To Nineveh

2011-02-13T21:14:00.002-06:00

One of my friends got engaged today. She's a dear person; the guy seems really solid. And once I get past...this..., I'll be more happy for them.

Gimli keeps coming to mind, annoyingly. I've prayed that God remove these thoughts, if I'm not to be with him. I don't know if He's answering them or not.

Tonight, I attended an event at the request of a mutual friend of Gimli's and mine. My only connection to him was through Gimli, so I haven't seen him or his family for a year. I wondered...wondered...setup? Day before Valentine's Day? Reunion? How movie-ish that would be!

However, since my life is not a movie, that didn't be.

The invitation to the event was merely a reciprocal gesture of hospitality, repaying a kindness I had done for the mutual friend's wife and baby last year.

To go from talking with my giddily engaged friend (and trying to be happy!) to a room full of people which might include Gimli, all the day before Valentine's Day...it was a miniature perfect storm. My eyes were dry and I was composed; I had hung up with my friend just before I arrived--just before my eyes may have spouted tears and ruined my makeup. Then I remembered my grandma had called; since I hardly talk with her and she had made the effort to call, I decided to call her back quickly. I explained I only had a moment, and after a bit of small talk, I mentioned my friend's engagement. I asked my grandma to pray for my heart. If she heard me through her hearing aid, she'll understand. Knowing that she loves me, cares about me, knows how this hurts and how much I wish it didn't, made me start crying there in my car. It's easy enough to bottle something up; it's hard to keep it together when someone expresses empathy.

And still God takes care of me. I arrived for the event in the dark, in heels, on ice. I didn't plan well for parking, but decided to try an area I've always had "dumb luck" in. I drove to the end of the row; nothing. Going forward meant going over a snow-created ramp, over a sidewalk, and down with a thud on the other side. I debated how much trauma that would cause my tires and decided against putting them through that. As I shifted into reverse and looked behind me, I saw someone else's reverse lights come on. I paused. The car just a few spots behind me backed out and drove away. Other cars circled the lot like vultures hungrier than I, but I slid into that spot and had a much shorter walk in the dark, in heels, on ice.

I could have made a lot of different choices in life. Some I regret; others, I don't. I'm here, 35 and single on the eve of Valentine's Day, going to bed in my Valentine pajamas (bought before last year's breakup) with "love," and "be mine" on them as a reminder that I am loved by the King. And I'm wearing my "Virgins are hot" T-shirt as a reminder that I am a woman of integrity. Daughter of the King.

2010-12-18T12:51:00.002-06:00

I talked to Ma today, and toward the end of our conversation she asked if I'd made any Christmas plans.

"Nope," I replied. "No one to make plans with...except you guys."

We talked about which day Christmas is, and about my going over to the padres' place for our family favorite of Blitz Bubble Rings and orange julius for breakfast. And a little bit later, she said that Gimli had been on her heart a lot recently.

"Mine, too," I said quietly. I had attributed it to all these anniversaries of milestones--holidays with him--and fantastic ones they were. Today, talking about Christmas with Mom, I was so glad we'd had Christmas at my place last year. I've worked through my memories of Gimli's being here and have had other people over. It's become my home, not my home with his touches. I haven't had as much time at my parents' place this year--haven't had time to take away Christmas memories in that home, had we been there last year. So this year, I'm grateful to be going home for Christmas--even if it is less than a mile away.

"You have?" Mom asked.

"Mm hmm. I finally defriended him on Facebook, too."

"When...when was that?"

"Sunday, I think. Yeah. Sunday."

"Hmm. Well, he's been on my mind since Tuesday or Wednesday. I've been praying for him a lot. I've been praying that God would soften his heart. I don't know in what way, but..."

Really. About a month ago, I started praying that God would soften my future husband's heart toward me.

Then Mom seemed to switch gears.

"Remember when I was talking with P the other day, and you called, and I told P that I'd call her back, but then I forgot to? Well, she called me the next day, and, you know how she's so direct... She said to me, 'Are you mad because I'm going to be a grandma before you are?'" [P's daughter-in-law is pregnant.] "And I said, 'Not mad... Sad...'"

And the tears burst out of my eyes. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry, Dad. I know that you love children and would truly be the best grandparents in the world. I'm so sorry...

And...I couldn't make a sound. Couldn't let my mom know how that hurt, and how it hurts me that they hurt, and how it hurts me to know that they never say anything like, "When are you going to get married and give us some grandchildren" because they love me so much and...don't want to hurt me.

Mom went on. "P said that if I had grandchildren, I wouldn't spend time with [the littlest children in the family of our friends who have 11 kids]. And they need that--they need 'in-town grandparents.'"

"Yeah," I agreed, managing an even tone.

"And you're the one who introduced me to them."

Oh. I have given my parents grandchildren. Thank You, God, for that gift, and thank You for that realization from my mother.

And thank You, God, for the things my parents know and feel but don't necessarily say. But thank You for these glimpses that make me realize how much they love me.

2010-12-12T16:31:00.002-06:00

I did it. Defriended him, I mean. We haven't talked for about 11 months. We've emailed twice. Facebook was only a painful reminder of his existence in a look-but-don't-touch format.

This fall has been the anniversary of so many things with him. I enjoyed him SO MUCH. That makes the anniversaries so much harder.

I re-read his explanation email to me from last January, and wonder if he was saying that physically, I wasn't good enough for him. But I had asked him about that during our breakup conversation, and he had said no to that along with other things.

If it was a God thing--if he just didn't have a peace from God about us--it was easier to take. But I don't see why God would bring us together then take us apart. Did one of us sin in the first place? Did he pursue me without God's go-ahead, thereby making us wrong from the start? What if it was just the wrong timing? But after eleven months...I start to doubt that. It sinks in that...he's probably not coming back. And oh how I loved him... Oh how I loved being with him... Oh how I loved every part of "us..."

And every posting of his on FB was a pick and a peel of a scar. It wasn't facing reality, like I'd hoped it would be by leaving him on the list. It just...prevented healing.

So I wrote him an email this afternoon, explaining why I was about to defriend him. It was a nice email. Then I did the smart thing and pushed "save" rather than "send." I cried some more. Took a nap. Woke up. Checked Facebook. Went to his profile. Stalked his wall a little more. Really...ready...to say...goodbye...? I left that tab up and went back to check my FB newsfeed. All posts covered, I returned to his page. Bottom left--"Remove from friends." My pointer hovered over it. I paused, cried, prayed, held my breath, pushed the button.

"Are you sure you want to remove Gimli from friends?"

This time, I knew he was already gone.

"Okay."

[Click.]

2010-10-17T20:11:00.002-05:00

High school friend's mom passed away last week. High school friend was a girl then...seems to be a guy now... Missed the visitation today since I'm home sick.

Checked Facebook this morning while I was missing church, and saw a former student's update: another former student has died. I quickly went to his page and saw tributes written on his wall--so it _was_ true... I checked his sisters' pages--condolences were written there. I quickly texted the oldest sister and asked her to keep me updated on time and place for the funeral. "Will do," she responded. Oh dear... So it's true...

The only news reports of fatalities are of someone crashing into a light pole; speed and alcohol are factors...and yes, I can see those applying in his case. There's still no name published, but...

He was the kid who, as a freshman, made me feel that he would protect me from anyone who attacked me; that's a big deal for a young, white teacher on a reservation. His little sister looked up to me, his big sister befriended me, his younger brother confided in me, and his mother somewhat adopted me. I sat with them at the last funeral I returned to the rez for; they'd made a space for me and waved me in, even though my entrance was late. I still remember getting the mom's brittle, damaged hair in my mouth as we hugged.

The first reservation funeral I went back for was for this student's best friend. That was nine years ago; another car accident.

Much heartache.

2010-07-20T22:13:00.001-05:00

I have an urge to be productive...or something...

2010-07-18T12:44:00.003-05:00

Well, so much for that "I'll be in contact" deep-and-meaningful look; when I went to Albi's last night, Texas was on a date elsewhere! So be it.

I'm afraid I ruined potential connections by being overly concerned about the weather--which was, to my credit, not good last night. Sirens went off and everything. I checked online resources (including Facebook) via my iPod for updates, and most likely alienated the girl beside me. My apologies!

It turned out to be a good evening, with a bit of flood-watching and people-watching-flood-watching going on. I corralled one of the guys into wandering downstream a few blocks with me to see the water's impact there, and got some interesting shots of the clouds that kept moving along to the east.

Other highlight of the evening was listening to conversation about getting cows on a schedule and artificially inseminating them, thereby having their calving season down to about three days rather than the four month range that would occur naturally. While there's debate about whether or not it's really healthy for the cattle, it's a lot like knowing the plumber will visit between 2-3pm, rather than "sometime this week."

Wondering

2010-07-17T01:48:00.003-05:00

Albi called tonight and invited me to dinner tomorrow. She and her husband are having guests; dinnertime is 6:30.

At church on the 4th of July, I ran into Albi and her husband, and Albi's best friend and some strange guy. I reminded Albi of my get-together that night, and she asked if they could bring strange guy along. Sure! I was very much into a "the more, the merrier" sentiment that weekend.

When they arrived, I had already forgotten strange guy's name and had to ask for it again. However, I was high on hostessing and had no problem with awkwardness; what a wonderful sensation!

Later, when I ran into Albi on the balcony, she pulled me aside and said, "So--are you seeing any of these gentlemen?" Nope. "Well--have you met my friend [Texas]? He's really quiet, so you'll have to go initiate something."

I don't initiate. If the guy's not willing to, why bother? And if he's not able to...why bother?

We stood on my balcony to watch fireworks, and I found an open spot between a new Baptist friend and Albi's husband. On the other side of Albi's husband was Texas. The guys on either side of me were conversational and relaxed. It was such a juxtaposition of guests in attendance that night, with my front hall being filled with sandals and cowboy boots.

After Albi's husband and I had caught up a bit, I felt the need to include Texas in the conversation. I got him talking, heard his accent, and loved it. Albi's husband stepped back a bit to allow for face-to-face communication, but was still available to moderate the conversation. He provided security that way, and it made me feel closer to him than I ever have before. I think, really, he reminded me of my favorite uncle. :)

When Albi and her entourage left that night, I invited Texas to my Bible study since he's still semi-new in town and doesn't have a large social group. He looked at me, said with confidence that we'd be in contact, and _looked_ at me. It seemed to be an "I'll follow through with you" look that made me smile and feel gushy inside.

I hope he's there tomorrow night...and if not, I look forward to meeting new, fun people anyway!

Wonderful Night

2010-07-17T01:09:00.002-05:00

I got creative in my online TV-watching earlier this week, and selected a show about America's museums. One feature was on the Museum of Natural history, which I recognized as being in "Night at the Museum." Since "Night at the Museum 2" is in my Netflix cue, I decided that it should be watched, and soon. I invited my Bible study friends over for this evening, and changed the event from just a movie to games and a movie, and then added a supper beforehand.

I put a couple chuck roasts in my slow cooker, added cream of mushroom soup and whatever seasonings smelled good, and let the slow cooker have at it. The breadmachine from my 90-plus-year-old friend was employed to make dough, which I later fashioned into rolls and baked. One friend brought frozen veggies, and two others brought fruit salads. Good stuff, all around. One of the salad people had asked permission to bring another friend along, and the other friend brought a 2-liter of pop to share. Later, another of the guys brought a case of Mello Yello. I think it's sweet when guys bring a token item. :)

As an early arriver and I were extending the table to put leaves in, I got a call from my old friend Gibson. He and his family were in town; was I available? While his wife had a meeting, he brought their two kids and himself over to join us. Little F was cautiously inquisitive about things in my apartment, but did no damage and didn't throw himself (or anything else) off the balcony. They were here for about two hours, and I would have been quite fine with their staying longer. It's so, so good to see friends raising their children right--"right" in this case being "well-mannered in a semi-stranger's home." F even bonded with me a bit by playing with a toy turtle he found and placing it on my head while I was eating. I told him numerous times how happy I was to have him in my home. When he and his dad left with his baby brother, I asked F for a hug. He nodded solemnly then reached out for me. As I stood after our embrace, Gibson gave a smile and told me quietly, "He was goin' in for a kiss." And I'd missed it? Poor kid! So I asked him for a kiss on the cheek, and he willingly obliged. I smiled all the way back down the hall. It's such a blessing to be liked by your friends' not-quite-three-year-old...and to like him, as well!

The meal was, honestly, fantastic. After eating a bit, I told those at the table that there was more meat, etc. One piped in that they knew, and had been partaking of it. :) Out of two chuck roasts, I hardly have any leftovers. Though my tastebuds are sad, that makes me smile.

We played some Mario Kart, watched the movie, and then those who were left gathered around the table for a game of Pente. It's a game that's chess-ish in thought and checker-ish in pieces. The rules are simple, but the mastery is more complex. I inherited it from another 90+ year-old friend, and wish I could tell her that I have yet to introduce it to someone who didn't quickly love it. The best part in the three games we played happened when we began to table talk. One of the guys played a move that would allow me to win if not stopped. The person next to him missed it. Then the coughing, aheming, and veiled references began, and were directed to the last remaining player before it would be my turn. She sat for eons trying to figure it out. I eventually asked her what the greatest threat was, and she identified a technique I was likely to use to win. Then I had her stand up and look at the board from different angles. At one point, she pointed right at the critical spot, without seeing what she was supposed to be stopping. The guys began creating arrows with their unused pieces, and making all sorts of game references which half clued her in and half drove her crazy. Eventually, she discovered the move. We all sighed and exclaimed, and the game moved on. During the rest of that round, one of the guys deliberately set up moves exactly like that almost-unseen one, just to see who would catch and stop it.

The friend that one of the guys brought is soft-spoken and kind-faced. His contribution to the evening was the Diet Coke. His skin and hair are much darker than that of most of us Midwesterners, and our friend could frequently be overheard explaining slang and cultural references to us. His accent was definitely non-native, and he commented once that his English was not so good. After being together for four hours, one of our friends looked at him and said, "So, are you from another country?" The rest of us couldn't look at each other; I may have dropped my head to the table at that point. Our guest handled the question with great grace and answered that he's from Iran. It is, indeed, another country.

Ouch...

2010-07-17T01:04:00.002-05:00

I'm still FB friends with Gimli but have been debating it lately. I don't want to react out of anger, which is why I haven't removed the threadbare connection. Tonight, I found in my newsfeed that he'd posted a video which he was in. I clicked "play" and...I still don't understand why...why it didn't work out. I had forgotten how he talked, how he moved, what his lit-up eyes looked like... I remembered his broad shoulders and strong arms around me. Maybe I'm still FB friends because it hasn't hurt enough to be over. I haven't felt the piercing pain that would give me a conclusion. It's probably just that he's nice and I'm nice, and hopefully some day we'll be able to have a casual friendship.

2010-07-14T11:14:00.002-05:00

In the Bible study/book study I'm leading, the author of the book has challenged us to spend the next week journaling the previous day's events, and then prayers. Just a page a day; a page a prayer session, he recommends.

That was last week. It's Wednesday again, and I have nothing written. Granted, there were a few days of extreme busyness and exhaustion. But mostly, it's an issue of...me not wanting to come to terms with things? Me wanting to curl up in bed and watch episodes of "Murder, She Wrote" and live in a fictional world that has more spice and resolution than my own does?

It seems I always feel "down" after "that time of the month." It's as if a mini-depression hits. Realizing it is good.

Twice in the past couple months, I've been asked to babysit former boyfriends' babies. Kinda strange, but kinda cool. And at the same time, it hurts so much. "Coulda been me; coulda been me..."

Wasn't meant to be you; wasn't meant to be you...

So this morning, I took a break from Jessica Fletcher and started reading a friend's sister's blog. She went through the adorableness of her two daughters, and in her writing, a desire to please God shone through. She loves her husband, she loves her babies; life can be rough, but God is good. She also included an entry on how she met her husband. In it, she wrote about going through a spiritual rebellion. It didn't look like it on the outside, but she knew it existed on the inside. Through a process, she gave every little piece of herself to God--including her desires to be married and have a family. There was a point after that surrender that she realized that giving those desires to God didn't make for an automatic granting of the wish.

A couple of friends are going through a horrid place in their marriage, and divorce seems imminent. He's on a path toward positive change, but she's wary of trusting again. He's been reading "The Love Dare" after watching "Fireproof," and it's affected his whole life. When we talked about his trying to woo her back, I asked what would happen if she didn't respond the way he wanted. He said he'd keep living his life in ways that please God, and hope that his wife returns to him.

