Today is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. Growing up in evangelical America, we never celebrated Lent. However, I went to an Episcopal school for eight years. Some liturgical practices were bound to rub off on me. I never really understood why all the crosses at school were covered in purple cloth. Or why all the “Allelujah”’s were omitted in the mass. I really didn’t understand why our chaplain didn’t allow my friends and I to give up chapel for Lent. With some degree of honesty, we did believe that skipping chapel would bring us closer to God. Lent was quite somber and mysterious. And it seemed that a season meant to prepare you for Easter was super depressing. I understand that identifying with the passion of Jesus should be on the sobering side. But I still don’t understand why it has to be such a drag.
Most of the people I knew that did practice Lent would treat it a bit like a New Year’s resolution. They would give up a vice or habit. They were rarely things that actually made room in their life for greater meditation or times of prayer. Like giving up soda for 40 days really draws you into the heart of God. I suppose it could if you were crazy addicted (like me). On the whole, their understanding of why they were giving something up for God seemed to miss the point.
I’m not entirely sure of the origin of Lent. It seemed to be practiced in some form or fashion before being formalized in the Council of Nicea. It was always meant to be a time of penance and preparation leading up to Easter. A time with increased prayer, introspection, and focus on the sacrifice that Jesus made. The theory being that if we give ourselves more time for deliberate focus, we better identify with his suffering and hopefully our little Grinch hearts will grow a few sizes. There are folks that fast completely for the 40 days. Some skip a few meals a day. And many, many others give something up for God. I think that any sacrifice or change to our routine should give us pause. We are creatures of habit and routine. Disrupt that and we all have an autistic fit of one size or another. I suppose that there is nothing too trivial to give up for Lent. What is trivial to some is a crutch to another. As long as what you choose, actually brings you to a place of repentance, an honest look at the state of your heart, and leads you into a more sacrificial and loving life, you are on the right track. It is not enough for us to be contrite. Our repentance must transcend our own sense of forgiveness and affect the way we treat others. We give mercy because we are desperately in need of it. We love, because we are loved. I think a portion of Lent should be spent contemplating that we are loved and have received mercy for our own sake. Because we all need to know that we are loved and valued, accepted and cherished, just because we are. But if we stop there and we don’t let it change our behaviors, then we are really selfish and need to start Lent over until we get it.
I have only been really playing the Lent game the last few years. Most years I don’t prepare for Lent and it catches me off guard. It is amusing that you have to prepare to prepare. I have given up cursing before, and if you know me you know that is a legit sacrifice. Last year, I gave up complaining. That was scary. Quite a revealing time for me. This year, I have been stumped. I am sure that I have a routine, but I am not really sure how distracting it is or isn’t. I still feel like a jumbly bumbly bag of nerves out of place here. My level of activity actually needs to increase not decrease.
So this year, I have decided not to give something up for Lent, but rather to add on. I think that by creating a little more structure in my life, I will quickly see what I actually spend my time doing. To add on three activities that actually make me consider the sacrifice of Jesus and what it actually means to me and for me, seems like a good choice this year. I don’t want to forget why I have decided to celebrate Lent. As somebody on some website said Lent is a time “to repent of sin, to renew our faith and to prepare to celebrate joyfully the mysteries of our salvation.”
If you are so inclined, I wish you a happy Lent with the appropriate amount of crying here and there. And if you are not inclined, then I wish you a happy Wednesday, sinner.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Padews Away
I feel the time has come to explain the title of this blog and the reasons I chose it. When I was a little girl, I hated sleeping alone. I still do. A primary reason for getting a dog was so that he would sleep in my bed. I particularly liked to sleep with my parents. Luckily for me, they did not subscribe to the parenting that believed children should always sleep in their own beds.
When I was a toddler, we lived in a green house on Howard Drive. We lived there until I was 4. This is the first house I remember. And I have very fond memories of it. Mostly, I think, because it preceded a time when I would be introduced to the harsh realities of the world at a young age. Not long after we lived in this house, my aunt was murdered, a man in our church turned out to be molesting children, and I started going to school with children who didn’t think being a Christian was cool. These are the types of things can steal a bit of that childhood innocence. On Howard Drive, I would fall asleep in the hallway just so I could hear my parent’s voices. I would eat caramel apples while watching “Sha Na Na”. My mom would fill up the sink with soapy water and let me pretend to do dishes. I would try in vain to be the traffic cop for my brother and sister on their big wheels. (They never obeyed my commands). I would wake up early on Saturday mornings and beg them to teach me how to play Yatzee. I never knew they didn’t know how to play either. I remember rooting for Jimmy Carter to win the election because he had blond hair. Life was simple. I was a kid.
