The Waiting Game

Ever had a hankering to do something really stupid? I mean really stupid - I'm not fooling around here. I have. Mercifully, God has granted me with enough wisdom over the past few years that I have avoided, or talked myself out of, most of these foolish ventures. I'm thinking of two instances in particular. One popped up some months ago, the other crossed my mind more recently. Both were spawned from the discontent that seems to spring up even in the most pious Christian lives. At least I hope I'm not the only one that gets antsy and human. Let me know if I am and I'll work harder.

I get in a hurry every now and then - I get impatient and worried. For brief moments I completely and totally take my eyes off God, forget His promises, and con myself into believing I need to take matters into my own hands. This rarely (read: never) works out to my advantage. Thank goodness for that. What a shame it would be to craft something of my own and miss out on whatever He has created for me. How sad to settle for what I can accomplish on my own, instead of waiting for His design to take shape.

In several chapel lessons I have used puzzle pieces as an example for God's will. We only have one piece of the puzzle, and it's probably just a blob of meaningless color. We can't possibly know our place in the big picture because our perspective is too limited. God has the box. Not only does he see the whole picture, He also has the rest of the pieces. I lose my piece every now and then, and God has to show me where I left it. Sometimes I argue and refuse to pick my piece back up. Fortunately, I always do, and more fortunately still, He waits while I make up my mind to do so.

Probably one of the hardest things to do as a Christian, as a human, is to wait. Babies take nine months to be born - that's a long time - but isn't it worth it? What do a mother and father do during that time? They prepare a place for their child, and they prepare and educate themselves to be parents. Can't we do the same regardless of what we're waiting for? Prepare and educate. I can do that.

Waiting is hard for me because I am an active person that always wants to be accomplishing something toward a goal. So, while writing this blog today I have learned that instead of losing my puzzle piece, or pawning it, I should probably study it a little closer. I should prepare and educate myself for whatever God is working on for me.

Free and undeserved

"You can't outrun grace." Yes, it's a lyric from a song. I heard the song the other day and those four words resonated with me. It probably means a thousand different things to a thousand different people. To me, it just means I am loved unconditionally and my mistakes are not only forgiven, but also forgotten. Remembering that truth is the best part of my day. So why is it often so hard to offer it to others?

I received an apology from someone today. I knew what they had done, but didn't care. I can honestly say they were forgiven when it happened, and long before they thought to ask for forgiveness. I can also honestly say I have not always behaved in such a gracious manner.

How many movie plots are based upon one character not forgiving another over some small mistake or misconception? This is the situation Hollywood is built on - the skeleton in the closet, I dated your sister 13 years ago, accidentally ran over your cat, missed chance, miscommunication, just add B actors, instant plot.

We sit in the audience and watch the break up unfold, and we cringe. We think how ridiculous it is that they're not together. We are astonished over the foolishness of the individual holding back their forgiveness. However, are there people in our lives we haven't forgiven for far more trivial, although non-fiction, things?

As I write this I am scouring my life, looking for hidden grudges. I am expanding my search to people I don't see or hear from on a regular basis, and now I'm on to people I've never even met. I admit I'm not always pleased with the decisions made by our nation's leaders, I may even become angry with them. Chances are, not one of them will be sending me an e-mail or picking up the phone to ask my forgiveness for their shortcomings. It's unlikely these individuals will ever admit to having shortcomings. So, why don't I just sit back, unload my worries on the one who's offered to carry them for me, and forgive people before they even have the chance to know they're wrong. It's not my job to sit back and judge their actions anyway.

I write this now, I'm sure I'll forget it soon enough. But, if I remember to practice it here and there, it could make a difference. Think how short romantic comedies would be if forgiveness was just poured out up front.

We can't outrun God's grace, so why make others chase after ours?

It must be love ...

I have numerous very good reasons for not posting for almost two weeks. School started this week, which is the root of most of the reasons. It is also the reason I'm multitasking tonight. By that I mean that I am blogging and preparing a chapel message for tomorrow at the same time.

I'm confident most have heard the story about the young man that dropped all his books while walking home from school. Several students laughed and pointed, and none of them offered to help - routine behavior for his peers. However, one boy did eventually cross the street and helped pick up the books. They walked home together and were friends throughout junior high and high school. On graduation day, the boy who dropped the books stepped onto the stage to give his valedictorian address. In his speech he recognized his best friend, and confessed that the day they'd met six years before was the day he'd planned to kill himself. I don't know if this account is based on actual events, but every time it finds its way into my inbox, I am reminded of the magnitude of importance our actions, or inactions, possess.

My chapel message for tomorrow will come out of Romans 12 - we'll be talking about love. It is simple, but complex. Desired, but not always deserved. You can see that my challenge in relaying love's importance to young people is making them understand the depth of what love actually is.

I can scoop up a toddler and put a bandage on a scraped knee easy enough, but can I smile and be patient with the chatty individual ahead of me in the check-out line? I can help a family member through a trial because I love them and I'm invested in their future, but can I do the same for a stranger whose circumstances and personality I am not familiar with? Simple, meet complex.