Those are such great reminders for me--to give it up, and maybe not stop hoping that I'll get what I desire, but to continue following God joyfully through the rest of life. It's not easy. I read something today that said a woman's level of fertility decreases drastically after age 35. I turn 35 tomorrow. Is it easier to surrender something you know you can't have, anyway? I give up my dreams to be an WNBA star because I'm only 5'1" anyway? Do I need to willfully surrender before there's a forced surrender? Is this "coming of age" God's way of saying I messed up in not fully surrendering earlier, so He has just removed the option? Then I feel as though I'm a failure in spirituality as well as in the world of relationships.

More wrestling to do...

Goals

2010-06-22T11:13:00.002-05:00

I stopped setting goals, mostly because I didn't follow through with them. For a while, I prided myself on "staying flexible," but I see how that's a cop-out--and I see how I respect people who do set and follow through with goals. I want to be worthy of their company.

I miss clothes that fit; I miss not having to dress according to which combination of bottoms and tops minimize the muffin top effect. I just want to put cute clothes on and look cute.

The last time I went to my doctor, he checked my blood sugar (which had raised a red flag at a wellness screening at work the year before) and said I needed to cut down on sugars. Do you know how many things sugars are in? I like sweet stuff, so I tried to work around the pop and sugary cereal angle. How about if I add honey? That contains sugars. Well, what about fruit? Sugars. ARRRGH! Bread, too, apparently contains sugars. That's my favorite food group! However, my mom as adult onset diabetes, and I have a friend whose dad died from complications of diabetes. He said it was awful to watch his dad, and his shudder stuck with me.

The doctor also said I could lose 10 pounds and be healthier.

Okay. Granted, that was in...November. I was busy. And then I was recuperating from being busy. And then I got dumped. You'd think pre-summer would be the time to shape up, but, again, I wasn't into goal-setting. As springtime set in, I realized I'd have all summer to work on being a healthier me. Hanging out at my apartment doesn't do much for self-discipline in regard to food and exercise, but having time alone with myself to think does. Last week, I bought a bathroom scale. This week, I downloaded a couple free apps for my iPod. One is a pedometer, and the other is a calorie/exercise tracker. Oh, goodness.

I've checked out my weight and height, and realized that I could lose 20 pounds and still be healthy. So that's my goal in my calorie tracker--1 1/2 pounds per week to be shed, and down 20 pounds by mid-September. It's horrid, though, how quickly I run out of my daily allotted calories. I know that starving myself to reach that goal would not be healthy, would not be possible, and would earn me the wrath of a friend who's struggled with an eating disorder and is now very outspoken about it. So I'll endeavor to be wise about my caloric intake, and counter the past-my-allotted-calories issue with exercise--again, not fanatical, but rational.

What's most interesting about the calorie tracker is its metacognition parallel. Metacognition is "thinking about what you're thinking about." I'm not sure what that word would be in regard to calories, but it's pretty eye-opening to record what goes in and see its carb/protein/fiber/sugar breakdown. "Did I really eat that?" "Do I want to eat that again?" "I'm going to have to spend how long on the elliptical to counter that thing?"

The Purpose of Summer

2010-06-22T11:00:00.003-05:00

I really, really wanted to be a foster parent for infants this summer. But I didn't get the go-ahead from God--and without His blessing, well...I've done things without His blessing before. They haven't been blessed. So I didn't.

I thought of a few places I could get "easy" jobs--breakfast hostess at a local hotel, like a friend did one summer. Early mornings (ugh), being friendly to out-of-towners, then going home and back to bed--and getting a little bit of pay. Didn't feel called to that, either. [Sigh.]

What, then, God?

I figured for a while that the plan was for me to use my talents--enhance what I've been given. But today, as I try to phrase that, I realize I've been given the opportunity to create. I've got a lovely little garden growing in planters on my balcony. There's a hassock full of beading supplies at my feet. The bread machine I inherited from my 90+ year old friend (which sat in my storage unit for five years) and the slow cooker I got at a garage sale have been employed at least weekly. I delight in God as Creator, and I've been given this time and these resources to follow His example--maybe not in creating man and animals, but in creating things that are good. For a while, I've been stifled by my reactionary tendencies; but here in this quiet, there is life.

The Sweatshirt

2010-04-30T21:17:00.002-05:00

From 2000ish

I've heard that one should go to where one wants to be in life, and find a mate there. Interests and goals are more likely to coincide. Great theory, unless you work with the person and live next door in a town of 700.

What do you do when the relationship fades and the friendship sours? What happens when co-workers and students think you'll be together forever, but you only talk politely when passing in the halls or when discussing a student? What happens when the pounding in your heart that you used to feel as you walked past his classroom turns to dread, thinking of the many silent evenings without the playful pounding as he waited at your apartment door? When you've angrily and sadly returned all of his things that you possibly can, and have quietly requested the return of each item he has borrowed, what gestures are left for venting?

A couple of years ago, he brought me a sweatshirt from an educators' golf tournament. I don't golf. I thought it was weird that we had matching sweatshirts. I wore the gray cotton/polyester politely, in my apartment or while on errands. It sat in my closet as we grew closer as friends, etc.

Within the past month or so, the sweatshirt has gained a peculiar use. So have a pair of red-handled paper scissors and a little blue trash can. I'm not a violent person. I am not imagining him as the sweatshirt, or any such symbolism. It's just that I'd rather not relieve stress by walking through town with tears streaming down my face; it's much more functional to have two pointed blades and a cotton/poly blend at my disposal. And I can nod politely when we pass each other in the halls; I know the sweatshirt waits at home.

Cinnamon Rolls & Guatemalan Coffee

2010-04-17T13:55:00.004-05:00

My home smells like my grandma's house. I came back in after walking B to her car, and coffee and bread scents wafted into my nose.

Home. This is my home.

It helps so much to have friends to show around; helps so much to look at a couch and think, "So & so sat there, and we talked about this and this." I belong here, and I can welcome others into it.

I feel like a loser those times when Facebook is my only friend on a Friday or Saturday night, and I'm careful not to comment anywhere with a time stamp so people won't realize I didn't have anyone to socialize with between seven and 10:30 on a weekend. But B came over today, and Bkl will be over tomorrow. Beautiful A helped me for more than two hours last Sunday as we got ready for my mom's 60th birthday celebration.

When I realized today how long B had been here, it occurred to me that even though I don't have a group of "hangout" friends, I have "three hour" friends. Dear God, thank You for these ladies.

2010-02-15T20:23:00.001-06:00

So here it is, Valentine's Day 2010, and I'm sitting in a coffee shop in my "virgins are hot" Tshirt. The hippies are outside smoking, the recent high school grads are crowded into a booth behind me, an old guy is across the room with his laptop and wireless mouse, and a young couple is cuddled up in the loveseat.

Coincidentally, my ex boyfriend is working out at the gym across the street.

I don't suppose this day is any worse than the one in which a well-meaning casual friend asked if I was engaged yet. I shook my head, updated her on the situation, listened to her sympathy, and fled. I drove away in tears.

And it's not any worse than the day I watched a friend's month-old baby for a while, then smelled formula on myself for the next few hours. Each whiff was a reminder--not me, not mine... Ever?

Today has been tearless, unless another well-meaning someone else asks sympathetically how I'm doing. If that happens, I'll likely burst into tears.

I think it's safer to remain at home, where no one can be nice. Easier to build up walls that way.

Heartbreak Therapy

2010-02-07T11:40:00.001-06:00

Wow--did I write this? No, but...wow. I could have.

Heartbreak Therapy

by Sarah E. Hinlicky
found at Boundless.org, published in 2001
http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0000392.cfm

You were doing just fine until someone broke out the kiwi-flavored seltzer water. Then suddenly you were transported back to that time when the two of you were in the grocery store pretending the kiwis on the shelf were baby mice making squeaky-voiced professions of love to one another, all the while passersby surreptitiously giving you disapproving looks. The memory transformed the innocent beverage into an instrument of cardiac torture, and finding yourself on the verge of a complete emotional breakdown in the middle of The Simpsons, you excuse yourself for the safety of your own room, where you can indulge in a salty tearfest without any witnesses, except maybe for your roommate, who has learned by now to ignore you when you get like this anyway.

At first your friends were helpful. They listened. They were outraged on your behalf. They declared your utter innocence. They gave helpful suggestions. They commiserated on the incomprehensibility of the opposite sex. By now, though, they've moved on past the slight tingle of disappointment they felt at the breakup. It's easy enough for them to stop thinking of the two of you in couple terms anymore, but you're not there yet. You don't feel like yourself without your — ugh — "ex" there anymore, but no one else is suffering from the same state of cognitive dissonance. You know it because they've given up plotting how to get your recalcitrant ex back. Gone are the schemes for the ultimate passionate reconciliation with your beloved, gone the blueprints of a deathtrap for the suspicious third party who might be the cause of all this woe. Now they're saying things like, "I never did like the way your ex..." and "You can do so much better." But you loved the way your ex did it, or you are not even remotely convinced that you can do better, or what "better" in this case would even look like. You defend your ex and your friends can't imagine why, so sooner or later you shut up. Your grief has gone from communal to isolated, and even though you no longer cry every day, you sort of wish you still could.

In the stable moments it embarrasses you. You catch a glimpse of yourself looking good one morning and remember there's more to you than that other person. You laugh with old pals over a silly escapade that doesn't involve your ex at all. You find yourself enjoying the nice weather in a plain and simple way, and momentarily you're actually enchanted with the prospect of going it alone. You start to recognize your own strength again. You think you're getting somewhere at last. And then, as soon as you know what your worth is, you recall to mind the baffling fact that your ex doesn't love you in all your strength and uniqueness and wit and stories and memories. And what good are all the things that make up you, if you are unloved by this one particular person?

Then you descend into the sap again. You write poetry and oh, it is so bad you can't even believe you let yourself mark up a piece of innocent paper with such drivel. You start listening to Carole King songs and marvel at her profundity. You reread every single email your beloved ever sent you, even the one asking if you had an extra one-cent stamp handy — you couldn't bear to delete it. You play "your song" over and over again, licking the tears off your face as the melody steamrolls through your heart and flattens it. You walk past the coffee shop where you had your first real conversation together, linger by the window, and dream up the imminent rainy night surprise rendezvous when you'll reunite. A happy couple comes out giggling; you reel back, as though physically assaulted, and then push on through the sunny day that seems to mock your misery.

Then comes the big challenge. You have to face this person again, this person that you used to address by a whole dictionary of pet names and now is relegated to the bleak and empty category of EX. Just ex, the former, the past, the no longer, the never again. Ex marks the spot where your heart used to be. It's been long enough now that you can keep yourself together. Your chin doesn't wobble and your eyes don't well up. Then a little voice inside you whispers conspiratorily, Death to dignity! Impale your pride! Throw yourself on the ground and beg for reconciliation! Offer anything you've got, nothing is too valuable, give it all away for free, the more melodramatic the sacrifice the better your chances! But you're armed, thankfully, with that tiny bit of leftover self-respect that won't impale your pride for anyone but God, and you hold out. You act carefree, lighthearted, cheerful, busy, ambitious. Your ex doesn't suspect a thing. You leave, having had the better of the situation, and immediately you convince yourself that your ex is as wounded as you inside and your strength has only made matters worse. You think you should've gone crawling back after all, but instead you really ruined your chances. Your friends see that look of doubt on your face and come to your rescue. It was a narrow escape.

A few weeks slip by because you're so buried in work to ease the pain that you don't even notice the time passing. You think you should be recovered by now but you're not. Someone offers the helpful calculus that half the length of the relationship is the amount of time it takes to recover. That discourages you, because it means you're nowhere near through the grieving process yet. You try to deny your ongoing pain. You hide it well. You cry only in secret, only occasionally. You start burning the love letters, commenting on fresh possibilities, joking about your ex's character flaws the way your friends did at the outset. It feels kind of OK. You can put on a tough front to soften the knots in your heart.

And then one day it happens. You crack. It hits you with the force of a revelation — all the things this person did wrong to you, all the lies, all the half-truths, all the leadings-on, all the hopes with no promises, all the promises with no fulfillment. You suddenly see that you have no vested interest in defending your ex's character and so you snap to the other extreme: You take that heartless spawn of the devil apart scale by scale, analyzing every error, scrutinizing every fault, until you have mastered the situation. You explode into rage, well-controlled and well-concealed rage. You almost laugh at the calm you exhibit in that person's presence, because all you want to do is reach for that tender throat and rip it out. You want to shout over the loudspeaker your catalog of every injustice committed in your whole relationship and the extraordinary cruelty of the breakup. Your ex can do no right, and after awhile your friends are the ones defending the helpless victim of your wrath, not you, and you get enraged at them too, even if you admit silently to yourself that they have a point.

The rage flames hotly, brightly, and briefly. It can't sustain itself for very long. You exhaust yourself with the intensity of your hatred. Then all you have left is pity. You can't hate all those flaws and unkindnesses anymore; your ex is just too pathetic for that. You don't have the energy to despise. You wonder, with the slightest itch of condescension, how this miserable creature is going to make it through life and love in that state. In a rare moment of altruism, you wish you could help. Then you realize you can't. You don't really care.

Just as suddenly as you found yourself dumped, just as suddenly as you became angry, just as suddenly as you started to pity, now suddenly you find yourself indifferent. All right, there are those pangs of jealousy whenever you see someone else moving in on your former territory. The kiwi still makes you a little depressed. But your ex — you're OK with saying that now — has lost the claim to your heart. It's your own again. You can see your ex walk by without the desire to breathe poison in that direction; you can flirt with someone else without feeling guilty. Despite the occasional regressions, you know you've moved on.

More time passes. You can rationalize the hurt a little better now. You summon up all your faith to your aid and teach yourself all over again that this is in the Almighty's hands. God's will be done, and if in the long run that means someone else for you, so be it. You marvel a little at a world where love is rejected and goes to waste. You wonder if it'll ever be redeemed. You remember all that business about taking up the cross, how glorious and courageous it sounds on paper and in church, and then you realize that you're doing it now and it's not glorious and it doesn't require courage because you don't actually have a choice about it.

To make the best of it, you reflect on all the lessons you've learned. You know something new about communication, something new about the opposite sex, and something new about yourself. You don't regret it, you say again and again. You'd do the same thing all over again, it was totally worth it, no remorse. But you know in the secret depths of your heart that no one could pay you enough to go through it again, and you won't do it again, and you'll keep your heart safe this time. And you wonder how much longer things have to go on like this.

54 Minutes

2010-02-07T10:52:00.003-06:00

I was on the phone with someone for 54 minutes last week, and 54 minutes was all I could take. At some point during the conversation, the person said, "I'm working on being a better listener. Sometimes I have to be reminded, though. So, you can tell me when I'm talking too much." And I thought, "No, I can't.

"There's no point in it. When you do pause in your monologue long enough to ask me something, you don't truly seem to care about my perspective on it. You're digging for information, then relate what I've said to something that applies to you, and the monologue resumes."

During the 54 minutes, I got my kitchen cleaned up, took the trash out, checked Facebook, etc. And then, I was done.

"Okay," I said abruptly. "I'm gonna go do some other stuff." The person then asked questions about my life; I answered them briefly, said goodbye, and ended the conversation.

A while later, I was listening to a podcast in which the teacher happened to be talking about being quiet enough to listen to God. We tend to prattle on and fill our lives with spiritual and emotional noise, and really just need to [shhhhh] and wait on Him.

And...I got it. He doesn't want to just tolerate us--for 54 minutes or longer or shorter. He doesn't want to have to interrupt our thread in order to say something important from Him. We'd probably miss it anyway, because we're still too focused on our own thing. He wants us to want relationship with Him, to want to listen to Him, to think that He may say something interesting or important.

Thanks for the lesson, my 54-minute-friend!

Lessons

2010-01-26T19:38:00.002-06:00

I emailed him last week.

You would have done anything for me. What changed? You don't have to answer that. I just had to ask.

And he responded.

What I got from his message was that he didn't have a peace about us. He had started to withdraw, but hoped that feeling would go away. It didn't. I noticed its effects. When I asked about them, his explanation led to our breakup.

So if I'm reading him right, it's not that there was anything wrong with me (he was sincerely complimentary in his message; it's contrary to his nature to be insincere, which was something I loved about him)....and there wasn't anything wrong with him. But God...didn't ordain us.

And...I get that.

