Jtwenty7

Rebound Lover

2006-01-13T00:07:00.000-05:00

I could hear just a hint of it in her voice last Sunday. As we sped up 31 with our husbands talking in the front seat, I told Frances that we'd be gone for a few days, that we were headed back to Georgia for a short vacation.

"Oh. So, did you like it there?"

Go ahead and go for a few days. But don't get any ideas in your head about staying. Don't forget what you have here.

I was so excited to start a relationship with him. It was all hopes and dreams mixed in with fear of the unknown. I had no idea he would turn out to be such a cruel heartbreaker. The end itself was almost too much, surreal at its core, with a denied reality that would have been too painful to deal with all at once. But the worst was being around him even after it was over. To constantly have to face him. Like being beat up over and over again. New scar tissue ripped open from yet another encounter.

And then I found you. From seemingly nowhere, you reached out this hand to me and pulled me to my feet, helped me brush the dust off. There's this connection with us that goes without saying because we've travelled such a similar road, you and me. Somebody broke your heart and left you for dead and all you'd really given was love. You invited and I accepted and you swept me off to a secluded place and told me I was loved and valued and had something beautiful to offer. You made me into a truer me. I am yours now. Not because you're pleading with me to stay. Not because I have to. But because I love your easy-going way. Because your love is so innocent at its core. It is basic and simple and strong. And asks for so little in return.

I didn't come here this week with any expectation of running into him. I really just wanted a chance to relax. But he's here. A new him that's gone through some sort of rehab that weeded out all the lies and the hate. What's left is a new sort of heartbreaker: what if...

I see glimpses of what we could have been. The laughter and the love and the comaraderie. The team that could have moved mountains. It makes me ache inside because I think we could have been such a good fit, you and me. You have all the glitz and the glamour, the fast pace and lights. I want to be with you again. To try out this new beginning you've made for yourself. You are now what you were supposed to be then.

But I belong to another. One that deserves to be so much more than just a rebound lover. These few, precious days we have will be bittersweet, teetering between the laughter and tears as we rediscover each other and both wonder without words. And when it's over, I'll walk away, back into the strong arms at the other end of this love affair.

Visitor

2006-01-12T11:44:00.000-05:00

How strange to be back. Vacationing on the streets I drove everyday for almost two years. We drove around last night, noting the changes and things that have stayed the same.

And I wonder how Newnan would view me through the same scrutiny. Anything different? Only familiar?

It brings to mind the feeling I had when our Georgia friends visited Twelve Mile one summer afternoon:

Look at me. You're not seeing me for the first time, but maybe you are. This is what I look like when I'm living from my heart - loved, accepted and being myself. Comfortable in my own skin.

Someone once asked Karen Hughes if George W was the same guy she had started working for years ago. Her answer was "yes, but moreso."

Determined, but moreso.
Full of integrity, but moreso.
Confident, but moreso.

I left so defeated. And now I'm back. In a better place than I was at the peak of our time in Georgia.

And I can't wait to enjoy the best that Newnan has - to savor those things which make my heart soar with just a memory, rooted in the knowledge of where I am now.

Observations on the Drowning of Non-Swimmers: One

2006-01-07T00:15:00.000-05:00

I came across an old article tonight that is like a magical key, made to assist in unlocking thoughts that have been stored up inside me for several months now. "Observations on the Drowning of Non-Swimmers" was written by Frank Pia in 1974 and originally published in the Journal of Physical Education.

I would have to agree with Pia that the first step is recognizing someone who is on the verge of drowning:

The drowning non-swimmer neither advertises the fact that he is drowning, nor is it self-evident to any except the trained eye.

I come in contact with drowning people everyday. But for the first time, in all these years, I've spotted a victim that I can't seem to tear myself away from.

And thus begins the journey on a site that has been left alone for far too long.

Discounted Floor Models

2005-10-15T09:00:00.000-04:00

It's always scary to buy a floor model because there's just no certainty in what you'll get. They're usually an incredible deal or an extreme rip off. I think the worst aspect is chance because there's just no guarantee...literally.

We've been fortunate enough to (knock on wood) always luck out with floor models. For instance, our stereo is a floor model that I bought with eighth grade graduation money. That's pretty enduring.

Other models I followed in eighth grade have recently fallen apart. I'm not referring to a stereo or tv this time. These were models that helped to shape my life, found in the local church.

Our family started going to "my" church when I was six. At that time, they were simply the pastor and his wife, but more importantly the parents of my first crush. But as time passed, I realized they were so much more.

He was the second one in the driveway when we found out my grandma had been killed. He was the one that baptized me at the age of eight. He would give these great sermons with notes from a greenbar printer that were still all attached so when one page would start to fall off the pulpit, they all would follow. She was the perfect complement. She volunteered at the Crisis Pregnancy Center and always got stopped for speeding on the way there and back. She was there for everyone in the church when they needed her. I remember when all the ladies of the church passed around a cross-stitch of the Proverbs 31 Woman and each worked on a separate piece to present to her. She taught me the bible school song, "forget you bible, forget to pray and you'll shrink, shrink, shrink." When I was still in grade school, she let me dress their new baby, assuring me that it was just like putting clothes on a doll and that I could do it.

They were the last pastor's family that actually had a true friendship with our family. We actually did things together. Suppers and ice cream. They loved us and they cared sincerely about what was going on in our lives.

When they moved out of state at the end of my eighth grade year, I thought I was going to die. A foundation had been ripped our from under me that I had relied on my entire "christian" life.

Years later, I remember driving across Indiana in a big red truck with my future husband and we were talking about what our future would be like, what our plans were. He wanted to go to seminary and become a pastor. What did I want to do? I wanted to be her.

Plans changed, directions shifted and then they shifted again and I found myself in a tiny community in Indiana as a pastor's wife. Mike has known how much I adore this pastor's family. He even had a chance to meet them when we were in college. He has known that I wanted to be her and model my life after her in many ways. He even used to tease me - "Are you ______? Are you?"

And then this year, the year I became a pastor's wife myself, I found out that my models had fallen apart. They had separated and are now getting divorced. And I don't really know the details, but it sounds like a lot of it falls on her. On the one I wanted to be.

Another reminder that nothing here comes in a box with a warranty. We're all just out there, possibly broken, most of us in ways that are invisible to the naked eye.

It's a good thing God is a risk taker.

Second Hand History

2005-08-14T15:47:00.001-04:00

Early last week, I heard the news that Peter Jennings had passed away. It caught me by surprise because I hadn't even heard that he was sick.

Between Good Morning America and Fox News I caught a few stories on his life and one phrase a reporter used struck me. He commented that Jennings had had "a front row seat to history." At first I thought that was an odd statement. Don't we all have a front row seat to history that's created during our lifetime? But I know what he meant.

Jennings was there and I was in my living room.

I've always thought that the overflow was a rip-off. You know, the room you're sent to if you arrive too late to get a seat in church on Christmas and Easter. It's just not the same when you're watching a screen - there's the sense that you're missing the overall big picture, not to mention the "feel" of the room.

And this week I was reminded that my seemingly front row seat to history is merely a seat in overflow. I'm fully dependent on people in the "main" room to give me an adequate picture of what's going on. And they all have different angles, don't they? From ABC to the local paper to Fox News to internet blogs.

Jennings has vacated his front seat to history and I can't help but wonder what kind of report we'd get if he were to come to us live tomorrow for World News Tonight. Afterall, he's now had the ultimate face to face interview with the most well-known figure in history.

Jennings' Search for Jesus has ended.

Ten Thousand Beside

2005-08-03T09:07:00.000-04:00

Have you ever felt the Spirit urging you to spend time with him? Some people, like John Eldredge, describe it as waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to return to sleep. Me, I've never experienced that particular perspective. Once I'm asleep there's only one thing that wakes me up - an alarm or allergies. Maybe that's why I always feel the closest to God when I'm living in the Midwest. I'm extremely allergic to just about everything here. And it always happens in the wee hours of the morning.

I went to sleep last night dreaming about sleeping in this morning. I finally had a free morning where I could do it. But of course, allergies came calling at about 7am. They're relentless. I tried to stay in bed, but they were too bad. As I fought it, that thought came to mind, it would be a great time to read your Bible.

I fought some more and finally left bed before I woke Mike up with my sneezing. This is how I found myself on the couch with Romans. The Lord works in mysterious ways, even through excessive snot.

Since I have unofficially proclaimed August 3rd as rhetorical question day...Have you ever felt like God answered a prayer before you had even spoken it?

I feel like he does this for me all the time. Either that, or I never remember what I pray. It's like the groaning that Romans 8 talks about, with the Spirit interceding on our behalf.

I groaned a lot during my three month job search. I got a job immediately when we moved here and I inwardly groaned, full time? I didn't want to work full time every day of the week! Inwardly, I dreamed of the perfect job:

I would like to work part time so that I can be home enough to keep my house in order.
I'd like to be around to get to know the people at our church.
We really need better benefits than what the church has provided.
I really want maternity coverage so we can afford to have a baby.
I don't want to wait 3-9 months for maternity coverage to become effective.
I don't want to work at a manufacturing place.
I really want to be involved in radio on the side. That's my passion.
I don't know how we'll pay for childcare if we ever have kids.

And for some reason, the God of the universe seems to delight in giving me the desires of my heart - every time. He's done it my entire life. Even when I don't ask.

I found the FedEx job on Monster.com. The header read, "Part Time with Benefits!" That caught my attention, so I wrote down the address and went on a search for it the next time I was in Kokomo. When I drove up and saw the place, I immediately crossed it off my list. It was just a big pole-barn kind of building with a bunch of trucks backed into it. I couldn't even tell where I'd go in to turn in my resume. I called Mike and told him I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I was coming home. I wasn't that desperate yet.

About a week later, we were both down in Kokomo for some reason and I wanted to show Mike just how bad the place was that I had almost applied. We drove up and he said he didn't think it was that bad and that I'd probably go in that little unlabeled door on the side.

Oh well. They probably weren't still hiring anyway.

Another week later, I was getting desperate. I found myself at this manufactured structures place, filling out a resume for a low paying job in a place I knew nothing about. This was the low point. I came home and called FedEx and asked if they were still hiring and they were.

I drove down right then to turn in my resume. I went through that little door we had decided must be the entrance and almost knocked over the Senior Manager. It was a good thing he was there because once you're in the big building, there are a bunch of trucks parked everywhere and you have to walk a little further in to find the actual office. If he hadn't been there to take it and walk me back to the office, I probably would have looked inside and turned back around and marched out to the car, once again proclaiming that I couldn't bring myself to work in a place like that.

I almost missed what God had waiting for me. He had offered this gift that I looked at twice and said wasn't good enough for me. Finally, I accepted it enough to begin to unwrap the package. And what a treasure it is...

I'm working part time at Fed Ex in the afternoons with plenty of time during the day to keep up on housework and hang out with people.
I get full, immediate benefits that became effective on my start date.
Last week I was hired as a part-time announcer on the weekends at WBCL in Fort Wayne.
If we have kids, I'll be home during the day to take care of them and Mike will be home when I'm gone to work in the evenings. No childcare costs.
And if you've really followed my blogs and remember that I wanted a commute? I got that too. :)

So, my package was delivered via FedEx, a company where one of the slogans is "The World on Time." How ironic.

Great is Thy Faithfulness.