I can accept the graciousness and generosity of my family and my Savior, but I can't earn it. Desire, meet undeserving.

When I was young, I thought love was a Disney movie. I thought it was a hug. Not until adulthood did I see that love is not an emotion or action we save for just those closest and dearest to us - it is how we are to act toward every single person we come in contact with, and it is usually expressed in the most casual ways.

Romans 12 instructs us to honor others above ourselves, practice hospitality, bless those who persecute us, be willing to associate with people of low position. Here's a tough one: Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. Everybody. Not just your pastor, not just your grandma on Sundays when she takes you to church. Everybody. All the time.

I've been really busy lately with good stuff, but as I sit here at 10:00 on a school night (gasp) I wonder how much of my business includes following all those instructions in Romans 12. When I'm in the middle of some seemingly crucial task and the phone rings, am I being patient and exuding love to the soul on the other end? Am I being careful to do what is right? If not, what kind of impression am I leaving?

Simple actions make bold statements.

Clever Title

Accomplishment: Something that has been achieved successfully.

Today is my 27th birthday. I'm in full swing analytical mode looking back over the 23 years I remember well. I've succeeded at a lot of things, I have failed at others. I ran my first 5K race this past weekend. It was something I had wanted to do for some time, and I feel really great about having done it. I finished college, a degree hangs on my office wall. I attempted to adopt children and backed out. I tried to buy a house, several actually, and never made it to closing. I've written a book, but haven't had it published. I could continue to list successes, near successes, and failures, but no more is necessary to make my point.

Above my bed hangs a sign: “Blessed is the life that finds joy in the journey.” Life's mixture of attempts, missed chances, triumphs, and let downs are what make up a lifetime of rich memories. They are what make a person. Forced experience never ends up being all that rewarding or memorable, but a chance encounter, an unexpected experience, a stolen laugh, the unmerited opportunity to be a light for another soul, those make up the well-woven tapestry of a life.

When Krystal, Rebekah, Cynthia, and I were in New York in January, it wasn’t the expertly planned and executed moments that were the most enjoyable. Instead, a second trip to Junior’s for cheesecake and a table full of diabetic coma-inducing desserts in Little Italy are my favored memories … and it’s merely a coincidence that they happen to revolve around food.

1 Peter 2:9: But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness and into his wonderful light.

When push comes to shove, every accomplishment and every moment of life are gifts from above. We are allowed to have them because of his grace. We are a “chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God” for the sole purpose of glorifying him. I live in the light! And not because I found it on my own. He led me to it, and when I stray into darkness, he plugs in a nightlight for me. How can I not live my life for his glory?

I dub myself an overachiever, and I am a person satisfied by work well done. I have goals and plans, among them are running a full marathon, publishing books, marrying a man who loves me, having children of my own and adopting more, making a home, growing a school, and seeing the world. But before any of these, I have the goal of molding and shaping a life that is in keeping with the commands and will of my Lord.

The most comfortable clothes I own are the ones that are stained and frayed, and have been in a dresser drawer for a quarter or more of my existence. Similarly, the people I most enjoy being with are the ones that have been walking beside me, and I by them, through the food fights and mountain tops of life. In this vein, I hope that the accomplishments I treasure most are the ones that point to Him. Like paint-splattered jeans and old friends, they might not look like much, but they mean a lot to me, and one other person.

Hindsight and Touchstones

When I was a kid I went to sleep with every stuffed animal I owned piled up on the bed around me because I didn't want any of their feelings to be hurt. I had my favorites, but none of the animals needed to know that. It was best if they all felt equally loved. I also remember a new refrigerator being delivered to our home, and the old one being hauled off. I felt terrible for the old refrigerator.

Of course, I grew out of that mindset, but even as an adult it has at times been hard to let go of "things." I feel disloyal when I trade in a vehicle that's been loyal to get me around safely for a new, shiny model. I even felt bad getting rid of my old Dell laptop in exchange for the fabulous MacBook Pro I am currently typing on. That old laptop was with me through many of my life's biggest moments. It was with me at the University of Idaho and rode with me in the old Chevy Cavalier when I moved to Texas for good. I completed my final semester's projects on it, and it was at home waiting while I walked across the stage at Stephen F. Austin to accept the diploma we had earned together. Why do we form attachments to the inanimate?

Naturally, the answer is in the emotions and memories attached to the objects, not the objects themselves. I keep a wooden box of mementos from an old boyfriend in my closet, not because I care about a macramé bracelet he made for me, and not because I harbor feelings for him ten, wait eleven, years later. The contents of that box are artifacts from my life at that point in time. I might open it up once a year, and every time I do a certain smell hits my nose and I am instantly taken back - to high school hallways, a theater class, and a house off Maple Grove in Boise, Idaho. Memories like those are vivid, and they keep me grounded. Every person needs touchstones in life to show them where they were; I believe that makes it easier to stay focused on where we're going.

