A few months ago, I went to Youth Specialties. I find that these types of conferences are usually awesome and inspiring, but the last session is over and you pack up and head home, life pretty much goes back to normal. But occasionally there are moments that stand out, moments that make a significant difference in the way you think about the world. I had one of these moments at Youth Specialties. It wasn't listening to Tony Campolo or Shane Claiborne, but rather someone I'd never heard of before: Chap Clark. I was drawn in by the seminar title: "Deep Justice in a Broken World."

Oh man. That hour and a half was worth the whole trip for me. He quoted some pretty challenging statistics. These are just a few - check out the websites for more.

$20 billion - the amount American spend on ice cream in one year
$18 billion - the amount the World spends on perfumes in one year
$7.8 billion - the PROFIT Starbucks made in 2006
1.8 million - the number of children who die each year for lack of clean water and sanitation
$10 billion - the amount of money the UN estimates is necessary to provide clean water and sanitation to the whole world for one year

I'm typically pretty cynical about these kinds of facts. Sure, it's statistically possible for Americans to solve a lot of the world's problems if they would just practice a bit of discipline and sacrifice. But how to make that happen?

About a week after I heard those numbers, I got an email from my friend Luke who's working at an orphanage in Zimbabwe. He wrote the following about a cholera clinic he visited to pick up the brother of one of their boys:

Driving into the gate of that clinic was like driving into a nurse's worst nightmare. People were being wheeled in in wheelbarrows. There were crowds outside of the building waiting to be registered and seen. Actually entering the building was like entering a vomiting and diarrhea hell on earth. There were long rows of IV bags hanging from bailing twine stretched down the halls and in lines across the rooms. Underneath the bags were rows of people collapsed onto benches, draped across chairs, slumped directly on the concrete. Eyes sunken in, half open, but not seeing. Each person had a 20 liter bucket. Most were half full with watery brown liquid. The floor was wet in puddles. There was a full time mopping crew, but it didn't keep the floor dry. And that was the "observation area." Patients that were actually "admitted" got a cot with diarrhea hole cut in it with a bucket underneath.

It makes this whole problem of dirty water a little more personal. It's estimated that over 3,000 people died in this particular epidemic in Zimbabwe, and those numbers are probably low because people stopped bothering to report deaths. Numbers again, I know.

But what's the way to solve numerical problems? We can throw up our collective hands and say it's hopeless, and continue living our comfortable, safe lives. But this kind of skepticism and lazy selfishness have never accomplished positive change in the world. I think we need to have hope and optimism. Cliche as it sounds, maybe the best way to bring about change is ONE person at a time. It's a little number. Seems insignificant. But it's an awful lot better than zero.

Chap Clark had some good stuff to say. He hit short-term mission trips pretty hard. I've been on two, and I feel like I learned from both of them. But are they really the most effective use of money and resources? Don't get me wrong; I believe in missions and helping the world. But I've often felt that we do small isolated acts of goodness - build a church, sponsor a child, give a family a bag of random canned goods at Thanksgiving - and we pacify our consciences. We think we're doing our part to help. But are we making any real sacrifice? Are we giving of ourselves at all?

I think what matters in the world is relationships - perhaps more to our generation than any other. I saw Mrs. Litchfield at the seminar and she had an interesting idea. What if each person or family focused on one person or family to reach out to? What if love actually became the motivating factor in our help, because we actually had a real relationship with those we were helping? Chap Clark was stressing the difference between service and justice. Service is good, but it tends to happen in shallow, disconnected events. But this concept of deep justice is that helping/loving/ministering to people should be an integral part of our lives, not an event.

These are challenging ideas. For me at least. But I think we should be actively struggling with them. I also believe it's possible to live this way. One reason I believe that is because I see my friends doing it. I've seen the difference that some of you reading this blog have made in others' lives by giving selflessly of your time, money, energy, and most importantly love. Is it easy? Not always. Do you always know how to best help? It sounds like sometimes you have questions. Do you wonder if you're doing any good? Sure. But you don't use those excuses. You keep loving and praying and learning and doing. Thank you for inspiring me and challenging me and reminding me of what (through God's strength) we are capable of.

Today was an awesome day. Here's why:

1. I did not wear a scarf, a hat or gloves. Or boots. Or long johns. Or even a coat!

2. I saw the sun.

3. I felt the warmth of the sun on my hair. And in my car. According to Switchfoot, the shadow proves the sunshine. But clouds sure don't. It's nice to be reassured every once in a while that the sun is real.

4. I smelled rain. I think snow is prettier than rain, but it doesn't have that oh-so-fresh scent.

5. I splashed around in puddles. I used to get grumpy at Southern when there were puddles, because the bottoms of my pants would get wet and water would seep into my shoes and just about the time I would dry out, I would walk outside again and get soggy feet again. But today I loved puddles, because they meant the weather was warm enough for water to stand in a pool and not turn into ice!

