Pink desert pants, and other failed objectives

Hi guys. I'm back from Israel. I know, I know: you thought I was just being my reclusive hermit self for weeks on end again. Well, I chose a bigger closet to dissapear into this time. And by dissapear, I mean I was swallowed by a land of red sandy dirt where my carefully chosen baby pink desert pants never came in handy and all my good intentions regarding daily journaling and catching up on my required course reading were thrown out the window of the plane taking me (but not my luggage) from Vienna to Tel Aviv. I don't know how many of you have ever read the one and only science fiction series written by Stephen R. Lawhead, called, um, um, dang nam it Nolan went to bed so I can't go into his room to look for the bloody thing to verify the title. It might be "Dome." I read it Christmas 2004 when visiting my mom's side of the family in Ontario. I felt very much an outsider there and therefore empathised with the series' main character, whose name I can't remember either...sort of like the password for my blog... Anyways, the trilogy explores what happens to a colony of settlers who land on a paradise-like planet but never venture outside of their safe, sterilized, dome-covered city. After a few major biological-engineering-virus mishaps, they devolve into a paranoid, autocratic society built on a weird mix of technology, superstition/religion, strict societal roles dependant on clan, status, and gender, and hedonism. So alien, but so familiar. So ancient, but so new. So proud, but so full of fear. So confused. That was my first impression of Israel/Palestine. I have so many things I want to tell you, show you. I ended up promising a lot of people that I would pray for peace in Palestine and tell the people I know about what I saw happening there. However, it occurred to me in the week before my return that I don't really know who you are. Particularly if I met you at Epic. I've gone back on Sunday evenings twice since my arrival home August 1. I didn't recognise many people. The people I did recognise I didn't know how to approach- I don't know anything about their lives right now. It's kind of embarrassing. I really wish I did know you. I wish you knew me. I'm just afraid that you're going to overwhelm me, or that I will dissapoint you becuase I never have enough time to give you the kind of quality friendship you need and deserve. I don't really know what to do about that. I guess it would help if I started trying to just accept/enjoy my friendships for what they are and stop always trying to prophesize where they're going or what they might cost me. [Jen, you taught me that.] I really need to go to bed. I don't want to start crying at my driving lesson again tommorow. And I think I'll get rid of my pink pants. Maybe one day I'll look into why I am so irresistably drawn to clothing of a colour I loath wearing. But not tonight.

Day is dying in the west Angels watching over me, my Lord Sleep my child and take your rest Angels watching over me All night, all day Angels watching over me, my Lord All night, all day Angels watching over me.

A Man Named Edward

Actually, he didn't really look like a man; rather, more like someone you would refer to as "a guy" because you don't want to insult him by calling him "boy" (unless you're a certain someone who has no qualms about using the term "the boy"). But hey, appearances are frequently misleading. Tuesday (yes, it's official: Tuesday is the official adventure day of Faye) I woke up early with the noble intent of going for a short morning jog. I've been trying to do one every morning ever since I went summer clothes shopping and was horrified to discover that I had increased a clothing size. As it turns out, I was just having a freak of nature day because the very next day when I retried putting on my purchases they were suddenly all 1 size too big: go figure. That is irrelevant, however, because my short jogs leave me panting- a good indication that I really am out of shape. The point is, at 7 am when I heard a voice say, "It's ok. Rest today." I was delighted to obey and happily fell back asleep for another hour. When I woke up, I leisurely went about my morning routine in a very rushed mood and as I brushed my teeth I told God I was sorry, but I would have to just spend time with him on the c-train because I needed to be downtown early in order to purchase my digital camera and assessories before my shift at the DC. "No, Faye, REST today." God, I can't. I don't have time. And then I saw my alarm clock. 9:00 am. I don't have to be at my shift until 12:45. It takes 45 minutes- 1 hour to get there. Add an extra 30 minutes to walk to the Camera Shoppe and buy my camera first, that gives me...hours. Righty-o. I'm feeling a little sheepish. So I stayed for an hour and read my bible. I don't really remember what I read. Mostly I just read it because I felt like I should stop talking all the time. Eventually I got distracted and decided to simply go for blunt honest truth. Ok, God. So you've been speaking to me through the Graham Cooke c-ds Nolan loaned me to listen to at work. Last time when Graham spoke about being in the presence of God I was struck particularly deeply by the idea that all nature longs to respond to Adam, to the image of God filled with God's Spirit. Ever since Nolan told me about some history book on ancient Celtic Christianity a year ago, I've developed an unspoke's longing to be like the old Celtic missionaries who all nature's creatures followed in adoration and trust as a sign to the peoples that God was present with these people. Come to think of it, maybe the desire to be united with nature has been longer than that. When I was a child, it was my favourite game to imagine myself as some sort of being who could either transform into an animal, control or manipulate natural elements, or at least have a super-natural ability to communicate meaningfully with animals. Um, Faye, you're still a child by that definition. Shhh. Stop giving away my secrets, dang it. I didn't even know I had any until you started interrupting. Anyways, last Friday at work I decided to set a spiritual goal. I want birds to come and sit in my hand without bribery from seeds one day. That is my superficial goal of God-connectedness. This begs the question, what must be done before that day can come? Part of it will come from Israel, I believe. Yet, I'm sure God does not require pilgrimages to the "Holy Land" in order to transform people. So what should I be focusing on at home? Oh, that hurts. Riiiight. Listening to You the first time you tell me to do something even when it seems inconvenient...like this morning when you asked me to stay and sit with you, to delay my rushing off. Or like every single bloody time I'm down-town and fail to stop and ask to pray with the street people who ask me for money everywhere (Mac and Louise challenged me on that one the last time they visited from Kelowna). Sigh. Time for the Job lament again.

I have heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now I see you. Therefore I despise myself and I repent in dust and ashes *.