Birthday Minute

2005-06-27T08:02:00.000-04:00

Another Day
Another Chance to Love the Ones I Love
To Find My Way
To Laugh, To Dance
Watch the Sun Come Up
Another Day I Get To Live
As If
Every Breath Could Be the Last I Take
I Get Another Day

--Natalie Grant, "Another Day"

The Dating Game

2005-06-15T23:06:00.001-04:00

Looking for a job is like looking for a man.

I can remember asking my parents one January night during college, "do you think anyone normal is ever going to like me?" The night was crisp, the stars were bright, our breath hung in the air and so did the reassuring answer that someday it would happen.

Sometime before my next Midwestern winter, I would like to think that I'll be employed again. But I have to admit that I'm beginning to doubt that there's a potential suitor out there.

First, there's the initial attraction and hope. You get excited about an ad and submit your information and credentials to be scrutinized. This can be fun because you begin to think about the possibilities, how much fun you'll have...it's the dreaming stage.

Then, just when you think you're about to burst from the excitement of it all, you begin to doubt everything because you haven't heard from them within an acceptable period of time. What's wrong? Aren't they interested anymore? Don't they like me? Why aren't they calling? Should I make the first call? Will I come across as too forward? What if they're waiting to see if I'm interested at a deeper level, enough to follow-up with the first contact?

The next step could be rejection. I've had that. Most uniquely, I've now experienced having an alma mater tell me that I'm not qualified for a position with them. Huh. Could that mean that their liberal arts education didn't do well in preparing me for a broad range of careers? Do they not think they've trained me in such a way that I could adapt in a variety of environments and learn new skills, given the opportunity? Rejection is painful, hurts the ego and stays with you.

There's also just plain not knowing. Why didn't they call back? On some of these jobs, I almost want to ask them why they didn't consider me. What is it I'm doing that pushes them away and makes them think I'm not right for the position?

Desperation. I've found myself walking into some very interesting places this past week, wondering what in the world I'm doing, but knowing I need to pay the bills. It's one of those moments when you think of where you've been and wonder what they'd think if they could see you now. It's never good to be desperate. You should respect yourself more than that.

"Meeting the man of your dreams...and then meeting his beautiful wife." If I might borrow from Alanis, this would be another step in the process. I found out about this great position doing news at a radio station and drove over to hand in my resume, only to find out that the position had already been filled.

The Matchmaker. We've got some of them in our church. These are the people that see a need and think they can fill it. Their doctor's office. The supermarket deli. A temp service.

And then there's the promise of new love. Right now I'm in the flirtation stage with a large corporation. They called me earlier this week and said that they were still interested if I was still interested. I told them I was interested and very glad to hear from them. They said they were too busy to call the rest of this week, but they would contact me again early next week. I'm counting the days. I'm so glad to know where we stand right now. I just hope I don't mess anything up until they can get to know me a little better and then really fall for me.

Ah, the dating game. If you play long enough, it'll wear you out.

As for that doubtful night in January...I was leaving the next morning on a mission trip with my future husband. I just didn't know it yet.

Boycotting the Snooze Button

2005-06-01T23:16:00.000-04:00

Why do you get up in the morning?

It was time for the project portion of Senior Capstone and the question was simple. The answer wasn't too difficult at the time:

Because I'm passionate about God.
Because I'm ready to use my talents.
Because I want to make a lasting impact.

Since then, I've had mornings when I know I'm getting out of bed to make a difference. And I've had quite a few mornings when I'm getting ready for a job that seems completely insignificant. Then there's the present. Right now, I get up in the morning so I can pursue a reason to get up in the morning.

Sure I'm a wife - a pastor's wife at that, strange as it seems. That's a good reason. There are plenty of people to love.

But I find myself wanting so much more. Things are great here. I love watching Mic finally get the chances that he so deserves: a loving church to lead and the opening of a surprise bonus window that features teaching at the college level. The pieces are falling into place.

And at the same time, I'm feeling like the pieces of me are beginning to fall apart. I want to do something exciting. I'm ready to labor in the fields, to dig in my heels and work hard and return home feeling like I've made a difference. But the job search seems to be endless and the options less than inspiring:

A secretary for a company that makes manufactured structures.
An office assistant for a metal company.

Why do I get up in the morning? More and more, it seems the answer will become, "to pay the bills."

It all sounds pretty selfish, I know. And I realize that you can be passionate and make a difference just by living out an example of Christ. To find joy, despite the circumstance. I should know that joy is permanent; that meaning doesn't come from employment and that status doesn't come from title.

But I'm tired of putting off my own dreams, of making my talents sleep in. For just a few more days, I have the luxury of boycotting the snooze button. I'm going to hold out as long as I can.

My Week As A Science Major

2005-05-22T23:02:00.000-04:00

When I showed up for the first day of my college biology course, the professor told us to shoot for an A. She said if we shot for an A, we might get a C, but if we shot for a C, we could get an F. Very encouraging for someone who had a particular dislike for science in the first place and just needed to round out their liberal arts education.

I had a goal in mind when we moved to Georgia - to find a job and start after one week. It worked there, so I had pretty much the same goal when we moved to Indiana. Once again, I was headed off to work after one week of unpacking. This time, it didn't work out so well.

The advertisement in the paper had sounded promising - a Business Assistant for an optometrist. I figured that was right up my alley since I had just left a job I loved doing front office work for a dentist. Halfway through the first interview, I found out the job wasn't for office, but rather as a technician. The most exciting part for me was getting to wear scrubs to work and I figured I didn't need to know that much more to tech - probably just grabbing information that the machines spewed out after testing and then turning it over to the doctor. WRONG!!

After four interviews, I showed up for my first day of a two week training session. Within minutes, I was knee-deep in scleras, corneas and optic nerves. Diagrams about myopia and hyperopia and emmetropia were filling my dreams, interspersed with millimeter measurements, progressive lenses and non-contact yadda yadda tests, otherwise known as the glaucoma test that shoots air into your eye. On the third day, they took us to the cataract laser center and we watched a video of two cataract surgeries. I thought I was going to die. Yet, I pressed on through tech terminology one and two and contact lens 101. I daydreamed about finding another job as we had a hands-on session to adjust nose pieces and popped lenses in and out of frames.

Suddenly scrubs just didn't seem that cool anymore. When Monday morning of week two dawned, I drove 30 miles and quit, just in time to miss three tests, a practical and lensometry.

The job search continues. Hopefully some business somewhere is willing to take in a science major drop-out.

By the way...I aimed for that A in Biology 101. I took home a C.

Reconnected

2005-05-21T13:32:00.000-04:00

I am sitting on the floor in our new "fireweed" dining room, relishing the thought of being reconnected on the internet.

I'm ashamed to say that we are still not unpacked.

Tomorrow is Mic's fourth Sunday preaching. How time flies.

I've started and quit a job. More on that later...

Aspen has lost a pound as he discovers the thrills of living in a two-story house.

The corn is already starting to sprout.

And we're going to mow the yard this afternoon.

That's what's new in a nutshell. More to come later.

Opposite the Lead

2005-04-16T19:44:00.000-04:00

There's not much I love more than a good book. Somehow the story breathes new life into the one I'm actually living. Have you ever had this feeling? It also comes with the initial steps out of a theater after an especially moving film. I remember walking out of Apollo 13 for the first time in Rockford, Illinois, being so proud to be an American. Or the way comedies lift our spirits and help us recognize the humor in the midst of life...the way a love story moves your heart in an almost physical way.

It sounds weird, doesn't it? Like I'm over-romanticizing something as simple as a movie or a book? Or better yet, like I'm the presenter of the award for Movie of the Year, getting ready to annouce the nominees.

I really don't know how to express what I'm thinking. All I know is that I'm in the midst of a great series right now by Linda Chaikin who, I'm convinced, develops characters better than anyone else. She breathes life into them as she writes and for me, the effect is a keen awareness of those I interact with on a daily basis.

Alright, I'll come out and say it. Linda Chaikin writes really good men. And despite the many years that my brother tried to convince me otherwise, there's nothing wrong with a good Christian romance, and you can learn something from it.

Suffice it to say that we've had our own little drama running its course through life the last several months. There's been loss, sadness, defeat, doubt, anger and broken relationships, followed by gain, excitement, hope and the promise of a new beginning. And willing or not, we've found ourselves in the lead for parts that we hadn't intended to play.

"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes."

If you're going to have to kiss someone for a scene, it might as well be someone you like. At least you would hope so. I spent twenty-two years dreaming about the man that would play opposite me in life. There honestly weren't many that tried out. I guess they were screened by a Casting Director before they even got to read for the part. That's what I'll tell myself, anyway.

The actor I'm working with has been great, but nothing brings out talent like a difficult scene. I have had the distinct pleasure of sitting back and just enjoying his work these past few weeks. Interviewing for a pastoral position is very unique because the wife gets to sit in for the whole process. I found myself looking at him, thinking he was probably the most impressive person I've ever heard or seen. His knowledge and creativity and passion for Christ are heart-stopping...in an almost physical way. I can only hope that I'll serve as a good supporting actress, one worthy of the part.

So I'm crazy in love and I probably should have just saved this one for a journal entry, but they're already packed. Lucky you.

**quote taken from "The Count of Monte Cristo"

Firing The Office

2005-03-24T22:25:00.000-05:00

NBC's new series, The Office, premiered tonight. We got off on the wrong foot because it bumped the time for The Apprentice, which I didn't realize until I turned the tv on at nine and saw everyone headed into the boardroom already. Oh well. I recovered.

I had looked forward to The Office because the previews looked funny and it featured Steve Carell, who I loved in Bruce Almighty. Watching the full episode was like dragging a half hour into three years and one of those moments when you realize these people have taken the three ONLY funny scenes out of the pilot in order to catch an audience via promos.

Pretty disappointing and I can't fathom how they'll pull off writing very long on this foundation they've laid. I wanted to quit in the first five minutes and I wasn't even in the cubicle next door.

I wish someone would write a true comedy about life in the office. Heaven knows there's enough material for that madness.

PS - While I'm looking like a complete tv junkie, I have to say that I was glad to see Mikala go tonight on American Idol. It was time, even though I really liked her before she reached the top twelve. Go Bo.

A Gallon of Milk Away

2005-03-17T20:26:00.000-05:00

My breakfast ritual consists of eating something, usually toast, and then finishing things off with a glass of milk. I was dreading the milk this morning because the gallon expired yesterday and I hate drinking expired milk. It makes me feel sick and as if I'm inching a little closer to death with every gulp. I've never heard of someone dying from day-after-expiration-date milk ingestion, but I certainly don't want to be the first.

Anyway, I was quite excited to open the fridge today and realize that the gallon had, in fact, been finished off by my husband last night - on the date of it's expiration - leaving me with new milk rights. Today's milk expires on March 26th.

I sometimes gauge my life by the expiration date on milk. For example, when we bought today's new milk on Tuesday night, I reached for it and exclaimed, "look - this doesn't expire until the 26th - by then, we'll only be days away from..." It's as if to say, "this exciting thing in life is so close, milk that we buy today will still be good when it gets here."

So, check out those expiration dates, folks!

Tomorrow, Tomorrow
I love ya!
Tomorrow
You're only a gallon of milk away.

You have to speed up that last line a bit, but it works.

Such a shame that we can't afford counseling, I know...

Purpose Driven Madness

2005-03-16T22:27:00.000-05:00

"You're here in my apartment for some reason," she told him, saying he might be destined to be caught and to spread the word of God to fellow prisoners. She told him his escape from authorities had been a "miracle."

