I once was blind...

but now I see.

Literally.

I spent Saturday morning in the emergency room.

I went home to South Carolina this past weekend to visit with my family... which was great, but we ended up bonding in the emergency room of the Waccamaw Medical Center in Surfside Beach.

It starts like this...

Friday afternoon I took a nap, and I was woken up by an extremely sharp pain in my left eye. I figured it was just my contacts, so I went upstairs and took them out and let them soak for a while.

My contacts are supposed to be thrown out every 2 weeks, but I try to cheat the system and save a little money by throwing them out every two months.

Apparently there's a reason they tell you not to do that, however still not having any serious side effects thus far, I just figured I needed to change them soon.

After letting them soak for a while, I put them back in. My left eye was slightly irritated, but the pain was gone, so I thought I was fine and that the irritation was just a result of the long term use... again, nothing serious.

As the day when on, I started to notice a haze in front of my left eye. By dinner time, the pain started in again, and I could barely see past the haze that had now become a glaze, like that of a Krispy Kreme doughnut.

I took my contacts out, again, and basically just continued to rub my eye thinking that the pain was just going to go away and the glaze was just going to clear up.

I did manage to fall asleep, but woke up a short 2 hours later, by the pain that was now burning.

I sincerely thought I was going blind in my left eye.
This is it, I thought, this is where God gets me back.

Why I sometimes think that God is waiting to avenge me for stupid choices I have made is sometimes just as stupid and confusing to me as it is to my mentor when I tell her such things.

I can hear her now... "Snap out of it, J! Who do you think God is?"

She's got attitude, and I love it... it keeps me in place.

And she's right... there are consequences for bad choices, or disobedience, or what have you, but God isn't some angry little kid sitting on an ant hill waiting to burn me with a magnified glass.

For hours I tossed and turned, and tried to go back to sleep, but the pain kept getting worse.

I would get up and flush out my eyes in the bathroom repetitively, but nothing would work. I started to get scared when I realized the pain wasn't going to go away. Though I can not even begin describe how badly my eye hurt, it took me hours to accept that something was wrong.

I got mad at Jesus because I just wanted him to heal me.

"You healed lots of blind people," I told him, "please just heal me. Just make this go away... please... you can use mud, or spit... I don't care."

No answer. Just pain.

When I didn't hear anything back, I went downstairs, crept into my parents bedroom, and lightly tapped my mom on the arm. After a few taps and a few "mom"s that turned into "MOM"s, she popped up and stuck her arms out like when I was little, and in her half awake voice asked if I wanted to jump in bed with her.

I jumped in, and she held me.

I told her that I been up for hours and that my eye was getting worse. I was crying because it hurt so bad, but it hurt even worse to shut my left eye lid, so it hurt to cry.

We went out in the living room and she gave me some benedryl hoping that it would either help the irritation or that it would knock me out. It did neither.

We sat on the couch, in the dark, and we prayed. She's much more patient than me when it comes to prayer... and she knows her scripture, so she called God on it.

She kept claiming His promises and instead of focusing on how amazing His promises are, I was thinking, "yea, go mom!"

After praying, she went to wake up my dad.

So, my dad came out into the living room and sat with us, on the couch, in the dark, and he prayed.

By 5am my dad and I were on our way to the emergency room. We didn't know if they could help, but we knew the eye doctor wouldn't be open until at least 9am, and the thought of sitting there with that pain for 4 more hours made me cry even harder.

My mom made coffee (it's amazing how addicts will wait for coffee, even on their way to the emergency room), filled two little thermoses for my dad and I, and we were on our way.

After giving the nurse at the front desk my whole life story as to why I was in the emergency room, she typed it all in the computer, printed my name on a little bracelet and told me to follow Bob, or Earl (or some form of an older man's name with one syllable) back to room seven and wait for the doctor.

My dad followed Earl-Bob and I, and I plopped down on the bed in room seven.

Another nurse came in, and I gave her my whole life story as to why I was in the emergency room, because apparently the nurse at the front desk didn't forward the information to the nurse in the back (who was going to examine me) what had happened.

After she listened, she looked me over, said "ouch," and then said the doctor would be in shortly.

"Ouch"... yes that would be why I am here... "OUCH!"

The Doctor came in and wouldn't you know it, I gave her my whole life story as to why I was in the emergency room, because apparently the nurse in the back didn't tell the doctor (who was coming to examine me) what had happened.

I started to feel much like Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke, when he escapes from prison for like the third time, and the cops catch him, for like the third time, and he's hiding in this church...

he stands up, looks out the window, and out comes that famous line...

"What we have here, is a failure to communicate!"

Then they shoot him... which sucks... but seriously, it just proves his point.

I felt like saying that to the doctor about her hospital...

"What we have here, is a failure to communicate!"