When I was a kid and wanted to do things, Mom at times declined my request. When I fought her, she sometimes had a lame excuse and other times explained, "I just don't have a good feeling about it." It sounds strange if you haven't experienced it, but I had a nudge from the Holy Spirit that said something like, "Respect this." I _knew_ I shouldn't push her on it. And often, later, I found out that it would not have been good if I had done such activity. I've had those same "feelings," myself. They're not "feelings" in terms of my own wanting to do something, but feelings that come from "nowhere" and that I have a supernatural confidence in.

God had been prepping me before "the" conversation with Gimli. I don't know if it was a "this relationship is not to be" feeling, or a "he's not going to go through with this" feeling. If it was the former, I didn't want to believe it. If it was the latter...I didn't want to believe that, either. So in the last couple weeks, I started praying. "God, if you don't want this relationship to be, please break it off. Have him break it off, because I can't."

So when he wrote in his message about not having peace, I understood--at least to the point of not being able to go forward with something one doesn't have peace about...not about why we weren't "right."

The lessons part:

If you don't have peace about something, pray pray pray about it! What's causing the unrest? And, firstly, face that unrest. Take it to the King. Better, sooner.

I love Gimli more after his email than I did while we were dating. That probably sounds twisted, but I respect him for putting his desire for rightness with God before his affection for me. I also think about his actions--how he was respectful to me as a woman, and how he, even withdrawing, still treated me better than...any other boyfriend.
Why..._not_ us? It was an honorable relationship. Christian brothers and sisters thought we were perfect for each other. We integrated well with each other's families. I gave him the reins to co-lead my Bible study, and we fell into roles we were designed for; he talked us through the message and cross-referenced Scripture, and I was the administrative assistant. We were reaching out to international students/colleagues to whom he was connected; this fulfilled my need to reach out to those who don't fit in. What...what...?
I realized today that I hadn't been writing. Maybe because everything was so peachy, maybe because the stuff that bothered me wasn't something I could put out publicly on a blog, maybe because I could just tell him all the goods and bads, maybe because I was lazy. But I am...meant to write. And I've had a hard time this past semester just sitting and being quiet. This post was prompted by a rather vehement letter from B, who voiced her protectiveness toward me and jerkiness of Gimli. (He's not a jerk, B. I probably made him sound like one, and for that I'm sorry. It was his further explanation that clarified things. But I love you for caring and for being angry for me!) I figured I should give an update, so here it is. Rarely have I sat so long, so quietly in my beautiful apartment. Restlessness...it, also, keeps me from writing. Perhaps I need to conquer that, commit to writing, and then...?
It took about three months of a lot of togetherness for me to want to include others in my hang-out times with Gimli. Maybe three and a half. Mostly that was because I didn't want us to be isolated. But really, I was content with just him. However, _that's_ not what I'm called to. Perhaps God has given me this singleness to ensure that I reach out to those I have always had a penchant for--the abused, neglected, and misunderstood. I need a mate who is as committed to outreach to that arena as I am/should be. And Gimli did that when I hosted a movie night in my building...but when the movie was done, I didn't have any huge urge to converse with the others. I did little community-building that night. Gimli was my refuge, and I looked forward to being in his arms. I didn't feel the needs of the others because I was looking toward mine being met. Ouch.
I cried on the floor to God. "Teach me what You want so I don't have to go through this lesson again!" I am amazed at how one so stubborn can be so weak.
I miss Gimli.

Guess I Needed That Stud Finder After All

2010-01-17T19:40:00.003-06:00

My Bible study had our White Elephant Christmas Party last week. I drew first, and got a studfinder. Handy. And on the back was a picture of one of our guys. He's not the most "ladies' man" as far as descriptions go, which made his gall even funnier. One of the other members of our group "stole" the gift, but I was later able to "steal" it back.

"What do you need a studfinder for?" someone asked. "You've already got your stud!"

As it's turned out in the past few days, I don't.

I lose Gimli, I lose one of my best friends, and I lose my favorite boyfriend ever.

I am...a loser.

Maybe God's working on me with a pride issue. I lose face, along with the guy. How do I explain my newly reacquired singleness after four and a half months of amazing compatibility? How do I tell everyone who thought we would get married that...I wasn't enough for him? That he couldn't make a committment to me, so he decided to walk away before he took my heart in further?

What...is wrong...with me?

My pastor mentioned "young women in love" this morning, and what he hears sometimes at premarital counseling. He'll ask, "Why do you want to marry him?" and a woman will respond with, "He completes me," "He makes me happy," etc. The pastor winces. He won't always make you happy; he can't complete you.

As the pastor talked about that, I assessed my relationship with Gimli. He has made me happy...but moreso, I liked who he is. I liked his trustworthiness, generosity, protectiveness, easy-goingness... I liked his godliness and his striving toward a closer relationship with the King. I liked who I was when I was around him.

The pastor then said that one point of marriage is to grow in the Lord--*And,* he laughed, *to learn to love unconditionally--even when that person doesn't seem lovable!*

And I...had gotten some of that, in my time with Gimli. I could commit to making it work.

But he...can't.

2009-12-20T19:16:00.003-06:00

A while ago, a friend posted a link to the blog of someone I went to school with years ago. He had cystic fibrosis, and his mother had a brain tumor. The blog, at the time I subscribed, detailed their health battles and steadfast faith. Both died during the month of November, and I grieve for the young man's widow, and for his sister and her husband.

The young man's funeral video was posted online. I had known the sister's husband in college, so I paid special attention when he spoke. He related athletic competitions he had had with his brother-in-law, and then his voice started breaking when he tried to move on to the crux of his narrative. I had a trained urge to pause the video to let it load...then realized that such an action would have no impact on the sound quality.

You don't get to pause grief, let things load, then go on without breakage. Voices break. Hearts break. You just listen through it...and deal.

Smiles

2009-11-03T19:38:00.002-06:00

Ever find yourself scared to believe in something? I watch a lot of "Frasier" and "The Nanny..." and nothing right ever happens to them. (Well, Fran ended up with Mr. Sheffield, but that took years.) Maybe that's skewed my perspective on hope.

And then along came Gimli.

He's like...no one.

When I got back from my summer in The Big City, Gimli showed up at my Bible study. I didn't give him much individual attention; he was some guy who had come in quietly, and I wasn't looking. It was nice to have him as part of our group, but I was really done with guys.

After listening to his comments at study for a few weeks, I started to realize that this guy thought before he spoke--and when he spoke, he was worth listening to. He was knowledgeable but only shared if he thought it would benefit the group--not to prove what he knew. When we started planning a group movie night, I realized how important it was for me to have him there. During the planning, we mentioned upcoming local football games. The next day, I found a message from Gimli in which he asked me to one of the games. I wrote back that I really wanted to go watch my students play that night, and that he was welcome to join me. I cautioned him that my students, their parents, and my coworkers would all be watching us and surmising things. He commented on how that was such a stellar invite--then asked when we should meet. Thus, things started.

I can't even go into everything--how sweet he's been--but he's made me feel cherished in so many ways. He's done normal things like repot plants with me and hang pictures in my new apartment for me. We've taken our friends' young son to a movie together and curled up under blankets on a chilly hayride together. He's led Bible study for me on weeks when I've been too stressed and tired to do so, and when he does, his thoughts are interesting and show the depth of his spirit. His touch is gentle, his eyes are kind, and his grin when he looks at me makes him so adorable.

We were shopping together the other day, and I asked Gimli if he thought the baby we had passed a few aisles earlier had had white paint on his face. He said he didn't know, hadn't noticed. "I was probably looking at you then," he said. Cheesysweet. I laughed in delight at his wonderful cover-up line.

Delight. Not TV; delightful reality.

2009-09-26T18:15:00.002-05:00

I had grown accustomed to invisibility...but you're pulling me away from the wall.

I was settling into me, and now you've come along. Expecting change, no doubt--not in bad ways, but in "you're another human with your own history and future" ways.

And I...I don't quite know what to do with you.

This Just in from eHarm

2009-09-26T18:13:00.001-05:00

"Meet Seamus, someone as unique as you are."

Is that not...contradictory?

Seen and Not Heard

2009-08-18T18:34:00.003-05:00

Whirlwind trip to Iowa to see the grands before they resumed their journey home to Virginia; back early to receive a spare bed from my summer roommate and keep it from inconveniencing her dad since it took up space in the back of his pickup; back early also to make it to a church service planning meeting.

Coming into town fifteen minutes ahead of schedule for meeting my friend's dad, I pulled onto the off ramp and realized I had enough time to make it to DQ for a thin mint Blizzard (limited time only). And then, there he was by the stop sign--a scruffy-looking guy in a T-shirt and jeans, scraggly hair and cap, glasses, and holding a cardboard sign.

I don't remember what the first part of the sign said, but it ended with "IN JESUS' NAME." The cynic in me responded with, "Wow--way to play the God card." But he didn't look like he was shooting for a guilt trip. And he didn't look lazy or scary...just sad.

Five bucks...five bucks...just give him five bucks...

But the cars ahead of me were moving, and there was traffic behind me as well. Not enough time to find my wallet and sort out a five. Besides--I'm a single female. I passed him and prayed.

Blizzard was bought and enjoyed, bed was delivered and stored, and off I went to my meeting at church.

The team evaluated the last two weeks' worth of sermons and service elements, then went on to the upcoming Sunday. Highness will be preaching from James, which includes, in chapter two, verses on having not just faith but deeds as well. We discussed songs that would fit (my suggestion was Petra's "Seen and Not Heard") and anything else that would contribute to the message. Conversation swirled about, a bit of which included taking meals to shut-ins.

And _he_ came to mind. His scruffy hair and cardboard sign. And the Petra in my head was louder than the team discussing around me.

They've heard the story, they've heard the lines
But talk is too cheap to change their minds
They want to see some vital signs

You could take him some money, take him some supper.

Convictions - in the way we live
Convictions - not a narrative
Actions speak a little louder than words

Fine. It's stupid for a single female to approach a panhandler alone. I'll wait until the meeting is done and see if one of the others will go with me.

Seen and not heard, seen and not heard
Sometimes God's children should be seen and not heard

But I couldn't brainstorm and I couldn't contribute and I was almost sick as I realized that I was foregoing an opportunity of the very sort we were talking about.

There's too much talk and not enough walk
Sometimes God's children should be seen and not heard

I didn't know how to excuse myself gracefully, but something came up that I had a comment on. That led to my blurting that I had to go put into action what we were just talking about--and that I really had to _go_. One of the team asked for clarification, and I explained about the man at the off ramp. I left with the caveat, "You'll know where to start looking if I die!" And Highness, who gave his mother's eulogy yesterday, called out, "Say hi to Mom for me!" (It was truly one of the best lines in our worship team's history.)

The spedometer read higher than it should have as I made the drive across town. I started rehearsing what I'd say to whatever officer pulled me over. "Will you come with me to feed this homeless guy on the other side of town?" What I really wanted was for someone with a uniform to take over the duty. No such luck, and I reached a street with a speed limit that was more in line with the speed of my car.

I rehearsed what I'd say to the man: "I don't feel comfortable giving you a ride or giving you money, but can I go buy you some supper?" Ever-conscious of safety, I dug around for my pepper spray, made sure my doors were locked, and evaluated how far open I could leave my window without giving someone access to reach in and grab me. And then, _then_ I prayed. "God, You know what the deal is. You know how to protect me. Please do." And I knew, whatever happened, it would be okay.

My eyes were busy scanning as I approached the overpass. There--was that him? No, a sign. There? Nothing. I slowed, looked down the off ramp, ahead on the highway, and turned around. I looked down the on ramp, and down both sides of the interstate.

Nothing.

Gone.

Quarter after six. Was he being fed? Did he have a home for the night? I wouldn't have offered him _that_, but maybe a supper delivery and snacks for the next day would have brightened his mood and made the night not so hopeless.

Gone--the man, along with the opportunity.

I'm sad that I don't get to experience the joys of reaching out. I'm chastised that I didn't follow through with the opportunity when it was first presented. But I am convicted that when God calls us out, He _does_ equip.

Be strong--and courageous!
--Joshua 1:9

Valley of the Shadow

2009-04-07T18:39:00.006-05:00

Last week, I sat with the other members of my church's worship planning team as we brainstormed ways to present Scripture relating to Jesus as the Messiah. We came up with putting people in the screen room of the sanctuary, so they'd be located behind the screen but in front of the projector--silhouetted. Next--who would read? A variety of people were suggested, and one was Mrs. J.--my 90+ year-old friend. Someone pondered the visual presented by her ever-present walker, and I volunteered to be her extra support. Whether we went with an Old Testament feel or a modern approach, a person would fit in better than a three-wheeled cart.

Sunday morning, I led Mrs. J. through the darkened hallway that went to the screen room. The path was narrow, so we had to ditch her cart. She couldn't see well and crept along hesitantly; I wondered why she wasn't more trusting of my ability to see.

I told my mother about that experience today and was struck by the vivid spiritual parallel as I spoke. Why didn't Mrs. J. trust me? I could see!

What have I been wrestling with lately? Not seeing the way, knowing I can't feel my way along...

Do you suppose, just maybe, that God feels the same way I did in that darkened hallway?

It's dark--but I can see. You're fine. If you stumble, I'll catch you. I know the way.

2009-03-31T20:04:00.005-05:00

A friend tagged me in a note on Facebook, in which she discussed her evolving religious views. She said she's no longer convinced that Catholicism is the way to go, and the conversation between her and those who commented on the note was overwhelmingly in favor of having spirituality without being part of a church.

I wondered how to counter that. "You need to be part of a fellowship-type group where people will encourage you to keep seeking Jesus when life seems to stink." "You need to be in a place where you can learn from others."

And I stopped. And thought.

I was miserable this past weekend. I did media for a women's conference and, though the parts about husbands and children didn't pertain to me, I figured it was good I was there because I was serving. One of the speakers talked about dealing with grief and the tragic loss of her four-year-old son. I normally would have put my mind in her place and mentally lived through as much as she had, but a wall went up around my heart.

On a break, I ran into one of my former staff leaders from when I was part of the Navigators. She asked how I was, and, as we passed, I confessed that I wasn't doing so well with "the singleness thing." She nodded sympathetically and I hurried back to my post.

I saw her again a while later and she pulled me to the side. "Hey--" she said, "I'm available to pray with you about that issue if you'd like." I nodded and we went to a semi-secluded area. She looked at me. "I feel like I know your heart, so what if we just pray?"

I was already at a breaking point. Someone cared enough to ask how I was? Someone cared that I answered that question truthfully? She began to pray and the tears started dropping. I only had one tissue and reused it to the point of disgustingness. She prayed about things I didn't know were even in my heart until they crawled out.

We talked a bit until she had to go back to one of our event's presentations; I walked down a long hallway to an out-of-the-way restroom and attempted to clean my face up. I tried to get my mind back on the conference and remembered the speaker's narrative about grief. And I just got mad. I know it's horrible that she lost a son...but I haven't even had a son. I know she went through a really rough time with her husband after that loss...but I haven't even had a husband. I know her daughters suffered and were confused...but I haven't even had daughters. Usually those "somebody else's life sucks more than yours" stories make me feel blessed by what I haven't lost...but this time, no.

When my eyes looked less like the Incredible Hulk's (the blue had gone to green, and the skin around my eyes was red and puffy), I slid back into the main conference room. The guys at the soundboard looked up at me--either in surprise at my long absence or in shock at my possibly-still-Hulkish eyes--and offered me their chairs since mine at the PowerPoint computer had become occupied. I just wanted to be invisible.

Actually, I really just wanted to get out of there and sob some more.

So I disappeared as quickly as I could, pulled up at home, and sobbed. Audibly.

I don't do that. I can't scream, I only yell when my students are involved, and I get to an annoying audio level only if I'm playing Mario Kart. I don't like to make noises.

But this person in my car--me--was crying out loud, wondering why this burden of singleness was hers to bear.

And, on that, why is it bad to be unhappy with singleness? I know that as Christians, we're to be content in all situations. But was the speaker lady content with losing her four-year-old son? Was she allowed to grieve?

Am I?

I felt raw for the rest of that day and was numb by Sunday. Then M called. "You've been on my mind the past couple days. How ya doin?"

Again--someone cared to ask, and cared that I answered truthfully.

I didn't want to talk then. Didn't want to start bawling. I had somewhere to go and had just tweaked my makeup.

I texted...something...and just asked that he'd pray.

Stupid friend was persistent. I elaborated a little, and he texted a message asking if he could call. I put off answering until I thought I could talk without crying. I was almost there when my phone rang, and it was him.

"I didn't say you could call," I half laughed and half cried.

