to find beauty

the holy dash

Dave and I have been asked several times lately if we've had our first, big fight.

Really. (I think its a little weird.) In fact, I recall very clearly sitting at my desk at work with my two closest-in-vicinity-and-in-heart co-workers talking between themselves about their bets on when our first fight would be...

"Cori," one of them asks very seriously, "What do you think you and Dave would fight about first?"

Enter: me with a dumb look on my face. Uhhh. I don't know.

Are they trying to start a fight?

I suggest driving... maybe?

This piques their sick-and-twisted interests... which they defend (rightly) arguing is a natural part of a relationship. I am also prodded with questions about Dave's driving skills.

Poor Dave. What did he ever do?

"No, no, no ladies. Dave drives just fine." (Well, except the one time he drove through a red light and then drove the wrong direction on the one-way road after we got lost in downtown Portland... or when he hit the gas down the scary, steep hill on the way to my house. Or the time we visited the zoo... but almost didn't make it in time, because "the sun got in his eyes and he couldn't see the GPS tell him to turn at the correct exit and we ended up in Lake Oswego" ... hmm. But why would I say reveal this to them? Aren't girlfriends supposed to keep these things a secret? *wink*)

No, I repeat.  It's not about Dave and his driving. Not all the time. But about me, and learning how to be a passenger. To allow someone else some "control" in my life. I've been thinking about this a lot actually. Go with me here.

As a single person, you learn how to be quite independent. You pay your own bills, and work at a job that (hopefully) provides you with the right amount of income to pay all the bills. You may own your car, so you may need tires or to keep up with other maintenance type things... You take care of it. You learn where to go, what different noises and smells mean for different car troubles. (You also know how to call Dad.) If you want to go somewhere, do something, visit someone... you get it done.  You go. You get in your car and you drive... new tunes blaring, windows down, a bag of Skittles within reach, and you are off.

I was a single person for a long time. And granted, I am still a single person... but I am one half of a couple now too. (Which still makes me giggle a little.) And I've learned something about my boyfriend Dave:

He likes to drive. He likes to be da man. I've chosen a gentleman (and for that I am certainly not going to complain!) He said once that driving me was a blessing to him, that he loved looking over to his right and seeing me next to him. And that when he drives, and I am not next to him, he misses me.

AWWW.

And he's mastered driving with one hand... so he can hold mine with the other when we are on our way somewhere...

AWWW.

(Unless its scary driving conditions, and both hands are on the wheel, thankyouverymuch!)

Actually, let's see... we've been "dating" since June/July-ish and I have yet to drive him anywhere. Suspicious! I have driven his SUV once, but he wasn't in the vehicle.

Maybe he's scared? Maybe he's heard about the time I accidentally hit the police car, which I still testify was the police officer's fault... but what was I going to do, argue the law? Seriously. It made me so mad!

Focus.

I do think its suspicious.

I am learning something about being a couple, which I think is part of a bigger lesson women, and men, learn when they are in, or thinking about being in a *cough* marriage relationship: trusting another person. Letting go of the my-way-only, independent attitude and letting another person take the lead...

I've learned a lot sitting in the passengar seat. I may not be driving, but Dave still needs me to help him. With directions, with grabbing his phone so he doesn't get too distracted by the beeps of a new text message and risks rear-ending the car ahead of us, or choosing good tunes to listen to... And I am learning to just sit, enjoy the view outside and not  worrying about all the details of the journey. He's got it covered.

I am learning (slowly) how to enjoy not having to be in control of everything. All the time.

My grandma never drove. Never, ever. My grandpa drove a 1976 Plymouth Valiant. Maroon. The dashboard on the passengar side was ripped and torn from excessive gripping. The family joked that it was "holy" dash... hole-y literally, but also holy from the frequent prayers said by my grandma when she was a passenger.

I figure if my wonderful, loving, God-fearing grandma can be very happily married for over 50 years, and she let my (very wonderful, if not a little aggressive at driving) grandpa drive her around for over 50 years... and despite the holy dash, there was no significant negative affects from this act of submission (yes, I said the s-word)... than maybe I can do it too.

Conclusions

Dave and I haven't had a big fight yet. 

Dave says we don't fight because he is a good listener. (Which he is. He is an awesome listener.)

