked outside. We wore mittens and went in our shirtsleeves. It never rained once (people don't believe me when I say this but it's true) and the skies were so blue I was sure we were in a movie. Oh yeah, we saw them filming something downtown Van. (Van is how the cool people refer to Vancouver I found out by eavesdropping. But I'll use it sparingly.) Also? We got to hang out with our cousin Doris for five days. How great is that? We all got to be tourists and take wine breaks in the afternoon and go to bed early and get up early and explore and talk and just enjoy each others' company. Pretty much what all vacations should be. I can't wait to do it again. Soon.

A little more conversation

This morning I wound my way north and pulled my car into the lot at Hollywood UMC as I do many Tuesday mornings. I went inside, deposited my donations (three heavy bags of books cleaned off the shelves last week during spring cleaning, a sparkling tank top that never did fit as well as I'd hoped, and a pair of well loved and well worn Converse) and jumped right into sorting clothes, moving bins of food and passing out numbers to our guests in line. A typical day though the crowd was much smaller than normal.

Through all of the morning's preparations I talked with my fellow volunteers, said hello to church employees and even gave the nickel tour to a new HUMC attendee/volunteer and her mom. I talked about the weather, baseball (I had my new orange Detroit Tigers shirt on), whether or not the donations to be put out were appropriate for this time of year, and how a former HUMC member and his husband had sent us three boxes of hand lotion (a wonderful surprise and well liked by many guests today).

The point? That I talked. I talked and I talked and I talked. I had quick conversations and longer ones. I laughed over jokes and the hoodie some caring individual had made into a vampire costume then donated. And then when our guests arrived? I talked some more -- but this time, mostly about whether or not the deodorant was scented, whether they wanted black or white socks, and whether or not the light brown pudding might be tiaramisu flavor. There weren't too many laughs or conversations that lasted over two sentences. And yet...

As I left the church this afternoon I left my phone in my pocket and looked around. I didn't check to see if I had missed any important calls (nope) or emails (nope again). I noticed that with the very balmy weather (70 and sunny at noon) today, people had stuck around. The church steps were covered with men enjoying their sack lunches and women chattering to each other in languages I don't understand. And to my left? One of our volunteers, who had never actually come in the building today, was still standing with a guest, reading with him from a book. They were deep in conversation yet took a minute to say goodbye when I waved and called out. I love that she spent her time today standing outside and chatting people up while helping with crowd control. I love that.

So I headed to my car but as I passed the front steps of the church I heard a "Hey" shouted in my direction. I turned and headed back. A few guys I had just served were enjoying their lunch. One, who I've known about five years, asked very conversationally, "Someone said North Korea is declaring war on us, is that true?" There was no preamble to this conversation, just a simple question, one I might have been asked an hour before by another volunteer. And so I answered. I told him what I'd heard on the news and read in today's Times. He talked about the book of Revelation a bit and laughed when I said we sent a boat over to take care of things. The guy next to him mentioned that I had it right with my shirt and then saluted me and all women for finding the most gold in the country. I really don't know what he meant but I played along, bowed, and thanked him. The other guy played along too and said he'd be on the lookout for my gold. It was the most I had ever talked to these guys in the five years I've been serving, and I have to say, I loved it.

I loved it because it was real conversation. Not just people with their heads down, on their phones, moving through life without touching or affecting one another. It was people interjecting and making assumptions and asking questions and it was real. True. Even the guy a few steps down who shouted in my direction, "Why do some guys sleep with other guys?" I answered honestly that I don't really know, that they must enjoy it. He nodded and went back to his banana, adding that some people made fun of him when he ate bananas. Are some of the people I meet on Tuesdays a little confused or overwhelmed or even unhinged? Yes. The conversations don't always make sense or follow a linear thought pattern. But guess what? Some of the conversations I have with people I meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays are the same. And it's all still part of the human experience, of my experience.

These guys today just wanted a moment to connect. And guess what? So did I. I enjoyed standing there and shooting the breeze and then waving goodbye as I drove past a moment later. I enjoyed hearing the poem about the woman with the beautiful eyes from the man in line to get his socks. I enjoyed being told how great my smile was by a man with one tooth first thing this morning. I enjoyed the heck out of it all.

How great is life that we get to talk to people, meet people, love people? How great is that?

Maundy Thursday

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This is the devotion I wrote for the Hollywood UMC's Lenten booklet this year:

I Corinthians 11: 23 – 26

Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took a loaf of bread; and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

Food and church have always been linked for me. I grew up attending potlucks, UMM brunches, pancake suppers, UMW salad luncheons, spaghetti fundraisers, and eating my share of funeral potatoes (cheesey potatoes with a potato chip topping that go well with funeral ham). And these meals always had the same thing in common: during them I was in community with my family. But not just my immediate family, my mother and father and sister, like a normal mealtime, but with my extended family, my church family. And this shaped me into the person I am today. It taught me that meals shared with loved ones are never just about the food. They’re also about the laughter, the tears, the arguments and the stories. They’re about sharing your life, sharing your heart. They’re about remembering what’s important in life.

