So much joy, so little time

So, you may be asking, what on earth could have caused Kimberly to fall off the face of the planet since last January? What on earth could have been consuming so much of her free time she couldn't manage to upload one stinkin' photo?

Well, my friends, the answer is: love happened to me.
Romance happened
Terry Peterson happened.

I've also spent a good deal of time at Garcia's auto, what with a blown head-gasket on my car and a passenger window getting smashed in for no good reason by Isla Vista drunks on a Thursday night. But SEE how the Lord is good! My car being out led to Terry and I carpooling to work for a month and me getting to follow him around Home Depot before work in the morning. Only we could find a hardware store so romantic ;) and then after a month, Jesus paid for the entire bill Himself. $1200. I paid $10 for one part and He divinely orchestrated the rest of the payment through His generous body, not even through my church, in which everyone is as poor as I, but through a church I've never even visited before. Amazing!

I have also been teaching a lot as the school year in SB comes to a close. Since January I've taught nearly 1500 junior high and high school students about the benefits of saving the unique gift of their sexual intimacy for the unique commitment of marriage and it has been unbelievably eye-opening, challenging and rewarding. How our kids long for hope, need someone to tell them they're worth waiting for, that they have a choice, that they can do better than what their culture expects, that they can have real, vulnerable, intimate relationships, that they can put away masks and control and insecurity and love fearlessly, sacrificially, faithfully.

They can. We can. I can.

The only way I really know how though, is because Jesus is teaching me. because He loves that way. I don't get to tell them that part. But if they're really looking, they'll figure it out sooner or later. Those who seek, find; Jesus said so himself. And He never lies. He's never lied to me. He's never even misled me. He has only lead me into peace and truth and joy.

His deep, abiding joy . . . it's a priceless gift I could never afford, I don't deserve, and I love Him so much for choosing me to share this with Him.

And speaking of love :) Terry Patrick Peterson asked me to be his bride on Saturday, June 7. Delicious highlights from our day follow:



During a seemingly impromptu walk on the beach I began to notice scattered rose petals that turned into a trail leading to a table for two nestled among the bluffs. Perfectly set with gold linens, and china, rose petals scattered about, the table also contained my favorite breakfast from my favorite local restaurant and an entire carafe of vanilla latte from Starbucks. This man knows the way into my heart!

At the end of breakfast Terry brought out a gift for me to unwrap. I could tell immediately it was a bible and faintly wondered if he didn't prefer mine and if we were about to have a discussion about the accuracy and utility of varying translations (just kidding) but instead I found something much more surprising: an engraving . . .

Before I had time to wonder what was happening, he was around the table and on one knee and peace just swept over me. This was the real thing. This was my engagement. This was the man I wanted to marry, was going to marry. "Of course I'm going to marry you," I said (or something like it) and we began to celebrate. A few minutes later he said, "How 'bout we try it on?" with reference to the ring. "It scares me a little" I laughed. It is the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen, more stunning than any ring I ever imagined would be intended for me.

The center diamond is from a pair of earrings given to his maternal grandmother by his grandfather set in a band from a great aunt, a beautiful secret Terry has been working with his mother on for about a month!

Once he got the ring on my hand, Terry was ready to
worship so it was a good thing he'd planned for our friend
Tommy to hide in a nearby cave to pop out about this time.
We danced and sang and hugged and Terry kept shouting
Hallelujah! and running figure-8's in the sand. Guess he was excited :)

After this we actually went on the hike we'd planned that day up to Inspiration Point, where Terry had a terrific picnic lunch prepared. (Yes, in case you're wondering, that is a Memphis Tigers hat Terry's wearing; the conversion process is almost complete;)

With all the excitement and exertion we snuck up north to our favorite beach for a nap in the late afternoon sun and around 5:30 headed back to Isla Vista to a friend's house where Terry had my roommates prepare a quiet place to shower and dress for an extravagant dinner. They brought all the clothes, toiletries, jewelry and smelly perfumes they could imagine I might need.

Beginning to end, it was a fabulous day, full of love, joy and the peace of God. God has done such great things for us, if I began to enumerate them here, you would never hear the end of it. Terry and I are so thankful for the grace of God, poured out on us as love for one another and so excited for our two lives to merge into one. Join us as we journey ahead in God's love. Blessings,
Terry and Kimberly

Order your own dang quesadilla

The office of Garcia’s Auto Repair is a pretty happinin’ place at 10 AM. I probably should have come in earlier to avoid delays but at 7AM this morning I was in a freshman health class in a local high school talking to 30 fourteen-year-olds about who’s having the best sex in America.

And no, it isn’t Hugh Hefner or Brittany Spears, or even college students like so many of the kids imagine. According to researchers, it is married couples who are having the most frequent and most satisfying sex. So we talk about love and intimacy and bonding how these young people can prepare to be great lovers and men and women of character by pursuing healthy relationships now, that will allow them and others to walk into their future marriage relationships better, rather than broken, people. In short, I encourage them to pursue relational intimacy while saving sex for marriage.