Someday Dave will let me drive and he will be soooo in awe of my amazing driving skills that he will want me to drive all the time, and I will miss these glory passenger days...

I think grandma's Holy Dash was also called the Holy Shit Dash... But that's between you and me.

listening to the quiet

I am house/dog-sitting this week for a family at my church.

I walk into the house, the "Terriorists" Terriers sniffing me suspiciously, one baring his teeth (the owner says this is his smile), the other looking at me with a cocked face, that seems to be asking "Who are you? Are you going to take us for a walk?" 

I bend down, and pet their gray little bodies, and comfort them. "Hey puppies, remember me? I am here to take care of you!"

[It's totally normal to talk to animals, by the way.]

I set my purse down, and look around... and take a deep breath. The house welcomes me with her beautiful quietness and even with the still continuing canine inspections happening at my feet... I feel the peace.

I was supposed to be at lifegroup in forty minutes. I had just enough time to drop my stuff off, let the puppies pee (outside) and take off. But the quietness has stopped me.

When's the last time you've been alone? Without an agenda. Without homework or someone to talk to about something. When's the last time you wrote... not for school, but to process all the new things in your life?

[It's also not weird to talk to yourself.]

I think It's been a long time.

I am not going to lifegroup tonight, am I, God?

Nope.

I am reminded of two separate conversations that occurred earlier that day. One where  the executive pastor shared at a Directors Meeting the need for people with "Melancholy" personalities to take time to rest. He said Melancholies love being with people - a lot- but they need to be careful  to take a break from people and have alone time too. Time to rest. To contemplate life. To daydream. To breathe.

And then later, I was chatting with the Small Groups Pastor about an upcoming marriage conference. We were watching the "Laugh Your Way to Better Marriage" promotional video... and the speaker talked about men having little boxes in their heads and women having lots of wires all messy and connected. And how men have a favorite box in their head called the Nothing Box, where they really, really like to "go to" often... and think/do nothing at all... much to the women's annoyance.

I didn't hear in the video what the female comparison was to the "Nothing Box"... but I think it's time for us to think, pray, listen to God... listen to the quiet whispers we can't hear when we are stuck in a whirlwind of busyness. It's time to rest and connect with God.

So, that's what I will do tonight, listen to the rain outside and think about all that is going on in my life... thanking God for it all...   that is until 8pm when One Tree Hill comes on.

[Just kidding.]

"shet da dough"

At the beginning of the summer, I wrote about my hunt for a home. Somewhere I can host friends for late-night movies, paint my walls a shocking white (yes, white) and re-do my room HGTV-style, and well, not live with my parent's anymore. Honestly, I was spurred mostly by the fact I was turning 29 and not sure of the coolness factor of facing 30 and living with the folks.

(I think that's a pride issue more than anything...)

It has been an interesting journey. As I look around my bedroom, stacks of boxes piled high... my desk emptied and the normally-very-crowded space under my bed completely empty... my room is no longer a living space... but a shell of the last five or six years of my life.  I've spent every precious spare moment over the last couple months, sorting over 20 years of stuff. Photos. Journals. Tax statments. Every receipt for anything I ever bought (really.)  I am not even close to being done. But, I've stopped packing for now.

The plans to move keep changing.  At this moment, I honestly don't know where I will be living in two months. The current plan is in a bit of "limbo land." Meanwhile, the boxes around my room, are becoming shelves for random bits of mail, laundry, and nap sites for my cat, Elwood. I wonder if I should just unpack, so I can have some semblence of normalcy...

I started fall term of school this week. My week nights will be packed with lifegroup- starting up again next Monday, studying in New Seasons or Borders, dates (with Dave, of course) and trying to catch a One Tree Hill episode... and I'll be honest, I am a little hooked on Gray's Anatomy right now. I barely have enough time and energy to do these very important things, and add worrying about moving, painting parties, trips to IKEA (which will be dates with Dave, fyi)? Am I crazy? Maybe I need to just stop and slow it all down.

I wonder if I am being really selfish. I don't need to move out, I want to move out so I can host parties, cook in my own kitchen, and generally be a mature adult. Even though I have budgeted the new housing expenses, maybe those funds should be re-routed back to the Dave Ramsey Debt Snowball plan? Maybe I am pushing something that God doesn't have planned for me right now.

