Now that the weather is getting warmer, we have a patio set up outside of Starbucks. Every night we have to pack it up and every morning we have to set it up. I never thought I would hate a patio so much.
Two mornings ago was my morning to set up the patio... oh joy. We were later than usual in setting it up because we had been pretty busy early on. As soon as we had a lull I set out to unlock, unleash and unveil the patio for all to enjoy at 6:00 in the morning.
As I was getting to my last table I could see a man walking up toward me from the corner of my eye. You know how, even though they may not be close to you yet, you can tell when a person is walking toward you and not past you? It was like that... I just knew he was walking up to me.
Sure enough, he got up to the patio (that had just been beautifully set up) and as he leaned against the gate I heard him say "Well, good morning young lady!" It was obvious he was homeless and had been wandering around all night.
I smiled, but before I could even respond he interrupted... "you know, may I ask you a question?"
"Sure," I said, "what's up?"
"I was just wondering what a guy has to do to get a cup of coffee?" Again, I tried to respond but he kept talking... "you see, my car got towed last night, I had to sleep on the street. I slept by the lake and now I'm frozen. By the way, my name's Adam..." He stuck out his hand to shake my hand and to be honest I hesitated for a second... for a Caucasian man, he had the blackest hands I had ever seen, but I stuck my hand out and shook Adam's hand.
Call me judgmental, but it was blatantly obvious the man did not own a car and therefore did not get it towed. I knew he wanted me to feel sorry for him thinking that would make me give him a coffee, but the truth of the matter is, I was already going to give him a cup of coffee.
Just as I was about to say "I'll give you a cup of coffee if you stop lying to me," he kept going... "my mom died last night. I lost my girl and my son, they moved to Arizona. Have you ever seen a grown man cry?"
He actually paused to let me answer... "once."
"Well you're about to see it happen right now if I can't get a cup of coffee. I almost hung myself last night. I just need a cup of coffee. I swear to you, when I get my car back I will come back here and pay you back. I will do anything, anything. Good things never happen to me. I swear to you I will come back here tomorrow and repay you."
He was literally whining at this point and I was seriously annoyed.
Normally I love engaging in conversation with new people, and I have a soft spot for the homeless people I encounter in the city, but this guy was different.
To be honest, it creeped me out that he could look me straight in the eye and say "I swear to you," knowing that he wasn't telling the truth. I didn't like it. While he was saying these things, he stopped another lady who was walking by... "hey, ma'am, can I please have a cigarette? My car got towed last night, I had to sleep on the street. My mom died. I lost my girl and my son. I almost hung myself last night."
Right at that point, my shift supervisor stuck her head out the door and mouthed "HELP," as it was getting really busy and I had left her in there by herself. Even though I didn't like that I was being lied to, I didn't want to walk away from the conversation just yet. Nonetheless, while he was bumming a cigarette I had to head inside.
While I was ringing people up I kept thinking to myself about taking him a cup of coffee and a sausage sandwich and asking him to tell me the truth... not because he owed it to me, but because I wanted him to know that he didn't have to lie.
The line of people kept getting longer and longer, and I kept getting frustrated because I just wanted to go back outside and talk to Adam, but I couldn't leave my supervisor on her own... obviously.
I kept ringing people and went to put a sausage sandwich in the oven when I saw Adam walk in. The line was long, but he maneuvered his way around people until he got straight up to the counter. Not being at the counter at that point, he looked at Heather, my shift supervisor and asked... "have you ever seen a grown man cry?"
My first thought was "OH man, that's the last person he should try to get a free cup of coffee from after cutting everyone in line to ask if she's seen a grown man cry." My second thought was "is this guy serious?"
Heather didn't answer his question, she just told him if he wanted something he would have to wait in line like everyone else.
Instead of waiting in line, he turned to the person he cut in front of and asked "have you ever seen a grown man cry?"
I couldn't believe it. I was seriously shocked.
I then heard Heather tell them that if wanted to get something he could wait in line, but he could not ask our customers for money.
I guess in an attempt to be polite, he walked to the middle of the line so Heather couldn't see him and began asking those people if they had ever seen a grown man cry. Mind you, he had yet to cry at this point.
He walked around to where I was standing and said "hello, beautiful" and smiled real big (even though he was down on his luck). "What are the chances of getting that coffee?" I was honest and said "right now not too good just cause it's really busy, but..." and before I could even finish he turned to a customer who just walked in and proceeded to tell them about how his car got towed, and his mom died, and he lost his girl and his son.
I was so frustrated with this guy. I would have given him a cup of coffee if he just would have waited for a second, but he didn't even give me the opportunity to do so.
As frustrated as I was, I can't say that I'm much different. Sometimes I'm so urgent about getting what I want when I want it that I completely miss out on the blessings that happen while waiting. I started to realize that that's how I act with God sometimes... a lot. I ask Him for something but before I let him answer, I remind Him that I am the victim and then list the numerous reasons why I think I should get it.
I'm so tired, and maybe that's why. Maybe I'm working too hard to try to make things go my way instead of resting while waiting. Maybe I need to slow down. Maybe I need to calm down. Maybe I need to give other people the opportunity to love, give and serve. Maybe I don't have to do everything. Maybe I'm not the victim. Maybe I need to stop pretending. Maybe I just need to trust God and know that healing will come... in His time.
Someone finally gave him $2. He waited in line and when he got up to the counter he handed me the $2 and asked for a cup of coffee. I handed him the coffee and I handed him his money back. "Don't worry about it," I said "you just had to wait."
Without saying thank you, he asked where McDonald's was so he could get a cheeseburger, and I realized... he completely missed the point.
Which made me realize, I completely miss the point... all the time. As soon as I get what I want, it's on to the next thing, without showing much gratitude.
Thank you, Lord, for being so patient with me.
Teach me how to wait on You.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
signs in the sky
A video does this performance no justice, but here is just a clip of my Monday night... April 26th, 2010.
I've tried to figure out how to capture this performance in words, but I don't know how. I do, however, know someone who is better with words than I am, and no of surprise to me, he captured everything I wasn't able to say.
Call it a cop out, but tonight I want to share some words about music from signs in the sky.
I've tried to figure out how to capture this performance in words, but I don't know how. I do, however, know someone who is better with words than I am, and no of surprise to me, he captured everything I wasn't able to say.
Call it a cop out, but tonight I want to share some words about music from signs in the sky.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
36 chambers
I just spent the last hour writing about a former love of mine...
hardcore rap.
I wasn't really able to come up with a conclusion or a redemptive ending, so I gave up. In my attempt to not always write with perfection or even with point, I think I am going to post it as is and leave it at that. Maybe it's because I'm still learning and the story's not over yet, but I don't feel the need to explain myself any further.
....................................
When I was younger I had an obsession with hardcore rap.
While I am a die hard Tupac fan, still to this day...
my favorite group was undoubtedly the Wu-Tang Clan, the most revolutionary rap group of the mid-'90s. Based in New York City, the clan of nine was "designed to overtake the record industry." As their website puts it, "the idea was to establish the Wu-Tang as a force with their debut album and then spin off into as many side projects as possible." Most of the members of the Wu were just as well known individually as they were within the clan.
Let me say upfront that I am not promoting their music, I can just hear a thousand mothers contacting me right now asking what in the world possessed me to recommend the Wu-Tang Clan to their children. Therefore, let it be said I am not promoting or recommending... I am telling a story. Consider this your warning... part of this story involves explicit content... most of which is the lyrical content by the Wu-Tang Clan.
This is a true story about a 10th grade white girl who fell in love with a hardcore rap group.
Sometimes the truth is offensive.
I grew up in the South, you know... "we'll rise again, this time we'll win," the people who never got over losing the civil war. My dad was a preacher and my mom, a Sunday School teacher (there's potential for a rap in there somewhere). I was raised to say "yes ma'am" and "yes sir." I went to cotillion to learn about manners and how to butter bread properly. I was trained well in Scripture... Jesus = good. Devil = Bad. By all appearances, I was a good kid.
Now, in my opinion, I actually was a good kid (for the most part), but I say "by all appearances" because if people had known the type of music I was listening to, they would have laid hands on me and prayed the demons out (that is, if Baptists laid hands... I'm pretty sure they don't even raise hands).
I don't even know how it happened... I went from singing "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world" to "shame on a nigga who try to run game on a nigga. Wu buck wild with the trigger!"
Don't get me wrong, I still loved Jesus, but by 10th grade, I had completely entered the Wu.
Having grown up a preacher's kid, I feel the need to clarify... sometimes parents, teachers, Sunday schools and childrens books can do the absolute best they can to mold a child into an "upstanding citizen" or a "good Christian," but when it comes down to it, the child grows up and makes his/her own choices.
I was taught to hate the devil (including the devil's music), but I still ended up not only listening to, but loving music that I wouldn't exactly call "Jesus music."
I think part of what I loved about the music is the freedom I felt when I listened to it. People expect the preacher's kid to have the best manners and their bible verses memorized. What people don't expect is for the preacher's kid to own a CD labeled "parent advisory: explicit content" and know every word to every "song."
Looking back, maybe it was just a form of rebellion... not so much against my parents, but against the church. I felt so much pressure from the church community to live up to certain standards that I jumped at any opportunity to prove that I was just like any other kid.
.........................................
I don't know why, but I couldn't finish writing. I intended on writing about my transformation from rebellious kid to responsible adult, all the while making my parents oh so proud, but I just couldn't finish. Maybe its because it didn't feel quite right to say that I don't listen to the Wu-Tang Clan anymore, which I don't, very often.
While a significant transformation has taken place in my life, I think it honestly didn't feel quite right to end my writing with rebellion being a thing of the past.
As long as I live in my skin, I am prone to rebellion. I still desire it. I still seek it. I still do it.
I am a sinner, in need of a savior.
Father, forgive those who know not what they do... and forgive me, for I know what I do and do it anyway.
I am a sinner, in need of You.
hardcore rap.
I wasn't really able to come up with a conclusion or a redemptive ending, so I gave up. In my attempt to not always write with perfection or even with point, I think I am going to post it as is and leave it at that. Maybe it's because I'm still learning and the story's not over yet, but I don't feel the need to explain myself any further.
....................................
When I was younger I had an obsession with hardcore rap.
While I am a die hard Tupac fan, still to this day...
my favorite group was undoubtedly the Wu-Tang Clan, the most revolutionary rap group of the mid-'90s. Based in New York City, the clan of nine was "designed to overtake the record industry." As their website puts it, "the idea was to establish the Wu-Tang as a force with their debut album and then spin off into as many side projects as possible." Most of the members of the Wu were just as well known individually as they were within the clan.