So, in case you haven’t noticed, I have a new job teaching an abstinence education curriculum through a local non-profit. And YES! I miss my 2nd and 3rd graders at the charter school like crazy. Last week I received a letter in the mail from a 2nd grade student who wanted to make sure I knew she had lost a tooth and got $2 from the tooth fairy for it.
What on earth happened to quarters? To silver dollars?

I counseled her to consider putting her tooth loot into a Roth IRA.


Senora Garcia tells me it’s gonna cost $350 to fix the passenger window that’s been stuck down, three inches from the top for the past 5 months.

It all started on a dark Friday afternoon in September when the rain began suddenly, unpredictably. And it rained for hours. With umbrella in hand and donning a Heafty-Cinch-Sak I managed a makeshift cover of sandwich baggies and packaging tape. This classy get up has, with only occasional repairs, almost managed to get me through the winter. But the other day I smelled something. You know, something. And that’s where I drew the line. So Senora Garcia is going to drive me back to work and promised not to charge me labor for the extra favor of attaching my front license plate to my car, since they are attaching it with a plastic Garcia Auto Service holder which I’m already paying them $10 to own. Anyway, it’ll be nice to be able to cruise restaurant drive-throughs backwards again so that my passengers can order their own dang quesadillas.

Homemade Ornaments, Angels in the Dirt and Loads of Self

THE MORNING AFTER . . .
So last Wednesday was family night at the DP Houses and Jason decided we were all going to get hyped up on caffeine and sugar, hunt down a Christmas tree and drag it back to to our lair. When the fifteen of us descended upon Mojo's coffee shop, the people behind the counter looked a little like they were being punished.

"Aw, man," they said. "Looks like a whole bus just got dropped off." But they took it like champs so maybe they were in the holiday spirit or maybe they felt they deserved a little penance. Anyway, they did a terrific job, slinging coffee, and steaming hot cocoa, "vanilla Chai or spiced" "vanilla Chai or spiced" "vanilla Chai or spiced" they called while generous dollops of whipped cream were being strewn about like it was going out of style. "Everything's better with whipped cream" we all sang together. "Everything's better with whipped cream! LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!" we skipped out of the coffee shop. No, not really. Well, all but the singing part . . . I got a little carried away.

But it was a really delightful night complete with an impromptu construction paper art studio which yielded some of the most fascinating and intricate man-made snowflake designs I have ever seen. It was honestly quite mesmerizing . . . like a scene from Merry Christmas Charlie Brown but instead of decorating Snoopy's doghouse it was making tree ornaments by seemingly waving scissors back and forth over the paper in a flurry of disorienting snapping while red and green scraps flew. Then suddenly, voila! a twenty-five point star or a chain of Christian (Ichthys) fish with crosses miraculously suspended in their bellies.

At least that's how it felt to me, a sometimes "artistically challenged" individual who now realizes her creativity was merely stunted at a young age due to fear and perfectionism. Thankfully, the Lord is rescuing me from this and I happily contributed a couple stubby pine trees to the endeavor. Although now that I think of it, a pine tree isn't probably the best ornamentation for a . . . well pine tree. Hmmm.

Speaking of being artistically challenged, though, the other day I saw a piece of dry grass in the dirt that somehow looked to me like a heavenly being in robes with fire or light just radiating out from its head. I really wanted a visual of it so I commission Terry to draw it for me. I show him the piece of grass, bent and out of shape from being crushed in a pocket. I try to explain what it is I'm seeing. He looks at me and he looks at the piece of grass and after a moment he stops my explanations and says "I think I get it." And then he draws this on a whiteboard:



Then Abby holds up Christmas lights for effect and I photograph it. And that, my friends is teamwork. It's my Vision, but Terry gives it form and Abby gives it flare and then I document it and post it on the Internet for you all to experience and enjoy. It may be a lame metaphor for functioning in the Body of Christ but at least it's an example of how cool it is when we all contribute our different gifts to a common vision.
~

And finally, I know what you're thinking. But no, "loads of self" is not a reference to the strangely ironic self-absorption often exhibited during this holiday season. It's another Celiaism, sparked by our drive home together from L.A. after the Thanksgiving weekend. "I feel safe with you driving," she says. (Take that Judy and Keegan ;) "Like, I just feel comfortable that you know what you're doing even though we're lost in the middle of nowhere and you don't have any idea where we are."

For the record, we weren't really "lost." I knew exactly where we were. It just wasn't a route I had ever taken before or that I had planned on taking ever, because we got to talking so intensely that I missed the 101 and drove all the way to Magic Mountain before I realized we were so far north of L.A. Whooops.