Jesus knew this last supper, recounted in I Corinthians, was important. He tried to share that with His family, His disciples. Did they understand? It’s hard to really know. Do we ever understand what’s important at the time? Do we ever look around when sharing leftovers with our family or eating a burger at In and Out with friends and realize how very special this moment really is? Do we give those intimate times of community the importance they deserve? No. We eat and drink and laugh and then wash the dishes. I wonder if the disciples remembered Jesus’ wish as they cleared the dishes and washed the cups: “Do this in remembrance of me.”

As we move through the next few days, enduring Good Friday so we can get to the celebration of Easter morning, I want to remember Jesus’ words. I want to remember them whether I’m dipping my bread in the grape juice on the first Sunday of every month in worship or I’m sharing a can of soup with my sister or I’m chatting over cheeseburgers at Mel’s with friends after church. I want to remember that each meal, each moment, shapes my life, my relationship with Christ. And that His words are a reminder and a blessing.

Prayer:

Dear Lord,

Help us to remember you are with us, not just in the pews at church but at dinner tables and breakfast spots and even in our cars when we’re chugging energy drinks to make it to the next appointment. Help us to remember to remember you too.

Amen.

A Community Celebration

The Queen Anne Block Club!

Last Thursday we had our regularly scheduled Queen Anne Block Club meeting (we call it Neighborhood Watch usually but technically, we don't do patrols or run down criminals so...). We'd canceled our meeting in February because that was the week that L.A. was being terrorized by that ex-cop who was going after police officers and their families. I'd talked to our Senior Lead Officer, LAPD Officer Ruben, several times that week and we'd decided that cancelling our meeting was best because he couldn't be out without a partner and there wasn't anyone available to attend the meeting with him. Also? The police were a wee bit busy protecting each other, themselves and oh yeah, the city. So we took a break.

Our Senior Lead Officer and his Captain

It was during those conversations that Ruben told me he's getting married in March. I congratulated him and he promised he wouldn't miss our meeting. He's been engaged for a while now so this was no surprise. However, I immediately began plotting a surprise. I know I've written about my neighbors before and this harkens back to that. One thing Angela and I have thought about most when we've considered moving (and if you know our trials at Abbey Place, you know how often that is) is that we'll miss our community. We've been a part of this neighborhood watch group since day one. We know the people who come from blocks away and we only catch up once a month or once every other month. But we do catch up. We can stop and say hello at the grocery store and we can wave when we pass each other on the street. I love that. It reminds me of home.

So our surprise? A little party for Ruben's upcoming wedding, a celebration of him and the work he's done for our community. We invited his Captain and sent some emails and gathered some help from willing group members and voila! instant party!

Three layer butter cake with chocolate frosting!

We went over the usual information Thursday night. We discussed the burglaries and car thefts. We talked about the new Ross going in down the street. We talked about how the city's working to help the homeless on our street corners. Then, we had cake. We took group pictures. We passed around hugs. We laughed and chatted and just had a good night. We all stayed late and no one seemed to mind. Why? Because we're a community. And we like each other. I love that.

Bean Soup

I learned early on in life that if my family (and friends count as family) is gathered, there will be food. Sometimes there will pizza and salad and breadsticks from our favorite carryout. Sometimes there will be homemade lasagna dinners and Baked Alaskas or hams and turkeys and way too much of everything. Occasionally there will be a simple plate of cookies or bread and coffee. Always coffee (to the extent that I own a Mr. Coffee machine and I don't drink coffee daily or ever, when I'm at my house). But there's always food.

And no one was better suited at this mixture of food and family then my Grandma MacDonald. There were always Hydrox cookies in the crystal jar (similar to Oreos but different, and oddly, better when I ate them at Grandma's house) or sour cream cookies with the raisin in the middle. Or toasted cheese sandwiches after we worked in the yard. Or mixed veggies from the freezer, heated in the microwave, that went with every dinner. She always had food and I truly believe that's what brought us together a lot of the time. Family dinners. Celebrations. Long breakfasts when out-of-town guests were readying to leave for home. (Her homemade waffles were a favorite of, well, all of us.)

So last summer I asked my mom if I could have all of Grandma's recipes. Her boxes and books and papers thrown together in a folder. Some were singed from where Angela had caught the recipe book on fire once on the stove. Some were scribbled with so many notes we never did figure out which version was best. But I collected them and then spent the next six months with my Mom and Angela sorting, organizing, typing and organizing them into one book. One book we had printed and shared with family and friends at Christmas. I love the idea that Grandma's recipes (some even in her own handwriting) are sitting there on my shelf, just waiting to be used. And use I have...

The first recipe I made from the book was Grandma's bean soup. I don't remember eating it a lot when I was younger but we'd have it when there was leftover ham or it was cold for months on end and we'd already gone through the potato soup and vegetable soup recipes multiple times. So this winter I set to making bean soup.

It turns out, it's rather easy. A little prep, a little stirring and a lot of simmering. And voila! a wonderful meal that's surprisingly inexpensive (we even found a clearance piece of ham at Target! Froze half for another batch and the pot of soup became even cheaper!).

As we sat down to eat that first bowl of bean soup a few weeks ago I couldn't help but think about Grandma. About each time she'd made soup or a roast or a pot of spaghetti and how it brought us all closer together. I love that something as simple as food, something we all need anyway, can do that. I love that.

