angels and dreams.

Angels do exist -- I know 'cause I met one last night. He was an 85-year-old man named Fred who helped me fix my flat tire. I would not have asked him to help if I had realized he was so aged, but he was a trooper, this guy. You always hear that people in Los Angeles are unfriendly and unhelpful -- not true. Fred was a real blessing, and as Christina said when I got back home, I probably made his week, so now he can brag to all his friends that he fixed the flat tire of some poor young woman. Nice.

I had a creepy dream last night. I've been going through a period in my life where I'm not able to remember my dreams, and this is the first one in awhile. I started out in London, and I proceeded to board the Underground, though as I boarded the train, I remembered the recent bombings, and I was off the train as soon as I got on, though not without a momentary thought of "damn those bastards, I'm gonna ride this train, be fine, and show them!" Yeah, that didn't last too long.

After some scenes that are now hazy, I remember driving down the freeway near The Dalles with my mom. There was a detour, though, because there was a HUGE ocean liner that was dry docked in the port, basically blocking the entire downtown area. As mom pulled off the freeway, her friend Jenny was waiting for her at the exit offramp with a Frappucino in her hand. Then, I remember walking past my home in Los Angeles and seeing my old Saturn back in the driveway -- I freaked! Fortunately, at that point, I woke up.

While I was lying in bed this morning going over the dream, I started thinking about that great George Michael song (no, that's not an oxymoron) Cowboys and Angels off of the Listen Without Prejudice album. That whole album is great, though. People give George guff for his personal life and cheesy music videos, but some of his music is really quite sublime. Does anyone else remember that one?

provision

God grants provision in so many unexpected ways.

I have a $350 phone bill to pay by the middle of August -- yikes! I'm not working, and I just spent $849.75 for my New Zealand plane ticket, so an extra $350 is not only a bit of a stress, it almost makes buying the ticket seem irresponsible...

Okay, so before slipping into Crazy Head Mill again, I chose to believe that no, God will provide. And He did.

My mom called me this morning. She invited me to come back home for a few more days before I went to New Zealand. My dad's been having a few little health problems along the way -- a urinary tract infection earlier this week, and apparently the radiation is making him super tired and super out of it. See, originally, we had left it that I would go home after coming back from New Zealand, but my mom always said that if she needed me to come home, she'd let me know.

So how is this provision? Well, I save money while I'm at home, quite simply. And the funds that I would spend on food or gasoline can now go to that phone bill. It's also provision in an emotional sense. Although I'm filling my days with work leading up to the short, I have to admit that being so willfully unemployed makes me feel a bit at loose ends, it's hard to reconcile -- I wasn't sure how I would handle another two weeks of it. Being at home then, provides a place to be and something to do, with time to work on movie stuff, too.

Umm, so, awesome. Thank you God.

I'm leaving Wednesday and will probably stay another week in Oregon. By that time, Eliz will be back to claim her car, and I'll have about five days before going Kiwi again. I've counted, and in all my travels in the past three months, I will have logged a whopping 72 flight hours. I should at least get a set of stewardess pins for that, sheesh!

The Question Game

This is how it's played:

1. If you want to play, leave a comment below saying so.
2. I'll post five unique questions to the comments section of this post.
3. You answer them in your blog.
4. In your post, you include this explanation and an offer to interview others.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

These were questions posted to me by Katy.


1. If you could arrange your day anytime during a standard 24 hour days, what would be your desired normal hours of operation?

It would depend on what I'm doing. There are times when I love to get up early in the morning, then there are times that I like to stay up until 3a.m. So, I guess I'd do it this way: I'd get up around 6:45a.m., go for a hike or walk, do some work, then crash out at around 2p.m. Then, I'd get up again at around 7p.m. and stay up until around 3:30a.m., then sleep for another three or so hours. They say a REM cycle is about an hour and a half, so three hours of sleep at a time I think would work. I feel weird that my most productive times are early mornings and late nights -- what's wrong with me?