Let me say upfront that I am not promoting their music, I can just hear a thousand mothers contacting me right now asking what in the world possessed me to recommend the Wu-Tang Clan to their children. Therefore, let it be said I am not promoting or recommending... I am telling a story. Consider this your warning... part of this story involves explicit content... most of which is the lyrical content by the Wu-Tang Clan.
This is a true story about a 10th grade white girl who fell in love with a hardcore rap group.
Sometimes the truth is offensive.
I grew up in the South, you know... "we'll rise again, this time we'll win," the people who never got over losing the civil war. My dad was a preacher and my mom, a Sunday School teacher (there's potential for a rap in there somewhere). I was raised to say "yes ma'am" and "yes sir." I went to cotillion to learn about manners and how to butter bread properly. I was trained well in Scripture... Jesus = good. Devil = Bad. By all appearances, I was a good kid.
Now, in my opinion, I actually was a good kid (for the most part), but I say "by all appearances" because if people had known the type of music I was listening to, they would have laid hands on me and prayed the demons out (that is, if Baptists laid hands... I'm pretty sure they don't even raise hands).
I don't even know how it happened... I went from singing "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world" to "shame on a nigga who try to run game on a nigga. Wu buck wild with the trigger!"
Don't get me wrong, I still loved Jesus, but by 10th grade, I had completely entered the Wu.
Having grown up a preacher's kid, I feel the need to clarify... sometimes parents, teachers, Sunday schools and childrens books can do the absolute best they can to mold a child into an "upstanding citizen" or a "good Christian," but when it comes down to it, the child grows up and makes his/her own choices.
I was taught to hate the devil (including the devil's music), but I still ended up not only listening to, but loving music that I wouldn't exactly call "Jesus music."
I think part of what I loved about the music is the freedom I felt when I listened to it. People expect the preacher's kid to have the best manners and their bible verses memorized. What people don't expect is for the preacher's kid to own a CD labeled "parent advisory: explicit content" and know every word to every "song."
Looking back, maybe it was just a form of rebellion... not so much against my parents, but against the church. I felt so much pressure from the church community to live up to certain standards that I jumped at any opportunity to prove that I was just like any other kid.
.........................................
I don't know why, but I couldn't finish writing. I intended on writing about my transformation from rebellious kid to responsible adult, all the while making my parents oh so proud, but I just couldn't finish. Maybe its because it didn't feel quite right to say that I don't listen to the Wu-Tang Clan anymore, which I don't, very often.
While a significant transformation has taken place in my life, I think it honestly didn't feel quite right to end my writing with rebellion being a thing of the past.
As long as I live in my skin, I am prone to rebellion. I still desire it. I still seek it. I still do it.
I am a sinner, in need of a savior.
Father, forgive those who know not what they do... and forgive me, for I know what I do and do it anyway.
I am a sinner, in need of You.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
jonsi
Heading to Milwaukee tonight to see my favorite musician.
Too excited to post, but I'll leave you with just a taste of what I'll be listening to...
Turn it up real loud, and enjoy!
Too excited to post, but I'll leave you with just a taste of what I'll be listening to...
Turn it up real loud, and enjoy!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
later, gator
Why did the alligator cross the road?
By the looks of it, he was trying to get to the pond on the other side of the highway, but it was hard to tell after being in a three car pile up.
OK, so I'm not that great with the puns... but I am with telling stories, and that's exactly what happened today.
After church, lunch and of course, the Sunday nap, my mom, sister and I decided to be adventurous and head out to Office Depot. We were about halfway to our destination before what may have been one of the weirdest things to ever happen to me, happened to me.
Long story, short...
There was an alligator trying to cross the highway today. As we stopped so as to avoid hitting the car in front of us, who broke for the gator, the car behind us stopped, so as to avoid us.
Disaster averted.
Until another guy came along and hit the guy behind us, who then hit us.
Let me first say that I, along with everyone else, including the gator, is fine... but this is the third time I have been home to visit and ended up in the emergency room.
Due to my minor set back today, I'm going to have to leave you hanging with the details of the story.
Sorry to end so abruptly, but I have to rest before catching a plane tomorrow. I'm heading back to Chicago, where the only thing I have to dodge on the road is construction barrels.
By the looks of it, he was trying to get to the pond on the other side of the highway, but it was hard to tell after being in a three car pile up.
OK, so I'm not that great with the puns... but I am with telling stories, and that's exactly what happened today.
After church, lunch and of course, the Sunday nap, my mom, sister and I decided to be adventurous and head out to Office Depot. We were about halfway to our destination before what may have been one of the weirdest things to ever happen to me, happened to me.
Long story, short...
There was an alligator trying to cross the highway today. As we stopped so as to avoid hitting the car in front of us, who broke for the gator, the car behind us stopped, so as to avoid us.
Disaster averted.
Until another guy came along and hit the guy behind us, who then hit us.
Let me first say that I, along with everyone else, including the gator, is fine... but this is the third time I have been home to visit and ended up in the emergency room.
Due to my minor set back today, I'm going to have to leave you hanging with the details of the story.
Sorry to end so abruptly, but I have to rest before catching a plane tomorrow. I'm heading back to Chicago, where the only thing I have to dodge on the road is construction barrels.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
continued...
I was wearing a hat on Thursday when my mom picked me up from the airport... for good reason. Although I do love wearing hats, I especially love getting a rise out of my mom, and I wanted to make sure my timing was perfect for when I would reveal my new do.
We had to stop by the grocery store on the way back home and seeing as it was so much warmer in SC than when I left Chicago, I decided to swap out my hat for a headband. We finished our shopping (and I finished every sample offered because I was starving when I got off the plane), loaded up the car and headed for home.
I finally asked... "so mom, did you notice my haircut?" She looked at the back of my head (the front being covered by a large headband) and in her classic, excited high pitched voice she responded, "OH, Jennie Joy, yea... it looks good. I can never tell because every time you come home it's always so different. Sometimes it's short, sometimes it's long, sometimes you have bangs..."
Before she could finish describing the diversity of my previous hairstyles, I interrupted... "well, you could kinda say that's what it's like now... some of it's short, some of it's long..."
"What do you mean?" she asked sounding less excited.
I took the headband off.
Now, you have to understand, I was particularly excited to see my mother's response because I knew she wouldn't want to hurt my feelings (in fear I might relapse) but I also knew that my mother has never been a good liar and the expression would be all over her face. A good quality to have, but she'd make a horrible poker player.
Her mouth opened... she gasped and kinda got out "OOHHH" before I chimed in with "I cut it myself!"
She took a deep breath... "were you awake?"
I smiled, "yup! And sober!"
"Well, that's good," she said, "but did you mean to cut it like that?"
Joking around with her a bit, I told her not only had I meant to cut it like that, but it was actually the new style. You have to understand... I was missing the whole front left side, while the right side laid long and proud.
She started to laugh quietly to herself and I couldn't help but join in. We both just started laughing hysterically. As we were laughing, she handed me the phone... "here, let's call and see if you can make an appointment to get it fixed while you're here."
I literally made an appointment for the next day right there in the car on my way home.
My mother was thrilled!
We finally made it home, and my grandma was not so shy about expressing her opinion...
"JJ... you look scared half to death! "
I laughed.
"No, really, you look like you stuck your finger in a light socket!"
Wanting to make my mother and grandmother proud, I woke up the next morning...
and canceled my hair appointment.
My hair looked awful...
but the beach was beautiful!!!
We had to stop by the grocery store on the way back home and seeing as it was so much warmer in SC than when I left Chicago, I decided to swap out my hat for a headband. We finished our shopping (and I finished every sample offered because I was starving when I got off the plane), loaded up the car and headed for home.
I finally asked... "so mom, did you notice my haircut?" She looked at the back of my head (the front being covered by a large headband) and in her classic, excited high pitched voice she responded, "OH, Jennie Joy, yea... it looks good. I can never tell because every time you come home it's always so different. Sometimes it's short, sometimes it's long, sometimes you have bangs..."
Before she could finish describing the diversity of my previous hairstyles, I interrupted... "well, you could kinda say that's what it's like now... some of it's short, some of it's long..."
"What do you mean?" she asked sounding less excited.
I took the headband off.
Now, you have to understand, I was particularly excited to see my mother's response because I knew she wouldn't want to hurt my feelings (in fear I might relapse) but I also knew that my mother has never been a good liar and the expression would be all over her face. A good quality to have, but she'd make a horrible poker player.
Her mouth opened... she gasped and kinda got out "OOHHH" before I chimed in with "I cut it myself!"
She took a deep breath... "were you awake?"
I smiled, "yup! And sober!"
"Well, that's good," she said, "but did you mean to cut it like that?"
Joking around with her a bit, I told her not only had I meant to cut it like that, but it was actually the new style. You have to understand... I was missing the whole front left side, while the right side laid long and proud.
She started to laugh quietly to herself and I couldn't help but join in. We both just started laughing hysterically. As we were laughing, she handed me the phone... "here, let's call and see if you can make an appointment to get it fixed while you're here."
I literally made an appointment for the next day right there in the car on my way home.
My mother was thrilled!
We finally made it home, and my grandma was not so shy about expressing her opinion...
"JJ... you look scared half to death! "
I laughed.
"No, really, you look like you stuck your finger in a light socket!"
Wanting to make my mother and grandmother proud, I woke up the next morning...
and canceled my hair appointment.
My hair looked awful...
but the beach was beautiful!!!
Friday, April 23, 2010
legit
Not that it really matters for any reason other than the purpose of story, but I recently got a haircut.
A few weeks ago I got off of work early, which is a really good feeling when it's one of the first beautiful days in Chicago since last summer. With the weather being warm and a bounce in my step, I decided... "today will be the day I pay for a real haircut!"
People who know me know that I quite frequently try to cut my own hair... and people who know me know that I quite frequently don't succeed.
That beautiful day was going to be different... that beautiful day, someone was going to cut it for me, even if I did have to suck it up and pay full price. I usually opt for MasterCuts or whatever place has the best deal in the mall, but this time I was going to go to a legit professional salon, which meant this time it was going to be expensive.
There's a little salon a few buildings down from the Starbucks I work at and ever since I saw a sign for "free haircuts," I've had my eye on it. The part of the sign that you don't see from far away is the tiny little asterisk which then directs you to the bottom of the sign where the fine print is. This is where you would find "the catch" anytime you think something is too good to be true... more than likely, it probably is. The catch in my too good to be true situation was that I could only get a free haircut "with purchase of color treatment."
Do you realize how much color treatment is at a legit professional salon?