Neighbors

Growing up in a small town we knew our neighbors well. Some of them had been my family's neighbors for generations. Others were new to the neighborhood but they didn't stay new for long. We knew all the kids, they all knew us and everyone played everywhere.

Neighbors became extended family. They babysat us and cared for us. They put band-aids on skinned knees and fed us the food from their refrigerators. They wiped away tears and helped make mudpies. We were family.

When I moved away in college, my relationship with my neighbors changed. There was the sorority house on one side and on the other? A family who never made eye contact or wanted anything to do with a bunch of college kids. In grad school neighbors were a crap shoot as apartments were changed frequently and a 'hello' at the mailboxes was usually the extent of our conversation. In Arizona, well, neighbors didn't socialize. The apartment complex we lived in was all one floor, spread out and full of people from all walks of life. Everyone stayed inside and the pool, where you might think we'd socialize, was almost always empty. The surface of the sun doesn't help create lasting relationships with the people next door.

But when Angela and I moved to Los Angeles we settled right in the heart of the city. In a neighborhood with a Block Club, schools, parks, a library, and lots of people. In fact, we moved onto a cul-de-sac where we promptly met many of our co-habitators. Almost five years later, most of us still live on the same street. We smile and wave, stand outside and shoot the breeze, and occasionally, enter each others homes for cookies, coffee and conversation (sometimes even champagne!).

I was thinking about these people recently when we toyed with the idea of moving. We are having landlord issues again and frankly, would like a place with heat and AC. But those are mostly pipe dreams. Dreams that were put to rest again (though not forever) yesterday when Ang opened the front door before we left for church and found a bag on the doorknob. That familiar brown bag from Noah's bagels. Every Sunday morning our neighbors Bill and Betty, both in their 80s, head out to the farmer's markets, the shops, and wherever else they can find to explore. And about once a month or so, they come back with two blueberry bagels for us. Sometimes Betty knocks on the door, sometimes she leaves them hanging on the doorknob. Either way, they bring a smile and a reminder that we have great neighbors. (Also, no idea why they're always blueberry but Angela quickly learned to like blueberry bagels, which she hadn't liked before!)

And then today, I was thinking about neighbors again as I've spent most of the day reading my neighbor's memoir. Mary is in her 80s as well and has spent about 15 years writing the story of her life. She found out I'm a writer and well, long story short, I'm doing some editing for her. And guess what? I'm loving it. I first went into the job thinking, okay, let's just do this, but now, I'm hooked. I can't wait to read the next chapters!

Neighbors. People who live in such close proximity to us we often hear their arguments, their tantrums, the intimate details of their lives. People who in turn, affect us, usually when we least expect it.

The End of an Era

I still remember the year my family got a VCR for Christmas. I don't remember the date exactly but I remember when it happened. It was a huge box, a big deal for our family. Big Christmas presents weren't the norm. There were no cars or diamond rings or anything you'd see in TV commercials. So this was exciting. A movie machine.

I grew up in a small town outside of Detroit and we had one movie theater, that played one movie usually twice a night. Occasionally we'd get to go see a movie - sometimes a cartoon, sometimes a family film, or if Grandpa Jim was taking us something like Speed. Oh god, I felt so grown up eating this giant bag of popcorn (and I'm not talking extra large bucket - I'm talking BAG. Like a garbage bag size. He'd somehow convinced the concession stand workers to give us the old popcorn they were going to throw away and we got to eat popcorn all night and he still had three-quarters of the bag to take home with him), watching that guy get stabbed in the neck at the beginning of that movie. What a great day. And sometimes we'd venture out to Brighton or Lansing and catch something at the multiplexes there, though that was usually with Grandma MacDonald or family friends.

I still remember seeing Harry and the Hendersons with my Dad, Angela, Mike, Ben and Liz Roxberry. Or going to see Alladin with my Mom or Down Periscope with Grandma MacDonald, Angela, John and Nicole (Grandpa worked on a submarine while in the Navy and she thought it was perfect that this submarine movie was showing so she took all the grandkids to see it - I love that memory of that afternoon in Lansing).

But back to that VCR. What a present. We were all so excited. But guess what? We didn't have any tapes to play. So the day after Christmas I remember going to Kroger with my Dad and buying our first home video, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. That was an exciting day. Over that next week our neighbor, Roger, who had HBO and all the movie channels, made us stacks of copies of movies. He picked out cartoons for Angela and I. He snuck in some horror and R-rated stuff for Dad that eventually, in middle and high school, Angela and I would both watch. And he included a little film called Iron Eagles III. Back then I had no idea what a trilogy was or what made a good movie for that matter. And since then, I've not seen IE3 again. But I remember, watching it in the afternoon, on our couch, with my Dad, was pretty cool. We got to watch movies at home! An awesome revaluation for a kid who had only seen a handful of movies up to that point.

I've had a number of VCRs over the year since. I've upgraded to a DVD player and I've even started buying movies and television shows on iTunes and storing them in the cloud. But I've never been able to part with my VHS tapes even though I haven't watched them years. Yet they each hold special memories. I remember my mom buying Jerry MaGuire for me when I got honor roll one quarter in school. I got to pick any gift I wanted and I chose that movie that made me so happy the first time I saw it. I remember watching Ever After time and time again in college, laughing with my roommates ("Go catch a chicken!" became a favorite insult of ours.) and sharing that old broken down couch at Brewer House. My copy of The Story of Us became worn out I showed it so many times to my classes of Interpersonal Communication. I used that movie to teach the entire textbook. God bless Rob Reiner and company.

