Spidatter

So She Danced

2012-05-17T17:03:00.000-07:00

Me and my forever friend, Nicole. Some people think we're identical. We're not.
Shockingly, this is the only photo I could find of me hands-up dancing.

So She Danced

A paraphrase inspired by Momastery

I am sitting in a bright white kitchen with God. It's gleaming, open and immaculate. A butcher's block is fit into the corner of the stone countertop with the sharpest knives money can buy. I didn't get to test them out, but in dreams you can be certain of things without truly knowing. Sharpest knives in the world. That—and their handles were encrusted with pearly ivory.

The north side of the kitchen opens into a living room through a breezy walkway. I wander in. My bare feet felt smooth on the wide-plank herringbone wood floor. I nestle back into the wide embrace of an overstuffed leather chair and drink in its earthy scent. We are the only ones in the house.

God remains in the kitchen at the countertop with the knives. Apparently he is quite the chef. I hear he's also pretty kickass at soccer, but he leaves the knives at home for that.

Although I can clearly hear his warm yet booming voice from the living room, I'm annoyed he didn't follow me in here. I grab a linen-covered throw pillow and hug my knees into my chest along with it, obviously pouting. I can hear him repeatedly pounding the utility knife against the cutting block. I know he knows I'm in here. I know he knows I'm upset.

I let out a long breath against the back of my throat—like Ujjayi breathing in yoga. It's loud and intentional, but it doesn't calm me this time. I reposition myself in the chair, leaning hard onto my right arm, my cheek weighing heavy into my right hand. I can see him now through just a sliver of an angle in the walkway. He has the short paring knife out now. His demeanor is calm and collected as he cuts bite-sized pieces out of one of my Fuji apples.

I kick childishly at the leather ottoman, trying to knock it over, but instead it just makes a loud scuffing noise against the floorboards. He doesn't look up from his work. Now he's pulling scallions from the ice box and is slicing meticulously.

Fine, I think. I can be the bigger person. I can start.

Why?

Why am I here? Better question—why would you lead me here and then leave me? Because clearly, YOU led me here. I didn't kick down any doors or plow through any barricades to get here. And now you're being awfully coy and quiet over there in the kitchen. What's your big plan? It's been over a year. There isn't a plan, is there? Is there?!

God keeps chopping. I can smell the ginger wafting over. He says nothing though.

The job rejection letter, you know, the one job that I would finally feel proud to tell everyone back home about...? And how I got it in the mail on Valentine's Day? Reminding me that not only am I the only single female left in America, but no one in this state has heard of my college and no one wants to hire me...? [Clearly hyperbole was getting the better of me at this point.]

Was I supposed to learn something from that?

This is NOT where I dreamed I'd be at age 26. And you made me, didn't you? You gave me these dreams, and now I want to know why. What's the point?

And then the real kicker, because all the yelling wasn't really about a silly job: Why does life make love so hard?

During all of that, God is still a picture of serenity in the kitchen. I heatedly watch him rinse the paring knife of ginger and turn to slice a lime in half before reaching for a basket of freshly picked kale.

In my mind I hear myself brooding, What is he even making? It better be good.

It will be. He breaks his silence. Actually, it is already.

Then he sets down the knife, smiles in at me and says,

My sweet girl, you are so upset. I get that. I feel that. And I love you so freaking much. [Yes, God said freaking.] So would you like me to shut down the dinner prep for a while so we can talk face-to-face?

His sudden direct attention unnerves me, and I rise to standing. My curiosity pulls me into the kitchen, where I can finally see all of what he has been doing. I gaze into the over-sized serving bowl and the presentation takes my breath away. Jewels of produce—ten times more than what I had noticed him handling—intermingle with water particles freshly clinging like diamonds. Rich reds and emerald greens and orange, yellow and purple. It was a mess of color—so vivid that I could actually taste them without bringing any of it to my mouth. The best summer squash and dried currants. Persian cucumbers and wild mint. Blueberries and shavings of baby asparagus.

I'm a big salad girl, but I'd never crafted something so nuanced before. And the smell—I couldn't place it, but I never wanted to let it go.

My lips parted to ask, What is it? But just before the words came out, I tilted my head and saw myself. The wild and perfect concoction was me. All swirly and crunchy and life-giving.

No, keep going, I say. I want you to finish the meal.

Because he is preparing my life, of course. His hands are touching me. Cutting, chopping, peeling away. And I wouldn't want to distract him from that. I decide I still trust him.

Hey...God?

I don't want to get in the way anymore. But I don't really know what to do exactly. So I’m just going to dance. While you cook. Is that okay?

He walks toward me, pauses, and gently brushes a few strands of my hair back behind my ear. Then he says, Dance? Is that okay? That's all I've ever wanted for you to do, sweet girl. So you go dance, and I’ll cook. It’s going to be so, so good. I've got this.

So I twirl my hair into a big messy bun on the top of my head and throw my gaze and my hands skyward. And God turns back to the cutting board, beaming over me.

obscure Mexican holidays

2012-05-06T23:25:00.001-07:00

After a full day of backyard bottle-collecting and re-hydration, I'm more than ready to talk about the best Cinco de Mayo I've ever had. Which maybe isn't the most meaningful way to phrase it since I've never actually done anything extraordinary for this obscure Mexican holiday that we Americans seem to cherish so much.

But still.

Last night began when an old friend of mine from high school in Santa Barbara ended up at the Tractor Tavern in Ballard, Seattle, playing a show on his West Coast tour with his band, Tommy & the High Pilots. The thing about Tommy is that I remember him more as this ever-so-slightly chubby theater geek kid when we were teenagers.

And now he's hot. And he has groupies.

I converted two of my friends on the spot. The second Tommy opened his mouth on stage, both of the girls went weak at the knees. They both wept when I told them he'd been dating the same girl for EIGHT YEARS.