--The Fox News account of Ashley Smith's hostage situation with Brian Nichols

Ashley Smith did a great thing this past weekend. She talked a killer into turning himself over to authorities. The people of Atlanta were grateful as they rested easy on Saturday night.

I wasn't going to say anything about it because she did something that I could never do. I would have absolutely freaked out, lost control, done anything except remain calm when brought face to face with someone that had raped and killed so many.

But isn't this a classic case of over-christianizing something? A sample of how we try to fit God into who we need him to be, rather than allowing him to be who he is?

Why would God destine someone to kill and then be caught so that he can save fellow prisoners? I doubt the family of the immigration worker that was murdered Friday night thinks it's a miracle that Nichols escaped authorities Friday morning.

Talk about a twisted view of "The Purpose Driven Life."

Why do we insist on explaining everything? Why can't we just accept a fallen world? I swear, the way we as Christians talk most of the time, it's no wonder that people are continuously turned away.

It's a miracle that the 51-year-old guard survived. It's a miracle that more weren't injured. It's a miracle that Nichols surrendered peacefully. It's a miracle that Ashley Smith is alive and uninjured today.

As far as God's role in all of this, I can guess at a few. He is the Protector of those that are safe, the Comforter of those who lost loved ones and, ironically, the Final Judge of Brian Nichols.

Ashley Smith has much more compassion than I do for people like Brian Nichols. I find that very admirable, since she lost a husband four years ago after he was stabbed to death. I would guess that she has extended the same grace to that person.

Yeah, I admire her. Because I'm still trying to come to terms with fear and forgiveness for a man that's been behind bars in Illinois for nearly twenty years.

Minix Road

2005-03-14T21:02:00.000-05:00

Guys don't ask for directions. I don't have that problem. I get directions. Apparently it's the getting back part that gives me trouble.

Last week I left work during lunch to visit a co-worker that's home on maternity leave. She lives about ten miles from where we work...ten miles of curves, dead ends, weird intersections and lots of turns. I made it there fine and kept the paper with the directions in my purse when I left. I figured that I had gotten there okay, I would be fine remembering my way back.

I was wrong.

I knew I was supposed to turn left, which I did, onto Minix Road. I followed it for quite a ways. Then I got to that point where you have second thoughts. Was I so absorbed in getting there that I missed seeing this church? I don't remember that house... After this comes the acceptance that you are on the wrong road, but yet there's the hope that it will end in a place that's familiar to you.

Minix Road ends at Fischer. I don't know Fischer. There are no familiar landmarks to the right or left. This, I suppose, is as good a time as any to turn around, and I once again pass the house and the now familiar church.

I turn left at the end of Minix and then make another left onto the road I was supposed to originally take, Shaw. Yes, Shaw is looking familiar.

Well wouldn't you know that Shaw also ends at Fischer. I have this huge moment of "duh." Why didn't I recognize Fischer as a road I had taken just two hours earlier? Oh well, I wouldn't have known which way to turn onto Fischer back there anyway. No big deal.

A few miles down the road, I'm watching for my next turn, thinking it should be anytime now. My eyes are scanning every sign as I pass. And all of a sudden, there's Minix Road.

WHAT?!? I have just made the hugest circle in twenty minutes - twice the amount of time it should have taken me to get back to work! And all of this time and wasted gas to realize that I should have just turned left!

After a few minutes of reeling over this discovery, I'm thinking I sure have been on Fischer Road a long time. I wonder where my turn is...

Yes, as soon as I think I've found where I am and have gotten over my circle mistake, I realize I have no idea where I am. I'm coming up on a stoplight. There wasn't a stoplight on Fischer on the way there...WHERE IN THE WORLD AM I?

And then, like water in a desert, I see a familiar nursery sign. I've somehow gotten to Highway 34. I have no idea how, but I finally know where I am. Five minutes later, I'm back at work.

One thing Mic and I have refused to say is that Newnan was a mistake. It sure feels like one. It feels like turning around at the end of Minix, only to find ourselves back at Fischer by another road, wasting a lot of valuable time.

It's like we've come full circle. Our lives at this moment look very similar to the way they were when we first got married.

But I still wouldn't trade Minix Road. We passed Denver on the way. And somehow becoming familiar with Newnan has added to who we are today. We may not discover for a long time why we ended up on this "wrong road" that seemed to be beckoning us almost two years ago. We refuse to say those feelings were just bad pizza.

Let's just put it this way - at least the next time we come to the intersection of Minix and Fischer, we'll know to just turn left.

Comic Relief

2005-03-09T18:29:00.000-05:00

So I've been training my replacement for a few weeks now and she's coming along, but I thought I'd share something fun from a couple weeks back...

The dentist had come and asked us to do an estimate for a patient that needed dentures. I told C to start by writing what we had done that day, which included a prostho (short for prosthodontic) consult and an x-ray.

I looked over a few minutes later to see that she was about to give the woman a quote for a prostate exam.

Hmmm...now there's a new one. And you thought you dreaded the dentist before...

Extravagance

2005-03-07T22:49:00.000-05:00

Before you read on, be sure to watch this.

This video bothered me. I believe in missions and I back up that belief with my checkbook. I believe in ministering to the poor and that’s why I’ve found myself interacting with kids in the midst of a garbage dump in Central America. I’ve played with orphan kids in Romania and I’ve knocked down walls in Ecuador so that radio waves can invade Afghanistan.

I realize that, if Americans would simply tithe their 10%, we could knock out world hunger.

But I think there’s a reality check between thinking that it’s wrong to make a music video because kids in Africa are starving and realizing that this is America and we’ve been blessed and we’ve worked hard for what we have.

Yes, but a woman shouldn’t have to work two jobs and sell oranges just to send her kids to school. It’s wrong. It’s a fallen world. And we should do everything we can to help.

Yeah for Sarah Mclachlin. We now are all very aware of what her right hand is doing.

And, just since I’m being a jerk (or at least coming across as one), the cost of a t-shirt is $5, an investment that would make it look like Sarah actually has a shirt on in this video, rather than appearing to be topless, covered only by a guitar.

I'm trying to find a balance. The balance between being concerned about the poor all over the world and enjoying the blessings in my own life.

When I was trying to think about this in terms of the Bible, a story of incredible extravagance came to mind. Remember when Mary poured expensive perfume on Jesus? The disciples were quick to jump all over her - "Why this waste? This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor."

And I love what Jesus says. "Why are you bothering this woman?"

I think America has been extremely blessed because, regardless of how much we try to hide it, we were founded on Christian principles - a nation under God. And the answer isn't that we're bad people for having fancy computers and fast cars and big houses.

I know a wealthy couple, the Merillat's, in Michigan. Because of their extravagance, I went to one of the most beautiful Christian college campuses in the Midwest. Because of their extravagance, I enjoyed a semester at Focus on the Family learning about leadership in church, family and society.

We need to give extravagantly out of the blessings that we've been given.

I think Rich Mullins sums up what I am failing to say plainly:

Before I got into this music business, I was determined to live a life of dire and grinding poverty. I remember my uncle saying, "Wow, you are so proud of being poor - what's so great? You would do a lot better to be a little more industrious, a little more frugal. If you're really concerned about the poor, becoming poor isn't going to help them, it's just going to ease your own conscience. If you're really concerned about the poor, go out and make a fortune and spend it on them."
++Rich Mullins++

The Hereditary Need for Commutes

2005-02-27T12:29:00.000-05:00

I'm lousy at praying. If I try to pray to myself, I get distracted and never get passed "thank you for this day." Even when I pray out loud, I still get distracted. There seems to be only one solution: I need a commute.

My Dad drove 30 minutes a day, to and from work, for 30 years. My Mom did the same for several years. In fact, I can remember riding to work with her when I was younger. When she wasn't listening to James Dobson or Chuck Swindoll or Marlin Maddox, she'd say, "Joy, I'm going to pray on the way to Rockford today." And then she'd either pray to herself or out loud.

I had a pretty decent prayer life when we lived in Colorado. My commute to Colorado Springs was 37 miles one way. It's amazing how wonderfully serene it is to drive that far at 4:30 in the morning (except, of course, when it's snowing - then there's a different sort of praying going on).

So, now that we're at this crossroads, deciding where in the world we'd like to live next, I think I'd like a commute again. I know it's not great on mileage and gas and all, but I think it's pretty great for the heart. Besides, it's in my blood.

Hope Deferred and Patches the Cat

2005-02-26T20:08:00.000-05:00

My Dad has never been a fan of cats. The first cat in his house came with my Mom when he married her. There was really no choice in the matter. When Tuppins died, several years would pass before another crossed the doorstep. Through some miracle, I was able to bring home Sprite when I was in late elementary school. When Sprite swallowed a doorstop and had to be put to sleep, that was the end of housecats.

It was years later, when we built the barn, that Dobson was brought home to help with mice and play with my Mom and me. Turns out, he hasn't been the best at killing mice, but he excels at loving people. My Dad jokes that he's a good for nothing cat.

But then there was Patches, a stray that wandered into the barn at their old house and somehow found a place in my Dad's heart. I never met her, but I heard that she was scared to death of people. For a long time, you couldn't even look her in the eye. My Dad kept working with her and was finally able to pet her sometimes while she was eating. It was his goal to tame her enough that she would allow him to catch her and take her to the barn at the new house where they now live.

And he still had some time to gain her trust because the old house hasn't sold in over a year's time. Patches had lived in the barn with a few of the horses that were also left behind to make it look like there was still life around the abandoned place.

Yesterday, Mom called and told me that Dad had found Patches dead on the road earlier this week.

It made me sick to hear the news. I asked her how Dad was doing.

"It just seems like nothing's going right."

Yes, because not only has the sale of their house fallen through, but as a result of that, some animals were left behind and if they could have been moved, Patches would still be alive and she wouldn't live close to a busy road anymore. Loss of heart and loss of life would have been avoided.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

At Christmas time, it was all hope at our house. Mom and Dad's house would sell. Mic would find a new job and we would begin the adventure of moving to a new place. The house hasn't sold. Mic hasn't found a new job. My replacement is now three weeks into her position, leaving me in this strange place of going to a job that isn't there anymore, but that I "have for as long as I need it." Not to mention that she is so far horrible at it and I have to sit there and still let her do what should rightfully be mine. Mic worked four hours yesterday for a total of $10 in tips. Our lease is up in 60 days and we don't have anyplace to go, yet we don't want to stay.

We are sick at heart. There are still good times, but even in the laughter our hearts ache. Our hopes have been put off indefinitely. Uncertainly.

And I have to wonder when God is going to remember us. You know, the way He remembered Noah and Rachel? Like, "Oh yeah, I remember...she was praying for a baby and I haven't given it to her yet...or, that's right...I've left this guy and his family cooped up in a big boat with a bunch of stinking animals for forty days and forty nights. How could I have forgotten?"

I am waiting for God to remember, to express concern for us, to act with loving care towards us.

Before the deferring of hope dries up the wellspring of life in us and before we find anymore dreams laid to rest at the side of the road.

Listening for Crickets

2005-02-21T19:17:00.000-05:00

When Ray Charles was seven, he went blind. Can you imagine? After running through fields and playing hide and seek, after experiencing sunsets and stars, it all went away.

We watched Ray Saturday night and there was this great scene in the movie. A newly-blind Ray came walking into the house and tripped on the leg of a chair, sending him tumbling to the floor. His mom was standing in the kitchen just a few feet away and her first instinct was to run over and help him up, but she caught herself on the way and stepped back, silent. Ray called out again and again for his mom to come and help him, to save him from such a painful darkness. Tears streamed down her face as she watched him cry with unseeing eyes, but she knew she couldn't go to his side.

