remember cici? (part 2)

Sunday, August 3, 2008

colorless

I held Cici's hand today.

When I started to feel myself get frustrated with a customer, I grabbed Cici's hand, and I held on for dear life.

I don't know if that was a good idea or a bad because there was a combination of emotions involved. On the one hand, I smiled and thought of her smile. For a split second I was back in Uganda, sitting on her door step, holding her hand, and just watching her head go back and forth as she laughed out loud. She had a good laugh... a rare quality these days.

On the other hand, I caught myself wanting to cry. Your heart breaks when you meet someone like Cici. Maybe you don't even realize it in the moment, but give it a week or two and get back into your normal routine, and then all of a sudden one day you realize... your heart is broken... and you can't stop thinking of Cici.

The thought of Cici can break your heart in a split second... but in that same second, the thought of Cici can mend your heart. How can you not smile when you think of someone like Cici? How can that smile and the thought of that woman not mend your heart?

As I go back and forth between emotions on the inside, I continue with my usual jokes and laughs on the outside. Cici wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to remember her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to come back to her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her.

And so I decide... I do Cici no good standing here crying into people's coffee on her behalf. In fact, I do two parties no good... Cici, and the coffee drinkers.

And so I decide... I will go back to visit with Cici. I will go back to hold her hand and rest my head on her shoulder. Though she is blind, she has the qualities of a good mother... times 10... maybe even 11. And though I would want to hold her in my arms, she would want to hold me in hers. She would feel my skin and tell me how beautiful I am.

I don't know that I've ever really, truly believed that until I heard it from the lips of a blind woman... the lips of Cici. Maybe it's because it had nothing to do with what I look like. Maybe it's because even though she couldn't see me, she saw me exactly for who I was. She really saw me... and so few people do these days. They see the skin that I am in and they leave it at that.

Cici sees beyond the skin. I was not white, nor was she black. I was a woman (and still am... praise the Lord), who traveled to this third world country intending to "save the day" and love on it's people, who realized... even those who "save the day" (or think that's what they're doing) need to be held... need to be loved. I wanted to be loved... in the same ways that she and all women do... and over this, we bonded. In the connection between our colorless hands... we bonded.

And with this, I accepted her compliment... not because of pride, or even because I agree with her... but because her definition of beauty is not the same as the world's... and I think that this is the biggest compliment that one can get... so I accept it.

And now that I am away from her, I close my eyes and I see her more clearly than ever. It is amazing how much you really can see someone when you can't see them at all. She is just as beautiful now as she was that day on her door step.

And so... I stop crying and I smile, because I know I will see her again, and I know what this means...



I will go back to Africa!

remember cici?

I'm thinking of Cici today, so I thought I'd share a flashblack...

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Cici

She was blind.



Up front a man is complaining about having to wait for his drink... and the woman behind him complains about having foam on her no foam latte... and the lady in the drive-thru wants a 40 cent refund.

So what do I do? I stop dead in my tracks and I think of Cici.

I think of Cici and my heart drops into my stomach.

She was blind... she is blind.

"Welcome back to America," I think to myself.

She was a school teacher... a good one, and still is a good mother, but her husband beat her so badly that she went blind.

She stumbled out of her tiny little house that day and welcomed us into her home. I sat next to her and I held her hand. "I want to see you," she said, and she grabbed my face. She told me I was beautiful. And then she smiled.

She had no idea... she was the beautiful one. She had dark skin and bright white teeth... long eyelashes and big, thick lips. Her hair was cut short... almost completely shaved. She wore a long, auburn colored dress and her feet were bare... my favorite footwear... especially when in Africa.

I try to figure out how to put 40 cents back on this lady's card, and I think of Cici. I try to understand how this man thinks he is going to have a bad day because he had to wait for his drink, and I think of Cici. I watch as Lindsey removes the slightest bit of foam from this lady's drink, and I think of Cici.

"Welcome back to America," I think to myself... and then I think of Cici.

I want to hold her hand again. I want to carry her daughter on my back. I want to sit next to her while we pray. I want to walk bare foot with her and hang from the tree outside of her house. Mostly, I want to hear her laugh and I want to see her smile.

She has the most beautiful smile. Her husband beat her until she went blind, and yet she has the most beautiful smile. Her tin roof is full of holes that allow the rain to come in and soak up her dirt floor, and yet she has the most beautiful smile. She can never teach again, something that she loved to do, and yet she has the most beautiful smile.

So I'm at work, and I look at this woman in her comfy, air conditioned car, and I glance over at this man in his nice suit with spiffy sunglasses, and I quickly check out the woman who can afford to pay $4 for a cup of coffee, and I wonder... why aren't they smiling?



I wonder... why aren't they smiling? And I think of Cici.

I am torn between wanting to smile and wanting to cry. I want to smile for her, but I want to cry for them.

They have no idea... she is the beautiful one.

I could try to explain to them how beautiful she is, but I know it will do no good. Someone who doesn't have time to wait for a cup of coffee doesn't have time to listen to a good story... especially on a Sunday morning... they might be late for church. So I go about my day, and I wear a smile, and I think of Cici. And I pray that she knows...

she is the beautiful one.

poor connection

After attempting three shy of a million times to get my internet to work, I was able to get on tonight right before midnight. With the shotty internet I am working with at the moment, I can not guarantee a blog a day, but I will do my best as I am out and about to post as I get the chance. Changes are coming, I can promise you that, but things are a bit crazy right now, and fixing the internet is the last thing on my mind. Hope to check back in tomorrow!

new canvas

a group painting inspired me to paint on a different kind of canvas... this was the result...

a post i never posted

I found this post that i never finished and instead of waiting 2 more years to finish it, I decided I would post it as is. I don't remember where my train of thought was going to end up, but I do remember that comforting feeling of being known... something I wrote about in the following post... and something I've recently seemed to have forgotten.


......................................
11/13/08

The other day one of my friends told me she wanted to take me somewhere... but wouldn't tell me where.

She said it was a surprise.

I love surprises, but rarely ever is someone actually able to surprise me. I always figure it out, not even because I want to, but simply because my intuition is that amazingly good that I always just figure it out. It's actually quite a bummer sometimes, because like I said, I love surprises.

So I agreed to to let her surprise me... and in all honesty I didn't really have a clue as to where it was... until she said how long it would take to get there and what time it closed.

I figured it out and I told myself that it was a cute idea, but I wondered why in the world she would want to take me there.

This friend knows me well... very well... or at least I thought she did. I mean, I can understand if she would maybe want to go with me sometime, but to call it a surprise and get me excited about it as if I had no clue it existed, I just thought that was kinda weird... and I started to wonder if she knew me... at all.

We make it to Wheaton and finally I ask...

"Are we going to the Billy Graham Museum?"

She laughed, and said "no... are you serious? well... yes."

Ah ha! I knew it.

"But it's not what you think," she said.

"Doubtful," I thought.

Apparently she heard my thought process because before I could even say anything she asked "do you actually think I would tell you I have a surprise for you and take you there? Don't you think I know you... at all?"

I let out a laugh, followed by a sigh of relief, but I seriously wondered what could possibly be at the Billy Graham Museum that I would want to see.

Just to keep others up to speed, I have been to the Billy Graham Museum... many times... even as a kid. It's sort of a family thing. My grandfather, or Papa, as we call him, was the worship leader for Billy Graham, so they have traveled all over the world together, ever since the beginning. For those of you who still have no clue what or who I am talking about, I like you already.

In all seriousness, Billy Graham was a well known evangelist for God knows how many years. He has been referred to as "America's Pastor" as he has met and prayed with numerous presidents from Dwight D. Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson, and Richard Nixon, to Gerald Ford, Bill Clinton, and both father and son Bush. He has also recently informed President-elect Barack Obama that he hopes to meet with him and pray for him as well. I read an article saying that Billy Graham did not always agree with the presidents' policies, but he prayed for them all.