I was not the most skilled communicator as a toddler. I said “lestricity” instead of “electricity”. And I called pillows “padews”. In the mornings that I woke up in my parents bed after my father had his shower, my dad and I would play a game. It was called “Padews Away”. My dad would hold a pillow up over my face and say “Padews Away” and then drop the pillow on me. I would hold my breath while the pillow was above me and then squeal in laughter when it dropped. This memory comes with the smell of the room. A mixture of a down pillow, shower steam, and Pierre Cardin cologne. It is one of my favorite memories. One of those games that were uniquely my dad’s and mine. As a third kid, you cherish those things that are just yours and not shared with siblings.
As I started this blog on the precipice of a major life change, I was very deliberate in naming it. I wanted to recapture for my own soul that childlike wonder. The wonder that never feared my needs would not be met. The wonder that saw all things as good and safe. The wonder that can believe through trial and struggle. The wonder that should develop in adulthood to know that good things come to those that wait. Even if you feel like you have been waiting a very long time.
So, to my slow start in Nashville and the questions of why I am actually here, I hold my breath in anticipation. And wait for the laughter on the other side of the padews away.
When I was a toddler, we lived in a green house on Howard Drive. We lived there until I was 4. This is the first house I remember. And I have very fond memories of it. Mostly, I think, because it preceded a time when I would be introduced to the harsh realities of the world at a young age. Not long after we lived in this house, my aunt was murdered, a man in our church turned out to be molesting children, and I started going to school with children who didn’t think being a Christian was cool. These are the types of things can steal a bit of that childhood innocence. On Howard Drive, I would fall asleep in the hallway just so I could hear my parent’s voices. I would eat caramel apples while watching “Sha Na Na”. My mom would fill up the sink with soapy water and let me pretend to do dishes. I would try in vain to be the traffic cop for my brother and sister on their big wheels. (They never obeyed my commands). I would wake up early on Saturday mornings and beg them to teach me how to play Yatzee. I never knew they didn’t know how to play either. I remember rooting for Jimmy Carter to win the election because he had blond hair. Life was simple. I was a kid.
I was not the most skilled communicator as a toddler. I said “lestricity” instead of “electricity”. And I called pillows “padews”. In the mornings that I woke up in my parents bed after my father had his shower, my dad and I would play a game. It was called “Padews Away”. My dad would hold a pillow up over my face and say “Padews Away” and then drop the pillow on me. I would hold my breath while the pillow was above me and then squeal in laughter when it dropped. This memory comes with the smell of the room. A mixture of a down pillow, shower steam, and Pierre Cardin cologne. It is one of my favorite memories. One of those games that were uniquely my dad’s and mine. As a third kid, you cherish those things that are just yours and not shared with siblings.
As I started this blog on the precipice of a major life change, I was very deliberate in naming it. I wanted to recapture for my own soul that childlike wonder. The wonder that never feared my needs would not be met. The wonder that saw all things as good and safe. The wonder that can believe through trial and struggle. The wonder that should develop in adulthood to know that good things come to those that wait. Even if you feel like you have been waiting a very long time.
So, to my slow start in Nashville and the questions of why I am actually here, I hold my breath in anticipation. And wait for the laughter on the other side of the padews away.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Amanda Hugandkiss
I was at work the other night bagging groceries. My true calling. I never thought myself to be particularly spatially gifted. However comma I kick ass at bagging groceries. You have to aim high. Dream big. As Justin Bieber has taught us, never say never. I never knew that it would be possible that I could bag groceries with such ease and precision. It is kind of like in Sherlock Holmes when he sees how he will defeat his opponent before he fights him. That’s how I am with groceries. Mad skills. Mad, mad skills.
Anyway, I was bagging groceries when one of my coworkers who is a bit on the flirtatious side said “So what’s it gonna take? Dinner? Movie? Flowers?” I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then he mentioned the approach of Valentine’s Day. I then realized that this was his feeble attempt at asking me out. He told me I could think about it and get back to him. Really? It sounded a bit like “What is it going to take to sleep with you?” type of question. Much more than dinner and a movie. Even throwing in flowers won’t cut it. The phrase “too much car for you” comes to mind. Me being the car, of course.
It made me think about all the terrible lines that I have heard over the years. And I have heard some doozies. Once, I was cleaning floorboards at Starbucks and a customer came in and asked “How much will it cost me to get you on your knees?” I responded with “Does calling a woman a whore usually work for you?” I also had a guy order a super sweet, lukewarm beverage. He said, “I like my coffee like me women. Really sweet and not that hot. You seem sweet.” Really, dude. You just told me that I am not that hot. There was the lovely man that followed me home from the park when I was living down by USC. He kept telling me that he had a hot tub and “I like white girls. For real.” I think it was all the English he knew. For real. I know that a man asked my sister “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” She responded with “yes”. Sadly, she was not being snarky. She didn’t realize he was hitting on her. Bless her.
