Once More Into the Fire

My friend and mentor, Rose Swetman, co-pastor of Vineyard Christian Fellowship, has written an exceptionally intelligent and well-reasoned letter to Mark Driscoll, lead pastor at Mars Hill Church. Rose sent this to me yesterday and my trust in her is so great that I immediately agreed to post it. When I was finally able to read the letter late last night, I was impressed by Rose’s scholarship, temperance, and bravery. I post this letter for you now, with the greatest respect. Please join Rose and others as we use our voices.

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Dear Mr. Driscoll:

My name is Rose Swetman and I am the Co-Pastor of Vineyard Community Church in Shoreline, WA. This is an open letter and … {read more…}

Oh! Oh! Oh no!

My beloved lovlies at the Fremont Arts Council did not know that Mark Driscoll is a wolf in sheep’s clothing and unknowingly rented his church as the site for our Winter Solstice Feast. Alas! That’s like pouring nuclear run off into a mountain spring! The Arts Council is open and affirming, and Mark’s church is….well, to put it mildly, decided NOT! One of my favorite FAC members, Sky — he of the elegant evening gowns — has just ask the council to consider finding another spot. Sadly, the feast is only about a month away and sites are hard to find.

Oh, please, Please, PLEASE light a candle for the FAC and send all your best … {read more…}

Okay, I don’t usually follow church-related news, but this whole Ted Haggard thing is just appalling. It’s appalling that the man had sexual relationship outside his marriage. It’s appalling that being gay, lesbian or bi is still considered a sin in large portions of the church (thus encouraging secret and destructive behavior.). And it’s appalling is that Mark Driscoll, local evil genius and darling bad-boy of the religious press, has suggested that Haggard might not have gone off the deep end if his wife had been hotter. Yes boys and girls, pastors are less likely to have sex with someone other than their wife if she just hits the gym more and keeps those dark roots touched up … {read more…}

Wanna make someone’s day? FLOCK ‘EM!

Josh and Tonya sent me this flock of flamingos for my birthday. They lived on our front lawn for a day and made me laugh everytime I saw ‘em.

You can flock someone too!

A week ago, I turned 37.

Some years you feel really great about reaching your birthday. For instance, when I turned thirty I was back in my pre-baby mini-skirt and ready to rock a new decade. (Alas, another baby threw me out of that mini-skirt a year later!) But since then, I’ve felt a little….noncommittal…about the turn of the calendar page.

To help jumpstart me out of my birthday lethargy, my pal Jen Roach threw me a girls-night-out at our local Moroccan restaurant. We sat on satin cushions, watched people shimmy, and drank Moroccan Sunsets with maraschino cherries one the bottom. (This made me quite giddy and I am one of the few adults I know who actually like maraschino … {read more…}

1) Just because you check your email a thousand times in ten minutes doesn’t mean that more people will love you than actually do.

2) Do not try to watch Bones on Fox on Demand while you “clean” your room. David Boreanaza’s biceps are really just too distracting.

3) If the mail has sat there for two weeks, you really REALLY do not have to get to it before you complete your writing assignment.

4) Cleaning up the crap on your husband’s side of the bed only counts as a ‘loving sacrifice’ if you aren’t doing it to avoid cleaning the kitchen.

I am being entirely decadent by opening the windows (for fresh air) while simultaneously turning on the heater (for comfort) and lighting candles (for scent and ambiance – if you can find ambiance in a hideously messy bedroom.) It is Friday and my house is trashed from stern to bow. I haven’t 1) brushed my teeth, 2) brushed my hair or 3)put away the breakfast dishes. (Why bother when the dinner dishes are still out?) I have, however, dropped the kids off at school, where once again I was tempted to worship the vice-principal who was standing at the drop-off zone in a floor length yellow mackintosh and a fisherman’s oilcloth hat herding the kids into the library and out … {read more…}

It’s the first day of truly shitty weather and I am having a small but obvious breakdown. Reading Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris non stop probably doesn’t help. You know you are not in a good state of mind when you start thinking: “David Sedaris? I love David Sedaris! He’s the funniest man alive! Such a great writer. Crazy great. How did he get that way? Ah ha! Here it is in chapter Seven! Crystal Meth! Too bad I’m not addicted to crystal meth. Why does Sedaris get all the good addictions?”

Clearly this is not a good mindset.

Sedaris is also an avid smoker–though he’s never achieved his mother’s proficiency for … {read more…}