*My thanks and gratitude go to Big Papa, who distributed a brilliant list of 50 verses to memorize at my second last year of Senior high camp at RECM. You were right. Memorizing scripture is a very good way to meditate on, rest in, take strength from, and communicate with God. At 10 am I am finished my revelations for the day and decide to head out. Upon disembarking from the train at 8th and 7th, I notice that in the place of my favourite Street Talk vendor outside the Moxie's/Sandman, there is a guy who looks to be 17-23 years old in a spiked green hoodie sitting with a cardboard sign that reads, "Travelling and Hungry. Anything will help." I feel drawn to go and talk to him, to offer him money. God, I don't have any cash. All my money's in debit and I need it for my camera. In a moment of brightness, I remember that I at least have a nature valley honey oat bar. Stopping a few feet away, I crouch down and retrieve the thing from my Mary Poppins black backpack. He was very gracious and thanked me for it after I offered my flimsy excuse about not having any cash and asked if the bar would be ok. I guiltily headed on my way towards the camera store and promised God that if he was still there when I came back and I had time before my shift I would go talk to him and pray for him. What do you know, I had more than 45 minutes to spare. And while paying for my camera I discovered $5 in my wallet that I'd forgetten I owned. And... what the deuce?! There's another nature valley bar in here?! And where the heck did all this change come from? Figures. God, you have a funny sense of humour. So I head back towards 8th and 7th. As I pass Century park, I consider stopping at Subway and getting him a meal instead of the $5, but God said, "No. Just give him the money. He needs to be shown trust, you need to honour his dignity." Ok. Across the street, I can't see him but I suppose the police van might be blocking my view (Side rant: I am INFURIATED that our city counsel opted to increase police funding by $26 million to disperse alledgedly "intimidating" homeless persons from the down-town c-train line viscinity instead of putting the money towards something more useful and preventative like subsidized housing so people won't have to be homeless and hang around the c-train line. Run to your phone! Run, RUN, RUN to your phone... and petition the provincial government to give municipal governments the right to legislate mandatory subsidized or low cost housing for every new community being developed. Then you must call the city of Calgary and let them know you want them to mandate this. The effect of this action will be to level the playing field of development companies who may otherwise feel tempted to only produce buildings affordable to the highest bidders. It would also be helpful to reccomend a legislated cap on rent in Calgary to reduce the occurrance of people on fixed incomes being evicted from their homes because their greedy land lords decided to increase rent above a feasible level in accordance with supply and demand. A renter's board to protect the rights of renters is also advisable...more on that later. Rant over.) Aha! He is still there. Reminding myself that God will go with me and give me answers that I don't have, I approach. "Hello again. I discovered I had more money than I thought, so I thought I'd come back and be honest." He looks at me blankly. I hand him the bill. His facial expression transforms to glee. "Sweet. Thanks!" Ok, gird your loins, Faye. What the...? Gird your loins?! Who says that to themself? I'll gird you, ya loin. Just ask a logical question like they taught you at SEMP! "So where are you headed?" Thus began a very interesting conversation. The traveller's name was Edward. I really did not expect that. I guess I just always had this stereotypical assumption that all street people have nick-names and/or use shortened forms of their real names. Edward is such an elegant, sophisticated, formal name. When I commented as much, Edward told me that both his younger sisters have similarly elegant names: Lauren and Heather. In an odd moment, after I wrote down the name of some Japanese food Edward highly reccomended I try when next I visited a sushi bar in my journal, Edward told me that I reminded him of Lauren, the middle child in his family. Such an odd moment of recognised universality. Lauren and Edward were very close, with growing-up experiences very similar to those I had with my siblings (ex. older brother being obnoxious and reading his younger sister's diary to make her mad). Edward is a 27 year old street person by choice. He had been hitch-hiking across Canada for the last 7 days and was on his way to Victoria to stay with some street friends there. They had previously hitch-hiked across Canada to visit him on the East coast and to check out some punk-rock shows. Edward's world travelling began in his mid-teens, when his father took him on a business trip to Japan. Since then he has been to most of the European countries, the States, a few South American countries, and...Israel. I told him that I was going to Israel in about a week and asked what his biggest impression of the place was. After reflecting on it a moment, he replied, "The prayer. The whole place is just saturated in prayer. It's not a bad thing, it's just different and very noticeable. You can feel it, see it, hear it everywhere." Interestingly, although Edward was not a strict follower of any religion himself, the one he most associated himself with was Christianity. He had travelled to Isreal with 2 Christian friends. When at last it was time for me to go, I asked Edward if there was anything I could pray for him. He considered a few seconds, then said, "Long life." I asked God for that plus eternal life with you. I think God will grant it. Not many people can say that they just woke up one morning and decided they didn't feel like doing hard or soft drugs anymore and are able to just quit, apart from divine intervention. But that was the experience for Edward. And he was deeply grateful that he had never become entangled with Crystal Meth while living on the streets in Edmonton- another protection by God, I believe. God has great plans for him. I hope he runs into Brenden at Freedom Camp while he's in BC, just for fun. To wrap things up, I promised (threatened?) to say more about a rent board. This idea came from a friend I met in DC training. She just happened to pop up at the DC in the middle of my shift when I wasn't busy with a call. Our quick little catch-up chat blew me away. An apartment her family rented turned out to be so insanitary (we're talking blood, feces, fur, and urine on the floor and walls) that she and her son ended up in the hospital. When the family demanded a return of their first month's rent and damage deposit to move elsewhere, the landlord refused and the police told them there is no legal responsibility for landlords to provide a sanitary apartment. Consequently, they were left apartmentless and several hundred dollars poorer. She, her husband, and their 3 kids ended up living on the streets for a while. They are in another apartment now, paying a ridiculous amount of rent for a very small space in a not-so-great area. Both my friend and her husband are university students so they have very small incomes. There is no social support for them here since all her family is east and his family has rejected them due to the marriage being bi-racial. Her husband had a nervous breakdown and had been missing since Monday. Oh, and the calls I dealt with at the DC for 5 hours? Almost 50 % were regarding finding accomodations because the caller had either just been evicted, was going to be evicted, or were living in completely unacceptable housing. The shelters are all at full capacity right now. I don't know what else to tell people besides, "That sucks." And then I pray against greed and injustice. And I think about Edward's challenge, "You want a different perspective on life? Try living on the street for a while." And then Matthew 6:25-35 comes to trouble me again.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and is tommorow thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?" or "What shall we drink?" or "What shall we wear?" For the pagans run after these things and your heavenly father knows that you need them. But seek first his Kindgdom and his rightiousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore, do not worry about tommorow, for tommorow will worry about itself. Each day has trouble enough of its own.