This isn't even a good recording, but it's a new song he just wrote about Goleta, my true homeland, and it makes me a little weepy. In a good way. Now go watch their real videos here: http://www.youtube.com/user/thehighpilots?feature=watch

I haven't even gotten to the best part yet.

Since it was Cinco de Mayo and all, I naturally extended some Cinco de Mayo hospitality and invited Tommy and his boys over for some fireside beers in our backyard with a few other friends. And by few, I mean 20-30-ish.

The High Pilots brought the other band they're touring with, A B & the SEA...and they all brought their guitars. Ergo a fireside jam session proceeded into the wee hours of the morning (ooops—sorry, neighbors!). And then I made them scrambled eggs for breakfast in the morning. The end.

Viva la Cinco!

9008 Gala

2012-05-03T23:49:00.000-07:00

Fun story:

One of my favorite people in Seattle is this girl:

Meet Kelly.

We are both from Santa Barbara. We technically grew up together. Meaning there are photos of us running around with other kids when we were knee-high...but we'd never actually hung out until a year ago when we connected back in Santa Barbara at a mutual friend's graduation party. We got to talking about Seattle and realized we lived a mile away from one another. We also realized that we should probably become really good friends ASAP. So...we did.

Several months ago Kelly was offered a fabulous position at a nonprofit organization called World Concern. While I'm sad (read: morbidly depressed and inconsolable) that she will be leaving soon to move to KENYA, I'm so proud of their new Communication Liaison!

A fundraising gala was held in her honor recently and I was blessed to be a part of the night. Obviously the camera came along...

Café Presse

2012-04-28T18:09:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while I feel minor intimidation toward certain eating establishments in Seattle. Either they've been written up in one too many foodie magazines, their menus are in a chic foreign language, or the wait staff have uncommon piercings and tattoos covering the majority of their visible skin.

This morning I brunched with my bloggy girlfriend Allie at Café Presse, and it nabbed a spot in all three of the above categories.

First of all, hellooooo magazine selection. Bless their hearts for alphabetizing—made it a lot easier to find these winners.

Croque Madame. One bite is worth a thousand words. And this iPhone photo is worth about five.

Ginger Al. Looking sassy is her M.O.

The go-to mezzo: espresso, steamed soy, H₂O.

Al's café au lait...

Natural car air freshener. The first lilacs of Spring. Pure love.

musical girl crush

2012-04-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

I saw my musical girl crush face-to-face last night!

The few songs I have actually managed to write teensy parts of on the piano are due in large part to Ingrid Michaelson and her quirky, cute, yet I-don't-give-a-$%*# inspiration in my life.

And thanks to my sweet roommate, Ingrid's Girls and Boys album was also the unofficial soundtrack to my last semester of college.

Lots of build up...blah blah blah. All that to say, last night was dang good.

Highlights:

Ingrid first walking out on stage to Ke$ha's Blow blasting over the main sound system.
Her honesty, peculiar and unexpected traits shining through.
Her improving an entire song about sexually harassing her band members. (See previous point.)
Getting chills when she sang this song...

Top Ramen's older, smarter, sexier brother

2012-04-07T19:17:00.000-07:00

Here's a fun fact: I ate more Top Ramen as a pre-adolescent girl than the average fraternity member consumes in their first year of undergrad. My family called them "big noodles" when I was growing up. They were somewhat of a staple in my childhood pantry. Clearly some things have changed in my life. The most obvious being that I no longer compare my diet to a frat house. Secondly, I'm all about the whole foods now—and things in packages scare me. Oh and I love cooking. Like really, really love it.

But when I need a quick meal in a pinch, I'm often tempted to fall back into the easy arms of Mr. Ramen. So instead, I started hanging out with his older, smarter, sexier brother. And he's been real good to me so far. Healthy relationships are just the best.

Rice noodles in a sweet ginger scallion sauce

Adapted from Simply Reem

Cook noodles al dente and combine the following:

Rice noodles – ≈8oz
Salt & pepper
Sesame seeds – ≈2 T (I use white hulled)
Cucumber thinly sliced (optional)

For Sweet Ginger Scallion Sauce:

Scallions (green onions) – ½ C chopped
Ginger – 2 T minced (OR I started using this and am mildly obsessed. True ginger in its most convenient form—and organic.)
Cilantro – ¼ C (optional)
Sesame oil (or other neutral oil) – 2 T
Chili powder – 2 t
Tamari sauce – 1 T
Rice vinegar – 2 T
Honey – 1 T
Lime juice – 1 T

great things

2012-03-29T00:31:00.001-07:00

A friend (hey Adam!) suggested that it's about time I start to highlight some great things in life on the blog. And I couldn't agree more. Things were getting a bit heavy around here.

I went on a vacation last week.
Hint: There was sun. And Blenders.

Santa Barbara.

And it did not disappoint.

View from my parents' street. Can't handle it.

Lots of beach times.

Saw the midnight premiere of The Hunger Games...still reading the third book.

Gots to document the blue sky. Wouldn't want to forget what you look like.

Yeeeeeeeeeee I'm in Santa Barbara!

Having a pet for a week is the perfect amount of time. Especially when it's Jack Jacks.

Sister time in the sun with these two hotties.

Coffee date with Mom at SB RoCo.

Had a delightful breakfast with my pretend little brother (Hi Jordan!) at Savoy.

They have a magic kitchen.

The always gorgeous Santa Barbara Cemetery.

Visited my grandparents' beautiful grave with my mama.

And I have yet to unpack.

Sorry not sorry.

hard things #2

2012-03-18T22:39:00.000-07:00

Ed Cooke for Valencourt by Samuel Bradley.

Hard Things #2—Addiction [See my quasi-intro to the "hard things" posts here.]

This post has been slowly pieced together over many weeks; at one point I strongly considered not posting any of it at all, so as not to be voted the Most Depressing Blog of 2012. But then I re-read this statistic in the news: "Unintentional drug overdose is now the second leading cause of accidental death in the United States." I think that's worth some attention.