There is also a very long list of idiotic things men have said to be on the cusp, during, and after our relationship. But it would take a book to catalogue those. Not a long book. More like a coffee table book. “The 10 Stupidest Things Men Say to Women” kind of book.
I’ve also had some really good lines. There was a boy in Scotland that I saw three times in one day. I was walking back to the flat where we were staying when I heard running on the cobble stone streets. The boy was running after me. Rad. Doubled over and panting he said, “I just ran all that way. Please tell me you live here.” It was epic. Cutest thing. There was an Irishman who once told me he wanted to kiss my face off. I liked that one too. My favorite has to be when I was cuddling with a boy. He had his hand…well…on my ass. My fully clothed ass, let’s be clear. He kind of laughed for a second. I asked why and he said, “Well, one of the first things that attracted me to you was your intelligence. Love how smart you are. And I can’t explain why, but it’s such a turn on to have my hand on the ass of a smart girl” Perfect. Loved it.
I actually feel some compassion for men. It is hard to approach women. On the one hand, we want to be respected and seen as an intelligent, independent person, but we also want to know you think we are a hot piece of ass. It is hard to strike that balance. And I feel for guys when they try and fail. Then again, men can pee standing up and generally fall asleep anywhere. So my compassion is rather superficial.
I guess the point of this entry is rather obvious. I’m bored and lonely. And I need a man to hug and kiss. That would be lovely.
Anyway, I was bagging groceries when one of my coworkers who is a bit on the flirtatious side said “So what’s it gonna take? Dinner? Movie? Flowers?” I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then he mentioned the approach of Valentine’s Day. I then realized that this was his feeble attempt at asking me out. He told me I could think about it and get back to him. Really? It sounded a bit like “What is it going to take to sleep with you?” type of question. Much more than dinner and a movie. Even throwing in flowers won’t cut it. The phrase “too much car for you” comes to mind. Me being the car, of course.
It made me think about all the terrible lines that I have heard over the years. And I have heard some doozies. Once, I was cleaning floorboards at Starbucks and a customer came in and asked “How much will it cost me to get you on your knees?” I responded with “Does calling a woman a whore usually work for you?” I also had a guy order a super sweet, lukewarm beverage. He said, “I like my coffee like me women. Really sweet and not that hot. You seem sweet.” Really, dude. You just told me that I am not that hot. There was the lovely man that followed me home from the park when I was living down by USC. He kept telling me that he had a hot tub and “I like white girls. For real.” I think it was all the English he knew. For real. I know that a man asked my sister “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” She responded with “yes”. Sadly, she was not being snarky. She didn’t realize he was hitting on her. Bless her.
There is also a very long list of idiotic things men have said to be on the cusp, during, and after our relationship. But it would take a book to catalogue those. Not a long book. More like a coffee table book. “The 10 Stupidest Things Men Say to Women” kind of book.
I’ve also had some really good lines. There was a boy in Scotland that I saw three times in one day. I was walking back to the flat where we were staying when I heard running on the cobble stone streets. The boy was running after me. Rad. Doubled over and panting he said, “I just ran all that way. Please tell me you live here.” It was epic. Cutest thing. There was an Irishman who once told me he wanted to kiss my face off. I liked that one too. My favorite has to be when I was cuddling with a boy. He had his hand…well…on my ass. My fully clothed ass, let’s be clear. He kind of laughed for a second. I asked why and he said, “Well, one of the first things that attracted me to you was your intelligence. Love how smart you are. And I can’t explain why, but it’s such a turn on to have my hand on the ass of a smart girl” Perfect. Loved it.
I actually feel some compassion for men. It is hard to approach women. On the one hand, we want to be respected and seen as an intelligent, independent person, but we also want to know you think we are a hot piece of ass. It is hard to strike that balance. And I feel for guys when they try and fail. Then again, men can pee standing up and generally fall asleep anywhere. So my compassion is rather superficial.
I guess the point of this entry is rather obvious. I’m bored and lonely. And I need a man to hug and kiss. That would be lovely.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?
I’ve never really been much of a New Year’s kind of girl. When I do go out to celebrate, the results are generally disastrous and serve as fodder for my stories of my rotten luck. But I do love the closing scene in “When Harry Met Sally” when Harry starts questioning the lyrics to “Auld Lang Syne”. I can’t hear the song and not think of that scene. They same is true whenever I hear the phrase, “Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash.” To be fair, I am usually the one saying that one and “But baby fish mouth is sweeping the nation”. Great writing should be quoted often regardless of its relevance.
I have been thinking about all my friends this holiday season. Wondering if I am a loon for forging out on my own with little to no safety net. I have been discovering the profound instability of friendships I thought I had here. And I have been thinking, as I usually do around my birthday, of all the men that have drifted in and out of my life. What I never realized is that the poem from which this song derives its lyrics actually is asking a rhetorical question. Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? I guess it depends on the acquaintance.