2. Suppose you're an animal. Would you want to be someone's pet or not?

Okay, again this would be dependent on my owner. If I had to be the lap dog of some old lady, I don't think I'd care to be a pet. Neither would I want to be abused. I wouldn't want to be a cat, either, since they're too moody and I'd feel like I was a human all over again. I wouldn't want to be anything living in a cage, either, 'cause well that should be obvious. So, for as much as I'm not crazy about dogs -- they're slobbery and can be dumb, I think if I had cool owners who were active and took me on vacations and stuff, then I'd be a pet. Otherwise, I'd like to be something that either lives in a tree -- leemer, squirrel, koala, or then something that could swim -- although that might get tiring because I'd always have to be moving around. Maybe a turtle, 'cause those live a long time, too.


3. Can you say anything in Maori?

I'm ashamed to say not too much, though I know how to pronounce it when I read it. For instance a "wh" is an "f" sound and "au" is "o." I can say "hello," which is "kia ora." I know what certain words mean, like "whanau" means "family," roughly. "Waka" is "canoe. "Maa te waa" means "time will tell," or also "in time." If I sat and had a good think, I could come up with more, but then I'd go dig through emails that Robyn has sent me and that's cheating.


4. What are 2 'bad habits' that you have? Which one would you be willing to give up first?

The first and most chronic bad habit is worrying. I hate that I worry, I wish I didn't do it so much. I believe it to show a lack of trust in the Lord, who is the ultimate Provider. If I have the strength of a thousand women, I'd give up worrying.

Another bad habit is procrastinating, especially when it comes to things like going to the post office or bank. I just hate doing those things. It's probably the waiting in line aspect that gets to me. Not that waiting bothers me so much, it's just that everyone seems to be so depressed while they're in there. I don't like buying stamps, either, by the way, or filling out deposit slips.


5. What does your name mean?

Hmm...Sandra Mai Vahtel. Well, firstly it throws a lot of people off. Mai connotates Chinese or Asian of some kind. Vahtel people will either think is French or sometimes even Indian. Needless to say, when they see me they get a little confused. Anyway, Sandra, as first name means "helper," which I actually just looked up. Mai was the name of an aunt, who apparently struggled with alcholism through most of her life -- fun! Vahtel doesn't really mean anything as a last name that I know of.

Look, Brendan lost his head this weekend!

Seriously though, what a weird picture. I'm not even sure how that happened. He looks like some sort of apperition. Am I spelling that right?

Taken last Friday at Dubliner's in Long Beach. Kevin's the kid looking at the camera, Levon's somewhere around there. Brendan is a friend of theirs from work.



Let me take a minute and say how much I love the fact that Kevin and Levon live in Los Angeles now. I've know them literally most of my life. Kevin and I were in kindergarten together. I met Levon in sixth grade. We've each gone and done our own things for years, but our paths are crossed again and it's such a blessing to be able to hang out with them now. There's a common currency that's shared amongst people with the same geographical and social landmarks -- namely a hometown. There's a trust that's implicite -- I know exactly where they're coming from, quite literally.

to the quarter century

It's my birthday today, and all I can do is hear the thumping of my heart in my chest and blood throbing through my ears.

I am about to make a decision on something that I have been deliberating for a month. Namely, to return to New Zealand at the end of August. I can no longer remember the thinking points to state both sides of my case. I feel like my mind has shut the door on those, and now it is just me, God, my computer, and the Air New Zealand website.

I've been scared to make this decision. Partly, I feel like deciding one way or the other may be in disobedience to God. I'm not going to reiterate them here, because if you've been around me at all for the past while, you'd know that I've become obsessed with the decision making process itself, and indeed you are sick of it and just want me to decide.

Indeed, so, I believe, does God. Michelle and I call this the "crazy head mill" that we put ourselves through -- going through three thousand iterations of a situation and thinking ourselves to a standstill. And oh the reasons -- guilt for previous sins, a lack of self confidence, and fucking talking about it TOO MUCH.

