Hurt:

How Learned Helplessness Enables You to Become a Perpetual Victim I feel hurt. There's not really any good reason for it. My week's been decent. I finally handed in the evil paper that was due a week ago; I got a very cool last second interview with some Mormon missionaries for another paper due this week; I've finished reading the book for a book report due today; I went out to see Christmas lights with Amy and Becky last night and my life-long dream of actually walking among the lights along 14th street was finally fulfilled because the gate was open; my mom made the best turkey pot pie ever last night; I had fun washing dishes while listening to my dad try to instruct Melanie and Chasey on how to play together harmoniously; and Melanie and I had fun mocking the latest fashion trends from Paris and beating each other up while listening to Flogging Molly. My weekend really wasn't bad either. I finished my paper; voted; briefly ran into Nick, Lauren & Nathan, Mark & Karen, and Charis, none of whom I've seen in a while; I went to my school Christmas banquet with my friends, then we hung out at Moxie's afterwards; I blissfully slept in on Monday. But little papercuts that didn't bother me at the time feel like they've become infected or something. I was kind of surprised when I wasn't all that wounded after getting blown off by my "date" for the banquet I payed $20/ticket a month in advance for. I just decided it was my friend's loss. I was more just irritated that I'd also forgotten about the banquet so I'd missed out on all the hours of girly interaction getting ready for it with my friends. And, being someone with a "slow-to-warm-up" temperament, arriving almost 2 hours late in the company of my mother (who is very cool and kindly offered to come w/ me in my friend's stead so I'd have a ride down there) with no prep time kinda threw me off for the rest of the night. It was fun and I'm sure I looked like I was having fun but it didn't feel fun because I felt out of place, like I was still missing something. Then on Monday one of my best friends called to cancel a hang-out we'd planned for that day. Again, I was ok. I knew it wasn't personal, she was just tired from lack of sleep. But it stings today. It's partly just a generalized reaction to an old injury, I suppose. From early in my childhood to this day, one of my greatest fears has been rejection. Specifically, making a clear, hard effort to offer my friendship to someone else and then having that person ignore it or fail to reciprocate bites deeply. I've never admitted it, but I actually flinch inside every time one of my siblings plays this (predictably) ridiculous song by Weird Al that goes, "Pizza Party at your house: I stopped, just to check it out. 32 larges with extra cheese, what a shame no one came." It's a parody, for crying out loud! You can't take something seriously that has an end verse beginning with: "Oh, why'd I have to go and get myself de-capitated?"! But I guess it just comes too close to the truth for me. I actually have many memories of similar situations happening to me (that is, I have experience in planning parties and inviting 20+ people and having none of them show up, not in getting decapitated). Maybe I'm really just mad. Sigmund Freud believed that depression is really just hurt transformed into anger towards the self. This theory has not found much imperical support through research but it seems to fit in my case. Last night I was reading The Way of the Pilgrim, which is the first-person account of a Russian pilgrim on his travels as he seeks to learn how to pray without ceasing. It is written in a soft, laid-back, descriptive story-telling style somewhat similar to C. S. Lewis' The Narnian Chronicles or J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. Not extremely fast-paced or emotional material. Yet it made me sooooo irritated. I wanted to stomp on the Pilgrim, but I don't think I'd find it all that satisfying because he's the kind of meekly heroic character that would just lie there and take it quietly, then pray for me and go on limping joyfully down the road with his blasted Bible, Philokalia, and bread crusts. How the duece does someone live for decades on a diet that consists of nothing other than stale bread crusts and water while traveling hundreds of miles on foot wearing only dirty rags year-round in Siberia?! And why is everyone he meets either entirely amiable and good or entirely selfish and evil? Why the deuce don't they or the annoyingly humble Pilgrim ever stumble in their journeys toward deification/sanctification or towards attaining unceasing interior prayer of the heart? And why the deuce am I taking 4 more 300 and 400 level courses next semester when I already feel spiritually dead, socially isolated, artistically empty, mentally exhausted, physically deteriorated, financially drained, and psychologically harrassed from doing the same this semester, darn it? I know that I need to learn how to pray without ceasing in order to remain in Christ's presence but I am never going to learn how to pray without ceasing without a spiritual leader and without considerable time to develop the habit and I have NEITHER! [Gollum style: Ghaaaaaaaaaaaaa!] Ok, I'll admit it: I'm jealous. I'm jealous and I'm mad. I'm jealous of the annoyingly humble Pilgrim who heals instantaneously from injustices and hurts caused by other people and I'm jealous of my older brother living in a prayer house where he is practising what I so desperately need to learn experiencially and I'm mad at God for not being able to get through my busy thoughts to remind me why it is, exactly, that I'm working 12 hours a day, 6-7 days a week, to get done all the things I have to do to finish my degree and start the next one. Why do I have to destroy myself to live a meaningful life later? I don't know. I'm not sure anyone can tell me, or if I'm even asking the right question. I just feel like I'm running in a circular gauntlet: I'm hurting but I see no healthy options in any direction. It's not really anyone's fault, it's just that I don't know how to get out. Or maybe I don't want to get out or I'm not sure I'm supposed to get out. And reminding myself that "I can't do everything" is not encouraging anymore. I want to know what I can do.