My junior year of high school, we got a new kid- he was from Viriginia and all the girls were mesmerized by his good looks and southern accent (I confess, I was one of the girls.) I remember he taught us a new expression (not sure if there was a deep meaning attached or not) and I don't recall the proper spelling, but it sounded like "shet da dough." Shut the door. I feel like I keep hearing the sounds a door shutting. Woosh.

I've spent the last several Sundays volunteering with the youth at a local homeless shelter. These kids just want a home. Well, they also want a fancy cell phone, but they are teenagers! Give 'em a break. Is a home something fancy and perfect for hosting parties? No, its place where people live together, hopefully happily. Home is where the heart is... and there is heart at this shelter with these kids.

I want heart where I live. Whether its with room mates, on my own, or with my parents. And as I navigate this season of uncertainty: I will let go and let God. Even when He shuts the door... and eventually opens a brand new one...

spiritual leader man

I've been mulling over the role of spiritual leader in a family, or in a couple relationship, periodically this summer. Not just because I am now enjoying the wonderful benefits of a great, Godly man in a dating relationship, but as I look around in my worlds - the church, friends and family, the community, large and small - I see different calls to action being asked in leading the family unit and I wonder who is taking the lead. Is it a man thing? A shared duty? Does one parent end up taking more on... and is that fair? Right? Just the way it is?

I am not claiming any one opinion. I'm just thinking... Feel free to bust in.

I should also mention that I begin a "Sociology of the Family" class next week. I am gearing up!

I've also been observing the relationships of my friends. Who intiates prayer in the relationship? Is there consistent prayer in the relationship, in the family? Who chooses the church they attend? The ministries they serve in? Is there a difference in how spiritual leadership is seen in my peer-group couple friends compared to those who are a little older? That's just the beginning...

I see some friends fighting for the type of family that women before the big feminist movements were so unhappy about - I based this generalization on my readings from my Marriage and Power class from last Fall. Dad works, mom stays home with the kiddos. Not so classic anymore as the definition of the family has changed over the years. Who provides the security, stability, direction and foundation of faith?

I see friends happy as clams sharing the making dinner and bathroom cleaning duties. There is a partnership in how they get things done. While sometimes only the dude works, sometimes both works. Respect comes out when one another looks to the other's strengths and weaknesses and either sacrifices for the other (like cleaning the bathoom when both hate it) or letting the guy drive (because he really likes it.) (I am learning the latter right now...)

I know there is no cookie cutter pattern for a family. Some families purposefully meet together to read the Bible, pray, have dinner together every week, or every day. At Abundant Life Church, Family Ministies launched a new curriculum called Fusion to help families bond together during the week, to join the church and the family in teaching kids about Jesus. I love reading different people from ALC share Facebook posts about how they are prioritizing Fusion in their family.

I look at my own family, and I see two parents who still love each other and are committed to each other, despite many hardships. We never had Fusion, and our bonding was mostly while watching tv - particularly the Cosby Show - while eating Burgerville cheeseburgers and tomato soup.  

When I look at my parents, and try to figure out who the spiritual leader is in my home, of course I say Dad, its how I was raised to think and he does lead the family... but I also look at my mom and I know if it wasn't for her strength, prayers, and committment to my dad... our family wouldn't be what it is... a little dysfunctional and not-quite-the-Cosby's, but we love each other. We'd do anything for each other.

Like many Christian girls, I was raised to look at the men I dated and ask the big questions. Does he love the Lord? Does he actually go to church, serve and love others? (Y'know act out what he professes.) Does he have the potential to be a spiritual leader in my family, with me? Is he accountable to others in his actions; does he have a mentor?

It's a lot to ask. That's why we pray for God's guidance and provision.

I knew things would be different with Dave... and it freaked me out. Here is this guy who on paper is everything I had hoped and prayed for. He loved the Lord, in fact, he had committed his life to loving God and loving people.  We both had a heart of Nicaragua, which is pretty crazy in of itself. He not only reads the Bible, but he teaches the Bible to young kiddos. He was passing all the spiritual leader tests. I can't remember all the little things... they just kept piling up to one big thing in my heart and mind: I needed to let go of my fears and trust this one. He was pretty darn wonderful.