Yeah... neither did I. I'd rather cut my own hair. Seeing as that the haircut I was sporting at the time was a self-do in need of some serious help, I walked in the salon and said I wanted the cheapest color treatment possible... there was no being modest about it... I was (am) cheap and damn proud of it. Some might do me the honor of calling me frugal, but let's call a spade a spade... I'm cheap.
The cheapest color treatment was something called a "toner." I still don't really understand what that means other than I know my hair looked a bit darker and much "shinier." Who knew that for only $45 I could make my hair shine so much.
Only $45!!!! I hated the thought of it, but seeing as a legit professional salon haircut was minimum $50 at this place, I had to convince myself that I was getting a deal for the "cut and tone." If only it was that easy when I went to the gym to get cut and toned. (OK, actually, if only I went to the gym and then if only it were that easy to get cut and toned).
As the girl surveyed my lop-sided head (I fell off the handle bars of my dad's bike when I was little), she said she had the perfect idea... "long on one side, short on the other." The combination of being a Tegan & Sara fan, living among hipsters in Chicago and always ready to try something new, I told her I was game.
Yes, I was literally that cheesy and said "I'm game!"
Now I realize to "many" of you, especially you southern folk from where I was raised, this sounds like an awful idea... but if you could hear me out for just a second, it actually turned out really good. I think even most southerners would have approved without calling me a dike.
Let it be said, that she (not me) did a great job.
So what's the problem?
Well, the problem with my hair didn't start until the next day, when I thought it was maybe just a bit too long on the "short" side and I could "fix" it by trimming it up a little.
Why I am assuming that I will do a better job "fixing" it than a legit professional salon (who told me I could come back and get it trimmed for free if I wanted) is way beyond me. Sometimes I just come to this place of thinking that I have the absolute best ideas and it isn't until after I execute them that I realize it was much worse than just a bad idea.
And so, the very next day, after paying $65 to get my haircut (because they don't tell you that you also have to pay for the shampooing process until after it's done), I took a pair of scissors from the kitchen, closed my bathroom door and started cutting.
The result was something like this...
A few weeks ago I got off of work early, which is a really good feeling when it's one of the first beautiful days in Chicago since last summer. With the weather being warm and a bounce in my step, I decided... "today will be the day I pay for a real haircut!"
People who know me know that I quite frequently try to cut my own hair... and people who know me know that I quite frequently don't succeed.
That beautiful day was going to be different... that beautiful day, someone was going to cut it for me, even if I did have to suck it up and pay full price. I usually opt for MasterCuts or whatever place has the best deal in the mall, but this time I was going to go to a legit professional salon, which meant this time it was going to be expensive.
There's a little salon a few buildings down from the Starbucks I work at and ever since I saw a sign for "free haircuts," I've had my eye on it. The part of the sign that you don't see from far away is the tiny little asterisk which then directs you to the bottom of the sign where the fine print is. This is where you would find "the catch" anytime you think something is too good to be true... more than likely, it probably is. The catch in my too good to be true situation was that I could only get a free haircut "with purchase of color treatment."
Do you realize how much color treatment is at a legit professional salon?
Yeah... neither did I. I'd rather cut my own hair. Seeing as that the haircut I was sporting at the time was a self-do in need of some serious help, I walked in the salon and said I wanted the cheapest color treatment possible... there was no being modest about it... I was (am) cheap and damn proud of it. Some might do me the honor of calling me frugal, but let's call a spade a spade... I'm cheap.
The cheapest color treatment was something called a "toner." I still don't really understand what that means other than I know my hair looked a bit darker and much "shinier." Who knew that for only $45 I could make my hair shine so much.
Only $45!!!! I hated the thought of it, but seeing as a legit professional salon haircut was minimum $50 at this place, I had to convince myself that I was getting a deal for the "cut and tone." If only it was that easy when I went to the gym to get cut and toned. (OK, actually, if only I went to the gym and then if only it were that easy to get cut and toned).
As the girl surveyed my lop-sided head (I fell off the handle bars of my dad's bike when I was little), she said she had the perfect idea... "long on one side, short on the other." The combination of being a Tegan & Sara fan, living among hipsters in Chicago and always ready to try something new, I told her I was game.
Yes, I was literally that cheesy and said "I'm game!"
Now I realize to "many" of you, especially you southern folk from where I was raised, this sounds like an awful idea... but if you could hear me out for just a second, it actually turned out really good. I think even most southerners would have approved without calling me a dike.
Let it be said, that she (not me) did a great job.
So what's the problem?
Well, the problem with my hair didn't start until the next day, when I thought it was maybe just a bit too long on the "short" side and I could "fix" it by trimming it up a little.
Why I am assuming that I will do a better job "fixing" it than a legit professional salon (who told me I could come back and get it trimmed for free if I wanted) is way beyond me. Sometimes I just come to this place of thinking that I have the absolute best ideas and it isn't until after I execute them that I realize it was much worse than just a bad idea.
And so, the very next day, after paying $65 to get my haircut (because they don't tell you that you also have to pay for the shampooing process until after it's done), I took a pair of scissors from the kitchen, closed my bathroom door and started cutting.
The result was something like this...
OK, so it wasn't that bad, but let me warn you... it was somewhat close.
As I started to cut I kept thinking "oh crap," and with each "oh crap" came an attempt to fix it. It took a good whole front section of my head for me to realize I wasn't fixing it.
I stopped, put the scissors down, laughed at what I did and then put on a hat.
Truth be told, I really don't care what my hair looks like anymore. If I were still in high school or in my college sorority, I would probably care a lot (mainly because of what others would think), but after shaving it a few summers ago I came to find out that it grows back.
I'm not saying that I like the way it looks right now, I'm just saying that it grows back... so why freak out about it?
Coming to terms with my "different" haircut, I started to get really excited about my trip home.
Why?
Because I couldn't wait to see my mother's response.
I know that sounds horrible, but if I was gonna have hair like this for a while, I was at least going to have fun with it.
(To be continued...)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
postponed
I flew home yesterday... which is mostly why I fell short on my attempt to blog for the day.
After a long day of running errands with mom, babysitting for my niece and nephew, and picking up my younger sister from the airport only 3 hours after I arrived at the same airport, my day ended on the couch... which is exactly where I found myself this morning.
I got up once to try to blog late last night, but the desire to finish the story I had in mind mixed with the total lack of energy landed me in a place of posting nothing instead of anything at all. Just when I think I've defeated my desire for perfection, it rears its ugly head and exposes itself in even the smallest of ways.
The rules of the daily blog challenge are to post everyday... anything at all. There is no requirement on length or subject matter, you just have to make the attempt to start somewhere and let it all go come mid night, even if it's not good enough for the public eye. For me, a lot of this challenge is more about letting go than it is about perfecting my writing skills. Initially I thought it was about the ladder, but come to find out, even after a few years of recovery, I still need to let go of my desire for perfection.
I had the option of posting "I am tired, going to bed," but that wasn't good enough. Last night, I seemed to forget that the beauty of this challenge is not about being good enough, it's about making an attempt to do something I love, despite the outcome, despite the level of inspiration and despite the number of "followers" it brings me.
Yes, I admit, I get girlishly excited when I see that even just one more person is following my blog. I have a hard time believing that the few people who do read what I write (most of which are my family) would actually want to hear what I have to say... not so much because of the content of what I write, but because of the fact that I'm really just one more person whose throwing their two cents out there. Who really cares?
And now I'm thinking, if I really believe that... "who really cares?" then why am I so worried about the quality or the length of what I write? And when it came to posting last night, why did I choose the extreme of posting nothing at all instead of what could have at least been the bare minimum... even if it was a low quality story I had begun to write before getting to tired to finish?
Who really cares?
Looking at the big picture, I know it doesn't matter if I post everyday or not. Its not life or death, I don't work for a newspaper and I know people aren't depending on my words to get them through their day. Phew... the pressure is off.
But if I look a bit closer, it actually reveals a lot about my character... who I am when no one is looking. To often I allow fear to cripple me... even in situations where fear need not be an issue. Sometimes I create the fear first, then I let it cripple me. Maybe its because I'm a 26 yr. old college graduate working at Starbucks, unsure of what I want to do when I grow up, but I often feel the need to prove myself... even if its something as small as "hey look, I'm a good writer... on my blog!"
So this leaves me asking... exactly where do I get my security from? If its dependent on people's responses to what I do for a living or how well I write, don't I have it all wrong?
My security comes not from human relationships, not from a job title, not from a mastered skill or even how much insurance I have (something that is easy to solely rely on for security), my security comes from He who created me in His own image.
And so, after waking up to my older sister pulling my niece from around my neck where we had both fallen asleep on the couch, I got up and tried to write last night. But after giving up only a few minutes in, I shut the computer, went back to the couch and found it just as easy to fall asleep as before.
Before drifting off into a deep sleep, I made a "goodnight" phone call and shared about not being able to finish my blog. I don't remember much of the conversation because even though it wasn't deep, there was definitely some sleep involved. I remember being encouraged to post anything at all... that its not about what I post, its about the commitment to posting. Feeling sleepy, but re-inspired, I grabbed the computer and set out to post anything at all... even if it was just the lyrics to my favorite song.
The trouble is, the computer of which I had been using belonged to my mother and when I shut the computer, it put it on a lock system, meaning I could only re-access it with a password. Apparently my mom is a lot more clever than I gave her credit for because I gave hacking it a pretty good try before realizing I would never be able to figure it out... good job, mom... if I hadn't been so frustrated, I'd have been proud of you!
This left me feeling really bummed out, and as much as I want to be able to blame not posting yesterday on my mom's computer, I have to take ownership and say it was really me who gave up. It's kind of like when you wait until the last night to do your homework and then something comes up and you aren't able to finish it. You tell the teacher you ran out of time, but really you had all week, you just waited too long and when the time came, life happened and you had to deal with the unexpected... leaving your homework incomplete.
As much as you want to blame it on the circumstance, because let's face it, it is a good excuse, the reality is, you set yourself up to give up long before you even started.
I need to start taking responsibility for my own decisions and it has to start with even the smallest of small ones. If I can't make the right decision in small matters, how can I possibly expect myself to make the right decision in big matters.
"Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much." Luke 16:10
If I really believe God's word as ultimate truth, I have a lot of small matters to take care of.
And so, re-starting today, despite yesterday's postponement and what I may want to come across as perfect or interesting, I am (re)committed to posting everyday. My writing may not be doing a lot to change other people, but it sure is doing a lot to change me and my perspective on life. I want to stay committed to the small changes God is making in my life, because who knows what will happen when I grow up and the big changes come...
I wanna be ready.
After a long day of running errands with mom, babysitting for my niece and nephew, and picking up my younger sister from the airport only 3 hours after I arrived at the same airport, my day ended on the couch... which is exactly where I found myself this morning.