"Everything is meaningless," says the Teacher, "completely meaningless." Keep this in mind: The Teacher was considered wise, and he taught the people everything he knew. He listened carefully to many proverbs, Studying and classifying them. The Teacher sought to find just the right words to express truths clearly. The words of the wise are like cattle prods- painful, but helpful. Their collected sayings are like a nail-studded stick with which a shepherd drives the sheep. But my child, let me give you some further advice: Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out. That's the whole story. Now here is my final conclusion: Fear God and obey his commands, for this is everyone's duty. God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad. -Ecclesiates 12:8-14

Our Brothers Who Art in Bethlehem

I never did write my "Why the Palestinians are Angry" post. I'll do it soon: I found the disk of political maps I was looking for. Think of this post as a preview: the following email is regarding a Christian Palestinian family who live in the West Bank, our back yard while we were staying at Tantur in Israel. The Zoughbis have a 7 floor guest house in Bethlehem, which also acts as the base of their small house church, House of Bread.

Greetings, all.

I was forwarded the following information
about the Zoughbis yesterday.  Charles
and I wanted to forward it to you to
request your prayers on their behalf.
Since all of you are intimately connected
to them and familiar with their living
situation, you will be able to identify
with this frightening experience. Issa and 
Diana faithfully present the love of Christ
to their community and I know how 
devastated they would be that their church 
sanctuary would be violated by violence.
Please be prayerful for them and their 
children, for all in their community and 
country in these difficult days.  Be
discerning in what you write if you should
email them  -security is always a concern
and communications may be monitored.
I am sure your prayers and encouragement,
however, would be received with gratitude.

I think of you all with fondness and
sweet memories of our journey together!

G. N.

On Nov 20, 2006, at 6:31 PM, C.
R. wrote:

At midday today L. and I left the Zoughbies
house to go and help Odette 'spring clean'.
At 12.30 we heard alot of shooting about 200
metres from Odettes house.  Diana Zoughbie
rang and told us not to return to the house.
The Israelis were surrounding the house opposite
Isa and Diana and the whole area was blocked
off.  During the afternoon, much shooting
continued with four explosions.  At 7pm we
rang Diana to find out what was happening.
She answered the phone in a quiet voice and
did not say alot, apart from not to return at
the moment.  A little later one of Odettes
friends called and advised that it may be
safe for us to go back to the Zoughbies.
We went as far as Manger Square and saw that
we could go no further.  We spoke to some
local Muslim shop keepers we have got to
know, and they said that one man is dead,
10 more injured and the man the Israelis
were searching for had given himself up.
After waiting half an hour, the Israelis left
the area and we were allowed to proceed the
50m downhill walk to our flat.  The road was
in complete darkness, and covered with rubble
from the explosions.  Cars had been hit with
windshields broken.  When we got to Isa and
Diana we were so pleased to see that they
were ok.  We then realised why Diana had been
so quiet when she answered the phone.  The 
soldiers had forced the front door of their 
house and used two of the levels for the 
duration of the 7 hour siege to overlook the
house opposite.  There were many bullets on
the floor.  They had used the Sunday school
and the church.  Diana and Isa had to remain
in the bedroom for 7 hours and hid in the
bedroom in darkness, some of the time under
the beds.  None of the children could get
home from school and so Isa and Diana were
separated from their son, Rajaee who is 14.
Isa and Diana are visibly shaken by the 
whole thing, as their house of God has been 
used as a hideout for the Israeli soldiers...
they were given no choice in the matter.
As we returned to the house there were many
hundreds of people outside and a TV crew.
People come to survey the damage.