But as it always happens, VHS tapes became outdated and DVDs took over. I replaced my copy of The Story of Us with a DVD yet kept the old copy because, well, I'm sentimental. And maybe I'd need it! (Never did.) As we started collecting DVDs, I knew it was only a matter of time. And then this year, when we got an Apple TV that allows us to watch every movie ever shown on HBO, Netflix, et cetera, I knew it was time. Time to get rid of the VCR.

And yes, it still worked. The DVD player in the same machine, the combo thingy, didn't work anymore. So we had to buy a new one. And it's small and sleek and hides behind the TV. The VCR never did that. So we boxed up the VHS tapes and the machine and took it to Goodwill. I often wonder if anyone ever scooped it up or if it will sit there on the shelf until the space is needed and they throw it in the dumpster.

But I'll never forget how I felt when we first got to watch a movie at our house. What a concept! Long before I could watch one on my phone wherever I wanted, we gathered together, as a family usually, to spend a few hours together, in our house, enjoying each other and the movie. I loved that. I still do. (It's just easier now and the tape never comes spitting out of the machine and you have to spend twenty minutes feeding it back into the tape. Ah, the joys of technology!)

My Lenten Devotional as a rerun!

Daily Lenten Devotional
Sunday, February 17th
Read: Luke 4: 5-8

And Jesus answered, and said unto him, “Get thee behind me, Satan;
for it is written thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and God only shall you serve…”

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There are days when I really enjoy grocery shopping. When I know there’s money in the bank account, when I’m planning healthy, yummy meals, when I have the time to wander the aisles looking at everything. And then there are days I detest grocery shopping. I’m in a hurry and it’s raining and the line at the checkout is six people deep and they don’t have my favorite chips and I drop my coupons and I’m outraged that lean ground turkey costs a dollar more a pound than the fatty kind.

And some days it’s the same with worship and serving the Lord. I know, I know, it’s blasphemy. But it’s the truth. There are some Sundays when I wake up and am excited to put on my best clothes and drive to church and see all my friends and serve communion and sing loudly along with the choir. But then there are those Sundays when I just want to stay in my pajamas and drink another cup of tea. When I want to turn off the alarm clock and roll over. When I want to go out to breakfast and beat the crowd to Target.

And you know what? I think that’s okay. I realized long ago that I couldn’t beat myself up over every little thing, every teensy tiny bit of guilt I experienced. I grew up attending church every single Sunday. And we were often there on Wednesdays and Thursdays and other days doing whatever needed doing. It’s okay because I can worship God at home in my pajamas. I can serve God by helping out at the Homeless Ministry on Tuesday. And I can pray whenever and wherever and God still loves me.

Don’t get me wrong; I still have to continually tell Satan to get behind me. I have to remind myself that I’m a Christian not because I go to church regularly (which I do love doing) but because of my faith. Because of my worship and my service and most of all, my relationship with Jesus. And I love that my God, your God, our God, has taught me that.

- Sarah Knapp (from 2010)

PRAYER
Gracious God, may I always feel that connection to you, whether in the church pews, on a mission outing, or sipping tea in my pajamas. In all that I do, may I continue to worship and serve you. Amen.

Ash Wednesday & Angela's devotion

It seems like we just celebrated Christmas. And we did, 50 days ago. It seems like it was just January. And it was, 14 days ago. It seems like it shouldn't already be Ash Wednesday but alas, it is. The day we begin the Lenten journey. The day the world talks about ashes on foreheads instead of love in hearts. The day we should see things a little differently, but I'm not sure we do. (And by we, I mean me, always me.) 

But this morning, reading over the devotion Angela wrote for our church's Lenten devotion guide, I was reminded of my need to listen. My need to be humbled by the world that's much bigger than me and my tiny corner. I was reminded that God is the only one who can help me through it because, as I've proven to myself time and time again, there's no way around it. No way. You've got to go right through the middle. And thankfully, God's by my side, on this, Ash Wednesday, throughout Lent and always. 

Here's Angela's devotion: 

Ash Wednesday, February 13th
Read: Psalm 51: 1-17

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Each December 31st we are ready to face the new year with a big list of resolutions. Lose ten pounds (or 25), do a juice fast, go back to school, clean the silverware drawer, watch less television, read more, travel often, the list goes on and on. Fast forward to today, a month and half into the new year, how far have you gotten? Have you accomplished what you set out to conquer this year?

Whether you have or haven’t conquered your new year’s resolutions, fear not because it doesn’t matter. Yes, you read that correctly, it doesn’t matter if your resolve lasted one day or one month, God is not interested in the ten pounds you lost (or didn’t) or the juice fast you stuck to (or the cheeseburger you ate instead). He wants to know you, to spend time with you.

This Lenten season we should resolve to renew our relationships with God in His way and time, not ours. We need to allow Jesus to create a clean heart with a right spirit in us. We need to spend time in prayer, reading the Bible, and most importantly, listening to what God is asking of us.