I got up once to try to blog late last night, but the desire to finish the story I had in mind mixed with the total lack of energy landed me in a place of posting nothing instead of anything at all. Just when I think I've defeated my desire for perfection, it rears its ugly head and exposes itself in even the smallest of ways.
The rules of the daily blog challenge are to post everyday... anything at all. There is no requirement on length or subject matter, you just have to make the attempt to start somewhere and let it all go come mid night, even if it's not good enough for the public eye. For me, a lot of this challenge is more about letting go than it is about perfecting my writing skills. Initially I thought it was about the ladder, but come to find out, even after a few years of recovery, I still need to let go of my desire for perfection.
I had the option of posting "I am tired, going to bed," but that wasn't good enough. Last night, I seemed to forget that the beauty of this challenge is not about being good enough, it's about making an attempt to do something I love, despite the outcome, despite the level of inspiration and despite the number of "followers" it brings me.
Yes, I admit, I get girlishly excited when I see that even just one more person is following my blog. I have a hard time believing that the few people who do read what I write (most of which are my family) would actually want to hear what I have to say... not so much because of the content of what I write, but because of the fact that I'm really just one more person whose throwing their two cents out there. Who really cares?
And now I'm thinking, if I really believe that... "who really cares?" then why am I so worried about the quality or the length of what I write? And when it came to posting last night, why did I choose the extreme of posting nothing at all instead of what could have at least been the bare minimum... even if it was a low quality story I had begun to write before getting to tired to finish?
Who really cares?
Looking at the big picture, I know it doesn't matter if I post everyday or not. Its not life or death, I don't work for a newspaper and I know people aren't depending on my words to get them through their day. Phew... the pressure is off.
But if I look a bit closer, it actually reveals a lot about my character... who I am when no one is looking. To often I allow fear to cripple me... even in situations where fear need not be an issue. Sometimes I create the fear first, then I let it cripple me. Maybe its because I'm a 26 yr. old college graduate working at Starbucks, unsure of what I want to do when I grow up, but I often feel the need to prove myself... even if its something as small as "hey look, I'm a good writer... on my blog!"
So this leaves me asking... exactly where do I get my security from? If its dependent on people's responses to what I do for a living or how well I write, don't I have it all wrong?
My security comes not from human relationships, not from a job title, not from a mastered skill or even how much insurance I have (something that is easy to solely rely on for security), my security comes from He who created me in His own image.
And so, after waking up to my older sister pulling my niece from around my neck where we had both fallen asleep on the couch, I got up and tried to write last night. But after giving up only a few minutes in, I shut the computer, went back to the couch and found it just as easy to fall asleep as before.
Before drifting off into a deep sleep, I made a "goodnight" phone call and shared about not being able to finish my blog. I don't remember much of the conversation because even though it wasn't deep, there was definitely some sleep involved. I remember being encouraged to post anything at all... that its not about what I post, its about the commitment to posting. Feeling sleepy, but re-inspired, I grabbed the computer and set out to post anything at all... even if it was just the lyrics to my favorite song.
The trouble is, the computer of which I had been using belonged to my mother and when I shut the computer, it put it on a lock system, meaning I could only re-access it with a password. Apparently my mom is a lot more clever than I gave her credit for because I gave hacking it a pretty good try before realizing I would never be able to figure it out... good job, mom... if I hadn't been so frustrated, I'd have been proud of you!
This left me feeling really bummed out, and as much as I want to be able to blame not posting yesterday on my mom's computer, I have to take ownership and say it was really me who gave up. It's kind of like when you wait until the last night to do your homework and then something comes up and you aren't able to finish it. You tell the teacher you ran out of time, but really you had all week, you just waited too long and when the time came, life happened and you had to deal with the unexpected... leaving your homework incomplete.
As much as you want to blame it on the circumstance, because let's face it, it is a good excuse, the reality is, you set yourself up to give up long before you even started.
I need to start taking responsibility for my own decisions and it has to start with even the smallest of small ones. If I can't make the right decision in small matters, how can I possibly expect myself to make the right decision in big matters.
"Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much." Luke 16:10
If I really believe God's word as ultimate truth, I have a lot of small matters to take care of.
And so, re-starting today, despite yesterday's postponement and what I may want to come across as perfect or interesting, I am (re)committed to posting everyday. My writing may not be doing a lot to change other people, but it sure is doing a lot to change me and my perspective on life. I want to stay committed to the small changes God is making in my life, because who knows what will happen when I grow up and the big changes come...
I wanna be ready.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
going home
Spending the day packing, then off to work before heading out for the night. Knowing I won't have much time to write today, I thought I'd show off instead.
I get to spend the weekend with my family back home on the beach.
And I get to meet this lovely little lady for the first time...
Welcome to the family, Mailey! We may be dysfunctional, but trust me, we make it fun!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
stones
When I was in third grade I remember learning about the environment and the importance of the ozone layer. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Player, telling us about all the things humans do to kill the environment and destroy the ozone layer. She didn't necessarily word it like that, but I remember feeling so overwhelmed at the thought of our planet being destroyed and terrified at the thought of me being a cause of it.
I was a dramatic child... to say the least.
I most specifically recall learning about how bad hairspray was for the ozone layer which terrified me because my mom used hairspray. Not only that, but both my sisters and I had football helmet hair... and what kept it in place? Hairspray. My older sister specifically used a lot of hairspray because she had the Patti bangs (from Charlie Brown) and it took a lot to keep those suckers plumb and round. That was at least four of us who were killing the ozone layer.
There was a family who lived down the street from us with four kids as well. They were around our age and we often played together, built forts, and when we got a little bit older, watched inappropriate movies without our moms knowing (sorry mom). When I went through this hairspray crisis, I can vividly remember trying to formulate a plan to sneak into their house and steal all of their mom's hairspray so I could throw it away. If she thought about going to the store to buy more, I decided I would begin saving all of my money to buy all of the hairspray in all of the stores so I could get rid of it. I was going to save the world... one bottle of hairspray at a time!
Again, I was a dramatic child.
1990 marked the 20th anniversary of Earth Day and that year, in that same third grade class, we watched "The Earth Day Special" starring everybody who was anybody (back in the day). Seriously, the line up for this show was out of this world ridiculous. True to the advertisements, "prominent celebrities of film, television, sports, and music all came together to publicize the global crisis of pollution, starvation, and resource shortage."
I especially remember Bette Midler playing Mother Nature. Due to pollution she was sick and they portrayed her laying in a hospital bed. She had flowers in her hair but she was covered with garbage. Now that I think about it, they definitely had to have used hairspray to get her hair like that. Regardless, I remember being so moved by the visual of seeing mother nature die in a hospital bed, covered in trash, knowing that the only way for her to get better was for people to stop polluting.
I became so obsessed at the thought of conserving energy. I always made sure the lights were turned off, even if someone was in the room. I would open the refrigerator as fast as I could and grab what I wanted so I could close it as soon as possible. I even remember not wanting to brush my teeth because I didn't want to waste the water. Eventually I would just turn it on, wet the brush, turn it off, brush my teeth, spit, turn it on, wet the brush (quickly) and turn it back off. Anytime my family left to go somewhere, I would run around the house to make sure everything was turned off. Christmas was stressful that year.
I'm pretty sure my parents don't remember me being that obsessive, mainly because I remember wanting to be secretive about it. I didn't want other people (including my family) to think I was weird or think I was annoying, so I decided I would change the world quietly on my own and only when it was safe and mother nature was all better would I then jump out from the shadows and yell "it was me! it was me!"
Did I mention I was a dramatic child?
My intentions were good but my actions were obsessive, which led to my motives being all wrong. I started out wanting to save the environment, but I went about it at such an extreme pace that even I felt ridiculous. I wanted to change the world, but I still wanted to fit in... I didn't want to stand out until after it was changed.
Isn't life so much like that? For me it still very much is. I want to be a part of something big, I want to be set apart, I want to represent the love of Christ, but I still want to fit in. I don't think that's a good combination.
In Luke 21:17, Christ says "all men will hate you because of me..."
To follow Christ is to live an extreme life, and not everyone (including Christians) is going to agree with the extremity to which Christ calls us to live. I have a desire to be extreme, but I fall short in representing it. I worry much more about being relevant than I do about being extreme. I find myself attempting the extreme with a relevant attitude so as not to be shot down by those who don't agree with me.
If you keep reading the passage in Luke, right after Christ says that we will be hated because of Him, He says "but not a hair on your head will perish. By standing firm you will gain life." It is not our relevancy that will keep us from "harm." It is by standing firm in the truth regardless of how different it makes us look. Christ protects us from the enemy. Christ penetrates the heart of the unbeliever, not my ability to be relevant.
I'm not suggesting that relevancy is a completely bad thing... Christ can use our relevancy if He so chooses, but we should be quick to realize that it is not how "cool" or "relevant" we are that wins the heart of His people, it is Christ Himself.
Obviously, I never ended up saving the environment. As a third grader, I didn't understand that there was no way I could do it on my own. The mere fact that I legitimately thought I could buy all the hairspray in the world and throw it all away should tell you just how much I didn't understand. Even though I acted in extreme ways, I didn't understand what it meant to be extreme. I didn't understand that in order be be extreme I had to be set apart... I had to be different... and I had to do so consistently, not just when I felt like it.
After a while I got tired of saving the environment on my own. Instead of asking for help or for realistic ways I might be able to help, I just gave up. It's as if because I couldn't do it my way I didn't want to do it at all.
It's funny how even now at 26, I can still act so much like a third grader (sometimes).
My prayer is that we wouldn't be afraid to be extremists... extremists in love... unwilling to keep quiet. Because regardless, the glory of God will be revealed! In case you haven't heard, even if we keep quiet "the stones will cry out" (Luke 19:40).
And if that's the case...
we might as well get loud and undignified!
I was a dramatic child... to say the least.
I most specifically recall learning about how bad hairspray was for the ozone layer which terrified me because my mom used hairspray. Not only that, but both my sisters and I had football helmet hair... and what kept it in place? Hairspray. My older sister specifically used a lot of hairspray because she had the Patti bangs (from Charlie Brown) and it took a lot to keep those suckers plumb and round. That was at least four of us who were killing the ozone layer.
There was a family who lived down the street from us with four kids as well. They were around our age and we often played together, built forts, and when we got a little bit older, watched inappropriate movies without our moms knowing (sorry mom). When I went through this hairspray crisis, I can vividly remember trying to formulate a plan to sneak into their house and steal all of their mom's hairspray so I could throw it away. If she thought about going to the store to buy more, I decided I would begin saving all of my money to buy all of the hairspray in all of the stores so I could get rid of it. I was going to save the world... one bottle of hairspray at a time!
