Never in my life did I think I would be so happy to see an envelope with a few hundred dollar bills in it. Who wouldn't want to get one of those, right? Well, I did get one, only I didn't find it, I worked for it. For the past month or so and for the next few as well, I have a few extra expenses...namely furniture and plane tickets. :) So, I had been praying and thinking about ways to earn some extra cash. House/pet sitting is something I have done before and while it requires work, it typically isn't overwhelming or completely time consuming. So, you can imagine my joy when I get a call that a family I know needs a pet sitter for their 2 dogs for more than a week. The dogs are big but are really cute and well behaved, and so I quickly agree.
I'm about 2/3 of the way through my journey now, and while things have gone well, I was not prepared for one particular task. Tomorrow (thursday) is trash day...no big deal...gather up the trash from all the cans and wheel the big can out to the curb in the morning before I leave. Got it. No problem. Only...wait...I have to what? poop what? So, one of my tasks was to go through the back yard and scoop the poop that has been gathering there for almost a week and put it in a specific bag and then put that in the trash. So, in my head, I'm thinking that it can't be that bad. Well, I was wrong. It can. Fresh dog poop coupled with rain and an inexperienced scooper (me!) is a recipe for a hot mess. Wearing flip-flops was probably the first bad idea. I had to tiptoe through the wet grass and try to make sure I don't step in what I'm supposed to be scooping. Then, as I go from "spot" to "spot," it is clear that certain places are more wet than others and some of it starts smearing. Then, as I lean down to get a big scoop full scoop, the handle breaks off of, and I almost fall into the pile of crap. As I struggle to catch my balance, I lean against the broom thing and sure enough, in the same motion, I break that handle in half as well. So, at that moment, I am hating my life and second guessing what made me think this was a good idea. During these moments, I have to remind myself of the envelope of cash that awaits me on the other side of this chore.
Well, I did the best I could and eventually finished with literally 5 lbs of POO. I couldn't believe it. That's a lot of crap. As I turned on the TV to relax and celebrate my accomplishment, I flipped past a show I had never heard of before called Househusbands. It made me laugh that the episode was about how animals were annoying these guys and though their wives loved the pets, the men HATED them and were tired of keeping up with them, especially cleaning up their crap. It made me laugh out loud. So, what's the point of all of this? Well, there's not one except for this...I definitely DO NOT WANT PETS that poo anytime soon. I don't want poo on my carpet, butts on my couch, or pee in my kitchen. I just don't. Maybe that will change one day, but for now the answer is NO! I also thought the title, "the things we do for cash" was pretty funny since it is true. I did it for the cash. I also thought of another one. "Sass in the City." We'll start there next time...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The unusual faces of friendship...
Never in my life did I think I would have friends like Michael and Kay. They are special people, but strange characters for sure. They were friends of Z and mine from Church Under the Bridge, and over the years that we knew them both, some pretty funny things happened. I wanted to take this opportunity to give them a "shout out," not that they use the computer at all. I just want them to know that they have each impacted me in profound and funny ways.
I can't even remember how we first met Michael. I honestly think he was Z's friend first. Every few years, Michael, with his fun personality and influence with the ladies, would pick a few young Baylor coeds and stick to them like glue. How honored I (we) am that we were chosen from 1999-2002. :) The three of us became quick friends and Michael's telling and re-telling of stories soon became a regular part of our week. I don't know what exactly happened to Michael in his younger years, but I do know that he is mentally ill. I suppose he's the type of guy that at first glance most folks would try to avoid as he would either appear "crazy" or dangerous. What's funny is that honestly, he's neither. All that unkempt white hair, those missing teeth, and the same dirty Baylor tshirts probably don't convey the message he would like, but after all, he had limited resources. I remember sometimes being shocked at the miles that he would walk to faithfully attend church each Sunday and how he would forego meals in an effort to keep batteries in the small radio from which he listened to each and every Baylor football game. His love of the attention and friendship of Baylor ladies was only surpassed by his commitment to Baylor athletics and Dr. Pepper. (He should get some sort of loyal fan award - that's for sure!). Sometimes Michael annoyed us (me), and I wished he would leave us alone. I remember being particularly offended one Sunday when Z was out of town and a friend of mine was visiting. Because I had a guest, we made plans to spend time together on Sunday afternoon. So, after church I told Michael we had to hurry and eat at Wendy's across the street from church. He didn't really like this idea, since typically we went to nicer restaurants and spent time talking, bonding, and making the average "after-church" crowd very uncomfortable. As we walked over to Wendy's and got in line and I re-explained to Michael what was going on, he proceeded to call me a "cheap skate." I was insulted. How dare he call me a cheap skate? I (we) buy his lunch every week after church and take him to sporting events, feed his Dr. Pepper addiction and keep in a constant supply of AA batteries. Why couldn't he be appreciative and content? After all, we sat with him every Sunday in church, took him to lunch every Sunday after church and then would hang out with him at our apartment or various other places throughout the week. Didn't he know how much we were sacrificing for him?