I didn't feel much like getting shot (though I did think of it taking my mind off of the pain in my eye), so I just patiently tried to re-tell everything... for like the third time.

Machines in my face, drops in my eyes, and she still couldn't figure out what was wrong.

She told me she was going to put eye drops in that would numb my eye long enough for her to paint my cornea so she could look at something through a different colored light or something, and it worked... the numbing, that is. The eye drops felt amazing, but the feeling was temporary.

She wrote me a prescription for antibiotic eye drops, gave me some percocet for the pain, and then told me I had to go see the eye doctor, because she couldn't really find anything.

Before my dad and I left, he asked the doctor if she could give me some more of those eye drops that made my eye numb because the numbness had worn off... he asked in a sort of "one for the road?" kind of way (I love my dad).

Right away the doctor was like "Oh no, no, no, those are only to be used once or twice so I can get to the eye without her feeling it... if you continue to put those in, it will burn right through your cornea... they're only temporary... a quick fix."

Startled at the thought of a burnt cornea, I said nevermind.

My dad looked at the doctor and I think he kind of laughed at the thought of my cornea being burned out... not in a bad way, but in a way that was like "even with eye drops... a quick fix will never fix the problem."

He even made the comment... "the good feeling never lasts long... this is true in most of life."

I sat there and thought about that, in between my thoughts of my cornea being burnt out, and thought about how true that is... anything that numbs... drugs, alcohol, eating disorders, cutting, sex, porn, you name your struggle, or your form of coping... anything that numbs doesn't stay numb for long. Eventually, you have to deal with the problem... at least if you want to rid yourself of the pain.


So, I sucked it up, and sat with the pain again, that at least had decreased a little, and got back in my dad's truck to head back home.

On the way back we stopped by McDonald's, and apparently I got a chicken biscuit. I love those things, but to be honest I don't remember it too well because I had already taken the percoset, so by the time we left the hospital it was well into effect. When we got home I ate my chicken biscuit, looking slightly like a drunk, and then I passed out.

I woke up around 1:30pm.

By 1:40pm we called the eye doctor.

Her office is in Georgetown, which is 15 minutes away, and the receptionist tells us that they close at 2pm on Saturdays.

"If you come now," she tells my mom, "the doctor will see you really quick."

I jump in the car, still halfway in my pajamas, but wearing jeans, and we set out for the eye doctor.

We get there at 2pm.

My mom drops me off at the door while she parks, and after running into the door, I safely make it in.

The doctor was true to her word, and she waited for me.

After examining my eyes she tells my I have a bacterial eye infection that is caused either from wearing my contacts too long or wearing them while I sleep.

"I don't wear them while I sleep," I said.

She looks at me... "didn't you say you were taking a nap when they started bothering you?"

I was kind of surprised, "naps count?"

She did that 'your kidding me, right?' laugh.

So I did that 'you know I'm just kidding, right?' laugh.

Communication without communication.

She wrote me a prescription for new eye drops that were specifically for my infection and tells me I can't wear contacts for over a week... "you can only wear glasses," she says.




First thought... I lost my glasses last year!

Second thought... It's after 2pm on a Saturday afternoon, where the crap am I gonna get glasses?

She writes me a prescription for glasses and tells me if I order them from her office it will take a week for them to come in.

This math is not making sense to me... I can't wear glasses for a week, so I need to get glasses, but it will take a week for them to come in.

We tell her I am only in town for a few days, which I suggest everyone doing when they need something from their doctor because then they let you in on the secrets of quick service. She tells us of another place, 30 minutes in the other direction, that can make glasses in 24-48 hours.

That sounds great, but let's get real... it's still Saturday afternoon... they won't be open Sunday, and I leave Monday morning.

Regardless of how impossible it seems, we get in the car and we head to "the other place."

We get there at 3pm.

They closed at two!

While reading their hours, a couple walks out, and the door is open... so I walk in, pretending not to know they are closed.

A young man walks out, and just as nice as can be says "come on in, we're closed, but we can still help you out, what do you need?"

I told him my situation and he tells me to pick out some frames.

I started looking at my options and a woman came out to help me with prices and styles. She was very honest when they didn't look good.

I kind of felt like she was rushing me, but she was still one of the sweetest ladies I have ever met... with the deepest southern twang you have ever heard, and the brightest pink lipstick you have ever seen.

I didn't realize it, but she was moving kind of speedy because the guy who greeted me was waiting for me to pick out frames so he could cut them for me right then and there... "we want you to have those today!"

We picked out a pair and while he got to work, the sweet southern woman rang me up... "we'll getcha a good deal," she said, "y'all are so lucky... we always close at two, but that couple before you just happened to stop by and stay for an hour."

That's a pretty amazing thought.

When my mom walked over to where we were sitting, the woman pointed to her necklace... an icthus... or to those that don't know that term... the Jesus fish.