Anyway... all this to say... this is why my friend would want to take me to the Billy Graham museum in the first place... or maybe why anybody would want to go in the first place... he's actually quite an amazing man. So yea, there's history there, and for me, heritage... sweet, right?

Right... for someone who doesn't know me well, it would be sweet for them to want to surprise me and take me to see some of my family history. But for someone who knows me, who knows my story, who knows my history, who maybe even knows the sting that comes along with the privilege of being a "Barrows," it's not so sweet.

We arrive on the campus of Wheaton College, park at Barrows Auditorium (yes... related), and we head inside, all the while still wondering what the crap we are going to do.

Before we get to the double glass doors, she tells me not to look. "I've seen what's through the glass doors," I say to myself in a total smart-alec manner. I follow her into the bathroom, wait for her to finish her business, and follow her back out... ready to walk through the double glass doors.

As we approach, I'm finishing up a story I had started telling her while she was doing her business, but I get totally distracted by a picture that I see on the wall, hanging in the room we are about to enter. As I open the doors, I try to finish what I am saying, but the picture pulled me in like a magnet... and I was silent.

"Is this what we're here to see?"

She smiled.

I whispered an "oh my God," and I smiled.

"You'll want to be here a lot longer than I will," she said, "so I'm gonna let you walk around by yourself... if I get bored, I'll be around somewhere."

I couldn't believe it.


I stood in front of the picture for what felt like 5 mintues, until I finally read what was posted beside it...

"Reflections of poverty and AIDS in Africa."

Those who know me, like she apparently does, know that I have a heart for Africa. I was not only moved by the display set before me, but the mere fact that she even thought to bring me to such an event. I think she knew it was risky to take me to an event that was taking place in the Billy Graham museum, but I like that she took the risk. I also think that in part of taking that risk, she liked the fact she knew she was going to prove my assumptions wrong.

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

I didn't touch on it too terribly much in the above post, but being a "Barrows" was something I struggled with for a long time, not only because of my absent grandfather who was always out winning the rest of the world for Christ, but also because my dad was a pastor. My father, being somewhat raised by his absent father had ministry modeled for him as such. I'm not saying that being a pastor is a bad thing, but I am saying that I think people underestimate how hard it is to be a pastor, or in any type of ministry for that matter, and balance it with family life.

I'm in a different place than I was in 2008. I still have a very deep love for Africa, but I am slowly coming to peace more and more with my family heritage. While I may be much different from my grandfather, I can still be proud of who he was and the life he led (and still leads, he's still very much alive).

I know he wasn't there so much for his own family, but I know he has impacted others all over the world, and I have learned to come to peace with that. Instead of being selfish and resentful, I'm learning to be grateful for the lives he has touched. I'm becoming more and more aware that my "ministry" (we all have one in some way, shape or form) doesn't have to look exactly like my grandfather's. We share the same name, and I am more proud now than ever before to say that, but the Barrows name does not define me.

I would probably be more open to a surprise visit to Barrows auditorium or the Billy Graham museum these days, but I'm thankful that the timing of that visit with my friend was about my heart and not my heritage.

Timing is everything.

Thank you, dear friend, for that cold day in November when you took me to a familiar place for a complete surprise.

As I know you have heard many times before from myself and other people who have often doubted your judgment... "thank you for taking me there."

And thank you for your patience as you have waited for us to realize how grateful we really are.

gone missing

Dear people who feel ignored by me,

I have been without internet all weekend. I'm not going to lie, it was kind of nice having a vacation from technology, but I realize it has left some people puzzled as to why I have not responded to them. If you feel neglected due to my lack of facebook responses, don't worry... it's not you, it's my internet (and maybe a little me because my phone still works). Either way, I hope to catch back up with the world wide web tomorrow, yourself included.

Most Sincerely,

JJ Barrows

miscommunication

Why is it so easy to mis-communicate and so hard to clear it up?

a secret chord

I came home to write but I ended up playing guitar instead. I lost track of time until I realized I needed to post something before midnight.

I haven't been playing guitar for a while but I picked it back up in the last few weeks. My fingers are hurting and calluses are re-forming, but I love it.

I don't mind not writing tonight. I got to play instead.

I hope to have some more substance for you tomorrow... tonight I'm just going to enjoy the music.

flashback

I was going through old posts earlier and found a few I never posted. I thought this one was a good reminder about keeping my attitude in check.

---------------
11/13/08


Saturday was a bad day.

No particular reason other than it just was.

Work was non-stop, so it made it very easy for me to miss lunch.

I'm pretty sure all I had the entire day was a bowl of cereal before I left my house that morning.

For some people, this is normal.

For those who are in recovery from an eating disorder, not so much.



I am the latter... therefore, not so normal for me.

When I don't eat you can tell, as I'm sure you can with most people.

There's something about lack of calories that seem to bring out the worst in people... that and lack of sleep.

Saturday, I was operating on both.

I got off work around 5pm, which left me time to go to the Saturday night church service at Yellow Box. I don't normally go on Saturday nights any more, but I wanted to see an old friend who told me she would be there, so I figured I would stop by.

I went in, tired as a dog, and sat in a big comfy chair in front of the fake fireplace in the main entrance. The service had already started, and due to how I felt I was debating if I actually wanted to stay until it was over.

I decided I would think about it over some snacks. I went over to best part of what CCC has to offer... the free food... (kidding) and I loaded a small little styrofoam plate with some cheese balls and pita chips.

As I made my way back to my seat, I noticed that the other side of the fire place had a TV screen above it, and I could actually watch Jon Ferguson speak without actually having to leave the big comfy chair in front of the fireplace... this place keeps getting better and better.

I sat on the arm of the big comfy chair, and for the first time that day, I felt comfortable. I felt like I was right where I belonged... especially since I haven't had cheese balls since I was in the 9th grade.

I felt good.

Then... I was interrupted.

A young guy, who was obviously going to fill the tables up with more snacks, walks up to me and tells me not to sit like that. I was waiting for a laugh as if it was a joke, but there was no laugh.

There was a finger wave... but no laugh.

I heard the lady beside him say there was nothing wrong with me sitting on the arm of the chair and he loudly protested "YES, THERE IS!"

I moved my leg over so as to make it look like I was going to move, but I stayed right where I was... on the arm.

I was never really good with direction... at least not rude direction.

He went over to organize the snack table, then walked back by me, but decided to talk loudly about me, instead of talk to me.

I hear him walk back to the cafe, continue to talk about me, and on top of that, tell the man who is in charge of the cafe that I am sitting on the arm of a chair and he needs to tell me to move.

I see the cafe manager walk over, look at me, and walk back to the cafe.

I hear him telling the young man... "it's not a big deal. You gotta pick and chose your battles. Those chairs were made to be abused."

I sure hope so, I think to myself, considering how many youth hang out here.

I decided to be a smart-alec and show this kid that I'm not some random girl, but that I actually know the people he is tattling on me to.

I walk up to the counter...

"Is there something wrong with the way I was sitting?" I ask the cafe manager, loud enough so the guy can hear me.

The manager shakes his head and mouths "no" and kind of rolls his eyes like he knows that the guy who told on me was being kind of ridiculous, but right as he was mouthing "no," my friend, the tattle tale, yells out "YES!"

I get so frustrated and yell out as sarcastically as possible...

"you're SOO welcoming... it's a good thing you're on the welcoming team!"

I turn around and walk out the doors, but as I'm walking out I hear a girl from behind the counter yell out "oh my God!"



I left there fuming mad!

