Lover

For the first time, I am truly falling in love with Christ. I will be transparent and say that I have never fallen in love, either with people or things, and certainly not with my beautiful Savior. I'm not sure if this is a prayer, or an imagined conversation, or what.. but I wanted to share what this new relationship feels like on my new and changing heart.

I am quickly becoming your perfect and beautiful bride. You are truly the lover of my heart- You seek me out, romancing me with your beautiful voice. I hear you in the wilderness of my heart, calling out to me, "beloved....beloved...." I choose the well-worn, easy path, but Your voice comes from the thicket- to step into it is to bloody my feet to follow You. "Come to me, my beloved, I am here and waiting. Come, take my hand, and follow me down my path, lined in righteousness and beautiful things."

Your sweet breath finds my ear and your voice again calls to me. "Leave your other lovers, love only ME, for your heart is beating only because I tell it to do so. It beats because of Me, now let it beat only FOR Me."

The other lovers are so tempting. They have many names- Money, Power, Comfort, Pride, Lust, Anger. I have known them all, and they know me. They have asked to dance, only to desert me on the floor for another, stepping on my feet and trampling my heart. But they still tempt me with their beautiful facades. They can offer me nothing but emptiness and death.

So I choose You, oh Lover of My Soul, You sing over me, your beloved. I will sit with you. I will walk with you, and yes, in full view of all those that are watching, I will dance with You...as long as You lead.

Lyrics....

So, thought I'd put up the lyrics I wrote over a year ago. Just to get them out there. Feel free to snicker.. I'm not so good.

'Beautifully Wasted"

Past the sea of velvet faces

Lies the one I know

The smoke grey eyes and candid mouth

Where candid words to flow

My memories and shaded dreams

outnumbered all my fears

You call to me, so now I see

I've wasted all these years

Beautifully wasted

Beautifully wasted

Beautifully reborn

When I see you and breathe you out

You breathe me in and blind my eyes

To your delicate disguise

"Waiting"

I wake up to coffee, traffic

Boss man'll be mad, I call in sick

Balcony with second cup

Waiting for things to look up

Can't see past yesterday

Slipping, tripping through today

So tense, I need to unwind

I just need to give this some time

Grandma's birthday, heading over

Family peering over my shoulder

"You here alone?" Their constant question

"Find a man" my dad's suggestion

But I can't see past yesterday

Slipping, tripping through today

So tense, I need to unwind

I just need to give this some time

My life unfolds just like a map

I need someone fold it back

"Take a Picture"

Walk down the street

People stare, do a double take

They judge and they size me up

It's fine if they stare

I'm just fine, I don't really care

Oh, oh

Take a picture

it'll last longer

judgement on others

so you're scared of the mirrors

Oh, Oh

Take a picture

it'll last longer

It's not how you look

your shape or your hair

it's what makes your heart beat

that makes you beautiful

"I do believe! Help me overcome my unbelief!"

I'm not sure how to open this up, how to start discussing what God has done in my life, to me, through me. So, here's lyrics to a song I'm sure a lot of you know. I can't say it better.

I've made You promises a thousand times. I tried to hear from Heaven, but I talked the whole time. I think I made You too small. I never feared you at all. If you touched my face, would I know You? Looked into my eyes, could I behold You?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out. I knew all the stories, and I loved to talk about how You were mighty to save. But those were only empty words on a page. Until I caught a glimpse of Who You might be. The slightest glimpse of You brought me down to my knees.

Let's start with Boston. Oh, Boston. Most of you have heard the stories, but just in case, I'll recap for those who have not yet heard.

In my preparation for Boston, I was plagued with doubts. Yes, my head told me that God could use me. But I was terrified with the thought "WOULD he use me? I haven't been living for Him, I've been living in my own selfish ambition." I was going with who I looked at as Spiritual Heavyweights. Men and Women who are sold out for the gospel of Christ. Who was I compared to them? I fasted and prayed, as Roswell (our leader) encouraged us to. In my prayers, I searched for the right thing to ask for. Wisdom? Passion? Humility? I came up with one word. Perseverance. I needed to persevere through my nagging doubtful thoughts, and trust in the One who laid out all my steps before I even take them.

My doubts eased, but did not evaporate. I prayed, "Oh God! I'm still failing! They'll all know... they'll all know it was a mistake to ask me to come. They have the wrong girl!"