I currently do not have a job and have sold my car. What I am most afraid of is that if I do buy this ticket and go again that God will somehow refuse to provide for me when I get back -- a ridiculous thought -- God always provides. Granted, not always in the ways we'd expect, but he does. I won't have a car or a job when I get back, either. In the meantime, I have a desire to go. Security, thusly, is an illusion. A job can end and a car can crash on any day.

Trust, just trust, okay? I don't really think there is a right or wrong decision here, and everything else has to do with a lack of trust.

Okay fine, enough high drama, I'm getting my ticket...

Luke 8:49-50

While He was still speaking, someone came from the house of the synagogue official, saying, "Your daughter has died; do not trouble the Teacher anymore." But when Jesus heard this, He answered him, "Do not be afraid any longer; only believe, and she will be made well."

"DO NOT BE AFRAID ANY LONGER; ONLY BELIEVE..."

Say that, repeat it, ponder what it means, thank God for it.

are you miles, or are you jack?

I finally saw SIDEWAYS tonight. Yes, I admit I've been living under a rock for not having seen this until now.

As I was watching it, I decided I disliked both main characters, Miles and Jack equally for different reasons. Maybe it was their familiarity. Miles and Jack embodied either end of the human spectrum: Miles is lonely, depressed, and completely devoid of self worth. Jack is a naracissistic, manipulative control freak. I'd say most people fall somewhere in between these two. Sadly, I found myself identify with Miles in ways that were nearly painful to admit. Jack was the mirror image of several people I've known in my life -- that friendship dynamic is always the same, too.

Some parts of the film were funny, and the ending is hopeful, but mostly I found the whole story quite tragic. There's that God-shaped hole that people run around, trying to constantly fill with things that won't fit. Alcohol will soon find you addicted, casual sex will leave you with a broken heart and ravaged soul (for the last time people, abstain, PLEASE), misplaced trust will make you feel manipulated and calloused.

And that's the world, seperated from it's Creator. The truth is that only God can fill that hole, only He can make souls whole. Everything else will just feel empty in the end.

Self worth from Christ? I've been going through something of a personal struggle lately, wondering "how do I do this?" I truly want to do this, but I admit that I have a real problem believing that God's love is whole and unconditional. It's so much easier to try and gain acceptance from others or worth from certain situations, but it's not, honestly, is it? Of course it's not. Donald Miller's new book SEARCHING FOR GOD KNOWS WHAT has a whole chapter or two dedicated to that. In God's hands there is reassurance and rest, and following Him means being able to live a life that goes beyond expectation. So why am I having such a hard time falling in love with Jesus Christ? Maybe it's because people and those things that won't fit are so much easier to hold onto.

I don't know, I don't really have an answer for myself at the moment...

Some photos from the trip

My dad's operation scar -- scary!


A few days ago, waiting for the chemotherapist.


Frankie, my parents' cat. He was really bothered by the red-eye reduction light, I'm surprised he stood still for this one.


Some wheat fields close to home.


Coming back to L.A.

off come the blankets

I'm finally back in Los Angeles, and I feel like an alien. I counted -- in the past 60 days, I've been in Los Angeles a total of 28 of them. I've not been gone so long since I've been here.

My last day with dad was good. It followed one very bad day. We had gone to the oncologist on Tuesday, and he gave us some very straight talk that made everyone in the room a little uncomfortable. Dad's type of cancer is called glioblastoma, the most aggressive (type IV) kind there is. With radiation, the doctor said that on average, people with this type of tumor live about a year. Along with chemotherapy, another couple of months. Without any treatment, patients ususally survive for another 13 weeks after diagnosis.

Needless to say, he's going ahead with the radiation.