There are so many facets of addiction: the science behind it, the psychology of it, the broken relationships, the fallout, recovery, the healed relationships, relapse, the grace required, the patterns, the simplicity of it, the complexity of it. And I am by no means an expert on any of it.

Things that would have been easier than writing this post:

embedding an hour-long video of Dr. Drew (not to be confused with Dr. Phil...or Dr. Dre for that matter, whose upcoming album just so happens to be called Detox). But I couldn't find an hour-long video on YouTube. Your loss. Dr. Drew is the best.
typing out the 10+ prayer journals I have detailing the saga that my ex-boyfriend and I falsely referred to as a "healthy dating relationship." But I kept picturing my sister opening up her computer, clicking on my blog, and throwing her laptop across the room.

Needless to say—this is the hard thing that hits closest to home for me. My ex-boyfriend, Taylor, is an addict. No, I didn't meet him at a homeless shelter or on the Internet. We met at church. We played worship together in youth group. He has a Bachelor's degree from the private liberal arts college that we both attended. He has two wonderful and loving parents. He drives a nice car.

I say all of this only to point out that I think Taylor is a good example of someone who breaks the mold of what we as "the Church" (or perhaps all of upper-class America) typically picture when we think of a drug addict. The only thing that I respect about addiction is that it doesn't discriminate. And until we recognize the people who are in need, we won't be able to help them in the ways that they need.

What Science Has to Say...

Many would argue that addiction is the epidemic of our generation. Once in the throes of their addiction, addicts all share a common biology—a disorder of the brains reward system. Drugs distort the brain's fundamental motivation systems (loving your family, maintaining your own health) until the brain's biology confuses the message of the drug with the message of survival itself. And because this renders an addict almost always resistant to the very treatment that could save them, many doctors have suggested that severe addicts have a worse prognosis than most cancer patients.

According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIDA), "between 1991 and 2010, prescriptions for...opioid analgesics increased from about 75.5 million to 209.5 million."

That fact should blow your mind.

[Opioid analgesics/narcotic analgesics are pain relievers. They act on the central nervous system. And they include codeine, morphine, methadone, oxycodone (OxyContin), hydrocodone (Vicodin), fentanyl...etc.]

Can We Change This?
When I first realized how bad off Taylor was (hint: really bad), I responded by looping Jimmy Eat World's Drugs or Me in my iPod headphones and crying myself to sleep almost every night for a month. Pathetic, yes. But I don't fault myself for it. I know I wasn't overreacting because I'd read over half the addiction memoirs on the market. Spoiler alert: They are all the same. And the story I was living through was the same. Watch any episode from any of the drug-related shows now on television (Intervention, Celebrity Rehab, Addicted, etc.), and you will see the same thing over and over and over again. Loved ones frustrated and scared to the point of tears, weary from trying to save their lying and scheming addict, whose odds are stacked against them. I just summarized 50% of prime time television.

I say all that brazenly, but truthfully, that was me not that long ago. For a time, I made everything in my life about saving Taylor's life. When the professor of a graduate-level writing course I was taking read a piece I wrote about Taylor, he responded with this critique: "Your EX-boyfriend is doing heroin...so what? That's a sentence. Not an essay."
And then I ripped a pillow in half.
But really—after his words settled in, I realized that he'd basically told me what it took my therapist three years to tell me. I need to accept that which I cannot change on my own.

This is the Serenity Prayer. Not-so-coincidentally, it gets corporately recited at the end of every Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Hmmm, I wonder why.

But what about the things that we can change?
So glad you asked.
While writing this, I played around with new and creative ways to define addiction because our culture uses the word far too casually and often incorrectly. I found that in many ways, addiction is the opposite of love. There is no balance of truth and grace in it—it's dark, all-consuming and downright deceptive.

If we are ever going to see widespread healing, we have to take the shame out of the disease of addiction.

Secrets, shame, fear and pain all live within the dark. But that's not who we are as believers. We are called to live as children of the light. We are children of the day! Not a single speck of our beings belongs to the night or the darkness (1 Thess. 5:5).

Taylor sent me these verses in a Facebook message once:

Job 17:11-15:

"My days have passed, my plans are shattered.
   Yet the desires of my heart

turn night into day;
   in the face of the darkness light is near.

If the only home I hope for is the grave,
   if I spread out my bed in the realm of darkness,

where then is my hope—
   who can see any hope for me?"

We need to be the people who see the hope for those suffering in darkness.

We try too hard to fix the symptoms and not the heart of the disease. We throw money, empty sermons, rehab, housing, and even food banks at the addicts in our cities, but I believe Christ would do more.

Here are a few ways I've seen the Church further the gap between itself and the chemically dependent population:

deception. Naively believing that "it could never happen to _____" is only furthering the lie and the problem. Matthew 10:16: “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as cunning as serpents and as innocent as doves." It's time to wise up.
ignorance. Plenty of people don't know the difference between marijuana and heroin, or that Vicodin is an opiate, and a highly addictive one at that.
lack of compassion. Imagine yourself in that position. Life is not a 24/7 party. You are literally a slave to a pill or a glass of liquid. You've let down everyone you love. There is no promising light at the end of the tunnel unless someone cares enough to walk you into it.
judgment. There's a haunting French proverb that says, "We should enter everyone's situation. To understand all is to forgive all." It's safe to say that God, in his sovereign wisdom, is the only one who is capable of accomplishing both these feats. But are we, as humans, even trying?

D.L.M, an author on McSweeney's literary journal, speaks to our role so much better than I ever could:

"I never thought I would mourn the inability to go back, back to a time when the weight of the world wasn’t on my shoulders. The ever-present voice (I would say Holy Spirit) inside of me is only getting louder: The world is not right, the world is not right.

...Jesus would not want our lives to be [inconvenienced] just because so many others are. Right? I have looked hard at the facts, and by the grace of God I am starting to understand that I am not special. That I am one of God’s children, and I must do everything in my power to help my brothers and sisters. I can’t promise the key to a good life, but I can tell you that Jesus wanted us to be all up in the human condition."