The second day in Boston, we did mall ministry. It is with a bucket full of shame that I admit I have never, never done face-to-face evangelism. I have done good works with Jesus' name slapped on the front. (This is not discounting what I know God has used me for in the past, only stating that I, until this point, had not made it my mission to verbally lay out His Gospel). Rachel Bolter and I prayed that, as a team, God would give us one heart and one mind. We started talking to people, and boy, we were striking out left and right. The name of Jesus Christ is as offensive to the unbelieving as it is soothing to the believers. And we were shut down, again and again. A little discouraged, we made our way to the food court. Rachel says I'm good about asking what God wants of us, I'm not so sure. But I did turn to her and ask her who God was pointing out. She told me the girl in the yellow shorts. I agreed, and we walked over to her and asked to sit down. She motioned for us to take a seat, and I started to blab away. She then indicated to us that she couldn't hear us. She was deaf.

What?

Of the hundreds, maybe thousands of people in this mall, and the 13 of us. I sat down with this woman, when I am the one who knows sign language. Rachel is now hyperventilating next to me, as I try to remain calm. (Note: This story is so much easier to type then to explain... I get all tongue-tied trying to explain what happened next). We signed for a few minutes (I was voicing for Rachel) about how Dora, this woman, graduated from RTID (a smarty-school for the deaf) and how she came to Boston. I am still shaking. This woman is intelligent and fluent in sign. I am kind-of bright, and my language maxes out at around an 8th grade level. So I am struggling to keep up with her. Then, 20 minutes in, she says "So, you saw I was deaf and came to sit with me, right?" I replied, "I had no idea you were deaf." She then asked, "So...why did you come and sit with me." My answer was simple and clear, "God."

The next hour and a half is a blur to me, because it was no longer Mandy that was speaking. The Holy Spirit stepped in, and spoke through me. I understood her, and she understood me, with no language barriers. She told me her family is Buddhist, but they do not provide an interpreter in the temple, so she was unsure that she truly believed in that. She had a roommate that was into angels and mystic ideas. So I laid out the Gospel for Dora, I directed her to John (she had a bible at home, along with a Torah and the Koran). I told her of God's Great Love for her, and the spirit, working though me, again, cleared up all the spiritual confusion that she seemed to have. She told me it was too much... that it was overwhelming, and she needed to think and pray about it. As we closed, I told her I was going to pray for her. As I began, she stopped me and said, "WAIT! You need my last name." I looked at her in confusion. "No, I don't need it." "YES! I want your God to know who I am! You need my last name." So I told her how precious she was to Him. That he knows her. The number of hairs on her head. Knows all her days before they happen. I prayed. I asked God to answer Dora's questions, heal her confusion, and draw her close to Him. She did not pray to accept Jesus as her Lord that night. But I know, that if she is not already a daughter of His, that the day is coming when I can call her Sister.

And that story isn't that unusual. All of our team experienced the hand of God that week. We were all so wonderfully altered, we can never be the same. I know I'm not. How long have I talked about how good God is? Of His power to save? That was all fluff until I experienced it. Until I stood in Harvard square, a place so dark with spiritual mayhem that I felt it physically oppressing the Light we carried within us, how could I ever speak of Spiritual Warfare... I was never fit for battle.

Every day, I still wake up and ask God to heal my unbelief, just like the father in Mark 9. And everyday, he has been faithful to show me. But sometimes, man... he shows off.

*NOTE: The following is brutally honest and I have the permission of Wendy to share our story.