What if I was a visitor? What if I had never been there before, and that was my first impression of this place... all because I sat on a chair arm, that I'm pretty sure every teenager in the Naperville area sits on when they go to StuCo on Wednesday nights.

Imagine how that would go over...

"OK kids, welcome to Community Christian Church, we need you to sit up straight in your chairs... and while you're at it, straighten your tie."


I mean, I know I'm getting a little carried away here, but this was how I felt in that moment. I was pissed.


I drove home, still furious, wondering who in the heck that kid was, and of course my pride allowed me to wonder if he knew who in the heck I was.

Oh, that sounds so ugly coming out, but it's so true.

I got home and went down to the basement to vent to my roommate about it. "I just yelled at some little butt head at church."

(except I didn't say butt)

Before she could ask me why, I begin telling her the whole story, of course painting myself as the victim. "What if I was someone who doesn't normally go to church? That would not make me wanna go back if they're gonna be all uptight about how I'm sitting in the chair."

I finish my story, we sit silently for a few seconds, and under my breath I mumble "and I haven't eaten today."

She laughs out loud as if she's saying "OH... OK, now I know why you're acting like that."

I look at her and laugh silently as if I'm saying "I know that's why I'm acting like this," but I don't say anything.

"So let's eat," she says.

She keeps it simple, but to the point, knowing it probably isn't a good idea to talk to me about the situation until I have eaten something... and calmed down.

We order my favorite pizza from Papa Johns, barbecue chicken Hawaiian, and 45 minutes to an hour later, we're still hoping for our doorbell to ring.

While waiting for the pizza, I describe the tattle tale kid to my roommate.

"I think I know who that is" she blurts out.

"Who? Who?"

"I don't really know him, but I think he is doing community service or something, like he doesn't really go to our church."

Oh snap.

I feel it right away.

The tables have turned, and I am now the church goer I just mocked for being rude to people who don't normally go to church.

"Seriously, Lord, do you have to teach me this way? I had a bad day... that kid was rude!"

He tells me it doesn't matter.

I tell Him I don't care, because I knew I was in the right and there was no way I was going to feel bad about it.

The door bell rings.

Pizza's here!

I eat, I feel good, I calm down.

I go back to God and actually sit back and look at the situation, and it hits me...

"Oh snap... maybe I was wrong."

I look up and smirk, knowing that God was waiting for me to get there... it just takes me longer than others (and He knows that).



Some of my friends have nicknamed me "scrappy," and the above situation would be an example of a reason why... sometimes I'm just scrappy. God may have made me little, but he pumped me full of attitude. And it's not exactly an attractive quality, but it's a side of me that I have, that I know I have to acknowledge and be real about with the Lord, because let's face it, if I'm not constantly giving it to God, I'd be an all out brawler!

Did I really just say that? (I'm surprised that passed spell check... it looks so wrong)


All this to say, I knew I had to suck up my pride, go into church the next morning, and apologize to the cafe manager and the kid who "told" on me. Because ultimately, it doesn't matter how he treated me... that's not what I'm responsible for. I'm responsible for how I treat him, regardless of how he treats me.

To be honest, I kind of didn't want to. I kind of just wanted to pretend like it didn't happen, and I probably would have done that if it weren't for countless attempts of ignoring a situation that proved unsuccessful.

But I did.

I went into church, sat through the service, took a deep breath, and then walked up to the cafe. I was relieved to see the manager, but not so much to see the same kid from the night before.

I pop my head in the back and tap on the wall to get their attention. They both turn around...

"Hey... I... I just wanted to apologize for how I acted last night. I wanted to tell both of you I was sorry for my attitude... I was in a bad mood, and that was my stuff, so... I'm sorry."

The cafe manager hugs me and tells me not to worry about it... "I figured you were grumpy," he says.

I look at the tattle tale guy and say "I'm sorry."

He looks at me and smiles... "it's OK."



And I felt better.



Alright... now lets be honest... did I want him to apologize to for being so ridiculous? Yes... but that's not the point. I didn't apologize to him so that he would apologize to me. I apologized because I knew I had to be responsible for my actions.


And lets be even more honest... now that I'm looking back reading this, the whole thing is stupid. Me getting that upset it stupid. I'm kind of even hesitant to post this because it just seems so ridiculous, BUT... that's the point...

Regardless of how ridiculous it seems to me now... it was very important to me then. And it's OK. I don't have to be embarrassed about how I felt, but I do have to take responsibility for how I act or react based on what I am feeling.

feelin' tipsy?

There's this guy that comes into Starbucks every morning to get a cup of coffee and every morning he acts like he doesn't have enough change... even though he knows how much the coffee costs before he comes in. I think it's just a game he likes to play to see how many times he can call the girl behind the counter "baby" before she gives him a free cup of coffee... or at least a discount.

One of the girls I work with is like a brick wall with this guy and I love it. He came in last week and once again was 5 cents short. He said he'd run out to his car and go get it, hoping she'd say "oh don't worry about it, just take it," but she did just the opposite. She just looked at him and said "OK," and proceeded to wait... probably not because she actually cared about the 5 cents, but because she refused to play his game.

I usually work on bar, so I am always witnessing this happen, but the other day I actually had the pleasure of ringing this guy up. Another thing you should know about this guy is that he is always complaining about something and often to nobody at all. He walked up to the counter and I actually saw $2 in his hands, so I was kind of bummed I wasn't going to get to play his game. Nonetheless, he walked up to the counter, "hey baby, can I get a short cup of coffee in a tall cup?" Before I could answer "yes," he kept talking. "Man, I'm so sick of times being so hard... (insert lots of talk about the government)... and they need to redistribute the wealth, you know what I'm saying? I'm just waiting on Obama, man, he's gonna give us our piece of the pie... (insert more Obama and government talk while I was getting his coffee ready).

I set it on the counter and smiled "that'll be 1.67, sir."

He kept talking about redistribution of wealth as he handed me his $2. I guess since I was thinking about what he was talking about I wasn't actually thinking about what I was doing because before I knew it I had thrown his change in the tip jar instead of handing it back to him. He looked at me kinda funny and was like "hey, hey, I need all I can get, whatchu doin?" I just sort of laughed and responded, "redistributing the wealth."

He kind of laughed at first, but then when he realized it meant he wasn't going to get his change back, he stopped laughing and again looked at me kind of funny. He got quiet and reached his hand in the tip jar to take his change back.

It's funny how passionate he seemed about redistribution of wealth until it involved his wealth. I think this was the point where he realized he didn't like someone else deciding where his money should go.

I can't say I blame him.

And that's all I have to say about that... for now.

a post to remember

i'm too tired and must go to bed!

learning to drum

I went to Africa once,
and I learned how to play the drums.
I learned that anyone can play the drums for children who long for your presence and not for your skill.

I miss Africa,
and I miss playing the drums.
I miss playing drums with the children whose presence I still long for... not their skill.



This is my small attempt to remember Africa today.


It was almost two years ago that I was there, and I almost forgot.

How could I forget?



Maybe I'll get a drum set.



Or maybe...

I'll just go back to Africa!


Any takers?

homemade ice cream and food for thought

I read all night in a little cafe a few blocks from my apartment in the city. I drank multiple cups of decaf coffee and enjoyed some homemade cappuccino chip ice cream. It was quite lovely and I didn't want it to end, except that I was getting extremely tired and the decaf didn't seem to be helping. Nonetheless, I couldn't seem to put my book down.

I wanted you to have a taste...

An excerpt from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

"The search for God is a reversal of the normal, mundane worldly order. In the search for God, you revert from what attracts you and swim toward that which is difficult. You abandon your comforting and familiar habits with the hope (the mere hope!) that something greater will be offered you in return for what you've given up...