Before I left LA, I had coffee with an ex-boyfriend. It was benign enough. He managed to make one remark as we were leaving that tweaked my little brain for a week or so. I was recalling the conversation to a friend and she said, “When you go to Nashville, do me a favor and don’t unpack him. Leave him in California.” These were wise words. For me, the believer that I can make anything work, it is difficult to look at anyone or any situation and walk away feeling that I did all I could. That it would never be any different than it is. As I have gotten older, I have become more accustomed to leaving well enough alone. My heart, my trust, my loyalty are easily won. But I am both too young and too old for them to be easily kept.
I have been feeling quite self-absorbed these last few months. Consumed with trying not to feel as unsettled as I actually am. And I know that as I settle, it will be easy to forget those that I love. Or at least forget to keep them an active part of my heart and mind. I think that is the point of the poem. Reminding us not to forget those who have shaped us, loved us, cried with us, laughed with us, etc. As we grow and change and walk down new roads and face new adventures, we must guard against the real danger of forgetting who shared our path. For good and for bad.
I had a chat with the Captain of my store today. (The equivalent of a general manager just keeping with the nautical theme) He was talking about mistakes. Making them, learning from them, and not fearing chastisement for having made them in the first place. He said something that was so lovely; I wanted to write it down. Now I fear that I will not quote it accurately. He said:
We must start each day excited about the adventure of making our next magnificent mistakes while being vigilant not to repeat our old ones.
So that is how I would like to start this New Year on this silly little blog. I want to wish you all blessings and joy in this coming year. And I hope that you look excitedly forward to your next grand mistakes. Remember those that have made you who you are. Don’t unpack the ones that mess with your head. Keep your heart soft. And determine now that this time next year, you will either being crying tears of joy or sorrow as you look back on 2011. Otherwise, you just might have wasted your time.
I have been thinking about all my friends this holiday season. Wondering if I am a loon for forging out on my own with little to no safety net. I have been discovering the profound instability of friendships I thought I had here. And I have been thinking, as I usually do around my birthday, of all the men that have drifted in and out of my life. What I never realized is that the poem from which this song derives its lyrics actually is asking a rhetorical question. Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? I guess it depends on the acquaintance.
Before I left LA, I had coffee with an ex-boyfriend. It was benign enough. He managed to make one remark as we were leaving that tweaked my little brain for a week or so. I was recalling the conversation to a friend and she said, “When you go to Nashville, do me a favor and don’t unpack him. Leave him in California.” These were wise words. For me, the believer that I can make anything work, it is difficult to look at anyone or any situation and walk away feeling that I did all I could. That it would never be any different than it is. As I have gotten older, I have become more accustomed to leaving well enough alone. My heart, my trust, my loyalty are easily won. But I am both too young and too old for them to be easily kept.
I have been feeling quite self-absorbed these last few months. Consumed with trying not to feel as unsettled as I actually am. And I know that as I settle, it will be easy to forget those that I love. Or at least forget to keep them an active part of my heart and mind. I think that is the point of the poem. Reminding us not to forget those who have shaped us, loved us, cried with us, laughed with us, etc. As we grow and change and walk down new roads and face new adventures, we must guard against the real danger of forgetting who shared our path. For good and for bad.
I had a chat with the Captain of my store today. (The equivalent of a general manager just keeping with the nautical theme) He was talking about mistakes. Making them, learning from them, and not fearing chastisement for having made them in the first place. He said something that was so lovely; I wanted to write it down. Now I fear that I will not quote it accurately. He said:
We must start each day excited about the adventure of making our next magnificent mistakes while being vigilant not to repeat our old ones.
So that is how I would like to start this New Year on this silly little blog. I want to wish you all blessings and joy in this coming year. And I hope that you look excitedly forward to your next grand mistakes. Remember those that have made you who you are. Don’t unpack the ones that mess with your head. Keep your heart soft. And determine now that this time next year, you will either being crying tears of joy or sorrow as you look back on 2011. Otherwise, you just might have wasted your time.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christma, drama rod.
For the first time in 17 years, Nashville has had snow on Christmas. I think it is my arrival. They are just so happy to have me they have blanketed the city in snow. It’s just a theory, but I’m going with it.
I was not with my family this Christmas which was like a kind of torture for us all. We are a Christmas family. Hard core. We rival the Griswald’s. It is hard to describe if you have never experienced a Stokes’ Family Christmas. Suffice it to say, we are rad. Even though we were apart, I felt their love surrounding me all day. I love and miss them all terribly. My nephew told my brother “I like all my presents. I just don’t want to talk about it.” Comedy. I was invited to a new friend’s house for dinner. I very comfortably ate all of their delicious food. It is lovely to feel welcome with strangers. The ice on the way home was not as awesome.