"Oh I just looooove your icthus," she said, "that's sooo purrty!"

Obviously, a Christian. Obviously, a conversation was started.

When the man finished with my glasses, he brought them out, rubbed them off, and handed them to the woman to give to me. She put the glasses on my face, and then put her hands on my head and prayed "Lord Jesus, I just pray for heelin' on this young girl's eyes!"

She hugged us and God blessed us, and by 4pm we were walking out the door, and I could see.

The pain was gone. And I could see.

Honestly, that was a flat out miracle... think about it...

I'm in the emergency room from 5:30-7am. Pain killers knock me out until 1:30pm. We get to the eye doctor at 2pm, which is when they close. They see me anyway, prescribe me meds, and tell me to get glasses that will take up to a week to come in. When we say that's not possible, they tell us that we can try a place in Surfside beach, which is 45 minutes back in the direction of the hospital... that we might be able to get a pair within 24-48 hours. Knowing that they aren't open on Sundays and that I'm leaving first thing Monday morning, we drive up there anyway. We arrive at 3pm, but notice the sign says they closed at two. We see a couple walk out, so we walk in, in which they say they are closed, but ask how they can help us anyway. I explain my story, the man tells me to pick out some frames and cuts me a pair of glasses right there on the spot. The woman places them on my face and prays for healing, or as she said... heelin'... on my eyes.

I basically just summed up this whole entry in one paragraph... which is basically what God did with me when I questioned how good He is that night in bed. He summed up His goodness in less than 24 hours.

I'm not always aware of God's goodness, but sometimes I get a glimpse. It make take 24 hours or it make take 2 years... it's never the same, which is why I can never figure Him out.

But instead of living my life trying to figure God out, I have actually figured out that I should just be thankful... for the stuff that may seem small, that I may take for granite, but stuff that is a true blessing to have... stuff like the gift of sight.

On my flight back to Chicago I had already forgotten that I was thankful I could see... until my drive back to the house when I saw all the leaves changing colors. They were beautiful... and how amazing it was to see them.




I was, and still am, so thankful that I have been given the opportunity to know for a fact, because I have seen with my own eyes, that fall is beautiful.

.green pear...blue moon.

The other night I met up with an old family friend.

He's a good friend of my dad's and he was actually my high school chemistry teacher, when I was whatever age you're supposed to be when you take chemistry. He was like 23 when I was in his class, so it's kinda weird if you think about it, but actually not that weird that we would be hanging out. To some, maybe, but to my family... not at all.

He called to say he was staying in the Chicago area and wanted to know if I wanted to meet up.


Last I knew, he didn't know I was in the Chicago area, but as word gets around in a small town and makes it all the way to California, where he now lives, he eventually found out.



He told me he was staying with a friend in Wrigleyville, so we decided to meet up around there on Monday night.



I get downtown, we meet up at his friend's apartment, and I wait for him to get ready... it's good to see an old friend. He asks about my family, and of course my dad. When I called my dad to tell him to guess who I was meeting up with, he knew right away it was him... nothing gets past your parents, no matter how old you get.

My dad wastes no time to mess around with him via text message...

"Remember God is watching, and he keeps me in the loop."

We laugh. He tells his friend my dad is a pastor who has been trying to convert him for years. I love that a conversion doesn't have to happen in order for them to be friends. My dad loves this guy, and he loves my dad. He's much like a big brother, and Monday night, my big brother was looking out for me.

Over dinner he asked about life, and I was honest...


"It's hard...


but it's good."


I shared with him why I came to the Chicago area in the first place. I shared with him my story and my faith.

Last time he saw me (3 years ago) back in South Carolina, I wasn't doing too well, but he didn't know that... nor did anyone else. Prior to that I was in his high school chemistry class, dating my high school sweetheart, who often got kicked out of his class. My boyfriend and I were quite different when it came to school... I loved school, but I loved that boy, so I didn't mind him getting kicked out of class.

All over dinner, we talked about old times, good times, bad times, and times to come. The conversation was great, but the story lies in how the night progressed, and what exactly dinner looked like for the two of us...

After leaving his friend's apartment we walk down Clark St. toward Wrigley Field. We pass a few places, most of which closed, either because it is Monday or because of the economy, so we keep walking to explore our options. As we walk, I point out a comedy joint and tell him I have been to a few shows there, in which they do long form improv, and that it's pretty funny. I say there is a show that evening, but it's not one of their better ones, so that alone is my reason why we shouldn't go.

He's still interested in going... "I may fight you on that because I'd really like to see a show..."

I realize I have to be honest...

"OK, here's the thing... that might be kinda awkward for me. You see, there's this guy and we used to hang out, but we don't anymore, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to talk to me, and well, he takes classes there, and it's kinda 'his spot,' and I don't really wanna run into him, I mean I do, but I don't, and it would just be really awkward... for me"

He gets it, and we keep walking. He asks if the bar next to the comedy place is too close to the comedy place, but I say it's fine.