He didn't care. And he didn't care that I couldn't talk for a quarter of our conversation because I was trying to do so without gasping for breath through my tears. And he didn't care that I'd told him most of these frustrations before. He just listened, then elaborated for me. "You want to get to the point of having something to lose."

Yeah.

I showed up at my next two appointments with tear streaks cutting through my foundation and blush, but feeling raw and semi-comforted was better than feeling numb.

So why be part of a church? What if you don't even fit there? What if no one notices that you skipped two Sundays in a row? Quit going?

Nope.

The majority of people who know my heart and give me wise counsel are ones I've gotten to know through Bible studies and other small groups. Some Sundays, I've skipped church to drive around and take pictures of God's creation--frosty trees, sun dogs in the sky. Sometimes, I praise Jesus more from my kayak than I do from a pew. But sometimes, I hide from God, don't understand what He's doing, and get upset with Him. And in those times, it's nice to have His people come alongside, help me up, and redirect me.

I think that's what people in a church are for.

2009-03-08T11:50:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago, my Bible study was going through an episode of Max Lucado's "Next Door Savior" in which one of the ending points was seeing God's love for us. And I really needed to see God's love for me.

Are You there? Do You love me? Do You see that life's not going the way I'd planned it? Do You see I don't get to use these gifts You've given me?

When I got home, I dug into a bag of Brach's conversation hearts. I smiled ruefully, thinking of last year when I told myself to imagine that each heart message was something God was saying to me. (Of course, only the "good ones" counted.)

It was maybe the fifth heart that I scanned before consuming, where I found the words, "I love you."

Huh. Funny.

A couple more hearts in, I found another one: "I love you."

Okay.

Okay.

And I haven't found any more since that night.

You prayed for me, didn't you? That God would get to me? He did.

2009-03-01T13:23:00.001-06:00

You sit through another sermon on marriage and child-raising while holding a friend's baby, and you can pray all you want over that friend's kid. But when the baby cries and you return her to her mom, you're left with empty arms.

The message is relentless, and you think that even if it doesn't apply to you, you should store it away for possible future use--or to help a friend when she needs it. But eventually, you stomp your mental foot and say, "I want mine! My husband! My family! My home!" The tears start to come, and not welcoming them while in the midst of a crowd, you blink, brush them back, deaden your heart, and read some Bible commentary.

The sermon ends, you chat a bit, then find yourself alone. Couples walk out with babies, strong daddies holding diaper bags. You find yourself thanking God again for the friends who let you borrow their children--not merely hold them while being supervised, but actually walk around with them, hold them long enough that they get used to you, even change a smelly diaper.

This makes you miss your friends who struggled with infertility or with wanting to enter the mission field but not finding open doors. They're still friends, but they've since adopted or gone to a country far away.

"When is it my turn?" --not a whine, but a sob.

"What's wrong with me?"

"What are You teaching me?"

"What have I not learned?"

I Was Born in a Small Town

2009-02-25T22:00:00.002-06:00

My right front tire got progressively lower. I'd fill it; it would begin to empty itself. With travel plans in the works for this past weekend, I had to get something done. Unfortunately, I was in a Kiss-the-Pig contest, results to be announced at last Thursday's basketball game, and had other obligations the next night. When was I going to have enough time away from work to get to my town, get the tire taken care of, and get back to the school?

On impulse, I ran out of my room after the first custodian I saw Thursday morning. Custodians always know things.

"Where would you take a car with a leaky front tire?"

He told me of the local co-op (which I'd never used and didn't think I could--aren't those private sorts of things?), which wasn't what I was expecting. I was expecting something in my bigger town--not something in this no-stoplight even-smaller town. I hesitated, questioned further, and his response was, "Well, get it fixed or get a new tire."

Yes. Indeed. I'm not a big fan of brusqueness.

A few minutes later, he showed up at my door.

"Do you want me to take your car over there? K [also on custodial staff] is here, so we could do it."

A) Control freak. I'm sure that of all the people, our maintenance/custodial guys are capable of driving cars, but still...

B) Germ freak. Custodial staff. Trash cans. Emptied. Stuff falls out. Stuff gets put back in. I don't see our custodians (wonderful as they are!) walking around with sinks on backpacks. What's on the floor would be on my keys...and in my car...my car...my nice little haven...

I asked if I could get back to him in a couple of minutes.

I called a tire place in my bigger small town and was told they could probably get me in the next afternoon. But then, I figured, the necessary time would depend on the extent of repairs--and what if they needed to keep it over the weekend? That wouldn't work with my other plans. I went in search of my custodian.

It turned out that I could be out of my room for a few minutes, so I could drive my car to the co-op and he would take me back to school. Then along came K, who happened to be going that way anyway. He followed me over and waited while I ran my keys inside. I told the man behind the counter that I teach at the school and was told by my custodial staff that the co-op was the place to go for tire repairs. I asked if the shop would call me when my tire was done; the man told me they could drop it off at school for me.

Seriously?

A few hours later, a very tall man walked into my study hall and handed me my keys and my bill. He said I could stop over at four to pay it. As he left, I looked at it--$8.40.

Seriously?

Labor and delivery for less than nine bucks?

When I went back at four, I wanted to pay them more out of gratitude. Didn't, but wanted to. It was a different man behind the counter this time. I hadn't even told him my name but referred to myself as the one who had the leaky tire (turned out to be a nail); he said, "Oh--I've heard about you!"

Really. When working in a school system, that's not always a good thing.

He told me his daughters' names, and I realized that they're two who are incredibly personable and kind young ladies. The younger one, now that she has me as a teacher, gets off her school bus to hang out with me while I have bus duty twice a week.

He told me that the co-op does repairs for a lot of the teachers, and even some of the students. They'll pick up cars from our parking lot and return them, all taken care of.

Really?

This is what I like about small towns.

2009-02-25T21:42:00.002-06:00

My Bible study meets in the home of friends who adopted a little boy from Ukraine in the past year. I talked with J at the start of study this evening, and expressed my frustration with work, life, etc. Something's got me tense and unsettled; I'm not sure what. With little M on her lap, J asked me what I can do in my singleness that I couldn't do if I had a family. I couldn't think of anything; I like the idea of being around here and getting settled with a husband and children (preferably my own). Other places interest me, but nothing has been calling.

J directed me to go somewhere--go to another country for a couple weeks. My brain started thinking of the reasons why that wasn't a good idea: monetary expense, safety, direction, not knowing anyone... Sure, maybe I should go somewhere else within the States; maybe if I did that, it would appease the "leave the country" notion.

E joined our group after study and was peppered with questions about E and J's adoption of little M. He mentioned teenage girls who disappear after they grow out of the orphanage; they're taken across the sea by sex traffickers and put to "work" in Turkey.

I wanted to bring them all here--but am not in a feasible place to do that. If only I could go to them...

If only what?

The more I thought of it, the more the idea made sense--and scared me. E and J have connections in Ukraine. My friend EMo teaches at a Christian school there. I brought the idea up to J, and she knows someone who leads English language camps; as a graduate with an English major, this is a good option.

My breathing gets more rapid, and I feel like I often do when I'm in a vehicle with other people--panicked.

But something inside me has always wanted to work at an orphanage...and EMo has also said that people are needed to just hold babies in the orphanages. Is this how God will do it? Stir me up from my comfort zone, yet fulfill my need to nurture (without compensating for my only-childness by having octuplets plus six)?

I graduate with my master's degree in May.

I'm on a 12-month pay plan for work.

Oh, God...is this the desire of my heart?

2009-02-13T23:02:00.002-06:00

The Vet has been there for me at the ends of the past three relationships, and this one is no exception. He drove an hour each way, just to hang out for a while tonight and do whatever I wanted to do. We went to a coffeeshop for a brief time to listen to a local performer, then ran to my school to see the end of its basketball game against the Vet's hometown school. (Vet's team won by one.) He asked to see my classroom and I took him on a tour; he sat and took it in, asking questions about various things he saw. (The exercise bike and the huge smiley face got his attention.)

My students saw us and asked me who he was. Boyfriend? No. Friend with potential? No. He's who a Christian brother should be. He's taught me to see myself more as God sees me than as I think others see me.

I'm praising God for the Vet's friendship--and for the other "Vets" I've had in my life.

He provides!

2009-02-12T22:19:00.002-06:00

The last smell of his shirt before I wash and return it via a friend...

The call of another friend: "Hey--I heard--are you doing okay? I didn't want to ask you with the others around..."

Why is it that I go through days of unfeeling despite the concerns of friends who know me better--and these are what make me cry?

It appears that if I cry enough, my nose stuffs up--and then I'm unable to smell his shirt anyway. Into the laundry it goes. Cleansing, in multiple ways...

Checklist

2009-02-09T18:54:00.003-06:00

Unique ringtone removed: check
Speed dial removed: check
Random picture messages removed: check
Couples pictures removed from Facebook profile section: check
Realizing that reality is not as easy as pressing "delete:" not yet...

Waiting for the Punch Line

2009-02-09T18:21:00.003-06:00

Some things, you just know. Other things, you don't. And when those other things are big things, you wonder why you don't know.

I've been in a relationship since November, and it had its ups and downs--definitely more ups than downs, and definitely a learning experience as well. But I didn't know if it was going somewhere. Though unattended from my end, I kept my eHarm account active. I was cautious about making big plans with the boy for any upcoming holidays, because I didn't know if we'd still be together. I found doubts creeping in because something felt unsettled.

But I liked him, and I saw that God was teaching us both things throughout the process. I learned a bit about compromise, and I learned a bit about grace.

I cancelled my eHarm account a couple days ago, before it auto-renewed the day before it would tell me that it had done so.

Since he's in school, I thought up something special we could do for Valentine's Day--something that would be inexpensive and still allow him time to study.

We curled up at a movie together Friday night, and I saw him on my way home last night after being out of town for a bit. Just before I drove away, he looked at me and told me I'm an amazing woman. And I hugged him even tighter.

I thought about those creeping doubts and unsettled feelings this morning. Maybe I'm just not used to really trusting someone. And last night--last night felt _real_.

And tonight, he said we had to talk. About us.

"This isn't leading to marriage."

"Then it's done," I wanted to say, but waited.

He reminded me that he'd promised he wouldn't casually date me. We talked a bit more, and I thanked him for letting me know. He asked if I wanted him to stay on the phone and talk, or if I wanted him to let me go.

"Well, it seems you've already let me go..." I said wryly.

And I moved on. And will continue to do so. I wish these tears would stop flowing so I could go off to my meeting of the night, but they seem to keep attacking.

It's not as though he's totally gone, and I see us resuming a friendship in a few months or a year or so. I guess I'm just frustrated and tired at the thought of starting over. I'm tired of wondering where my place in the world is, especially after wondering if it would possibly be with him. I'll miss that close friendship with him, because things will be different. I'll miss his ways of thinking, which provoked me to think beyond myself.

But really--really--I think I knew. Sometimes, not knowing is a way of knowing.

Top Three Signs That It Wasn't Going to Work Out

2009-02-09T18:10:00.003-06:00

3: The first present he gives you is a hockey puck.
2: His Christmas present to you is a metal water bottle.
1: He doesn't like "The Princess Bride."

Imogene

2009-02-05T22:16:00.004-06:00

Does anyone remember "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever?"

A raggedy, taggedy family of kids ends up playing the main parts in a Christmas pageant because, well, most of the other kids refuse to work so closely with them. Little Imogene Herdman, the raggediest, taggediest of them all, ends up as the declarative angel. Of all the people!

It struck me before Christmas that I work with an Imogene Herdman. She's messy, unkempt, loud... Her classmates can't stand her, and her teachers see why.

She asked me for help with printing material from my website the other day, so I walked with her to the school library to go through the process. We found the problem, and I threw in a bit of encouragement.

"[Imogene], you really do have good problem-solving skills in that brain of yours! Keep it up; you can work through a lot of problems!"

It's hard for her to maintain eye contact, but she looked up at me for a few half-seconds--enough for me to reasonably hope that the encouragement had sunk in.

The kids have the option this week to purchase ribbons which will allow them to wear hats at school. The proceeds go to finding a cure for cancer. Kids could buy a ribbon a day for $2 each, or a weeklong ribbon for $8. Yesterday, "Imogene" showed up wearing a daily one and a weekly one.

She planted herself in front of my desk, in front of me while I was trying to take attendance and get her classmates settled, and pointed out the obvious ribbons on her tacky straw cowboy hat.

"Why do you have both of them?" was all I had time to ask.

She shrugged. "It's for a good cause!"

Good point.

"Imogene" came up to me at the end of class, with the daily ribbon in her hand. "Here," she said, holding it out to me. "You can wear this one. You can pin it on your shirt. It matches your sweater!"

Oh, my little Imogene--the unconventional bearer of good tidings!

Just Another Day

2009-01-16T20:39:00.003-06:00

a fight with the boyfriend

seeing friends at a church event, but they see through me

succumbing to polite conversation with acquaintances

overhearing another acquaintance on the phone with a mutual friend as she closes me out and asks if there's room for her to sit with them at the event...

not even knowing those friends would be there, because we don't spend time together anymore

watching people ten years my junior walk in with their husbands and babies

seeing married friends enjoying the evening with their spouses and in-laws

escaping as soon as i can, because it's silly to be crying over these things

just silly

2008-12-21T19:45:00.002-06:00

I got scared off from blogging for a while, because while visiting "him" one day I watched as he found my blog address in his favorites.

"What's this?" he wondered aloud, and I quickly did my best to keep him going in whatever his original direction had been. I think that was just after I had written something about "men who make me feel like a woman," and he was an inspiration for that.

So now it's a while later, we're dating, and he's telling me about his mom's last days. We're video chatting via Skype, and when that part of the conversation is done, I google her.

I come up with an obituary notice that includes her picture. He's resumed playing World of Warcraft," and I have a three-quarters view of his head. Oddly enough, that's about the angle of his mother's face in her picture. I think he looks more like his mom than his dad, and he's definitely got her nose.

I wonder about her hopes for him and her care for him. It's strange to think of her not being there in his home state. Not wondering if he's coming home for Christmas. It's strange to think of the detachment that death brings.

She looks nice.

I wish I could have seen them interact.

Tent on a Rooftop

2008-11-11T20:37:00.003-06:00

Again, again--life was going well, I thought I was heeding God but really wasn't putting much energy into Him, and things crashed. Crawling from the rubble, my hand came across His Word--and I opened my eyes to see.

Part of what He led me toward was an article by Elisabeth Adams in the Boundless webzine. "Into the Wilderness" started off with a blurb about visiting and living in Jerusalem, which always piques my interest. Then she began talking about the Feast of Tabernacles or, from my Bible memory, the Feast of Booths, which took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Imagine my joy as a child, reading that God had ordained a holiday to take place on my birthday. Imagine my disappointment when my mother pointed out that the ancient Hebrew calendar did not align with ours.

Adams' explanation is that the Feast of Tabernacles was meant to remind the people of where they had come from. They hadn't always lived in cozy houses with quick access to marketplace wares. They had lived in tents, had wandered in the desert...and the LORD had provided...

The bit that struck me in relation to current events in my life was the theme of Adams' statement, "I am always dependent on God: the desert just reminds me that I am."

I've done all I can in this current quandary. I've shaped my cozy house and know who will sell me the right stuff and how I can earn my keep. Yet a situation came along that reminded me that I am not in charge of my little world.

God is.

And I choose to be thankful for this tent.

No, Wait--There's More!

2008-11-11T00:37:00.002-06:00

We had parent-teacher conferences a couple of weeks ago. One mother dropped in with her son.

*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*

I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*

*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*

Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*

"Your website..." he mumbled.

*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.

*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*

*How do they get sent into the hallway?*

*If they're being a distraction in class...*

*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*

I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.

I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.

*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*

*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*

Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...

It did not go over well.

*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*

It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.

I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.

Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.

A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.

Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?

Can You Handle Another Whine?

2008-11-11T00:24:00.002-06:00

I was feeling spiffy at work--I had my technology figured out. The marvelous world of Google Docs was discovered. I could make PowerPointish presentations and publish them to the Web. I could set up a Google Calendar for each of my classes and link my presentations to the relevant date for each class. I showed my students how to access my school page, in which I had embedded my Google Calendars. My little sixth graders were going online at home to print off notes when they were absent or when they knew their handwriting was too unreliable.

For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."

It was beautiful.

And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.

All of it.

No search engine.

No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.

No documents for kids to print out.

No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.

No relatively safe searches.

And now...I start...OVER...

