I won the lottery.

I buy a Powerball ticket every now and then, when the pot's over $100 million and I'm feeling lucky. I know that lottery tickets are essentially a tax on those who never studied statistics, but I still do it.

Today as I did dishes, I got to musing on what $175 million would do to my life. What would I actually do if I won? Kristi and I would get a house, somewhere here in Linden Hills. Maybe we'd get three bedrooms - so she could have a proper office, and we could have a library rather than storing almost all our books in boxes, and we'd have a guest room for friends and family. We'd have a dishwasher. And a washer and a dryer. A two-car garage. A regular size fridge. A stove with ventilation. Central air. A porch or a sunroom, and a yard all our own. Maybe we'd get nice furniture - maybe a nice dining room table from Ikea, where the leaves are stored underneath the table and are easy to put in when company comes. I could have a workroom where I can build things. I could have a powersaw. On that note, we could have very nice health insurance with a low deductible and vision and dental included.

We'd pay off school, of course. Get new cars, maybe - or at least I'd get the radio fixed in my beloved Honda. Maybe we'd get a kayak, or a canoe. Heck, we could get both. We'd get a new cat tree for Oliver. Maybe a dog, since we'd have a yard.

Then I thought bigger. We could do all the things we've talked about doing but can't afford. Like traveling to see friends whenever we wanted. Or traveling to Italy, or Spain, or Norway, or all three. We could go see a Twins game whenever we wanted. We could see the Packers play the Vikings; we could get tickets to -both- the Basilica Block Party and to Rock the Garden. When the Indigo Girls are playing in Fargo, we can just buy the tickets and drive there. We could learn to windsurf and snowkite. We'd start the non-profits we've talked about - I'd do low-cost website setup and maintenance for churches, or drive around town in my Ford F150 rescuing broken furniture and fixing it up in my workshop and donating it. I'd learn coding, and skateboarding. I'd get better at playing guitar.

Today, as I checked my Powerball numbers, I realized I'd won the lottery.

We live in Linden Hills already, just two blocks from the co-op and the library, and six blocks from the gardening center and the liquor store. We live blocks from both Lake Harriet and Lake Calhoun, and we've gone kayaking and winter kiting and found the troll tree and biked and walked and found little baby painted turtles and seen a fish jump clear out of the water.

We live in Minneapolis which for all its snow I would go toe to toe with anyone in the world and still call it my favorite city. We live on the bus line which takes us right to our favorite restaurants and our favorite hairdresser (shoutout to Kayte at Floyd's 99 - you rock!).

We live in America. As angry as I am that the U.S. Government just saw fit to pull an extra $300 out of my bank account to fund wars that we'll never win fought by my queer brothers and sisters who live in fear (did I mention that I'm angry?) ... that same government is headed towards repealing DADT and maybe even the DOMA. I don't have the right to marry Kristi, and it breaks my heart every time I check "Single" on an application; but at the same time, no one in this country has the right to stone us or set our house aflame or legally prohibit us from living together or walking down the street hand in hand. It's not Iceland but it puts us far ahead of plenty of countries where my queer brothers and sisters live not just in fear but in pain inflicted on them by their communities and their government.

And as much as this country drives me crazy, there's a reason we have to set up visas and green cards and there's a reason that people's veins stand out on their necks when they shout about illegal immigration, and that's because this is a darned good place to live.

Kristi and I both went to a small, private, liberal arts college. We didn't learn nearly as much as we could have and we'll never learn even as close to as much as we could or ought, but Saint Olaf College laid a foundation for us to be servants of the Lutheran church (we were both confirmed there), to be intelligent thinkers in the world, to be sincerely contributing members of society.

I quit my job in December, because it sucked, a lot, and for those co-workers left behind I imagine it still does. Unlike the majority of my friends, and of Americans, I could walk away from a job that paid almost double minimum wage, plus benefits, and I've survived four months by cobbling together babysitting, high school speech judging, yard work, and a very-much-part-time church job. Kristi was laid off in April of last year, and she's found two part time jobs and also seen unemployment checks coming steadily in. We're paying our bills, and spending a little more time on Craigslist (both buying and selling), and we're getting by pretty well.