The devout of this world perform their rituals without guarantee that anything good will ever come of it. Of course there are plenty of scriptures and plenty of promises as to what your good works will yield (or threats as to the punishments awaiting you if you lapse), but to even believe all of this is an act of faith, because nobody amongst us is shown the endgame. Devotion is diligence without assurance...

There's a reason we refer to "leaps of faith" - because the decision to consent to any notion of divinity is a mighty jump from the rational over to the unknowable, and I don't care how diligently scholars of every religion will try to sit you down with their stacks of books and prove to you through scripture that their faith is indeed rational; it isn't. If faith were rational, it wouldn't be - by definition - faith. Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudent insurance policy.

I'm not interested in the insurance industry. I'm tired of being a skeptic, I'm irritated by spiritual prudence and I feel bored and parched by empirical debate. I don't want to hear it anymore. I couldn't care less about evidence and proof and assurances. I just want God. I want God inside me. I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on water."




Just some food for thought for both you and I.

running shoes

I ran today.

I used to run a lot. But I don't run anymore.

Today... I ran.

I ran along Lakeshore drive with the city skyline behind me. It was quite epic. I specially crafted the perfect mix on my ipod to motivate me to keep running. I got caught up in a few of the songs, catching myself doing hand gestures and rocking my head much harder than I should while running, but I'm pretty sure I didn't scare too many people.

While I was running I started thinking about all the places I've run before. In high school I was on the cross country team, but my running didn't really pick up until college. About five or six years back I bought these bright orange asics on sale at an outlet mall in Helen, Georgia. We were there for a family reunion, complete with fishing poles, tubing down the river, and yes sir, potato guns! My younger sister actually got clocked in the eye from a potato that was shot straight up in the air while we were all trying to catch it with baseball mits. I remember hearing her yell "I got it, I got it!" and clunk, she was down. I laughed so hard I almost peed. I know, that sounds horrible, but I stopped laughing when I saw her eye. She ended up having stitches and all kinds of surgeries, but no worries, she's fine now... that's a story is for another day.

Moving on.

So at this family reunion, I found these super cheap asics and I was so excited to get them because I was really into running at this point. I decided when I bought them that they were going to run all over the world. I wanted to run as many places as I could wearing these shoes. I guess they were going to be a souvenir of sorts from everywhere I had been/run.

That summer I ran through the hills of Macon and the city of Atlanta, Georgia. I ran along the creekside on my way to run by the ocean almost everyday when I was home in South Carolina. I was blessed to be able to run along the swamps in Mississippi... I love swamps. The following year I ran around remote villages in San Lucas, Guatemala with little children following behind me the whole way. The next year I ran through the small town of Barnstable, four hours outside of London, England (and on one treadmill in this tiny little mom and pop gym). That same year, I ran all over South Africa... Capetown, Stellenbosch, Durbin, Tarkastad (this place was so remote that South Africans had never even heard of it). My experience in South Africa wasn't necessarily the healthiest one, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt that South Africa is the most beautiful country I have ever seen in my life (but I haven't been to Greece yet).

Every where I went, I ran, and everywhere I ran, I wore these shoes.

In the fall of 2006 I began training for a half marathon the following February. I ran all the time. Everyday... 2 times a day. I was obsessed. It was like being on a drug while I was running... all of my problems would go away. I would mask the emotional pain I was experiencing with the physical pain of running too hard, too long.

The weekend of the Myrtle Beach half marathon, I was in Chicago, IL, being admitted into a treatment center. The story is much deeper than running, which most of you know. It's no secret that I struggled with an eating disorder, but I don't feel the need to re-tell all of that right now. Go back and read posts from 2007 if that's what you're looking for. Part of my sickness was over-exercising, hence all the running. (Note, I am not saying that this is the case for everyone who runs, this was just my personal experience.)

So there I was, marathon weekend, and I was on exercise restriction. I hated everybody, but I was tired of the life I was living, not only physically, but emotionally. Truth be told, I think the anger was a front. I think I was relieved to have someone restrict me from running. I was tired, but I wasn't going to admit that. I wanted people to know I was a good runner, but I didn't want to have to prove it... not anymore. Its tiring when you constantly compete against yourself.

2007... that was the year I stopped running.

Don't get me wrong, I've run a few times here and there and jogged a bit through the forest preserve, but I haven't run consistently on a regular basis since 2007.

Like many things in life, I don't think running has to be all or nothing, but it has taken me a good long while to not only accept that, but believe it. Which is why I stopped running. If I can't run on my terms, I don't want to run at all. Some people may see that as a positive thing seeing as how much I used to run, but honestly, I don't think it is. I think it started out positive in my pursuit of moderation (something I have a very hard time pursuing), but it turned into laziness. And honestly, selfishness. All or nothing. My way or no way.

So today, I put on my orange asics and I went running. I didn't want to. I wanted to crawl under my covers and hide from the world, but instead I went running.

I don't plan on running everyday (at least not for now), I still very much need accountability in this area, but I do plan on being active in some way, shape or form each day (or at the very least, every other day). Not even necessarily because I want to, but because God has blessed me for whatever reason with a full functioning body and I want to glorify Him simply by using what he has given me. I want to express my gratitude for the ability to walk, run, swim, dance and move in ways that are not a right we are entitled to, but a gift.

I don't think I was created to be a runner, but I was created with the ability to run... or walk... something that not every one has. I'm not special, I don't deserve my legs anymore than someone without theirs, so why God has blessed me with such is beyond me. But I do know I want to say thank you, not just by saying thank you anymore, but by using even the seemingly simplest of gifts God has given me.

Thank you, Lord, for our run today. And whether or not we run tomorrow, I pray that in some way, I would take part in Your creation.

Pull me from under the covers and call me outside.

I don't want to hide anymore.

2007- one of my last runs after being in treatment
(wearing my orange asics)

your hands

Tonight, I am thankful to be fully alive. I'm learning a new song that I have to play next Monday and I don't think its a coincidence that I was asked to learn it... not just for Monday, but for my own need to hold fast to that which is true.

Little by little I am memorizing these lyrics. And little by little I am believing them more and more.

Also, just a funny side note... the girl who wrote the song... her name is JJ.


I have unanswered prayers
I have trouble I wish wasn't there
And I have asked a thousand ways
That You would take my pain away
That You would take my pain away

I am trying to understand
How to walk this weary land
Make straight the paths that crookedly lie
Oh Lord, before these feet of mine
Oh Lord, before these feet of mine

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave Your hands

When You walked upon the Earth
You healed the broken, lost, and hurt
I know You hate to see me cry
One day You will set all things right
Yea, one day You will set all things right

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave Your hands

Your hands
Your hands that shape the world
Are holding me, they hold me still
Your hands that shape the world
Are holding me, they hold me still

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave You when...

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave...
I never leave Your hands

world's best venti nonfat latte

I woke up from my nap this afternoon saying "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

I was dreaming I was still at Starbucks and someone was ordering this incredibly ridiculous drink that really doesn't even exist, but I some how managed to figure out he was talking about a cappuccino. As for the second drink he ordered, I asked him to repeat it, then I woke up.

Today was a weird day at Starbucks. I mean the customers, not all, but a lot of them were just weird. By weird I mean cranky. Maybe it's the weather. It's a dark gloomy day and it's been raining since at least 5am this morning when I left for work. I'm sure people are tired of the gray skies after seeing more than enough of them over the long winter, and I wouldn't exactly say spring has arrived yet. In fact, other than a randomly placed 3 days, spring never arrives in Chicago. So I can understand their crankiness.