We go in, we sit down, and we order dinner.


This is classic...

He asks what I'm going to order and after I tell him, he says he is going to feel like a woman. After he tells me what he is going to order, I say he should feel like a woman.

I ordered the "Black Angus," a rather large cheeseburger with a side of fries. And to wash it down... a 20 oz. Blue Moon... probably my most favorite beer ever.

Not only did he order a salad, he ordered the "Pear Salad." And to wash all that manliness down... a tall glass of Pino Grigio... probably the most un-manliest wine ever... not that it's not OK for men to drink it, it is... but, you know, there's a time and a place.

I laugh at him, but he laughs too, so we know it's all good. He says he is secure enough in his manhood to order a salad (I remind him it's a pear salad) and a Pino Grigio. I tell him that's good because I'm secure enough in my recovery, and in my womanhood, to order a cheeseburger and a beer (all the while thinking about how I am totally going to blog about this).

The night goes on, and we enjoy our opposite meals, only every now and then distracted by the Patriots playing football behind us.

To give him credit, I didn't finish my whole burger, so I get the rest to go. When we walk out the door he says he'll carry my leftovers because he'd at least like to feel like half a man. I tell him we'll just pretend that he had the cheeseburger. He feels good about that.

We walk back down Clark Street and he says he doesn't know of any other places to go that are still open, and before I think about what I am saying, I tell him about a little cafe I know about where I like to go and get coffee. He asks where it is and I say it's right down the street and I point to one of my favorite little joints with big windows and funky relics... unsure if I actually want to go there.

"Let's go," he says.

I fess up again...

"OK, here's the thing... that also might be kinda awkward for me. You see, there's this guy that works there, who asked me out, and it was really weird, and..."

I stop and think about what I am saying, feeling the need to clarify...

"OK, I realize it sounds like I get around, but I really don't... I've only been asked out twice this year, and one was from the guy at the comedy joint and the other was from a guy at this cafe... so it just so happens that these two places, that I seemed to mention, and that you seemed interested in going to, are actually places that are slightly awkward..."

He laughs before I finish what I'm saying.

"Don't worry about me," he says, "it's not awkward for me... but if you want me to make it awkward for him, I can do that."

I laugh. Then he adds, "but if it's awkward for you, we just won't go."

I think about it... I really would like to go to this cafe. And I've gone there long before that guy even asked me out. And I don't want that guy to be a reason for me not to go anymore. And ultimately, I don't care what that guy (who I don't even know) thinks of me going to "his work" with another guy because I know the truth... I know I'm there with my big brother... so to speak.


And, I think to myself, if it is awkward, it will make for a great story.


I nervously open the door, but we go in and sit down. I feel safe once we make it to our seats. The waiter recognizes me, but fortunately it wasn't you know who... he wasn't working... a sigh of relief.

We sit and enjoy coffee and tea. He tells me about his girlfriend and we talk relationships again.

"Your dad would kill me if I gave you relationship advice," he says.

I laugh, because knowing his dating life, I know he is right.

He hesitates, and all he says is...



"Don't settle. Don't ever settle."


I smile, because I think that is the best relationship advice that someone can give another person.


And I laugh, because my dad would actually agree with him...




"Don't settle. Don't ever settle."

the binge

I wrote this entry over a week ago, but never finished it.

I still don't even know if it's done, but I have another story to tell, and in order to do so, you need the information from part one.

This would be part one...

..........................

I'm a binge writer.

I'll go for days, even weeks without writing, but then the second I start to write down what I'm thinking, I can't stop.

I'll be late for work, I'll ignore my cell phone, my coffee will turn cold, my bladder will be borderline exploding, but I won't care... all because I'm writing.


Being in recovery from an eating disorder, as well as being all to familiar with binge drinkers, I'll take binge writing any day.

I am grateful for my form of binging.

I never thought I would say that.


So, right now I am on a writing binge and I just want to write... I don't know what about, but we'll find out.



The problem is... binge writing and writer's block don't mix very well. I've already erased two different stories.

I feel stuck.



Well, maybe this one will lighten the mood...






Monday night, one week ago, I was asked out on a date.

The guy was my waiter, and to give him credit, he waited until the second time I went to the restaurant to ask me out.

The first time he was my friend and I's waiter he intrigued me, but not in a "he's my type" kind of way. He was wearing a tee shirt that was borderline too small for him and it said "The Second City," so I told him I liked it. I asked if he was a big fan since he was sporting the tee shirt (Second City is a comedy club in Chicago), and his response was "actually, I teach there."

Apparently, he taught improv, but as the night when on I wondered exactly what kind of improv he taught because he didn't laugh at any of my jokes.