So, one Sunday night towards the end of July, I sat in a recliner chair with my laptop. Dave and I had been out several times, and I believe we were chatting on the phone too. I was bound and determined to pull up my sleeve and reveal a little of my heart. I was also watching the movie Nim's Island, which if you've seen it, you know its about letting go of fears and living a life of adventure... and its a movie for 12-year olds.  I had told Dave a couple weeks prior, that while I liked him, I was only comfortable with friendship. I know! What was I thinking? I was thinking I was scared.

But... I didn't want him to become another platonic friendship either because I was too scared to be open, to be a little bold. So, with the adventures of Alex Rover (from the movie) cheering me on, I composed an email telling him how I was feeling... and that I needed him to be patient with me as I got used to everything and to him... that I knew he was an awesome guy, and I wanted to get to know him better. It was a "green light" email.

And, even though it was after 1am (which is usually always a mistake), I sent it. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It felt like forever before I heard from him; he called me after work the next day. (Less than 20 hours later, but who's counting?)

I remember talking to him that Monday night, on the super-cool, red chair at the Strannigan's home (which will soon be my home!!), listening to his voice and hearing him speak of patience and a desire for our relationship to be centered on God. I listened and I was floored.

Was this really happening?

He asked if he could pray for me; if he could always pray for me when we spoke on the phone. I nodded... then realized he couldn't see me nodding, and said yes.

And then he prayed for me. And again, I felt the hard, protective stuff around my heart chip away. I was still scared, but I felt like I just did something really brave and wonderful. I also felt something really wonderful happening... I felt safe and special and cared for because it was just as important to him that our relationship be centered on God.

The next day, he emailed me back. But he called me before I read it... and he prayed again for me to have an open mind and heart when I read his email (this actually made me a little nervous and suspicious), and we talked again about how we felt towards each other.

In his email, he reminded me that sometimes it takes a leap of faith like Peter and knowing God will always be there. He told me I was worth the wait, that I was special and lovely and more precious than diamonds. He called me Proverbs 31 woman (which I admit my small group ladies and I looked up that week to read up on...) He made me feel like a princess.

I know it was several weeks later before Facebook officially confirmed we were in a relationship and before Dave and I talked about being "boyfriend and girlfriend" with each other... but for me... this was "when". These emails of letting go and putting God as numero uno in our relationship, this was when things changed for me. It's when I knew in my heart, this man would be spiritual leader. And the whole "love is a choice" thing is pretty true when you make the choice to open and vulnerable to something - to someone- new. And while I still had many fears to overcome, I knew he was safe. I knew he would be praying for me, for us, and for those we cared for.

first dates

My grand plan was to write about the night Dave and I first met for my next post.

Like two weeks ago I was supposed to write this post...

But I've been a little preoccuppied lately actually dating the guy than to write about him - I am also packing for the Big Move (!!), prepping for Fall Launch at church/work, and countless other exciting little things (like turning 29)! Go figure! So, I realize this post is long overdue... but I promise I've got some good, fairly embarassing posts just ready to be written... patience my lovely, (G-rated) voyeuristic friends. *wink*

(I just Googled "voyeur", so I had to add the G-rated part.)

We met on Tuesday, June 30th, exactly one month after our first emails to each other. And we didn't even plan that, it was actually organized by our dear friends: Mel & Chris, Ashlee & Tim, who I very much doubt realized it was our pseudo one month anniversary of being in communication... and it was like the only night that would work for all parties.

I was going to write in the post that is long overdue... about how he and I both texted to each other words of how nervous we were before meeting at the sushi restaurant. (Our first meeting was a group date, which meant we'd have audience, which for me = instant nervousness.) Knowing he was nervous too, made me feel less nervous.

I could write about how when we sat at the table- him sitting at the head of the table, me on his right, our nervous personalities came out in full force: me talking too much, him quiet. (He was never quiet when we talked on the phone, so I had to assume this was a nervous thing.)

(Side note: I was told once by my dad that I scare off guys by talking too much when I am nervous. Fathers, this is not great advice to give your daughter right before she leaves for a date, btw. A girl should feel safe to be who she is, chatterbox and all.)