6. I talked to Sarah, who is sunshine for my soul.

7. One of my students emailed me and voluntarily asked for help on his most recent essay.

8. Everyone here is sick, but I am not.

9. I bought car insurance, got my Michigan driver's license, and a new license plate. This may not seem very exciting, but it's one of those things that I've been putting it off for months. I can't tell you how many to do lists I've written it on. And..since my tags just expired and I want to drive through Kentucky on Friday (without getting a ticket), it was good to finally cross it off.

10. I wanted to have 10 reasons because it seemed like a good even number. But I think there were actually just 9 reasons. It was a great day though.

My best friend lives about 3 streets away from my parents. I think the only living situation that could possibly be more awesome would be if all my favorite people in the world decided to move to the mission field and all live together.

I think this post will be more fun if you imagine Garrison Keillor reading it out loud, PHC style.

Yesterday the temperature reached a high of 41* in Berrien Springs. The snow on the ground seemed like it wanted to rise up in celebration of the warmer weather, covering the landscape in a fuzzy white haze. Michigan looked like God had opened it up in photoshop and turned it into a watermark, draining it of color and distinct edges.

It even rained yesterday. I've been faithfully carrying my umbrella around in my backpack for weeks, even though the only precipitation we've had since October has been various forms of snow. As evening came, the temperatures dropped to the below freezing zone and the rain resumed its solid state. Sidewalks turned into long lanes of ice, causing young and old alike to adopt the nursing home shuffle, that cautious way of walking which anticipates the pain of the fall.

I had been spoiled by a day of warm weather, so I didn't leave much time to clear off my car this morning. It did appear to have a bit of snow on the windshield, but I thought I'd turn it on and warm it up while I brushed off the windows. I put my key into the lock and tried to open the door. Nothing. My car was frozen shut.

'93 Toyota Camrys are known for lousy door handles. If you find these cars in a junk yard, the door handles have always been stripped off. When I bought my car, the handle on the driver's side had been snapped off. Every time I opened the door, I had to pry it open with the little stub that remained. I lived with this for several months before a family friend found a way to fix the handle without paying half of what the car was worth. I waited a long time for that handle, mismatched though it may be, and I don't want it to break off. Ever.

So when I found the driver's door was frozen shut, I didn't try to force it. Instead, I tried to force the back seat handle. Who cares if it gets broken? After much effort, I eventually succeeded in wrenching the back seat door open. I turned on the car from the backseat and grabbed my ice scraper. No need for a snow broom today!

My car was parked right outside my roommate's window. She often comments that she is awakened in the morning by people scraping their windows across the parking lot. This morning, I was sure that I was the one waking up my roommate. This was no delicate Tennessee frost. Underneath that pretty topcoat of snow was a serious layer of ice. The parking lot seemed to echo with the scratch of my scraper skittering across the top of the ice. Usually I like station wagons, but on days like today, I wish I drove a car with a few less windows.

After a full upper-body workout, I finally had all the windows cleared. I thought that by now, the car would have warmed up and the door would be unfrozen. No luck. So I got in the back seat again and crawled up to the front, bumping my car horn in the process. Sorry, Jamie. Finally ready to go, I inched onto the glassy parking lot and cautiously drove to school.

A few summers ago, I worked in the housing department in the basement of Thatcher South. They were remodeling, and sometimes I would be the only person in the entire building. On one such occasion, Campus Safety changed all the door access while I was still inside. My ID card was instantly useless. When I tried to leave, I discovered I was trapped in the hallway, unable to get back into my office and unable to get out of the dorm. While I knew in my mind that I had a cell phone and could call Campus Safety to come rescue me, I felt sudden clausterphobia. Panic is not rational.

Today when I got to school, I thought that by now - for sure - my car door would be unfrozen. But when I tried to open it (from the inside this time), and it wouldn't budge, I again felt extreme clausterphobia. Every rational fact was blocked from my conciousness. I was trapped, and the only thought in my panicking mind was a screaming question.

What if?

Today I walked a mile to school in the snow. I’d like to say it was uphill both ways, but I live in Michigan.

It turns out the alternator in my car is dead. I needed a jump start to get me to and from Sarah’s house in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. Now my poor station wagon is sitting forlornly in its parking space, collecting snow, waiting for me to have some free time to take it to the mechanic to give it new life.

In Phonetics & Phonology today, the girl who sits next to me (who is also my neighbor) asked me if she could ride to school with me tomorrow. When she was scraping the ice off her windshield this morning, it collapsed. Apparently that happens sometimes. I told her I’d love a walking companion.