Last night, I was doing a little laundry. There was a super cute guy in the laundry room who had misplaced his laundry card. (Card operated machines rather than coin). He asked me if I had some money on my card. Not enough for both of us. So he loaded some cash onto my card. When I returned to put my clothes in the dryer, he was not there. So I left him my card and a little note telling him when finished to return the card to my apartment. Smooth, right? He dropped by. We chatted for a moment. He lingered and eventually departed when I wished him a Merry Christmas. I went back to get my dry laundry and he was there folding his. Yes! I remained true to my drama rod self. Here is how the conversation went:
“So why are you doing laundry on Christmas’ Eve?”
“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you are doing laundry on Christmas’ Eve. I just moved here from LA. No family and friends so why not laundry? You?”
“Similar story. I moved here from New York.”
“The city?”
“Yeah, Queens.”
“How does someone from Queens end up in Nashville?”
“Well…my soon to be ex wife found out she was pregnant and is from here.”
(L.E. panicked and thinking “Seriously?”)
“But I am glad I moved here cause I like it.”
“Well, that’s good. Merry Christmas again.”
Classic. The story had such potential until there was baby mamma drama.
My birthday is in two days. And year after year, I suffer some type of disappointment that casts a shadow over my birthday. I can catalogue them. It is uncanny. This year was no different and I am not referring to the super cute laundry room guy. But this year unlike any other, I am resolute to be defiant. I will not let this dampen my spirits. I have been brave. And not everything is going to plan yet, but when does it? I shall not be damp!
So to everyone that reads this nonsensical blog, and I know and love you all, Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday! I hope that you have been filled with love and peace today. And I hope that the blessings of your life far outweigh any of your sorrows.
I was not with my family this Christmas which was like a kind of torture for us all. We are a Christmas family. Hard core. We rival the Griswald’s. It is hard to describe if you have never experienced a Stokes’ Family Christmas. Suffice it to say, we are rad. Even though we were apart, I felt their love surrounding me all day. I love and miss them all terribly. My nephew told my brother “I like all my presents. I just don’t want to talk about it.” Comedy. I was invited to a new friend’s house for dinner. I very comfortably ate all of their delicious food. It is lovely to feel welcome with strangers. The ice on the way home was not as awesome.
Last night, I was doing a little laundry. There was a super cute guy in the laundry room who had misplaced his laundry card. (Card operated machines rather than coin). He asked me if I had some money on my card. Not enough for both of us. So he loaded some cash onto my card. When I returned to put my clothes in the dryer, he was not there. So I left him my card and a little note telling him when finished to return the card to my apartment. Smooth, right? He dropped by. We chatted for a moment. He lingered and eventually departed when I wished him a Merry Christmas. I went back to get my dry laundry and he was there folding his. Yes! I remained true to my drama rod self. Here is how the conversation went:
“So why are you doing laundry on Christmas’ Eve?”
“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you are doing laundry on Christmas’ Eve. I just moved here from LA. No family and friends so why not laundry? You?”
“Similar story. I moved here from New York.”
“The city?”
“Yeah, Queens.”
“How does someone from Queens end up in Nashville?”
“Well…my soon to be ex wife found out she was pregnant and is from here.”
(L.E. panicked and thinking “Seriously?”)
“But I am glad I moved here cause I like it.”
“Well, that’s good. Merry Christmas again.”
Classic. The story had such potential until there was baby mamma drama.
My birthday is in two days. And year after year, I suffer some type of disappointment that casts a shadow over my birthday. I can catalogue them. It is uncanny. This year was no different and I am not referring to the super cute laundry room guy. But this year unlike any other, I am resolute to be defiant. I will not let this dampen my spirits. I have been brave. And not everything is going to plan yet, but when does it? I shall not be damp!
So to everyone that reads this nonsensical blog, and I know and love you all, Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday! I hope that you have been filled with love and peace today. And I hope that the blessings of your life far outweigh any of your sorrows.
Monday, December 13, 2010
We Are All Just Guessing
Well, I survived my first snow/ice driving in Nashville. It was…daunting. My poor brother had to endure me absolutely losing my crackers as I was stuck in the driveway of my apartment complex. There was no way I was getting in. My engine would soar, make a weird noise and smell, and I would move incrementally. There were some good Samaritans out and they came to my aid. I was in a state. Fit to be tied, if you will. For now, the ice has melted and all will be well until Wednesday night when another storm rolls through.
I had a conversation with a friend Saturday night that has been cooking my noodle a bit. And since I have spent almost the entire day in my apartment, I have had some time to mull it over. It would take a while to recap the conversation. And frankly, I would like to preserve the dignity of my friend by not blasting the contents on the interwebs. Suffice it to say, there were many questions raised regarding the providence and involvement of God in our lives and what all that looks like. As I listened and nodded, understanding the questions more poignantly than I would care to, I expressed the thoughts that have been swimming around in my brain for the last few months. First a little background.