Before I get in to that, let me start on a positive note... John. Another new favorite of mine. He's not new to the store, he's been a regular for quite some time now but me being the new girl, I've only recently had the pleasure of making his latte. John is an older man with perfectly bright white hair and I swear to you I'm not lying nor being cheesy when I say his eyes sparkle. They seriously sparkle. I don't know if its the way he smiles or something that he eats, but there is a sparkle in his eye that can not be duplicated in the movies. I honestly don't even know what color his eyes are because I'm too distracted by the sparkle to actually look. In fact, if someone were to ask me what color eyes he had, I think my answer would be "sparkled."

The first time I met John he was standing behind someone who had just ordered a cappuccino. I love making cappuccinos and I was pretty stoked about the one I had just crafted, so when I handed it off I told the lady who ordered it, "this is one of the best cappuccinos I have ever made." I was hoping for a big smile and a "thank you," but she at least grinned, so that was nice. John's drink was next, which is always a venti nonfat latte. I called it out and as he walked up to the hand off plane, he asked, "now is this the best venti nonfat latte you've ever made?" He smiled real big to show he was teasing me, but when I looked up and say that sparkle in his eye, I couldn't lie to him, "no, actually it's not." He laughed really hard as if I was teasing with him, so I clarified, "honestly, sir, it's not, I can do better."

He smiled and said "well, at least your honest!"

I smiled back and promised him that next time I would make him the world's best latte. Oh yea, I went there, the worlds best latte.

He picked up his drink, smiled again, "OK" he said, "next time!"

Sure enough, the next time he came in he walked up to the counter and ordered a venti nonfat latte. I wasn't looking at first but then I overheard him say "I hear she makes the world's best lattes!" I looked up, saw him smile, and I simply replied "you got it!"

Now, not to toot my own horn, but TOOT TOOT! It was seriously the best latte I have ever made. I realize that people not in the coffee business can easily brush this off thinking all lattes are the same... espresso and milk, but it's not true. I never thought I would become such an "expert," or some might say "snob," but there is so much more to a latte.

First, you have to get the timing of the shots just right so they're not too bitter. You have steam the milk (before pulling the shots) so it creates the most perfect foam, making it so smooth it doesn't even look as if it's been steamed... not a single bubble. Then when you pour, hold the foam back with a spoon and tilt the cup sideways so as not to create more bubbles from the milk hitting the espresso too hard. The combination of the milk and espresso should look golden brown, and then top it off with the perfect white foam. I always take the spoon and make a swirl with it, it's ascetically pleasing to the eye.

I proudly called out John's drink and left the lid off so that he could see it when he came up to the counter. He smiled real big, "well would ya look at that! WOW... that is beautiful!" I lidded the cup, brushed my shoulders off a bit and replied, "yea, I was pretty excited about it." He took the lid back off, looked at it again and said "I'm excited to drink it!"

John came back in this morning, covered in rain, but smiling big. He saw me behind the counter and said "I'll have the world's best venti nonfat latte!"

"Done!" I said, and began to rinse out my pitcher.

After I finished, I called out the world's best venti nonfat latte and held the cup out for John to see... "OH WOW, that is BEAUTIFUL! MAN!! We should start taking pictures of all the lattes you make and hang them up over there on the wall!"

I laughed out loud, secretly thinking to myself what a great idea that was. We talked for a little bit longer before he headed back out into the rain.

Only shortly after John did the cranky people start coming in... one woman literally scolded me because it was always so crowded and there was never anywhere to sit every time she came in. "Can't you kick people out?" She asked frantically. She really frustrated me and I was so prepared to come home and write about all the crazy things she said, but just now after writing about John, I don't feel the need to focus on her negativity.

Sometimes it so easy just to grab on to that which is negative that we often forget the positive... I do... a lot. So today I'm going to chose instead to be thankful for people like John instead of complain about the many other people who bring me down (with their own complaining). Its people like John who should be recognized for their attitude on life and the way they treat others instead of those people who can cause the most drama or make the biggest scene.

And though I'm not necessarily saying we should put up with people who bring us down or make us feel less than, I am saying that it is amazing how much your perspective can change when you choose what to focus your attention on... the good or the bad.

We may not be able to help what other people do to us, but we can chose how to react to it.

Thank you, John, for your positivity, the sparkle in your eye and your appreciation for something as small as a venti nonfat latte.

I'm working on this just for you...

newsflash

i love this woman...

and her outfit!!!!


Happy Mother's Day, momma! I really really love you... like a lot!

the reality of simplicity

I forgot today was Saturday. Maybe it's because I always work on Saturdays so it never actually feels like Saturday to me.

I woke up, made some coffee, grabbed a bowl of vanilla pudding (with bananas and strawberries, of course), hopped back in my bed and read my most recently favorite book for a while. The book I am reading right now makes me want to travel all the more than I already do. As I started planning trips in my head to big cities and remote islands, I decided I would check my bank account.

Then I stopped planning.

I sat in my bed for a while and swam around in my thoughts. After what may have appeared like a long moment of silence to onlookers (had there been some in my room), I shot up, threw my covers off and said out loud... "I may not know what I'm doing with my life, but I'm gonna do something!"

My student account at Moody has been on hold since the end of last semester because I never turned in my health forms. I guess they were a little late in noticing because apparently I never should have been able to register in the first place… whoops.

So today when I jumped out of bed, I grabbed my health forms that I had finally made copies of (OK, actually my mom made copies of them when I was home visiting… thank you, mom!), and I ran to Moody so I could turn them in and register for class, all the while thinking “I may not know what I’m doing, but I’m gonna do something!”

Now, when I say I ran to Moody, usually I would explain to you that I am exaggerating a bit, seeing as how I don’t run anymore unless I hear an ice cream truck, but this time its the truth… I literally ran to Moody. The funny thing is, I don’t even know why I was running, nor did I realize I was doing it until I was half way there. What am I doing? I thought to myself, why the hell am I running? There’s no ice cream truck, and even if there was, it’s too freakin’ cold… although I don’t think I would care if it were dippin’ dots… those are so good…Wait… why the crap am I still running?

As I was running I started smiling, and that caught me off guard too… why am I smiling now?

So I'm running in the wind, because let's face it, its Chicago, I'm smiling like an idiot, and I have no idea why, nor do I seem to be able to stop myself. For some reason I seem to ignore the fact that I may possibly be excited about starting classes again in the fall and instead convince myself that it is annoyingly chilly and I need to run so as to keep warm (keep in mind, I never ran once during the winter).

I finally make it to the front doors of the alumni center and walk inside, nearly out of breath. The few students who are in there look at me as if I had just ran a marathon or something. The cafe was closed and everything was so quiet, but I walked confidently up to the front desk where I saw a young man in a tie and v-neck sweater and right as I was about to ignore him and walk upstairs, it hit me... its Saturday.

So I stop, as if I was planning on it the whole time, and ask him if health services is open. He is very nice and informs me that nothing on campus is really open on Saturdays, which makes sense but just not something I thought of while I was running with a hanger-in-the-mouth smile down the sidewalk.

I inform him that I'll come back Monday and he informs me that everything will be closed on Monday as well seeing as it is an institutional day off (the day before finals). I think my face looked something like a cross between getting kicked in the stomach and being told I won Miss America... really bummed and really confused (while some girls would be ecstatic at the thought of being crowned the face of our nation, I would be seriously concerned... who in their right mind would vote me Miss America?).

I guess he notices my facial expression and my concern for our nation were I to represent it, so he starts typing fervently away on his computer... "let me just double check for you, I'm not 100% sure if EVERYTHING will be closed."

I like this guy.

He tells me he's not actually sure because its not listed on the website, so my best bet would be to call on Monday morning. He writes down the number for me and sends me on my way. I walk slowly out of the building, a much different exit than entrance, put my head phones on and just stand right outside the door.