And suddenly, he stopped crying and sat very still. He slowly stood up and there was this turning point - a revelation. He could hear the water boiling on the stove. He could hear the fire burning. He heard a horse and wagon pass outside. And then something caught his senses across the room - a cricket traveling under a chair. He moved beside it on the floor and scooped it up into his hands, listening to it fluttering by his ear.

His mom rushed to his side as he exclaimed, "I can hear it, Mama! I can hear it and I can hear you there!"

He had lost his surroundings until he found them in a new way.

I have lost my surroundings too. I have been crying on the floor for two and a half months, wondering why my God isn't crossing the room in two large steps to sweep me up and rescue me. Does He not see my hurt and tears? What I can't see is that He is watching and that He's crying with me, His heart breaking in tune with mine.

If I would only stop long enough to listen...

Maybe some moment soon, I'll be able to hear the cricket. And in the process, discover a new way of seeing that He knows I'll need for the next step.

To Speak or Write from Another

2005-02-20T17:13:00.000-05:00

The story of the Incarnation is the story of a descent and resurrection...one has the picture of a diver, stripping off garment after garment, making himself naked, then flashing for a moment in the air, and then down through the green, and warm, and sunlit water into the pitch black, cold, freezing water, down into the mud and slime, then up again, his lungs almost bursting, back again to the green and warm and sunlit water, and then at last out into the sunshine, holding in his hand the dripping thing he went down to get. This thing is human nature.

The Grand Miracle, C.S. Lewis

Antarctica and the Arctic Circle

2005-02-19T21:48:00.000-05:00

I believe I have become Bipolar. There's no real Equator in my life right now. One day I'm fine and the next I'm a freak. One day I'm happy and the next I'm miserable. One day I seem to have pulled myself together and the next I'm in a million pieces.

I've never been to Antarctica or the Arctic Circle. I have been to the Equator and that was fun - doing the whole one foot in the South and the other in the North thing. Maybe that's where I am - on the Equator. That would make a lot more sense, jumping from one side to the other, rather than traveling from one pole to the other - much more feasible, if you will.

But when you say your emotions are on the Equator, the person you're talking with may get the idea that you're saying you are balanced. And I really can't say I'm balanced right now. No, I really think Bipolar paints a better picture.

See? Just in the last few paragraphs, I have bounced from one pole to the other because I can't decide between the two. Is it up or is it down or is it somewhere in the middle?

I guess all I know right now is, I can't wait to leave Latitude 33.397365 and Longitude -84.769023 (Newnan, GA). Maybe the opposite of here would be good - as different as possible. But, Latitude -33.397365 and Longitude 84.769023 puts you somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean between Africa and Australia, so that wouldn't really work.

Gosh, isn't it cool that you can look up stuff like this on MapQuest? It's perfect fun for someone who has nothing better to do... Yikes. My life has become incredibly scary.

Valentine's Resolution

2005-02-14T20:24:00.000-05:00

I ran into a church person at Target the other day - go figure, huh? These people are EVERYWHERE!! I have to admit, I was planning on running into at least one of them while I got groceries and did errands - at least I ran into some good ones.

In the midst of the conversation, the woman mentioned her daughter who's away at college. I told her I had been keeping up a little on how school was going by reading her daughter's blog. She told me that her daughter had told her to read the blog, but she hadn't gotten around to it yet. (Gosh it's hard to write a paragraph without using names. Ah, the price of anonymity.)

Sounds pretty familiar. I told my mom about my blog not too long after I started keeping one. She was planning on printing out the different entries so she could read them and keep up. I don't think she's read past about day three.

Now, I know she's got a super slow computer with only dial-up internet, so I understand it could be hard to read my blog everyday. In fact, I was thinking that I would just print them off and mail them to her to make it easier. But then again, she's pretty busy right now and probably wouldn't have a lot of time to read them.

It's kind of a bummer because I'm pouring out my guts on this thing and I'd really like her to understand where I'm at right now. I want her to know my heart.

Yesterday it dawned on me that God probably feels the same way about me. He's got this really thick love letter that he's dying for me to read so I can understand his heart and yet I can think of a million reasons why I can't read it consistently. If only it were written like a book - and out came the Message. If only it weren't in those columns - and out came the TNIV with full-fledged paragraphs just like a regular novel. If only I could listen to it... You get the idea.

So, I missed the whole New Year's resolution thing this year. Maybe my Valentine's Day resolution will be to better understand the heart of God.

Ceiling Secrets and Favorite Parts of Prayers

2005-02-13T11:38:00.000-05:00

We love chicken here in Newnan, Georgia. There's a chicken joint on almost every corner and it's all fried. Mic and I were frequenting one the other day and I made a friend. At Zaxby's, there's this sunroom area with a glass ceiling (as is custom with sunrooms) like the ones you find in a lot of Wendy's. The difference is, they've put an awning over the glass on the outside to block the sun. The effect is, when you sit in the sunroom, you can look up and see your reflection in the glass. And if you want to be nosy, you can watch people at other tables in the reflection and they never even know it...unless they've taken the time to look up and discover the secret.

We don't go out much anymore, so Mic and I spent some time just sitting and talking after we'd finished eating and that's when I met my friend. She was probably about three years old and, being imaginative, had looked up and discovered the ceiling secret. She was having a great time looking at herself and I was just sitting there, waiting for her to discover that she could see me too. It didn't take long and then it became this game as she'd cross the restaurant, we'd wave and smile and play peek-a-boo in the glass and then she'd go back to her family's table. She did it a few times and her parents caught on...or at least they thought so. When she'd come over, she'd point up in the reflection and say, "come see the girl, come see the girl!" They'd smile at her silly game and come retrieve her, telling her that she could see her reflection at their table, too. She'd come running back, pointing up, "come see the girl, come see the girl!" They'd come over, look up at her reflection, say they saw her (their daughter) and take her back again to show her the other reflection over their own table.

They didn't get it. They underestimated her. They couldn't look past the blatant reality to see that there was much more to the game. She wasn't "the girl" - I was. And because they wouldn't take the time to really understand and listen to her because afterall, she's just a silly little girl playing a game, they never figured it out.

I wonder how often we do that to kids. We watch their imaginations at work, smile at it condescendingly, and then belittle it and dismiss it as silliness. We do it so much that, by the time they're adults, they think it's silly to be creative and imaginative and to live from the heart themselves.

I'm reading Waking the Dead by John Eldredge right now and it's one of those books that I want to read just one sentence at a time so that I can remember what he's saying and meditate on it. I just read one of those cool paragraphs and it made me think of these two stories of little girls.

Go fall in love then. Do something heroic; save someone's life. Spend a month in some breathtaking spot, doing nothing productive at all. Take up painting. Have yourself a good laugh - the kind that sends tears down your face and makes you grip your side for the ache of it. Listen to a beautiful piece of music. Live with courage. Tuck your child into bed; listen to her prayers; kiss her cheek. Find God.

Then you will remember again that the heart is central. Not the mind, not the will. The heart.

Listen to her prayers...the other little girl lives in Indiana.

We had gone to some friends' house for dinner while we were home over Christmas. Their youngest daughter is four and full of imagination. As we sat down to eat, she announced that she wanted to pray for the food. And then she entered into this great conversation with God, right in front of us. There was nothing flowery or formal about it. It was just talking with a friend. There was an extra chair at the table and we had joked at one point that it was for Jesus. Well, in the prayer, she told Jesus that we had put a seat there for him to join us and that she hoped he had a good time. It was awesome!

But the best was after she had said amen and we all opened our eyes. She smiled and said, "what was your favorite part?" It was as if she was saying, "you were just witness to someone pure of heart talking with their Creator. I let you in on it - which part of the imagination and innocence moved your heart the most?" We each took our turns, going around the table, letting her know.

I hope I can live like that. Looking up into the glass and seeing things that others dismiss too easily. And talking one on one with Someone I can't see but who is as real as the guy sitting next to me in the empty chair.

Don't forget to find God.

Looking a Gift Horse in the Mouth

2005-02-11T11:38:00.000-05:00

Now here's one of those statements that you hear and you know what the person is saying, but you have no clue as to what it means. I just did a google search and found goenglish.com, which explains pocket english idioms. Here is their answer to "looking a gift horse in the mouth":

You are looking a gift horse in the mouth when you receive a gift and then you question the value of that gift. You are like a person who has been given a horse as a gift and you are looking into the horse's mouth to see if it is in good health.

I think we as Christians spend a lot of time looking for horse cavities. A friend of mine and I were talking the other night while we were waiting for a movie and she was saying how she's ready for Jesus to come back. Maybe it's just me, but do you remember being younger and thinking, "I don't want Jesus to come back until I've gotten married?" Or, "I want to have kids and then Jesus can come back."

Is it just me? Maybe I'm a horrible Christian to want to delay the whole heaven thing, but I'm really enjoying the gift of life. That's what it is, isn't it? A gift? Why are there so many songs and seemingly endless Christian concerts (by Mercy Me - please excuse the parenthesis) that droan on and on about earth not being our home and having to suffer here and not fit in until it's time for us to go to heaven? It wears me out.

I told my friend that even now, when things seemingly can't go much worse, I still don't want to have Jesus come back and instantly rescue me to heaven. I love the gift of life! And even though heaven is going to be awesome, this is our one chance at this single experience called being human.

So I'm going to grab the horse and ride for now. Maybe it'll take me straight to that pasture in the sky, but I feel like I've got a few more miles to go first. And I'm going to appreciate every moment of the gift.

11876

2005-02-05T21:27:00.000-05:00

That's my parents' old address. The house stands empty right now. A kitchen that doesn't cook. A chair that doesn't rock. Curtains that don't open.

You see, they had put it up for sale in the hopes of selling quickly. They even took a leap of faith and began building their new house before the old one had sold. It looked really hopeful there for a while. A couple was interested and had even given a deposit showing intention to buy, but then the sale of their house fell through and they backed out. It was relisted and that contract has come and gone with nothing transpiring. Now, it seems the same couple is still interested, but they still haven't been able to sell their own home. So my parents have taken another leap of faith and decided not to list for now, but to wait for this other couple. In the meantime, they've moved into their new home and there the old house sits, day in and day out, waiting for its next family.

In many ways, I feel like 11876. A desire to worship and no place to go. A yearning for stability and nothing to stand on. A love of a job that is now a skeleton of what it once was. I want to go home and I don't know where to find it. And it seems so irresponsible for God to move our hearts and yet leave us here stranded and empty.

Pass me not, O gentle Savior-
Hear my humble cry!
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

Let me at a throne of mercy
Find a sweet relief;
Kneeling there in deep contrition,
Help my unbelief.

Trusting only in Thy merit.
Would I seek Thy face;
Heal my wounded, broken spirit,
Save me by Thy grace.

Thou the spring of all my comfort,
More than life to me!
Whom have I on earth beside Thee?
Whom in heav'n but Thee?

Savior, Savior,
Hear my humble cry!
While on others Thou art calling,

Please do not pass me by...

Diet Pop

2005-02-04T19:11:00.000-05:00

Mic was looking at some new itunes releases today and somehow came across a few new songs by Ginny Owens. He hit the first sample and as soon as I heard it, I knew that Ginny had discovered that she is Christian music's answer to Norah Jones. A couple of clicks on the other two songs produced more Norah Jones sound-alikes.