The notion that God has a set plans for my life unraveled a while ago for me. I have never been what my brother calls toothpaste Christian: one that asks for the Almighty’s guidance on every decision including “Aquafresh or Colgate?” As though God gives a rat’s ass which toothpaste I use. However, I was a firm believer in tapping into or suddenly discovering God’s path for me. And my weirdo dreams that come true never discredited the notion. I didn’t sweat the small stuff. In my mid twenties when nothing was going according to any discernable plan, I started to even question the idea that there was any grand purpose or plan. And if there was, I was not terribly convinced that my hopes and dreams made the cut. I had a pastor once tell me he was going to pray that I get a husband. I told him, “Well, that is sweet, but I am not sure that me getting laid is high on his list of priorities.” He smiled at me and said he would pray nevertheless because it was high on his list. I appreciated the sentiment. I made an agreement with myself to be at peace if there was never be a husband and family for me, but that I would never stop looking, hoping, and asking for one. Even in my doubt and substantial discouragement, I still searched for “my path”. Asking God to speak to me, to guide me, to show me what I was meant to do. And if there was no “meant to”, maybe just point me in the direction of what I would enjoy more than what I had already been doing. Oddly enough, he eventually answered. And now I live in Nashville and work at American Eagle. And I am crossing my fingers that I will survive school and like being a nurse. But I do wonder if it is all just a new tablecloth over the rickety old table that has been and is still just me.
I told my friend that I had been wondering how much it would change my theology or my approach to seeking God’s purpose and guidance if there were no heaven. I know this is Evangelical heresy and I am sure I will commit it again before the post is finished. But we spend a lot of time in Christianity focused on doing everything here for a payoff there. Or not doing things, for that matter. And I wonder if we put so much pressure on hearing and doing what God wants because we fear we would be living our lives for ourselves if we did otherwise. But that approach can be paralytic to both our souls and our actions. Meaning, we can stay in a place of inaction waiting to hear before we do. And if we don’t hear, we don’t do. When if we had just done, we might have heard in the doing. Or maybe not. But at least we would be living. Jesus said that he only did what he saw the Father doing. But our only evidence of what the father was doing, was what Jesus was doing. So…how do we figure out what the father is doing? Shouldn’t we just look and see what Jesus did and go from there? Is there a super personalized plan for all of us? Or are we just supposed to do our best with what we have and what we know? He said to store up treasures in heaven. But did he mean that literally? I mean, do I have a credit account in heaven? Or was he speaking figuratively? Was he asking us to devote our lives to the things that matter, to kingdom values, to love, to charity, to generosity, to sacrifice, to being a blessing? What if there was no heaven? Then wouldn’t the point be to live the most Christian life that I can within the confines of my talents and abilities and, frankly, doing the things that I enjoy? Not engaging in behavior because we fear it is a sin, but because we know the damage it does to us and to others. I’m not advocating Christianity as merely a well-developed piece of moral regulations. There has to be room for surprise and mysticism. And we have to be open to that. But I just wonder if we should spend the majority of our time trying to leave every place we are better than when we found it. If God wants to interrupt us, well, he is God. I am sure he can manage it.
I told my friend that the best I can do now is try and do something that has some meaning. He said, “Meaning to you.” Well, yes. If I am striving to apply the values of Jesus’ life to mine, then I feel like most anything I would do will have some meaning. But I would prefer it to have meaning to me too. I’m not saying we all have to dedicate ourselves to humanitarian work. I think there is a reason we are given talents and passions. And I don’t think charity or sacrificial work is the only way to live out a Christian life. There is beauty and importance in art, music, literature, social justice, laughter, love, doing things for the sheer pleasure of it, etc. Hell, there is value in plumbing. I guess my question would be that if I lived my life that way - not excluding God from consultation or guidance, but not dependent on it for movement – would I finish my life a little more satisfied? Feeling like it mattered I was here. That I fulfilled the task that was given to me to do unto the least of these. I’ll tell you this much, I wouldn’t have wasted so much stinking time petrified to move for fear that I wouldn't make the right choice. Or even more time when I was hopeless, believing that there was no plan and no meaning. I would just do. Find who I am, and decide what it means to live out the Gospel in all of my decisions.
Life is short. And as much as Biblical literalism and the notion of the inerrancy of Scripture are comforting, it can be really debilitating and silly. At the end of the day, I think we are all just guessing. So here is my best guess: God is love and light, so I am going to try and be love and light more of the time than not. And try to find things that make me happy in the process.
I had a conversation with a friend Saturday night that has been cooking my noodle a bit. And since I have spent almost the entire day in my apartment, I have had some time to mull it over. It would take a while to recap the conversation. And frankly, I would like to preserve the dignity of my friend by not blasting the contents on the interwebs. Suffice it to say, there were many questions raised regarding the providence and involvement of God in our lives and what all that looks like. As I listened and nodded, understanding the questions more poignantly than I would care to, I expressed the thoughts that have been swimming around in my brain for the last few months. First a little background.