Again, I was a dramatic child.
1990 marked the 20th anniversary of Earth Day and that year, in that same third grade class, we watched "The Earth Day Special" starring everybody who was anybody (back in the day). Seriously, the line up for this show was out of this world ridiculous. True to the advertisements, "prominent celebrities of film, television, sports, and music all came together to publicize the global crisis of pollution, starvation, and resource shortage."
I especially remember Bette Midler playing Mother Nature. Due to pollution she was sick and they portrayed her laying in a hospital bed. She had flowers in her hair but she was covered with garbage. Now that I think about it, they definitely had to have used hairspray to get her hair like that. Regardless, I remember being so moved by the visual of seeing mother nature die in a hospital bed, covered in trash, knowing that the only way for her to get better was for people to stop polluting.
I became so obsessed at the thought of conserving energy. I always made sure the lights were turned off, even if someone was in the room. I would open the refrigerator as fast as I could and grab what I wanted so I could close it as soon as possible. I even remember not wanting to brush my teeth because I didn't want to waste the water. Eventually I would just turn it on, wet the brush, turn it off, brush my teeth, spit, turn it on, wet the brush (quickly) and turn it back off. Anytime my family left to go somewhere, I would run around the house to make sure everything was turned off. Christmas was stressful that year.
I'm pretty sure my parents don't remember me being that obsessive, mainly because I remember wanting to be secretive about it. I didn't want other people (including my family) to think I was weird or think I was annoying, so I decided I would change the world quietly on my own and only when it was safe and mother nature was all better would I then jump out from the shadows and yell "it was me! it was me!"
Did I mention I was a dramatic child?
My intentions were good but my actions were obsessive, which led to my motives being all wrong. I started out wanting to save the environment, but I went about it at such an extreme pace that even I felt ridiculous. I wanted to change the world, but I still wanted to fit in... I didn't want to stand out until after it was changed.
Isn't life so much like that? For me it still very much is. I want to be a part of something big, I want to be set apart, I want to represent the love of Christ, but I still want to fit in. I don't think that's a good combination.
In Luke 21:17, Christ says "all men will hate you because of me..."
To follow Christ is to live an extreme life, and not everyone (including Christians) is going to agree with the extremity to which Christ calls us to live. I have a desire to be extreme, but I fall short in representing it. I worry much more about being relevant than I do about being extreme. I find myself attempting the extreme with a relevant attitude so as not to be shot down by those who don't agree with me.
If you keep reading the passage in Luke, right after Christ says that we will be hated because of Him, He says "but not a hair on your head will perish. By standing firm you will gain life." It is not our relevancy that will keep us from "harm." It is by standing firm in the truth regardless of how different it makes us look. Christ protects us from the enemy. Christ penetrates the heart of the unbeliever, not my ability to be relevant.
I'm not suggesting that relevancy is a completely bad thing... Christ can use our relevancy if He so chooses, but we should be quick to realize that it is not how "cool" or "relevant" we are that wins the heart of His people, it is Christ Himself.
Obviously, I never ended up saving the environment. As a third grader, I didn't understand that there was no way I could do it on my own. The mere fact that I legitimately thought I could buy all the hairspray in the world and throw it all away should tell you just how much I didn't understand. Even though I acted in extreme ways, I didn't understand what it meant to be extreme. I didn't understand that in order be be extreme I had to be set apart... I had to be different... and I had to do so consistently, not just when I felt like it.
After a while I got tired of saving the environment on my own. Instead of asking for help or for realistic ways I might be able to help, I just gave up. It's as if because I couldn't do it my way I didn't want to do it at all.
It's funny how even now at 26, I can still act so much like a third grader (sometimes).
My prayer is that we wouldn't be afraid to be extremists... extremists in love... unwilling to keep quiet. Because regardless, the glory of God will be revealed! In case you haven't heard, even if we keep quiet "the stones will cry out" (Luke 19:40).
And if that's the case...
we might as well get loud and undignified!
Monday, April 19, 2010
changing
Last night I asked someone to pray for me.
Monday is my scheduled day off at work. If I need to set up a doctors appointment or meet up with someone for anything other than coffee, I can always shoot for Monday knowing that I won't have to worry about work being an issue.
Every once in a while I take a weekend off, in which case I work Mondays to make up for it. My manager usually clears it with me first before scheduling. This week she didn't.
I'm leaving on Thursday to go home for a long weekend, which I am beyond excited about. I haven't seen my family since Christmas and I have yet to see the newest member of our family, my niece, Mailey, so I have been looking forward to this trip for a while. That said, I won't be working a lot this week. Understandably so, my manager scheduled me for Monday morning since I won't be getting a lot of hours the rest of the week. The problem lies in the fact that she didn't ask me first and for a few weeks now I have been seeing a therapist on Monday mornings at 10am. I was scheduled to work the opening shift: 5am-11am.
With our schedule being put up late this week and me assuming I wasn't working on Monday, I didn't bother to look at my schedule until Sunday night. This is where the wise people in my life step in and say I should have been better prepared and checked my schedule ahead of time. Yes, I know, thank you.
That said, I was really worried about how I was going to be able to pull off being at work and at my therapy appointment at the same time. I knew I had to at least try to see if my manager would let me go early because after been on hiatus for way longer than I should have been, I'm definitely anxious to get back in the routine of consistently seeing therapist. Not only that, but I had made a commitment to see her every Monday morning at 10am, and I really want to honor my commitments.
Knowing that it was partly her fault for not clearing it with me, I was still a bit nervous to ask to leave early because morning time at Starbucks is the crazy time, and I didn't want to let her down by skipping out.
Last night before I went to bed, I asked someone to pray for me. When asked what for, I said courage to talk to my manager, but I don't think that's actually what I wanted. I said courage because it sounds better than saying "pray that I can get off early," but that's exactly what I wanted... I wanted to get off early; and as if God were a genie in a bottle and prayer was the equivalent of rubbing said bottle, I wanted Him to make it happen.
The thing is, God doesn't work that way, and prayer doesn't work that way. In fact, I don't think prayer is something that we should regard as "working" or "not working." It is a way of living, a form of communication, an act of worship and an honest expression before a merciful God. It is how we live in relationship with our creator and seek to align our heart to His. The purpose of prayer is not always to ask for change, the purpose of prayer is to be changed; to stop asking the Lord for your hearts desire and start asking the Lord for a heart like His... a heart for His people.
His people meaning all people... gay, straight, black, white, yellow, red, Muslim, Jew, Christian, agnostic, atheist, republican, democrat, homeless, wealthy, suburban, urban, eastern, western, young, old, male, female... the list goes on and on and on.
There is an epidemic of hatred going on and I'm praying that God would let me get off work early today. I'm not saying that I can't express even the simplest of my desires or needs to God, I think He cares about the small stuff, but when looking at the big picture, what do I really spend most of my time praying about?
If I have to be honest, I pray mostly about what I want to happen... whether it be for me or for other people.
I pray for change, but I don't pray to be changed.
I think I'll do just that... and then go to bed because I'm way too tired to finish this.
Monday is my scheduled day off at work. If I need to set up a doctors appointment or meet up with someone for anything other than coffee, I can always shoot for Monday knowing that I won't have to worry about work being an issue.
Every once in a while I take a weekend off, in which case I work Mondays to make up for it. My manager usually clears it with me first before scheduling. This week she didn't.
I'm leaving on Thursday to go home for a long weekend, which I am beyond excited about. I haven't seen my family since Christmas and I have yet to see the newest member of our family, my niece, Mailey, so I have been looking forward to this trip for a while. That said, I won't be working a lot this week. Understandably so, my manager scheduled me for Monday morning since I won't be getting a lot of hours the rest of the week. The problem lies in the fact that she didn't ask me first and for a few weeks now I have been seeing a therapist on Monday mornings at 10am. I was scheduled to work the opening shift: 5am-11am.
With our schedule being put up late this week and me assuming I wasn't working on Monday, I didn't bother to look at my schedule until Sunday night. This is where the wise people in my life step in and say I should have been better prepared and checked my schedule ahead of time. Yes, I know, thank you.
That said, I was really worried about how I was going to be able to pull off being at work and at my therapy appointment at the same time. I knew I had to at least try to see if my manager would let me go early because after been on hiatus for way longer than I should have been, I'm definitely anxious to get back in the routine of consistently seeing therapist. Not only that, but I had made a commitment to see her every Monday morning at 10am, and I really want to honor my commitments.
Knowing that it was partly her fault for not clearing it with me, I was still a bit nervous to ask to leave early because morning time at Starbucks is the crazy time, and I didn't want to let her down by skipping out.
Last night before I went to bed, I asked someone to pray for me. When asked what for, I said courage to talk to my manager, but I don't think that's actually what I wanted. I said courage because it sounds better than saying "pray that I can get off early," but that's exactly what I wanted... I wanted to get off early; and as if God were a genie in a bottle and prayer was the equivalent of rubbing said bottle, I wanted Him to make it happen.
The thing is, God doesn't work that way, and prayer doesn't work that way. In fact, I don't think prayer is something that we should regard as "working" or "not working." It is a way of living, a form of communication, an act of worship and an honest expression before a merciful God. It is how we live in relationship with our creator and seek to align our heart to His. The purpose of prayer is not always to ask for change, the purpose of prayer is to be changed; to stop asking the Lord for your hearts desire and start asking the Lord for a heart like His... a heart for His people.
His people meaning all people... gay, straight, black, white, yellow, red, Muslim, Jew, Christian, agnostic, atheist, republican, democrat, homeless, wealthy, suburban, urban, eastern, western, young, old, male, female... the list goes on and on and on.
There is an epidemic of hatred going on and I'm praying that God would let me get off work early today. I'm not saying that I can't express even the simplest of my desires or needs to God, I think He cares about the small stuff, but when looking at the big picture, what do I really spend most of my time praying about?
If I have to be honest, I pray mostly about what I want to happen... whether it be for me or for other people.
I pray for change, but I don't pray to be changed.
I think I'll do just that... and then go to bed because I'm way too tired to finish this.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
rambo
This movie is way too long... and I'm not even half way through it.
I really want to focus on writing, but I can't take my eyes off of the cattle about to commit unintentional suicide by running off a cliff.
I hate the bad guys... setting fire to everything, making the cattle go crazy, causing stampedes and killing off the drunks.
When I watch a movie with bad guys, which let's face it, even Disney movies have bad guys, I can literally feel the anger boiling up inside me.
..........
So after abandoning my computer for a while for what seemed like a 3 hour movie, I'm back and I'm focused.