Later Tuesday evening, the nursing home called to say that dad was having another seizure (he's had four, now), one that had caused him to fall out of his chair. My mother went immediately, my brother, Erik, and I went down a little later. And there was dad, in his gown, passed out from the muscle relaxer they injected into his arm, his leg still twitching from the seizure. It was an image that will not soon leave my mind. Mighty dad, reduced to a meek, sedated figure.

The next day, however, dad revealed a bit of truth about the seizure incident that he couldn't as he was passed out on the hospital bed...

Feeling a bit sore, he had taken some Advil that mom had bought from home. It's contraband in the nursing home, though since they're suppose to dispense all medication. One pill fell on the floor, and instead of facing the nurse with an explanation, dad thought it would be better to try and retreive the fallen Advil.

Leaning too far forward in his chair, and unable to keep the left side of his body from sliding off, he fell on the floor. Unhindered, he pick up the pill, and then tried to pull himself back into the chair himself, instead of waiting to be discovered on the floor, doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. In his attempt to reengage the chair, he put too much strain on his weak leg, and the seizure came on (they're not full-blown epileptic seizures, it's more like a very severe muscle spasm, where his entire left side contracts, causing his entire body to shake). He finally called out for help, and the charge nurse came, and at the sight of him, freaked out. Boom -- sedative administered, and family mortified in two easy steps. And all for an Advil.

As he was confessing his sins, an enormous feeling overcame me. If you've ever seen DEAD POET'S SOCIETY, perhaps you'll remember the scene in which the mousy Ethan Hawke is forced to get up in front of the class and recite a poem he's failed to write. The professor doesn't let him off the hook so easily. Instead, the prof forces the Hawke character to make up an impromptu poem inspired by the "sweaty-toothed Mad Man," Walt Whitman. I can't remember how the entire thing goes, but the jist of it is fear, and he uses the image of struggling to get out from under a messy blanket to embody that fear.

And that's how I felt. Like the blankets that I've been struggling under for the past couple of weeks were being lifted.

It doesn't change the fact that dad's got cancer, but somehow, knowing that his seizure was brought on by poor judgment and risk of embarrassment, instead of a worsening condition, made me realize that it's too early to get bogged down. Fatalism is so unattractive, yet I (and apparently, my whole family it seems) am so prone to it.

Life is what you make it, as it's said. If you pray at all, please pray that I would learn to not be such a, well, wet blanket (yeah, I couldn't really resist).

Building a home in the cuckoo's nest

Care facilities in The Dalles are NOT like hospitals in Portland. My dad now resides in the Columbia Basin nursing home. Only for awhile, however. Most of his companions sit in the halls with vacant eyes and drooly chins. They're never gettin' out of there again...but he is, hopefully. My mom and I felt horrible about leaving him there. Luckily, the facility's about a five minute walk from our house, and we had to keep on reminding ourselves that it's only temporary. Still, I have visions of my dad sitting in the middle of the recreation hall in his white gown and wheelchair, starting the next geriatric revolution...

There is good news, though. He's out of the hospital, working on his physical therapy, and will be starting his radiation soon -- thank goodness. We finally heard from an actual doctor (the angry hospital politics monster has been rearing it's ugly head) today, and his appointment is Tuesday morning. They will then be probing into his skull with such delicate-sounding tools as the "gamma knife." FUN!

Even though his body has gotten weaker, his spirits are still unendingly high. I've seen the outpouring of support and concern for him. While I appreciate it, I have to admit that I had started feeling sorry for myself in the meantime. "Okay, all the concern for dad's tumor, but what about me? Who's concerned about what I'm dealing with?" It's an awful spot to be in. Trust me, the above "statement" is in no way a cry for sympathy. I cannot stand myself when I get like that. It makes in incapable of seeing the opportunity and experience the joy inherent in any given moment. Confessionally, it's an attitude I let myself become susecptable to more often than I'd care to admit. But "we're working on it."

But, a short chat with some good friends from very far away made me feel a lot better. Sometimes, that's all it takes. Good on ya, mates!