I'm going to seminary in the fall. I'm waiting on scholarships, which will make a big difference, but I'm lucky enough that no matter what financial aid I'm offered, I'm going to school. It makes finding a job hard, and I'm entering a field that's high-stress and low-pay, and I'm so excited about it that I can't breathe. I get to do what I've wanted to do for so many years. I don't have to put it off, or forget about it. I get to do it.

We're part of a faith community that loves us. I mean really. It's kind of ridiculous. If we don't show up at church, we get calls. The youth like me, which is really odd because I've never really gotten on with anyone in middle and high school (especially when I was -in- it). It's like a giant family reunion every Sunday, with lots of cousins causing trouble and crazy in-laws forcing potato salad on us, and we love it.

And we're surrounded by friends.

And we have each other, which is a miracle that I give thanks for every day, because there are definitely a small and finite number of people willing to put up with the crazy things I say and do on a daily basis much less hourly.

And we have God, which is cheesy but true.

So, yeah. I won the lottery.

And so begins the New Life.

The last two weeks have felt like a long vacation. Today was the first day where I felt, at several moments, "Oh, that's right. I'm not working anymore."

And I would just like everyone in the blogosphere to know: it is freaking fantastic.

I slept in with the cat cuddling with me. Then I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Then I worked on grad school applications but I actually enjoyed it, rather than breaking into hives because of how much work lay before me.

Kristi and I took a long walk around the lake. Yes, it's Minnesota, it was probably below zero when we went. We are one of those few Minnesotans who actually kind of enjoy the cold, but please don't tell anyone that because no one understands it. The walk was really nice, actually. And relaxing. At no point did I break into hives about how long it was taking and all the other important things I needed to do.

I took Callie, my beloved '97 Honda Accord, in for an oil change and the guy said, "It'll take an hour" (it's a first-come-first-serve place, and there were a lot of first-comers today). Instead of breaking into hives because THINK OF ALL THE PRODUCTIVE THINGS I COULD BE DOING! I thought, "Heck, I have a book in the car I haven't read yet." So I told him, "No problem." And it only took 45 minutes and I enjoyed all of them because what else was I going to do? Sit there and break into hives because I wasn't at home mopping the floors? No. (Although that does need to get done. But if I don't get it done today, it's not like the floors call my direct line tomorrow and leave a passive-aggressive voicemail about how I'm ignoring them at my own peril and how the world will now end because my floors are still dirty.)

I did have one hives moment today, and that was when I looked at my bank account and thought, "There is no way I can do this. I have to go find a job. I have to call AFP back RIGHT NOW and get the job back." Then I thought about working again for AFP and broke into hives. So...calling them back did not happen. Then I found out I sold one of my books on half.com. It's not a lotto ticket, but it's another $4, which will pay for a round-trip bus ride to somewhere I'll eventually need to be.

Tonight, it is a Monday night, and I am hive-free. This is amazing. This is wonderful.

Eight days left.

It's been an interesting character study to tell different people that I quit my job. There are three general reactions. People are:

Happy for me. There have been an unexpected amount of people who are happy for me. Most of these people know exactly how much I dislike my job and how unhappy I've been. Maybe they're just glad my Facebook statuses won't all be work-related for a while. I wonder if I'll get more followers if my tweets aren't so bitter?

Interested in the job. Two friends, both currently working part to full time at low-pay, low-gratification jobs, have asked if I'd recommend them for the position. Sadly, the company's still not sure if they'll hire someone to fill my position or if they'll just spread the work around. And, I don't really think someone whose Chance of Tweak Out meter has been at High for the past year is a good reference. Thirdly, I'm quitting. Does that tell you something? Maybe that you don't want this job? No? Okay, well, mine is not to reason why. You want the job description? If they open it up, I'll let you know.