The year I spent alone in Idaho forever changed me. I lived in the panhandle college town of Moscow, my parents and sister were in Texas, and my childhood home was in Boise. Whenever I made the 300-mile jaunt down Highway 55 to the City of Trees I always visited my house. Before it sold, I would still go inside. I would walk into our den and remember slumber parties with my best friend, whose name is also Rachel. Every Saturday for probably three years we slept on the two couches in that room. I would walk to my old bedroom. The holes from the tacks that secured posters and other relics of my youth were spackled and painted over, but every memory was crystal clear. I would leave the house and remember the excitement I felt two years before taking the same steps toward the limo that would deliver me to my senior prom. That was my past, and the tangible structure tied to the memories involved sat empty on Sandhurst. There were remembrances plenty, but my future was 1,800 miles away in Texas. The vacant house I visited every few months that year was the touchstone that revealed to me where I needed to go.

When some "thing" must go, or must change, how can we hold on to the essence wrapped up in it? If I were to throw away the wooden box on a shelf in my closet, how would I recall so vividly the memories stored inside it? By remembering the person, or the people, not the "things." By looking forward to making more memories down the road. By using lessons learned as the touchstone for growth and guidance in the future.

I wrote my first book on the Dell. But I'll write my second one on the MacBook. I grew up in a house on Sandhurst. I'll grow old in the one I choose a little time from now.

Learning not to lean

There is a picture that my parents have, my aunt and uncle have the same one, and a second set of aunt and uncle also have it. The picture is of three children, suspiciously crouched behind a set of steps, holding giant orange-and-black balloons. The looks on their faces would tell you that their whole world's happiness is wrapped up in the balloons, and in the company of one another. The latter is true, the former, however, might be misconstrued, as I know our whole world's happiness was wrapped in the security and love offered us by the six adults in the house.

My two cousins and I have remained close since that photo was taken about 24 years ago. Krystal has since married and moved to California, and David moved back to Texas from Mississippi, and married earlier this year.

Growing up it was me and Krystal, and our families respectively that wound up in Idaho together. Those years, formative for me, cemented forever the feeling of having a second set of parents, a second set of people to run to with my problems, a second set of ears to just listen and then help figure it all out. They left Idaho and returned to Texas before I was even a teenager, but the attachment remained. When I moved to Texas permanently and this aunt and uncle became my pastor and pastor's wife, the practice of sharing my worries and fears compounded. Once again, these miniscule threats to my peace of mind became theirs as well, although I now know bigger ones have always waited at the top of their mind's awareness.

(Hopefully) when we are children, we all have adults such as these. I think of what a wonderful childhood I had, and what a wonderful family I have today, and the picture I spoke of says it all. However, the three of us are no longer children, no longer babies. Nonetheless, (I can speak for myself if no one else) I still lean and depend heavily on the support and security that was in that house that day.

Recently, that changed. The tables have begun to turn, and now I must offer safety, security and even guidance to one or more of those all-important adults in my life. There was one night of fear and even selfishness, for lack of a better term, where my dreams were filled with needs and worries, none of which I could figure out without their help. Beginning the very next morning, their fears and worries were voiced to me, and out of love, honor, and respect, I could do nothing but start on the road to becoming whatever they needed me to be.

People constantly search for ways to be strong, fierce, even to be unaffected by what goes on around them. Ironically, I guess, I believe the purest form of strength is both found in, and refined by, love. Your love for someone else will propel you to set everything else aside and do what is necessary for the well being of that person or persons.

Think of a newly married, free-spirited man, holding his new born baby girl (yes, I'm stealing this from the insurance commercial). The first thing he thinks of is doing whatever is required to care for her forever, even in his absence. That is love. Think of the fear associated with being completely and totally responsible for another life (you already know if you are a parent), yet you find the strength to care for them.

It takes strength to forgive and love covers all sins. It takes strength to stand for what is right, and God's unconditional love encourages us to do this.

As you search for strength in your daily walk, look for love first. You will find the one, although a contrast in some ways, ultimately leads to the other.

Blessed toes

I am currently writing an article on a church with an amazing emphasis on being the Body of Christ, which really should be the emphasis of every church if you get to thinking about it. In my interview with the pastor, he exmeplified his ministry by saying that the toes aren't the most gratifying part of the body, but somebody has to play the part. If toes are so unimportant, why does it hurt SO BAD when you stub them?

This is a side story, but I walked into the solid-wood base of a chair last night and immediately found myself curled into the fetal position on the floor with tears in my eyes and dirty words on the tip of my tongue. I was certain one or two of my toes were broken, which concerned me, because I need my toes fully functional. If I'm not mistaken, the toes provide balance, and thus, the ability to walk? (Toe experts feel free to comment.) My point is: The smallest, most seemingly insignifcant parts, sometimes play incredible roles, and when they are hurt, every other part feels it and reacts (cue mental image of Rachel on the floor writhing in pain and contemplating x-ray trip).