I just finished watching the movie
Why I always think I'm going to be successful at multitasking is beyond me. Every time I make the decision to do so it seems like a good idea, and every time just like the time before, it proves to be quite the opposite.
I stopped writing when the cattle were about to stampede off a cliff, but left my computer on my lap the entire moving thinking that eventually I would start writing again. I could have been way more comfortable if I would have just put my computer down, sat back and focused on the movie. I ended up missing some subtitles because I kept looking down at my computer screen as if I was going to start typing.
Even though I actually accomplished nothing, for some reason it makes me feel accomplished if I at least pretend to be doing something. I would have felt lazy just sitting around watching a movie, but since I had my computer on my lap while sitting around watching a movie... I felt way more productive.
Why do we do that? Why do I do that? I so often try to accomplish more than one thing at a time, but instead of actually accomplishing anything at all, I end up spreading myself thin, which results in starting a few things but never actually finishing anything.
Fortunately, I finished the movie, but seeing as that’s not my point I can’t really label that as an accomplishment. I did manage to sit still for almost 3 hours without falling asleep and that is definitely no easy feat on my part.
I really want to try harder to try less. I try to do so much so often that I usually end up feeling burned out and more irritated than excited. When someone asks me to do something or take on a new project I find myself blurting out yes before I even have time to think about it. I end up taking on one more thing but hating it, even though it may be something I wanted to do, because I don’t have time for it and I can’t invest in it the way I want to. This often ends up with a less than satisfied result not only for me, but for the person to whom I think I just have to help along with every body else.
When my motive to help is to feel good about myself and point out what I have accomplished, I know my motive is wrong and regardless of how much I want to do it, its not something I should be taking part in. I know that I can’t do everything, so the only reason I try must be to make other people think I can.
I have to learn to get comfortable with saying “no,” or at least “I’ll think about it.” I have to learn to be OK with letting people down because regardless of how hard I try, I’m going to let someone down. Bill Cosby once said, “I don’t know they key to success, but I know the key to failure is to try to please everybody.” I’d have to agree with Mr. Cosby.
In this world, I realize I can’t please everybody, even if I wanted to. I honestly believe that I could not be a true follower of Christ if my goal were to please and be at peace with everyone. Christ does tell us to be at peace with one another and don’t get me wrong, I’m all about peace… make coffee, not war… but the peace that Christ talks of is not of this world. It’s not the kind of peace where see injustice take place before your very eyes and you keep silent so as not to cause any more trouble.
It’s a peace that passes understanding (Phil. 4:7). The mere fact that it passes or transcends understanding means that it can not be of this world. And if it is not of this world because it can not be understood, then it can not be something we give to each other, but something Christ gives to us.
I guess that’s why Christ tells us not to worry. It is the peace of God that guards me when I am faced with conflict, not my own ability to keep the peace.
Sometimes I have to say no… even to things that are good. I’m realizing more and more that life is so much about making choices, which is hard for someone who is so indecisive. It’s much easier for me to be like “God, what do you want me to do?” and wait for an answer, than it is to actually make a choice and take action. I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t ask God for guidance, absolutely we should, but sometimes (maybe even more often than not) I think He places something before us and not only lets us, but wants us to make a choice. It’s easy to say “I’m waiting on God,” and sit and do nothing. It takes courage to make a choice and trust God with that decision.
And so, as I am rapidly approaching my 12am deadline for today’s blog, I am ending abruptly, but am choosing to stay committed to completing what I started and finish on time.
May the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Phil 4:7,8)
Saturday, April 17, 2010
really hot chocolate
There's this old man who comes into Starbucks almost everyday to get a scalding hot kid's hot chocolate and a venti tuxedo mocha.
The Starbucks I work at is right next to Children's Memorial Hospital in Lincoln Park. We see a lot of doctors and nurses come in and out, as well as family members with lists of drinks to take back to the room where their child has been admitted for anything from a bad cough to a severe case of cancer.
I don't mean to sound depressing, but that's the reality of it.
So this old man has been coming in almost everyday, by himself, since at least November when I first transferred to this store. There would be weeks I would see him everyday and then a week or so would go by without any sight of him. Its like he's an irregular regular... you know he's coming, you just don't know when or how long he's gone stay this time.
I began to enjoy seeing this man when he'd show up day after day, sometimes even twice a day... usually for another tuxedo mocha. He has such a delightful presence and a sweet smile.
Over time I came to find out why he's so irregularly regular. It's because his granddaughter is a regular... to Children's Memorial Hospital.
His 4 year old granddaughter has cancer. She is constantly in and out of the hospital... more in than out. Every day that she's in, he's in there with her. He only leaves her to come over to Starbucks and get her a scalding hot kid's hot chocolate. I used to wonder why he would get it so hot, until the other day he finally said why... "to kill all the germs. I don't let her drink it until it cools down... she's so susceptible to even the littlest of germs."
That explained why the kid's hot chocolate was scalding hot. As for the venti tuxedo mocha, I just assumed it was always for him, but the other day he came in with a cup of 7/11 coffee and still ordered both drinks. "Must not be good coffee," I thought to myself as I stood proudly wearing my Starbucks apron.
As I handed him his change I told him to have a good day, to which he replied "oh I will now, my wife's gotta have her Starbucks and as long as she's happy, I'm happy. I'm just fine with any kind of coffee, it doesn't make any difference to me, but my wife's gotta have her Starbucks."
This man talks in a way that just makes me smile. When you ask him a question he always responds with an answer much longer and more detailed than you were looking for. I think that's what I like about him though, he's very transparent and genuinely interested in what you have to say.
He has come in everyday this week and last, and today I realized that as much as I enjoy seeing him, it's kind of a sad reason that he comes in. He's only in our area when his granddaughter is back in the hospital. She's only back in the hospital when she's not doing well. I realized that if that's the case, then I see this man way more often than I would like to.
I didn't notice him at first when he came in today. I was busy making drinks and I could hear a man talking to a child but I didn't think anything of it... until I heard the drink order... "scalding hot kid's hot chocolate and a venti tuxedo mocha." I looked up and sure enough, it was him. He kept turning around to talk to someone behind him but from the side of the counter I was on, I couldn't see anybody.
As I started to make his drinks I heard him say in a really sweet voice, "don't take your mask off." Right as I was about to think that was a really odd statement, it hit me... "she's here." I have been making this girl's drink for some time now, but have never actually seen her before. I leaned over the counter and there she was... sitting in a stroller. Her bald little head was covered with a felt beanie and she had a breathing mask over her face. All I could see were her bright blue eyes. They were beautiful.
"You brought her with you today!" I said excitedly to her grandpa. He stood proud and responded, "yeap, she insisted on coming with me and I just couldn't say no!"As I handed off his drinks I smiled and waved to his granddaughter. She waved and in a muffled voice from under her mask I heard "thank you."
After they left, I finished cleaning and went on with my day. It's easy not to get too attached to customers... they come and go and without knowing much about them I hand off their drinks and and tell them I hope they have a good day, even if I don't mean it.
I tried to dismiss the thought of this man and his granddaughter as just another customer, but I didn't do so well. I have thought about them all day, and even now at 11pm. People order drinks for other people all the time, and every now and then the people they order for come in and it's funny to finally put a face to the drink, but today it wasn't funny.
This man has been ordering a drink to take to his granddaughter for as long as I've been at this store, and today she finally came in. The difference this time was that I still couldn't put a face to her drink. Covered by a small mask and a felt beanie, she sat patiently in her stroller and waited for her grandpa to get her hot chocolate.
I don't know, nor do I understand, why this four year old girl has cancer. I don't know, nor do I understand, why her 70+ year old grandpa is in better physical health than she is.
I don't know, nor do I understand, why I can't stop thinking about her.
I hope this is just the beginning of writing about her and that I'll get to come back soon and talk about the progress she has made and how well she is doing. And as much as I enjoy seeing her grandpa, I hope the day comes when I see less of him because he doesn't have to order a scalding hot kid's hot chocolate anymore.
I hope one day they'll be back simply for a kid's hot chocolate... and I hope one day I'll finally have the chance to put a face to her drink.
His 4 year old granddaughter has cancer. She is constantly in and out of the hospital... more in than out. Every day that she's in, he's in there with her. He only leaves her to come over to Starbucks and get her a scalding hot kid's hot chocolate. I used to wonder why he would get it so hot, until the other day he finally said why... "to kill all the germs. I don't let her drink it until it cools down... she's so susceptible to even the littlest of germs."
That explained why the kid's hot chocolate was scalding hot. As for the venti tuxedo mocha, I just assumed it was always for him, but the other day he came in with a cup of 7/11 coffee and still ordered both drinks. "Must not be good coffee," I thought to myself as I stood proudly wearing my Starbucks apron.
As I handed him his change I told him to have a good day, to which he replied "oh I will now, my wife's gotta have her Starbucks and as long as she's happy, I'm happy. I'm just fine with any kind of coffee, it doesn't make any difference to me, but my wife's gotta have her Starbucks."
This man talks in a way that just makes me smile. When you ask him a question he always responds with an answer much longer and more detailed than you were looking for. I think that's what I like about him though, he's very transparent and genuinely interested in what you have to say.
He has come in everyday this week and last, and today I realized that as much as I enjoy seeing him, it's kind of a sad reason that he comes in. He's only in our area when his granddaughter is back in the hospital. She's only back in the hospital when she's not doing well. I realized that if that's the case, then I see this man way more often than I would like to.
I didn't notice him at first when he came in today. I was busy making drinks and I could hear a man talking to a child but I didn't think anything of it... until I heard the drink order... "scalding hot kid's hot chocolate and a venti tuxedo mocha." I looked up and sure enough, it was him. He kept turning around to talk to someone behind him but from the side of the counter I was on, I couldn't see anybody.
As I started to make his drinks I heard him say in a really sweet voice, "don't take your mask off." Right as I was about to think that was a really odd statement, it hit me... "she's here." I have been making this girl's drink for some time now, but have never actually seen her before. I leaned over the counter and there she was... sitting in a stroller. Her bald little head was covered with a felt beanie and she had a breathing mask over her face. All I could see were her bright blue eyes. They were beautiful.
"You brought her with you today!" I said excitedly to her grandpa. He stood proud and responded, "yeap, she insisted on coming with me and I just couldn't say no!"As I handed off his drinks I smiled and waved to his granddaughter. She waved and in a muffled voice from under her mask I heard "thank you."
After they left, I finished cleaning and went on with my day. It's easy not to get too attached to customers... they come and go and without knowing much about them I hand off their drinks and and tell them I hope they have a good day, even if I don't mean it.
I tried to dismiss the thought of this man and his granddaughter as just another customer, but I didn't do so well. I have thought about them all day, and even now at 11pm. People order drinks for other people all the time, and every now and then the people they order for come in and it's funny to finally put a face to the drink, but today it wasn't funny.