If God called me to live on the streets, would I trust him to either cure me of diabetis or to provide me with all the medications I need? I don't think I'm brave enough to try yet. So, does this one beat the others for length? We'll find out today!

A Series of Error in Judgement

So basically, this is my week: Error 1. On Tuesday I am still writing a paper that was due last Friday. At 4:40pm I dash out of the house to get to my 6:30 Driver's Ed class in Bonavista. (No, it doesn't take 2 hours to get there on city transit...it takes 1 1/2 hours.) I was supposed to meet my new friend (awe, new friends) a half hour before class so we could study for the written final. Thanks to rush hour c-train availability and some quick walking, I manage to make it there by 6:00. I am quite proud of my accomplishment, despite the fact that the instructor has not yet opened the door to let people in. A couple students are waiting around outside; however, Julie (new friend) is not among them. I don't really recognise the others, but then, I'm not the most observant of girls so maybe they've been in the class the whole time and I've just always ignored them. I shrug and sit down outside to read I am a Palestinian Christian while I wait for Patricia the instructor to show up. More students arrive. I glance up at them. Hmmm, they don't look very familiar either. I might be having a low blood sugar- that always makes everything seem strange. I check my blood sugar. It looks ok. Hey! It's 6:22! Where the deuce is Patricia? Where's Julie, for that matter? Is the test not until next week? I check my day timer. Nope, it's written right there: "Tuesday- Driver's Ed, meet Julie @ 6 to study" I go back to my reading. Who are those people? Wait a second...I was freaking out this morning b/c I was supposed to get my paper in today so it would only be counted as 1 day late instead of 2...it's not Tuesday! It's Monday! I pretend to read my book some more as still more Driver's Ed students come to wait outside the door and stare at the strange girl who doesn't know what day it is, then flee for the train station. That would be error 2. Although I work on the paper until midnight, I do not finish it. Error 3: Rather than go to bed, I decide to stay up an hour more and do still more unreliable online psychological quizzes until 1 am. I will not tell you the dubious results of my IQ test. Rather fried, but knowing my propensity to forget about things I am supposed to be doing first thing in the morning, I wisely check the calandar before I go to bed. Dr.'s appointment at 9:15 am. Let's see, that will take me about 2 hours by city transit; therefore, I should leave by 7 and get up by 6. I even leave myself a note about bringing the appropriate supplies for paper writing at school so that I will not have to come all the way home in between the appointment and the real Driver's ed. Error 4: On Tuesday I am still writing a paper that was due last Friday. Hooray, I make out of the house by 7 as planned! I get on the c-train and realize that I forgot to call city transit and ask how to get from the station to my dr's office. Oh well. I have pretty good photographic memory- I remember where the bus stop is. I do remember where the bus stop is. I walk over to it. There are 4 bus numbers posted there. Dang, don't remember that part. Stupid fuzzy visual memories. Is it the 20 or the 80? 20 sounds right- I'll just go with that. The 20 comes soon after and I confidently step on and start reading. After a while I look up to where we are. Aha, Heritage Park is just ahead. Oh good, then this is definitely the right bus. Right? Why are we turning right? I have to go left, darn it. Blast it all, now I'm stuck on a bus going the wrong way down a highway in ridiculously thick rush hour traffick to an unknown destination. I pull the stop cord and wait anxiously to see where the next stop is: Rocky view hospital. Well, I suppose that's not so bad. No time to wait for another mystery bus though- I'll hike it over. Options? Wander through that residential area and possibly get lost; cross the pedestrian overpass and risk getting lost in another residential area; or jump over that low metal barrier and walk beside the high way. I choose the latter. So fascinated am I by how rocky the ground is here that I fail to notice the dense shrubbery lining the cement wall which suddenly pops up, blocking my path beside the highway. I don't remember this from the busride. I try to look through the thick growth to see how long it lasts. The plants are just too thick. I glance back the way I have come. Well, it can't be that far. With the frozen traffic watching in fascination, I climb up on the barricade and start pushing my way through the shrubberies. It is quite dusty in here, but not so bad over all. I have to bend the trunks a little to get between the shrubs and the wall, but my progress isn't too bad. Wow, this is actually quite long and I still can't see the end ahead. All well, I must be at least half-way through now. It would probably take me just as long to go back as it would to go forward. I ignore the niggling worry that I might run into another cement wall on the other end. I am surprised to find that I am rather enjoying myself, even though it is quite obvious that I will never make it to my appointment on time now. But hey, at least I made the mistake of believing it was going to be wet and rainy today: I'm wearing my indescructible pleather coat and a pair of jeans, which are taking the worst of the brunt of my bushwacking for my limbs' skin. Dang, I am so stuck. This tree-like thing is not moving and I can't breath between it and the wall. What are you talking about? You can't get stuck in here. No one would find you for days. Who's going to think, "Hey, I'll bet Faye is stuck between a shrub and a cement wall along the highway that passes the Rockyview hospital"? And if you can't see the cars on the road right beside you, how are they going to see you to call EMS to come rescue you from a bush? God? Is that you being facetious and sardonic? Yes, now hurry up and wiggle before I start laughing so hard some poor African hunter magically appears on top of the empire state building. I grunt like Angelina Joli in Tomb Raider and I am free to breath again. Not free in the more general sense, though. My back pack is stuck. Whose idea was it to pack that thing with 5 text books, 2 meals, a pencil case, a phone directory, an agenda, snacks, a driver's manual and handbook, and various medical supplies, anyway?! Um, that would be me. So anyways, apparently if I brace one shoulder against a cement pillar and the other arm against the tree trunk, I can bend the tree long enough to get my back pack out. That was fun. Two shrub/tree things later, I find yet another impasse. There is a tree/bush thing too thick and wide to go through anywhere...except maybe right along the ground beside the wall. Stuck again. Bloody backpack. I take it off and shove it through the opening first, then follow after, wriggling on my belly. Just 5 shrubberies later, I am out on the other side and happily walking along the smooth grass beside the orchards close to heritage park. Amazingly, I actually make it to my appointment only a minute late. The nice receptionist leads me into a room right away and tells me the dr. will be with me in a few minutes. Oh good, I have a few moments to clean up. Where to start? Error 5: Most logical people would probably start by pulling the many sticks, yellow flowers, pieces of grass and leaves out of their hair, but I'm too smart for that. I wouldn't want to get my hair dirty with my very dusty/sweaty hands, so I wash my hands first; then, when mud starts trickling down my forearms, I expand my energies to encompass my arms up the elbows as well. Working quickly, I begin plucking foliage samples out of my hair. Tap, tap, tap. Who the deuce is that? Ooooooh. That would be Dr. Wilmot, my real Dr.'s associate, who I knew would be giving me my booster hepatitus shot, but whom I've always foolishly assumed to be a male (error 6). And that would be when I suddenly notice the large pile of dust, leaves, flowers, and twigs that had accumulated on the seat of the chair I was supposed to sit down in to recieve said shot. Suavely waiting until the nice. crisply dressed Dr. glances down to consult her clipboard, I smoothly brush off the pile of organic matter onto the marble tiled floor and kick it under the chair. She kindly smiles at me and avoids staring at my mud encrusted jeans or the dirt smudged jacket and backpack on the floor beside me as she loads up the harpoon, which, as it turns out, I didn't really need anyway because once you take the miserable things (all 3 of them) once you're set for life and I distinctly recall going through this torture before in elementary...so basically I've just spent $280 on potential murder weapons that could have gone instead to the digital camera I want to buy prior to leaving for my Israel trip (error 7). All well, I'm committed now. I go home and shower and work on my paper some more. Driver's Ed is fun. Not only do I pass the test, but Julie and I get to play hacky-sack with Julie's stollen bracelet out in the road during breaks. Out of nowhere, we end up talking about faith, Christ, the afterlife, and forgiveness. Julie invites me to come out for her 3 day birthday party at a round of bars and a bbq at her house on the 3rd day. Alas, I am working during the bbq so that leaves me only the bars to choose from. I'm not quite sure how I feel about my acceptance of her invitation. On the one hand, I really hate bars. I hate the smoke associated with them, I hate the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies, I hate being packed into a small space with many, many people I do not know who are studiously comparing my body to others, I hate a lot of the drunken sexual crap that goes on in bars. On the other hand, I really hate being a good stereotypical white Christian bubble girl who only accepts people on her terms in her space and therefore has only other Christians for friends. Christ said, "GO and preach the gospel to the nations", he did not say, "WAIT for the nations to come ask if you know the meaning of life". Maybe I'll convince one of my more adventurous friends to come along with me. Anyways, back to a series of error in judgement...I do manage to finish and email my paper by midnight. I was feeling quite relieved and proud until the next morning when I go to work and my conscientios boss asks, "So you have, what 2, 2 1/2 weeks left until you leave now?" CRAP. Is it really that short? I have another paper due before I leave that's supposed to be double the length of this one that I haven't even started yet! I haven't bought any of the supplies I'm supposed to be taking with me! I haven't started regularly spending time with God yet in preparation for any spiritual or physical attacks headed my way. I can't find the passport photos I was told I would need in addition to my passport! I haven't completed even half the required reading! I haven't lost any weight to fit into my swimsuit again! (errors 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and possibly 15, but not necessarily in that respective order). AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sunday: Caroline gives me a shake (actually it was a hug and a prayer for peace). You're right, God. I was wrong to despair (error x). I know you're coming with me. And you're right: it is a fun game (see Graham Cooke, Being With God- The Language of God). Oh yeah, and my indestructible pleather jacket? Not quite so indestructible.