The notion that God has a set plans for my life unraveled a while ago for me. I have never been what my brother calls toothpaste Christian: one that asks for the Almighty’s guidance on every decision including “Aquafresh or Colgate?” As though God gives a rat’s ass which toothpaste I use. However, I was a firm believer in tapping into or suddenly discovering God’s path for me. And my weirdo dreams that come true never discredited the notion. I didn’t sweat the small stuff. In my mid twenties when nothing was going according to any discernable plan, I started to even question the idea that there was any grand purpose or plan. And if there was, I was not terribly convinced that my hopes and dreams made the cut. I had a pastor once tell me he was going to pray that I get a husband. I told him, “Well, that is sweet, but I am not sure that me getting laid is high on his list of priorities.” He smiled at me and said he would pray nevertheless because it was high on his list. I appreciated the sentiment. I made an agreement with myself to be at peace if there was never be a husband and family for me, but that I would never stop looking, hoping, and asking for one. Even in my doubt and substantial discouragement, I still searched for “my path”. Asking God to speak to me, to guide me, to show me what I was meant to do. And if there was no “meant to”, maybe just point me in the direction of what I would enjoy more than what I had already been doing. Oddly enough, he eventually answered. And now I live in Nashville and work at American Eagle. And I am crossing my fingers that I will survive school and like being a nurse. But I do wonder if it is all just a new tablecloth over the rickety old table that has been and is still just me.
I told my friend that I had been wondering how much it would change my theology or my approach to seeking God’s purpose and guidance if there were no heaven. I know this is Evangelical heresy and I am sure I will commit it again before the post is finished. But we spend a lot of time in Christianity focused on doing everything here for a payoff there. Or not doing things, for that matter. And I wonder if we put so much pressure on hearing and doing what God wants because we fear we would be living our lives for ourselves if we did otherwise. But that approach can be paralytic to both our souls and our actions. Meaning, we can stay in a place of inaction waiting to hear before we do. And if we don’t hear, we don’t do. When if we had just done, we might have heard in the doing. Or maybe not. But at least we would be living. Jesus said that he only did what he saw the Father doing. But our only evidence of what the father was doing, was what Jesus was doing. So…how do we figure out what the father is doing? Shouldn’t we just look and see what Jesus did and go from there? Is there a super personalized plan for all of us? Or are we just supposed to do our best with what we have and what we know? He said to store up treasures in heaven. But did he mean that literally? I mean, do I have a credit account in heaven? Or was he speaking figuratively? Was he asking us to devote our lives to the things that matter, to kingdom values, to love, to charity, to generosity, to sacrifice, to being a blessing? What if there was no heaven? Then wouldn’t the point be to live the most Christian life that I can within the confines of my talents and abilities and, frankly, doing the things that I enjoy? Not engaging in behavior because we fear it is a sin, but because we know the damage it does to us and to others. I’m not advocating Christianity as merely a well-developed piece of moral regulations. There has to be room for surprise and mysticism. And we have to be open to that. But I just wonder if we should spend the majority of our time trying to leave every place we are better than when we found it. If God wants to interrupt us, well, he is God. I am sure he can manage it.
I told my friend that the best I can do now is try and do something that has some meaning. He said, “Meaning to you.” Well, yes. If I am striving to apply the values of Jesus’ life to mine, then I feel like most anything I would do will have some meaning. But I would prefer it to have meaning to me too. I’m not saying we all have to dedicate ourselves to humanitarian work. I think there is a reason we are given talents and passions. And I don’t think charity or sacrificial work is the only way to live out a Christian life. There is beauty and importance in art, music, literature, social justice, laughter, love, doing things for the sheer pleasure of it, etc. Hell, there is value in plumbing. I guess my question would be that if I lived my life that way - not excluding God from consultation or guidance, but not dependent on it for movement – would I finish my life a little more satisfied? Feeling like it mattered I was here. That I fulfilled the task that was given to me to do unto the least of these. I’ll tell you this much, I wouldn’t have wasted so much stinking time petrified to move for fear that I wouldn't make the right choice. Or even more time when I was hopeless, believing that there was no plan and no meaning. I would just do. Find who I am, and decide what it means to live out the Gospel in all of my decisions.
Life is short. And as much as Biblical literalism and the notion of the inerrancy of Scripture are comforting, it can be really debilitating and silly. At the end of the day, I think we are all just guessing. So here is my best guess: God is love and light, so I am going to try and be love and light more of the time than not. And try to find things that make me happy in the process.