I could share about when Tim, Dave's friend, pulled out a special gift for Dave during dinner,  a gift saved especially for this memorable momentous occassion to give to him (in front of me, of course).

It was a plastic dog poop key chain.

Dave was pretty darn embarassed too. I wondered in my very Cori-like way, what could I say to make him not feel embarassed, when in reality, I'd be just as embarassed if it was me. But I had been warned Tim was a prankster (and he didn't disappoint!) and my understanding is that these sorts of pranks are indicative of true, brother-like friendship.

Right?!

I could also write about how we walked to the gelato shop (Alotto Gelato on 23rd St.) after the sushi (me in my very awkward, yet very sexy new shoes, that very quickly came off as soon as I got in the car on the way home!) and how Dave bought me a cup of chocolate frosted yellow cake gelato (which was absolutely delicious.) And Mel (who was also on the group date), gave him a thumbs up behind his back... 

I could also write that he texted me later that night asking to meet me for coffee the next week at Cafe Delirium. Which became dinner at The Ram that weekend (we talked for over four hours! and then him meeting a handful of friends at a barbeque I planned (so he can meet my friends, of course) a week or so later... they all gave him thumbs up too!

You could say things were developing nicely... Even though I felt nervous and awkward and tentative, oh, and guarded. This was all so, so new to me, and I needed to take a leap of faith.

But I will get into that... next.

first phone calls

I freaked out.

After dozens of past pseudo relationships where I spent months in emailing/online chatting limboland in hopes of going to the next level: real life, phone-callin', making-plans-to-see-each-other, I-can-poke-him-in-the-arm-and-he-can-really-feel-it stuff... you'd think I'd be more ready for this when it actually happened.

This guy was totally pursuing me. He wanted to talk to me. On the phone. Voice to voice.

I freaked out. I read his email before going into work on June 25th. So, as soon as I sit down at my desk that same morning, I turn to my co-worker and very dear gal pal Melanie, and I blurt it all out to her. I tell her he asked to call me.

I am over-the-top, ridiculous. It was like 6th grade all over again when Bobby Shepherd, the classic boy next door (who was in love me since 4th grade), called and asked if he could walk me to school. 

This is big deal stuff! 

Melanie just looks at me and smiles with that terrible knowing smile she can pull off so well. "Cori," she says, "Isn't this all good? Isn't this what you wanted?"

I look at her, and I am reminded of a conversation I had with her about a year before, where we sat at the outdoor seating of McCool's Pub for our lunch hour and I told her, flat out, I'd never, ever meet someone who would ever want to pursue me. (I believe this was around the time of Eharmony Guy #2. My self-worth was really low.) And she said to be patient.

I was also reminded of the encouraging words I read almost every day, pinned to the corkboard above my desk at home (which I also wrote about here):

the Lord wants you to be pursued and treasured by any man you date. You are a beautiful treasure, to be discovered and honored.

"Mel," I plead. "That isn't the point. Yes, it's what I want, but this is all so much. He's actually pursuing me! It feels like I am back on the zip lines in the jungle of Nicaragua and I am scared to death and I know I need to let go so I can enjoy it all... but I can't. Why is this so hard?"

I continued to stew in anxiety at my desk, somehow getting work done. Dave had already begun text messaging (the "technical" step before phone calls), and is being his normal wonderful self. Me: basketcase trying to play it cool. (I am sure if he wrote his side of all of this, he was pretty nervous too.) I know he's waiting for me to tell him when he can call. But I stay silent.

I step away from my desk -- not sure why, probably to do work since that's what I am actually paid to do when I am at work -- and when I return to my desk, I notice I have missed a call.

He called.

At 12:18pm he called and left a voicemail. He called before I told him it was okay. His voice was on my phone, for me to listen to and evaluate to no end.  I turned to Mel. 

"He called. What do I do now?" I sorta squeaked this out, as I began pacing around the office.

I can't remember what she said. (Probably something wise.) I went downstairs to the reception area where Val, my Dating Mentor, works. (Every single gal needs a Dating Mentor. I am blessed to have Val, who also happens to head up the pre-marital mentoring at the church.)