I've decided that, in many ways, Christian music is like drinking diet pop. It's supposed to taste as good as regular without the guilt, but instead you end up with a sickeningly sweet taste with an even worse aftertaste and no sugar high.

What's so wrong with being a new flavor that's actually good enough to be one of the top competitors? Wasn't it C.S. Lewis who said that the world doesn't need more Christians that are artists, but rather excellent artists that happen to be Christians? It's something all of us can apply, in whatever field we find ourselves.

Maybe Christian music should be like caffeine-free pop where you get high without the drugs.

Or maybe a clear cola without the darkness.

Would anyone like a cracker to go with the cheese?

Jet Stream

2005-01-31T20:45:00.000-05:00

I'm a New York Jets fan. If I hear they're playing, I always root for them. I don't know anything about the Jets, except for a tv-movie about Dennis Byrd that I watched when I was in high school. He used to play for the Jets until he was paralyzed as a result of an injury he sustained during a game. He and his wife are really neat Christians that prayed their way through the situation as they waited for healing and restoration.

There's this great scene where they're singing in an old country church:

They that wait upon the Lord
Shall renew their strenth
They shall mount up with wings as eagles

They shall run and not grow weary
They shall walk and not faint
Teach me Lord
Teach me Lord to wait

Today was a no day. Two more nos and we'll have none. We've reached the two-month mark as of tomorrow - a point where I really thought we'd be doing some serious packing and making the goodbye rounds. And now we almost seem further from yes than we did a month ago. Apparently God and I have different timetables.

Newnan was actually the first place we moved where I didn't have a timetable. I was supposed to live in Huntington for six months until my husband finished college and then we'd move where he went to seminary. We were supposed to live in Denver for three years while he finished seminary and then we'd move to the first job. The first job was a chance to settle in and establish some roots, without counting down until the time we'd move again. I think it's best not to know the future. I would have been lousy at adapting to Newnan if I had known that I'd only be here for 18-some-odd months.

And now I'm discovering that I really need to live the next several days or months or years without a timetable. I've been lousy about Newnan the past few weeks - the last week especially, as I find my temper running shorter and shorter and my patience wearing thinner and thinner. Instead of living as if I'm leaving tomorrow, I suppose I should at least live as if I'm here til the end of next month. By then, maybe I can say that I'm ready to stay until the end of the month after that.

Afterall, by the end of the movie and after a lot of hard work in physical therapy, Dennis Byrd was able to walk again. Pretty inspiring faith.

Teach me Lord
Teach me Lord to wait

To Blog or Not to Blog

2005-01-30T10:43:00.000-05:00

That's the question.

Because, the truth is, I'm running out of things to say. I feel like nothing of real interest is happening in my life right now. Seems a rather odd thing to say, since I am on the verge of...how does David Crowder say it? Standing on the edge of something large.

I've never literally jumped off the edge of a cliff before, but I can imagine that it's extremely unnerving to reach the edge for the first time. I would probably pass out at that point and accidentally fall off the edge. Now, in the case that I would be able to keep it together, my palms would get sweaty and probably my legs shaky and there'd be butterflies in my stomach as I thought about what I was about to do. But there would have to come a point when I'd just jump to get it over with, don't you think?

I'm ready to jump to get it over with. Don't freak out - this isn't a suicide note. I'm just saying that I know we're going to be leaving, I know I'm going to have to meet new people, build new relationships, find a new place to live, learn a new grocery store, adapt to a new job, find a mechanic...

Enough already with the anticipation! I've gone from scared to leave to scared to stay. It's amazing the kind of transition that two months can bring.

So I'm ready, aside from an enormous amount of packing. But I guess I can't jump just yet. I guess the whole idea of jumping involves knowing that the timing is right and something will be there to catch me and maybe that new world isn't quite ready yet, even though I am, and maybe I'm not as ready as I think I am.

Anyway, the waiting part is pretty boring and there's not much to say when you're standing on the edge of something large.

Boring life equals boring blog.

Toilet Usage

2005-01-25T15:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday a man washed his hands in our toilet.

I don't really know what to think of this. I'm pretty sure it's a first. It can only mean that my house is so clean, that it's now possible to mistake the toilet for a sink. I should be proud. I think that's what I feel...

The rest of the story is that he was plastering in our bathroom and was just rinsing off his hands. But the toilet?

I guess to put it all in perspective, you have to remember that my cat thinks the toilet is a giant drinking fountain. Now that's messed up.

Position Filled

2005-01-23T14:34:00.000-05:00

We've been dreading these words. Everyday, there's another check of the email and another trip to the mailbox. As you click or unlock the box, there's a slight cringe as you reach for the contents. What if there's a letter with a "thanks but no thanks, the position has been filled?" So far, this has only happened with one church that we weren't that excited about anyway.

On the other hand, there's this tiny rush of hopeful adrenaline some days when I'm packing up stuff at work and getting ready to head home. Maybe there's been news today. So far, this hasn't happened.

A position was filled this past week - mine. It makes my insides nervous and shaky just to think about it, and the tears begin threatening to spill over.

I had a horrible night on Friday. I was this total mess of tears that wouldn't stop. We had had an awesome night on Thursday. One of our good friends from college was in town and we had so much fun just hanging out and catching up. He's one of those people that you've known for almost ten years, that understands who you are, has shared experiences with you in the past, sympathizes with where you are now and has the ability to make you laugh. We don't have anyone else like that around here and I had looked forward to his visit for several weeks. Friday was the combination of nothing else on the calendar to look forward to, an empty weekend, an unknown future and the certainty that I am going to be training myself out of a job.

They hired my replacement on Thursday morning. She'll start either February 7th or 14th. That means that I have two more weeks doing my job as I know it. After that, I'll be training her and after I'm done training her, my job will become answering phones and shredding paper. They assure me that they need me for as long as I need to stay. Someone is going out on maternity leave, but it's not like she has a job that I can actually take over.

I understand where they're coming from. I've known that they were going to start looking for someone - my job was listed in the paper within about a week and a half of Mike being fired. I understand that she needs to be secure in her knowledge of my job in order for the transition to be a smooth one, but it's just not going to be the same.

I know that I shouldn't be living in the land of "what if," but just for the sake of visiting there for one moment...what if we're here for several more months? What am I going to do - living in an apartment that is starting to look bare and working at a job that isn't really there?

WANTED: Poet who doesn't know it.
POSITION FILLED.

Much Ado About Nothing

2005-01-21T22:17:00.000-05:00

I spent the last hour and half typing and now just finished erasing it all. I had such a strong desire to write tonight, but nothing to say.

Okay, nothing to say that can be translated from gut feelings to a computer screen.

Afterall -

Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life...

2 Kids, Some Paint and a Movie

2005-01-15T21:37:00.000-05:00

I just finished watching Collateral, starring Tom Cruise and Jamie Fox. It was a really good film with some deeply defined characters. At one point the discussion turns to the meaning of life and Tom Cruise's character relays that he thinks a person is like a single star in the sky that, upon vanishing, no one even notices. Max, played by Jamie Fox, has been a taxi driver for twelve years while he saves enough to start his own limo business. He insists that driving is just a temporary job - yet he takes it very seriously. When introducing his character, we see Max getting his car ready for the night shift. The car is glowing, it's so clean. He knows the fastest routes in LA. He knows where the traffic is easiest to maneuver. He can determine, down to the minute, how long it will take to get from point A to point B.

Jamie said that as part of his research for this part, he spent some time with actual taxi drivers and he encountered a man very similar to Max. This man loves driving taxi. He has it down to a science. He has taken a job that many of us would look down upon as a lesser calling and has determined to complete it in excellence. His passion is the taxi and he lives to fulfill that passion with perfection.

Last October I went to Home Depot to buy some paint. After completing the much loved task of picking the colors we wanted, we took our selections to the paint counter. We had to wait for several minutes before it was our turn because the guy behind the counter was finishing up with another customer. He was going on and on about paint techniques and how to apply it just right.

At first, it was pure frustration. Just mix the paint, slap on the label and get on with it already! But then the more I listened, the more I started to get inspired by this kid. His hands and apron were evidence of his passion - a mix of all the colors he had prepared throughout the morning. As he finished with the people before us, he assured them that, if they ran into any problems or had any questions, they could reach him because he practically lived there. Then he turned to us with a smile and dove into the next project.

This guy loved paint more than anyone else I have ever met. He took pride in helping people create masterpieces in their homes or businesses. He gets a high just thinking about the small role he has played in facilitating beauty.

It's been six years since I graduated from Focus on the Family Institute. While there, I had the incredible privilege of studying under John Eldredge, who introduced me to The Sacred Romance. It was during those three months that he peeled away a blindfold that had been plastered on from years of textbook Christianity. My eyes were opened anew to the Author of a Story that I found myself in the middle of, as one of the characters.

The day before graduation, my dad and I went to the Colorado Springs airport to pick up my mom who was flying in for a couple days. Back then, you could still wait for someone at the gate, so we were sitting in front of the big windows, just passing the time. In front of us, there was one of those lego tables with a bunch of legos. Soon a couple of little boys came up and started creating this elaborate tower and I started to cry. They were living out the story of their heart. It has been instilled in us to create because we are made in the image of our Creator. Even little kids get it, though they don't know how to put words to it. We start practicing immediately for who we are going to be.

It is absolutely amazing, isn't it? There are millions of us - as many as there are stars in the sky. Some of us are building great buildings. Someone else is providing brilliant colors for the canvas and others are taking pride in the fastest route from the airport to a downtown hotel.

Whatever your role is, play it with all your heart. Nothing pleases the Author more.

Supermarket Sweep

2005-01-14T14:30:00.000-05:00

Do you ever pretend you're playing Supermarket Sweep in the grocery? For us, it's a contest to see how many members we can run into during a single shopping experience.

I swear we need to find a new grocery store. Apparently board members of First Methodist are restricted to shopping solely at Publix on Bullsboro.

Today, for the first time in one month and thirteen days, I ran into one of the parties directly responsible for firing my husband. In fact, he was even with me at the time. We went into Publix to buy bread, milk and mustard, and there she was in the first aisle.

Recognition. Big Smile. "Hi! How are you doing?"

HOW AM I DOING?!?!?

Well, we have entered Publix with a checkbook that reads exactly $-13.38. My place of employment is hiring my replacement next week and I am going to train her for God knows how long before I leave at an unappointed time to an unappointed place. My apartment is in shambles because there are packed boxes everywhere and where there aren't packed boxes, there are boxes waiting to be packed. AND I can't even go to Publix for milk without raising my blood pressure 50 points!

I am fine, Betsy. How the heck are you?

I can't wait to check out and see how many bonus points an actual pastor-parish relations committee member is worth.

Baby Baby

2005-01-13T21:34:00.000-05:00

My life has recently become consumed by apples. Apples in stockings, applesauce snacks and Apple Computers. My husband is mac-crazy. My mother-in-law named this other woman "Maxine." I compete with Maxine for my husband's attention.

I saw Steve Jobs on Fox News when I was at work today and, even without sound, I knew they were doing a story on the big release that was held earlier this week. I knew that the particular b-roll they were playing featured Steve holding the new thing where you can buy a mac computer for $500 (lowest price ever), without having to get the monitor. I know all about the Griffin itrip, ilife, ipod socks and the ipod itself. I'm typing on a Powerbook G4 while I listen to an Amy Grant cd that I just downloaded into itunes.