I don't know if it was because the wind had picked up or my attitude had shifted, but I hung my head, much like Charlie Brown when he gets the wrong kind of Christmas tree, and just took my time walking back to my apartment (even though I could have kept warm by running). I look down at the paper the guy in the tie gave me and I read out loud... "food services... 312-yada-yada-yada." I rolled my eyes and put the paper in my bag. Honestly, I can see how you could mix up food services and health services.

Nonetheless, I couldn't help but feel like I was being blocked. How come as soon as I decide I want to do something, the walls go up? I think to myself (maybe a little out loud... to the Lord).

He responds... how come you wait so long to decide?

So I respond... how come you wait so long to tell me?

So he responds (instead scolding, which is what I would have done if my child had gotten that sassy with me)... who says I waited this long to tell you?

I get frustrated... well... DAAAAHHHHH!!!!

I get quiet, realizing I am no longer the over-enthusiastic smiling runner, but now the crazy lady who walks up and down the sidewalk "talking to herself" (probably a more fitting description of myself).

See, this is what I do... I take my time, I do want I want, I even get lazy, but as soon as I make the decision to get my butt in gear and get moving, I assume everybody else should be ready too. When things don't happen at the moment I want them to happen, instead of waiting (actively not lazily) I get frustrated and give up.

I actually had to stop myself from saying "maybe this is a sign I'm not supposed to go back to school!"

I can picture God throwing his hands over his head, yet remaining very patient... "no, it means health services is closed on the weekends so people can relax, and possibly on Monday because the students have finals to worry about... not everything is about you."

Ouch.

Followed by...

duh.

Not everything is about me. There's not a conspiracy at Moody to keep me my from getting the hold off of my account so I can register for classes. It's just the weekend, the weekend of finals, and to the relief of 99.9% of the students, a long weekend, meaning no class on Monday. My frustration at wanting to get things done now, or at the very least, by Monday, are another students relief at having an extra day to study for exams without having to worry about class on top of that.

Waiting till Tuesday doesn't mean giving up, it means waiting till Tuesday.

Oh, the reality of simplicity.

Duh.

reading

Instead of writing tonight, I'm going to read.

I usually have a hard time getting through a whole book, but the book I am reading right now I just can't seem to put down. I love love love a good book, and I finally found one (for now).

I encourage you to grab your favorite book and join me.

I am currently enjoying this book oh so much!...



It kind of makes me want to write a book, but I don't know if I should put that out there yet.

Oh well, happy reading!

green

I love the city, but sometimes it makes me wonder where nature has gone.

Being a lover of the color green, I realized the other day that I don't see enough of it in the city. I see a lot of gray and blue when I look up (as with any outdoor location), but I definitely don't see enough green.

I miss climbing trees.

i saw the sign

I went to a used record store yesterday and found an Ace of Base CD for only 49 cents.

Remember these fabulous four from Sweden? With hits like The Sign, Don't Turn Around and It's a Beautiful Life, they pretty much sealed their fate as one of the top pop bands of the 90s (if not the top pop band of the 90s) and have forever remained ingrained in my mind as one of my favorite life lessons from my dad.

Let's see... it was 1994 and I was 11 years old. Being in sixth grade at the time, I can still remember certain recesses very vividly. I remember the time I pushed Daniel Eckerd off of the play ground. I remember the time when Chase Davis dared me to swear and so I mustered out "HELL" out loud and "icopter" under my breath. I remember overhearing Mr. Jenkins say "bullshit" as an implication that someone was lying. Being intrigued by this new word I went home and used it in its proper context. I remember standing tall in front of my parents, expecting to be complimented for telling them the truth about my little brother lying to them... "that's bullshit" I said, proudly.

But let's just say little brother wasn't necessarily the one who got in trouble. I think it was around that time that I began to dislike soap.

For Christmas that year, all the sixth graders in my class huddled around Mr. Jenkins as he opened all of our presents. The present I gave Mr. Jenkins was actually a book from my mom... 'How to be Born Again' by Billy Graham. I was mortified. Truth be told, as a sixth grader I don't think I really understood what it meant to be "born again" any more than Mr. Jenkins did, who laughed when he read the title and said (in front of the class), "what, am I supposed to learn how to go back in my mother's womb?" A modern day Nicodemus, that man. I just sat there quietly and shrugged my shoulders.

I don't think Mr. Jenkins ever read that book because I learned a few more choice words from him that year which lead to more gifts from my mother that very blatantly implied his need for Jesus.

That same year Ace of Base debuted their first album with a #1 hit song, "The Sign," and everyone fell in love with it. Not just sixth graders, but high schoolers too, which is what made it cool. I can remember always singing about how I saw the sign even though I had no clue what the sign was. We always sang about the sign at recess. I couldn't wait to get the album.

I don't know how I was able to obtain it, if I borrowed it or actually bought it (I wasn't stealing at this point yet... another story), but some how I remember playing that CD over and over again. I would hit repeat and the whole album would just play straight through and start all over. Even when I left the house, I'd put it on repeat so that when I came back I could walk in my room and hear it playing (have I ever mentioned I was kind of a weird child?).

The last time I ever implemented my genius idea to hit repeat and leave the house, I returned not to my music playing, but to my dad sitting at the kitchen table, holding the Ace of Base CD jacket in his hands, with a look that said "let's talk, shall we?"

I had no reason to be nervous, but I couldn't understand why he would be holding my CD jacket, looking at the lyrics.

He asked me to sit down.

I can so vividly remember the conversation that then took place...

"Have you ever read the lyrics to these songs?" dad asked.

Honestly, I had never even thought to read the lyrics because I already knew all of them by heart just from listening.

"no, not really," I responded.

"But you know all the words," he said.

"well yea, cause I listen to it all the time."

"So do you know what they mean?" he asked.

What does he mean, do I know what they mean? "I don't know, they're just words."

"So you've never sat and thought about what they mean?"

OK seriously, what is his point, its like the best music ever, "not really I just like the music, I like listening to it!"

My dad was quiet for a second, "OK, well I'm just going to read this song to you and you tell me what you think it means,"

Oh crap.

The song he chose to read oh-so-carefully and oh-so-slowly was "All That She Wants" and all I wanted was to yank the CD out of his hand and run upstairs. But I sat quietly and listened as he read it word for word, looking up at me every so often to explain to me what was going on during certain parts in the song.

It went like this...


She leads a lonely life
She leads a lonely life

When she woke up late in the morning light
And the day had just begun
She opened up her eyes and thought
Oh what a morning
It's not a day for work
It's a day for catching tan
Just lying on the beach and having fun
She's going to get you

(Interject dad here: "this is talking about her skipping work, or school, and just going to the beach which is completely irresponsible.")

All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby
All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby
All that she wants - all that she wants

(Interject dad here: "she just wants to have a baby? Do you think that is appropriate?")

He continued...

So if you are in sight and the day is right
She's the hunter you're the fox
The gentle voice that talks to you won't talk forever
It is a night for passion
But the morning means goodbye
Beware of what is flashing in her eyes
She's going to get you

(Interject dad here: "she's not married to this person, she is just looking for somebody... anybody, to give her a baby." I'm pretty sure my dad was unaware that I had already had the sex talk at this point, so the best way he could describe having sex was by saying "she wants to have a baby.")

And still, he continued...

All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby
All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby

All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby
All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby
All that she wants - all that she wants

(Interject dad last time: "so she wants to skip work, go to the beach instead and just find someone so she can have a baby. What is that teaching you? Do you think you should be listening to these lyrics?" Mind you, he was very calm in his asking, so I felt less threatened.)