Terrified by my future. A lot of people think I've made the biggest mistake of my young life. Everyone is being polite about it, and excited for me, but there is definitely a section of friends and colleagues who suddenly break eye contact, stutter, and try to change the subject. I think these people think I'm an idiot.

Which, on paper, I am. I have nine months to go before school starts, and I do not have a job lined up for those nine months nor for while I'm in school. On the surface I don't look like someone who's financially set to take this kind of plunge. Oh, and if you haven't heard, apparently our economy is in the tanker and the unemployment rate is 10% - if you're counting the people who have actually tried to find a job in the past month. 10% doesn't count people who are unsatisfactorily employed (below their previous wage / hourly levels) or the people who have given up or found alternative employment strategies.

At the same time. I'm not looking for a job with health benefits. I'm not, for all intents and purposes, highly skilled. I've got a Bachelor of Arts degree with a major in religion - yes, Mom and Dad, you're right, it was not practical - and have spent the last three years of my life being a phone monkey for people that are, in short, crazy. I'm going on to grad school and plan to use very, very, very little of my phone skills in my future career. [A future post is going to address how all the skills in customer service prepare you to do just about anything, if you describe them correctly, but I won't start that here.]

I don't want full time work - I wouldn't be able to do it in nine months anyway. I want a part-time job that is going to pay my bills and give me something productive to do that doesn't make me want to break my eardrum with a spoon just to get out of an hour or two of work.

I want a job that doesn't give me acid reflux every evening when I realize the next day's a workday. I want a job that isn't with a company that is dependent on me pleasing every single person that calls in. I want a job where I'm not smart enough to do the work of two people, because right now I am smart enough and right now I am doing the work of two people.

Sixty-four hours left to go.

Nov 7/8 Sermon: A Place in the Family of God

Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17
Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, "My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do." She said to her, "All that you tell me I will do."

So Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife. When they came together, the LORD made her conceive, and she bore a son. Then the women said to Naomi, "Blessed be the LORD, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin; and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him." Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom, and became his nurse. The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, "A son has been born to Naomi." They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.

Psalm 127
Unless the LORD builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the LORD guards the city,
the guard keeps watch in vain.
It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives sleep to his beloved.
Sons are indeed a heritage from the LORD,
the fruit of the womb a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
are the sons of one's youth.
Happy is the man who has
his quiver full of them.
He shall not be put to shame
when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

Hebrews 9:24-28
For Christ did not enter a sanctuary made by human hands, a mere copy of the true one, but he entered into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf. Nor was it to offer himself again and again, as the high priest enters the Holy Place year after year with blood that is not his own; for then he would have had to suffer again and again since the foundation of the world. But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the age to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself. And just as it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.

The Holy Gospel according to Mark. (Mark 12:38-44)

As Jesus taught, he said, "Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation."
He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then Jesus called his disciples and said to them, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."
The Gospel of the Lord.

Grace and peace to you from the Living One, our Lord Jesus Christ.

We came into the Ruth story a little late today. We came in at the end. If we started at the beginning, we'd have started with Naomi, rather than with Ruth. Naomi and her husband Elimelech left Israel during a famine, taking their two sons to Moab. Moab was east of Israel, and the two countries had a mixed history - sometimes war, sometimes peace. Israelites did not consider Moabites to be a part of the family of God. But there was a famine in Israel and food in Moab, so Elimelech and Naomi settled there. Elimelech passed away, and the two sons married Moab women: Orpah and Ruth. After about ten years, the two sons also died. Naomi decided to leave her daughters-in-law in Moab and return to Israel alone. But Ruth followed her, and said, "Where you go, I will go; where you live, I will live; your people will be my people, and your God, my God." Ruth had likely married young, like most ancient women - she might have been as young as twenty-two when she said this, when she decided to leave her own family and people and God and travel to a land she had never seen, where she would be a stranger, a foreigner, even an enemy - so great was her loyalty to Naomi.