Don't get me wrong. I like Maxine pretty well. It's hard to be jealous of such a dynamic lady. She's fun to hang around with. Just today, she told mic about a new Amy Grant itunes exclusive release. As soon as I have ten bucks to burn, that baby baby is mine. It's features include not only some original remixes, but also narratives from Amy inbetween every song. Ooh-lah-lah.

I would say that mic almost dislikes Amy as much as he likes Maxine, so I know it was probably difficult for him to pass on the good news. This just shows how much he still loves me.

Amy has had her moments. I was disappointed when she left Gary for Vince. I like Gary. He's fun to hang around with. But as much as I was discouraged and ready to give her up for good, I couldn't turn away because I love her so much. She doesn't have a showy voice. She's just plain Amy and that's what I like best.

She was my first Christian artist and Heart in Motion was my first cd. I've been with her from the Grape, Grape Joy of Jesus to Simple Things. It's too long to invest in someone to just give up (ironic - she invested a lot of time with Gary before she gave up...this is unsupportive of my point and will thusforth be dismissed as an argument).

I've been out to the Grant/Chapman farm a couple of times in my life. The first time, my parents had three free airline tickets to burn and asked me where I wanted to go. I chose Nashville for the sole purpose of stalking Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith. Yes, I have the coolest parents in the entire world. For three or four days, all they did was drive me around, looking for their houses. On the fourth day, hours before our plane was to depart, we stumbled across the farm. My mom jumped out of the car and hit the speaker at the end of the driveway and a lady answered. My mom apologized for bothering the person and then asked if they knew if Amy Grant lived nearby. The sweet southern voice replied, "this is Amy Grant." They talked until a buzzer went off and Amy told my mom to call back so they could talk some more. My mom did and they talked another minute and a half.

That's right. You didn't miss anything. I never got out of the car and never talked. This junior high girl was glued to the backseat in absolute awe, completely speechless. Hours later, I was kicking myself. Afterall, wasn't this the point of the whole trip?!?

When we got home, I wrote a three page letter to Amy, telling her how much I loved her, why I hadn't spoken with her on the speaker at the end of her driveway and ended with asking for her autograph.

I waited forever for that reply, checking the mailbox day in and day out for months. Nothing.

And then one day, there it was. A simple, plain envelope with a return address from Friends of Amy. I opened it up to find a little 3x5 notecard with her autograph.

Years later, my college communications department went to Nashville for the National Religious Broadcasters Convention. One of the college-geared activities was a trip to Gary Chapman's to sit in on a taping of his Christian countdown show. For some reason, he picked me out of the group and I ended up co-hosting the last 3/4 of the show with him. What an absolute blast!!! I will never forget it.

So, I'll always be a fan. They're a little part of who I am...the very sound of her voice makes me reminiscent of days gone by.

Ask me just how much I love you
You are starlight, I'm Galileo...

Lost in a Trailer Park

2005-01-12T22:07:00.000-05:00

In the last month and half, the kindness factor in our lives has been overflowing. This is not to say that we ourselves have been particularly kind - it's mostly been coming from other people. As the church drained us of everything, church members began filling us back up. These acts have varied from dinner to gifts to storage space. Yesterday, we received a new gift that also turned out to be a treasure hunt.

I love treasure hunts. I can really only remember being on one in my entire life. It was for my birthday when I was little. My parents had drawn pictures of different places around our house. I traveled a few different spots, including the mailbox and swing, and ended up in the driveway where I found a motorized plastic airplane that I could ride. I still have the clues from that hunt. Unfortunately, the plane was handed-down to a cousin.

Last night, the map was compliments of MapQuest and the treasure was boxes. One of the church families had saved some boxes for us and the only thing we had to do was pick them up. Seems simple enough.

We headed out a little after six with some scratched out directions and an address. It was dark and we were heading out of town. I think we missed four out of five turns, the kind of event that causes four different families to sit up and wonder who's come to dinner without being invited, only to find that it's a wrong number as we back out of the driveway.

Anyway, all we know is that it's a subdivision. Finally, we pull in on the main street. Huh. There are several trailers at the entrance of this place. We're driving deeper, finding only trailers. Are we in a trailer partk? Surely this family is better off! Perhaps the further we go, the less trailers we'll see...that's a negative.

A phone call to the family reveals that we were at a "Circle," rather than a "Drive." Fifteen minutes later, we were less than a mile from the Country Club. Ah. Familiarity. This is the Newnan I know.

So this is what it's come to... My treasure is boxes and my biggest adventure this week is a trailer park.

I hope we hear something soon about something somewhere.

Too Sterile To Clean

2005-01-08T10:56:00.000-05:00

Is there such a thing? I honestly don't know, scientifically, if there is a possibility that something could be too sterile to clean.

Sterile, overall, is a good thing. Just hearing the word makes you feel good. At the dentist's office, we have two whole rooms dedicated solely to the process of sterilization. The least sterile thing we let into our environment are the patients themselves. Some of them are just downright dirty. They smell like they've smoked a full pack on the way to the office. Some of them have colds. Others have just eaten and not bothered to brush. It makes me glad I work in the office and not in their mouths.

There are those who try, of course, to make a good impression. They'll ask for a toothpaste, toothbrush and floss when they sign in for their appointment. They're my favorite. I'm one of them. It has always been a ritual for me, before going to the dentist, to brush, floss and rinse with Listerine. In fact, I would say that the interview for this job was a first for me - the first time I have ever flossed immediately before going for an interview.

But you can't really trick a professional. I used to floss maybe two times in six months and then floss everyday for a week before my dental appointment and think I could get away with telling them, "yes, I've been flossing." There would be this pause and then a "hmmm...really." Then we'd go over the basics and importance of flossing.

If we could sufficiently clean our teeth on our own, there would be no point in going to the dentist. Don't get me wrong. It doesn't hurt to try to clean your teeth. We appreciate that. We just expect you to come with some calculus and stains.

I went to a church last Sunday where it felt like I should have flossed with my Bible before I walked through the doors of the santuary. It was that sterile! I felt completely out of place. I doubt a one-month hiatus from church could set me back that far, right? I was beginning to have some second thoughts. What has happened to me? Who have I become?

The music was too rehearsed. The people were too perfect. The sermon was too scriptural (I think we read through the whole Bible in thirty minutes - look for the book release in July).

I used to love a well-rehearsed praise band with the latest praise music. Heck, I used to sing with one.
I used to think it was great that everyone looked perfect on stage. Smiling the entire time they sang, speaking without error.
I have always thought that a sermon should be based on scripture.

But here I was, really for the first time in twenty-three years of church-going, feeling like my faith was too dirty to be accepted in such a sterile environment.

I guess my faith has been shaken over the past several years. And I can credit that partially to a husband that has turned my view of Christianity completely upside down. And to a small institute in Colorado that gave me new perspective. And to life's winding road that keeps moving me to new places.

I've come to think that the straight and narrow isn't so, well...straight and narrow. That maybe we've made it so narrow that hardly anyone can fit down it anymore.

It's uncomfortable to be shaken. Things don't fit exactly where they used to. The lines aren't in the same places. As I sat in church last Sunday, I thought of the words of Rich Mullins. He once said something about it being okay for your faith to be shaken. Could be that it's shaking you forward and shaking you free.

People with really horrid teeth will tell you so on the phone when they're making their appointment. They've had a bad experience in the past. Many have been yelled at for not taking care of their teeth. They don't want to be given another lecture. They know they've got black spots from neglect. They know they need help. I tell them not to worry about it, that our dentists are very gentle and understanding. Not to be discouraged. We've seen a lot worse.

The environment is sterile, but it has to be infected in order to make a difference. After all, what would a practice be without the patients? What is a church without the ability to relate to the lost?

I bet you never thought dentistry could be so profound.

Slacker

2005-01-05T22:56:00.000-05:00

Ah, vacation.

I think I successfully removed myself from everything on every possible level while we were gone for Christmas. It was very nice.

Today was the first day I've checked my email in over two weeks.

I'm still in vacation mode, so no new blogs right now. Just a note to let you know I haven't completely given up on this thing. I've just been enjoying the slackness.

Joy, The Grinch Too

2004-12-19T11:02:00.000-05:00

This morning I feel like I'm playing the lead in my favorite December cartoon, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. As my husband innocently sleeps, I am sneaking around the house, in and out of the bedroom, silently collecting things to pack. When he wakes up, there won't be any framed pictures of our family and all of our Christmas dishes will be packed away into a little corner of the house.

The problem is, I'm running out of packing paper and I can't get my cat to fasten on reindeer antlers so he can take the sleigh and pick up some more.

I can hear it now:

La-doo-do-rey, la-doo-do-rey, welcome Christmas, la-doo-do-rey...

Out of My Heart, Onto My Car

2004-12-17T16:54:00.000-05:00

One Fish, Two Fish, Three Fish, FOUR?!?

Jesus Fish showed up on cars a long time ago. I remember being in junior high and perusing that section of the Bible Bookstore, counting the days until I would have a car and could display cool bumper stickers and the like.

I've had my own car for five and a half years now, and I've never owned a Jesus Fish. At first glance, you may attribute this to the fact that my car is pink and I get enough strange glances for that, let alone questions about my religious affiliation. If only I had a dollar for every time someone has asked me if I'm a Mary Kay rep...but that's another story.

I don't have anything against Jesus Fish. That's something I respect as being between you, God and your car.

But I can't help pointing out how absurd the whole thing has gotten. Have you seen the mini vans with six fish, two being large and four being small? Be still my beating heart! This family has not one Christian, but SIX - mommy, daddy, and their four beautiful children!

But who is praying for little Johnny, child number five, who doesn't have a fish representing him on the family vehicle? I can almost hear it: "Now Johnny, if you pray and ask Jesus into your heart, you can have a fish on the back of the car, too."

It's almost as if Jesus Fish have replaced Believer Baptism - it's a rite of passage. At least they both have to do with water...

I'm guess what I'm saying is that we seem to be more interested in showing people who we are with objects, instead of through that which seeps from our hearts. And it's not just a symbol on cars - it's the way symbols have found their way into our churches, too. I've witnessed countless infant baptisms in the past year that are just as void of depth. Many parents sign up to sprinkle their kids because it's the thing to do. They have absolutely no idea what they're doing or what it means.

How far we've come. People used to be killed for their faith. Now it's a status symbol. Faith used to be deep. Now it's a half-inch thick with double-sided tape on the back.

It's time to get the Fish off of our cars and back into our hearts.

Incredible Meaning

2004-12-13T21:18:00.000-05:00

We went and saw The Incredibles on Thanksgiving day. I was a little reluctant, to be honest. I'm a sucker for romantic comedies and dramas that walk the line of scary, but not so much that you can't go to sleep at night. I like cartoons pretty well...they're good rentals.

But I liked the whole idea of The Incredibles. I just plain like superhero stories. I like that they're ordinary people that have these amazing abilities. When I watch something like Spiderman, I think Peter must sometimes walk down the street, dying to tell people who he is and how cool he can be. It's fun to show off at something you're good at, isn't it? To be seen in all your glory?

I think God likes to see us like that, too - displaying the gifts that He's given to us to share.

After they stopped using their super powers, the Incredible family had a pretty good life. He had a job that supported the family. She stayed home and raised kids that she loved. It was average...but it wasn't super. Simply because they weren't being everything that they were created to be. Their son couldn't be fast, yet he was made to be fast. Their daughter couldn't protect, even though she was created to protect. They were each designed to fulfill a certain purpose, but there was this unexplainable emptiness because the void wasn't being filled - the purpose wasn't being met.