And how are we supposed to be "all up in the human condition" if we ignore it, hide it, or enable it? Not sure how I made it this far into a post about addiction without saying the word enable. Enable, by its very definition, means "to allow, permit or empower something to happen."

But the only way to fight the evil of addiction is by exposing it. Not so that the person can suffer shame, but so that they can be surrounded by a compassionate community who is aware of the problem and therefore better equipped to pray more specifically, refer help more accurately, and support their loved ones more readily.

One of the worst atrocities I've seen committed in the Christian community is this thing I've started calling the "white picket fence phenomenon." It's the way we as Christians fail at being transparent with one another in an attempt to hide our shortcomings and thereby appear as if we "have it all together." You've seen it before. We've all done it before. It's misleading, deceiving, ungracious and goes against so much of what Christ stood for. And when we try and cover up our own sins, or the sins of our loved ones, we are only encouraging that sin to thrive in the darkness we've created around it. Sometimes we do it out of shame or embarrassment, but oftentimes we do it out of love and a false sense of being able to protect someone we deeply care about.

The Hope We Can't Provide On Our Own

Psalm 107 speaks boldly into the heart of addiction, while promoting a God who fights for his children, even the ones who have imprisoned themselves...

Before witnessing Taylor's addiction, I clumped addicts of all shapes and sizes together in my head and branded them with the words "lost cause." I assumed anyone with an addiction had always been walking down that road and would surely always be on it. Now when I see someone living in that battle, there is a love that wells up inside me. I picture Taylor's face prior to this mess he's in, and I remember all of the color that he used to have in life—his music, his brain, his humungous heart.

In trying not to dwell on this present darkness, I cannot help but reach into the past to anchor my hope for the future. No one is born a lost cause. And if we don't give up on those who become lost, some of the lucky ones won't have to die that way.
We are the light of the world. We are the city on a hill. We've got to start acting like it.

hard things #1

2012-03-07T09:37:00.001-08:00

This is the first installment of "hard things" posts, where I will be talking about—you guessed it—hard things.

My goals through these posts are to:

Shed light on the severity of a hard thing without going into histrionics about it.
Throw some prayer at the hard thing so that it will go away forever and ever.

Life is hard. I get it. I think most of us do. Unless you've literally been pampered and protected by your parents all your life, in which case I say unto you, Time to go outside!

Even as I type these very words, people all across our would-be beautiful world are experiencing their lives being ripped apart by:

famine • addiction • sex trafficking • war

domestic violence • hate crimes • disease

As I mentioned in my last hopefully-not-too-vague-and-depressing post, I've let myself get a tad overwhelmed by the grief of it all lately, and furthermore, by the fact that I feel helpless and hopeless in the face of some of these vast injustices.

I don't like feeling hopeless.

When something seems hopeless, all you can do is pray.

I can already hear some of you...

"ALL you can do is pray, Maddie? But prayer is everything!"

Yah...I get that. And I'm trying to accept it. But the independent American-bred side of me wants to do, do, do. And sometimes prayer seems more like a lesson in passivity.

I volunteer in Seattle with a grassroots modern-day abolitionist group called Not For Sale—King County. Our goal is to raise awareness of not only global, but LOCAL sex-trafficking that is taking place within our own county's borders. Through it I've learned some sickening statistics and gross realities of this very real and present problem that is infiltrating our society.

The Cold Facts of Modern Slavery

A child is trafficked every 30 seconds. – UNICEF
The average age of entry into commercial sex slavery in the United States is 13 years old. – United States Department of Justice
Human Trafficking occurs in 161 out of 192 countries. – The United Nations
Pornography is a 96 billion dollar per year industry. – The Internet Filter Review
Up to 96% of women in prostitution want to escape but feel they can’t. – United Labor Organization
Human Trafficking is a 32 billion dollar per year industry. – The United Nations
In some countries it is estimated that 70% of men purchase sex. – Victor Malarek; The Johns
Over 27 million people are enslaved around the world. This is more than double the number of Africans enslaved during the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. – Kevin Bales; Free the Slaves

Facts taken straight from Nefarious' website.

We had a big screening and panelist discussion last week, where we showed this documentary, called SEX + MONEY:

Because so much of the nature of Not For Sale is simply to raise awareness, I've seen more of these documentaries and interviews than I can count. Some are better and more well-rounded than others. But they all point to the same massive gap in our world.

A few months ago I went to a screening of Nefarious: Merchant of Souls, which I was more impressed with and highly recommend watching:

In Amos 5, our God gets down to business and we, his people, get called out:

There are those who oppress the innocent and take bribes
and deprive the poor of justice in the courts.
Therefore the prudent keep quiet in such times, for the times are evil.

Seek good, not evil, that you may live.
Then the LORD God Almighty will be with you,
just as you say he is.

Hate evil, love good;
maintain justice in the courts.
Perhaps the LORD God Almighty will have mercy
on the remnant of Joseph.

Therefore this is what the Lord, the LORD God Almighty, says:

“There will be wailing in all the streets
and cries of anguish in every public square.
The farmers will be summoned to weep and the mourners to wail.

There will be wailing in all the vineyards,
for I will pass through your midst,”

says the LORD.

“I hate, I despise your religious festivals;
   your assemblies are a stench to me.
Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings,
   I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings,
   I will have no regard for them.
Away with the noise of your songs!
   I will not listen to the music of your harps.

But let justice roll on like a river,

righteousness like a never-failing stream!"

And yes, sometimes all we can do is pray.

Pray to the God who is sovereign over all of it somehow.

faint not

2012-03-04T17:22:00.001-08:00

Lately I've been feeling extra weighed down by some evils lurking in our world. I hate being vague on the blog, but until I figure out a way to describe some of this in more detail—while remaining sensitive to those it directly involves—you're gonna get some vagueness.