I held up a ketchup bottle and said I would catch up with him later.

HAH... OK, NO... I didn't really do that. But the thought of it in my head made me laugh out loud.

(I got that joke from my mom... she's full of them)

But seriously, I did notice that he had a really dry sense of humor... and there's nothing wrong with having a (really) dry sense of humor, it's just different... like the British.

He made fun of me for working at Starbucks, and I don't know who told him that boys still make fun of girls to show them that they like them, but it's not true.

When my friend and I left, she left the tip and I left him the famous "Green Apron" book, which is a little booklet you receive when you become a partner at Starbucks to learn how to treat the customers.

Why I had that little booklet in my bag is beyond me. It's not something we carry around at the store trying to figure out how to talk to people. The routine is usually to get the book, flip through, maybe read some of it, if you're a girl, and then throw it away.

I don't think I'm supposed to say that, but let's be honest, how many partners still have their green apron books?

And that was that.

We said goodnight, and we left.

Round two...

Last Monday.

Same restaurant, different waiter. We order dinner and 10 minutes later our funny little friend comes walking in to start his shift. Apparently he's a closer. Without looking at him, I can see him looking over at our table. He walks up, and sits down beside me.

"Well hello JJ"

"Well hello (insert made up name here)"

"I liked the little book you left me, except I was disappointed."

"Why? You didn't get some pointers from it?"

"No, I was disappointed cause it didn't have your number in it."

I laughed. "What?... no... it's not that easy."

I love interactions with guys who are so used to girls throwing themselves at them because it is so awkward... for them.

He said he was embarrassed, which caught my attention because usually I'm the one saying "awkward" or "embarrassing," so I gave him credit for being honest.

My friend and I continued our dinner and had a few more interactions with him through out the night. I think I thought he was funny, or maybe I just liked that he was paying me attention.

Anyway, I got caught up in the attention, and I have been told that I am quite naive, so the combination of the two never seems to mix too well.

When we started to leave he asked what I was doing tomorrow night.

I knew I had to do something, but I couldn't for the life of me think of what it was.

I told myself I would figure it out later... "nothing."

"Do you want to go out?"

I said sure and he proceeded to tell me he would give me his number and I could call him tomorrow.

Wow, really, can I? Can I have that privilege?

I looked at him like he was kind of crazy and was like "you give me your number and I can call you?"

What guy asks a girl out and then gives her his phone number so that she can be the one to call him? I know this is 2008, but seriously, where are all the gentlemen?

He then came up with the idea that we should switch numbers, and I said that was fine... that we could meet in the middle (wimp).

Before we leave, I ask him his last name. He tells me, then asks why.

"In case I turn up missing tomorrow night my friends will know who to look for."

He didn't laugh.

Note to self: don't express a fear of being kidnapped by the person asking you out, even if you are joking. If they don't know you, it's a little weird.

He said he would call me tomorrow and that was that.

Here's what is going through my head when this guy, who I don't know, is asking me to go out...

"OK, I don't know him, but cool, we can get to know each other, maybe get coffee, talk about life. I wonder if he's a believer. If not, I wonder what he believes. I wonder if we will even have that conversation. I know I'm definitely not telling him my story. I don't get that vibe from him, but if we become friends maybe I'll tell him. I'd like to have a good guy friend. I wonder if he wants to be friends."

Seriously... two interactions with this guy and all of this is already going through my head.

To be honest, most girls usually think even further ahead than that when they are actually really interested in the guy... but we won't go there.

So, I'm thinking, I know that the "click" isn't really there with this guy, but it'd be cool to be friends with him.

Naive, right?

After he called the next day and I said I couldn't go out because I had remembered my prior commitment, we agreed to do it another night.

Two days later, he calls again.

Now, I don't know if I mentioned, but he lives in the city. I live in Naperville. It's not exactly convenient for last minute planning, but I'm totally game for anything last minute or unplanned.

He asked if I wanted to meet up that night. I told him I was already planning on going downtown with a few girlfriends to go to a show, so we'd be around in that area, and maybe we could meet up later. We could just play it by ear.

That's how I play best... by ear.

I drove three other girlfriends and myself downtown Chicago, all the way wondering what in the heck this was going to look like...

"So, are we all gonna hang out? Does he think it's just going to be me and him? I told him I was coming down with my girlfriends. This is weird for me to hang out with him and them because I don't even know him yet. That's awkward. Oh crap, this is gonna be really awkward."

After our show he calls and says for me to walk down to where he works. I say I am with people, but OK, that we would be there in a little bit.

My friends and I arrive at his place of employment, the restaurant where he was first our waiter, and before we walk in the door I tell them that I know for a fact that it's going be be awkward...

"I'm OK with it being awkward, I'm just warning you that it's going to be awkward. I don't even know this guy."