Bait-Cutting

2008-11-11T00:15:00.002-06:00

How long do you keep fishing before you realize you're not getting anything? How long do you stay in a place before you realize there's nothing there for you?

Nothing.

It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...

So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.

2008-11-11T00:10:00.002-06:00

Why does everything suck at once?

It's not that bad. I have a friend from high school, who recently lost her husband.

It's not that bad.

I have friends who have been divorced, etc.

It's not that bad.

Friends who are losing their parents.

It's not that bad.

But for me, in my little world, this sucks.

Humbled

2008-09-27T12:37:00.003-05:00

I went.

The oldest and the youngest were scampering around with pre-funeral jitters, but then came Shoes, trying to round them up. He stopped when he saw me.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came for you guys."

We talked for a moment, then he went off in search of his older brother. I made my way toward the doors, and an usher asked if I were family. No, just a teacher. Then Shoes appeared beside me.

"Family and close friends in the first three rows," he said, gesturing to where I should sit.

Oh, dear God, I'm glad I went!

2008-09-26T22:55:00.002-05:00

I really don't want to go.

The three brothers were sent home from school with headlice just last week.

I don't want to go.

I missed tonight; tomorrow's my only shot.

Three boys, all ungainly; one too big, one too small, the other with a mind that's ten years behind his body. The younger two are the ones I've had in class. My room still smelled after they left each day. I called their mom to express the need for new shoes for one of them, but that only solved part of the problem. Hair uncut, unbrushed; things falling out of it. Other students knew which chairs they'd used and tried to avoid those seats.

I don't want to go; don't want to hug them; don't want to be touched...

Don't want to face this futility. Don't dare to hope for a future for these boys--already misguided, but now, even less guided. I don't want to go to their dad's funeral.

I don't suppose they do, either.

Ignorance

2008-09-11T22:42:00.002-05:00

The thing that pushes my buttons the most is getting ignored. I don't mean that the thing is getting ignored, but that I get ignored. Hate that. When I fought with my mother while growing up, the thing that made me maddest was when she closed me off. Talk to me; work it through; don't close me out...

It ticks me off when my students do that, and maybe that's more an issue of respect. With my mother, it was a sign of her not knowing how to deal with me...or a way of refraining from saying something she'd regret.

I still don't react well to it. The more tired and stressed I become, the worse and more disproportionate my reaction to...ignorance...is. It becomes one of those "world is crashing down on me" moments, which, really, it's not. Maybe it's an earthquake; maybe it is significant. So stand in a doorway, self. Crawl under a table. A bit of ceiling may fall down, but it's not the end of your world.

Why Being Single Is Fun

2008-09-04T18:28:00.002-05:00

Elementary school's principal comes up to you on bus duty and asks if any magical relationships developed over the summer. When you respond in the negative, she mentions the single son of a friend, and offers to keep looking if he's not compatible.

Nosy neighbor across street approaches and clarifies that you're (still) single. "Howcome? You're a good lookin' gal. You get better lookin' with age!"

White-haired school custodian pauses in his sweeping and says, as a sultry Mr. Rogers, "Have you ever been in a line around some Spanish-speaking men, and heard them comment on how beautiful and sexy you are? 'Cause you will..."

Maybe that's not fun. Maybe that's just creepy...

An Error too Expensive to Fix

2008-09-04T18:27:00.000-05:00

"I would like to buy a stamp..."

"A tramp?"

Oh my...

2008-09-01T21:56:00.002-05:00

This year's LifeLight Festival wasn't as yee-haw as last year's. I'm allergic to dust, hay, cats, and whatever seasonal allergy is out there. Three of those seemed to be present in the cornfield where we were. Perhaps it was the hour it took me to get out of the parking lot that was the biggest downer. But there were highlights.

I volunteered for MVett, which meant that we ran errands around the grounds after my shift was done. The air had cooled, Michael W. Smith was singing, people were happy, and I was in motion. The world was grand.

The spot of my volunteerism was the Prize Tent, which led into the merchandise tent. It was an excellent place to sit, because oodles of people passed through. For some reason, if you're sitting behind a table in a tent, people think you know something. My favorite was the 7-ish-year-old who came up to me with big eyes.

"Have you seen my mom? She's wearing a green shirt and brown pants and she has brown hair and..."

There are over 100,000 people here, kid. "Does she have a cell phone?" I asked. "What's her number?"

The kid rambled it off, including at least two extra digits.

"Hold on. Write it down." She did, with the appropriate number of digits, and I called. The mother was grateful, and I had the kid stay at the table until she was picked up by family. How is it that I can feel maternal while taking care of someone else's kid?

The other favorite moments were when two different groups of kids came up with mud-splattered skin, footwear, and clothing. "I went into the mud. Do you know of somewhere where I can wash off?" MVett and I sent them back out the door of the tent to a spigot directly in front of them.

"You know where that mud puddle is?" I asked a confused one. "That's where the spigot is--it's what made the mud."

"Ohhhhh!"

Dingbats. But it was fun to help out.

Sweet Baby James

2008-08-29T15:43:00.002-05:00

Today, I wandered down a trail of blogs until I came to a halt at this one: Sweet Baby James.

I'm still processing my feelings from it. Amazement at the faith of these parents and their "reminders to self" to keep said faith. Hopelessness at the medical trials, tests and speculations, given the ending. Suspicion at God for leading this couple along such a path. Fear that if I marry and have children, this may "randomly" be part of my lot. Closeness to Jesus, knowing that He does care--for this couple, for their children, and for me.

Morning

2008-08-23T09:51:00.002-05:00

I really am a firm believer in roughing it. Last year, friends camped at a park; I joined them for socialization time, then headed back to the cabin to sleep. It turned out to be a good choice, since it rained that night and my friends slept in their cars. (I had offered the cabin, but they were determined to stick it out.)

So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.

Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.

Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.

It's a Lonely Ol' Night...

2008-08-22T23:33:00.006-05:00

It's a good night, really. I'm staying at E&C's cabin by the lake, which is a fantastic spot. I arrived here hours after planning to, plopped down and read for a bit, then went up to the main house for a visit. After seeing other friends, I came back in the dark...to darkness, having forgotten to leave a light on for myself.

I'm not a big fan of darkness and being alone, especially in non-home settings. This being the case, I made sure I was on the phone when I returned. SOMEone would know if something happened to me in the 40 feet between my car and the cabin. I got in, checked the corners, then hung up with my friend. Safe. Inside. Alone. Content.

It was when I went for my salad that I realized I had no water. There were water bottles aplenty in the car...but none inside... Eleven pm. Who could I call? I tried two friends, but neither answered. I texted another. Nothing. 40 feet. It was only 40 feet...in the dark...next to the lake...40 feet...I could do it...

I unlocked the door. Stepped onto the porch. Rustlerustlerustle went the grasses and brush by the corner of the cabin. I froze, alarmed but not wanting to look stupid. (a) An animal would care? b) An attacker would care?) As serenely but quickly as I could, I stepped back inside the cabin then closed and locked the door.

WHAT was big enough to make those sounds? Not going out again.

I sucked in some tea and some milk, but really missed water. It wasn't worth braving the ferocious rustling sound, though. NOTHING was.

Soon, however, the Warrior texted back, and I called him to explain the matter. His voice gladly accompanied me to my car, and I talked loudly enough to drown out or frighten away any local creatures.

Along the way, I noticed the moon rising over the lake. It's turned the water white, in a path that leads, well, straight to my door. It's a beautiful ol' night.

Update, 12:01 am:
Something just walked across the porch. It seemed to be cat-sized and didn't make much noise. Have I told you about the giant, prehistoric raccoon I saw out here a couple of months ago? I wonder if that was it. I wonder if it was rabid. I wonder if it can smell salad.

And I'm supposed to sleep here?

Six more hours 'till dawn...

Mmm...

2008-08-21T22:26:00.003-05:00

A few nights ago, I sat with a friend in his roommate's hot tub. He had three chapters to read for school, so I pulled out _Jurassic Park_ and we slid into the bubbles. Nerdy, but good. When we were sufficiently broiled (not quite through a whole chapter), out we went. A pause, though; "When I grow up, I want one of these," he said. I agreed.

Today, I had another "When I grow up, I want..." moment. A coworker sent out an email asking if anyone wanted fish. She and her husband had put in a koi pond and didn't realize that having koi meant having more koi...and more koi... I followed her home at noon, and the place is just luscious! There are perennials along the perimeter of the property, and a big, old Victorian house with a 3/4 wraparound porch. The koi pond parallels two of the sides--so it seems to just keep going. I took the few steps up onto the porch and was astounded. It was a windy afternoon, and I could just imagine sitting there in the shade, being rocked in the swing... Then came the "I want this moment:" at the southwest corner of the porch is a stairway going out to the yard. The stairs drop you off at a bridge that runs over the koi pond. A bridge with a point! You know the "ballroom stairs" moment? Like in A Cinderella Story and others of that sort, in which the princess character descends with flowing gown? I'm not a very flowy gowny sort of person, but I felt like a princess as I descended those steps. It was a beautiful feeling!

When I grow up...

I Got Dumped--AHGAIN!

2008-08-21T22:11:00.002-05:00

Same guy.

I hadn't written back to him because I hadn't figured out a tactful way to tell him off. You know, lovingly, kindly...but not too lovingly or kindly. A week later, I got an email saying he wondered if he had jumped the gun, and was open to discussing issues that had come up. I had just decided to not write a telling-off (nicely) message. He still wanted communication? Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. He wrote again on Sunday, wondering if I had gotten his email. Yes...but to say I'd gotten his email would mean I should respond. Again, I didn't know how to respond nicely. And then life got busy. I was out of town, inservice began, we had Back-to-School Night...

Tonight's message was simple: my name, followed by "I'm not going to pursue anything in regards to you. Take Care," followed by his name.

So, nice...but presumptuous. After two weeks with no response, did he think I was interested?

Chivalry Is...

2008-08-17T20:42:00.003-05:00

...a guy friend hauling your kayak out of your car for you, even though you're quite capable of doing it yourself.

...a friend opening the oven door for you to take out caramel rolls.

...a friend's friend standing up to greet your father...and tactfully trying to not notice the underwear hanging on the clothesline.

...a friend bringing you pizza for your lunch break during classes on your birthday.

...a new friend taking your water bottle from his car into a friend's place--because you may want it.

...a friend's roommate opening your car door for you, even when you're the one driving.

...a friend coming over to get a dead thing out of the yard--a dead thing so mangled that the only reason you know it was alive is because you know most certainly that it's dead.

...a friend removing the moonroof from his truck so you can climb in through the hole (after stargazing in the truckbed) without having to put your cold, wet socks and shoes back on (after running through puddles in the springtime). Bonus points: it took another 15 minutes to get the moonroof replaced. (It was an old truck.)

...your new friend's husband grilling your cheese sandwich for you because you are completely inept when it comes to cookouts.

...when your friend lends you the stocking cap off his head as you sit in the outdoor hot tub on a -10' January day--especially because he had offered you one earlier and you had refused.

...your faithful friends who answer every conceivable question you may have in regard to cars and technology.

...a friend's friend taking your 5-year-old friend for a horseback ride on his birthday.

Life is good, and thank You, God!

Benalmadena, Costa del Sol

2008-08-17T20:11:00.002-05:00

A bombing in Spain today... I was there--Benalmadena--just after I graduated from high school. I wonder what the bunch of us would have done if it had happened when we were there. And on the flip side of the desk, I wonder what I, as the teacher, would do with my group of 12 students.

70 x 7

2008-08-14T11:08:00.002-05:00

My grandparents recently left after their two-month stay in my hometown. Gramp and I had bonded. He found a table that we dragged home and I began refinishing. I made him sit through both "National Treasure" movies, and he didn't gripe about them too much. I made a special point of getting pizza for the family and including Pepsi (at Grandpa's previous request). Gram has supplied me with a stash of hot pepper (home-dried and crushed), of which Gramp and I are the only ones who partake.

This, compared to all other years, was good. We had two conversations in which he tried forcing his views upon me, but at the end of both of them we agreed congenially to disagree. I wasn't cornered this summer. It was good.

As we said our goodbyes yesterday, Grandpa walked directly toward me with a kindly look in his eyes. Soft. He liked me. He approved of me. This hard, at times legalistic, previously abusive man was finally my loving grandfather.

Hands on my arms, face in front of mine, he said, "If I were a younger man..."

Yes? I smiled, having heard the line from other sweet elderly people.

"I would look for a lady who wears less makeup and lets her God-given beauty shine through."

An excellent parting shot. True to form. His clincher was, "Keep the faith," then he walked to the truck and got in.

All sorts of responses came to me later. "If I were a much older woman I wouldn't _want_ a man like you to look at me..." "You don't deserve my Gram..." "I am _not_ my cousin (who wears no makeup and is inhibitedly conservative)..." "The next time you see me, I'll be wearing so much makeup that I could be confused for a member of KISS..."

The ironic part was that Mom had been put off by something Grandpa had said the night before--and even the day before that and the day before that. He's a crusty, grumpy man around family. Yesterday morning, I had listened to a song that talked about being Jesus to others, and mentioned it to Mom in regard to her frustrations. Despite his rudeness and proclaimed faith, my grandpa needed to be shown Jesus, too. An hour later, did that still apply? A day later, does it still apply?

2008-08-08T16:32:00.003-05:00

I spent time with my mom and grandma today, and Mom began telling Gram of a rough time I'd had with my paternal grandma in my teenage years. I, never intoxicated, ever-the-virgin, had become the black sheep of the family despite my pregnant teen, underage drinking cousins' existence. Things came to a good resolution before my grandma died, but the emotion of hurt came back quickly today.

Gram looked across the table at me and admonished me, lovingly, to remember the good things. She said that my grandma may have acted upon unfounded advice, but that she really had loved me dearly. Then Gram told me that _she_ loves me dearly, and if there ever comes a time I don't believe that, I should talk to her about it. If I don't, she'll take me outside and...invoke some sort of bodily punishment reminiscent of discipline when I was a child. I laughed and said it was nice to know she loves me enough to smack me around. Then I went around the table, hugged her, and almost burst into tears when she whispered fiercely, "I love you!"

All I could get out was a "You, too," before I escaped. A tear shot out of my eye--not a nice, little, drippy one, but a real shot--something that would have a "boing" sound effect.

I think that being loved hurts almost as much as feeling unloved does. Maybe because self-worth comes into question? Maybe because there's responsibility attached? Maybe because there's the potential (inevitability) for loss? It's a good hurt...just not one I'm used to feeling.

I Got Dumped Last Night...

2008-08-06T12:24:00.003-05:00

The funny part is that...I didn't know I was dating anyone... Before there's a relationship to end, you'd think the guy would know the girl's last name, and have had at least one phone conversation with her...

In one of my emails from the past three weeks of communication with a match, I mentioned going to a bar with a coworker who had asked me to join her at least seven times already. I want to cultivate a friendship with her, and accepting someone's invitation seems a progressive way of doing that. The match then asked my thoughts on drinking and on dancing. I told him that I choose to not drink, and that, as a member of my church, I'm also committed to not drinking. Some people can drink quite nicely, and others can't. I wouldn't be comfortable if my significant other chose to drink on occasion, but it wouldn't be a hill I'd be willing to die on, either.

I wouldn't initiate going to a bar with a friend (despite our lack of alternative entertainment in a small town), and it's not the sort of environment I would choose to spend time in, but I don't have a problem with crossing the threshold.

As far as dancing goes, I'm so uncoordinated that only slow dancing works for me. Due to its nature, I would only want to engage in said activity with someone I was very comfortable with and probably somewhat interested in. Based on P's previous comments (in our three weeks of communication), I knew he was conservative but wanted to make sure he wasn't rigidly so. I mentioned that, yes, dancing can bring up thoughts that are not conducive to purity, but so can words and photographs. Should we shun those things as well?

Somehow, out of all of that, the only thing he understood is that I don't have a problem going to a bar with a coworker. He wrote that he wouldn't want to be in a relationship or marriage in which his wife went to bars or went out dancing. What if we went to a bar and someone else asked me to dance?

Oh, for pity's sake...really? I'm monogamous even in my crushes (generally). There is no way I would go dance with some random stranger and leave my boyfriend/husband spinning around on a little stool!

He flipped the scenario--what if he were the one at the bar, and someone hit on him, flirted with him, encouraged him to drink? How would that make me feel? A) I'd expect it. B) Where does personal responsibility come in? I expect to be in a relationship with someone I can trust to hang out with a coworker at a bar and not succumb to flirtatious whims. I would hope he would expect he were getting the same in me.