Anyway I told Celia the reason she felt so comfortable was probably because I have had plenty of experience being lost because I've driven back and forth across this great country of ours a number of times all by my lonesome self .

"All by your loads of what?" she asked . . .

Some of the Stories You've Been Missing

This is a little photo I like to call: Isla Vista Driveway at Night

I have started this post 37 times and never quite made it to posting. Life is moving so fast these days . . . not fast but my life is so interconnected with so many people right now and God is pouring so much into me that just when I think it's time for air and processing (aka writing a blog entry) life goes weird again and it gets postponed.


Some stories you didn't get because of all this include:

The day "No farting on circle" became a classroom drama
An essay written by one of my third graders titled: "How men lost their manliness: by inventing guns." (He has other theories too and don't worry, he intends to publish them in a two-volume set so you can hear all about it there.)
Then there was the day a second grader walked up and lisped at me (He is missing four front teeth right now. No seriously, FOUR.) "Pop quiz. How does an atom make a rock?" And proceeded to explain the molecular structure of rocks based on combinations of atoms, pressure and time. Como say wha??

Then there's an entire genre of stores involving miscommunications with my new roommate Celia, who I've taken to calling the-girl-without-a-language because whether we're speaking Spanish or English she usually ends up pulling out a dictionary to complete the conversation. I'd like to think it was a testimony to my expansive, high-brow vocabulary but it's probably the result of immigrating at age 10 . . . and being immersed in two different languages. We finally decided her native language is actually Spanglish.

Okay, so Celia stories:

Lately I've come into the habit of saying "Step into my office" when people want to talk and I'm already working in the kitchen. So one day I'm daydreaming aloud about when I will have a kitchen of my own with an actual island in the middle (not just a step-stool) where people can sit and chat while I cook or clean or do stuff and they can just sit and eat and share life yada, yada, yada . . .but Celia gets this super confused look on her face so I realize something isn't computing.

"Wait. You want a what in your kitchen?" she asks "An island?" She's not completely sure whether it's a figure of speech or whether I'm just terribly ambitious and I actually have to explain it's just a counter-top in the middle of a kitchen.

Then there was the time she thought the lyrics to a worship song that says "fling wide your heavenly gates" was "farewell you heavenly gays." Enough said.

Then there was the night that being "super frank" (aka very forthwright) was confused for being SUPER Frank! like a super hero.

Then, (Read this in your best Antonio Bandaras accent). . . no . . . no there is too much. I must go on.

Next there is the genre of stories I meant to write about the much anticipated Halloween in Isla Vista. It goes something like this:

The population of IV, normally about 17,000 literally doubles to 30,000 people for two straight days of parties held almost entirely on our street which is shut down for the event by the city who also provides:
tow trucks to completely strip both sides of the street
temporary fencing
search and rescue teams
strong police presence
enormous flood lights every few hundred feet
teams of police chaplains walking around
and a dozen cops on horses who ride down the middle of the street around 2am to begin to breakup partygoers


IV Church grills up and gives away about 500 burgers during those 2 days, lends people our bathroom (which served both as a testimony and generally keeps people from urinating and vomiting on our cars. A win-win situation.) We also have a fire pit in the front yard for people to sit around (especially helpful for the 10,000 girls posing as Victoria's Secret angels). "Hey," Lisi smirks. "Check out the wings on that one."

Mostly we just try and love people. I comfort an 18-yr-old boy whose having a panic attack because his friend just got arrested. I help hide a guy some thugs are looking to beat on. I listen to a young man dressed as Pooh Bear talk about how his Jehovah's Witness parents sent him to a South American reform "school" where they tried to beat the dilinquency and drug abuse right out of him . . . but it didn't work. The weird thing was then next time he went of his own free will and they beat him right to the edge . . . . but it still didn't work. So he sat on my fence, drunk and hurting and believing the law in some deep place but being condemned by the law and unable to be reformed. Was he ready to hear about Jesus I wondered? About grace? I don't know but I connect every way I know how and try to remember his name. The next night he's out in the party scene looking a little more together: he's not alone, he's with his friends and acting smooth. I call out his name and he acknowledges me saying he'll holler at me later, but he doesn't. He has a way to go, yet . . . or maybe I missed my chance.

The whole Halloween affair is a little out of control: there is 24-hour prayer going on all of Halloween week in the prayer shed behind the house with time slots being filled by people from all kinds of different churches, fellowships and campus ministries. When people try to slip past the house and down the driveway the person on car duty tries to discern whether they're going to take a leak on our cars or to the shed to pray.
An arguement about the authority of the Pope erupts at top volume in the burger line, between a guy in an enormous yellow hat and a girl dressed as Pocahontas.
A guy gets tazered by the cops in front of our house.
A girl pukes in our driveway.
We go to bed around 3:00am.