I work really hard, every day. It seems I spend a lot of time doing things for other people, and solving problems created by others instead of "doing something constructive." In actuality, I must do things for others, because they are constantly doing stuff for me, so I can in fact, do something constructive for at least some amount of time every day. It is a cycle. Just by showing up every morning, daycare staff is in place to care for children and run the center so I don't have to. I may have to get them latex gloves, bring paper towels, remove a child for "level 2" discipline, and a whole bunch of other tasks that may at the moment irritate me, but in the end, I'm helping them do their job, so they can in turn allow me to do mine. I didn't just realize this cycle existed, I've always known it was there. However, I don't believe I have fully appreciated it, or the people involved in it.

If I went to work Monday and no one else arrived, I would be up the creek. Not only would I not be able to do my "job" I would be unable to run the center in a safe and legal manner. I would also undoubtedly lose my mind caring for 50+ children all alone. That scenario would never actually occur, but you get my point. Child care workers may be some of the most overworked and under appreciated people there are. To society at large, they may appear to be the "toes" but in the body of my work life, they are the part that provides balance and allows me to walk. So if I haven't said it lately - I appreciate the Calvary Way Daycare staff.

Acquired Fears

When I was a child, I spent my summers running barefooted around my cul-de-sac. I picked the legs off of grasshoppers and lowered myself to eye level with spiders, attempting to feed them, usually by throwing the legless grasshoppers into their webs. I crawled and laid on the floor of my garage and those of my neighbors. I ate before washing my hands. I drank out of the water hose. And, I just didn't worry.

These days, I cringe at the sight of nearly any bug and find a way to alter my path to avoid coming within its jumping distance. I don't even like sticking my hand under my bed for fear of what might be under it (I live in the country, folks. Brown recluse spiders and snakes are a realistic threat). It is always with scrutiny that I eat at a new restaurant or partake in a homemade treat made by someone I don't know, or trust. I drink only bottled water, although I'm working on that one. Why can't the ease of living we experience as a child be transferred to adulthood? I wish somedays I could unlearn all the facts that have taught me to worry and fear, but I can't. Truthfully, that knowledge is valuable, although cumbersome at times.

I came across a very large, terrifying grass spider the other day. Normally, I avoid even the tiniest of arachnids and wait for someone braver (like my 16-year-old sister) to come along and kill them for me. But at this particular time, I was interviewing a prospective employee and needed to appear as adult-like as possible. So, I gathered my wits, and from across the room, threw a magazine on top of the creature. I then cautiously approached the area and stomped the magazine a dozen times, and left the magazine in place, its weight guaranteeing my safety against any zombie-like characteristics this spider might posess. (Have you seen Arachnaphobia?!) Looking back, I see how this display most definitely secured my repuatation as a competent and professional person for the woman I was interviewing. What's more, I believe the spider may have already been dead, but I killed it more, because it was horrifying to look at. . . even in death.

After the woman left, I took a deep breath and lifted the magazine, and after two full minutes and ten tries, was able to scoop the remnants onto a sheet of paper and deposit it all in the trash.

Ten, twelve. . .wait. . . seventeen to nineteen years ago (HOLY COW!!!) I would have stomped the spider with my shoe, would have had great fun doing it, and then I would have gone about my summer day making mud pies. That's another thing - I hate being dirty now, and as a kid, I came home coated in dirt.

I taught a lesson last week that emphasized the importance of being child like when approaching the Kingdom of God. Such useful advice, but hard to apply, as most good advice usually is. I didn't worry as a child, and now I seem to worry about everything. I am making a conscience effort to stop, to approach life in general with a more child-like, not childish, attitude and outlook. God is going to take care of it all, but as an adult human it is often so hard to step aside and let Him. So, today's moral may be - the more difficult the advice is to follow, the more important it is that you do.

Neurotic or just punctual?

I am not a procrastinator. Not since my sophomore year of college anyways. I hate unfinished business, don't want it hanging over my head. In fact, I usually can't wait for my writing deadlines to arrive, because although I may have a project finished, I will not submit it early. I feel I should use every available minute and opportunity to further perfect it. So, most times, I am frantic for 7-10 days before a deadline trying to pick an article to death before submitting it by 9 a.m. on the deadline day (after reading it over a casual 6-8 additional times. . .you know, just to be sure).

Conversely, while working out I try to wish the "deadline" away. I just got off the treadmill a few minutes ago. I try to vary my routine, for fitness and to keep myself from going crazy. Tonight, I kicked my butt by maxing out for about 90 seconds, then walking at a brisk pace for 90 seconds. I went back and forth several times after a full 20 minutes of steady jogging. I like the brisk walking best, and when the 90 seconds started winding down and I knew I would have to ramp it up and kick my butt again, I relished my last few seconds of brisk walking. However, I never cheated, in fact I would usually push the speed button up a few seconds early. Surprise attack. On myself.