I was amused by his "drawing the line" and saying that things were over between us if I didn't subscribe to the idea of never setting foot in a bar and never getting jiggy with it. Now, though, I'm just ticked off. When I am in a relationship, I want it to be with someone who respects my integrity--and probably even knows my last name.

2008-08-04T23:53:00.003-05:00

I'm still reluctant to enter the world of chatting. It's enough of a struggle to get cohesive thoughts without having them be interrupted by people saying hi. Not that that's not nice, but it usually doesn't end with just "Hi." For some reason, I didn't turn off the chat feature when I switched to the "new" version of Yahoo mail--and an acquaintance messaged me tonight.

H was having problems getting downloaded photos onto Facebook; after a few back and forth messages, I gave her my phone number and we walked through a few steps until we figured out the problem. Then she told me that the photos were from her son's funeral, and wondered if they were appropriate to share on Facebook. She said that since I'd helped her, she'd share them with me and get my reaction.

I'm still teary. It was only about sixteen photos, but they showed a mother's grief--naked, wrenching emotion from as far deep in the soul as one can get. There was her husband, trying to hold back the emotion of losing his son. Little girl who would never teach or run with her brother. Young cousins who noted the seriousness of the event with solemn eyes. The father's mother standing behind him, with her hand on his shoulder... That green, fake lawn that covers the hole... Tiny white casket...

Maybe it's the educator in me that sucks everything in and processes it, but I thought the pictures were fine. They show the grieving process. Hopefully, they can help someone else who's been through the same situation. That reminds me of why I blog--to process things, but also to encourage someone else who's following a parallel trail. It's not always pretty, but it's not always morbid. It's, well, life.

A Wii Bullet of Prayer

2008-07-15T23:05:00.004-05:00

I still have an affinity for playing Mario Kart on the little purple box, since it was my first real love affair with a gaming system. However, when I have access to friends and the Wii version, I enjoy it a great deal.

In the Wii version, if a person is really stinking it up in last place, she sometimes acquires a "bullet" as an item. It's a magical bullet, capable of pulling her wee little kart through the perils of whatever course she's on, and into a place where she can finish not dead last. It's like the "star" item in the purple box version, but even better--no steering is necessary. It's a burst of speed and one has only to relax until the bullet slows and the kart is again powered by her own hand.

Today felt a lot like I was on a bullet. I don't know if there was some intense praying going on, but it was a wonderful day. I had to be at class early, realized I'd forgotten to do an assignment for another class, and didn't have my textbook with me anyway. But it was still good.

The "yay" for the day started with a message from Hohu, who told me she understands all my previous diatribe and shared a bit more of her life. She's one of those unexpected blessings, since, really, I don't know her. She once made an interesting comment on a friend's Facebook wall, and her profile was open, which led me in to read an interesting note she'd written. I sent her a quick message expressing my appreciation for her note, and she wrote back--and added me as a friend. I'm not even sure how long ago that was, but she's been a lifeline at times I really needed one.

I made it to class, which contained a lecture by a different presenter--who had an accent, talked quickly, did not have adequate speaker coverage in the long commons area, and had a habit of looking away from her mic when she spoke to us. Interesting, animated lady, but I got nothing out of it. Rather than whining, I decided to look at the content standards and revamp my curriculum for the upcoming year. That meant I needed a copy of them, so I ran to another building during a break, hopped online, and started printing. I checked my email and was suddenly struck by the realization that I had an incomplete assignment--and that my book was nowhere nearby. I returned to the presentation and saw a classmate who I had just learned is in the online class with me. He had his book, miraculously, and let me borrow it. Another classmate was willing to lend me his laptop to submit my work (but our teacher soon resumed her seat near him, so that plan wouldn't work out). I sat in the back of the hall and crammed. With a supposed 45 minutes left in the presentation, I headed back to the building with Internet access and began submitting my homework. Another classmate texted to say that the presentation was done early, so I ran over, retrieved my belongings, and returned to the computer. I got that assignment completed before noon, which I hope hope hope was the actual deadline.

"A" has tried to work out a lunch get-together with me for some time, and today finally worked. He brought me pizza, and we sat outside in the shade and breeze on campus. I loved the company, we talked about saving trees by using paper (long story, but the gist is that paper is made from trees that are planted for that purpose; unanticipated deforestation does not occur based upon our paper consumption), and really, it was cool that someone cared enough to bring me lunch on my birthday. Who knew a three dollar pizza could make one so happy? That really was another big "yay" in my day.

Other people had input in the littlest ways, but meant so much to me. Maybe God's point in my recent social woes was to grant a big dose of humility and gratitude. And they're starting to stick--thank God! Today was a fantastic bullet ride.

Boo Yay Yay Stall Boo Yay

2008-07-14T22:02:00.004-05:00

There have been a few stories in the news lately in which amusement park rides are not good things. One girl lost her leg/foot; another kid actually got decapitated. I think my emotions have been on those same amusement park rides.

Tuesday was a "boo" day, as evidenced by my sorry state of blogging and the long-time-coming need to do so.

Wednesday was a "yay" day since CLE texted me an invitation to join people I like and do things that I like. (How strange the timing, too, that it was something he'd mentioned earlier but hadn't thought to do until that day.)

Thursday was a "yay" since I texted a friend and said "I NEED HUMAN CONTACT" and was obliged quite kindly.

Friday was a "stalled" sort of feeling, with its evening being comprised of "obligatory" socialization--being around people I enjoy, but not in my optimum interactive environment. Still an enjoyable evening.

Saturday contained its social "boos," but it was much easier to deal with them based upon the previous days' interactions. My social tank was full, and I could coast. I also embraced the new form of Yahoo mail and found that my cousin was online. We chatted for an hour (the third time in our lives we've interacted that much), and due to that conversation (and others), I think I'm going to buy a Macbook.

Yesterday was a definite "yay," containing a conversation in which a friend and I moved from teasing to sharing frustrations to, well, my being vindicated from a previous post's "not following through with a responsibility" issue. It was huge, in that one moment, for this friend to volunteer to clear my name.

Kdel and I kayaked after church--our "anniversary voyage," of sorts, since it was two years ago almost to the day that she first got me out on the water. We even found ourselves at the same lake as that original time, and, being smarter, I used sunscreen this time. (My knees and thighs are great, my shoulders are fine, but there is now a definite distinction, highlighted in pink and white, of where my tank top was and was not.)

BH has moved out of town but was back for a bit yesterday afternoon. She connected with me, and I was able to wander around a park with her and her family. Little DDH is almost 11 months old and, though able to totter around, was content with my holding him. I wanted to switch him from my right hip to my left after a bit, but one of his hands was on my shoulder and the other was on my wrist. There was no way I was moving that child; the moment was too special. Despite DDH's adorableness, it was also fantastic to see BH. She's one of those "birthday friends"--the kind who makes you feel special as you reach another milestone in life. She'd brought a present for me, since she knew she wouldn't see me on the actual day. It was an "aww--you remembered" moments that was a definite "yay" on the roller coaster.

CLE informed me of another gathering later that night, and I got to play Mario Kart with "the people." There's only room for four, so controllers get passed around and the guys are quite good at being non-dominant. That's not "non-dominating," because they kick my butt most every time--but at least they share the gaming time. My favorite moments come when the peanut gallery gives input--"If you pull up on the controller, you do a wheelie and go faster. Okay--THERE--do it!" When it works, and I win, I am most delighted and most grateful.

Our host and hostess also have a four-month-old, BabyG. She's becoming more interactive, more attentive. I loved her giddy expressions last night when her aunt leaned down to get close to her face. As L moved in, BabyG just started getting squirmy in eager anticipation of the attention.

If you stand with empty arms for long enough, BabyG's mother will ask if you want to hold her. Of course! Eventually, BabyG dozed in my arms while I watched ARG unlock more features of Mario Kart and listened to the others playing fiercely competitive card games around us. It was perfect. Contentment and companionship.

Today is another stall. The one day a year that a person is allowed to think the world revolves around her, is perhaps also the most depressing when she realizes it doesn't. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I plan to utilize the opportunity to spend it with my parents and grandparents. It seems that there are bubbles of friends--friends who care and friends I hang out with. Spending time with my parents and grandparents means playing cards, and the en vogue game is one in which equal numbers of players are needed. Thus comes the dilemma and the accompanying Smack of Singleness. I have to find that "Number Six." The Friends Who Care are most likely the only ones I can talk to and say, "Hey--do you want to hang out with my parents, grandparents and I?" But the reason they don't fall under the Friends I Hang Out With category is that they're married, out of town, have kids, etc. They are lovingly entangled. On one hand's worth of digits, I can count people who fall into both categories in some amazing way. Of those, only one is in town this week. Of course I extended the invitation to be the coveted "Number Six," but was turned down in a way that made me wonder if the person realized the significance of the day. It's not just any day; it's my birthday; hang around with me; be my friend; let me enjoy your company. It's kind of hard to say that to a person without being whiny, so I'll blog it for the three of you who have actually read to this point.

Last Wednesday really was a huge turning point. It wasn't so much CLE's texted invitation, but the timing of it. God and I had big talks that Tuesday night, and it wasn't until we were straighter that He let CLE into the equation. A few days later, I asked CLE what had prompted his text that day. I'm not sure if I've shared this blog address with him, but I know at least one member of his family has it. Had someone said something? Someone prompted...? CLE said it was just that he had remembered he wanted to include me in events. He said it wasn't anything cosmic or supernatural. So it wasn't a person. It was just the day after I felt more frustrated and lonely than I had in a long time, that he "happened" to reach out. To me, that is "cosmic" and "supernatural." It's the King of the Universe saying, "Hey--I still care about you." And through this past week, I've been able to see that.

Emotional Update

2008-07-09T15:22:00.002-05:00

Does it make much sense to defend my whininess by whining? Can I add to yesterday's posts the frustration brought about last week--that because someone else didn't follow through with her promise, I couldn't keep my commitment to a responsibility assigned by her? That internal war of "I didn't follow through" followed by "She didn't keep the agreed-upon conditions..."

Stress! I almost cried at "WALL-E" today, and did tear up when a friend told me she had to put her family's dog down. Why am I so on edge?

Oh, AND...

2008-07-08T22:58:00.002-05:00

I had to file a fraud alert because some of my files were stolen from the bank.

On the plus side: I went to the local liquor store on Saturday night to buy vodka. The checkout lady knew I was new when I asked where the vodka was; she replied, "See up there on the wall above the shelves, where it says..."

"Aah, yes--where it says VODKA... Thank you!" Off I went.

When I returned with the small bottle, Checkout Lady virtually refused to hand me a pen until I'd slid my ID across the counter to her. Then came one of my favorite comments of the week: "You're a bit older than I would have guessed..." It wasn't exactly a compliment, but it was a complimentary comment. Due to that interchange, I shared my vanilla-making secret with her: if you put a vanilla bean in a bottle of vodka and let it sit for a few weeks, it makes better cooking vanilla than you can buy in most stores.

It still felt strange to walk across the parking lot with a little brown paper bag...

It Had to Come...You Knew That, Right?

2008-07-08T21:51:00.003-05:00

After the whining and moping of earlier this evening, I realized that other factors had compounded my frustration. A minor one is now solved...I hope...

Do you ever get something in your head that you can't let go of? I'd thought the movie "WALL-E" would be interesting to see if I got the chance. Then I mentioned it around friends, and one seemed particularly interested in going. That got the idea stuck in my head: the little group of us would go.

Only, it didn't work out that way. I made a tentative plan and didn't hear anything back from the others. I made another suggestion, which didn't work out for one of them. The negatory response didn't include an option for another time, so I wondered how much further to go. How does one be an effective communicator without being pushy?

In the meantime, it seems that other people I used to spend time with have already seen the movie. So, not only does that make it quite difficult to find accompaniment, but it also smacks of "I didn't get invited."

Tonight's cheap night at the theater, and I tried to get a different set of friends lined up. Both offered their "maybes," and then neither worked out.

The point isn't the movie at all, though I'm beginning to hate it. The point is, I really wish I fit somewhere. Where _does_ an almost 33-year-old non-bar-hopping single female fit in a small town?

And that's really not the point of this at all, though I've let myself start crying again.

When, through my tears, I ask God "WHY?", He reminds me of others who are lonely and others who want or need my attention. I spent time with my grandparents tonight, and afterward, called another friend. Seven years ago, I babysat her infant son in the church nursery. He hadn't yet reached the crawling stage, and the other inmates were all toddling. Therefore, he was my watch, my charge, the little creature with the soulful brown eyes. And now, I have a "date" to see "WALL-E" tomorrow.

It's Been a While

2008-07-08T18:24:00.003-05:00

I found B's comment today--the "Where are you?" one. Sweet B...

I love living in a small town and being an hour or so away from a bigger town that supplies most anything else I could "need." I love that the evening rush hour lasts twenty minutes and consists of, at most, five minutes of idling time. I love safety and the ability to bike or even walk to any place in town if needed.

Then come the times I want to flee--not necessarily to a bigger city, but away from the scenes I don't like here. I don't like not belonging. I don't like listening to event anecdotes from people who hang out with people I used to hang out with. I don't like hearing of their fun times, and knowing I wasn't included.

The more alone time I have, the more time I have to wonder why I'm alone. Contacts and adorable blond highlights seem to have been pointless, which indicates something worse: the problem is with my character.

Well. Doesn't that just suck?

So, B, dear, this possibly accounts for my lack of blogging. If my words have a negative slant, they should be leading up to a positive ("I thought blah blah blah, but then I realized blah blah, and that was good!"). Or they should be funny. And right now, they're neither. My closest friends are married with families, which means our situations aren't the same for both conversation and scheduling.

I've heard, "You're young and single! Have fun!" Okay. With whom?

And I wondered why I'd gotten so stinking autonomous...

2008-05-15T19:50:00.001-05:00

Of all the things to be concerned about, this makes the state news circuit: The Winter Browns.

2008-05-14T22:22:00.003-05:00

Ever feel like you're at the bottom of the pile? Life can be going along fine, then bam--you're in an elevator that's had its cables cut. And it's not...anything...in particular, really. Maybe it was not getting elected tonight as a delegate or alternate for our church's upcoming district conference. Could have been from hauling three kids to the office in two days--one for being disrespectful, and two for fighting on the playground.

Maybe it was being at an end-of-the-year staff celebration, in which we welcomed the newly adopted baby of a co-worker. The kid is beautiful and fits so perfectly in my arms. Maybe it was sitting across from a friend and co-worker who is pregnant and eagerly shares her experiences with the rest of us. Maybe it was looking down the table toward another friend/co-worker who recently got engaged. It's not at all that I'm not happy for these people... It's that when I come home, alone, it's just me and Him. When will I get it--that He is enough?

30 Minutes on a Treadmill

2008-05-11T17:20:00.003-05:00

Have you seen that commercial? The one with the lady running, and the caption reading, "30 minutes on a treadmill..." and the camera panning out to her plastic water bottle, followed by "...a lifetime in a landfill..."

I've been rather lax about recycling; if it wasn't convenient (green box with "Recycle" symbols in front of my face), I didn't do it. Maybe it was that commercial that convicted me, or maybe it was the Discovery Channel's documentary on things made with recycled plastic. Regardless, I've picked up the practice.

After I strip off the trimmings and rinse a plastic bottle, it's left on the bathroom floor to air out before it goes into the recycling bin. Currently, there's a miniature army of two Pepsi bottles, a water bottle, a protein water bottle, a gel container and a contact solution bottle lined up on the floor. The army's not pretty, and I rather wish it weren't there. Then it strikes me that this is just the refuse from one person, and it's only a few days' worth of material.

Makes me a little more conscious of what I use, when I begin living with my trash...

And a Happy Mother's Day to You...

2008-05-11T17:07:00.002-05:00

My pastor started out this morning's services with a rather unusual prayer. The first people he mentioned were the women struggling with infertility, the ones who lost a child prematurely, and those who have had abortions. It's a rough day for many, in light of those factors.

When my eyes opened, I noticed one woman and realized she is still dealing with a long-ago abortion. Her body was tense, in a "Let's just get through this" stance.

Moments after the prayer, a young, out-of-town couple came up the aisle and slid in next to this woman and her husband. They carried their infant son, her grandson.

The child looked around, acclimating himself to his surroundings. Then his arms reached out and his body leaned forward, and he was passed along into the eager embrace of Grandma.

There is forgiveness.

2008-04-24T16:44:00.004-05:00

Highness called as I was leaving work.