Monday, November 29, 2010
The DMV and Other Such Nonsense
I had to wait a little while to detox from my day at the DMV before writing about it. I arrived, stood on line, took my number, and then waited almost four hours for an appointment that took ten minutes. It had to be the most inefficient system I have seen in a while. I sat in the waiting room listening to a woman scream that she has never done crack, casually reading my Economist. I almost finished the magazine. If you have ever picked up an Economist, you will know how much time they take to read. Not really a browsing little mag. I was sitting next to some people that were there to sort out a ticket and get their license back. They had both been caught driving without insurance. They bellyached and bitched about the state “nickel and diming you”. I restrained myself, but I wanted to say, “You assholes are driving around without insurance. You deserve every fine and inconvenience you are experiencing.” But I smiled, and placidly returned to my reading. I was astonished that if you have to have insurance to drive, why was I not asked to produce it before getting my license or registering my car. I mean, that’s just logical. Once I had my license, I had to then drive to the county clerk’s office to register my car. For realz? You can’t do both at the Department of Motor Vehicles??? Stupid. They have a blanket cost of $90 dollars to register your vehicle. They didn’t seem to care that the truck is 12 years old. When you live in states that don’t have income tax, people tend to brag about it with wide-eyed enthusiasm. But whether they take it from your check or not, they get their taxes. At least when it is deducted, you don’t quite notice it the same way as when you are paying 10% tax on your soda. Nevertheless, I am licensed and registered and that is good.
I started a part-time job at American Eagle to try and generate a little cash flow in the interim. The training was laughably anemic. I’m pretty sure they taught me to smile, but I can’t be positive. My first shift was on the dreaded black Friday. I was a little nervous because I really detest being unprepared. However, it was crazy boring. I really just stood there, said “All these hoodies are $19.77 and with the 20% discount in the store, that makes them $16.” and then refolded all the disturbed clothes over and over and over and over and over and over again. One of the managers approached me on Saturday to tell me he really thought I could be a top associate. “You have a good head on your shoulders. You’re smart. And you have managed a retail store. I don’t know what your plans are, but there is room to grow here.” It was really quite sweet. And he is a super cool guy so far. But I couldn’t help but laugh wildly on the inside and blast it on Facebook. I mean, honestly, retail management…um…no. I am finding my 19 year old coworkers to be a bit icy, but I didn’t really get the job to make friends. And after cleaning the store today, let me caution all of you from wearing clothes from a store without washing them first. Trust me. I have also recognized a slight ethical dilemma in working here. The major push is sales, obviously. But the tactics to try and get people to buy more than they intend sort of rubs me the wrong way. Without knowing whether or not they can afford it, it makes me really uncomfortable. Because 20% off is nice, but it makes you spend more than maybe you should. And I feel sleazy shoving products in their hands. So I really just avoid that admonishment altogether.
It is nice to have something to do, even if it makes me want to bash my brains in and involves listening to Katy Perry and that stupid “Teenage Dream” song twice an hour. Not that Weezer’s “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” is much better. Activity helps to keep all things in a bit of perspective. Or serves as a distraction, which is just as good.
I am thankful that I got a job. Thankful that I was able to spend Thanksgiving with a friend. Thankful that I am here even if I still don't know why.
I started a part-time job at American Eagle to try and generate a little cash flow in the interim. The training was laughably anemic. I’m pretty sure they taught me to smile, but I can’t be positive. My first shift was on the dreaded black Friday. I was a little nervous because I really detest being unprepared. However, it was crazy boring. I really just stood there, said “All these hoodies are $19.77 and with the 20% discount in the store, that makes them $16.” and then refolded all the disturbed clothes over and over and over and over and over and over again. One of the managers approached me on Saturday to tell me he really thought I could be a top associate. “You have a good head on your shoulders. You’re smart. And you have managed a retail store. I don’t know what your plans are, but there is room to grow here.” It was really quite sweet. And he is a super cool guy so far. But I couldn’t help but laugh wildly on the inside and blast it on Facebook. I mean, honestly, retail management…um…no. I am finding my 19 year old coworkers to be a bit icy, but I didn’t really get the job to make friends. And after cleaning the store today, let me caution all of you from wearing clothes from a store without washing them first. Trust me. I have also recognized a slight ethical dilemma in working here. The major push is sales, obviously. But the tactics to try and get people to buy more than they intend sort of rubs me the wrong way. Without knowing whether or not they can afford it, it makes me really uncomfortable. Because 20% off is nice, but it makes you spend more than maybe you should. And I feel sleazy shoving products in their hands. So I really just avoid that admonishment altogether.
It is nice to have something to do, even if it makes me want to bash my brains in and involves listening to Katy Perry and that stupid “Teenage Dream” song twice an hour. Not that Weezer’s “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” is much better. Activity helps to keep all things in a bit of perspective. Or serves as a distraction, which is just as good.
I am thankful that I got a job. Thankful that I was able to spend Thanksgiving with a friend. Thankful that I am here even if I still don't know why.
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