I know our world is corrupted by sin, and I'm not just talking about the 'stealing from the cookie jar when you're seven' kind of sin. But bless your heart if that's the most you've ever had to deal with. I'm talking about the wicked and evil darkness kind of sin—the kind that is binding and causes widespread suffering—the kind that makes you want to punch walls and scream, "F%*$ you, Satan!"

Sadly, I can usually push it to the sides of my brain in order to keep my heart joyfully afloat in a world that is literally drowning in this kind of depravity, but every once in a while, when it threatens the joy of people I love, it becomes too personal and painful to ignore.

Sometimes I need a little extra reminding that His love and grace is resting peacefully in the shadows, ready to embrace us when we've simply had enough of the darkness and our souls feel like fainting.

And so today I'm thankful for Jenny & Tyler's song, Faint Not.

the problem’s not a gun, not a color, not a hundred dollar bill
we think the struggle can be won with simple thoughts like 'come together be good willed'
the gap between the rich and poor is spreading out all the more or so they say
we ignore the claims

o my soul, faint not, no
faint not | o my soul, keep up, up
in love

it’s not that we don’t know or we’re not shown the proof of poverty
it’s not that we don’t have the tools to go to break this yoke of slavery
we quit because it’s not an easy fix and then forget that they are even there
we forget to care

o my soul, faint not, no
faint not | o my soul, keep up, up
in love

where there is hatred, let me sow love
where there is injury, let me pardon
where there is darkness, let the Light come, come

o my soul, faint not, no
faint not | o my soul, keep up, up
in love

faint not
faint not

mail love

2012-02-28T12:49:00.002-08:00

Ever since this happened, I've been petrified of our mailman.

Which is a shame when you're expecting greatness in the mail.

This morning he knocked and I ignored it and waited for him to set down the expected packages and walk away...

And then I counted to 20.

And it was worth it.

And this note might have come with the the above book...haha...

I dream of Italy

2012-02-24T22:47:00.001-08:00

Missing my month in Italy right about now.

These photos are of my time in Florence a year and a half ago.

The best.

They'll invent teleportation soon enough...

tilt-shift tuscany

2012-02-19T23:49:00.000-08:00

All photos taken October • 2010 • Madeline Jacks
Views of Florence from atop the Duomo (the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore)
Last photo view of Florence from the Bardini Gardens

facelift

2012-02-18T14:04:00.000-08:00

Who me? Ha—never.

The bloggy, on the other hand...well it was about time.

We celebrate change and fresh starts here on Spidatter, so I learned how to make confetti.

Now it's a party every day here.

Check out the new lay-out, if you feel so inclined

(and/or are reading this in a feed or reader).
It's a tad more tidy and simplified than all that cluttered stuff before.

More big changes coming soon in life :)

Valentine's Day—off to a good start

2012-02-14T12:46:00.000-08:00

Good thing I wasn't scheduled to work today or else I wouldn't have been home when our Morgan-Freeman-look-alike mailman knocked on our door, asked me my name, and then told me the Lord had blessed him with the gift of song.

"I don't mean to offend, young lady, and I don't know if you have a boyfriend in your life, but if you do, he wanted me to tell you this..." His words, not mine.

[By this point all I want to know is where the hidden camera is.]

Then he stood a foot away from my face and serenaded me with this song for a solid minute.
Longest freaking minute of my life.

True story.

Hope this warms your heart (read: creeps you out) as much as it did me!

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!

denial no more

2012-02-10T17:29:00.000-08:00

“I restore myself when I'm alone.” ― Marilyn Monroe

SOMETHING HAPPENED THIS PAST YEAR:

...more like a surprising realization of a long-lived lifestyle rather than an actual event.

If you've asked me how Seattle's going in the past, oohhh…year, I probably responded with something a little more in-depth and psycho-introspective than what you were hoping for. A few months back I had lunch with my friend Ryan (who happens to be a Class V Extrovert), and I told him I was surprised that Seattle had turned me into an introvert.

His quick response: "Maddie. You've always been an introvert. Just embrace it. This is nothing new."

I protested. But I love people and talking…and I like to think I’m not shy or awkward (usually)...

A few other notable conversations with good friends revealed that I was the only one surprised by the “Maddie = an introvert” equation. And there I had been feeling as if my increasingly hermit-like ways were something I needed to work on! —to fix!

Seattle hadn’t changed me—rather it had given me the space and time to realize a vital part of my personality that had been with me all along.

Once I stopped being in denial of my very own personality, I was able to look back at my life and see all of the signs I had been ignoring:

Several good friends have always purposely placed me facing away from doors/windows at cafes and coffee shops because I get overly stimulated.

Whether at a party, loud restaurant or some other crowded gathering, I truly use the restroom as a restroom. Not uncommon for me to lock myself in a stall, throw my back up against the wall, stare at the ceiling and just breathe.

While I know deep down that I’m not riddled with insecurity and anxiety, I hate going to parties without a wingman/woman because it’s such a relief to have just that one side person to focus on when needed.

Things that I love but need to really rally for:

multiple-day music festivals
my own birthday
weddings where I don't know anybody
weddings where I know everybody
holiday gatherings with extended family
makeshift high school reunions at bars
Fourth of July
New Year's Eve

WHAT SCIENCE HAS TO SAY:

Introverts are people whose energy tends to expand through reflection and dwindle during interaction. (j)

On his blog, author and musician Carl King picked apart Doctor Marti Olsen Laney’s book The Introvert Advantage (How To Thrive in an Extrovert World). "If the science behind the book is correct, it turns out that Introverts are people who are over-sensitive to Dopamine, so too much external stimulation overdoses and exhausts them. Conversely, Extroverts can’t get enough Dopamine, and they require Adrenaline for their brains to create it. Extroverts also have a shorter pathway and less blood-flow to the brain. The messages of an Extrovert’s nervous system mostly bypass the Broca’s area in the frontal lobe, which is where a large portion of contemplation takes place. According to the book, only about 25% of people are Introverts. (e)

“Shyness has nothing to do with being an introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting.” (d)

It’s a myth that introverts don’t like to go out in public. “Nonsense. Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for introverts.” (d)

And regarding friendships: “It is not easy for introverts to make new friends because getting to know someone takes so much energy. However, introverts don’t need a wide circle of friends.” (d)

And in case I started to lose you with all of that serious science mumbo-jumbo…

WHAT THE LITTLE MERMAID HAS TO SAY:

I've always felt a fierce loyalty toward Ariel. We're kindred spirits in a way. She's a classic introvert with extroverted desires. Hanging out in her secret underwater grotto all the time, daydreaming and singing to herself, curious about the people who are "...strollin' along down the—what's that word again?—street!"