Honestly, I like meeting new people, so it didn't bother me that he wanted to hang out, but since I didn't know him, it also didn't bother me that my friends were coming along.

When I walked up to the table he was sitting at, counting his money, I said hey, but he proceeded to count his money... until he could pause to say hi.

I then introduced him to my friends, but he continued to count more money and didn't even bother looking up at them. They just stood there and I just looked at them. An awkward 20 seconds later he looks up and says "Oh hey, sorry..." and shakes their hands.

He looks at me and says "so, what's the plan?"

Here we go...

"I don't know... I don't really have a plan. I know that we're hungry and we need to eat..."

He looks at me... "Huh! We should have made a better plan."


How do you respond to that?

He looks around, "alright, well let me go finish some stuff here and I'll be back."

The three of us sit down, waiting for our fourth friend to join. He comes back, sits down, and asks me again what the plan is. Dude, I don't know, you're the guy! Right?

I lay it out for him...

"OK, let's just be honest... a) this is really awkward. b) I know the three of us need to eat. 3) we all rode together. 4) this is just really awkward. c) I don't know if you even want to hang out where you work, but d) I am open to suggestions. And e, f, and g) I'm sorry this is so awkward."

He laughs.

Improv guy finally laughs.

He asks if I want to do it another night, and I said that was fine if that would be better. I told him he was more than welcome to hang out with us, but it might be kinda weird (for him).

"Yea, that'd be awkward," he said.

We sat there silently.

"It doesn't have to be awkward, " my roommate interjects.

He just looked at her. The table next to us was apparently having an awkward conversation as well, because as soon as we got silent, the girl at that table says out loud "and it was just really awkward."

We all laugh... except for him.

He gets up, again, and says he'll be back.

By this time, our fourth friend joins us. He comes back, I introduce the two. He could honestly care less.

This fourth friend that joined us takes improv classes at another comedy theater downtown. She tries to make the connection with him...

"So, you teach at Second City?"

He kind of hesitates...

"I'm going to."

You're going to? is my first thought, because I'm pretty sure you told me that you did.

By the way, people, in this day and age, don't lie about what you do just to impress someone... it's called google, and they will find out.

I don't say anything. She continues to ask him questions, but he just doesn't seem interested in talking to her.

You can tell a lot about a guy based on how he interacts with your friends.

Chances are, if he could care less about your friends, he could care less about actually getting to know you. Or maybe he actually does want to get to know you, but not in the way that you think. Not in the way most girls think, because we are idiots, that don't seem to realize that most men only want one thing.

I take that back. I really don't mean that... we're not all idiots.

OK, OK... and in all honesty, all men don't only want one thing... a vast majority, maybe, but not all.

So to continue my story...

He asks if he could go take a shower and we could meet up later. I again remind him that we all rode together, and are all leaving together, and that the fourth friend has to work early in the morning, so we aren't staying out too late.

He seems bothered by that.. as if my friends were going to leave and I was going to stay downtown Chicago... YEA... RIIIGHT.

I didn't know what he was thinking, because I told him when he first called me that I was already going downtown with some of my girlfriends. I didn't realize meeting up with him meant ditching them.

Huh? We should have made a better plan.


My Uncle Buddy always used to tell me "fail to plan... plan to fail."

I think it's safe to say that the attempt to meet up with this guy was a complete failure.

I never heard from him again.

My friends asked if I was disappointed... and maybe I was that night, but not necessarily because it was all so weird.

I was disappointed because... he's a guy, and I'm a girl... I mean, I'm glad he's a he and I'm a she, but it seems like unless we make some kind of physical connection, there's no sense in making a connection at all.

That's stupid to me.

Which leads me to my next point...

People I work with always ask me why I don't really date that much... or at all... and other than that fact that I have to be asked first, I say because there are two types of girls in the world today... those that just want to have sex, and those that just want to get married.

I am neither.

I can't help the man who wants commitment no more than I can help the man who wants sex.

I can only be me. And sometimes that means just trying to figure out who exactly "me" is.

And I admit, sometimes it's lonely... it's lonely to try and find yourself. It's lonely not to settle for what someone else wants. But I can't. I can't compromise who I am and what I believe just to avoid a moment, or even a whole season, of loneliness.

And I know people always say not to say "I can't," because it really means "I won't," but I don't agree with that right now. Because I will. I will settle. I will compromise.

I will... even if it is outside of God's will... I will.

I can't do it on my own.

I just can't.

...........................




(ps... I apologize to most men for my bitter comment... I was listening to Alanis Morissette at the time)

shelter me

October 1st I had the opportunity to see one of my favorite artists perform live in Chicago. I can't tell you the number of people who asked who he was when I mentioned I was going to see him.

I feel the need to educate these people.