3 1/2 months ago, I prayed that God would send me someone to whom I could be a spiritual mentor. Less than 24 hours after I prayed that prayer, Danek brought over Wendy at Clarity on a Wednesday night. (If you've met Danek, you know that God uses this man often...simply because Danek's ear is always inclined to hear from God, while most of us have our IPODs in). Within a few days, I knew that Wendy's heart was not in Christ. I prayed, "Lord, let me make sure I've heard you correctly. You want me to be a mentor for a girl who doesn't yet even BELIEVE in you? What am I supposed to do with this?" I knew I should be patient, so I spoke to her many times, and probably a little to harshly, about accepting Christ. Then Boston came and went, and my frustrated reached it's pinnacle. I had had more success with total strangers in Boston than I had had with this girl that I truly believed God had "assigned" to me. Then Sunday, July 25, we were planning on attending the prayer service in Sugar Creek. God has always shown up in a mighty way, there, and I was excited. Danek invited Wendy, which I was more then a little apprehensive about. In my selfishness, I said, "She doesn't believe! She won't understand!" I lashed out at Danek, because I had no outlet for my frustration. He told me simply, "She needs to be there... that is the true Church." I knew he was right. I prayed out my agitation, and became slightly more optimistic at my friend attending. The first hour of the prayer meeting, I prayed for many things, Wendy's salvation included. Then, Roswell came over and sat next to Wendy. I have no idea what he prayed for her about, because my eyes filled with tears at my answered request.. that I knew was coming. Danek came, took my hand and we prayed for Wendy. I had nothing to say. I let Danek pray for both of us, because words weren't forming. I went over to sit near her. I placed my hand on her back, and she grabbed me, latching onto me, shaking with sobs. I knew God had broken her... that she was truly seeing His grace and redemption. I prayed with her, and I felt her spirit lighten as she truly accepted Jesus Christ as her Savior.

Again, I was blown away at being used as His vessel. I thanked Danek for being so faithful to God's direction. He, too, was wrecked, but you'll have to ask him about that.

I'm not sure how to sum up. Only this. If you call yourself a Christian, which means a follower of Christ, make sure you actually are. There is no such thing as degrees of Christianity. There is no such thing as a "lukewarm Christian"... that's like saying there is such a thing as dry water. He is your Lord of all, or He is not Lord at all.

Please, God.... be my Lord of ALL.

Things stink. We had to put Lucy down, she had a massive tumor. Then I find out my grandmother, the only one I have left, has Stage Two Bone Cancer. As my good friend Margeaux says, "Life is crap, God is great."

To Him Who is mighty to save, be all glory and honor forever. Amen.

Crazy Love

I'm so irritated.

I'm reading this book called Crazy Love by Francis Chan. It's very simple, it's taking a step back from the do's and don'ts of American Christianity and asking a very simple question. Who is this God?

I picked up this book at Tulsa Airport on the way back from my great-grandmother's funeral. I had a bag of cheeze-its and an apple juice tucked into the crook of my arm, and in one hand I held this book, Crazy Love. In the other hand, I held a Cosmo Magazine. Decisions, decisions. (By the way, I've decided if I ever publish a book, a picture of what I looked like while holding these different items would be the cover, for it is a perfect picture of my life). I put the magazine down. I decided if I was sitting next to someone on plane, I'd rather have a plain-front book than a magazine, whose' cover screams "5 Ways To Make Your Butt Look Awesome." Also, the book was just far more applicable, anyway.

So I started reading on the plane. I hate flying. I used to love it. It's not that I fear death, really. It's the plummeting, screaming, life jacket donning, oxygen mask wearing (honestly, do you think a blown up piece of plastic and a yellow Dixie cup attached to your face is gonna save you?) FLIGHT to death that I'd rather not experience.

So, back to the book. It's as if the author walked up to my isle seat and said, "Hello, you are wasting perfectly good oxygen sitting around in life doing nothing. Please get off your tukus and serve the Almighty God who, for reasons obviously unknown to us, loves you."

I don't think that was the author's intention. But that is how I felt. God loves me. I know we say this all the time, we sing about it at church, it's on bumper stickers and t-shirts, we whisper it to our children. But the thought......I'm out of words on how to describe it.

He loves me. Loves ME. Have you met me? I'm not the most lovable. And those who do love me, love me because I can, in return, love them. In almost equal amounts. The Creator of everything, even me, before there was time itself, loves me. I cannot love Him in return in the same manner. No matter what I do, my love is totally imperfect. I love things and people because, deep within my heart, I know that all that love can be returned to me. How often to I love people that truly REJECT me? A masochistic kind of love.

Then, during some turbulence, I started thinking about my funeral. Morbid, you say? Eh. I think about it more than some people, I'm sure. Brittany and Laura will sing. Some pastor I've had at some point will give the eulogy. People will sing a few hymns (How Deep the Father's Love for Us, In Christ Alone, When We All Get to Heaven, etc.) And people are required to say nice things at a person's funeral. It's mandatory. The truth gets stretched a little bit further than it should, in cases where people are truly thinking, "well...she wasn't a very nice person."