I Am A Bernese Mountain Dog

"Your Unconscious Mind Is Most Driven by Curiosity" the ominous screen told me...

You are full of questions about life, people, and your own potential. You spend more time than others imagining the possibilities for your life – and you're open to things others are too afraid to consider. You have an almost physical need to know and do more. It's only through new experiences that you feel a greater understanding of yourself and the world. You also have a rebellious streak that shows up when you feel unable to truly influence the world or circumstances around you. Your appetite for novel experiences also shows an openness others don't have, but wish they did. Your psyche is very rich; the more you learn about it, the more you will understand who you really are...

So I took an online Inkblot personality test. They're rather intriguing, especially if you're into abstract art. No matter what the website says about being highly developed by psychologists, don't let them fool you: Ink blots used to determine personality type (otherwise known as Rorschach tests) have very little reliability or validity. Most psychologists today use them as an icebreaker on first visits with clients...which was why I was kind of surprised when their results sounded ridiculously accurate for me. Fortunately, the riddle was solved when I checked my sister Sam's results and discovered that she had something nearly identical (given the slightly different term of "Imaginative"), at which point I realized I'd just fallen for a longer version of the fortune cookie syndrome. For fun, I give it 7 points out of 10.

By the way, for an additional 8 points of fun, I reccomend the what dog are you? personality profile test. I laughed when my psychological profile matched me to one of my favourite breeds. Apparently, I am a Bernese Mountain Dog. No bones about it, you're a good-hearted, people-loving Bernese Mountain Dog. Down-to-earth and loyal, no one works or plays harder than you do. You put your nose to the grindstone when it really counts, but you never neglect your social calendar. Simultaneously strong and sweet, you're very tuned-in to the feelings and needs of the other dogs you run with. Without having to be asked, you always have a helping paw to lend and a sympathetic shoulder to lean on. "Communication" is your middle name, and when that's paired with your unswerving devotion, you get a breed that everyone respects and trusts. Woof!

Alas, there was only a photo of some ugly bull dog and none of my beloved mountain dog and I'm too lazy to go find one to post here. Anyways, I should probably start the Montessori school research I kicked Chasey off the computer to accomplish...