This is now the second time in less than 
three weeks, that the Israeli soldiers 
have entered Bethlehem to take whom they beleive
to be terrorists. We are not in a position to
comment. What we can comment on is what we
see.... the destruction, chaos, disruption,
loss of life.

L. and I are both shellshocked, and
question the methods the soldiers use. An 
already thoroughly damaged economy and society 
is punished even further.  As Christians it is 
hard to live here, see these things and not 
feel a sorrow for the ordinary people here.

C. & L.

Cruella Devil is Back

Karl Marx, in his 1844 Alienated Labor, stated: "Nature is the inorganic body of a man, that is, insofar as it is not itself a human body. That man lives from nature means that nature is his body with which he must maintain a constant interchange so as not to die. That man's physical and intellectual life depends on nature merely means that nature depends on itself, for man is a part of nature. "When alienated labour alienates (1) nature from man, and (2) man from himself, his own function, his vital activity, it also alienates the species from man; it turns his species-life into a means to towards his individual life...work, vital activity, and productive life itself appear to man only as a means to the satisfaction of a need, the need to preserve his physical existence. But productive life is species life." Marx believed that every species is defined as much by its physical characteristics as by its function (work) in the ecosystem; accordingly, Marx' assumed that humans' defining feature is our drive to work, to create, for more reasons than mere survival. We create according to the rules of beauty, aesthetics, humour, mood, as much as we create according to pure usefulness. Therefore, the problem with global industry, or industrialization in general, is that it creates the illusion of there being no connection between the materials and labour used in production and the products you buy, and no connection between your work and your life or your identity (what Marx calls species life). That social theory lesson done, let me show you a good example of how this disconnect between raw materials and finished product, and between identity and job, can become disturbingly dehumanizing.

Existentialism

Dear friend, I'm sorry things aren't going right I know they never are 'Cause you're never up and you're always down and you're drunk from spinning around But you're never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care You say you need to run to New York State in January You liked it before: I'm sure it'll make you better But before you go thought I'd try to show you my theory in a letter: There's illusion in a place it's just conceiling the pace your soul runs when you're hiding When you're home At home where you're never up and you're always down and you're drunk from spinning around But you're never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care Right now when you're on my couch but you're at the mall four years ago with the guy and you're still asking why Why can't I reply? It's not my house where you stall Fierce Shae you're just not when you are I'm scared driving in your car I don't deny it's partly from your maithre I hear you cry And I feel my heart die 'cause I think I've got the answer And you're never up and you're always down and you're drunk from spinning around But you're never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care Where are you, where are you, where are you? When are you, when are you, when are you? Who are you, who are you, who are You? Truth is we both need to stop, just be silent: Let God speak I know it's ironic listening to me on my soapbox My actions show there's a leak from theology to vivo- iconic But I'm never up and you're always down and we're drunk from spinning around Well I'm never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care

I actually wrote this as a song for a friend but any knowledge of music composition I ever had from playing trombone in jr high band has long since dissapeared so the odds of my writing the music are low. In addition, perpetual presentation anxiety assures me there's no way I'm recording my voice. Thus, if anyone ever comes up with music to match my lyrics' mood let me know: I'd be very interested in knowing if it sounds the same as what is temporarily in my mind.