I do not have false modesty. I don't think that people will be thinking, "Good thing she's dead." I'm sure I will be missed. Maybe even remembered, for a while. But this life, a vapor, a 1/4 second glimpse of me, the 'extra', in the movie of "God," is all I have to serve Christ. Here is what it all comes down to.

I have made Christ a part of my life. Sometimes, he's a big part of my life. That's a good thing, right? But here's what God thinks of that....

He should BE my life. He has no identity complex. He does not need me to feel complete. The fact that he ALLOWS me to love him is blindingly inconceivable. So what am I to do? I don't know. I don't know how to even begin to love Him in the way I should. The Bible is clear. If I love him, I follow His commands.

The parable about the rich man who comes to Jesus and tells him that he's "been a good boy", and wants to follow him, touches a nerve within me. Jesus tells him to leave everything he has, give it all away, and follow. I am that rich man. I have been a good girl. Sometimes, annoyingly so. I've accepted his gift of salvation so many years ago. And still, I feel like I'm stuck standing still in the story. "I want to follow you! I've been so good!"

He looks in to the eyes he formed, into the soul he knew before I existed, and says, "Leave it all, daughter. What you think you have is waste. The lukewarm life you are so proud of is not fit for the manure pile. Your good deeds are filthy rags. Leave it all, follow me."

To be continued.........

Itchy

Meditation is still going quite well. I love being in the prescence of God, feeling the closeness, the intimacy, of being loved by such a loving Heavenly Father. I've taken to calling Him Abba in my prayers, or "daddy." I see this as a good thing. I could never bring myself to call Him something so pesonal before.

Last night, two friends and I went to a secret place to spend time together and talk. We talked of many things, and I feel I know them both so much better.. maybe better than I know most people in Houston. I started talking about what God is showing me in my life, and I said this. "I feel like my whole life I've been walking to this great theater, and the performance will be my own life. I feel like I'm now sitting in the audience, and the curtain is about to go up." This is all a very poetic way of saying, I feel something big is about to happen in my life. Good or bad, I know that the next few years will be the catalyst for the rest of my days. I'm anxious to see what it is. Anxious, as in.... anxiety. I have the worst cabin fever. I feel like I need to move, but God is telling me I need to stay. I feel so confined, and it's extremly uncomfortable.

In Wicked, when Elphaba is speaking to Galinda, in the preamble to Defying Gravity, she says something that rings true with me.

Something has changed within me, something is not the same. I'm tired of playing by the rules of someone else's game. Too late for second chances, too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes.... and leap.

Meditation: part 3

I didn't meditate yesterday. I forgot until it was too late. Poo. 

Today, I meditated for 10 minutes. After my massage yesterday, my back is protesting much less to the good posture that I force upon it. Hum Sah, Hum Sah, and all that. And it was very peaceful. I focused on listening to my breathing and my heartbeat. I sent up a prayer of thanks in the middle of my meditation, thanking God for letting me have this heartbeat. Then, back in meditation, I almost, ALMOST, became a mental mute. Except for this one very loud thought, "WOW, I'M VERY QUIET TODAY."

So, I'm refreshed, and ready to enjoy my day with my mom. Shopping. 

Meditation: Part 2

Ah, day two of my attempts at meditation. 

Today's prayer was more...connected. I had a better grasp on what it was I needed to pray for and about. I asked for things specifically, and thanked Him for things specifically. 

As I took my first deep breaths, I had an inner monologue. 

Alright brain, it's time to quiet yourself and prepare to hear from God.

Alright. I'm quiet. 

Pause.

Hey, do you hear that? I think Lucy needs to go outside.

Shhh... you need to focus. Are you focusing? 

Focused.

Pause.

What should I focus on?

Remember, Hum Sah, Hum when you breathe in, Sah when you breathe out. Now, Shh!!

Alright. 

Pause.

I have to go to the bathroom. 

It is impossible to quiet my mind. I am a chatterbox, both inside my head and aloud. My goal is to mentally shut up tomorrow. We'll see how that goes. 

keep you posted. 