This man has been ordering a drink to take to his granddaughter for as long as I've been at this store, and today she finally came in. The difference this time was that I still couldn't put a face to her drink. Covered by a small mask and a felt beanie, she sat patiently in her stroller and waited for her grandpa to get her hot chocolate.
I don't know, nor do I understand, why this four year old girl has cancer. I don't know, nor do I understand, why her 70+ year old grandpa is in better physical health than she is.
I don't know, nor do I understand, why I can't stop thinking about her.
I hope this is just the beginning of writing about her and that I'll get to come back soon and talk about the progress she has made and how well she is doing. And as much as I enjoy seeing her grandpa, I hope the day comes when I see less of him because he doesn't have to order a scalding hot kid's hot chocolate anymore.
I hope one day they'll be back simply for a kid's hot chocolate... and I hope one day I'll finally have the chance to put a face to her drink.
Friday, April 16, 2010
cravings
I don't feel like writing today.
Unfortunately, the blog challenge is not to write when I feel like it, its to write everyday... no matter what I feel like. It seemed simple enough at first, but I guess it's days like this that make it a challenge.
I read something this morning that I've been thinking about all day. I usually nap everyday, but today I decided to keep going... maybe that's why I'm so tired right now. Either way, I want to share what I read. I realize it's kind of a cop out to copy and paste something on my blog just so I can check off "write everyday" on my imaginary "to do" list, but the rules of the daily blog challenge never got that specific, so I see no harm in "sharing" what's been on my mind all day.
This is an excerpt from a daily devotional by Oswald Chambers, whom I know at least one of you are familiar with. Its interesting that I'm coping out and posting this just because I don't feel like writing.
Once you read it, I'm sure you'll understand why.
"While ye have light, believe in the light." John 12:36
We all have moments when we feel better than our best, and we say - "I feel fit for anything; if only I could be like this always!" We are not meant to be. Those moments are moments of insight which we have to live up to when we do not feel like it. Many of us are no good for this workaday world when there is no high hour. We must bring our commonplace life up to the standard revealed in the high hour.
Never allow a feeling which was stirred in you in the high hour to evaporate. Don't put your mental feet on the mantelpiece and say - "What a marvelous state of mind to be in!" Act immediately, do something, if only because you would rather not do it. If in a prayer meeting God has shown you something to do, don't say - "I'll do it"; do it! Take yourself by the scruff of the neck and shake off your incarnate laziness. Laziness is always seen in cravings for the high hour; we talk about working up to a time on the mount. We have to learn to live in the grey day according to what we saw on the mount.
Don't cave in because you have been baffled once, get at it again. Burn your bridges behind you, and stand committed to God by your own act. Never revise your decisions, but see that you make your decisions in the light of the high hour.
Unfortunately, the blog challenge is not to write when I feel like it, its to write everyday... no matter what I feel like. It seemed simple enough at first, but I guess it's days like this that make it a challenge.
I read something this morning that I've been thinking about all day. I usually nap everyday, but today I decided to keep going... maybe that's why I'm so tired right now. Either way, I want to share what I read. I realize it's kind of a cop out to copy and paste something on my blog just so I can check off "write everyday" on my imaginary "to do" list, but the rules of the daily blog challenge never got that specific, so I see no harm in "sharing" what's been on my mind all day.
This is an excerpt from a daily devotional by Oswald Chambers, whom I know at least one of you are familiar with. Its interesting that I'm coping out and posting this just because I don't feel like writing.
Once you read it, I'm sure you'll understand why.
CAN YOU COME DOWN?
"While ye have light, believe in the light." John 12:36
We all have moments when we feel better than our best, and we say - "I feel fit for anything; if only I could be like this always!" We are not meant to be. Those moments are moments of insight which we have to live up to when we do not feel like it. Many of us are no good for this workaday world when there is no high hour. We must bring our commonplace life up to the standard revealed in the high hour.
Never allow a feeling which was stirred in you in the high hour to evaporate. Don't put your mental feet on the mantelpiece and say - "What a marvelous state of mind to be in!" Act immediately, do something, if only because you would rather not do it. If in a prayer meeting God has shown you something to do, don't say - "I'll do it"; do it! Take yourself by the scruff of the neck and shake off your incarnate laziness. Laziness is always seen in cravings for the high hour; we talk about working up to a time on the mount. We have to learn to live in the grey day according to what we saw on the mount.
Don't cave in because you have been baffled once, get at it again. Burn your bridges behind you, and stand committed to God by your own act. Never revise your decisions, but see that you make your decisions in the light of the high hour.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
imagine
So, I'm in my room reminiscing to some old tunes I used to run to and it's really hard for me to concentrate on writing when Destiny's Child "Booty-luscious" is blasting in the background. I can not, however, bring myself to turn it off. I don't think I'm ready.
Pause for now... I must dance.
Annnnnnnnnnd... done!
After my dance session, I put in a cover album of some of the Beatles greatest hits. It reminds me of my childhood. I went through a long phase in middle school where I swore I was supposed to be the fifth Beatle who was born into the wrong time period. My walls were covered with posters of the fabulous four and I would day dream about what it would be like to play the piano in the background while John, Paul, George and Ringo would rock out center stage. I sat perfectly still behind a beautiful piano during the song "In My Life" and waited for John to give me the cue with a look and a head nod, which meant I could take it away on the piano solo.
After I'd finish they'd all smile as they kept singing and I'd smile too because I knew after the show they would all tell me how proud they were of me.
I was a weird kid.
I lived mostly in my imagination with a few real friends here and there. I had crushes on guys I knew I would never meet, either because they were famous or they were dead. I often pretended like my life was a movie and I would take on different roles of different characters.
I made fun of my little sister a lot because she made this club called "the cleaning club" where she would talk to the mirror, a.k.a her TV audience, and teach them how to properly clean their rooms. Her room was the demonstration room. This is what she did for fun. I thought she was crazy.
Though I made fun of her as to appear "cool," I also talked into my mirror every time I was in my room. The difference was that it was cooler when I did it... I wasn't pretending to be the president of the cleaning club, I would pretend my "boyfriend" was on the other side and I'd be crying over a breakup, or that I lost my job and didn't know how I was going to support my kids. Once I was even on a hockey team that just won a national championship and I was responding to the the coach telling me I was the backbone of the team... although I'm pretty sure that scene was shortly after watching the quack attack come back in The Mighty Ducks sequel. I didn't always invent the scenes, sometimes I just re-enacted them the way I thought they should go. I thought of it as creativity with just a touch of plagiarism.
I was about to say I miss those days of my imagination running wild, but I can't necessarily say they are over. Things have definitely changed... I have to worry about paying bills and buying groceries, so I can't run around as careless as I did when I was a child, but I still daydream. I still talk into my mirror, but better yet, now that I'm all grown up I have my own camera and actually get to capture some of my nonsense on tape.
This is a peek behind closed doors when no one is around. I never planned on showing this to anyone when I filmed it, I just had the camera sitting there and I was bored, so I turned it on...
Pause for now... I must dance.
Annnnnnnnnnd... done!
After my dance session, I put in a cover album of some of the Beatles greatest hits. It reminds me of my childhood. I went through a long phase in middle school where I swore I was supposed to be the fifth Beatle who was born into the wrong time period. My walls were covered with posters of the fabulous four and I would day dream about what it would be like to play the piano in the background while John, Paul, George and Ringo would rock out center stage. I sat perfectly still behind a beautiful piano during the song "In My Life" and waited for John to give me the cue with a look and a head nod, which meant I could take it away on the piano solo.
After I'd finish they'd all smile as they kept singing and I'd smile too because I knew after the show they would all tell me how proud they were of me.
I was a weird kid.
I lived mostly in my imagination with a few real friends here and there. I had crushes on guys I knew I would never meet, either because they were famous or they were dead. I often pretended like my life was a movie and I would take on different roles of different characters.
I made fun of my little sister a lot because she made this club called "the cleaning club" where she would talk to the mirror, a.k.a her TV audience, and teach them how to properly clean their rooms. Her room was the demonstration room. This is what she did for fun. I thought she was crazy.
Though I made fun of her as to appear "cool," I also talked into my mirror every time I was in my room. The difference was that it was cooler when I did it... I wasn't pretending to be the president of the cleaning club, I would pretend my "boyfriend" was on the other side and I'd be crying over a breakup, or that I lost my job and didn't know how I was going to support my kids. Once I was even on a hockey team that just won a national championship and I was responding to the the coach telling me I was the backbone of the team... although I'm pretty sure that scene was shortly after watching the quack attack come back in The Mighty Ducks sequel. I didn't always invent the scenes, sometimes I just re-enacted them the way I thought they should go. I thought of it as creativity with just a touch of plagiarism.
I was about to say I miss those days of my imagination running wild, but I can't necessarily say they are over. Things have definitely changed... I have to worry about paying bills and buying groceries, so I can't run around as careless as I did when I was a child, but I still daydream. I still talk into my mirror, but better yet, now that I'm all grown up I have my own camera and actually get to capture some of my nonsense on tape.
This is a peek behind closed doors when no one is around. I never planned on showing this to anyone when I filmed it, I just had the camera sitting there and I was bored, so I turned it on...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
pointless
23 minutes till midnight and I honestly got nothing.
How can I have nothing to say?
Do I care that much about what I write that I can't write unless it's perfect? I can't come up with the perfect entry in 23 minutes...
oop... 22.
In an attempt to not be perfect, there is absolutely no point to the story I'm about to tell... but who knows, maybe one will come out of it.
My alarm went off this morning at 5:20. I worked from 6:00am-2:30pm, but my day didn't really start until I got home from work.
I painted today.
I got paint stuck in my finger nails, and although I washed most of it out there were definitely some traces left behind resulting in what looked like "hey mom, look, I just dug a hole in the back yard!"
Long story short, because I'm running out of time, I bite my fingernails... a lot.
OK, a whole lot.
Today was no exception, although it would have been nice if it were due to the fact that I had oil and acyclic paints stuck in my fingernails.
I drove out to the suburbs around 7pm, biting my nails, because let's face it... what else is there to do in traffic? And about half way through my trip I began to feel really weird, and kind of woozy.
It suddenly dawned on me that I might possibly be eating paint chips.
And then I realized...
I'm definitely eating paint chips.
By the time I got to my destination, church, mind you, I felt sick and slightly high.
How do I know what's like to feel high? I don't, because the one time I did try pot, I did not inhale.
OK, that's not true, I didn't inhale on more than one occasion.