"I sent you a Facebook message, but wanted to call, too."

"You called me to tell me you sent me a Facebook message? I get messages in my email inbox about that, too, you know--but how nice of you!"

"Yeah... You remember K and D [old friends]? Well, they were packing to move, and were cleaning, and this window was open..."

He paused too long. Talk faster. Keep going. This isn't good.

"Yeah...?"

"Well, their two-year-old daughter..."

Another pause.

KEEP TALKING.

"Well, she got up into the window...and she...fell out..."

"And...?"

"And she died instantly."

End of life? The pretty little baby I'd held at the outdoor wedding of mutual friends... This beautiful little thing I'd comforted by walking around and around with under the shade of trees... The first child of her parents...the treasure of their hearts... End?

Hours later, after the events of the evening, I googled her. Ten results...the only person with her name... Only one news article mentioned her humanness--running around in brightly-colored springtime boots, smiling and laughing. To everyone else, she's a number, a cause, a past part of someone else's life. A little girl noted amid ads for medical advice, preventing identity theft, and unlimited nationwide calling.

2008-04-19T23:56:00.002-05:00

I am entirely of the opinion that a midlife crisis consists of dealing with wrinkles and zits simultaneously. It's been a bit of a skin-care dilemma of late, but tonight--tonight cured all.

Last night, I got repeated text messages from a friend/coworker: "You should come downtown. My fiancee's friend is in town, and he's single."

Bars aren't my place, and being thrown into a "Hey, you should meet this guy" situation on top of that wouldn't make for a good first impression. And I was getting a cold...and I was tired...and I had some ministry work to finish... So I didn't.

Tonight, a few of us from work went to a movie. Side note: don't bother with "Leatherheads" at full price. If you don't watch it for its quirks, it won't be worth it even on cheap night. L actually dozed off a few times; but then, she's not an Office fan, so she can be forgiven. In light of her disappointment with the movie, I decided to accompany her downtown afterward. Therein lay the highlight of my evening. It wasn't in the setup, but in, ironically, the door girl.

L and I walked into the bar and grill, and she paused. I noticed her flipping open her wallet and realized, from my college days of playing pool with a friend at the bar across the street, that this was ID time. I slid mine out of my wallet, handed it to the girl, and held my breath. I'm 5'1"...what if she thinks it's fake... She studied it, then handed it back.

"You look amazing for your age."

I...uh...I...thank you...

"Brown Eyed Girl" came on the radio, and though L is 6'1" and strikingly beautiful, I didn't feel shorted on anything as we strode down the aisle to meet her friends.

A Good Day, in All...

2008-04-07T12:15:00.003-05:00

So I'm at a conference. A coworker recommended me as a presenter, so I applied and am in. I had things ready and online. I ran through my presentation with a couple of guinea pigs, and we all survived. I reworked things last night and couldn't fall asleep. My hotel room was fantastic, with windows overlooking a pond and paddling ducks. My sequential alarms helped me enjoy the morning at 6 minute intervals, and then it was time to leave.

Nerves were getting to me even yesterday, so I skipped breakfast. No time to stop for a green tea, so I grabbed a Mtn. Dew from the machine in the lobby. This apparently is not a good start to a day when you're already nervous.

I went to the main speaker, then spent time during the next session trying to prep for my session. No wireless access. Sigh... A nice little techie joined me on my bench and talked me through some troubleshooting things, but to no avail. And if I couldn't access the wireless connections, chances were good that my class wouldn't, either...

The techies got me an ethernet cable and granted me access to the overhead projector. But all my stuff was online--no paper handouts; nothing. Because, you know, the wireless world works. If you're presenting on technology, why not use it?

My class came in...the room filled up...60 teachers staring at me...

I started, and asked for people with laptops and connections to raise their hands. A small handful. How do you walk people through something when they don't have the tools for it? And I was tethered to the machines, unable to walk around like I can in my classroom. Disoriented. Plan D. Some nice looks, then a lady (who could connect) with frustrations. She could follow along if I went slowly enough...but others who couldn't follow along would get bored. Oh sigh... What to do?

My body compensated. I couldn't think. Things got fuzzy. And then they closed in--again. I looked around for a chair to sit in but couldn't see. I moved toward the closest chair, hoping the person would move. She did...but then I didn't know where I was trying to go, and waddled, rear end poised, backward. Someone guided me into the seat, and I barely landed on the edge of it. They were talking and clucking around me, but I didn't know what they said. Someone came back with water. Another had a wet cloth. Trash can... I want a trash can...

They hovered politely nearby, and one of the conference workers came in with juice and crackers. I heard "Are you diabetic?" a number of times. No... Just... I'll be fine...

And soon, I was--more or less. I decided to stay in my chair to give the rest of my presentation. There were more questions, which I muddled through answers to. Some people left early, and I can't blame them...although I probably would have stuck around to see if the instructor actually ended up on the ground at some point.

Advice on Shopping for Men...or Clothing...

2008-04-01T18:27:00.006-05:00

#1: Just because you're not a size 6 anymore doesn't mean you're a size 2. If you don't fit with a 2, it's okay. There may be a misplaced 4 around.

#2: Your favorite item may seem to be out of your price range right now, but don't disregard it completely. It may go on sale after time. Even if it doesn't, chances are good that you'll find something quite comparable and even more happiness-inducing.

The Easter Story

2008-03-22T11:24:00.000-05:00

2008-03-20T16:22:00.003-05:00

Ever been so lonely that you just wanted to be...alone?

I think maybe Jesus at Gethsemane felt like a single teacher at the end of winter--crap yet to be put up with, and going it alone.

Again: "Huh--He does get me!

UPDATE, about an hour later: I caught up on emails and six or so online Scrabble games. I checked local and national news, ate a sandwich, drank a pop. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING fixed my loneliness, frustration, angst. Didn't I write once about a child fighting off sleep? And how I do that with Him? So I caved, went to my "Devotions" bookmark folder, and found a link for "Hate Your Life." (Things aren't that bad, but I appreciated the sentiment.)

What I hadn't realized all that time was that God was waiting for me. He was waiting for me to be willing to decrease so that He could increase. He was waiting for me to say (and believe) that I needed Him more than I needed my dreams to happen. He was waiting for me to know that His grace is more than enough to not only heal my broken heart, but to fill it overflowing. He was waiting for me to realize that no check-marked box on the agenda list of my life could make me feel as whole and fulfilled as picking up my cross and following Christ would. He was waiting for me to trust that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

I had planned out my destination. I had prepared for the journey. I wanted to go where I wanted to go. But, while I prayed and begged to move ahead, the Lord wanted me to stand still. Like Moses told the children of Israel, I knew the Lord was saying to me, "Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall see again no more forever. The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace" (Exodus 14:13-14).

The Lord will...fight for me? For me?

Yeah. It's that kind of love.

Sacrifice

2008-03-16T19:04:00.007-05:00

Dejected, I plopped myself down in one of the balcony pews. The stage had been cleaned up and readied for Easter morning. All that remained of hours of work by dozens of people were the cross anchored in the false flooring and the empty tomb displayed in the choir loft.

And I sat there and bemoaned my unworthy videotaping skills to Him in the darkness. The production was over, most people were gone, and the only light trickled in from a hallway.

"I stank. We all watched it on the big screen at the cast party, and I stank."

I butted in on my thoughts. "Wasn't your camera (you don't have a videocamera); wasn't your tripod (you don't have a tripod)."

And then I argued with my thoughts. "So. Should've been better. There my name was listed under 'videography,' and everyone watched it and probably thought, 'Why did _she_ do this? Never have _her_ do it again!'"

"It was your fourth time taping ANYthing!"

"So. Still stank. Wasn't perfect."

"Fine. It wasn't. You do stink." And then the cross and the empty tomb lined up in my view. "Why do you think you need a Savior?"

It hit me that my videography skills are much like my life--never going to be perfect, never going to be enough. That's a need for a Savior.

People walked past the doors to back halls on their way to pick up personal effects before leaving. More lights winked off.

"But I wish I could have shown them--shown them the good version, from the second performance. The one where I had the transitions down better and knew how to find my spot in the darkness."

He gently prodded me. "And why didn't you?"

"Because the sound was better on the first recording, and if I were one of the singers, _I'd_ want to be able to hear myself well."

"So you sacrificed what would have made you look better, for what made _them_ better?"

"Well...yeah..."

"So it was a sacrifice."

I suddenly realized I was sitting above the aisle I'd watched "Jesus" carry his cross up the other night. I remembered the "soldiers" mocking him, and tonight, one even kicked him. "GET UP!" the "Roman" had yelled when "Jesus" had stumbled.

"You don't think I didn't want to?" He seemed to whisper to me tonight. "You don't think I couldn't have called down all sorts of...whatever, and smote the tar out of them? I didn't have to come out looking bad. But it was a sacrifice."

Oh.

Oh.

It's not that I understand Him a lot better...but I know that He understands me.

You Are Loved

2008-03-13T21:58:00.006-05:00

I remember a time in college when I was incredibly frustrated/depressed/sad/lonely... Not being incredibly into self injury, I stood under a tree in the cold. Yep. Pretty extremist. But that was my little form of masochism. Something on the outside had to hurt or get my attention more than something on the inside.

Later, I took to driving--driving fast (which meant going out of town, because I'd still only go four miles above the limit) and with the music on loudly. It was a sort of catharsis.

Tonight, I found that the two melded. Driving with no reason when gas prices are at $3.15/gallon _is_ a form of masochism.

I was "sinking" about an issue, and prayed about it. And I've felt encouraged to fight for it. I've just been reading in Wild at Heart and am learning that it's okay for women to have a warrior heart. We're made in the image of the Creator, and He _is_ a mighty Warrior. I need guidance, but I'm strapping on my armor. Training, until I know what to shoot and how to aim.

Not Just Another Shiny Icon

2008-03-11T22:27:00.000-05:00

I slipped through the darkened back hallway before rehearsal and stumbled upon "Jesus" spattering "blood" upon his cross.

He paused in his work. "What do you think?"

It was dark, dirty, red, gouged, scarred... My eyes took in the darkest parts and associated them with the appropriate body parts.

"It's horrible." I looked away. Kept going.

I ran into the thing again as I walked through another hallway later on. It looked even more hideous in the light. Juicy. Not in a "fruity candy" sort of way, but in a "fresh kill" sort of way.

And that's what it was, wasn't it, that moment of crucifixion? Like a carnivorous beast that requires its meat to be fresh, so it was for the sacrifice for sin. Fresh and alive--enough for the blood to drip--until the lungs were still and the heart was silent.

And it was His blood--the blood of that Guy I know.

The same thing that makes me want to run and vomit, simultaneously makes me want to curl up at the base of that cross and wait three days. He's coming back.

Don't I Know You from Somewhere?

2008-03-09T22:26:00.008-05:00

What is it that makes you stand by, look away, when someone you know is being hurt? Cowardice? Fear? He's yelled at, mocked--and you're silent, removed.

In this case, it was the director of the musical that kept me from intervening. But I knew that guy--knew the guy who was stumbling, tripping, dragging his cross and then falling with a thud at the crest of the hill. I knew the guy with the crown of thorns--the guy showing the patience of the Creator of Job. He was placed on the cross, and it was raised until its base settled into a hole in the floor of the stage. And there he hung. The lights went dim. I knew that guy.

They rehearsed it again--yell...shuffle...stomp...fall...

Couldn't watch it.

I'd seen "The Passion of the Christ" a couple of times, and it was easy enough to distance myself from the crucifixion scene in that one. Fake blood; fake hand; Jim Caviezel got paid.

But tonight, sitting six pews from the front and again hearing the commotion of soldiers and a Savior coming up the aisle beside me, it struck me: I know that Guy.

It's a Small, Small, Small, Small World

2008-03-09T17:02:00.002-05:00

E and J are in Ukraine to pick up their new son. While there, they get to spend time with E2.

H is still in China.

J is currently on a plane from Chicago to home, having just returned from Ethiopia.

M and B are heading to Russia in a few days to meet their infant son.

S, B, A, Highness and others are heading for New York City next weekend on a missions trip.

It's a small, small, small, small world...

One of the Coolest Compliments

2008-03-07T22:32:00.002-06:00

I had dinner with a fairly new friend and her husband tonight. Somehow during the course of the conversation, she brought up the possibility of her premature death.

"I told him," she said, glancing at her husband, "'If I die early, I fully expect you to go ahead and remarry. And if you do, and if Goalie's still single, well, I'd like you to marry her.'"

It's one of those things that makes your heart smile--not about him, but about her love for you.

2008-02-28T19:32:00.002-06:00

I stood in the cotton ball aisle and debated the merits of name brand and store brand products. If both were 100% cotton, did it really matter?

In the midst of my analysis, I became aware of the second calling of "Ma'am!"

Ma'am?

Black leather jacket, black purse, black dress pants and black dress shoes...but ma'am?

I turned to her.

"What kind of make-up would you recommend?"

Say what? She was, ironically, standing in front of my favorite brand. I pointed to what I use and said I mostly like it.

"Does it look good?" she asked.

You tell me; you're a foot away from my face!

I told her I plan to get more of the same when it comes time to reload. I pointed out the powder I use. She then asked how to match skin tones.

Are you serious? I'm the one who's done this to other strangers in store aisles. What made her think I had any credentials? We matched the tube to the back of her hand, but she didn't seem eager to leave.

Ask her to church.

Don't want to!

Ask her to church.

She'll think I'm a freak! Somebody who's accosted her in a public discount center...

She talked to you...

And we have this Easter production coming up...perfect, less-threatening intro... But I couldn't just launch in.

"Are you from around here?" I asked.

She nodded and told me about a little town down the road. "But I work here."

"Where do you work?" Seemed like a logical question, though possibly a bit forward for two strangers.

She told me, and I smiled. "Do you know B?" I asked. He's a friend, the husband of one of my most trusted friends, and my boss as well through a freelance web design project that supports the business my new stranger-friend works at. B and I also go to the same church.

She said she hadn't met him yet, but that gave me the "church" connection. I blathered on about how if she didn't have a church, she should check out this Easter thing we're having. It's a good way to get your foot in the door without necessarily getting committed to something until you're sure about it.

And she didn't walk away.

Didn't make up an excuse and run. Even when her five-year-old son threw the container of makeup out of her cart, she stayed engaged.

"I haven't been going much lately, and I need to. I went all the time when I was pregnant, but now my boyfriend doesn't go, and... I've gone to this other church a few times, but it's all old people, and they look at me like, 'Why doesn't she raise her kid better?' I'm a single mom, and I just need to get to church..."

I'm really protective of my time and my phone number, but I asked if she had a cell phone and I gave her my number. "Call me," I said, "if you're interested in going some morning. And they've got lots of stuff for little people."

My time... My phone number...

I've been reading in Second Peter lately, and my M.O. is to read the same passages until I "get" something. I read the same passage a lot of mornings in a row.

II Peter 1: 6-8
"Next, learn to put aside your own desires so that you will become patient and godly, gladly letting God have his way with you. This will make possible the next step, which is for you to enjoy other people and to like them, and finally you will grow to love them deeply. The more you go on in this way, the more you will grow strong spiritually and become fruitful and useful to our Lord Jesus Christ."

I think I can go on to verse nine tomorrow morning.

Drifting Along

2008-02-21T23:00:00.003-06:00

In these days of -40 windchills and such, it's nice to daydream in thaw-time.

I'm in my kayak and floating, being pushed along by the current. It's dusk. Stars are out and reflecting on the water. Sunset's on the other side of the sky, and the shore slides past beside me. The only thing marring the perfection is wondering if I'll have to paddle my way back.

But while I float, oh my, is it nice...

2008-02-15T20:03:00.003-06:00

I'm 5'1", and she's a head shorter than I am. Little, spunky sixth grader with long lashes that radiate from eyes of vivid blue. "I hate my eyes," she pouts, but she's adorable.

Each time my back is turned, she writes on my whiteboard. One day, it was "Dear Ms. [Goalie], you are the BEST teacher eva! That's why I love you!" This week, she just hung by my desk whenever there was free time in class.

I stayed late after work today, and she came bursting in my door with a friend. They wrote on my board and acted like children...until she perched on a table and looked at me intently.

"Can I ask you a question? I need your advice on something. My mom goes to the bars, and I don't like that. So we made this deal--that she'd only go one night a week. But when I'm gone, I know she goes then. So how do I get her to stop going? I've told her I don't like it, and I've written her notes. I tell her good things, but then when she reads 'bar,' she rips it up and throws it away. She spends all this time with her boyfriend and puts him on her calendar, but she never has time for us."