Meditation: Part 1

This morning, I woke up, stretched, rubbed my eyes, and thought "Oh crap, it's meditation time." I'll admit I was both anticipating this, and dreading it. I  told Lucy to shut-up and go back to sleep (not the most peaceful thoughts before meditation, I admit), and then I sat down "indian-style", placed my hands facing up on my knees, and took three deep breaths. I immediately started worrying about my posture. To sit with a straight back, engages my abdomen, which means I can't really relax. But I feel bad slumping over my lap. So, I straightened my back, leaned slightly forward, and started to pray. 

I prayed first, because I felt it was reckless to open up myself to the universe without first speaking with the God that has given me His Spirit. So, I prayed. My prayers are personal and often intense, so what I prayed about will stay between the Lord and I. Suffice to say there was a lot of thankfulness, and a lot of supplication. And then, I mediated.

The stillness was pretty good. I could stay stationary, even when my left foot fell asleep. The goal is 20 minutes in the state of listening to God. I breathed deep. I tried to fill up every inch of my body with my breath. I tried to focus on these words "hum sah", which means "you are that, being everything" in Sanskrit. I was mentally quiet. Well, quiet for me. 

My request, unspoken, was this, "Speak to me Lord." I must report that I didn't hear a booming, mountain-shaking voice saying, "Mandy, I'm here. I want you to move to Calcutta and eat bugs. You will be known as the selfless, Calcutta-dwelling, bug-eating follower of Christ."Alas, I heard nothing but my own breath, my own thoughts, "hum sah, hum sah, hum sah." I did this for a while, and then I rose out of meditation. I prayed again, asking God to keep me mindful of his presence throughout my day. I was feeling kind of proud of myself, and greatful for the time I had spent with God. Then I looked at the clock.

I had been meditating for 7 minutes. 

Congratulations to Meet You

I love the book I'm reading right now. It's called "Eat, Pray, Love", about a woman's one-year journey of self-exploration. She journey's first to Italy, for pleasure, then to India, for spiritual-enlightenment, then Bali, to find a balance of both. I don't agree with the author, who is a firm believer in God (good) and that there is NOT just one way to him (not so good). However, the narrative voice in the book stirs something within me. Her incessant need to see the world, and more importantly, interact with all the people therein, is a calling I can relate to.

Her journey starts in Italy. As I read this part of the book, I am overcome with envy. The woman takes 4 months to do the following: eat and talk. Good Lord, that would be awesome! (Actually, I kind of do that now, I just don't do it with a purpose). She is learning Italian, which she calls the most beautiful language in the world. I concur. My favorite word she explains in her book is "atrevesiamo" which means "let us cross over" in Italian. It's a term that is used when crossing the street, but more poetically, it can mean that it is time for two people to move on from a certain situation, fight, or period of time. My second favorite word has to be "Apetsi" which means, loosely translated, "my little moron."

She then goes to India, happier and 35lbs more heavy. She lives in an Ashram, or a temple/dorm/thingy. (This is also where a sweet Hindu man greets her every morning with "congratulations to meet you." Here is where I plan on stealing some of the information that she shares and applying it in my life. First and foremost, meditation. When we say that word, we think Ohm, buddhist and hindu statues, and weird orange robes. Actually, meditation is a spiritual discipline in Christianity, and it is found in almost every religion in one form or another. So, here is my quest. This is my Spring Break, for the the next 5 days, I am going to start every day in 30 minute meditation. She describes meditation in detail, and I am going to be selective in which parts I will do. (I understand that this isn't how it's supposed to be done, but that's alright). First, I will remain utterly and completely still. I will fail at this, but I will try. Then, I will remain utterly and completely silent. At this, I will MOST certainly fail. For it's mental silence as much as it is verbal. I plan on praying to the Lord, then remaining silent, waiting on His voice. I like the way she put it. "Prayer is the act of talking to God, meditation is the practice of listening." Wanna take a wild guess on which one I'm better at?

I'll be blogging daily, so you can feel my failures and (hopefully) small triumphs with me.

And now, atrevesiamo.

Fieldtrips are like wedgies, you can't control it, and you can't fix it in public. Did that make sense?