On Language

Brief interruption in the HTEWF series, which I shall one day finish when I'm not writing scholastic papers. I just wanted to say that language, words, are magical. Having no inherent meaning of their own, they only come to life when we paint our ideas onto them. That said, I will now share with you all the unreadable, I mean, increadible thrill and joy of research in theoretical psychological therapy. First, from Carl Whitaker, John Warkentin, and Nan Johnson's article, A Philosophical Basis for Brief Psychotherapy, I give you this excerpt: "The orientation of the therapist largely determines the depth to which the therapeutic relationship can be used by the patient. It is necessary to clarify the functional limits of the interview-situation to reduce the need for conscious techniques by the therapist. The unconscious of the therapist can thereby be released to relate more freely to the unconscious of the patient. Therapy limited in this way, to dealing only with the emotional and symbolic aspects of the relationship, can be adequate in itself to effect a successful therapeutic outcome. The criteria for this success are measured in terms of change in the patient's orientation and not by any overt change in behaviour or symptomatology. It becomes apparent that in this sense, any patient can be helped." Wow, that's great! Now I can totally see why therapy should be made brief. Now, the next gem is from Approaching the individual, approaching the system: A constructivist model for integrative psychotherapy by Guillem Feixas: "The role of premises in social systems (mainly families) was suggested by Bateson (1972, 1979) and has been a central tenet in constructivist family therapy. Cecchin (in Boscolo et al., 1987) asserts that 'the biggest shifts in family therapy come when you succeed in operating at the level of deep premises' (p. 89). Penn (1985) also considers premises as central issues for the system's change because it is an 'inclusive contextual idea in a system that seems to organize or contrain behaviours linked to a problem' (p. 302). This position is also congruent with Bogdan's (1984) elaboration of Bateson's (1972) 'ecology of ideas' in the sense of a system in which a reciprocal confirmation of ideas is given so that 'the ideas of each member lead him to behave in ways that confirm or support the ideas of every other family member' (p. 376)." Thanks, I'll stow that one away.

HTEWF, k.

From Petra we headed out to the Wadi Rum. We made it there by 4:00 pm and the temperature was 39 degrees celsius. Consequently, Maha and Charles decided to have us wait an hour in the shade of the Wadi Rum Cafe so the heat would lessen to a tolerable level. The top picture is of a natural flie repellant we observed at the cafe. According to Maha, flies are attracted to the bag of water because it's shiney. However, when they get closer they see their reflection magnified and it terrifies them so much that they flee. Bedoines also use shiney metal platters to get the same affect. At 5:00 pm, 5 different jeeps arrived, each with cushioned benches in the back to seat 4-8 people. We loaded up. The 5 musketeers (Peter, Dave, John, Ben, and Brenden), plus Jafar (our tourist policeman who acted as a sort of body-guard/tour-guide assistant), Sarah (Maha's teenage daughter), and Solomie (Sarah's friend) got the fastest jeep (darn them). I went with Anne-Marie, Sharon, Diana, Rahji, Issa, Sonia, Skye, and Danielle. We think our driver didn't know where he was going because any time we started to get ahead he would suddenly slow down and start following the first jeep again, despite our horribly pronounced encouragements of "Asrah, asrah, asrah!" (arabic: "Ah-seh-rah": faster!). The middle photo is of Anne-Marie and Sharon in our jeep. The bottom photo shows Maha walking between jeeps to check out the status on a mechanical problem with one of the jeeps in our entourage.

HTEWF, j.

We walked from the grey-green area (which was actually our 5 star Petra Plaza hotel) on the right through the rough craggy looking stuff, up into the blackish coloured mountains. Anyways, Maha got us out of the bus to show us from above how far we'd traveled that morning. It was a sweet view- sweeter still to know that we'd traveled 20 miles.

HTEWF, i.