Sorrow is Progress

So I bet you all want to know how my hunt for joy is going. It's fabulous like June. I made my list of joy verses- it's 2 pages long. I've gone through 9 verses so far. Being the analytical sort that I am, I have diligenty looked for patterns among them. Joy begins in the presence of God. From God's presence come correlates of Joy such as communal and individual integrity, honesty, fellowship in war and celebration, and generosity. Further verifying my conclusions, the very time spent looking said verses up felt refreshing and deepening. I feel myself settling down, the demonic busyness being pulled back (by the way, thanks Lisa, Robyn, and Jason for praying with me about that on Sunday). Even more so when I took Brian Haab (artist visiting from Switzerland)'s advice and got up on Monday morning to watch the sun rise with God. 5:00am waking to be at a nearby hill by 5:27am with coffee, a banana, and my journal- So worth it. Moreover, my converse-once-in-a-month-or-two friend surprised me by e-mailing me a quick note on the topic: Joy comes before during and after healing. It brings reprieve from pain, it heals your wounds, and sheilds you after. It is Vital to life, especially a christian one. About healing. Healing is a curious topic to me. I have been wondering for some time how much damage can be inflicted on a person before they are so wounded that full healing is no longer possible. [Just to clarify: I am not a sadist...I am a psychology major who, thanks to several years studying things like developmental psychopathology, now knows a lot more about the width and breadth of harm we can cause each other and ourselves in our sin than I ever intended to.] On the one hand, my faith tells me that there is no limit because my God is all powerful and all loving and can therefore heal anything. All humanity's evil combined was not great enough to permanently hold Christ dead in our place- 3 days in hell by that perfect Being was sufficient to pay all our death wages. On the other hand, I know that some wounds are never healed. Christ himself, even when risen from the dead in his heavenly body, still had the puncture wounds from his crucifixion in his hands for the doubting Thomas to see. So what prevents God from completely healing people on earth? Are some types of wounds unhealable? Is there one or more rules operating on earth that restrict God's full healing here, such that some hurts may only be completely attended to in heaven? Do those rules include conditions on our behaviour or faith? What about Christ's prayer, "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven"? Answers come as peices of a puzzle, fragments of pictures that make up another picture, like the cover of The Truman Show. J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings: "There are some hurts that are just too deep to heal," explains Frodo Baggins in reference to his Morgul blade wound, prior to his journey in the last ship to the undieing lands. C. S. Lewis' The Cosmic Trilogy, That Hideous Strength: "'Through me,' said Merlin, 'you can suck up from the earth oblivion of all pains.'... 'No,' said the director. 'God's glory, do you think you were dug out of the earth to give me a plaster for my heel? We have drugs that could cheat the pain as well as your earth magic or better, if it were not my business to bear it to the end. I will hear no more of that.'" A. M. Rihbani's The Syrian Christ: "Once upon a time, a certain man fell from the housetop and was badly injured. The neighbors came and carried him inside and placed him in bed. Then one of his friends approached near to the injured man and said, 'Asaad, my beloved friend, how is your condition [kief halak]?' The much pained man opened his mouth and said, 'My two arms are broken; my back and one of my legs are broken; one of my eyes is put out; I am badly wounded in the breast, and feel that my liver is severed. But I trust that God will restore me.' Whereupon his friend answered, 'Asaad, I am distressed. But if this is your condition, it will be much easier for God to make a new man to take your place than to restore you.'"- a parable portraying "one who has been demoralized beyond redemption." Genesis 32:23-31: "So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, 'Let me go, for it is daybreak.' But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.' The man asked him, 'What is your name?' 'Jacob,' he answered. Then the man said, 'Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel (he struggles with God), because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome.' Jacob said, 'Please tell me your name.' But he replied, 'Why do you ask me my name?' Then he blessed him there. So Jacob called the place Peniel (face of God), saying, 'It is because I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.' The sun rose above him as he passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip." Richard Kuklinski, in the filmed interview with a criminologist prior to his execution: "I must be the loneliest man in the world. No one loved me as a child. No one loves me now. I've come full circle. I guess it's time for me to die." Note: claims in the interview to have killed more than 200 people during his career as an assassin for the mafia. In the interview, he notes that he felt no emotion whatsoever during or after any but 2 of the killings. He was given the dual diagnosis of paranoid personality disorder and psychopathic personality disorder by the criminal psychologist interviewing him. Basically, that means that he hates and is suspicious of everyone, and experiences little or no emotion, either positive or negative. He recognised that he was different, but didn't understand his own behaviour or reactions. He actually seemed relieved to finally have someone else (the psychologist) explain them to him. Patterns, patterns, patterns...I swear I'm not schizophrenic. Um, so the two biblical accounts (doubting Thomas, wrestling Jacob) both use the permanent scars/wounds for posterity- as symbols for teaching others. The fictional accounts (Tolkien and Lewis) both also involve physical-spiritual wounds incurred from great battles with the Evil One, during and after which they suffered much but were victorious in the end. All four endured with faith in a greater power of good/love. The parable and the real account of persons defunct of all moral reasoning seemed to agree that there was less to be gained from such a person's extended life than there was to be gained from his death. In all cases, suffering or sorrow is endured in a spiritual battle manifested in the physical realm. Christ suffered unimaginable sorrow and pain for the release of sinners from death, that they might have joy and life. Jacob wrestled with God until he was forgiven and blessed, released from his own fear and the consequences of his manipulation. Frodo fought Sauron and his Nasguls to destroy the Ring of power that would have enslaved and massacred all life on earth. Ransom (the director) fought Satan (disguised as Weston) in the oceans and through the earth to the peak of Perelandra (Venus) to save the Green Lady (and hense all her descendants) from making Eve's mistake. The psychopath, bent into personified animosity by hateful parents, acted out Satan's will for humans to be destroyed until his capture and subsequent execution by the human authorities put in power by God to act out justice as best they can on earth. What then is the rule? It appears to have more to do with the spiritual benefits to be gained by those surrounding the wounded person that it does with the wounded person himself. Ultimately, God wants both the wounded and the wounded's community to learn to trust and obey him. Those with a good heart who fought for Christ may be allowed to live with a remnant of their hurt to remind the individual and everyone else that this world is temporary and eternal things come with a cost, that we all need God. Conversely, in cases such as Richard Kuklinski, since God is equally justice and love, he cannot allow the murder and/or injury of so many of his children go without consequence. That would teach society that humans have no worth and thus, what they do doesn't matter. Even if Kuklinski does chose to be forgiven and sanctified by God, it would be impossible for a murderer of 100s to ever perform enough acts of goodness to heal the number of injuries inflicted not only on the murdered, but on their loved ones and society as a whole. Maybe death, oblivion, forgetfulness are the only acts of mercy left to someone whose wounds are his own memories, his own mind. Would I want to remember 40 years worth of faces, blood, bodies, and weapons? I doubt it. And there's really no logical way such events could be forgotten on earth, not with the communication technology we have and the number of people who can act as witnesses to all any given person's deeds. The only solution would be to create another world, where the essence of a person may pass but not the specific details of their history, so that they can begin anew. Heaven. Death is the final healing. Anyways, those are my happy thoughts of the day. Psychopathy is a pretty extreme example (occurs in approximately 1% of the population) of someone who can never be healed on earth without breaking God's rules/self-regulations regarding free will (ie. free will does not exist if there are no consequences for choices made). More typical cases exemplify reasons God may choose not to fully heal someone, and how God walks with us in our pain and brokenness. The point of this whole rant is that Joy may be found in Sorrow, because we can only truly understand God's love, comfort, and healing when we experience his presence during and after our hurt. Bring on the sorrow.