I first heard this singer/songwriter when I entered treatment (eating disorder/depression) in February of 2007. He's been around much longer, but not having much of an interest in life prior to that time, I didn't have much of an interest in music either, as I once did when I was a child.

One of the girls I roomed with had two of his songs on an Ipod, and I fell in love. Not with him, but with his music.

I could feel his music. I didn't just listen to it... I could feel it. Which is when I realized... I could feel. I didn't have to numb out... I could feel.

When I left the treatment facility to move into a group home in Naperville, the girl sold me her Ipod for $50... an amazing deal considering the music was included.

I can remember consecutive nights crying myself to sleep while listening to the only two songs by this artist on my just-like-new $50 hot pink Ipod.

The girl I bought it from had all kinds of music downloaded, but only two songs made it to the "recently played" list.

Feeling him sing and listening to him play the guitar inspired me.

After years of not touching it, I picked my guitar back up. Well... technically, it wasn't mine, it belonged to the group home, but none the less, I picked it up and started to strum again. I started to feel again. And for the first time, I started to sing. Loud.

With eating disorders, one wants to be invisible... not seen, not heard.

For me to sing was a way of shouting from the top of my lungs "I want to live!"

I have discovered many singer/songwriters since then, but none compare to this man, at least not in my book, and not in the way that he has impacted me.

I was blessed with the chance to seem him live... an experience I won't forget. And now, I want to share him with you.

The amazing thing is, I found this video of him on YouTube, and it only contains two of his songs... the exact two that were the first I ever heard while crying myself to sleep those nights in treatment.

His name is Ray LaMontagne, and his music plays a part in the story of my recovery, and inspires me for the journey ahead.

your mama

Ha.

So I should watch how I word things?

Inre: my last blog

Asking God to come and get me is in no way referencing that I want my life to end. Asking God to come and get me is asking God to pursue me.

The statement reminded me of when I was a child running around with my brother and sisters. We would chase each other out in the yard or through the house screaming "you want me? come and get me!"

It was like a dare and an invitation.

I stood up from my desk the other night, after talking with a friend whose world seems to be shattered, and I told God that now it was personal.

I remember being an "aggressive" child growing up, to put it lightly. I could handle people making fun of me... it really didn't bother me all that much. But if some one ever messed with someone in my family.... OH... it was on!

7th grade. Gym class. I said something to John Meagan and his response was "your mama!"

I froze dead in my tracks, eyes glaring, fists clenching. I grabbed a basketball and ran as fast as I could toward him (I run fast for a white girl). I chucked the basketball at him as hard as my scrawny little arms would allow. When he saw me coming he turned to face the wall. The ball hit his back, bounced off, almost hit me, and he fell to the ground.

"Don't you EVER say anything about my mama! EVER!"

Have you ever seen the movie little giants? The best way I can describe what I looked like as a 7th grade girl yelling at this guy to not talk about her mama that way is literally a scene in that movie. Watch it... you can't miss it.

I didn't care if John Meagan made fun of me. Growing up as a preacher's kid you learn that other people make fun of you because they are insecure about themselves. I tuned them out (to a degree... I wasn't super kid). But don't bring my mama into it. Then it's personal.

I stood up from my desk the other night, and I treated God much like I treated John Meagan that day in gym class.

I thought of the people who have become like family to me over the years, and how some of them are going through some trialing times. I stood up from my desk, walked toward my door, and mumbled under my breath "now it's personal."

I felt like God was launching some all out attack not only on me, but those closest to me. He knows right where to get me... through the ones I love.

I wrestled back and forth with where I was at with God. One minute I was so angry at Him and would start to ask why and question His goodness, but before I could finish a single thought, I found myself saying "But I trust you. I trust you."

"Please, don't give up on me Lord, I trust you."

There is an attack... on my life, and that of my friends, and my family, and all the rest of us who know we need Jesus. But it is not God who is attacking us. It is God who is fighting for us.

Sometimes we just need to get out of His way.



And here's the thing...

God is HUGE. BIG. EXTREMELY LARGE. MUY GRANDE.

At Starbucks we call that VIENTE!

So for the sake of being relevant in today's culture, we'll say...

God is VIENTE!


To further explore this thought...

I once lived with two great danes who had a combined weight of 300 pounds. They were like horses, but not. While playing with my not-horse dogs one day I thought to myself, "if God were a dog, He would probably be a great dane."

They are beyond intimidating because of their size, so people don't usually get too close. But... if you give them a chance, you realize that they have these sweet personalities, and are actually really very trustworthy dogs, who are just eager to love and be loved. They are protective of those they love, a character less obvious in smaller dogs, and basically, were you to break into my house, they had the final say on if you lived or not.

On the inside, they are no different than the smaller dogs, but due to their large stature, they are assumed to be threatening and usually avoided.