Ruth and Naomi settled in Israel, and Ruth cared for Naomi. Israel had a welfare system, where harvesters would leave the edges of the field and scraps of the harvest uncollected. The poor and landless could then glean from what was left. A woman's value in Hebrew society was her husband, who provided for her, and children who would provide in her old age. Ruth and Naomi had no one to provide for them, and so Ruth collected the scraps of someone else's field. Ruth was a good worker. The owner of the field noticed her, and when he learned that it was Ruth, who came from Moab to care for Naomi, he was deeply moved. This was Boaz, a close relative of Elimelech. He promises Ruth a space in his field to glean, and instructed his workers to leave extra scraps specifically for her.

And so Naomi realizes that she and Ruth have been provided for. In Israelite culture, and many other ancient civilizations, if a woman's husband died before any children were born, his living brother or closest male relative was called upon to marry her. Naomi encourages Ruth to meet Boaz at the threshing floor and ask him to "act as next of kin" - to take her as his wife. It is not the most romantic proposal. But Boaz recognizes Ruth as a loyal and worthy woman.He looks past Ruth's status as a foreign enemy, past whatever whispers of a curse or bad luck that caused her tragedy. He sees her. A worthy woman, a hardworking woman, a loyal woman. A strong and faithful woman. She has crossed cultural and geographical and religious boundaries because she cares so greatly for her mother in law. And so Ruth and Boaz are married.

There are a lot of similarities between Ruth, and the widow in today's Gospel lesson. Both Ruth and the woman in the temple are widows, poor and disenfranchised. They have no husband or grown children to provide for them. To add to their vulnerability, poverty was seen as a sign of God's disfavor - God had not "blessed" these women with family or wealth. The members of Boaz's community, the people in the temple - they might have looked at Ruth and the widow and felt not compassion but self-righteousness and irritation. Boaz's family and friends might have whispered to each other: "Sure, Ruth's great, she worships our God, she cares for Naomi, but really, couldn't Boaz have picked a Hebrew wife? Did he have to marry a foreigner?"

And the widow in the temple - if Jesus saw her, others might has well. If Jesus saw how much she gave, and knew that she was a widow, and pointed to her as an example - perhaps others in the temple saw her, and saw how much she gave, and pointed to her unkindly. "Does she really have to come into the temple when the scribes are here? Couldn't she come some other time, when WE aren't here, so WE don't have to see her?"

But she would have been a hardworking woman, a woman who cared for her children, and who believed in the promises of God. She gave her offering, even though others would have looked down on its size. Because bigger is better, right? "No," Jesus says. "Don't even go there."

The widow slipping quietly in the shadows of the temple, hoping no one sees her tiny offering - that is worth far more than the great trumpets clearing the way for the largest gift. It is the faith, the trust, the love of the woman who remembers to give to God even in the midst of her troubles.

Ruth and the widow claim a place in the family of God with their strength and faith. God reaches out to them, through the whispers and glances of those who would judge - and they reach back. I am amazed by their loyalty and devotion, that even when it seems that all has been taken from them, and when those around them claim they are not members of the family of God - these women are strong enough and faithful enough to hear God's call, to see God's outstretched hand, and to reach back to God.

I do not always feel strong and faithful. In fact most of the time when I get to the end of the day, I feel worn out and ready for bed - not ready for more work tomorrow. When the human resources department at work tells me that - for the fourth year in a row - we are still not offering domestic partner benefits, I do not feel like turning to God. When organizations like WordAlone and Lutheran CORE say that, because of who I love, I am not fit to preach, I do not feel like turning to God. And when I see the oppression of my brothers and sisters - when someone somewhere decides that my friends and my family here at LCCR are not welcome because of race or country or wealth or job status or religion - I do not feel like turning to God.