This Joy

Thinking of Melanie and monks tonight. Yes, yes I am writing yet another morose novelette at 2 am. Stop complaining. I don't write very often. I got home late tonight from a friend's birthday party and found Melanie alone in the living room, still awake and feeling very dejected and lonely. I sat down beside her and we began to talk about life, philosophy, and faith. Specifically, we discussed how we think faith fits into each of the above, theoretically and personally. It added some admirable symmetry to my thought patterns for the day- I started out the day thinking about this joy thing. I was washing already clean cuboards at my job when suddenly I acknowledged to myself that I do not possess anything that can be accurately termed "this joy". I know joy exists somewhere and that it should be something I can attain; however, for the time being, "this joy" remains "that joy": the joy located somewhere else and belongs to another being than myself. I know why. A few months ago, God told me it was time to start a new search of his Word. The last cohesive Word search I engaged in began with a concordance list of all the verses in the bible that involved the words, "heal" or "healing". It was a good time- right in the fall of last year as university was just beginning again. I loved the solitude, the quiet, the peace, the comfort as I began each day in our basement family room with only God, the lamp, and my dog for company, looking up and writing out a few verses each day. When the list was done, I assumed the topic was finished. Silly me. "Because," sayeth the Lord unto me, "healing is the siamese twin of joy." Silly me again, I never bothered looking up any of the long list of verses that incorporate the term "joy" or "joyful," and my spiritual growth came to a pointed standstill very quickly. Which brings me to where I am now. Uneasy. I really like that word for describing my current mental state (and by current I mean starting four months ago and continuing to present). I am forever ruminating about what remains to be done, ever alert to the presence of an unnamed danger I'm not prepared to prevail over completely. I went to my shifts at the DC crisis lines this week and realized that I'm no less afraid of their capriciousness and unpredictability than I was when I first started the volunteer position months ago: I just know how to react better now. Knowledge has made me sloppy. I used to pray my heart out before and during every shift, fearing failure against the dark powers twirling into chaos the unprotected lives of many callers. Now I seem to operate on autopilot; reading a novel or text book between calls, catching a nap on the c-train ride there. It is not the DC alone. Even out of school, I spend hours every day travelling the city on foot or city transit. At work, I perform mindless tasks like washing dishes or vacuuming. Do I bother interceding for my family, friends, or aquaintances in either circumstance? Do I ask God questions or listen in case he has something to say to me? Hell no. I recite the endless list of things I promised people I'd do this summer and develope schemes to fit it all in. Or, having become disheartened with that list's formidible size, I distract myself by mentally reciting the latest book I've started, picking out alternate twists for the plot. I wear no armour to protect me from the little and large inconveniences that hit me during the day. They just kill me uninhibited because I don't (won't?) invite God to stay with me in my travels. After all, I didn't do what God asked me to do for my own good, so why should I complain to him when things don't go right? And so, I find myself reading books like they might be burned tommorow, laughing or smiling a pasted on smile with friends at parties I wish I wasn't at, eating food until I feel sickly over-full after commanding myself to cut back to half of what I normally consume, and loading my backpack as if I plan to move out today for a walk around the block. Joy: a part of healing, perhaps inextricably fused with the concepts of hope or faith. But I haven't sought it and haven't run into it by chance either. Melanie also is finding joy illusive. Except she's actually been seeking it. God, I really don't understand why it's so hard for Melanie to find you, to hear you, to touch you, or see you. She tries so hard. Mel told me once that she's begun to believe that God just doesn't ever speak to some people. Everything in me screams it's a lie, but I still can't explain why if God is speaking and Melanie is listening she's not hearing anything. Experience at Epic has convinced me that every child of God is created with the ability to hear their daddy, although I acknowledge that he probably speaks more to some than others. Issac definitely got fewer memos than Abraham or Jacob. But I don't remember anyone in the bible to whom God never spoke in one way or another. A different explanation is therefore required. In psych, there's a theory that people are primed to hear what they expect or want to hear. Melanie admitted that she's been looking for very specific answers to her questions (ex. where should I work?) and so she hypothesized that God wants to talk to her about something more abstract or general. In the general realm of things, Melanie is very hurt, yet very numb. She's sure that God withholds joy from her as punishment for some lack on her part. When I suggested last night that perhaps healing must precede joy, Melanie pointed out that if that were true, no one would ever feel joy because there's always new wounds being opened. Personally, I'm of the belief that most wounds can be traced to just a core few which get reopened, but she might be at least partially right. Maybe joy causes healing, rather than just proceding from it. Darn the English language for being so miserably vague. One of the first debates Melanie and I engaged in about joy last night was its definition. What the duece is joy? And what distinguishes it from other terms like happiness or faith? As far as Melanie and I were able to determine, Happiness is an emotion or feeling of elation that is largely dependant on circumstance. Ex. Drinking hot chocolate with whipping cream and a candy cane melted in it after a cold winter night walk makes me happy. Being outside in the sunshine surrounded by living plants in the summer makes me happy. Brightly wrapped packages bound in ribbon make me happy. Lightening storms make me happy. So does riding on a large roller coaster. Smelling and/or touching moldy potatoes in my fridge makes me decidedly unhappy. In contrast, Joy should remain even in the absence of preferable circumstances. It goes beyond emotion to a sort of knowledge that there is still accessible beauty and goodness in dark places. I admit, my definition is still problematic. Since I define faith as belief in things unseen and hope as faith in the occurance or existence of something good/desirable, then there's not a lot to differentiate these from joy...unless joy is more the ability to find or see the goodness hoped for and believed in. I dunno. It's all speculation and ramblings until I actually do my search. Ok, so I know you're still waiting to hear how monks fit into this. I have one name for you: St. Francis of Assisi. He started the Franciscan order of monasticism, which strongly advocates worshiping God through communal living in a context of poverty. Francis was the son of a very wealthy merchant who, after miraculously covering from extreme illness protracted in a war, decided to seek God in a life of simplicity. Several friends ended up following him. Why? Because he had SO MUCH JOY. Simplicity. I don't even know what that would look like for me. On the one hand, I want deeper relationships with God and people from church, but I also need to focus on schoolwork and friends made there, family members, and building relationships with people outside my christianese bubble, as well as getting some physical exercise in and earning the money required to do all the above. On the other hand, I heard from my brother that there's a group of Epic goers who decided that meeting once per week was not sufficient for building meaningful community so they are now meeting every day in a pub. I crave friends that close knit. But it's impossible for me. There's too many people to know, too many things to do, too many things still to learn. As Melanie put it: "What do you do when there are dozens of doors open for you to go through, but none is better than the others?" I didn't have an answer then and I still don't have one now. All the lonely people: where do they all belong? I don't know for me and I definitely don't know where Melanie is supposed to be, but I suspect that the key to either of us hearing God clearly, and therefore in finding this Joy, is in a community somewhere, in which we'll be able to figure out what our weaknesses and strengths are for. But where, where, where? And can the Joy be found before we get there? Um, I'm finished babbling now. I'm leaving.