I'm not sure what the moral is here, other than this: Doesn't it feel good to just get it done?

My motivation at work has been fleeting lately. I get there in the morning all fired up, but by lunch, I'm pretty much done. I guess it's the summer mentality, and that's okay. Soon enough school will be back in and I'll be forced to dig for motivation at 3 and 4 in the afternoon because that will be the first chance I'll have all day to sit down and do desk work, project work, busy work. There will be so much to do, but I will get it done. And it will feel great. So, I guess it's okay to stare out my window for 10 out of every 30 minutes of the post-lunch work day. I'm getting plenty done in the morning, and I know me, when push comes to shove everything that needs doing will get done. Even if it's after lunch, even if it means breaking my brisk walk a few seconds early.

Teaching and Learning

I was thinking of mothers today - can't think why. . . Any the who, I thought about the mothers, the women, whose selfless selves have been immortalized in films and on the page. Women like Melanie Hamilton in "Gone With the Wind." Melanie was so kind, generous, patient, and a million other things. She was a good Christian, she was a woman, although fictional, that showed impeccable, untainted character.

I was thinking of my faults this morning, about how I am not like Melanie Hamilton. (Although, as much as I love Scarlett, I'm always angry at her for throwing Melanie's love away with both hands.) Here's the thing, I can't think of a flesh and blood woman who is like Melanie, or Jane Bennett, or Beth March. They were all fictional, after all. Still, there do seem to be women out there that are always the picture of grace and goodness, but I am certain behind closed doors they all get real. How can one be perfect in an imperfect world? The answer is we cannot. Someone extra challenging will always come along, a situation will undoubtedly unravel before us, that will make us behave human, in the worst possible way.

I try really hard to love all the people in my life, I try to love them faults and all. I have to, God loves me every day in spite of mine. It's hard. I want to teach people, and I'm only 25, so I don't know all that much. I guess I am striking a balance between learning from those who know more than me and setting an example for those who know less. That's a challenge, but if I truly work to achieve that balance it all sort of works out. If I choose to teach and lead by example, then my example of learning from, respecting, and honoring those with more wisdom than myself should naturally have the desired effect on the other party. Correct? Quite philosophical for 7:30 on a Sunday evening don't you think?

Conversely, what do we do when someone cannot, or refuses to be, taught? They are either so set in their ways, or so over-defensive due to low self esteem, that they cannot accept doing it any other way, let alone another person's instruction. They must already be right and perfect, otherwise, in their mind, they are worthless. I don't know how to help a person like that, and unfortunately, that sends me into a downward spiral of human-ish frustration.

I don't remember where I was at or what I was doing or what the woman looked like, but she simply said to me: "I learned a long time ago that you can't please everyone. So, I don't worry about pleasing anyone. I just please God."

I suppose that's the trick. If you're doing that, everything else should naturally fall into place. Why is it so hard to remember that throughout the day?

On leadership

This blog is not political, although I am a very political person. However, I recently witnessed a prominent politician (who shall remain nameless) display a ridiculously defensive attitude. And, it made me worry, more than I usually do, about the people in charge of our nation and by default, my future.

I've learned (read: try to remember) to compare the situations of others to my own before passing any kind of judgment, not that I should be passing judgment at all, but I am human, nonetheless. Being in a position of authority, at any level, opens a person up to ridicule and makes them the target of the finger of blame. That's just the way it is, leadership is a mixed blessing. I learn this more and more every day in my own life. The one in charge is most often seen as the bad guy, the fun hater, and when those they oversee spin out of control, it is most often the leader that actually slides off the cliff. Unfortunately, these incoming opinions are often transferred and become a part of the leader's opinion of themselves. I can see how that could make a person defensive, but I also know from personal experience that a defensive attitude usually comes from a lack of confidence in either the decisions one has made or one's ability to perform the job.

Needless to say, when I saw this trait in this politician, it made me fearful because it illustrated that this person is not confident in their decisions, is not pleased with the job their currently doing, and does not trust in their own ability to do a better job in the future. Disturbing.

Still, comparing their situation to my own, I tried to think of what I would do. It's taken much time for me to learn to do this, and I sometimes still forget, but in most cases I step back, evaluate, and then ask for help. The latter is a huge shot to the ego for some, it used to be for me. Why do we feel there is shame in asking for and getting help when the hand we're dealt gets to be too much?

Strangely enough, leaders who have asked for help have gone down in history as heroes. For instance, Winston Churchill asked for the help of the U.S. in WWII (although it took much coaxing before FDR agreed), the result was victory over an evil man and the salvation of millions. I give you Winston Churchill - household name.

Eventually, even the wisest leaders screw up. In fact, it's safe to assume that leaders do not approach wisdom until they've fallen down in the mud a few times. When mistakes are made, the best we can do is learn from them. It doesn't make the sickening swell you feel in your stomach go away any sooner, and it is often hard to fight the urge to punch people in the face when they tell you to "learn from it", however, it is the best advice, and the only way to turn a negative into a positive.