- Angela Knapp

PRAYER
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.” Amen.

God & the Prada Suit

I've been volunteering at my church's weekly Homeless Lunch since the first month I moved to Los Angeles. For the first two years I was there every Tuesday and then when my work schedule changed and I couldn't go as much I realized how much I missed it. Not so much the volunteering and helping out, which I did miss but got to do in different ways, but I missed the people and the sense of community that's present there. It's hard to imagine that two hours every week, three if you count set up and clean up, is long enough to create a sense of fellowship and togetherness but it really is.

This year I've been able to start volunteering on a regular basis again and I've been enjoying my time in the church breezeway, passing out sack lunches, helping people find just the right shirt or shoes that don't squeeze their toes, and making sure everyone gets a pair of new socks. But this week was different. Special. Very special.

Last week we had a guest come through the line who needed some clothes for interviews. Normally the need is for jeans and t-shirts, sweatshirts and gloves, and always a pair of shoes. But once in a while we have people who need clothes for work or something specific, an interview, a hearing, a court date or an ID photo (the woman today who was on her way to get her photo taken? She left with a cardigan sweater and a very short bright blue skirt she was going to wear under it as a top - hey, in the spirit of Tim Gunn we made it work). So the guest last week? He left with a few great finds, including a very sharp looking Prada suit, shirt and tie. (Yep, we're the church in the heart of Hollywood and more often than not our donations include designer duds.)

And this morning? He arrived for his sack lunch wearing that Prada suit, telling us he'd slept in it and had hoped it didn't look too bad this morning because he didn't have the $12.50 the dry cleaner wanted to wash it. I felt my heart sink in that instant. He'd slept in his suit. The suit he'd gotten to wear to interviews. Oh, dear. But then...he told us that he'd had an interview this morning and guess what? He'd gotten the job! HE GOT THE JOB!

We applauded. All of us - volunteers, security guards, even some of the other guests. He got the job. He wore the suit and now he was looking for some other duds to wear to work. How great is that? Granted, he's still without a permanent domicile. He's still hungry. But more than that? He's got a job and he proudly shared how he'd been drug free all year and was determined to get a better job soon. Awesome.

He spent a long time looking through the clothes this morning, selecting something that was just right. Someone got him an extra bag to carry them in. And then off he went, still wearing that Prada suit.

At the time, I couldn't have been happier. None of us could have been. You see, some of the guests at the Lunch have been coming for the better part of a decade. Some of them have a tendency to steal from us (hence the security guards). Some of them have severe mental illnesses. Some of them have kids (one woman today told me her twin daughters were named Sarah and Brook - both from the bible, she loved that I shared the one's name - and I didn't have the heart to ask where the 12 month olds were at the moment). Some of them bring their kids with them (today there were 4 little ones, none school age but all of them loving the raisins!). Some of them are high. Some of them are perpetually drunk. Some of them are in wheel chairs and so dirty you wonder if they'd ever come clean. Some of them are lonely and just need a hug (which I am happy to help out with). Some of them are quiet and embarrassed. Some of them are joyed to see a familiar face and shoot the breeze for a moment or two. And some of them leave wearing a Prada suit and ready for that first paycheck.

It wasn't until later, when I was recounting the story to Angela over lunch, that I broke down and cried a little. Happy tears really. Because this was an awesome moment in the life of this person, in the life of our ministry and in the my life. It was a reminder that God works in tiny ways we could never imagine and in big loud ways full of applause. And as the man in the Prada suit said today, through tears, "God is good." And several of us echoed back, "All the time." And it's true. So true.

The Little Schoolhouse

That's what Grandma used to call the Fleming School which was located on Grand River just outside of Howell (well it was, it was burned down two weeks ago). The little schoolhouse.

Grandma MacDonald loved that little one-room school, she served on the board, keeping the school in working order so that elementary school children from all over could visit and spend a whole day learning in the classroom there. I remember her spending long hours typing notes on the typewriter from the meetings, or making lunches to take so the volunteers could spend the day cleaning, getting ready for the kids to come visit.

Mostly I remember how much she cared about this place, this little building on the side of the road that, blink and you'd miss it, most people wouldn't think twice about. I wish I had asked her more about the project, why she cared so much, invested so much time and energy into the schoolhouse. But I didn't. Back then, I was in high school and she was busy. She did things, didn't just talk about them. She took action. She swept the floors and bought the pencils and loved hearing about friends' children who got to take a field trip with their class to Fleming School.

The day mom emailed me to tell me about the fire, I was crushed. Grandma would have been so sad to know that the school was no longer. I'm glad this didn't happen on her watch. On her watch, the little schoolhouse flourished. And we're all a bit better off for that.

A year

I cannot believe that one year ago today was when I acquired that damn little yellow box. Some of you might remember what happened: I got sick, took a lot of penicillin, had an allergic reaction to it (and not just one reaction - three, something my ER doc friend in Canada says is extremely rare, so yay me!), got my first epi pen (said yellow box), and ended up in the ER unable to breathe very well.

A year.

It seems crazy. Didn't that just happen? But then on the other hand, didn't that happen like a lifetime ago? But I suppose that's how these things go.