Ackward Child

Tonight I am listening to Tchaikovsky's "April Snowdrop" and it seems fitting. I always associate this song with Peacemaker, starring Nicole Kidman and George Clooney. The villain is actually a piano teacher who lost his wife and child to a civil war bombing and has decided that he is going to bomb the Americans because they should have intervened between the Serbians and the Chechnyians and because he's bitter and hurt and can't get over it. It's just been one of those weeks. I went to my school Athletic Awards Ceremony night on Monday. I didn't really want to be there. I just went because I knew I'd feel like a coward if I didn't and because I wanted to support my team-mates who would actually be getting awards. It's not their fault I'm still feeling bitter about the unintentional disparate game playing for the whole season. Basically, I've struggled with feeling out-of-place, ackward, intrusive/burdensome, and clumsy for almost as long as I can remember. I have definitely been healed of a lot of those wounds and when I hit my low strides I don't remain depressed nearly as long as I used to, or go quite as low. But every now and again I'll find myself in a situation that cuts into the deeper hurts that haven't fully mended and I have to relearn healing all over again. The Athletic Awards night was the third such situation in under 5 days and it probably didn't help that I'd stayed up all night working on the first of several major papers all due this week. Suffice it to say that I do not "shine" well in unorganised large crowds of closely-knit people that I only know superficially. I recently finished reading Wild At Heart by John Elridge. I read Captivating by Stasi and John Elridge before that. Once again, I was struck by the story of how, after 10 years of marriage, the two finally realised that they'd each been listening to lies not their own from an enemy trying to see them ripped apart. It wasn't long after that they began to realize it was the same enemy trying to destroy Stasi through depression and dizzy spells. They said they'd dealt with the relational by having Stasi go to see a counselor about past hurts from childhood and adolescence, they'd dealt with the physical by getting her medication; the only domain remaining was the spiritual. So they prayed and told the devil to beat it and Stasi's condition got worse and they prayed some more and eventually the demon preying on her was banished and never returned. I think I must come to the same place. I've worked on the relational- I really am a lot more socially competent than I ever have been before; I've worked on the physical- I try to exercise and eat healthy and monitor my diabetis as much as I can to feel good about my image. It's time to face the dragon: the traitor within and the bitter Traitor without. I cannot face the beast alone. But I have friends I need to ask for help, and God already gave me my answer about who I am and what I need to emulate that- I just haven't fully accepted it yet. So hello Friends, let me introduce you to my dragon:

Things aren't feeling any better. like vomit I feel poisonous, noxious, sour like morning breath after consuming too much candy I am repulsed over-sensitive to criticism unteachable proud, stubborn, angry, rebellious irritated socially ackward isolated, alone Afraid of rejection, abandonment. Self-focused Judgemental perfectionist upset, tired. Cry, you have nothing better to do. Chew my fist pinch my face I'll do better next time ugly Snot pouring down my face. I'm so tired. I tried never good enough. Please don't come downstairs, don't find me I want to be invisible today. The way I feel I am invisible every other day. Not good enough. I forgot lost it again I'm sorry I failed.

Too bad. I sent Melanie. She prayed for me. Good. I told her to. She gave me a hug. Good. I told her to do that too. She's an obediant little soul. -Dec. 03/05. And now here was the answer: You're not Auguste Rodin's sculpture. You're not Camille Claudel, modeling "La Vieille Helene". You're a puppy. Ah, thanks. I feel so much better... I DID NOT SAY, 'A Bitch'!!! I said, "'You are a puppy.' You're still growing into your skin, still busy exploring the world around you, figuring things out. You don't need to always have your hind feet in a place where they won't make you trip over your front feet, or your ears in a place where they're always out of the way of your eyes. The only thing I expect or want from you right now is to be yourself. Your grace will come with experience. In the meantime, you need to practise moving. I will call you if you stray too far- your hearing is good. Breath deeply, my child, and run. I delight in your pleasure. There are many pleasant scents to seek the origin of, many good friends to make, many days to spend relishing the changing seasons. The sun and the rain and the smell of wet dirt and roses are for you: play. I love you. I will heal you. I will show you my joy, as well as my sorrow. In time. Remain in me. -

There Was a Problem and There Was a Solution

Why I still love being a Private University Student...