(If you want your day to instantly improve, watch Ariel sing her angst-y, teenage introverted heart out here.)

And for those of you who'd like to dive into the Disney Kingdom a bit more, there's also a lively online forum already heading up the discussion on the overwhelming extroversion of Disney princesses.

I think an obvious (while loose) Biblical comparison here would be Luke 2:19:

"But Mary [read: Ariel] treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

Which makes a clumsy yet somehow perfect segue into our next segment...

WHAT THE BIBLE HAS TO SAY:

Pastor and author Adam McHugh wrote a book called Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture. In it he says, "On a broader scale, I find the fact that God uses people of all different sorts of gifts, abilities, and temperaments, incredibly comforting. Introversion is not a category in the Bible, but the patriarch Jacob was called "a quiet man"...and Jesus' mother Mary was deeply introspective and reflective." (i)

Indeed, even Moses is described as a very meek and shy Biblical character, and is well-known for trying to use it as an excuse to not go where God was sending. But God knows us better than we know ourselves, so He equipped Moses with the tools he would need for success.

McHugh continues with more insight that I absolutely love:

"More specifically, there is a text in the Old Testament prophet Isaiah that says, "In quietness and in trust shall be your strength." I love the idea that life and the world is bigger than I am, and I don't need to expend all kinds of energy obsessively trying to make everything happen in my life by my own efforts. But I can find strength by quietly trusting in One who is more powerful than I am, and who is even at work when we are silent and at rest." (i)

"Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;

you formed me in my mother's womb.

I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!

Body and soul, I am marvelously made!

I worship in adoration—what a creation!

You know me inside and out,

you know every bone in my body;

You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,

how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;

all the stages of my life were spread out before you,

The days of my life all prepared

before I'd even lived one day."

Psalm 139:13-16

Yep.

WHAT HISTORY HAS TO SAY:

In the science journalist Winifred Gallagher’s words: “The glory of the disposition that stops to consider stimuli rather than rushing to engage with them is its long association with intellectual and artistic achievement. Neither E=mc2 nor ‘Paradise Lost’ was dashed off by a party animal.” (a)

Famous Introverts a.k.a. my kindred spirits:

• C.S. Lewis • Michelle Obama • Glenn Close

• Mr. Darcy (yes, the Pride & Prejudice one) • Marcel Proust
• Albert Einstein • Google's Larry Page • J. K. Rowling

• Audrey Hepburn • Helen Hunt • Diane Keaton • Grace Kelly

• Julia Roberts • Meg Ryan • Meryl Streep • Clint Eastwood

• Harrison Ford • Tom Hanks • Alfred Hitchcock • Steve Martin

• David Letterman • Diane Sawyer • Barbara Walters

I'm in good company.

Sources:

a) NYTimes b) Gifted Kids Glossary c) The Adventurous Writer: test d) Gifted Kids Social Emotional Issues e) 10 Myths About Introverts f) The Adventurous Writer: Famous Introverts g) Myers Briggs Basics h) Typelogic: INTJ i) Psychology Today j) Introvert Power

super bowl post

2012-02-06T11:06:00.000-08:00

Image via here.

That one time I spent the entirety of the Super Bowl at home reading The Hunger Games...

#worthit

my one year anniversary

2012-02-04T15:36:00.000-08:00

Greenlake, Seattle, WA (aka my backyard)

No...I didn't run off and elope 12 months ago, but what a fun and unexpected blog twist that would have been, huh?!
My mom said she was getting sick of looking at almonds (see previous blog post), and while racking my brain for new material, I realized my one year anniversary of this blessed life in Seattle has passed without any mention on the blog! While it's almost a month in the past now, here is a list (because who doesn't love a good list?) of things it took me a year to figure out in Seattle...

Nothing beats the Seattle local music scene. Am I right...or am I right? I'm right. (See here, here, here, here, here, here, and oh yah, here too.)
There are at least three routes to get anywhere. And you've officially conquered your neighborhood if you know those routes...and which one's the fastest during rush hour.
Seattle-ites are passive aggressive by nature. And they drive that way too.
Every neighborhood has at least three hot yoga studios. And you should try out all of them. (If you can find a Groupon.)
I-5 (read: "eye-five" and not "the 5") will always have traffic.
Nothing says, "I'm a local" more than having your favorite Barista know your name and give you free drinks. YES.
It doesn't matter if it's 39 degrees. If the sun is out, the sun is OUT. *happy dance*
Vitamin D supplements are a must. But don't overdo it.
Waterproof mascara is also a must. This one is my new favorite. It's waterproof AND washable...whaaaa?!
I don't know how to drive in the snow. But I can walk in it. Far.
I REALLY LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE COME VISIT ME!
Working even just on-call at a coffee shop has probably saved me over $500 in free espresso. Holla.
I like sushi now! Which is a darn good thing because the lovely port city of Seattle treats it like it's its own food group.
I'm not the only single person left in the country.
People reach back when you genuinely reach out to them.
You don't need to work 40+ hours a week to survive.
You can use your fears and regrets from the past year as fuel for the next year.
Good friends back home will not forget about you when you're gone.
It takes $15 in unpaid late dues before the Seattle Public Library bars you from checking out more books.
"For as long as you can remember, you have been a pleaser, depending on others to give you an identity. But now you are being asked to let go of all these self-made props and trust that God is enough for you."