Then comes November, and for 5 straight days the sun does not shine in IV.
So we are reminded that spiritual oppression doesn't end with Halloween. We are entering a new season of battles, and the house is looking in on itself a little more. One doesn't have to go far to emerge from the fog, just the other side of the freeway will usually do it . . . or a short drive up the mountain, so I do this a couple of times . . . go hiking in Montecito . . . take a long drive alone up the coast . . . but mostly I stay in IV and contend to see the Kingdom of God manifested on the earth, and in the church through our lives. . . try to abide in his joy and rest in the midst . . . and it is there, He is here.


If I even began to enumerate the blessings of the Lord in these days we would be here for hours. "No, no it is too much." Maybe for next time.

Como esta, preciosa?

So my new roommate, Celia (Cel as in "celery") is AMAZING. We found her through Craig's List which seemed like a sketchy idea at first but I could not have self-selected a better woman for this house. She brings with her a certain steadfastness of spirit, sincerity, integrity and refreshing humility. Also, she doesn't mind that I painted half the bedroom "antique ruby" the week before she moved in.

Celia paints but claims she's a fake (and not a real) artist. She wears squishy curlers to bed so her long, dark hair is bouncy in the morning but wears little makeup. She was a Los Angeles High School prom queen. She wears shiney silver heels to church. She is a writer. She is studying to become a doctor. She is sensitive. And strong.

Celia is from Guadalajara and not too proud to let us butcher Spanish around her in our ignorance. Though I admit my verb conjugation is pretty laughable, Terry will probably be the most colorful offender. (In case you haven't met Terry before in these stories) He lives downstairs and is the house leader who explodes into faux Spanish opera whenever he's feeling exuberant. Take, for instance, the timeless classic "Donde esta mi mochilla?" or the slightly less well-known "Mi coche es blanco!" It is inspiring, soulful music I tell you. Astounding really, how one simple sentence--creatively rearraranged and delivered--can be such rich fodder for hours of self-entertainment.

Anyway, Celia es magnifica. "Como esta, preciosa?" she coos and pats my back as she passes into the room.

Keith Green has a river of life flowing out of him this morning. "Rejoice in the Lord always!" he commands from the CD player. "Again I say rejoice!"

Best obey.

Life Cereal, Beloved

It is a blustery Wednesday morning in October and the sun is just about to rise. When I wake the coffee is already on and the girls are stirring. Lisi goes off to take a midterm. Abby munches shredded wheat and rejoices for having dropped one of her [too] many classes. Leslie is wearing her shirt inside out and backwards. “It was dark when I put it on,” she keeps insisting.

“Write also” she says “that you like to make decaf coffee and pass it off as regular to test for placebo effects in your friends.”

But I am falsely accused. I drank two cups of that coffee myself yesterday and though I did have a headache most of the day it was not, I assert, caffeine related. Rather, it was the result of the deep, grating cough that has been my constant companion these three weeks.

But not only that . . . also Jesus.

“This shredded wheat tastes like life,” Abby comments from the kitchen. And I start imagining what she must mean, like that Life is both weighty and dry of itself but when you overflow it with the milk of Holy Spirit and sprinkle it with the right amount of sweetness, which is grace, it goes down alright and is all for your benefit. But then she says she really just meant it tasted like Life Cereal. "Oh," I say. "Yum."

If you want to know what the Lord has been showing me lately or if you just need fresh revelation of Jesus’ extraordinary beauty, extravagant love and tender thoughts toward us, read Psalm 139. You have time. We are beloved, brethren. How good it is to love and be loved.

A Very Happy Birthday-

I don’t have words, friends.

I just don’t have words.

“What IS this?” asks Leslie on her way in the door. We are huddled around my laptop sitting on the dining room table. “It’s a DVD the saints in Memphis sent for my birthday,” I answer. She laughs a little bit. “The saints in Memphis,” she repeats. “That’s cool.”

My house sits around watching this full hour of skits and greetings, giggles and love in complete amazement.
“I’d be crying right now,” Brandon says.
“Last time I saw my old friends, they said they’d been wondering if I was even still alive.” says Tommy,
“Think of the amount time they put into this,” says Tiffany.

“I know,” I say. “I know.” There are moments I well up and moments when I laugh . . . but mostly I just long to take you in my arms and kiss you, kiss you, kiss you. I want to tell them all about you, to explain how Benjamin was unmarried last time I saw him, how Linda’s hair used to be almost to her waist, how I’ve known Newt since he was a twinkle in his mother’s eye, how Jan and Greg have loved me into their family, how Jessie sings Johnny Cash in private and Patsy coddles her roses . . . but where would I start? I just love you all so much. I'm so thankful for you, and honored by you.

I didn't feel like planning anything for my birthday this year, felt too tired. I just wanted the Lord to bring something that I couldn't plan myself that would delight me.


Wow, Lord. Wow.