I’m learning all kinds of new things about winter. Wal-marts in Michigan sell something called a “snow broom.” When I first saw them, I had no idea why someone would buy one. To clear ice off a window, you need a hard edge to scrape with, not a bunch of soft bristles. I quickly recognized my ignorance when I tried to clear a foot of snow off my car with my 10-inch ice scraper. I need to buy a snow broom.

I have bought the following items of clothing since I moved to Michigan: 4 pairs of long johns, 1 coat, 1 pair of gloves, 1 pair of boots, 1 coat, 2 hats, and 6 scarves. (And a cool shirt that Zach McDonald designed, but that doesn’t have anything to do with a blog about snow.)

Sometimes when I get to school in the morning, I'm saluted by rows of parked cars with their windshield wipers sticking straight out. I’m still not exactly sure why people do this – I think it has something to do with them not getting frozen to your windshield? I haven’t experienced this yet.


Andrews uses funny little green and yellow John Deere tractors to clear snow off the sidewalks. On warmer days, the tractors have a circular broom-like attachment added on the front. It looks like a giant round brush for blow-drying hair, and it just whisks all the dirty snow of the sidewalks. Some of the sidewalks, however, are heated! Imagine! When I first heard this, I thought it was just a legend. But it’s true. They purposely put the hot water pipes underneath some of the main sidewalks, and sure enough, the snow is always neatly melted off those special sidewalks! I’m still not sure exactly how it works, since I thought water was heated inside buildings…but I guess that’s why I’m not an engineer.

Jamie and I haven’t turned on our heat yet. Our apartment is hovering around 65, and it’s a little chilly. But I sort of want to see if we can last til Christmas break. Only 12 days to go!

I’m not gonna lie, I like the snow much more than I thought I would. It makes Michigan a whole lot prettier. But there is something about having a wonderful thing become commonplace. If we got this much snow in Tennessee, there would be dancing in the streets (and certainly no driving in them). Snowballs would be flying, and the ground would be littered with snow angels and lumpy snowmen. But I haven’t seen anyone playing in the snow here. Not even the neighborhood kids. I’m sure it happens sometime (I hope). But it’s like how the camp director’s kid gets bored on the blob or how Taco Bell employees get sick of 7-layer burritos. Some of the magic is gone.

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Tomorrow I’m going to make paper snowflakes. It might seem a little ridiculous when the real thing is everywhere. But I want to remember that snowflakes are beautiful. And I’m going to put on as many of my winter clothes as I can and make a snow angel and get wet snow down my neck and up my sleeves and in my boots. And my cheeks will get chapped and my nose will be runny. And winter will be magical again.

The best criticism of what is wrong is to practice something right.

I must have been 6 or 7 when Brittany Gimbel convinced me to join a T-ball team. I hadn't yet discovered that there's a reason my family has always been full of nerds instead of jocks, and Brittany had a really cool trophy from her team's victory last year. So I talked to my parents and they signed me up. I went to Walmart with my dad and picked out my first (and only?) baseball glove: black pleather with red trim. My grandma bought me my very own T-ball stand and I spent hours practicing in our driveway.

But things didn't go exactly as planned. Somehow I ended up on a different team from Brittany, a team of complete and total strangers who talked funny and didn't go to my church. You have to understand that I was incredibly shy when I was a kid. On my first day of school, I peed my pants (actually it was a dress...) because I was too afraid to ask if I could go to the bathroom.

Needless to say, I never got to show off my newly acquired T-ball skills because I spent the whole first game hiding in the trashy ballpark bathroom that smelled of stale popcorn and cigarette smoke. I went home and cried until my parents let me quit T-ball.

I've always wondered what would have happened if I had stuck it out. Maybe I'd have a Southern accent like my teammates. Maybe I'd like playing sports with balls involved. Maybe I'd even have a cool trophy or two.

I haven't quit much since T-ball, but I think it's because I stopped trying to do things unless I knew I would be good at them. It's a dumb way to live. I hope you're not guilty of it, but if you are, welcome to the club. (Let's quit it.) There's a metal brick in my office that has the words What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail? engraved on it. I almost laughed out loud when I first saw it. Please. Inspirational knick-knacks are about the lamest way to spend money I know of.

But maybe I need inspiration sometimes?

Anyway, recently I've learned that sometimes quitting can be healthy. Not quitting out of fear or shame, but quitting when it takes courage. Last Friday, I quit my job at Accounts Payable. I've never quit a job before in my life, and it took me about a month to work up the guts to do it. As my friend Ben Schnell reminded me, sometimes you have to quit in order to honor a contract with yourself - a commitment to do (or not to do) based on what you can give to the world if you don't let good things distract you from the best things.

I felt as awful as I expected I would as I watched my boss wipe her eyes and try to smile for me. But as I walked out of the Administration building, I knew it was good and right. It's like the painful and pricey freedom that comes from breaking up with someone you knew you shouldn't be dating. But glory hallelujah, isn't it worth it?