"Cori," she begins. "Calm down. This is what you need to do. Text him back and tell him you are happy he called- because you are. Confirm he did an okay thing in calling. And then suggest a time for you (or him) to call back. You can do it."

I like her suggestion a lot. Even though he called before I said it was okay, really, I liked his intiative. It showed me he could make decisions on his own, and he could take charge. But his message said something about ME calling him back. Me, who at age 28, still avoided calling men on the phone because my mom always said it was an improper thing for Christian ladies to do. But, I am thinking its okay to call him since he suggested it.

We made plans via text messaging for me to call him after I got off work.

And I did. And it wasn't scary. Okay, my finger floated over the send button for about 3 minutes before I could press it. But, really, I was pretty darn calm. We talked about the upcoming "meeting" our mutual friends had planned at sushi restaurant in downtown Portland. He reassured me that a story I told him earlier in our emails about playing with fish guts as a child (hmm, go with me here) was awesome and that I wasn't a freak. We discussed whether we drank alcohol. (Y'know, very important stuff.) He had a great voice, and he said things like, "it was off the hook."  

It was really nice.

The next time we talked on the phone, a couple days later, I was sitting in the Emergency Room at Providence. I had just taken my good friend Joy in because she was really sick, and things were scary and no one knew what was going with her. She is doing better now, fyi, even if doctors don't know what's going on yet. Ironically, Dave still hasn't met her, she reminds me of this fact often.

He called when I was sitting on the floor in a hallway (to get away from the loudness of the ER. When I told him where I was, he asked if he could pray for my friend... and for me.

I melted. He was wonderful. Guys did this? I mean, I knew he was a pastor (that was his job, his calling in life), but this was all so new to me. He cared. He was kind. He prayed for my friend, who I was so scared for, and somehow, while sitting on the hospital floor, the guard I had around my heart began to chip away.

So, I am getting a little nervous writing all this out, since I am learning quite a few friendly spies have been reading up on my new dating adventures. (I think that's the point of blogs anyways!) Dave has ressured me he likes my posts, so I shall continue even if I am blushing profusely and constantly!

flotsametrics (i think its an awesome word)

Okay.

I know this post is not the promised, to-be-continued post about Dave (who, if you haven't already noticed, is now my official boyfriend thanks to the social networking powers of Facebook statuses), and I might get poked (verbally and physically) that it isn't... But I really wanted to share briefly about my new fascination with oceanography.

Really.

I like to try new things, and I've gone on and on (in real life, usually in defense of Twitter) about how I follow Powell's Bookstore on twitter so I can go to interesting events all the time (hmm). The beauty of following Powell's Bookstore is that they post upcoming book readings for those who enjoy feeling cultured, like learning new things, and meeting authors. (Having a signed copy of a book makes me feel special.) This morning I spied this tweet:

Powells "Flotsametrics" tonight, 7:30 at Burnside. Expect lots of 'crazy crap found in the ocean' stories.

I know this may surprise some friends of mine, but I immediately decided upon reading the tweet that I had to go. I even tried to round up someone (anyone) to go with me via a Facebook status plea.

But no one bit.

I went alone.

Sometime the past school year, I got really into NPR, especially when they did bits on science. Particularly how technology, science and society effect each other. (Actually, I took that exact class last Spring. It was great!)

One Friday afternoon, I was listening to NPR while driving and the radio person was interviewing this guy, Curtis Ebbesmeyer, who rubber ducks and bottles that fell into the ocean and for years would turn up on coastlines. He talked about garbage islands in the ocean, which actually does life on it, and how body parts would turn up on coastlines, solving cold case missing persons stories. Without sounded too soap-box-ish, he would talk about how humans have impacted the ocean and the natural food chains that depend on the ocean through shipping, increased use of plastics, etc. (My good friend Joy also caught this story on NPR and was equally fascinated.)

I imagined Ebbesmeyer to be a really neat grandpa-type man that would be so wise, humble, interesting, and fun to talk to. So, of course I had to go to the book reading. To not only purchase my own book, Flotsametrics and the Floating World (by Curtis Ebbesmeyer and Eric Scigliano), but to meet this man who so fascinated me so much with his work and passion for the ocean.

(I am actually quite terrified of the ocean and deep water thanks to Titanic and other movies where boats/people drown.)