As I sat there, I wondered where I was - using my gifts or putting in time. A year ago, I would have told you that I was just doing time because I wasn't getting to do radio or work in some big important ministry. But I remember what one of our good friends once told us: We're each given a toolbox to work with, but it's impossible to use all of the tools at once. When God gives you a project, you just pull out what He's given you to complete the task. I've liked the tools this past year. Sure, I've missed some of the ones that have been tucked away, too.

Anyway, our "incredible" little family is about to get reassigned and I'm anxious to see what we'll need to pull from our toolboxes.

And when duty calls, I hope the outfits are really cool...

Trip to the Subconscious

2004-12-12T08:32:00.000-05:00

I'm getting my drink ready at McDonald's, waiting for my order to come up. As I'm doing this, I'm wondering why I placed such a strange order. I never get the big breakfast meal at McDonald's, especially in a case like this when I'm running late. How will I eat the pancakes in the car? It's not like I'm driving far, either.

Order comes up. I open the box to view my first big breakfast meal, and see that instead, it's a sausage and egg mcmuffin (my usual) with fries, mayo and something else I can't quite figure out what is. I would wonder why they're serving fries before 10:30am and when mayo became standard for the mcmuffin, but I'm too concerned because there's no egg on my egg mcmuffin. The most frustrating part is, the lady behind the counter insists that there's an egg in my box. WHERE?!?!? Does she not know that I'm running late?!?

Finally, I find the egg - it's resting below the entire sandwich and it's about the size of two quarters. Oh well. I'm in too much of a hurry to even think of being demanding. I'm about to leave, when another lady comes up and hands me something else. They keep filling my order that I thought was complete. There are four drinks, my meal and something else. Great! Now I'm going to need a drink holder! How am I going to carry all of this?

David is going to kill me. I've been late before, but I'm really late today, and it's an important day. I'm going to be lucky if I make even the last five minutes of rehearsal. The merge onto Bullsboro has suddenly become this complicated clover-leaf, but somehow I get on and head towards downtown.

As I'm driving, there's the realization that some woman has launched herself off towards the sun and Superman will most likely make it to save her, but he'll have to hurry and even then, he'll make it just in time.

7:27am: I wake up and look at the clock beside my bed. Weird dream.

If Mike still worked there, I would have exactly 33 minutes to get ready and be down at the church for rehearsal. Today is the big Vivaldi Gloria during both morning worship services. I was supposed to have a duet. Tonight is the first of two presentations of "O Holy Night." I was supposed to sing with the Inspirations and then the big finale.

8:08am: Choir members at a Methodist church downtown are gathering music, telling each other good morning and are warming up. I'm in my pajamas, typing at a computer.

I haven't gone back to bed, mostly because I have this cold that is keeping me awake. But I also can't stop thinking about what I should have been doing right now. Music was one of the best parts of church there. I never would have dreamed that, after college, I would be in a choir that got to sing Rutter and pieces in Latin. I didn't even have an outlet for music when we lived in Colorado. It was good to sing again here, and play the piano in the sunday school rooms, just for fun.

Anyway, funny that I should wake up dreaming all of that this morning. I hadn't even thought about choir before going to sleep last night. The last I remember thinking about it was yesterday morning when I knew they were having rehearsal for today. It's amazing how something that's in the back of your mind can come forward in a dream...

Oh, you're probably wondering about the Superman part. I think that's just the result of a few too many superhero movies while I pack and wrap presents...

Holiday Trend

2004-12-11T11:03:00.000-05:00

A couple years ago, I was talking to my mom about Christmas cards. You see, each year, there's this big dilemma. I have made a commitment since I started sending my own Christmas cards that I would not buy ones that use the word joy. It simply doesn't sound right to wish people yourself at Christmas time. Or, "may this season be filled with me." This year I caved. Actually, I caved about two years ago when I bought the cards that I'm sending this year. Perhaps I have a better self-image now...I think I'm something everyone should have... You see? This is why I never do this. It sounds terribly conceited.

Back to my mom...she was saying something about not buying cards that say Happy Holidays because that drives my dad crazy. At the time, I thought this was way over the top - she was asking me to avoid cards that contain joy and holiday? Do they make blank Christmas cards?!?

Now, I have to say that I'm starting to see my dad's point. It's not that Happy Holidays is bad. It's the thought that it's replacing Merry Christmas. Have you noticed this lately? Check out commercials, radio, invitations and cards this year:

It's the holiday sale.
You're invited to a holiday party.
Need great holiday recipes?
Are you finished with your holiday shopping?
What's your decorating theme this holiday?
Kohls: Fits your Life. Budget. Holiday.

Somewhere, Christmas dropped off the list of politically correct. Holiday is the new inclusive word of the 21st Century. If you're celebrating Hannukah, Kwanza or Festivus this year, heaven forbid we should leave you out. Have we so lost sight of absolute truth that we can no longer bring ourselves to say that Christmas is Christmas?!?

Don't get me wrong. I like the word holiday as much as the next person. If I'm not going to see someone again between December 15th and January 5th, I'm the first in line to wish them a Happy Holiday. It's fun to say and it's understood that I'm grouping together greetings for Christmas and New Year's. The problem is, our language is starting to reflect what we as a culture view Christmas to be - a vacation from school, a couple of days off work and a chance to get together with family to eat and open lots of presents.

In fact, according to Webster's Dictionary, holiday is "a day on which one is exempt from work; specifically: a day marked by a general suspension of work in commemoration of an event."

I think people rush to that second definition of holiday. Do you know what number one is? "A Holy Day."

I'll leave you with a wish: may this season be filled with a sense of holiness as you reflect on Christ's birth.
Merry Christmas!

Gorillaphobe

2004-12-08T21:59:00.000-05:00

I've had a phobia of gorillas for a good part of my life. For me, there are two kinds of gorillas in this world - the ones you find in the zoo and the ones you find walking around on the street. I don't know about you, but I find the street gorillas to be much more threatening than the ones behind 30 feet of glass.

My fear is, of course, the direct result of a traumatic experience I had as a child. I was probably six or seven, along for the ride, minding my own business. The youth group at our church was having a Halloween party in my grandma's barn and part of the fun included a 15-mile hay ride to her house. My brother and sister were in high school at the time, so they were riding in the wagon ahead while my mom, dad and I followed in the car.

To get to my grandma's house, you actually had to go over the river and through the woods. Well, as I remember, we were near the river and thick into the woods when this giant gorilla jumped out of the bushes and attacked our group. My parents did what any responsible adults would in such a circumstance - they left their young child alone in the backseat of the car. It didn't take long for the monster to spot it's young, vulnerable prey. (Cue danger music - child to provide blood-curdling scream) Before I knew it, the gorilla was in the front seat, leaning over to eat me.

I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember is being at my grandma's house. The gorilla must have hitched a ride because he was there too. This time, he was trying to get to me in the actual house. Thankfully, my grandma locked the door and I have obviously survived to this day.

Someone said something about it just being our neighbor, Jim, dressed up in a costume. I tell you what, Jim has never seemed the same to me since. To this day, I picture him as a gorilla dressed up as my neighbor.

There was a short time recently when I co-existed with a gorilla. The radio station I worked at in Colorado had a mascot that went to many of our live broadcasts. His name was Nanners. Most kids liked him. I sympathized with the ones that would scream their heads off at the sight of him. At least he was a friendly-looking gorilla. I guess that's why I was able to warm up to him. It was helpful therapy.

And then there's today when I met my husband for lunch. It was all innocent enough. The sun was shining, the food was good, company even better...all of sudden, he was there. A gorilla walked by the window, across the parking lot, to a place beside the street only a few feet from my car. He was mean-looking, bicuspids and all (dental-friendly term for FANGS!). This particular gorilla was advertising some new restaurant next door that I will never visit. I kept staring at him the rest of lunch, noting his every move and dreading that at some unavoidable moment, lunch would end and I would have to walk to my car. Vulnerable Prey, out in the open.

Then, just as quickly as he had come, he went back inside the restaurant.

(Sigh of Relief)

God has granted me another day on this great earth.

K.I.T.

2004-12-07T20:08:00.000-05:00

Not too long before I got married, my brother and I went to see Bowfinger, starring Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. There really wasn't much else to see at the time, so we kind of happened upon it accidentally. It turned out to be a blast where we both took turns laughing out loud.

Eddie Murphy's character, Kit Ramsey, is a huge movie star who thinks that aliens are out to get him. When he goes to "Mindhead," his therapist tells him he must K.I.T., and asks the actor to relay back to him what that means.

"K.I.T. Keep It Together. Keep It Together, Keep It Together, Keep It Together, Keep It Together..."

It's one of those times when I could flail around for six weeks straight, wearing myself out from the strain. And it would all be for nothing because it's not like flailing gets you anywhere. Instead, I could recognize this as one of those instances where you tread water, listen, enjoy the extra time and watch God do His stuff.

I know me. I'll still flail. I'll still freak out when a ship plows by without noticing, instead of stopping to rescue me. I'll think the nights are too long and the days are too empty. And then, before I know it, some incredible yacht will pull up and take me to the next adventure (in some stories, the yacht is a cattle trailer).

"...but when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind..."
James 1:6

Keep It Together.

Death Without A Body

2004-12-06T22:18:00.000-05:00

You'll have to pardon me because a great deal of my time is currently spent around dentistry. They say that the worst day after an extraction is about the third. You may wake up feeling great the day after...it's almost as if the source of the pain is so deep that it takes time to surface.

Today is day five. I cried on days one and two, was okay on three and the early part of four. Five is not so good. It's my first day back at work. I had to tell my boss the news that I wouldn't be around very much longer. I'm not dying, but it feels as if there's been a death. In many ways, working through this feels like the grieving process.

At first, there was shock. That was immediate.

Then there was relief. Almost as if the person had been suffering and we knew that now they were in a better place. It has been a long year here, especially the last four months. There have been points when we actually wondered together how much longer we could last. We had decided to press onward, with what seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel in only six months. But then it was as if God said, "it's okay. You don't have to do it anymore. This has been taken from you." A burden had been lifted and there was hope for something new and beautiful.

I guess the next was denial. It just didn't seem real or possible. Or maybe it had happened, but it would be undone. Certainly something would be worked out so we could stay.

Then, in the midst of this cloud is the realization that you are tired - tired of dealing with the grief and ready for the funeral to be over with so you can get on with your life. I think the human spirit is not capable of grieving for an eternity. We were made to go on and to heal, but that process isn't allowed until there's some closure. The problem with this particular death is that the funeral isn't scheduled until we are pulling out of town with a truck filled with everything we own. We just have to keep reliving it over and over as we anticipate the end. And we don't know what the end will be or when it will come.

There's a lot of fear. Getting groceries tonight almost gave me a panic attack. It was like dodging bullets as you turned every aisle, prepared to duck just in time. We consistently run into people at the store, especially the pastor and his family. That's almost comical fear. The source of my real fear is that we won't find a job in time, that we won't be able to pay our bills...that my parents will have to come and rescue us with Suz and Darrel's diesel truck and giant cattle trailer. I guess that's not the end of the world. God does have a sense of humor.

This one goes with the one before. I'm scared about doing this again. I told Mike yesterday that I wasn't sure I could pick up and go into another church right now. It's like we've just finished losing a battle and they've come onto the field and told us to pick ourselves up because there's another fight that we have go join right away - before we can even heal from the wounds we just sustained. This is not a good feeling because this is what Mike was made to do. Ministry is what we're going to be doing the rest of our lives. And I'm only 27. Suddenly that seems young.