Truth be told, as much as I wanted to laugh at my dad, I was kind of shocked by the lyrics. I had never actually read them or sat and carefully listened to them, so I really had no clue what was going on. I still liked the song, but I didn't like the lyrics as much... I didn't want to have a baby.

While my dad may not have completely gotten the idea of what was going on in the song, or just didn't completely explain it, he understood enough to question if I actually knew what I was listening to.

This is something I love about my dad... he didn't yell at me for listening to the song, leaving me confused as to what I had done "wrong," he asked if I understood what the song meant and then proceeded to explain it (as best as he could), only to ask me what I thought the appropriate response would be.

So yesterday I'm in this used record store and I see this CD and all the memories come flooding back. For 49 cents, I just had to reminisce.

I started thinking about the day my dad sat me down and read me those lyrics word for word. I laughed to myself but then started thinking about the bigger picture of what happened that day...

I knew those words by heart yet had never taken the time to think about what they meant, let alone read them. I had no reason to read them, I already "knew" them. But honestly, I didn't know them, I knew a group of words put together, but I didn't know their meaning. And I'm not saying that I should have known better in sixth grade, I still think that was a tremendously funny experience (and still listened to the song), but my dad had a point...

I should know what I'm saying before I speak it. I can easily memorize and repeat things, but do I actually take the time to understand what they mean?

I can tell you what John 3:16 says, I'm sure most of you could do the same, but I can also honestly tell you that I never actually read the verse until last semester. Even when I have read the book of John before, I would just kind of skip over that part because it was like "yea, I know, for God so loved the world, yada yada yada..."

That's the problem with being a preacher's kid, you think you know everything because you learned it all in Sunday school, then you grow up and go to graduate school and realize maybe you don't actually know anything. It's a good thing they make you read in graduate school.

For a majority of my life I would say that my faith was based on what I overheard my parents talk about or on what I memorized for my Sunday school teachers. I can honestly say I had no idea what having a personal relationship with Christ meant until I was in college. I honestly don't think I had ever actually read the Bible until then.

I can remember calling my dad the day I had this new found revelation about Christ...

"Dad!! I get it!! It's about having a personal relationship with Christ!!"

I could hear my dad smile in excitement, but laugh in some sort of disbelief as he asked, "what did you think I've been talking about all these years?"

"I don't know," I laughed, "I was always wondering when you were gonna stop talking so we could go have lunch!"

My point in saying all this is not to condemn Ace of Base listeners... I bought the CD yesterday, and danced to it today. My point is to ask (you and myself) what my dad was asking me that day, not just in regards to music lyrics, but in regards to the way you live your life based on what you believe... do you know what it means?

Whether you're a Christ follower, be it Catholic or Protestant, whether atheist, Buddhist, Muslim, Mormon, Jewish, Agnostic, or you believe in your cat... ask yourself why? And don't give up looking for that answer until you have searched everything. Don't just listen to what other people say and repeat it, don't just listen to what I say and repeat it... seek it out for yourself.

A fellow misfit commented on my blog the other day when I wrote about being a misfit at Moody Theological Seminary, and in case you don't read the comments, I wanted to share what he wrote..

"Four years of being a misfit are coming to a close in the next two weeks and in a strange way, I'm walking away with more blood on my hands than when I arrived; my faith is no longer a simple thing that excludes certain stories or movies or songs due to "questionable content" and I can't wait to have a beer at the end of next week, but just because it's a more difficult faith doesn't make it bad. In fact, it is more of a reasoned faith than a blind faith and I believe that is what God wants from us. Would he really want us to just blindly follow these pastors and preachers? No, he wants us to test everything and hold onto what is good."


That needs to be repeated...


Test everything and hold on to what is good.

bill and chris

Just recently, I transferred to a new Starbucks closer to my apartment. I just have to walk the next block over and cross the street and I'm there. I love it. I love walking. I love being outside. I love being next to Radio Shack.

Actually, I don't really care about Radio Shack. I've never even been in.

What I do love though, is the free commute... just me and my legs. Typically music is involved of some sort via my sometimes-working ipod and my headphones from 1994. Other times I just like to listen to the noises of the city.

I've mostly been working early mornings, which is always hard for me to wake up for, but I love getting done for the day by 11am, or 1pm at the latest, so I think its worth the trade off.

Something that I've noticed right away when I've transferred to a new store is how quickly territorial the regulars (customers) get when they see a new face behind the counter. They ask who you are in a way that implies "this is my Starbucks, how come I've never met you before?"

Usually after introducing myself they then inform me that I will be seeing them every day (after all, it is their Starbucks)... and just in case I had any doubt about their regularity, they name drop the rest of the baristas and say "they all know me."

It's times like this that I find it truly hard to keep myself from responding, "oh that's nice... did you want a cookie or a small parade?"

There are other customers who aren't pretentious about their Starbucks status, but you can tell that they just flat out don't like change... including a new barista handing them their coffee... i.e. me. They make comments like "why is this store always getting new people?" or "Where's Danny? you didn't replace him did you? he's always here in the morning!"

They then inform me that Danny doesn't usually charge them for the extra shot or the coffee refill, therefore I shouldn't charge them either.

It's times like this that I find it truly hard to keep myself from responding, "Danny got fired for giving away free drinks because essentially it is stealing from the company, so yes, I am his replacement, and yes, I would like to keep my job... $5.56 is your total."

Danny didn't really get fired, but oh how I would love to say that if one more person asks where he is.

Fortunately, there are customers like Bill and Chris. Bill is a 6 foot something Caucasian man in his fifties and Chris is a (if even) 5 foot African American woman in her none of our business. Bill and Chris have never met. They come in at different times, order different drinks and keep different company. Chris always has someone new with her and usually orders a drink for the two of them. Bill always comes in alone, sits in the cafe while he drinks his coffee and returns for a refill before he leaves.

The first time I met both Bill and Chris was my first day working at the new store. I met Bill first. While I was getting his coffee, he made a comment about how there was a whole new crew, and as tempting as it was to just dismiss him and think "Oh great, another one of these guys!" something about his gentle tone said that he was making that statement out of curiosity and not out of pretentiousness.

I can't even remember what was said after I handed off his drink, but I remember laughing and I remember him saying "I'm Bill." It made me feel very welcome into this familiar yet new setting. Sometimes I am too quick to judge, but we'll save that for another post.

Since then I have noticed that Bill likes to sit in the same big chair every time.

That same day I eventually went on my 10 minute break and I asked Bill if I could sit in the chair next to him. He looked surprised, but delighted. It was as if he couldn't wait to sit and have some conversation with his coffee. He told me about his wife of 37 (I think) years and his kids. We talked about traveling and settling down. He told me what he liked about my generation and I told him what I missed about his. Needless to say, it ended up being longer than a 10 minute break.

When I got back behind the counter my manager jokingly asked "are you harassing my customers?" I laughed out loud... "uhhhhhh... yes... yes I am."

"Good!" he said, and smiled.

About two hours after Bill had gotten his last refill and left the store, I had a very similar encounter with a woman named Chris.

I couldn't help but smile when I saw her smile. She had beautiful white teeth, gorgeous dark skin, purple eye glasses and a little french hat on her head.

I can't remember how it came up, it might have been the fact that I called her "ma'am," and she didn't get offended, but we started talking about being raised in the South. (People up here think you are being rude by calling them old if you call them ma'am or sir, in which case I have to explain to them that I was raised to say ma'am and sir as a sign of respect. I usually opt for "its not you, its me!")

I told her I was from South Carolina and she told me she was from Alabama. I asked where thinking I would know since I used to date someone whose grandparents lived in Mobile. That and the fact that I happen to love Randy Newman, so when I first heard his song "Birmingham" about being the greatest city in "Alabam," I fell in love with the many more cities of Alabama (although whether or not Birmingham is the best one is still debatable).