As I sat in the Pearl room at Powell's, scribbling away in my notebook before the author began (with comments like: "ooh there is a guy down the aisle who is talking with a foreign accent, British? Accents are so cool. I should develop a good accent, like a Canadian or Minnesotian one.") I scanned the room. I was happy to be surrounded by many others intrigued, many I imagine to be professors or fellow oceanographers. Behind me there was a little boy who complained to his mom that the screen never changed. "Mamma, when will the screen change?" Apparently, PowerPoint is not advanced enough for elementary -aged kids.

At 7:30pm, the author was introduced, and he began. And I was struck by Ebbesmeyer's humility. He joked about how "at his age" he can start getting away with telling people things they may not like hearing... like that we shouldn't used oil-based plastics (if we want to lower the dependence on oil, it's a start.) He challenged everyone in the room to ask the questions not on the table. And he talked about the ocean. How the water in the ocean was like a Pointillist painting. Blotching, chunky, uneven. He described how the water in the ocean is like pancake batter, stirred with a wooden spoon. You can't make it totally even and smooth, there's just not enough energy. (He calls the chunks "snarks".) He made the ocean romantic, calling it the great musical instrument ever.

I wondered if he was sad at all that he was getting older and his time to study the ocean was getting limited. Not that he was anywhere done with this work, but I would imagine as you get older there is a certain sadness when you've done something for so long and you've poured your life into it... and you have to trust the legacy you are leaving for others to learn and be as excited.

As he shared, I wondered about global warming and felt convicted to recycle better.  I decided I should plan a beach trip to pick up small bits of plastic. And I'd get to see the massive ocean waves, and be reminded that all of this- the Earth, the stars, the ocean was created by an even bigger God. I wondered what Ebbesmeyer thought about God.

Then he showed a picture of a bird picked off live things in the ocean for food. The bird was deformed and its stomach was packed with plastic. It's a wonder it lived as long as it did. As Ebbesmeyer talked about some of the bits of plastic in the bird's stomach- one was from a downed WW2 plane- I was reminded of being a sixth grader at Outdoor School when we were taught how you can study Owl poop to know where its been and how it lived. The contents revealed the life of the Owl.

As I looked at the bits of plastic that was in the bird, I thought about how those bits of plastic show WHERE WE'VE BEEN and HOW WE LIVE.

Anyways. It was all completely fascinating. I got to talk briefly to the author/oceanographer and he was just as I imagined. I told him his work was exciting and that even as a Liberal Arts student, I've been so intrigued by his research and that I looked forward to reading his biography. (Yes, another book to read!)

I also wonder if I had to choose it all over again, I would have chosen to study oceanography.

So, that's one reason no exciting Dave post tonight. I was at a book reading!

So, lesson for all: avoid oil-based plastic (though I am not sure how you can tell if it is or isn't). And, don't forget, admission to the beach is to collect a bag of plastic garbage from the shoreline. If we all do a little, it makes a big difference!

where did I leave off?

First, let me introduce him.

His name is Dave. He is 28 (technically I am about 5 months older than him, but I am doubtful that makes me a cougar... right?) He has brown spikey-ish hair, sports funky glasses, and is 5'11" - the exact height I determined my junior year of college to be the perfect height for me. (Long, very silly story.)

Currently, he is on staff at a local church as an assistant youth pastor. Yes, he is a pastor.  He also does the communication and media stuff for the church. Think bulletins & newsletters, PowerPoints, websites and graphics. Think: very busy and a lot of Adobe Photoshop. Think: the guy who everyone depends on to get things done.  

And it get's crazier. He recently joined the staff at a transitional home/shelter for homeless families. He is also finishing his business degree (so he can have a tent-making ministry - which I quickly learned is not an actual tent-making ministry), and if he has some spare minutes... He likes to see or talk to me.

*Blush*

He has a huge heart. It is evident in how he spends his time (serving and pouring into the lives of youth), and by the amazing people he has in his life (I've met some so far, and they are pretty wonderful.)

And he loves the Lord unabashedly. He also likes Mixed Martial Arts, but I haven't held that against him... yet. 

That's a little bit about him... Let me get back to the story.