Lunch was a hot dog like no other I've ever tasted, from the Indiana Jones snack shop- yummy. It was a crusty bread sub-bun filled with mayo, tomato, cucumber, and spicy sausage. I sprinted back to the hotel for a 5 minute shower- just short enough that I could let the keyless Lauren into our room as soon as I got out. I had a mini-crisis before we left because I couldn't find my back-pack filled with diabetic supplies and desert stuff after searching the bus 3 times and the luggage compartment twice (yes, I even crawled through the luggage beneath the bus like so many of us always dreamed we could when we were young). I really wish people would stop and think before asking an upset person questions like, "Are you sure you didn't take it with you?" or "Where did you leave it?" Um, yes, I think I would have noticed if I had taken a 20 pound bag with me into the burning desert seik. If it was in the place where I left it, why would I still be looking for it? Apparently it was buried beneath several other bags on the bus luggage rack and I felt sheepish for my irritation towards all the people who were trying to be helpful by asking fairly logical questions. Top photo: I'm standing between two of many very large photos of Kings Hussein Sr. and Jr. Bottom photo: The Indiana Jones snack shop, where we stopped for lunch. Yes Melanie, I know it's inconcievable to you that I was taking 5 minute showers while I was there but it's much easier to be brief when the water is shockingly ice cold and there's almost none of it...anywhere.

HTEWF, h.

It was a very long and hot 2 hour walk back past the Treasury and out to the beginning of the seik. There, however, we found some very willing horse drivers who procured 3 horses for us to ride up to the gate, semi-Indiana Jones style. I felt a slight moment of regret that my floppy hat wasn't with me to enhance the Indiana Jonesness but it would have fallen off any way. And I wouldn't have seen stuff as well. It felt good to ride again, I suppose. I just wish I could have gone for a gallop, or even a lope. Turaq said his horse was an Arabian, so I'll bet he could have made the whole stretch in 2 minutes (the horse, not his driver Turaq). Wind blow over me. We had to fight, but eventually everyone but Skye was able to barter down to the 2 JD for the ride as Maha instructed. Skye evidently "didn't know" she wasn't allowed to kick her horse into a full out gallop and leave her aged driver in the dust behind her.

HTEWF, g.

We hiked down from the monastery together, trying to hurry both because Skye and Danielle needed a toilet (or 2) and because we had to have our luggage out of the Petra Plaza by 1:30 pm. We became very practised at saying, "No thank you" to camel and donkey drivers we encountered and we took lots of photos that won't come anywhere near capturing our feelings of awe and inspiration at the enormity of the carving projects and the rocks they're cut into.

HTEWF, f.

Top: "Way-hey, away she goes, donkey riding, donkey riding. Way-hey, away Lauren goes, riding on a donkey." Bottom: you guessed it; the Monastery. After waving good-bye and thanks to our donkeys and drivers, we hiked another 15 minutes up more steps before we reached the abandoned monastery. We found Racheal and Lauren and Lewis before we hiked so they came too. Lewis helped several of the girls up onto the Monastery foundation, which stood as high as my neck. My shoes are remarkable so I climbed up unaided. Once up, we took a few group photos of victory, then went into a corner so another tourist could get some uninhibited photos. We sang Amazing Grace together. So peaceful. Racheal is so good at alto harmony. Skye is so sweet at soprano. Danielle, Lauren, and I all fell in between. When we stepped out afterwards, we were surprised to find a crowd listening below. They were equally surprised to see us: "I thought you guys were a bunch of monks!" exclaimed one woman, eyes wide. Um, thanks.

HTEWF, e.