Don't trust someone who is afraid to be wrong, or hasn't made any mistakes. Because we've all made mistakes. It's impossible not to and people who claim they've made none - have. They just refuse to take responsibility for them.

Mail Issues

I miss getting mail. Real, hold it in your hands mail, and e-mail. . .legitimate e-mail. Now, in the gloomy shadow of a cancelled trip, I need the pick-me-ups of everyday life even more than usual. When you have something really huge and exciting to look forward to, and then it’s not there anymore, (even when it’s by your own action. . .or inaction, nonetheless) your normal life loses some of its luster. That’s why I need my mail. Mail holds such possibility.

I have a Blackberry synced with my personal e-mail and every time it buzzes, my heart leaps a little. What kind of news is it? I can’t tell you with any certainty what I’m hoping it might be, I just want it to be something. Okay, yes I can, I want it to be an agent writing to tell me she’ll represent my book, or better yet, that she’s already got a publisher waiting for someone with just my tone and she’s faxing over a 10-book contract with a $50,000 advance.

Oddly enough, it’s usually some hacked to death attempt at English telling me I’m the sole benefactress of an Ethiopian ivory fortune. I am well rehearsed in the deletion process. Spam mail is such a let down. The people responsible for spam mail should get bonuses for the fits of temporary depression they bring on. Not only are they phishing for identities and breaking down secure servers, they’re also playing on the emotions of poor freelance writers hoping for book deals. I can only assume they’re conspiring with pharmaceutical companies and other entities involved in the creation and distribution of drugs like Xanax, Wellbutrin, and Paxil. I think Little Debbie, and maybe Blue Bell, are also involved as my personal consumption of their products has increased three-fold since Sunday evening last.

On the USPS front, I’m only getting bills, small white envelopes symbolic of balls and chains. Reminders of responsibility and mistakes. This is one area that I am expecting something of value, I am a writer that gets paid, so every now and then my lust for mail is positively reinforced in the form of monetary gain. I could use some of that monetary gain about now.

To twist the knife ever so slightly, I did get a Membership Reward postcard from American Express today inviting me to redeem points for a fabulous stay in. . .where else. . .Paris!!!

For the record, as I seem bitter, I stand by the decision I made not to travel last week. It was not the right time, I know the difference between lack of peace and fear, and what I felt was an absence of peace. However, I am very disappointed that it didn’t work out, that I wasn’t able to do it, and for that matter, that I hitched my wagon to such a far away (literally) star. I really, REALLY needed a vacation, a disconnect, which I could have accomplished much closer to home. Or perhaps, that would have been scratched, too. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. I try not to question it too much, it’s best to just trust and wait for the perfect opportunity.

While I'm waiting, maybe I'll do some internet shopping where I can get some really exciting mail. New shoes, handbag, a red patent leather belt (basic item, yes, yet impossible to find). However, this will no doubt lead to the continued delivery of the aforementioned bills. Vicious cycle.

I'm back...from the airport

If you’ve read my blog at all the past few weeks, you know that I booked a trip to Paris, France, for Spring Break. If you read this blog Friday, you know that I was supposed to have left on said trip yesterday. And, if you’re reading this blog now, you know that I am in fact in the United States, and you are probably wondering why. So am I.

That’s not entirely true. I know why. I couldn’t get on the plane. For a long time, I have been living under the idea that I am a worldly, independent type, destined to see and explore every crevice of the earth. Turns out, that’s not who I am at all.

Nearly every source of my earthly joy is in a 30-square-mile radius and I am a very content person, a trip overseas was not going to add anything. Well, it might have and I know there wouldn’t have been anything wrong with me going, in theory. But, I couldn’t do it. I made it all the way to the airport and was within 90 minutes of taking off and I could NOT do it. Many people reading this probably think I’m a complete fool for not going, especially if you know me and have heard me rant and rave about wanting to travel and about this trip in particular. However, none of you were inside my head at the critical moment. None of you felt the lack of peace. None of you have to look at the credit card statement.

This is a lesson learned, that’s how I view it. God can use any means He chooses to teach us, to mold us. And, He may very well have used this to teach me, to show me, exactly what my life is supposed to be, what it is supposed to be about.

If I were in Paris right now, I would be one of several places. I could be touring Notre Dame, I could be on a bus familiarizing myself with the city, I could be exploring the Quartier Latin, or I could be crumpled on the bed in my hotel room in tears wishing I could go home. Although it seems preposterous, I could still be wandering through Charles de Gaulle looking for my baggage and/or shuttle driver, or there’s a small chance I could be stranded in Amsterdam. The crumpled on the bed is probably very likely. I am a strong person, but the people God has blessed me with are what make me strong. I am not brave, not on my own. If I have someone else to lead, guide or protect, I’m there, I’m on it, the responsibility drives me. Conversely, when it’s just me, I fall apart. I am a social being. Sure, I enjoy the occasional afternoon or evening of solitude, but for the most part I like having people with me, I like having someone to share with. When I am away from home, even on short trips, I always want the people I care about most with me. Especially my sister. A few months ago in Houston I walked through the Galleria wishing she was with me. That’s probably why I bought her the overpriced dinosaur t-shirt from Urban Outfitters.