I do not feel like handing over my last pennies in the temple; I do not feel like gleaning scraps in someone else's field. I feel mostly like crying, and possibly like throwing something. When I or my loved ones are excluded - when I am told there is not a place at the table for me - strength and faith do not come to mind. And when I am included - when I am praised or given a nice spot at the table - I'm less likely to give thanks for the grace of God and more likely to see how my own hard work has paid off. I look at my what I have in abundance and see my own efforts, rather than the love and mercy of God.

And like the members of Boaz' community who aren't too sure about Ruth - there are definitely some people that I am not sure about. As often as I think I am the widow, whispered about in the temple - I am just as often, if not far more so, the one doing the whispering. There are people that I do not particularly want to include in my understanding of God's family. Crummy drivers, for one thing. I do not want tailgaters in the family of God, unless they are going to buy me a new bumper.

I do not particularly want members of WordAlone and Lutheran CORE sitting next to me at the Great Feast in Heaven with all the saints. I'm not saying I don't want them there at all, but I would like them sitting at another table. A very far away one. And I think most of them feel the same way about me. I'm their Moabite, and they're mine. We come from different countries, we speak different languages, we don't understand each other, and we don't particularly trust each other as we should. We don't see how the other could possibly have a place at God's table. But humans don't get a say in who's coming to the table and who's not.

Over and over in the Bible stories, God says, "I don't care what you think. You think you know what makes people important and worthy, and you're absolutely wrong. It has nothing to do with what family you come from, or what your job is, or how much money you make - even if you come from the most important family in Israel, and even if your job is working in the Temple, and even if you're donating a lot of what you make. And it has nothing to do if you come from a foreign family, or if your job is picking up scraps in the field, or if all you have to give is two pennies. None of this matters," God says to us, when Ruth becomes the ancestor of Jesus, or when the widow in the temple gives the most when she gives the least. "I am what matters," says God. "I am reaching through all the clouds and storms in our lives to touch you, to extend a hand to you, to welcome you and everyone else into my family - that is what matters."

All are the beloved of God - even those that society or religion or preachers consider "unclean" or "cursed," the unwanted ones in the corners of the temple, the widow gathering scraps at the edge of someone else's field. And even those proudly dropping their gold coins into the collection plate at the temple, those who make themselves silly with how proud they are. They are members of God's family, too. We all are.

And because of this, we are all, as Paul says, "eagerly waiting" for Jesus. Eagerly waiting for the kingdom come, for the veil lifted, for the day we see face to face. On that day there will be no widows and no scribes, no Moabites and no Hebrews. There will be only God, with a welcoming hand outstretched and a place at the table for all.

Everything is amazing...and nobody's happy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXStPqhLmIk

So this has got me thinking. We take so much for granted that was completely non-existent 10 or 20 or 50 or 100 years ago, or that is still completely non-existent in other parts of the world.

I thought of this: Every day, I take the bus to work. The bus appears outside my apartment - literally just across the street - and drops me five minutes from work. For $2 one way. That's kind of amazing. Someone else negotiates traffic for me, and I just drink my coffee, listen to music, maybe sleep a little. I don't have to find somewhere to park, or remember to get gas, or change the oil.

In fact, if the bus breaks down, I just stand by the side of the street and wait for another one to come. I don't have to call AAA. I abandon that two-ton sucker in the middle of the road and get on another, and not only is this legal, it's what I'm TOLD to do.

Fifty years ago, if I boarded the bus and there was nowhere to sit, the social expectation was that a man would give up his seat. And, if he started a conversation, or asked me on a date, I would be under a social obligation to oblige. In this century, in another country, I might have to have my father, brother, or husband with me just to ride the bus. If I sat with or talked to or even looked at a strange man, I could be shunned from my church, my community, and my family.

But this is not how I ride the bus today. I'm not expecting anyone to give up a seat for me until I'm pregnant, old, or on crutches (whichever comes first?) and you better believe that if a gentleman sees cause to invite me to dinner, I ain't really plannin' to acquiesce. I can sit wherever there's a seat open - and I can talk to whoever I please.