My Siblings' Keeper

The sun's just starting to set now- it's lighting the grains of my floor on fire again. It looks very similar to the sun rise I watched this morning, but somehow doesn't feel the same. I think this might be the third time in my life when I have had the entire house to myself for 24 consecutive hours. It feels weird. My family, minus my (ellusive) younger brother, all left 6 days ago. I think today is the first day I've actually felt comfortable wandering around my empty, silent house. I used to crave silence and solitude- it's the one entity in a family of 6+ that cannot be attained for any amount of force, money, or pleading. Then I started university. 12 hours a day, for days on end, I spend alienated in a secret world of theories, words, questions, and answers. Reading is not the escape it once was; now it is my prison. My family became my saviour, drawing me back to reality and the land of the living by things like supper-time games of quoting word-for-word lines from our favourite movies and books, filling the dishwasher twice daily, and acting as middle-child negotiator/translator/peacemaker/child-advocate-to-our-parents/secondary mother for various siblings. The earliest memorable stocking gift I ever recieved from "Santa" was a small picture book entitled, Blessed Are The Peacemakers. I absorbed that book. I became that book. Then I hit a stumbling block: I encountered Cain and Abel (Genesis 4). ...Now Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil. In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the LORD. But Abel brought fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The LORD looked with favour on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favour. So Cain was very angry and his face was downcast. Then the LORD said to Cain, "Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it." Now Cain said to his brother Abel, "Lets go out to the field." And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him. Then the LORD said to Abel, "Where is your brother Abel?" "I don't know," he replied. "Am I my brother's keeper?" The LORD said, "What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to recieve your brother's blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yeild its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth." Cain said to the LORD, "My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth and whoever finds me will kill me." But the LORD said to him, "Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over." Then the LORD put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him. So Cain went out from the LORD's presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden. Cain lay with his wife, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Enoch. Cain was then building a city, and he named it after his son Enoch."... Why does this story bother me? "Of course I'm my brothers' keeper, God. My sisters' too for that matter. You ought to bless me for it, in fact, considering how many of them there are." And yet. And yet I am always plagued by this restlessness, this need to wander around and do something more. My thoughts don't yield finished work the way they should. So I seek the presence of my family and friends and they distract me for a time, but never completely. I'm Cain, but I don't remember killing anyone. Where did it start? I was once told by my father that the reason Abel's offering was favoured over Cain's was that there was already an understanding between Adam and Eve and their descendants that blood was required for offerings (established with the clothing of Adam and Eve by animal skins at their expulsion from the garden). If that's the case, then the major problem was that Cain was too proud to trade his plants for his brother's sheep when approaching God. He wanted the relationship based on his terms, he didn't want to need his brother's help. It sounds so reasonable. But it twists so fast. So if I am Cain, then what are my terms? My older brother recently asked God to release me from my belief that I have to be all caught up and in control of everything I do- I must be perfect- before I can approach God. I will not bend. I will not admit that I am not already strong enough on my own. Maybe if I try hard enough for just a bit longer I'll be able to face God without shame, to accept what he has to give to me- good or bad. Pride. So ridiculous when the whole reason for the sacrifice is that I am not perfect, not sufficient. And only time spent with my Purpose-giver will change that. So I must give up my anger over being a peice of God, rather than the whole, and go sit with him for a while with my unfinished projects laid out before him for the seeing. I can't be my siblings' keeper if I won't submit to the guidance of my Keeper- I can't protect them when I'm using them as human shields from the eyes of God.

The Best Children's Book Ever Written

This is an excerpt from a children's educational book series on world religions called The Church of Orthodoxy, written by Olivier Clement: The "communion of saints," that is of the living, is the image and prolonging of divine existence itself. Jesus reveals that the divine abyss (about which we can only speak in the "apophatic" non-language, tending to the silence of the adoration) is, in reality, a paternal abyss, an abyss of love and liberty from which, through the Son, the Holy Spirit, the "giver of life," beams forth. God is so truely one that He carries within Him, without seperation, the mystery of the other. God is Trinity- absolute unity and absolute diversity at once. Uh-huh. I'll show you a mystery...

I Know Your Name

Hello. My name is Faye. Someday when I own my own house, I want to have the following four words written in a large size of undetermined font on a wall immediately visible to anyone who walks through my front door: I KNOW YOUR NAME. Yeah, sure, some people will find it creepy. That's the point. My greatest fear and greatest desire is to be known, intimately. I've found the same to be true of everyone else I've ever met. We fear intimacy because it makes us vulnerable: all our wounds, weaknesses, failings,and fears become available for exploitation by careless or cruel beings who see them. We crave intimacy because we need to know that we matter; that who we are as unique individuals has some sort of meaning, purpose, worth- we need to know that we're irreplaceable. That knowledge only comes from relationship with someone else. Otherwise, we're just taking up space. So here's the quest: to find someone who knows exactly who I am, why I exist, and loves me. Someone who won't destroy me. I don't think the person I'm looking for is human. I know some darn beautiful people but none of them are perfect. None have ever been able to convince me that I'm somehow irreplaceable. Yet it makes no sense to me that I crave validation for my existence, love, as much as I do if I'm just some random accident of the universe. Why does the idea of purpose even exist in my mind if it doesn't exist somewhere in reality? Purpose, by nature, has a prerequisite for a design or plan, which requires a Planner, a God. Who is mine? If I go with the assumption that all ideas of perfection in my head must have an original in reality, then my God is all loving, all just, all knowing, and all powerful. Well God, what do you want from me? What do you think of me as I am now? Am I just another body or do I have a name to you? I KNOW YOUR NAME. Well, that's just great, God. So does my banker. Actually, she doesn't. Just kidding. I know your name, Faye. I know what it means. I knew your name before you ever existed in space. I know what you were made for, what you are capable of doing, everything that's ever happened to you and in you, or ever happened because of you. You were made to know me, to learn to love me back. Faye means 'Faith'.