All that to say... that night when I borderline taunted God and told him to "come and get me," and felt the need to protect my friends, I forgot who I was dealing with. I forgot His character. I forgot His gentleness... His "smaller dog" characteristics, if you will. The ones that you don't see when you are focusing on His size and power and allowing the intimidation of who He really is to keep Him at a distance.

Read the Old Testament... He is intimidating!

But read the New Testament... He is love!

He is love.

Ultimately, I am thankful. God is not a 7th grade version of John Meagan, a cute little dog hidden in a great dane's body, or a viente sized Starbucks cup.

God is love.

And that is as personal as it gets.

five girls

I told God to come and get me tonight.

I don't even know if I knew what all that entailed, but I got an attitude with Him after hearing another one of my sister's (not blood related) talk about how broken hearted she was, and I told Him to come and get me.

"Come and get us all!" I said.

"We are your daughters! What are you doing? When are you going to put your foot down? When are you going to stand up for us and protect us? I know you love us, so if it us that are making these bad choices about who we allow into our lives, then shame on us, but please, God, please give us the wisdom to know better and the strength to stand up for who you made us to be. You guard our hearts! We are weak, Lord, we are weak! We'll settle for comfort and for less than if you don't come and fill this void that you've promised to fill... that only you are capable of filling, Lord. So come, fill me, Lord, fill us. Come and get me! Come and get us all!"

One by one I named my girlfriends, along with myself, and asked God to pursue us.



I want to be pursued. I am a girl... and I am human. The human desire to be loved mixed with the female desire to be loved is a mighty powerful combination... not just to receive love, but to give it. I love hard. And I will love someone real well one day... this I do not doubt.

But my questions arise when I wonder if anyone will ever be capable of loving me in that same way.

And even though I am not at a place in my life where I am "ready" to share that love with someone, the desire to be pursued, to be loved, doesn't go away.

I think this is why so many people settle. They'd rather live with less than in the now than wait without until the later. People want that desire to be met, so they find someone to meet it.

But that's just it... I don't want to find someone to meet my need to be loved. I don't want to find anybody.

I want God to meet my need to be loved and I want Him to show me who He desires to share my heart with.

Does He even desire to share my heart?

This is something I've wondered a lot over the years.

And whether it be based on my own past experiences, or the stories of others, I sometimes wonder if I even want God to share my heart with someone else.

Ultimately I do, but the fear of a broken heart paralyses me.



Five girls. There are five girls I have talked with this week who have been broken hearted by some form of a relationship with the opposite sex. Some left with no explanation, some with too much of an explanation in the form of hurtful words and name calling.

My heart breaks for these girls.

This is not an anti-male post... not at all. Nor was the one I posted when I "said it," as some people asked. I was hurt by him, but he was hurt too, at some point in his life, I'm sure.

This is a post about brokenness. About my own and that of others. About my flesh that wants to place all the blame on the ones who have hurt me, but my spirit that says we are all weak. We are all damaged... in some way, shape, or form. We all have our own stuff, and it is going to affect who we are and even how we interact with others. And while some might be OK with our stuff, others will not. And when it's the others who aren't, that's when it's hard. You can't make someone be OK with your stuff no more than you can make someone else's stuff be OK.

I say all this because I realize that those who are hurting are the same ones who have caused hurt at some point. No one is exempt. We've all been hurt, we've all caused hurt.

These girls, these women are hurting, and God knows I am praying for them.

And He knows that I am not exactly at a point in my life where I want to defend the male population, but that is proof that the Holy Spirit lives in me, because my heart breaks for them too.

These women have been hurt by men, who have been hurt by women, who have been hurt by men, who have been hurt by women, who have been hurt by men, and so on, and so on, and so on.

We're all broken. We're all hurt.

And so I end my prayer with this...

"God... we are your daughters and your sons. Come and get us all!"

i have been thinking...

i'm glad i'm back on my meds.

escaping

"Jage, I'm worried about you."


When I asked my roommate tonight why she was worried about me, I thought I was going to get some sympathetic answer about poor, poor pitiful me. I thought I was going to be affirmed in my thinking that the world had some how done me wrong, and that God owed me a break... at least just one break.

"You're not making wise choices," she said.

This caught my attention as it was not about what was being done to me by others, but about what was being done to me by me... my own choices.

I sat there silently and stared out the window as she drove back to our house.

I wanted to defend myself... but I knew she was right.

To defend myself would be to defend my bad choices. And that is a race with no end in sight... a race that I don't have the energy to run any more.

So... instead of defending myself, I sat in silence.

I sat in silence, and I once again asked myself "how can I get back on track?"

And sitting here typing this I realize... I can't.

I can't do it.

I want to be the hero of my own story and save myself, but I can't.

I'm stuck. And I'm tired.


Therefore... I'm going to escape reality for the next 8 hours... I'm going to go to bed.