However, despite my musical education and my fondness of a former boyfriend's grandparents, I had no idea just how many "middle of nowhere" towns there could be in Alabama. I'm pretty sure I could not pronounce them even if I tried. Mainly because I couldn't tell if they were supposed to be enunciated or not.

After we talked we introduced ourselves and I felt a connection with her that I think most "misplaced" or "relocated" Southerners feel when they discover another Southerner bearing the cold winters of the Midwest. I did not know the definition of cold until I moved to Chicago. Though the summers are worth the wait, by the 6th month of winter I am usually convinced that hell is cold.

When Chris left I felt relieved to have met her and Bill both.

I'm sure neither one of them know what their interaction meant to me, which speaks volumes about their character, but it got me thinking...

how often do I talk about the overlooked, yet I myself overlook the very people I am talking about? It's easy for me to talk about being overlooked when I'm the employee, but what about when I'm the customer? I would say I'm nice, but I don't think I would say I go out of my way. I know it's not a requirement, but if I think about how much those simple interactions mean to me as an employee, I wonder how much they would mean to someone else when I'm the customer.

I know there's a Bible verse reference that belongs here, but to be honest, I don't know where to find it right now. Mainly because I just realized I don't know where my Bible is (that's not a good sign).

I don't know where Bill and Chris stand spiritually, maybe I'll find out, maybe I won't, but I do know that I saw Christ in them. Regardless of whether they even know it or not, regardless of whether they even believe it or not, I definitely saw Christ in them.

That's the kind of life I want to live... one that resembles Christ.



I guess I should go look for my Bible.

messes

The last few days I have been exploring the city, frequenting used books stores and laying on the beach with the skyline behind me... after work, that is.

Work hard. Play harder.

Monday is my scheduled day off and I spent all day yesterday spring cleaning before heading out for a nightly adventure to a new part of the city. While my idea of cleaning didn't necessarily involve dusting, it did involve completely gutting my junk drawers.

I'm a pack rat, not to be confused with the rat pack, whom I also happen to be in love with (namely Dean Martin), so I can see how it could get confusing. I save everything. Don't get me wrong, I don't belong on Hoarding: Buried Alive or anything (although denial is the first sign), but I love a good tangible memory of any kind as much as a photograph or a home video.

Over the years, however, I've learned the importance of... how do I put this nicely... not saving everything. This revelation occured to me when my family and I moved my grandmother out of her condo and into my parents home just a few years back. It was then that I realized where my desire to save everything came from... and it was then that I realized I needed to start throwing things away... especially if I ever intended on getting old and moving from one place to another.

That said, I love my grandma... mommom, we call her, because it's my mom's mom, but it was no easy task trying to get her to get rid of things.

As I was cleaning out my room yesterday and thinking about my grandma, I came across some old journals, all of which will remain something that I will never throw away, I don't care what any shrink or psychiatrist might say.

As I was skimming through journal entries and random drawings, I came across this one "poem" (I guess you would call it) that caught my eye and thought about how funny it was that I would find a writing such as this on a day when I was cleaning things out.

I thought I'd share it...

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

10/3/08

Everything is a mess,
My head.
My room.

I can't keep up,
My thoughts.
My laundry.

None of it goes away.
None of it ever stops.

I try to hide under my pillow,
My thoughts follow me.
My room waits for me to come out.

Just breathe.

Look over.
Close your eyes.
Go back to bed.

Just rest.

It's not over,
But it doesn't have to start,
Not now.
Not yet.

Just wait.

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

It's funny because I don't know exactly why I felt the way I was feeling that day. I didn't journal about it, the only memory I have of it is this short "poem." I imagine I was laying in bed and rolled over to go to sleep shortly after writing it, as I often did when feeling down.

I guess I just really liked this when I found it because it was when I was cleaning, organizing and weeding out all of the junk, not only in my room, but in my head. I was able to look back on something and say "Wow! I've come a long way!"

I've still got a long way to go, I think we all do, but we should never let that be a reason to minimize how far we've come.

Thank you, Lord, for exploring, used book stores, sandy beaches and a job. Thank you for spring cleaning, Dean Martin, my grandma and for bringing me to this point in my life where I can say "Wow! I've come a long way!" There were times when I thought I would never be able to say that.

Thank you, Lord, for helping me out of the messes I have made... that time, this time...


and next time.

moody misfit

The day started the way every Monday does... therapy.

I sat in her office with confusion and frustration about where I'm at in life. The confusion and frustration being that I don't know where I'm at in life.

I'm an explorer, I'm a traveler, I'm an artist and a writer. What am I doing in grad school at Moody Theological Seminary? I don't need a master's degree to love people the way Christ has taught us to love, so what am I doing in pursuit of one? And why at Moody?

I can definitely say that I am a minority amongst the Moody culture... not racially, but Spiritually, I guess. I may have been a (Southern Baptist) preacher's kid, which would typically make Moody a good fit for me, but maybe the mere fact that I was a (Southern Baptist) preacher's kid is why I now find myself in opposition to a lot of the extreme conservatism I have encountered at Moody.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not slamming Moody... it is truly an amazing school and I have learned more about Scripture in one semester than I have my whole life, but I would be lying if I were to say I fit perfectly into the Moody culture.

My therapist, being a graduate of Moody, understands this completely, as she herself was a misfit when she attended.

I sat in her office and I listened to her affirm me in being a Moody misfit. She said it was OK and that I don't have to conform, which was tremendously freeing for me seeing as that she not only graduated from Moody, but is currently on staff.

I love watching movies of all sorts, I love music of all genres (minus techno unless... nah, minus techno), I don't always have the cleanest language, I think the whole idea of "courting" is stupid (feel free to ask for a definition), I go to comedy clubs and live shows, I enjoy a good glass of red wine (or let's be honest, even crappy red wine), I love to dance... maybe not so much at dance clubs, but any and everywhere, and even though I know the Bible is critical in drawing closer to God, I feel I draw the closest to Him through music and travel.

These are not necessarily characteristics that Moody hopes their average student exhibits.

I am not their average student. Yet I am here. And the question is, do I stay and battle through that or do I go and find a better fit for me? Neither is right or wrong, God will be glorified regardless, so if its simply just a choice I have to make, how do I choose?

Come fall, all of my roommates are moving on to their next phases of life, which means they are moving on from this apartment we share. As much as I love the excitement and adventure of the unknown, I'm also terrified of it... but the combination of feeling both emotions so intensely makes me feel truly alive. And even though I may not know where I'm at in life, I can't necessarily say that I don't like it.

Though there is confusion and frustration, there is peace in knowing that God has got me. And even though I often do, the truth is that I do not have to worry about anything, because God has got me. He's got me now and He's got me come fall. And whether I move on or remain a Moody misfit, God has got me.

As Sam Cooke once sang so beautifully, "a change is gonna come" but I'm not worried...

because God has got me.

not quite lost

I went for a walk this evening, but I didn't get very far.

I ending up circling the block, walking in Jewel (for those of you not in the mid-west, it's a grocery store), not buying anything, walking out and walking back home.

I must have looked lost to the people watchers who hang out on the block outside of Jewel. I was just wandering around aimlessly, not really looking for anything. I didn't necessarily have a destination in mind when I started walking, I just started walking. I thought I was going to explore, but I didn't feel led to go any further than around the block and back home. I tried to make it seem like there was purpose in my walk by going to the grocery store, but there was nothing there I needed.

So I walked out.

I came back home, tried to play guitar for a bit, but wasn't feeling inspired or energetic enough to finish.

My eyes keep getting heavier and heavier, making it so hard to keep writing.

I think we should call it a night.