How, child, do I tell you how angry I am toward this woman you love? How do I tell you you're right without spitting out how wrong she is?

"I gave her a Valentine's present, and she didn't even say 'Thank you.' It was this fluffy white dog with a red collar that said 'I love you,' and she just took it and nodded and put it in her room. She didn't even say 'Thank you...'"

I had nothing to say, and was struck by the realization that I had almost shooed the girls out because I had "work" to get done. A sigh of relief that I had not done so.

"I'll pray, okay?"

She looked at me in a confused sort of way as her friend pulled her out the door to their awaiting ride.

And I will. I don't know in what way, but I will.

2008-02-15T18:48:00.002-06:00

She's an eighth grader; he's a high school junior. She rides piggyback through the gym; they kiss in the hall. Peer pressure is ineffective for him; he's never been liked anyway. Her friend's little sister tells me, "He only likes her 'cause she's got big...boobs!" Whisper and giggle. I grimace.

The principal's involved, the counselor too. High school and middle school teachers alike separate the duo in our K-12 school on the prairie.

I had bus duty last week and watched them walk out of the building together. Arms around each other, they stepped behind the last bus in line, embraced passionately, and engaged in a little liplock. They turned to look at me. "We're off school grounds!" she yelled. I shook my head. They kissed again, then parted--she to her bus and him to the high school parking lot.

On Wednesday came legal action of a sort. I'm not sure what brought it about, since the girl's mother had previously treated the boy like a member of the family.

I had bus duty again yesterday and saw the girl walk out of the building toward the big yellow lineup. She pulled out her phone and stopped.

"Where are you? ... In front of the busses. ... Yeah."

She turned to a little kid. "Tell the driver I'm not riding today."

A tinted-window, blue four-door with duct tape covering a rear window pulled up. She hopped into the backseat and slammed the door. Parked at the apex of a T-intersection in front of the elementary wing, the driver reversed into traffic and across the crosswalk, then drove the wrong way until he could merge back into the right lane. I assume it wasn't the girl's mother. I hope not.

I told the principal and the counselor and trust that things are in their capable hands. Then I sighed. It takes an entire school system to raise someone else's child.

2008-02-10T22:16:00.000-06:00

Just a few pieces of white paper with Courier-style font. "Durable Power of Attorney..."

I'm an only child. I know that my parents will eventually be gone. And I joked with Dad through it as we talked about my responsibilities and benefits when my parents have both passed away. (He does not want balloons at his funeral. He said he wanted it to be a celebratory event, but...)

It was okay for a while. Then I had to get out of there.

When I was little, I panicked if I didn't say goodbye to my dad before he left for work. I ran to the bathroom window (open a crack even in the winter to let steam out--in the days before ceiling exhausts) and called out to him. If the old, wooden window frame was stuck, I banged on the glass until he turned. I signed out "I love you," and he nodded, waved, and continued on his way.

Always a fear of "what if." What if I didn't do it right? What if I didn't say goodbye? What if I disappointed him? What if...that was it?

Tonight, we made flippant comments about casket choices (not really going to care at that point!) and more pointed ones about my parents being buried in the cemetery where dad's parents are buried.

And that took me back to a tiny, two-stopsign town in Minnesota. A cemetery on a rise just a cornfield away from the church. Grandpa. Grandma.

Mom left Grandma's viewing before its official end, and Dad and I were the last ones left in the room. I'd avoided her until that point, but he was standing there. I slid my arm through his and he put his arm around me. And we stood there. Trying to be Norwegian about it, but running out of tissues anyway.

"You know, this is pretty special," Dad said, carefully controlling his voice. "Tomorrow, there will be people all around. This is pretty much the last time...the last time to say goodbye."

So maybe that's why I'm running out of tissues now? Wondering...who will be there with me?

Finding My Clownfish

2008-02-05T19:55:00.000-06:00

Once I got over feeling like a prostitute, it started to be fun. After wading for years in kiddie pools, I set foot in the ocean and found [gasp] other fish!

While I'm pleased to report findings of perch, snappers and mackerel, there have also been a few carp. Here are my (least) favorites:

A, who said he wants his woman to have long hair and no makeup, and wear skirts--because that's how he believes things originally were. In his leisure time, he likes to play Nintendo.
B, who says he is not a virgin...but will not consider anyone who is not one.
C, whose "Must Haves" included "I must have someone who is mature and experienced as a potential sexual partner and is able to express himself/herself freely."
D, who had fantastic potential until I actually heard him on the phone. Think "Mr. Rogers trying to seduce you."

Still looking for Nemo.

PS: For those wondering, this is my version of Xeno's saga.

2008-01-30T19:25:00.000-06:00

I craved a hug so much it almost made me sick. What happens when you realize that the hug is needed on the inside?

I dislike not being aware of my surroundings. I felt that way tonight, walking into the funeral home, until I saw him. It wasn't him, though--but those eyes were the same gentle and inquisitive ones I'd known as a child. And it hit me that Mr. Bailey was loved and missed by more than just me.

That ice-breaking resource, the slide show, was playing in a corner nearby. Faces passed--Mr. and Mrs. Bailey with children who were grown and gone before I entered their world. Then, later years--Mrs. Bailey's curly brown hair gone gray and close-cropped. The lopsided smile. The unsure eyes.

Staff at her nursing hope were upset when he died, I heard. He'd visited every day. A month ago, he learned he had brain cancer.

I know people die. It's expected and accepted. But when a man who befriends an awkward kid is, twenty years later, still showing love by remaining faithful to his Alzheimer's-stricken wife, that man is special. And...well...it's okay to cry when he's gone.

The Third Moment of Christmas

2007-12-24T21:10:00.000-06:00

Fifteen degrees, and I'm freezing my fingers off as I try to get a shot of the moon. Despite the layers of wool, cotton and leather on my upper body, the chill seeps into me. I'm not sure why the wise men knew to follow the star that they did...but when you know, you know.

I saw it when I left the candlelight service. Seven hundred people holding bits of flaming wick seemed to be the "aha" moment of Christmas Eve, but stepping outside, glancing up into His sky, I was reminded that there is more.

Even without presents, even with the symbolism of candles, He reminds me that there is more to this holiday than what we contrive.

A belt of cloud obscures the moon, but a glow radiates from behind it. Jet trails crisscross the sky, and Mars beams nearby. Vapor...wisp...mist...light...a burgundy hue from particles in the air...

Follow the light. What message does He have for you?

Planeguage

2007-12-24T10:08:00.000-06:00

I haven't flown for a few years...and this set of videos makes me smile about that.

Scott Southworth

2007-12-23T19:20:00.000-06:00

A WOW story of one who felt compelled...and followed through.

Aha!

2007-12-23T09:20:00.000-06:00

Sled Zeppelin, for all to enjoy!

A Diamond's Journey

2007-12-22T15:39:00.000-06:00

Thought-provoking, and much like what I saw in Blood Diamond.

The Second Moment of Christmas

2007-12-21T23:30:00.000-06:00

His Highness helped deliver Meals on Wheels to local elderly and shut-ins a couple of years ago. He told about one apartment in which the lady called for him to come on in.

"Just set it on the table here," came a voice from the couch. She was facing away from him, but as he approached, he saw bare feet...bare ankles...bare calves...bare knees...

"I didn't wanna see any more!" he confided later. "I just wanted to get out of there!" He dropped the food and ran out the door.

I pictured that scene as I caroled at nursing homes with my out-of-town friends. Most residents had gone to bed by the time we arrived, but one elderly man's door was open just a crack. I saw that he was sitting on his bed, and I prayed he wasn't in the midst of disrobing. That being the case, I wasn't sure if I should smile at him or not.

He didn't do much wiggling or squirming during the first song, so I figured he was safely in a semi-permanent state of dress. I began glancing up from my music and met his eyes with a smile. When the song ended, he opened his door and shook his cane at us--a twinkle in his eye. "Bah humbug!" he cried gruffly, and those who hadn't seen his eyes stepped back a bit.

He then joined us in our serenade until the group marched on down the hallway. And something kept me back.

Ever have those moments in which you know you have to do something, and you'll regret it if you lose the moment? I'm not fond of germs or public displays of affection toward strangers, and nursing homes are rife with such things. I didn't even know what I was going to do as I moved in toward him--but my arm knew it needed to curve itself around his stooped shoulders and back, and his arm slid around me.

I don't know if I whispered "Merry Christmas" or "Thank you," but he reciprocated, and we meant the same thing: Thank you for sharing this love.

The First Moment of Christmas

2007-12-21T17:10:00.000-06:00

Two prominent constants in nursing homes seem to be birds and the smell of urine. When the time comes for visits to cease, there is sadness along with a twinge of relief.

I’d gone to my students’ Christmas concert and helped with both the adult and children’s musicals at church. I’d visited my parents’ church for the carol concert accompanied by a stringed quartet. At the Tuesday night Bible study, we’d looked up carols online and sung along with them since musical instruments were scarce that night. Despite the ambiance provided by the glow of a laptop’s monitor, even that didn’t do it for me.

Holidays are getting smaller. My cousins have married and had children, and my aunts and uncle are often with them. After three years in a nursing home, Grandma died a year and a half ago; Grandpa went in ’98. Mom’s side of the family ranges along the entire East Coast, so it’s just Mom, Dad and I. Instead of getting big presents for each other this year, we’ll be going through the World Hope and World Vision catalogues on Christmas morning. We don’t need anything, and we tend to buy what we want on our own. How much better to spend time together and think about the families we’ll be blessing with a goat or a few chickens?

So it’s been a good Christmas season thus far, and will continue to be. It’s just different.

Maybe I was reaching out for something when I joined my out-of-town friends to go caroling at nursing homes last Wednesday. We trouped through the halls with a bunch of high schoolers. Since they weren’t my responsibility, I spent my time being amused by the high schoolers—the boys who wanted to ditch out and play pool when we passed a table in Nursing Home Number One, and the boys who tried to walk through a one-person doorway together in Nursing Home Number Two. There was also the tall, mouthy one whose expressions and attitude kept a grin on my face most of the time. People like that are good to take along on such expeditions; even if you can’t sing, you have a stinking good time.

Most of the party had moved down the hall at Nursing Home One when a man in a wheelchair rolled himself to his door and beckoned us. Those of us at the end of the trail clustered into his room and overheard him say, “Listen, Mother; these people have come to sing to us!”

She lay in bed with attentive eyes as we began our humble version of “Away in a Manger.” I smiled across the room at her and saw my grandma in her stillness.

I love Thee, Lord Jesus,
look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle
till morning is nigh.

I pictured the miniature wooden cradle I’d made for Grandma on her second-to-last Christmas.

Be near me, Lord Jesus
I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever
and love me, I pray!
Bless all the dear children
in Thy tender care
And take us to heaven
to Live with Thee there.

Take us to Heaven to live with Thee there… Tears came as I hoped that people had sung to my grandma. Crowded into that small room in winter coats and gloves, it was a holy moment…giving those words to a woman experiencing one of her last Christmases.

2007-12-13T22:43:00.000-06:00

My mother is a chronic migraine-sufferer and recently went in for a sleep study. When the diagnosis was sleep apnea, she was assigned a breathing machine. (Not breathing apparently has a multitude of side effects.)

Tonight's her first night with it.

It was almost seven years ago that my friend Eric died. He had some respiratory problems, was put on a breathing machine, and one day soon after his blood pressure went screwy. He passed out and never woke up. He was 27.

So you can see the connection in my mind. Breathing machine = person dies soon.

Kinda having a hard time going to sleep, illogical though it is.

Caution

2007-12-12T21:25:00.001-06:00

And now, from the files of "Are You Serious": http://www.mlaw.org/wwl/photos.html

An Evening Out

2007-12-11T22:36:00.001-06:00

I am a self-confessed germophobe. Not quite an Adriana Monk, but if someone were to follow me around and offer me wipes, I wouldn't refuse. Even my students are trained. If one sneezes vehemently, they'll look to see if I notice. If I don't catch the offending one quickly enough, the others will chorus, "Antibacterialize!" and point him toward the sanitizer.

Tonight's Bible study had a missions focus. It was down to five guys and me, and we went to a group home to play games with the residents. I didn't have to touch anything the whole way in, and even found a safe-looking chair from which to hang my jacket. Nothing had to touch anything...

I made it about an hour that way. The guys were busy playing Uno with the resident females, and the resident females were glowing from their attention. I wandered a bit and said hi to the two wheelchair-bound young men. They weren't verbal, but their eyes acknowledged that I was speaking, at least. I wished I had more to say; I honestly wish I'd had a puppy to set on Purple's lap--to have some sort of stimulus other than the plain dining room walls.

Pam showed up, and she's big and scary. She towered over me and reminded me of an elderly lady who threatened me in a nursing home about a year ago. Seriously. But she sat down at the table, and when her helper moved away, I slid in to aid in picking which Uno cards to play. And I still didn't have to touch anything.

Attention switched to dual games of Sorry. I was offered a seat, but I've worked at a camp for mentally and physically disabled people. I've changed adult diapers before. Having picked up my germophobia since then, it's really hard to reconcile the two--prior knowledge and microscopic foes. I stood.

And then it happened. The nicest of the workers stopped beside me and asked if I could pick up the stuffed Rudolph on the floor.

Uh.

"No, I'm scared to touch things" didn't seem the right response. I held my breath, reached into the small space between Deb's wheelchair and one of the guys, and plucked up Rudolph by the ear.

"Thanks!" the worker smiled as she headed off with Rudolph.

I, however, was soiled. Then I consoled myself--it was only my left hand that had touched something that had been on the floor that had been traversed by people whose personal cleanliness is not the highest priority in the world. And it was only two fingers, at that. I could isolate them for the remainder of our time...

One of the games of Sorry was really quite competitive--at least, for three of the players. The fourth kept getting booted back to his starting position, and I smiled at the two residents when they were the ones who sent him there. Deb smiled back at me with a grin that was missing all her middle teeth. And then, the next incident occurred: she went to high five me.

One finger, two finger...whole hand? my brain calculated quickly. Oh no! I'd watched her lick her fingers before drawing a card. ARRRRGH!

But what...do you do...?

In my non-athletic way, I highfived her back.

When Deb rolled off to attend to her pre-bedtime duties and one of the guys suggested I fill in for her, I had nothing to lose. I picked up my cards, moved my pieces around the board, and was two slots shy of having them all in safely when Deb returned. She drew the card, it was a "2," and she slid in for the win. The guys cheered for her, as did her housemate, and Deb did a victory dance from her chair. I stood behind her and smiled. The evening was a little victory for me, too.

"Marilyn," in a pink Chicago cap and a yellow bandana, with breasts that quite possibly rested on her lap, had marched her little pieces around the Sorry board in silence. As the guys and I stood to go, Marilyn puttered into and out of the kitchen. Pausing beside me, she whispered with grace and hospitality, "Come again!"

Oh, honeys, thanks for the love!

"God Guided Me and Protected Me"

2007-12-10T20:47:00.000-06:00

How cruddy to have to shoot someone in church...but oh, thank God she did!

"There was chaos," Assam said, as parishioners ran away.

"I saw him coming through the doors" and took cover, Assam said. "I came out of cover and identified myself and engaged him and took him down."

"God was with me," Assam said. "I didn't think for a minute to run away."

Assam said she believes God gave her the strength to confront Murray, keeping her calm and focused even though he appeared to be twice her size and was more heavily armed.

Murray was carrying two handguns, an assault rifle and over 1,000 rounds of ammunition, said Sgt. Jeff Johnson of the Colorado Springs Police Department.

"It seemed like it was me, the gunman and God," she said.

Assam worked as a police officer in downtown Minneapolis during the 1990s and is licensed to carry a weapon. She attends one of the morning services and then volunteers as a guard during another service.

Boyd said Assam was the one who suggested the church beef up its security Sunday following the Arvada shooting, which it did. The pastor credited the security plan and the extra security for preventing further bloodshed.

Boyd said Assam's actions saved the lives of 50 to 100 people.

Assam said she was ending three days of fasting on Sunday when fate put her in the path of the gunman.

"I was praying to God that he direct me" in what to do in life, Assam said. "Through the week, God made me strong."

Boyd said Assam's actions saved the lives of 50 to 100 people.

Assam said she was ending three days of fasting on Sunday when fate put her in the path of the gunman.

"I was praying to God that he direct me" in what to do in life, Assam said. "Through the week, God made me strong."

--The Denver Channel.com