Fieldtrip day!
We're going to the Children's Muesum of Houston, also known as every educators heart atttack waiting to happen. And when you have deaf children, you travel with EXPENSIVE equipment. (I once estimated how much the technology in my room is worth (a audio tower, 3 microphones, 9 hearing aids, 2 Cochlear Implants) and I think it would be around $120,000. Geez.
So if I survive the day, I have to clean and do laundry tonight so I can pack tomorrow for Oklahoma! I'll be going to Scotti O's house in Chickasha first, then onto Tulsa a few days later. Yay! I'll get to see my besties, and my family, who I haven't seen in 3 months. I'm pumped.

Updatechalater!

Woe is me... right?

Things are tough all over, aren't they? They are in Houston fo' sho'. Mostly money woes. Now tell me if this isn't the picture of insanity: I get all upset about how much money I've spent, so I go shopping. Makes a ton of sense. In High School I used to say "Giving away money is like giving away your problems." Easy to say when it's NOT YO' MONEY. I bought 60 dollars worth of books yesterday. Did you catch that? SIXTY DOLLARS. And no book was more than $6. Yes, that means I got a ton of books. Time to "get literate." Maybe with more reading, I'll be a better writer, and stop saying things like "fo' sho'" and "not yo' money." Then again it's mostly historical fiction, so my writing could get really weird really quick.

I have 5 more work days, and then I'm out of here. I'm driving to Chickasha first (holla' if you want me to stop by and see you) to hang out with Scotti O. Then I'll be making the very short trip (in comparison) to Broken Arrow. I'll be very glad to be home. And I'm glad my mom and I 86'd the trip to Branson. Apparently it's simply an entertaining rest place for the old and infirm.

Lastly, I would like to share with you my "sustaining song." I've felt very powerless lately, even in my own life. And when I sing this song to myself, I am reminded of One who is all powerful. Read the lyrics. Sing it to yourself. Tell me if you don't feel the same.

How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocing voice,
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

Do I have a sign on my back?

My dog is a gonner. I'm gonna kill her, and explain it nicely to the ASPCA. When they hear what she did, they'll condone my actions. It's completely justified.
This morning, we go outside, she does her thing...twice... and then we head back in. I go in to the bathroom to finish getting ready. In the reflection of the mirror I can see she's sitting on my bed. Then, I see what she's doing...she's PEEING. ON MY BED. Her nastiness got on the bedspread and my "5th Grade Rocks" Tshirt that I had just laid out. I may have freaked out a little. And she may have gotten the spanking (on her nose) of her lifetime. And she may be banished to her kennel for the rest of her life.
Then, I got in my car, and my favorite pair of jeans took their last breath and walked into the light. Split. Right down the inner thigh. You've GOT to be kidding me.
I got a Light N' Fluffy from Smoothie King. He's the only one who understands. (the king, that is.)
Yorkie-Silky-Evil-Terrier for sale. Any takers?

Whoops

Ah, we meet again. Once more, I have started a blog/jornal/project, and left it to sit in it's decaying remains until I noticed it again. Whoops. Not that anyone really reads my blog, but it's nice to think that I have a following of highly educated and rather good-looking people hanging on my every word... words that I haven't shared since last September.
So, things are pretty good for the most part. Still live in the Hovel, still chase Lucy around every morning, still teach 5th grade deaf ed. Not alot has changed, except the people. I hang out with a much different crowd these days. Mostly people from my church that I don't find condescening or hypocritical. These people are real. They love Christ, and they love people. Therefore, I love them.
My two best friends got married. One to Mr. Perfect-for Her, one to Mr. Better-than-You. I'm still besties with the best friend who DIDN'T marry the narccisistic control freak. The other, well... what can you do? Nothing. Sit, wait, and be a safety net for when all hell breaks loose.
I am so, so bored with life. Do you ever get that way? I'm a natural vagabond (and no, there's not a negative connotation to that word... it simply means that if i sit still too long, my butt starts to itch). Stay in one place doesn't suit me well. I need to get out of the Hovel. Onto bigger and better things... hopefully that include a yard (which I will never mow, by the way). But I am a poor and lowly teacher. A house would require one of two things. A roommate, or a husband. Since roommates are usually easier to live with, I choose the former. However, I know no one who a.) needs a roommate as well, b.) wants to live outside the loop, or c.) who could stand living with me. Let me know if you know of such a person. I'm fairly sure they only exhist in the stories of Brahm.
So, hopefully it wont be 6 more months before I post again. But, I can't promise. Tell your friends.