From the bottom of the steps we hired three bedoine donkey owners to take us up the monastery steps for 5 JD each. Not such a good deal according to Maha but that's what happens when you're a foreign female without an intimidating male escort. Whatever. So worth it. The guides promised it'd take 20 minutes on donkeys (as opposed to an hour on foot). It took 45, so I don't even want to know how long it would've taken on foot. I'm not sure which I was more amazed by: the poor donkeys who carry passengers 1/2 their weight or greater up 260 steps all day or their crazy masters who run up the steps beside them without water, making commands that sound remarkably similar to growling to their beasts and reassurances smoother than a car salesman's hair to the riders who feel concerned about falling off various overcrowded cliffs. Donkey riding is actually very similar to horseback riding, except donkeys are less responsive and shorter. My donkey's name was Jack. His owner's name was Abraham. Abraham told me he'd been working at this job since he was 15 (10 years ago). When we stopped 1/2 way up to wait for Skye on Jalzira, Abraham told me that he sleeps on a mat there during the night. I cannot imagine such a hot, thirsty, hard life. He seems to enjoy it. The closest rider in the photo is Abraham. The darkly dressed guy behind him started off as Skye's guide, but was replaced half-way up by an 8 year old boy. The man beside Abraham was Danielle's guide and she's convinced he was psychotic: he kept commanding her donkey to get ahead of all the others climbing the stairs, until at one point she was leaning over the edge of a cliff and her harrassed donkey started to slip and nearly fell over. I told you the East was fun.

HTEWF, d.

Third, Skye and I touched hand to hand while riding camels around the Treasury area. Then Maha had to rescue us from out touristicness by telling us the acceptable going rates for camel, donkey, and horse rides around Petra. So next, Danielle and Skye rode one camel and I rode another from the Treasury to the steps leading up to the Monastery for 10 denarii total (the highest acceptable price, according to Maha). So much fun. Camel riding was surprisingly less difficult than I expected. Most of the time I didn't need my hands so I'd just take pictures. Getting up and down is really the most thrilling part. I could swear camels have at least three knees per leg, those crazy things.

HTEWF, c.

Second, the Nabateans became genius sculpters and water engineers. In the bottom photo, note the cuts into the rock. Petra is in the middle of a very hot desert- it was 45 degrees celcius while we were there: a cold summer for them. Oddly, the Nabateans became uber rich there because of their water stores. They had enough water to regularly hydrate multiple 1000 camel caravans trying to get to any of the major cities along the Mediterranean or in Persia. How was this miracle accomplished without any fresh-water springs? Well, Petra has a short rainy season. During that rainy season, 100s of 1000s of gallons of rainwater flood the seik. The Nabateans slightly altered the natural ravines and made giant water reservoirs out of them, with holding capacities great enough to water themselves and the wealthy merchants' caravans who paid large royalties for the Nabateans' hospitality during the very long dry season. The photo on the top should look familiar to anyone who's ever watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. That there is called The Treasury. It's actually an elaborate tomb.

HTEWF, b.

July 26, 2006 A magical day. Starting at 8:00 am, our tour guide Maha (arabic: 'gazelle') led us into Petra. I spent our time there with Danielle and Skye. Sooo FUN! First, the Seik cavern is such sweet twisted carved rock.

How the East Was Fun

In case you didn't catch it, the title is a play on Mary Kate and Ashley Olson's incredibly cheesy (albeit slightly less horrible than the rest) movie, How the West Was Fun. Yesterday I did my very first "official" presentation of my trip to my mom's church ladies group. I don't think I presented my thoughts very clearly. Sigh. Technology is the devil. The messed-up powerpoint and residual technological errors had me rather flustered (Note: those of you who have actually seen me present stuff before, REJOICE with me, for I was neither visibly shaking, nor loosing my ability to breathe, nor feeling as if I was about to go into cardiac arrest at any moment). Anyways, I decided afterwards that there are at least two blog posts about my Israel trip that I want to write: one called How the East Was Fun, to focus on the funnest day of my life, and one called Why the Palestinians Are Mad to concisely illustrate the reasons behind my pro-Palestinian stance. I can't find my c-d with the Palestinian-Israeli political maps to write the more serious of the two posts, so instead I'm going to celebrate the success of the Post-Israel party I cohosted with Michelle tonight by writing about happier times than school papers and midterms. Cheers. The picture you see above is me and Skye standing in front of one of the many idols carved into the Seike walls leading into the ancient crown city of the Nabateans, Petra (now a tourist attraction in Jordan).