And all things considered, the bus runs on time. Sometimes it's late, once in a very great while it doesn't come at all, and sometimes it runs early and I miss it. But most of the time, I walk out the door at 6:34, hop on, and arrive at work at 7:16. It doesn't break down. It doesn't get stuck in traffic. We keep on moving, and all I have to do is sit.

That's pretty amazing.

an adventure i'm not planning to repeat

When I lived with my parents in good ol' Maplewood, I'd bike to the bus stop every morning, to add some exercise to my day. It was a good jolt before my morning cup of coffee and helped get me going early in the day. (Provided that it didn't rain, or that it wasn't muggy-to-the-max.)

Now that my bus stops right outside the door, I don't have quite as much motivation to get to work early. Especially when my better half is still enjoying the comforts of sleep, it's hard to motivate myself to roll out of bed 15 minutes earlier so that I can...what exactly? Check cuteoverload.com, textsfromlastnight.com, notalwaysright.com and xkcd.com before the workday starts? I'd rather sleep. (And then check them during my afternoon break.) But that means I roll in right at 7:30 and considering the length of time it takes Outlook to start up, I need to be settling in to my cloth-covered box a little earlier.

Plus, let's not lie, I could use a bit more exercise in my life. I live seven blocks from Lake Calhoun and I'm dating a former lifeguard and swimmer. Getting through the summer without ending up in a swimsuit? Impossible. So, exercise it is. I get too easily discouraged when running - although I could make it into some kind of gamble: which body part will burn out first? Will it be my asthma-ridden lungs? Will my feet fill up with plantar fasciitis? Or will it be the trickest of all - the rise of the permanently ruined hamstring? This could be the subject of an excellent online betting circle, except that it's not that fun when you're (read: I'm) already wicked self conscious about the appearance of my legs in running shorts. Plus everyone in my neighborhood is in good health. There's no way I'm going running around the lakes, especially now when everyone's had enough time to tan and looks fabulouso in their bikinis. No, it will be the bike for me, thank you very much. I do not wheeze on the bike. I rarely fall down. I like my bike.

So I took the bike to work today, riding the bus in and intending to ride the bike back. I looked at the Minneapolis Bike Map and said to myself, "Self, this will be easy as pie." Forgetting, of course, that I cannot make pie.

I was supposed to go northeast on 11th until I got to Glenwood and then get on the bike path heading south. Easy peasy, right? Except for I shot my adrenaline through the roof by riding on Hennepin for six blocks, feeling like I was going to be run over by my own bus every two feet. Then I missed the turn. I could see the bike path but danged if I could figure out how the regular road let me on to it. Finally I rode down to the railroad tracks. They run right next to the bike path! Aha, I am so clever! It will be smooth sailing from here on out.

Remember that I also do not sail.

There is a reason that the road did not take me to the bike path via the railroad tracks, and that is because there is an eight-foot chain link fence between the tracks and the path. I discovered this under literally the sketchiest overpass I have ever seen. I passed several men on my way toward said bridge, and then suddenly there was no one. It felt like a scene from a horror movie - like the opening to Scream, except this time it's not the cute blonde that dies, it's the goofy brunette who gets eaten alive by ninjas and pirates that like to hang out under highway bridges. Remember that this is my brain we're talking about here: it can go from content to full-on three-alarm panic in half a second, reducing me to a pile of jello.

After walking along the railroad tracks for a bit, I did find an opening in the fence and got on the bike path. From there it was a simple matter of discovering that weather.com, when predicting the weather for your bike ride home, does not take into account the fact that you will already have the pulse rate of a hamster before you're even on the path. Also I discovered that my carefully filled water bottle had been left on my desk, where it will drip condensation onto imprint orders until Monday morning.

Amazingly enough I made it home in one piece and I'm eager to try it again. I'll just actually follow the map next time.

HA!