So, I am exchanging emails with this dude and it's the craziest experience ever. (How's that for fine writing!) But, seriously, it was pretty crazy. I was in the middle of my summer of house-sitting and it felt like every week or so I was writing from a different home. Probably because I was.

I responded to his ad (which he says he will locate and forward to me for my "records") on May 30th, um, at like 2:45am. Yes, it's true. I was perusing the CL ads at 2am. Remember, I liked his ad because he mentioned he was involved in ministry. I wrote back, saying a little bit about myself and that I also worked in ministry.

He wrote back about 12 hours later. I remember the moment actually. I was waiting at the light headed south on Eastman Parkway in Gresham. It must have been a long line, because I had time to check my gmail from my cell phone. He responded: "What kind of ministry? Do you have a pic? Do you have Facebook or Myspace?"

If you aren't familiar with online dating norms, asking for a "pic" is pretty typical, and with the rise of popularity for FB and Myspace, it's pretty common to share those as well... although before you share such a site, one must: 1. weed through all photos and delete any that are the slightlest bit embarassing/bad and 2. update and edit info/profiles to make sure one sounds witty, cool, etc.

My myspace has been pretty much deserted after the Eharmony Guy #2 (see previous post), and sharing FB can be a pretty personal thing, especially if you are me and you share your whole world on it. I frequenly update my status with random info through my twitter and there is a link to my blog... which contains even more intimate info about me.

I am not even close to the ranks of one of my favorite bloggers, Penelope Trunk, with sharing personal details (I particularly like it when she writes about the farmer) but I get it: sometimes when you write, to make the process complete, you need to be read by someone... even if it's only your best girl friends after you force them to click on your blog link.

But, honestly, when you are just beginning to chat up a guy... do you really want to run the risk of him finding this blog post, or the soap opera confession one or well any under "women's business"? Is sharing your Facebook like opening pandora's box? Hmm.

Either it will endear him to you forever, or he will run like a scared little boy. (And, really, there isn't anything bad to find either.)

Dave and I become Facebook friends. Yes, that makes our friendship official y'know.

Around this time, I realize Dave must know/ work with some folks at Eastside I know through some close friends. I ask him about, choosing to provide evidenciary support:

Pictured: Jamil, Rachel, Mel, Me, Ashlee and Tim. Chris is hiding in the back. The picture was taken on Chris's 28th birthday last October (his 28th birthday on the October 28th!) where we had a pumpkin carving party and watched old Simpson's Halloween episodes.

Now, by sending the picture, not only was I proving I knew his friends, but I was also letting it out that this is me. This is what I look like.

 No lying. No pretending to be something you aren't. You share yourself as you are.

So, he writes back and confirms that Tim and Ashlee where definitely his peeps.

Now, emailing is fun. I remember my grandma telling me when I was a little girl about how her and my grandpa wrote letters to each other while he was in the war. I remember thinking it was the most romantic thing ever. (I still feel that way. And now I can peek through the letters!)

Letters are special. Not only to read them over and over again, pour your heart out in cursive and ink, but to have them, all bundled up to treasure forever.

Google Gmail has kept our emails pretty safe, so far. *wink*

But as wonderful as our emails had begun, and how easily things were flowing... I stalled after a week or two of correspondence.

Blame the busy season. (I was really busy.) But I sat with some long-time, good friends Korrin and Steve and revealed that I didn't know if I was going to continue writing... I had various reasons, most of them stemming from fear. Korrin told me I should keep writing him, that I should give him a chance because dating is about learning about who we are... this could be an excellent learning opportunity. To which Steve adamently agreed, saying something like, "Cori, how come you've given all those losers in the past a chance but when someone who obviously loves the Lord comes along you don't give him a chance?"

Yeah. So, I took that to heart. They were right. Of course, they were right.

I kept writing. Our mutual friends began plotting our first meeting/date. I discovered in more emails that Dave was going to Nicaragua this coming Fall/Winter to some of the same places in Nicaragua I went to March 2008. Crazy. Really crazy.

Soon, I got the email from him with three specific questions:

1. What's your opinion on tattoos and piercings?
2. What's a favorite Bible verse?
3. When can I call you?

:)

To be continued...

(Sorry, I need sleep.)