Tell Me Your Favourite Sad Song

Hello Kelly. I can't remember if I ever actually responded to your email. Sometimes I have eloborate pre-conversations with people in my head and then forget to have the real one. Yes, yes I am going to become a counselling psychologist, why do you ask? Anyhoo, recent news: I'm trying to burn my friend a c-d of sad songs because her grandpa just died but neither of my computers are cooperating with me and have not been cooperating with me since I started this project 8 hours ago. Grrrrrrrr. It's been a busy second last week before school starts again. I went with a new best friend I met on the trip to Israel (Skye) to a cabin on the edge of a lake near Radium for a couple days of real vacation. It was good: we prayed together; chatted about school, faith, family, and friends; went swimming and rafting in the lake with Skye's 2 little brothers and taught them a little about prayer; went mini-golfing, bumper-carring, Austrian cuisine eating, and hot springs soaking with her family; then we booked it back to Calgary to work on her Israel papers for a few quiet hours in her home before the rest of her family arrived back home. That night, once home, I spent talking on the phone to my sister Val about her summer camp counselling experience and arranging meeting times with friends and my boss for the next couple days. That was Monday through Wednesday. Thursday I worked from 8:30 am til 4:45 pm at my boss' house, cooking, mowing knee-high grass, and putting furniture together while entertaining my coworker and very good friend (Jen)'s daughter. After that, I went home, had supper, then went shopping with Mom, Sam, and Melanie for back-to-school clothes and supplies (YAY, I got a pink troll notebook and muticoloured pens to replace the 8 I exploded while in Israel). Friday I packed to go to another best friend's house (Mel), journaled with God, made a card for Mel's son, showed my 2 friends from Jr. High, (Denise and Sarah, plus Denise' fiance Dan,) the only Israel photos I've actually been able to transfer onto my computer (obviously, I am in need a techie-geek friend...like Jono). From 6 pm until 1 am I grocery shopped, decorated, cleaned, cake-iced, and cooked with Mel in preparation for the 20 guests coming to her 3rd son's first birthday party. On Saturday, we did the same thing until her guests arrived at 2: about half the number who had said they would come. Wow, I've never had that happen...It's all right. Isaiah had fun. Green icing has never looked so cute smeared all over someone's face before. Around 8;30 I went home, watched my family eat supper, walked the dog, watched The Goonies with Dad and Chasey, stayed up and finished a murder mystery I was reading, then read a magazine and the newspaper until 2 while drinking hot chocolate. Then I journaled until 4 am, at which time I encountered my mom who had woken up to do a load of laundry and sent me to bed. Now it's Sunday. I woke up at 7 to answer a friend's phone call and never went back to bed. I made her wheat-free cookies, went art supply shopping with Melanie before Mel's work shift, made my parents lunch, compiled a song list that refuses to burn, cleaned the kitchen, typed a couple emails, and am now getting ready to make a nice, non-computerized sympathy card to take with me when I go to keep my friend company after the ash throwing, around 11 pm tonight. Next week I'm working, hopefully meeting a friend from church, volunteering at the DC, buying text books, starting school, and helping Mel move because her fiend landlord sold the house after Mel and her family had lived there just 2 months and the new owner wants more than double their current rent. Dang it I hate Calgary's real estate market and greedy opportunists right now. Oh yeah, that reminds me: Nolan started moving out to a real (literal?) house church of prayer Tuesday. Now there's no one to yell at me to go to bed after we stay up for late night discussions. I don't know what to do without such an urging. And we got word this week that one of my old friends from the Parkdale Youth group, Amy, is moving in on the 10th or some such date. Now that the play-by-play of my life is over, all I really wanted to say is that I'm tired and I don't want the summer to be over because I love actually being available to spend quality time with friends and family and I won't pretty much as soon as school starts again because I'll be working, taking 5 courses, volunteering, and playing soccer. How'd you like that run-on sentance, eh?

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.