I think about that day, a year ago, and the day after it, when I was in the hospital, quite a bit. Maybe more than I should. Last spring and this fall, whenever I'd start to get the sniffles, or a sore throat, or whatever, I'd flash back to that day. That day when I was pretty sure I was going to die.

It's true. That Sunday night, my physical body covered in hives and swollen almost to capacity, I stood in the shower under a hot stream of water and prayed. I prayed to God that if I died that night, I wanted nothing more than to be in heaven with Him. I prayed simply, silently, through the water and the tears. I prayed for those I would leave behind and for what I where I would go. I prayed.

Did I feel a sense of relief? Yes. I did. I felt like maybe, whatever was happening, was happening for a reason. I prayed that God was in control, because I certainly wasn't, not of my body. I prayed that He hold me and comfort me and take me home, His will be done.

And I remember stepping out of that shower and thinking, well, that's over. I've made my peace. And as I laid down in bed, pants, socks, long sleeve shirt and gloves on (to stop the itching I didn't know I was doing at night but had left me bleeding the night before), I had this feeling of peace. Even though my body and mind were in chaos, my soul was not.

And yet? I didn't carry that peace with me this last year, not totally. I didn't lose it all but most of it comes and goes. There were moments when I was sure a slight cough was going to be the end of me. There were times when I held my breath as the liver test results came back because I had no idea if my body would ever function normally again after all those life-saving drugs (liver function is good, not great, but we're getting there!).

So yes, this is something I think about, a lot. I think about how important it is to not take the days and breaths for granted. I think about how important it is to find peace now because later might be too late. I think about how I am so fortunate to have the people I love fill my life with their presence.

I recently talked to a friend on the phone who I hadn't spoken too in quite some time. She said my voice had an edge to it, that I sounded hardened. I asked her if this was a good thing and she said, oh hell yes. She said I sounded like someone who has finally come into her own. And I love that. Because I have. I have figured out what's important in life (most days) and even better, who's important. I've made it a priority to spend time and energy on those people and when they return in kind, I've figured out the secret. Life is good. All will be well.

A year.

I've survived, and lived through, another year. I didn't know if that would happen last January 22nd. I'm glad it did. Here's to the next!

Good intentions

January is always a time of renewal, reflection and the idea that we can start fresh. Well, for most people. For me? January is usually a time of sickness. It seems, without fail, that family members or I end up with some hacking cough, runny nose, fever or something. This year? Sinus junk. Not sure how else to explain it. First my mom got it, back on New Year's Eve. Then Angela got it, just in time to fly back to Los Angeles. And this week? I have succumbed. I fought the good fight. I took extra vitamins, drank juice, chugged airborne, tried to stay away from people but alas, I have fallen.

In the fall (and frankly, through December) I started to panic whenever I got even a scratchy throat. What if IT happens again. What if I can't breathe. What if I need antibotics. All questions I have no answers for. Other than? I will survive. I have a cold. Just a cold. I keep telling myself that. And so, I took to the couch for a good day of rest and then today, have hobbled back to my computer, Kleenex close by, Vitamin Water close at hand, and the idea that I only need to do the bare minimum to keep my job.

See the nice thing about working from home is that I get to work from home. The not so nice thing? I have to work from home. No matter what. No sick days. I can't get away from work. I can't pretend that I'm too sick to go into the office. So, because others perverse, I will too. (Yeah, yeah, I know. I only have a cold. Whatever.) However, the one I feel sorry for is Angela. She feels like crap and she actually has to go to work. No sick days for her either. That's one of the perks of being a substitute teacher. She doesn't go to work, she doesn't get paid. And not just that. She doesn't go to work? She loses her "days", the amount of time she's accrued this school year working in the same classroom that gives her seniority and extra pay every day. Miss one day and boom! back at day zero. So, yeah, she's at work. But so are all the other sick teachers who have sick days to burn so apparently that's ok. Great system.

Ok, I need to keep grading so I can go back to the couch and watch Alias on Netflix. It's true, I have the whole series on DVD but clicking my little tiny Apple TV remote and having it appear instantly is so much better than loading DVDs.

Whew!

So somehow it got to be January 11th already, 2013. Yep, we're 11 days in folks. I cannot believe it. Here's what's happened in those 11 days:

• I read the new Dick Wolf (creator of Law and Order) book "The Intercept" and it was really good!
• I saw my grandparents' new apartment - their third in a year - and it's very nice! I also managed to break and fix their new coffeepot. 
• I got to hug and squeeze and spend time with some of my family before flying back to L.A. I love that!!!!
• I spent some quality time with my DVR which was almost empty when I left for the holidays and was 99% full when I got back. There's some good TV on right now people! Downton Abbey! Chicago Fire! Justified! Cougar Town! Suburgatory! So much!
• I read half of the Kathy Reichs book "Flash and Bones". The TV show Bones is based on these books and while they're very different, they're very good. Big recommend from me. 
• I started back at the University of Phoenix. After a two week break for the holidays we're back in the classroom, ready or not!
• I got my first coach purse! Woohoo! Now I just have to catch up to mom and Ang (they each have two already!). 
• I packed most of my stuff. I flew across the country. I unpacked. I want a teleporter for my birthday.
• I went outside without mittens in MI where it was 15 degrees. I went outside with mittens and froze in CA where it was 42 degrees. 
• I half-setup my new MacBook Pro. I'm still figuring out the other half.
• I said "YES!" twice already. Part of my new philosophy (not in the new year, it started last fall) is to say, "yes" to as many new things as possible in the hopes of jump starting my career and having a more interesting, impactful life. So far? I've said yes to signing up for Women in Film - a networking organization that's pretty big here in Hollywood. It costs a lot of money (for me, at least) but I am believe it'll be a positive step for my career. And I've also said yes to attending a showrunners panel which I'm very excited about!

