Pictures of Egypt: an explanation

Over the past year, a few people have wondered what the title of this blog even means. I've never been to Egypt, so why would I have pictures of it, and why is that the theme of this blog? This Sara Groves video will explain the meaning.

When I first heard this song, it was as though I wrote it myself- that's how accurately it fit the state of my heart. This was my theme song for years, and only in the last few months have I been able to step past it a little bit, to come out of the desert and truly understand why I had to be there in the first place. The last lines say it all:

"If it comes too quick, I may not appreciate it. Is that the reason behind all this time and sand? And if it comes too quick, I may not recognize it. Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?"

Under the Stars

This blog post is dedicated to Charlotte, who told me I wouldn't write about this weekend's camping trip for a month. Since I like a good challenge, it is within 48 hours of the event, and here I am.

It is proving extremely difficult to type right now. We are cat-sitting for the weekend, and Titan is all over me, typing on the keyboard with his paws, crawling up my shirt, mewing when I push him aside. He's a good cat, and I like having him around, but it's hard to type consistently with his interruptions.

But that is not the point of me writing.

The point of me writing is to communicate an amazing fact: I am happy. This hasn't been the case, consistently, for about three years. But as my friends and I sat around the campfire Friday night, I couldn't help but be amazed at how God's will is infinitely better than my own. If he'd have let me leave this place when I asked him to (which was a lot over the past three years), I would've missed something amazing. Out in the woods on Friday night, I was just so thankful that God didn't listen to me. He made me wait, and he definitely came through. I was just not patient enough to remember that he would.

Our life group went camping Friday night. There was a break in the rain and the cold, and it was beautiful. Annie and I marveled at the sunset reflecting on the water as we drove out to the campsite. The stars were vibrant, the air was crisp, and the fellowship was fabulous. We ate hamburgers and smores, sang some worship songs, took a lot of pictures, and shared our stories. Each of us explained how we had come to know Jesus, and it was incredible to listen to all the different ways that he moves. It's also awesome to see the ways that he brings people together. Our group is so diverse, and we often say that many of us may not be friends if it wasn't for God. He is the glue that holds us together, and I'm feeling more and more blessed to be a part of this group as time goes on.

I always forget how much I enjoy camping until I go. I don't know why it's so hard to remember- so many of my closest encounters with God have occurred around the campfire. I accepted Jesus around the fire at East Iowa Bible Camp many, many summers ago. Our youth group campouts off the Homestead hill always were full of great worship, scary stories, and crazy antics. Our annual Antioch retreats in college were one of the highlights of the fall. This summer it was great to re-connect with my old roommates up in Clear Lake. It's always a better time than I think it will be, and this weekend was no different...

Here are some pictures:

Aleeta and me scavenging for dry firewood.

Ed was very bitter to not be allowed to sleep in the 15-person tent.

Randy, Annie, Aleeta, Ed and Charlotte.

Naldo, me and Ed.

The guys.

The ladies. And Ed. He managed to find his way into almost every photo taken all night.

And now it's time to go watch the final game of the baseball finals. The series is tied 3-3, so it's a big night. Oh, I hope those Indians are going all the way...

Cleveland Rocks!

Okay. I am not normally a sports person. But to NOT be excited about the Cleveland Indians' recent victory over the Yankees is to NOT be a Palof. It simply can't be helped. My dad was born and raised in Cleveland. His dad, brothers Dale and Gary, and sister Linda and their families still live in Ohio. Cleveland sports are to our household what the Hawkeyes and the Huskers are to most other houses in Iowa and Nebraska.

Therefore, with the Indians in the Major League Division Series, this past week has meant high drama in Palof homes across the Midwest. My Uncle Joe (okay, he's technically not a Palof, but he's married to one!), in Hinckley, Ohio, has been going to several Indians games a week. I talked with my Aunt Linda last Monday, and she told me he had been to five games in the prior week alone. And that was before the Division Series even began. I'm sure Uncle Gary (my dad's almost-twin) and his kids have been following the series closely as well. And then there's my dad, whose entire indentity, for better or for worse, seems to be wrapped up in Cleveland sports, particularly the Indians.

The Cleveland Indians have not won the World Series since about 1948, I believe. My dad was born in 1953. This means that in his entire 54 years of Indian fanatacism (he was born with it, I'm sure), he has never seen them go all the way. Every year he hopes for the best, and every year his dreams are crushed. I think the Cleveland Browns (football) and the Cleveland Cavs (basketball) have had comparable losing streaks. Therefore, my dad's brilliant logic brings him to the conclusion that all Clevelanders are losers. That's how it's always been, and that's how it will continue to be.

He was hopeful and excited for a little while, at the beginning of the series. I was in Chadron this past weekend with Anne from work at the Nebraska Art Teachers Association annual conference. At our hotel Thursday night, Dad called me after Game 1 of the series to tell me that they won- and the score was 12 to 3 or something like that. "It's a glorious night," he said. And that's a direct quote. "You can watch Sports Center tonight if you want to." Anne and I laughed. "I can?" I said. "Thanks for giving me permission!" Then Friday night they won again, but not until the 12th inning. Yes, the 12th. It was a tense game. But Dad was still so excited.

But then on Sunday, they lost, and it was as though the world was coming to an end for the poor guy. Ben Morris invited him over to watch the game with him, which I think is so sweet. Natalie went over, too, and apparently it was quite the event. Dad and Ben spent most of the game in the Man Cave theorizing about all of the ways that the game was rigged- or at least biased- in the Yankees' favor. I can just see them going on and on, with Ann and Natalie sitting there rolling their eyes.

The way this series worked is that Cleveland needed to win 3 out of 5 games. They had already won 2. But I talked to Dad after Sunday's defeat, and, according to him, it was all over. "We're a losing city, and that's all there is to it," he said. He has a bad attitude. I called him again Monday night to find out what time and channel the game was on. "Humpf," he barked. "Don't even bother. It's all over." Even if they'd lost Monday, they still would have had one more shot. But he was so certain that it would end miserably...

As the evening wore on, the Indians maintained a stable lead. 6 to 1 for most of the game. But that wasn't enough to give Dad hope. I talked to my mom, and she and Natalie were about ready to punch him. Dad spent most of the night downstairs watching the game on the Internet, so he wouldn't have to hear those "Damn Yankee-biased announcers". Towards the end of the game, he was so sure they were going to lose (the score was now maybe 6 to 3) that he tried to make Mom and Natalie turn off the TV. When they refused, they made him go on a walk. At 10:15 at night. He was being that obnoxious.

Though it got closer in the end, the Indians still won, 6 to 4. This means that they go on to play best 5 out of 7 with Boston to determine who goes to the World Series, which means Mom and Natalie have a stretch to go with my very moody Dad. When they win, he's like a 10-year-old kid. When they lose, he's like an old, decrepit grandpa, without any hope in the world.

This is, verbatim, the email Dad sent me tonight:

this is it i have a feeling i hope a few losts will not get me down. go indians thanks love dad

So, for my dad's sake, though it may be a long shot, I hope they win.