The Big "C"

Yup. My dad's got cancer. His tumor is malignant, and henceforth no longer operable. Radiation is likely the next step, perhaps chemotherapy.

Has this sunk in? Not really. All I could think about today was my highschool music teacher, Mr. Walworth. He had a brain tumor. He was terminal. Yet God healed him, miraculously. God can heal my own father. I don't know if he will or not, be he's able...

altered states

I saw my dad for the first time last night. The medications he's on are making him what can best be described as "earthy." Meaning, things that he may not have said before, his inner monologue, now just come right out. It makes being around him somewhat unpredictable and downright scary at times. It's like he's still him, but slightly altered. It's cute, really. He's not sarcastic or mean-spirited, just somewhat...uncensored. The steroids he's on (to keep the brain swelling down) are also giving him a voracious appettite, to the point where he lustily looks at what anyone else is eating, as if he'd snatch it out of their grasp if he could only reach them. I asked the doctor later if there was anything that could be done about that, and he replied in his best Clint Eastwood voice, "yeah, we'll cut those down tomorrow."

It was strange, greeting this man who, even a couple of weeks ago was much more recognizably "my father." My immediate reaction was panic, but not being able to cry, I laughed instead. Seeing him as the charming rapscallion, the nurses' favorite, made things better -- yep, still dad...Luckily, the situation is not as dire as my mother made it sound the day before. Serious, but still uncertain -- too uncertain to get worked up, really.

I jumped in this morning with both feet, putting talc on his itchy neck and clipping his toenails, pestering the nurses for things that might make his stay more comfortable. What a blessed time it's been to devote all my energy to the man who's spent the last 25 years giving my his all. It's now all I can do to quite feebily (in comparison) give him my time.

Reprioritization

I spoke to my mom yesterday. Dad's out of the ICU and in the neuro ward of St. Vincent's Hospital in Portland. On the ninth floor. Apparently his hair is uncombed and face unshaven, but he's still making jokes (that's dad for ya). People have been coming by throughout the days, including my dad's boss. This guy's kind of a hard-ass, but as my mom tells it, there he was in the room, close to tears, saying that my dad's been the best employee he's ever had and how reliable and trustworthy my dad is. It's very humbling to see the testimony my dad has been, even to this one man -- a man who, despite his lack of spiritual faith, says he's been praying for dad. That's awesome.

I'm going home this evening, and I'll be there until Thursday night, by which time we'll hopefully know the outcome of the biopsy and what the "next steps" are. I'm not really looking forward to going. Well, I am and I'm not. I'm thinking at this point my months working with Sumit will come in handy with my dad -- a fact that I remember telling Adam in Toronto, somewhat sarcastically, that I was either being prepared to have kids or take care of a sick parent (cue irony). I'll be happy to take care of my dad, though, even if for a few days. Take care of my mom, too. She asked me yesterday if I was planning on going to church today. "Mom, tomorrow's Saturday..." She chuckled, but I realized the pressure she must be under. Realized, but not understood. I have no idea what it must feel like to have to see my spouse like this ('cause well, I'm not married).

I still feel quite confused by life in general right now. All the pieces are up in the air, and I have a feeling that once the pieces settle into place again, that I'm going to feel differently about things. A reprioritization is upon me, and I'm curious to see what's going to come out on top. But right now, it's family, and I hope that my time with them will be truly joyous and fruitful. I'm thankful really, to be umemployed at the moment. I have all the time in the world to spend in Oregon (side note: the unemployment office has decided to continue my benefits -- yay!).

(ps) I saw WAR OF THE WORLDS last night, and I'll say the best thing about it was the ELIZABETHTOWN trailer before it...Okay, that's not really true, but as a diehard Cameron Crowe fan, I'll say it made me quite happy. But, WAR OF THE WORLDS wasn't awful. It just felt like a bunch of recycled Spielberg films put into one film. Go see it for yourself and decide.