My aunt told me last night: “You can do anything you put your mind to.” That’s true, but everything I’ve accomplished in my short life has been possible because of the support and love that’s always been present. Not one of my family members or friends told me not to go on the trip, but once I decided against it, nearly every one of them told me they were relieved. They hadn’t been comfortable with me going by myself, but they weren’t going to stop me because they knew it was something I had desired to do for such a long time.

I lost my peace and excitement over the trip more than a week ago. I woke in the night in a sweat and pulled out the travel documents ready to cancel. I didn’t, but I never felt much but anxiety from that point on. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more, only to get short periods of peace. Those brief instances were always quickly dashed away. What does that mean? I have no idea, and I probably never will. It was probably pre-trip jitters that even seasoned international travelers experience. Mine took many forms. Ultimately, the hurdle in the forefront yesterday was the flight. I woke this morning and turned on the news to discover that there were no plane crashes. I would have arrived safely. Everything other than that will probably forever remain a mystery.

Lessons learned:

**Nothing in haste – I thought booking this impulsively, as opposed to having seven months to wait like last time (oh yes, I cancelled a trip a few months ago, check the archives) would be good for me.

**Know my limits – solo travel is not something I can do, not that great a distance.

**Pay attention to past experiences – New York and Houston, when the former ended and the latter commenced, I knew I didn’t really like being away from home. I’m an east Texas girl. I’ve thought for a long time that I’m not, but I am. It’s a simple life, not that glamorous, not that exciting, but that’s the hand I’ve been dealt and I am grateful for everyone and everything that I have.

**Praise Him in tribulation – thank you God for a family and friends that are supportive of my decisions and of me, no matter how foolish. Thank you for forgiveness, provision, and a plan.

Clutter

Goodness, it's been almost a week since I posted. I've been down with a demon sinus infection, but still working, planning, and doing a bunch of other things. Being sick has catapulted me into a wariness of sorts concerning my trip, which begins in four days. I don't know about you, but when I'm sick, I don't want to be anywhere but home. I was like that in college. Even after being away from "home" for more than a year, when my throat began to ache, I instantly longed for my parent's house. So, having been ill these past few days, it has been impossible to fathom being anywhere but my cozy, comfortable, familiar home.

The sickness (or the medication I'm on to get rid of it) has made me so foggy, I can't think straight about anything, although things have improved greatly today. The aches and pains and fatigue have closed in on me and pushed away my desire and ability to do other, more important things, which brings me to my topic and today's title, clutter.

I look at my desk right now and it is covered in various stacks. Each of those stacks is a project I'm working on. I know the deadline and requirements for each, some are big, some small, but what they all have in common is their cluttering up of my life. This is my desk at the school, so I can shuffle things around and limp through my days. At home however, it doesn't work that way. Most of my writing is done at home, from a small red desk under the window in my bedroom, save this blog that I usually eek out during a lunch break. The red desk is the birthplace of “The Hatpin Killer”, it is where articles on architecture, construction, church sound systems, bridal sizes, and ski resorts are created, and it must be a clutter-free environment. For whatever reason I cannot sit down with the intention of writing anything (good) with the same stacks around that I allow at the school. This means laundry must be folded, hung and put away, the bed must me made, the books and DVDs must be straight on the shelf, the floor must be vacuumed, my stack of bills must be neat (and preferably paid) and the desk itself must be free of STACKS!

Why is this so? I don't know. Again, the stacks on my desk at the school don't bother me so much. Maybe it's because I have more space in that office than I do in the home office. Maybe the need for neatness at home is just subconscious procrastination. “I have to do this load of clothes before I can get started.” I have to change the sheets before I can read over that interview.” Maybe I'll never know, but I do know this, once the room is clean, I can always sit down and get busy with an article, whatever the topic may be.

The same goes for mental clutter. There is nothing worse than having an article due while I have some pressing personal issue on my mind. In fact, it’s dang near impossible to churn out anything but oatmeal-like dribble. This is why I become a peacekeeper when I’m on deadline, I clear my life of the possibility of personal drama.

As I write, the medicine is finally doing its job and I feel the fogginess lifting for good and I’m looking forward to a clutterless, unclouded day. Ironically, it’s supposed to rain cats and dogs tomorrow.

Riding the Shopping Cart

Standing in the parking lot of Sam's the other night, I saw a man, probably my dad's age, run full speed while pushing an empty cart. He then jumped onto the cart and rode it until he ran out of steam, then repeated the process. I also saw a bright orange monster truck with suicide doors, but that's for another post.