—Henri Nouwen's The Inner Voice of Love

what the world needs most...

2012-01-25T02:15:00.000-08:00

...is another blog post about making homemade almond milk.

In my opinion, there just aren't enough of them out there!!!*

*Sarcasm.

So let's get to it.

I soaked about four cups of raw almonds in a bowl of water (just enough so they're covered) overnight.

In the morning, I dumped the old water to get rid of the outer acids and enzymes that were still lingering. Who wants to drink that?

And then I placed the plump little water-logged almonds in a blender. (I might be the only person who uses a Magic Bullet and not a Vitamix—regrettably.)

Add 5-8 cups of filtered water to the almonds in the blender. This will determine how thick your finished milk is, as well as how much of it you'll end up with.

A certain nutritionist says this on her blog:

"I mention a nut milk bag in [my] video, but if you can’t find it don’t worry, just use a cheese cloth."

Cheese cloth, huh? Weird, I can't find mine...

Well hello, "brand new pair of tights that I've had for over a year and never worn."

I regret stretching out the tights to fit around the bowl as seen above. It would have worked just fine to use a section of the tights as a sack and squeeze the excess water ("millk") out from there...since that is what I ended up doing in the end anyway.

It really only took about five minutes to get every last drop.

I laughed a lot.

I mean, I was in my pajamas in my kitchen squeezing like crazy

trying to get milk made from nuts out of one leg of a pair of black tights.

It's laughable.

It's also preservative-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, and both raw and live.

Not to mention you get a massive pile of almond pulp to dehydrate and be creative with at a later date...

Fun.

a sob story

2012-01-19T23:58:00.000-08:00

via here

I had multiple pity parties today.
There were tears. There were shouts of anger. There were country music stations playing.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I rarely turn my blog posting into a pity party. Feel free to link in the comments to past posts of mine that approach this dangerous blogging territory. I hope you don't find any. (Who wants to hear a bunch of whining?—I get it.)
So God crammed the majority of worst-day-ness for me into...today.
And I'll cram a year's worth of tearful self-pity into—hopefully—just this single post.

The story begins in a way that is perhaps counterintuitive to the title of this post:

I have the best dad.

In the world. Ever. Of all dads that have or ever will exist.

Sure, we all have our dark days, but when it comes down to father-daughter relationships, I believe the most important thing is does she truly know he loves her?

I totally do. Without a doubt.

(This is the part where I post a nostalgic photo of me and my dad, and you all go, "Awwwwwwwwww!")

Around my birthday I was feeling particularly homesick, so I sent my dad this text:

"You should come visit me!"

[Shout out to my mom, who is also amazingly wonderful! Over the summer, my mom took a roadtrip through Seattle with my aunt, and so we had some fun one-on-one time checking out my new-found Seattle life then, but my dad was only here during the overly stressful move-in week, over a year ago.]

Dad texted right back, totally into the idea, and totally excited. None of that, "Oh I think I might have a meeting" crap.
Long story short—really, I'm trying—we realized I had a free weekend coming up, so he booked a flight for last night. We planned, bought concert tickets, looked up other concert tickets, and I was oh-so-excited to have my dad so stoked to come hang out with me all weekend!
When you're 26, single and living in a fairly new city, having your dad by your side is simply the best. Even when you're not single, it's the best. [But, let's be honest, especially if you're single.]

But then, this is how the last 24 hours went:

Last night's United flight cancelled— ☹
Rescheduled for this morning
Dad flies from SBA to LAX this morning—YAY!
Next flight cancelled
Mom calls me at 7am with the news
I cry
Dad gets whole new flight from LAX to SFO on Virgin America—YAY!
Next flight cancelled
Next flight cancelled
Next flight cancelled
You get the idea
I cry some more, picturing my poor, sweet dad vainly trying to get on the next flight, and then the next flight, and then the next...just to come see me for about the same amount of time he'd already spent in the airport. After getting up at 3am.
Dad gets back to his starting point (aka NOT Seattle) around midnight.

In the middle of all of this, the snow is creeping higher and higher over the streets of Seattle. I drive a two-door Honda. And I had to work today.

I'm also from California and don't own snow clothes. Or anything that remotely resemble snow clothes. Shout out to my roommates who swaddled me in smothering layers and snow-booted my twice-socked feet.

And then I walked to work. Two miles. Uphill. In the snow. Like the kind where it's 28 degrees.

I told you this was a pity party/sob story post.

And the partying really only takes off when you're alone, I've realized. With no one to punch your tear-stained face back into reality and remind you that there are homeless people with no shoes dealing with the same weather elements. Who have never even owned a Northface!

Twice I walked past a 4WD truck warming its engine in its driveway, and I almost got in the passenger side hoping no questions would be asked. [Don't worry, Mom, I'm only half joking.]

Work was hectic. Tips were lame. There was no dad to greet me with jokes and hugs at the end of my shift. And I found out that the mysterious hot guy who lives up the street and drives a black truck has a girlfriend. And she owns cute snow clothes.

My plans for the evening:

stop looking at GreenWeddingShoes.com ("My life could be so much better!")
start reading my current memoir about a raging drug addict ("My life could be so much worse!")
drink a glass of Riesling while reading about said drug addict—just one glass.

birthday weekend

2012-01-16T09:43:00.000-08:00

Also known as...the BEST weekend.

Gloriously unfiltered birthday sky.

Kel, me and Chels at The Neptune to see Kris Orlowski and Allen Stone.

Kris Orlowski

Chels made me "Better Than Sex" cake. I'm taking her word for it...

First snow of the year in Seattle!

Dawn Mitschele and Noah Gundersen performed with Kris Orlowski.
And oh yeah, Macklemore showed up to play a song with the simply electric Allen Stone. #nobigdeal

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;And&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;nbsp; &amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

twenty • six

2012-01-13T00:44:00.000-08:00

• 26 things to know when you're 26 •

Inspired by this article/book.