OK, that's not entirely true either, but that's a topic to be discussed later when I have more than 19 minutes left to write before my daily deadline. For those of you who want to pray for my soul now, don't worry, I have repented since "those days" and been forgiven, but thank you for your concern.
In a nut shell, I went to church high. Not on drugs, not on life, not on the Holy Spirit... on paint that I had eaten from underneath my fingernails.
What an exciting life I lead.
Thank you, Lord... for today. For the weather, for my bacon & cheese sandwich, and that little spot on the corner where we sat in the sun on my lunch break.
Thank you that I got to paint, outside, even if I did get a little high. Thank for not only understanding but giving me my sense of humor.
Thank you that I can rest in the truth that it is your smile that I live for and not that of the "world" or the "church."
Thank you, Lord.
It is You, I adore.
That's not pointless at all!
Thank you, Lord.
How can I have nothing to say?
Do I care that much about what I write that I can't write unless it's perfect? I can't come up with the perfect entry in 23 minutes...
oop... 22.
In an attempt to not be perfect, there is absolutely no point to the story I'm about to tell... but who knows, maybe one will come out of it.
A Pointless Story About My Day
by JJ Barrows
by JJ Barrows
My alarm went off this morning at 5:20. I worked from 6:00am-2:30pm, but my day didn't really start until I got home from work.
I painted today.
I got paint stuck in my finger nails, and although I washed most of it out there were definitely some traces left behind resulting in what looked like "hey mom, look, I just dug a hole in the back yard!"
Long story short, because I'm running out of time, I bite my fingernails... a lot.
OK, a whole lot.
Today was no exception, although it would have been nice if it were due to the fact that I had oil and acyclic paints stuck in my fingernails.
I drove out to the suburbs around 7pm, biting my nails, because let's face it... what else is there to do in traffic? And about half way through my trip I began to feel really weird, and kind of woozy.
It suddenly dawned on me that I might possibly be eating paint chips.
And then I realized...
I'm definitely eating paint chips.
By the time I got to my destination, church, mind you, I felt sick and slightly high.
How do I know what's like to feel high? I don't, because the one time I did try pot, I did not inhale.
OK, that's not true, I didn't inhale on more than one occasion.
OK, that's not entirely true either, but that's a topic to be discussed later when I have more than 19 minutes left to write before my daily deadline. For those of you who want to pray for my soul now, don't worry, I have repented since "those days" and been forgiven, but thank you for your concern.
In a nut shell, I went to church high. Not on drugs, not on life, not on the Holy Spirit... on paint that I had eaten from underneath my fingernails.
What an exciting life I lead.
Thank you, Lord... for today. For the weather, for my bacon & cheese sandwich, and that little spot on the corner where we sat in the sun on my lunch break.
Thank you that I got to paint, outside, even if I did get a little high. Thank for not only understanding but giving me my sense of humor.
Thank you that I can rest in the truth that it is your smile that I live for and not that of the "world" or the "church."
Thank you, Lord.
It is You, I adore.
That's not pointless at all!
Thank you, Lord.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
spending
Today I am morning the loss of a friend...
the Polaroid camera.
Never again to be found in stores (aside from resale and thrift), the Polaroid camera and its sidekick, Polaroid film, have been officially discontinued as of February 5, 2010.
I went online and tried to buy film for a Polaroid camera today. The cheapest I found was $32.00 plus shipping. The most expensive was over $200... no joke.
Its as if as soon as Polaroid was discontinued, anyone who had any left in stock tripled the price and knew people would pay for it simply because they all of a sudden couldn't have it.
Why do we do that? Why do I do that?
I want what I can't have. Sometimes not even necessarily because I want it, but simply because I can't have it. And then I get it, and I realize I don't want it.
I know the cycle, yet I find myself repeating it.
Or let's say I legitimately do want something... not because I can't have it, or because I need it, but just because I want it.
Is that reason enough to get it?
I need to pay my bills. I want a Polaroid camera with film.
Last week I wanted to go to Africa. Last week I needed to pay my bills.
Going to Africa seems more of a noble cause to invest in than a Polaroid camera, but nonetheless, I can't justify going to Africa either simply because it is a "noble" cause. I still need to pay my bills.
I hate growing up.
Sometimes.
Right now BLICK (art store) has canvases on sale for 50-60% off. I want some new canvases. When and where else am I going to find canvases for that cheap? I need to get them now.
OK, I don't need to, but I want to.
I also need to get groceries for this week. And let's be honest, I don't want to but I need to.
It's funny how much I don't like spending money on the essential things in life and how willing I am to waste it on the latest trend.
Yuck.
I'm too tired to continue and I know my thoughts are scattered, but this is what it looks like to just write without days and days of proof reading and editing before posting an entry.
I always talk about being authentic, but I make sure I sound good when I do it.
I have a feeling this challenge of blogging everyday is going to be a bit harder than I thought. But I think it will be good. I have to set down my desire of wanting to come across as a good writer and just write, despite how I come across.
I still want a Polaroid camera, and some canvases, and a bike. I was hoping that would change by the end of this, but it hasn't. I realize it's OK to want those things, but it doesn't mean I need them.
I need to pay my bills, I need to buy some groceries, and I need to spend a whole lot more....
time in prayer.
the Polaroid camera.
Never again to be found in stores (aside from resale and thrift), the Polaroid camera and its sidekick, Polaroid film, have been officially discontinued as of February 5, 2010.
I went online and tried to buy film for a Polaroid camera today. The cheapest I found was $32.00 plus shipping. The most expensive was over $200... no joke.
Its as if as soon as Polaroid was discontinued, anyone who had any left in stock tripled the price and knew people would pay for it simply because they all of a sudden couldn't have it.
Why do we do that? Why do I do that?
I want what I can't have. Sometimes not even necessarily because I want it, but simply because I can't have it. And then I get it, and I realize I don't want it.
I know the cycle, yet I find myself repeating it.
Or let's say I legitimately do want something... not because I can't have it, or because I need it, but just because I want it.
Is that reason enough to get it?
I need to pay my bills. I want a Polaroid camera with film.
Last week I wanted to go to Africa. Last week I needed to pay my bills.
Going to Africa seems more of a noble cause to invest in than a Polaroid camera, but nonetheless, I can't justify going to Africa either simply because it is a "noble" cause. I still need to pay my bills.
I hate growing up.
Sometimes.
Right now BLICK (art store) has canvases on sale for 50-60% off. I want some new canvases. When and where else am I going to find canvases for that cheap? I need to get them now.
OK, I don't need to, but I want to.
I also need to get groceries for this week. And let's be honest, I don't want to but I need to.
It's funny how much I don't like spending money on the essential things in life and how willing I am to waste it on the latest trend.
Yuck.
I'm too tired to continue and I know my thoughts are scattered, but this is what it looks like to just write without days and days of proof reading and editing before posting an entry.
I always talk about being authentic, but I make sure I sound good when I do it.
I have a feeling this challenge of blogging everyday is going to be a bit harder than I thought. But I think it will be good. I have to set down my desire of wanting to come across as a good writer and just write, despite how I come across.
I still want a Polaroid camera, and some canvases, and a bike. I was hoping that would change by the end of this, but it hasn't. I realize it's OK to want those things, but it doesn't mean I need them.
I need to pay my bills, I need to buy some groceries, and I need to spend a whole lot more....
time in prayer.
Monday, April 12, 2010
someone
I have this sticker on my computer that says "write everyday."
I thought by having it on my computer, it would motivate me to do so.
It actually does the exact opposite. I look at the sticker and think "what a good idea," but then when I don't do it I feel somewhat like a loser or a failure, or just plain lazy. Instead of feeling motivated I feel tired from all of my negative self talk and opt for a nap instead.
I'm pretty sure I would feel really good about myself if I had a sticker above my bed that said "nap everyday." I would definitely feel well accomplished.
As much as I really do love writing, it's hard to find time for it. That and the fact that it's hard to get past the thought that anyone would want to read what I have to say. I saw a tee shirt once that said "your blog sucks" and I may have taken it personally... even though this kid had no idea who I was or that I even had a blog.
Women.
I put the "me" in women. I used to think I was different and so not the emotional type. That was until I got older and realized that there really is something about the way women are wired that just makes us crazy.
That's another topic I would love to discuss sometime, but for now I just want to get to the point.
Someone challenged me to write on my blog everyday, even if it's just a sentence or two, to at least get me in the habit of writing, and they also would take on that challenge.
Today is day one and I find myself without much to say, but up to the challenge. So here I write, mostly about nothing, but excited and slightly nervous to see what will come of this.
Thank you, dear someone, for encouraging me to write and taking part in this challenge with me.
This has long been one of my favorite quotes, but I have yet to live it out. I hope this inspires us both...
“Write everyday. Line by line, page by page, hour by hour. Do this despite fear. For above all else, beyond imagination and skill, what the world asks of you is courage. Courage to risk rejection, ridicule and failure. As you follow the quest for stories told with meaning and beauty, study thoughtfully, but write boldly. Then, like the hero of the fable, your dance will dazzle the world.”
–Robert Mckee
I thought by having it on my computer, it would motivate me to do so.
It actually does the exact opposite. I look at the sticker and think "what a good idea," but then when I don't do it I feel somewhat like a loser or a failure, or just plain lazy. Instead of feeling motivated I feel tired from all of my negative self talk and opt for a nap instead.
I'm pretty sure I would feel really good about myself if I had a sticker above my bed that said "nap everyday." I would definitely feel well accomplished.
As much as I really do love writing, it's hard to find time for it. That and the fact that it's hard to get past the thought that anyone would want to read what I have to say. I saw a tee shirt once that said "your blog sucks" and I may have taken it personally... even though this kid had no idea who I was or that I even had a blog.
Women.
I put the "me" in women. I used to think I was different and so not the emotional type. That was until I got older and realized that there really is something about the way women are wired that just makes us crazy.
That's another topic I would love to discuss sometime, but for now I just want to get to the point.
Someone challenged me to write on my blog everyday, even if it's just a sentence or two, to at least get me in the habit of writing, and they also would take on that challenge.
Today is day one and I find myself without much to say, but up to the challenge. So here I write, mostly about nothing, but excited and slightly nervous to see what will come of this.
Thank you, dear someone, for encouraging me to write and taking part in this challenge with me.
This has long been one of my favorite quotes, but I have yet to live it out. I hope this inspires us both...
“Write everyday. Line by line, page by page, hour by hour. Do this despite fear. For above all else, beyond imagination and skill, what the world asks of you is courage. Courage to risk rejection, ridicule and failure. As you follow the quest for stories told with meaning and beauty, study thoughtfully, but write boldly. Then, like the hero of the fable, your dance will dazzle the world.”
–Robert Mckee
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