Sorrow is ready to surface with the wrong look. When my mom and dad used to drop me off at college, it was really difficult the first couple years. I used to tell people not to be nice to me or else I'd cry. I've already warned people at work and they have promised to be mean in these next few days. :) But friends from church have been so kind to us. They've called and written and eaten and prayed with us the last five days. Friends at work have held me and cried with me. I was never a Methodist at heart. I was never a Southerner, always a Yankee. But we are having to leave friendships that have been deep and other relationships that were just starting to grow. Despite it being relatively new to us, this town has become familiar. The first year somewhere, you're sort of feeling your way around. After you've passed the 12 month mark, you sort of know what you're doing.

Today, on day five, there's a lot of anger. I can almost honestly say that I hate the senior pastor. I hate him for doing this to us. I hate him for ruining Christmas. I was so upset that I was having to pack Christmas decorations on December 5th, instead of January 5th. I'm mad that he can smile to someone's face and not care any deeper than a fake hello how someone is doing. I'm angry that people try to justify him and his sorry excuses for sermons. I hate that he is making me leave a job and people that I love.

And on that note, welcome to the family gathering. Yes, we've all come into town to support each other at this time. I know that this is real. I'm relieved that it's over. I know the reality won't change. I know God will handle every detail of what our lives will be over the next several months - I know that He will be there to provide on every level - that we will see miracles as He sustains us. I know that He has gathered all of these tears and placed them in a bottle - that He knows every hurt and hurts with me - that He is the only one who brings joy even in the midst of sorrow. And finally, I know that I can't stay angry - that I have to forgive, but that He wouldn't want me to forgive when it's not yet been seeded deeply in my heart.

Be my rock of refuge, to which I can always go.
For you have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth.
Be not far from me, O God.
My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of your salvation all day long, though I know not it's measure.
~excerpts from Psalm 71

My comfort as I grieve this death without a body.

The Real Thing

2004-12-05T10:12:00.000-05:00

When I worked in radio, my co-host used to always tell me that you've never really worked in radio until you've been fired. I wasn't sure if this was because he and all of the other people that were on-air at the time had been fired in the last five years from another station in town, or if it was true because a firing would show that you had somehow thought so much outside of the box that you were true to yourself and got canned because of it.

Thankfully, I can say that I have never really worked in radio, even though I was true to myself to the point that I would, from time to time, get complaints from listeners. My favorite complaint was that I was eating a snack of sliced apples and caramel that I bought together in a little bag. The listener said that I was wasting money and it would be cheaper to buy a bag of apples and a large tub of caramel and to divide it up myself. I explained that it was my belief that one should never be using a sharp utensil, such as a knife, at 3am in order to save a little money.

Ironic that we should be talking about this today, because it turns out that my husband has really worked in ministry. And in his case, I couldn't be more proud. I'm not proud because he has now "been there, done that." It's because he did stay true to himself and to God and he really did try his best. I think he made a tiny impact, too. I'm sure of it - and there will be listeners that will be disappointed he's not on the air anymore.

Because, as far as I'm concerned, he is the real thing.

Packing It Up

2004-12-04T17:46:00.000-05:00

I quit Methodists Anonymous.

I know...you really should complete a program if you know there's a serious enough problem that you were prompted to sign up in the first place. But remember the whole, "I'm automatically in because my husband works there" line? Well, that turns out not to be true anymore.

So, we'll be packing back up the Christmas decorations, except maybe the trees, and we'll be gathering more boxes to pack up the rest of our stuff. It may seem rather sudden to you, but I've got no words to comfort you because it seems sudden to us, too. You either fit in in your club or you don't, and we obviously didn't fit in.

So here's to new beginnings. Sometimes you dream for new beginnings and, in reality, they're many days or years away from coming true. And sometimes, a new beginning falls in your lap when you least expect it. We just need to get over the initial shock of something falling on us.

I guess our new group would be the Identity Anonymous (which is a bit ironic, since you can't have an identity if you're anonymous...or can you) or Destination Anonymous would maybe be a better fit.

Anyway, so long Methodists Anonymous. Right now, I'm glad I kicked the habit.

Christmas Decorations

2004-11-30T19:41:00.000-05:00

We've begun the decorating process for Christmas. I already feel behind this season!! Last year, we decorated the day before Thanksgiving, but we were out of town this year, so it still isn't finished. It seems like everyone around me is already done - real tree and all.

I think you lose all concept of time once you're out of school. At least I do. There's no summer break or fall break, let alone that nice long Christmas vacation and Spring Break. How else do you mark time? There's really little differentiation from one season to the next, especially when you're not getting snow.

Anyway, it's November 30th, and I already feel like December is almost over. The calendar is packed and we're still trying to jam more in! But, it's my absolute most favorite time of year. It brings back memories of my freshman year of college with fake snow sprayed on the dorm window and that sweet feeling of finishing your first college finals and getting to go home...getting married...Christmas concerts... And then the memories from way back, growing up: dust-busting pine needles (funny that's the first thing that comes to mind), watering the tree, setting up the train and giving my people without arms rides around the living room, my grandparents' incredible light display, opening presents on Christmas morning. Oh, and Johnny Mathis. I love Johnny Mathis Christmas music. I heard one of his songs on the radio during my lunch break today and all of a sudden, I was in pajamas with my family.

Okay, I'm back. I had to go grab the CD...now "The Sounds of Christmas" is playing..."laughing sounds of girls and boys, playing with their Christmas toys..."

I gave crummy gifts when I was little. I think I gave about ten glue guns one year. I even have a picture somewhere of my sister smiling while she proudly displays her new craft tool. If I'm not mistaken, that was the year I did all of my shopping at Joann Fabrics. I also got a friend one of those wooden things that hooks on your doorknob and little balls hit strings and make some sort of an excuse for a musical noise when you open the door. They weren't as cool as the gifts other kids were giving, but at least I bought them all with my own money. Fifty cents a week doesn't buy a ton, but it's the thought that counts, right? Try telling that to a fellow eleven-year-old!

I like unpacking the decorations every year. Opening some of them up is like finding a ten in the pocket of your winter coat the first time you put it on for the season. Over the course of eleven months, you forget the treasures that are stowed away. We have some good decorations that we got as wedding presents. My favorite decoration is a little plastic Christmas tree on a white pedastal that my Grandma gave me when I was little. There's a switch that turns on about seven big red lights. It's only a few inches tall, but a vivid memory from growing up. I think I always left it at her house and it was my special decoration there for when I came to visit. The lights don't work now and it stays at my house because she's not here anymore...it's pretty special to pull that out every year. One of those other treasures that I pulled out are a set of Santa salt and pepper shakers, with a hand-written "s" and "p" on the respective hats. They used to go on my other grandparents' table when the family came over for the big Christmas celebration.

That said, I better get back to decorating. Hopefully you're pulling a few tens out of your pocket as you decorate this year, too...

Southern Living

2004-11-17T14:53:00.000-05:00

Ah, the great South...where Yankees stick out like a sore thumb and the War Between the States will never end.

The other night in youth group, we were sitting around talking about some thunder we had heard earlier in the week. Josh, one of the guys in the group, said, "whenever I hear thunder, I think that it's God reenacting the civil war."

Priceless.

The Omega and Alpha

2004-11-16T20:12:00.000-05:00

I'm an ending kind of person. Yesterday I started book number seven in a series that I've been reading. I was going to start it the night before, but I was too busy reading parts of book eight and the end of book seven. I needed a sneak peek to see how things were going to go.

This is how I've read most books during my life. If I'm at a boring part, I want to know how much longer until it gets good. If the people in love are apart, I want to know when and how they're going to be reunited. If someone is sick, I need to know if they're going to make it. If it's stupid, I want to know if it's going to stay that way all the way through.

I didn't like "Wedding Planner" until after I had seen it from start to finish. I was too worried that Steve was going to marry Fran instead of Mary and Mary was going to marry the freak just to make her dad happy. Once I knew it was all going to work out, I bought it.

Even my favorite Seinfeld was backwards. It started the show at the end and finished at the beginning. Kramer's sucker kept getting bigger and bigger...

Have you ever been asked if you were a journey or a destination person? I'm destination all the way. I spend the entire journey looking forward to the destination. I look forward to it so much that it's almost disappointing by the time I get there.

I once took a class with John Eldredge and he said that his wife was the same way and that reading the end of the book first is actually quite biblical. We all know the end result, yet there's just enough mystery to make you want to read the inbetween part.

So, your God may be the Alpha and Omega...mine is the Omega and the Alpha.

Methodists Anonymous

2004-11-13T10:48:00.000-05:00

Hi. My name is Joy. I'm a Methodist.

(Group: Hi, Joy.)

It all started a little over a year ago with the move across country to a new church. So, I guess I'm Methodist by default. I really had to join.

I've been a lot of denominations in my day, but this is my first attempt at Methodism. I've been (in order of appearance) Baptist, Evangelical Free, United Brethren, Church of God (Anderson, to clarify), non-denominational, Lutheran and now this. But, if you only want to count memberships (which is all that counts down here), I've only officially been Baptist, Evangelical Free and Methodist. And if you want to get down to basics, the Baptist church turned into Evangelical Free, so that's really only one membership...so, I've been Evangelical Free and Methodist. In my gut, I'm still Evangelical Free. That's where my heart is.

This group is really helpful! Let's keep processing...

Methodist has a bad connotation where I come from. I actually know for a fact that there were many prayer groups formed on my behalf the moment my mother started telling people in my hometown that my husband and I were joining a Methodist church. I had lost my faith! Methodist there means that you go because it's the place to be (other than the Catholic church), you're liberal, and your faith is something that goes skin deep on Sunday morning for about an hour and a half.

But the church that we joined here was going to be different from that!! A little over a year later, we find that we were almost entirely wrong. Our church is the place to be. The people that come are the popular, rich ones. Our church isn't liberal, but the denomination as a whole leans that direction. And our faith goes skin deep for exactly one hour and five minutes so that we can beat the Presbyterians to the best lunch spots. We've got methods and we're great at practicing them.

And somehow, I've been able to afford the membership fee for this country club. Somehow, I've been accepted as one of theirs. But it's only by default. If your husband gets a job at the country club, membership is one of the free perks. And you can forget trying to remodel or redesign the membership roster. It's impossible because it's not part of standard method procedures.

But you can tear at the wallpaper here and there. Just a little in this corner and a little in that one. Not everyone will notice, but some people will...and they'll like the new colors and design. But sooner or later, your heart's desire for a place that likes your design will cause you to move forward.

For now...My name is Joy and I'm a Methodist...by default.

Beginnings

2004-11-12T23:55:00.000-05:00

Well, here goes my first attempt at a blog. I guess that's what I get for staying home alone a few too many hours tonight. I'm not usually the first person in line when there's an opportunity for time alone. I've gotten used to life surrounded by people and commitments that pull me in different directions.

But right now I am five minutes away from a new day with my windows open and crickets chirping (the whole crickets in November thing is a little strange, I must say. Where I come from, they would be frozen five feet under this time of year, but they add nice atmosphere, just the same).

So, getting back on track...

I love fall. The trees outside have changed to yellows and oranges. As my good friend Aspen said, it's a great time for thinking and remembering. Fall always makes me think of college. The colors are the absolute best around our campus, not to mention that great Midwest chill in the air.

I gave up a concert to stay home tonight. I would normally do anything to get to a concert. I guess that shows how much I just needed some time away from it all.

It's been nice...and a good time for beginnings.