Alas, it's been a good 11 days so far. Angela's a little under the weather but overall, we're good! Here's to the best year yet!!!

Friday Fun Night Revisited

This photo makes my heart sing. Back when I was just starting Grad School and Angela was a sophomore at Western Michigan University, we decided that we wanted to have something to do on Friday nights that didn't involve going out and partying. We wanted to meet new people and have fun and do it on campus, at the Wesley Foundation where Angela was a peer minister. So we started Friday Fun Night. At first we didn't get a lot of response but Angela and I showed up to Wesley at 7pm on a Friday night anyway and waited. And guess who was the first person to walk in the door? Joe (see the guy above in the orange shirt). Joe who over a decade later would be sitting in our kitchen on a Friday night, playing games again. I love that so much. So much.

Joe and his wife have recently moved back to Michigan and we rounded up Rick and Eric and Susie (all pictured above) and had dinner this week. We laughed and shared stories and caught up on lives (Facebook doesn't do justice to what's been going on over the past 7 years since we'd seen Rick and Joe) and had a great time meeting Joe and Amanda's one and a half year old son.

Eleven years ago I never would have dreamed that friendships started over board games in a church rec room would still live on so strongly. I'm so so thankful for that. And for all of these people in my life!

Christmas!

Whew! It has been a busy couple of weeks. We had the Christmas tea, we had our day trips, we had multiple family Christmases, we had parties and celebrations and worship services and time with the little ones. We had baking and cooking and shopping and wrapping and gift giving and receiving. We had such fun. And then on Christmas morning, I woke everyone up at 5:45am! (Yes, I waited 45 minutes after I woke up!) We had a great time and a great day. But whew, it has been a whirlwind. That's why the day after Christmas we were so excited to spend the day in PJs (aka, the new Red Wings thermals we'd all gotten) watching movies, playing games and reading new books (and yes, napping). But it has been a good vacation regardless of the pace. And tomorrow we head to Canada to visit family! 2012 is going out with a bang!

Gleaners

Last Saturday, December 22nd, Angela, my mom, my dad and I headed to a small industrial park just outside of Howell. There we found a door in the back and entered a large warehouse. Inside? Gleaners Food Bank. Now, I've been to food banks before, worked at many in college and grad school, et cetera. But this one was a bit different. Set up like a grocery store, with scales instead of cash registers, it's designed to look like any other store. The difference? People make appointments to shop and get so many pounds of food based on their need. They shop on average 4 to 6 times a year and popular items include peanut butter, jelly, soup, boxed milk, and fresh pastries. This time of year there's also candy for stocking stuffers and toys for the kids.

It was an interesting experience, one I'm so glad we could have. My parents have worked at Gleaners before, in the fall, with a church group, and talked so highly of their experience I couldn't wait to get a chance to go too. While there we stocked shelves, helped bag groceries and check people out, and do just whatever needed to be done. We got to empty some of the donation bins from the local schools (side note: if you ever find yourself donating to these bins, consider donating a case of something - a case is much easier to shelve and display than several single cans of different things). I enjoyed the time because we weren't doing just one job - we were milling about, taking ownership of different tasks, helping the customers, chatting with the other volunteers. But most of all? I'm glad that there are places like Gleaners, places where families who need help can get help. Places where the mom with the toddler can stock up on milk and cans of beef stew. Places where the couple can get fresh squash to make soup for Christmas Eve. Places where there are donuts sprinkled red and green for the father to take home for Christmas morning. I'm so glad.

Christmastime fun

Angela and I flew into Detroit Saturday afternoon for three weeks at home. And while it's only Wednesday afternoon now, we've already knocked out a ton of our to-do list and had so much fun. We've shopped and shopped. We've baked and assembled. We've had the candlelight Christmas Tea at church, we've worshipped twice at Howell UMC. We've seen the grandneighbors in the Catholic school Christmas program. We've toured the Dodge house at Meadow Brook. We've walked through Rochester Hills and looked at the lights and eaten a yummy meal at an Irish pub. We've seen the grandparents, all three, and we've hugged tons of friends. We've even squeaked in some wrapping and singing and last night we got to watch the family favorite: National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. We all laugh every year at the same jokes until we cry. Such fun. And Christmas is still a week away! Whew!

My Advent Devotion

Here's the devotion I wrote for the Hollywood UMC Advent Devotion Booklet for today:

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Luke 1:26-31

We’re all familiar with the story of how the angel Gabriel was sent by God to tell Mary the good news. She had found favor with God and would give birth to a son who’s name would be Jesus. And I think we’re all familiar with being surprised by news ourselves, whether it be a scary health diagnosis, a promotion at work, a wrench thrown in our plans or even a new relationship. But what we’re likely less familiar with is the sense of control we can feel in such a situation.

