NIGHTTIME RUMINATIONS . . .

I love being part of a blogging community. Most of us have comment trackers (or other trackers) which allow us to see at least the general IP addresses of our faithful and not-so-faithful readers. And most of us, through one avenue or another, are led to other blogs, written by faceless folks around the country, if not the world. Often, I have caught myself laughing out loud, or crying heavily, or thinking for long hours about something I read on the blog of someone I don't even know. I have seen their wedding photos, celebrated their triumphs, accompanied them on their vacations and waited out their writing droughts. It's a strange, strange world ... and kind of creepy if you think about it for too long. But if I don't, it's pretty cool. As evil as the Internet can be sometimes, at other times, I feel more comforted and grounded by these strangers' existence in my on-line life. Common ground, compassion, empathy, witty repartee, humor, respectful disagreement ... all these things passed through tiny fiber-optic cables ... amazing.

***

For the second week in a row, I was quite moved by PEK's sermon, notwithstanding the fact that when Jaime asked me what the sermon was about, I blanked momentarily. Today, PEK emphasized the need to live with conviction: either God is alive, or He isn't. Either I believe, or I don't. Either I hope in Him, or I don't. Either I serve His Kingdom, or I serve the world. Either or, either or, either or. It was a harsh sermon, a blaring wake-up call. But one concept stands out in my mind: to hold tight to the Word with white-knuckled fists, because if my grasp loosens, the Word might fall out of my grasp.

I also discovered that PEK is not flaky. I mean, the man can barely tell time and has a cell phone he never answers and doesn't remember anything unless he writes it down five times and then tattoos it on his body. But he's not flaky and he's not your typical "I only know Christian things and won't have anything to do with the non-Christian world" pastors. The guy will tease you mercilessly about one minor slip-up you might have made months ago (I wonder if he and C didn't go to the same School of Tormenting Your Friends). Some of his jokes are cheesy enough that you can only respond with an eye-roll; some of his wit is sharp enough that you have to sling it right back. He reads the newspaper and listens to 80s music and has a crazy hooked-up 17" PowerBook G4 named Matilda. He preaches about the inner city and feeding the poor and stepping outside our comfort zones and racial reconciliation and friendship. My personal feelings about care groups and church development aside, our fearless leader is not a flaky man.

***

Margaret Cho's new concert film "Revolution" airs on The Sundance Channel on Saturday night. I don't think my ridiculously expensive cable package includes Sundance ... so I'll have to find someone to tape it for me. I'm too cheap right now to buy the DVD. Or a DVD player.

***

Two movies I could watch over and over again: "Finding Nemo" and "The Sound of Music." No chuckling allowed.

***

Family is a strange thing. More and more often lately, I have noticed the male half of J2 mentioning that certain of our gang are "family" so we can do whatever: come over to their place when it looks like a tornado hit it, eat their food, make ourselves comfortable, witness their arguments, etc. It makes me think about who my family is right now, aside from the obvious.

I look at my L.O.L.'s and Ha, my first non-sister sisters. They are the epitome of "distance and time-lag makes no difference." No words are minced, no love is withheld, no opportunity for food and drink and laughter and tears overlooked. I look at my NHF ladies -- the six little women to whom I can bare my soul, and by whom I will perhaps be judged but not too severely and meanly. With them, I have an equal relationship, as if we were sextuplets: all of us are different in the most myriad ways, yet so similar in the most basic ways. We each have something to teach each other, and something to glean from each other. I look at the husbands of my ladies. Men whom I have come to know quicker than normal by virtue of my closeness with their wives. Men who have become like older and younger brothers to me, sounding boards for serious opinions and bad jokes, men from whom I can learn things about the kind of man I might want to be with. I look at C, with whom I share a brain. Eight years between us doesn't make him any more mature, or me any younger, but it sure does make for some good old fogey jokes. How different my world and I would be were it not for C's half of my brain inside my brain. I look at all the little babies, my little nephews and nieces. They who have drooled gallons' worth on me and scaled me as if I was Mt. Kilamanjaro. They who have presented me with poopie diapers and goopy eyes and slimy fingers. They who have etched a permanent place on my heart as ones I must love and protect as if they were my own.

I think I know what family is. It's having people you would lay your life down for, people you would take a bullet for. In my mind at least, I'd take a bullet for Omma, Appa, Cheech, Gran. I'd take a bullet for my L.O.L.'s and Ha. I'd take a bullet for my NHF ladies. I'd take a bullet for the Alien's dad, for Heemy and Jaime, for Dr.G, for JWu. I'd take a bullet for C and his family. I'd take bullets for the bebes. They're my family.

***

I'm still agita about the NHF care group situation. Beh.

***

Watching "Chicago" right now ... what a glorious spectacle of a film. Catherine Zeta-Jones kicks butt.