I've seen my own father ride the shopping cart through parking lots, and I've done it myself, although not since high school. Seeing an older person engage in what seems to be a childish diversion got me to thinking: Now that the world appears to be breaking down, now that everything we've accumulated as a nation or as an individual may soon be worthless, isn't it time to just chuck it and have fun?

The Bible says to occupy while we're on Earth - I've often taken that to mean we're not supposed to take anything too seriously or get too wrapped up in our Earthly lives and what they offer. However, I went to a wedding this weekend where the pastor instructed the new couple to live life, enjoy life. This seems to be an issue of balance. Enjoy the fruits of your labor, but don't put them in a place they don't belong, like before God.

God didn't put us here to be miserable, we have a purpose and we also have access to joy and peace that surpasses all understanding. God is in control. We are not. That's where I live. In fact, booking the trip to Paris was ultimately a control issue for me. And, I know if I had given into that urge and need to be in control, I would be unhappy for not going, and it would be a giant step toward leading a life full of worry and missed chances.

I seem to be writing about the trip a lot, but naturally I'm excited, and it being such short notice, I am spending the majority of my free time planning and preparing. I am not allowing myself to stake out a minute-by-minute itinerary, but I am planning some things, like which neighborhood I would like to visit each day. I'm trying to allow myself time to wander, which is what Paris is for. It's going to be good for me.

It's amazing to me, and once more, evidence that I serve an awesome God, that a still small voice keeps reassuring me when I have doubts about my travel plans. (Incidentally, these pesky doubts are coming fewer and farther between.) I was reminded the other day that Jesus was a traveler, that France is still a part of God's world, and that ultimately, I need to find a way to be strong on my own, with God as my only companion. This seems to be taking on a pretty serious tone for a brief spring vacation, but nonetheless, it's where I'm at and this is my blog. . .

The more serious and sinister the world we live in seems to get, the more important it is to just run as fast as we can and jump on. If you get the chance to run and jump again...take it. And, that's what I plan to do. I will carry on with my responsibilities, and I will live my life the way I'm supposed to because that's my insurance, but when and if it all comes tumbling down around me, I plan to be cool as a cucumber. The trick is being ready to park the cart when the time comes.

Monday, Monday

Holy cow! This day has already been insane. I miss the crisp, clearly defined seasons of the Northwest. Let me explain...I started my day on the assumption that this afternoon would be a sunny (dry) 69 degrees, and therefore straightened my hair. Then, what do I hear, the pitter patter of rain on the roof top. I put my hair in a clip - doesn't look good. I put my hair in a ponytail - also does not look good, and (here's where the Type A kicks in) slightly unprofessional, I think. Hair goes back down.

Meanwhile, I have an article due next week that I desperately needed to send out for fact checking this morning. So in between hairstyles, I was trying to upload the article and hunt down e-mail addresses for an architect, pastor and contractor.

On to the wardrobe malfunctions!! EVERY ITEM OF CLOTHING I PUT ON HAD SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT. It is now more than ten minutes past my standard departure time. I am never late. (Another Type A characteristic.)

In the car, driving to work. Get behind the slowest person ON the planet. Get to work 15v minutes late - after receiving at least one text message that a staff member was out sick, making this the 134th day in a row that we've had absenteeism in either our school or daycare (that's another post). (Yes, I like to use parentheses.)

Nevertheless, I am keeping a smile on my face because I never know who might be watching to see how I react. I love my life, challenges and all. I love the people I work with, even when they get sick. I am truly honored to fill the role that I do, so much that I cant' quite come up with the words to describe it. I'll work on that and tell you later.

Anecdote

I have nothing uplifting or even remotely funny to write about, well nothing acceptably funny. I can find humor in just about every situation, but I wonder is it really humor or just some hybrid breed of negativity and cynical sarcasm? I feel as though I’ve been neglecting my blog, but I don’t want to write about things that aren’t entertaining to the general public. I can chuckle myself into a frenzy over some pretty mediocre occurrences, but I doubt anyone else can find the humor in them. Few people join me on the rambling, wooded path that ultimately leads to my "humorous" outlook. When I try to verbally relay these anecdotes, most often they are met with the sound of crickets, so I figure writing them won’t get me much further, but at least I won’t be present for the uncomfortable silence that inevitably will follow – so here goes.

Last week I got a book deal – sort of. I still have to submit the final proposal, but after that, the contract will be faxed for me to sign and return. I set out Saturday to complete the proposal, which is not much more than an outline. I refused the antiquing trip the parents had extended an invitation for, I turned off the TV (wincing a little at missing my traditional Saturday morning movie), and I settled at the dining room table with my drafted outline, pens, reference books and a cup of coffee. I bent over my work with a determined demeanor and began writing, then scratching out, then writing some more, flipping through pages of my reference books, looking to the ceiling for inspiration. After approximately 12 minutes, I was finished. This task (which was not at all complex) I had assumed would take the majority of my Saturday, was completed before my parents even walked out the door. But, I still elected to park it on the couch in my pjs, where I stayed for roughly the next five hours. It was a good day.