Gabriel told Mary not to be afraid. He wanted to make sure she knew right away that she was loved, that the Lord was with her. Often times people talk about giving over control to God in tough situations, relying on His will, whatever it is. But I think this passage is a reminder that really, we’re the ones with control in these situations. We’re the ones who heed God’s call, we’re the ones who make the conscious choice to say a prayer, to ask God for help, to be comforted by His words and His love. Mary didn’t have to believe that the Lord was with her in that moment but she did; she made the choice to believe.

Every day we’re faced with millions of choices. What to eat for breakfast, what to watch on television, whether or not to take a drink or say a hurtful word. And this Advent season, we get to make another choice. We get to decide whether or not we’ll be comforted by the baby that’s about to be born, by the baby who will be called Jesus. We get to decide how we celebrate His impending arrival. We get to make the choice to believe. And that’s really all there is to it: belief that God loves us, belief that He sent his Son to die for us, belief that Good will always win out over Bad. So it’s up to you, what do you choose?

Dear Lord,

Thank you for free will and the opportunity to choose You. Amen.

Merry Christmas 2012

Angela found a gorgeous set of Christmas cards online this fall - all designs made with things found near the sea: rope, shells, sticks, etc. They were made by a local photographer but they were expensive. That didn't matter, she had her own idea. We copy the idea, the theme, and make our own! So...

Off we went! The week before Thanksgiving we headed out to the beach, Venice Beach specifically, on a bright and sunny and cold Monday morning (Presidents' Day, in fact). We collected things to take with us, some rope from the garage, some Santa hats we'd used at the children's AIDS clinic last year, and I purchased some shells and starfish at a craft shop. We wrapped an empty box and used a 99 cent bow to decorate it and Voila! instant photography shoot props!

The day was sunny and crisp and perfect. We used the digital camera I got for Christmas last year (a little point and shoot) and our iPhones as back up. We took 146 pictures. Way more than necessary but it was perfect, we had a lot to pick from when we got home.

All in all the shoot lasted about an hour. We got sand everywhere, we laughed a lot and we even had several offers from fellow beachgoers to take our picture together which was very sweet (even though the photo we ended up using is one taken by me on my iPhone). A very good day. And a beautiful result, if I do say so myself. I'm so glad Angela had the idea and we were able to execute it easily and perfectly. So Merry Christmas from us to you!
xoxo

Once Upon a Christmas 2012

Last year my church, Hollywood UMC, put on the first annual "Once Upon a Christmas", an afternoon of storytelling and music. There were five of us who each took turns sitting on a stool in Grant Hall, George played the guitar and there were maybe 50 people present. We told stories and laughed and teared up and smiled. It was a great December afternoon.

Well, this year, they decided to do it again. But on a Saturday night. With us storytellers at the front of the sanctuary with microphones and a 30-member choir behind us. George was still there with his guitar, and the stories were the same (you can read mine here, on last year's blog) but the event? Very different. We had a host, Pauley Perrette from NCIS (and a member of our church), we also had cookies afterward arranged by the fabulous Angela and we had a rehearsal. And cues. And we had to remember when to go where and we did our very own "Saturday Night Live' ending with us on stage waving goodbye. Quite the night.

It really was a great event, we had a good turn out (though we'd have liked more we had about 150 people, 180 if you count the choir) and most of all? We had a great time, all for a great cause (we raised money for the Homeless Lunch program on Tuesdays at church). And I have to say, I really did like performing. I wasn't nervous at all, I loved the comradeship that comes with putting on a show and being in it together. It was also so fun to make people laugh and to have people, even the next day at church, quote my story back to me ("when televisions were the size of Priuses") and tell me how I inspired them to make their own "tree of boys" (do I know my audience or what?!?!). 

Am I going to become a performer? No. Wearing heels all night wasn't great fun. Sitting around waiting for rehearsals? Over it. But actually performing? Amazing. I'm a writer and so just getting to share my work (because I read my story, there was no memorization involved) with others, and make them smile and laugh was something very special for me. Very special. 

Angela's Advent Devotion

It's Guest Blogger Day! Here's the advent devotion Angela wrote for our church's advent booklet:

Advent Devotional for Sunday, December 9
Scripture: Luke 3:1-6

…the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.
He went into all the region around the Jordan,

proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins,
as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,
‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord…”

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John the Baptist was an interesting character. He was, by all accounts, different than other religious men of his day. He was an itinerant preacher who cared only for his cause. Verse 3 tells us that John the Baptist went around proclaiming to everyone that a “baptism of repentance” was needed in order for people to repent. John the Baptist was not quiet about his beliefs and neither should we be.

I don’t recommend going to work tomorrow and baptizing your coworkers at the water cooler but do not shy away from your beliefs. We need to “prepare the way of the Lord” as John the Baptist did. As you prepare your house, wrap your presents and decorate your cookies this Christmas, be a little bit louder in action and word about the reason you are so very merry this holiday season.

- Angela Knapp

PRAYER
God, We pray this season that your spirit will flow through us so that we can be an example to others as we prepare for your arrival. Amen.