"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it's the LORD's purpose that prevails." —Proverbs 19:21
How to curl your own hair. Like this.
Your Facebook wall/timeline/status is not a place for raw emotion/sappy lyrics/photos of you with red Solo cups.
How to parallel park like a champ. And then move to Seattle and learn to do it in reverse, on the opposite side of the street. #superchamp
What the inside of a therapist's office looks like. In detail.
What your non-negotiables are. (But finally ditch "the list.")
What your signature coffee drink is/what your signature cocktail is.
How to drive a manual transmission.
Leaving home is okay.
Going back home is okay.
Owning one amazing lipstick color over $20 is okay.
If you have any food sensitivities/intolerances/allergies...and what the differences are.
How to read the Bible.
"Acceptance is a small, quiet room." (via)
How to throw a dinner party. And make it look like this.
Always ask "Why?" before putting anything on the Interweb.
The grass is always greener on the other side...because "our hearts are restless until they rest in You." (Saint Augustine of Hippo)
Men and women can't be friends.
Only wash your hair every 2-3 days.
Who you are...and what your game is.
The difference between being "busy" and being "productive."
No one else knows where they're going to be in five years, either.
You are not, in fact, the only single person left in America.
You're allowed to return bridesmaids dresses. Because I said so.
You've got to be a friend to have a friend.
Give yourself grace. Someone great I know once said, "As believers we are often exposed to (or perhaps went to school with) so many extraordinary speakers and leaders who are doing really impressive things in the name of the Lord: starting non-profit agencies, writing books, speaking to thousands, going to prestigious grad schools...But let's be honest: the majority of us will be ordinary people who simply need to invite the extraordinary God to work through us in the daily stuff of life."

It's Friday the 13th...of January.

Happy birthday to meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

resolving

2012-01-11T22:47:00.000-08:00

It's January 11th and I'm just now mentioning New Year's Resolutions. Behind much?

In a similar vein, we still have Christmas decor hanging around our house. As noted above.

I tend to shy away from New Year's Res-ies for a few reasons:

Everyone does them. I live in Seattle now—I'm hipster.
The word resolution is overwhelming. Sometimes it reminds me of a giant Wizard of Oz voice booming something along the lines of, "I heeerrreby ressooollllvvee..."
If you fail to uphold your NYR's, guilt tends to follow. And guilt is of the devil.

So I work in terms of goals, hopes and intentions.
It's all in how you phrase them.
"By 2013, I intend to ______."
"This year, I hope to ______."

And honestly, sometimes they're silly.
Or perhaps they're just realistic.
One year my goal was to floss every night. That was a life-changing year. And I'm not being sarcastic. I mean, how many of you do this every single night?
And (thankfully) it's carried over for me into the remainder of my life.

Another year I pledged to stop saying sorry so much and only apologize when I should. I realized that I burdened myself with an abundance of self-imposed guilt rooted in low self esteem by apologizing frequently to assist in calming others down and to avoid conflict. But I wasn't communicating my own feelings effectively or acknowledging my own value.

It allowed me to finally take ownership of my role in several relationships.

I have plans of all shapes and sizes for 2012...many of which I'll be sharing on the blog this week. But to start things off in a more lighthearted fashion...
In 2012, I am going to learn how to like mushrooms.

Sooooo...what are some of your realistic, tangible plans for 2012?
Start small.
And if all else fails, grab a Lululemon bag—

things I stopped myself from tweeting

2012-01-07T19:35:00.001-08:00

Do any of you who use social media regularly (in other words...all of you) ever find yourselves phrasing things in your head to create the perfect status/tweet/blog title/caption? #guilty

And I mostly hate it. Other times I find it hilarious, but at the same time I am so glad God gave me enough shame to withhold from posting the majority of it.

I don't know why anyone follows me on Twitter. Let alone "favorites" anything I say. But to the girl following me whom I don't know, who regularly stars 90% of what I say, you made my week. Here are some tweets that—by the grace of God—I didn't release to the Twitter masses. Instead, I'm just posting them on my blog. You know, the one that you're reading right now on the World Wide Interweb.

I yelled at myself for talking to myself today. And then I realized what I had done.
Did you know they sell pregnancy tests at the dollar store?
Haven't left the house yet today. Hey 6:00 PM.
Praying for my girl @KatyPerry right now! (Might still tweet that one.)
#lastFridaynight: Bikram yoga & a movie at the $3 theater in pajamas. In other news, guess who's turning 26 next week?!
FOOTLOOSE IS ON DVD FEBRUARY 12!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Third men's sweater purchased this season. A boyfriend would save me so much money right now.
Trader Joe's: always good for free coffee and a free bathroom in a pinch.
Boys and girls can be friends. But men and women can't. Or is it vice versa?
Dear @AllenStone and @KrisOrlowski, Please sing Happy Birthday to me when I come see you on January 14th. Even thought my birthday is the 13th. Thanks guys!

Maybe I'll quit Twitter one day.

Anyway, speaking of little birds (twitter, tweeting...tweet tweet...?), how cute is my kind-of-cousin Zoe?!

above all else

2012-01-03T23:48:00.000-08:00

Trippy photo, right?

Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4:23

Had a short but sweet McConnell's ice cream date at the Santa Barbara Mission rose gardens today with my middle sister, Emme.
I don't think she realized it then, but she has shown and taught me all sorts of things about the above verse just by the way she lives her life.
I used to always pray, "Lord, please guard my heart because I don't know how to."

Looking back, I think that was a bit of a cop-out on my part.

But God still followed through on his end of the deal. He tends to do that.

I'll be 26 next week, and I still don't quite have the whole "guarding your heart" thing figured out.

Also, my sista introduced me to this song. Have a listen—
If you're viewing in Google Reader, click here:

Give Me Faith by Elevation Worship on Grooveshark
"My flesh may fail...but my God, You never will."