At that moment I self-righteously wanted to leave him on his own and force him to see what life would be like without us. In my immaturity, I was sure it be too painful for him to handle and he would come back to us and apologize. HAHA...that never happened. Not even close. What did happen though is that one night we got a phone call. As we answered the phone, a hysterical Michael was on the other end begging for help. Perfect, I thought. He's realized his mistakes and needs us. You can imagine my surprise when he tells us that he's been kicked out of the house where he usually crashes and though he needs a place to stay, he's calling to see if we can help Maria**. Maria and her children were being beaten by her on-again off-again boyfriend and Michael, with all the courage his aging and broken body could muster, stood up to Gustavo** and told him not to mess with Maria and the kids. Gustavo then proceeded to yell at and threaten Michael and kicked him out. So, late at night, Michael is calling us, from a pay phone, not to take care of his immediate need but to help those whom he cared deeply about. As 21 year old college students, there wasn't a whole lot that we could do, but we did what we could. We picked up Michael, gave him a place to crash for the night and told someone about the incident. We also went by Maria's place later to see if there was anything we could do or bring for her and the kids.
In all of this, I saw an unusual face to friendship. I learned that sometimes friendship is about loving and caring for people so they can do that for others, not so that they will return it to you. For Maria and her kids, Michael was someone who "mooched" off of them, but more importantly, he was also someone they could count on when no one else would intervene. He would stand up for them, bring attention to their difficult situation, and always remind them that better days were ahead. This reminds of the "pay-it-forward" concept. Sometimes God calls on us to love not because we desperately need it back, but because HE first loved us. If in some ways we all had that attitude, imagine how many "Michaels" there would be out there loving the lost, the least, the left out, and the unknown? Could be pretty amazing, huh?
Kay was another interesing friend that we made during our college years. In all honesty, Kay was really messed up physically. She had a list of ailments longer than my arm and a bag of meds bigger than my suitcase. AND, she had an attitude to match. She didn't ever take crap from anyone and would let us know exactly what she thought. Through her rough and tactless exterior, there was a soft heart inside of Kay that would lead her to break down and cry when she was discourged or overwhelmed. We would talk to Kay, encourage her, get her clothes and other supplies and just tried to befriend her as best we could.
During this time, I got a new(er) car! I was SO excited. After driving a really old car for years that broke down at some really inopportune moments (later, later), to say I was excited when I got my 2 year old Honda Civic seems like a gross understatement. Z and I would joke that riding in my passenger seat would be a great quad work-out for her, since I wouldn't allow her to put her feet on the floor mat in an effort to keep it perfectly clean, just as it was when we pulled out of the dealership. (Love ya, big dawg!) One particular Sunday after church, Kay approached us for a ride home. About this same time, a young guy who we suspected was strung out on drugs also asked for a lift. Being the people that we are, we said yes to both and all headed for my new(er) Honda. As we were loading into the car, I started to get a knot in my stomach knowing that this wasn't going to be good for "preserving" my car in its new state. I tried to continually remind myself that as God had provided this car for me, I was to use it to bless others. I started to feel a little better about it until Kay stated that she had been to the doctor the day before and had a catheter hooked up which flowed into a plastic bag that she was carrying underneath her coat. Z and I exchanged glances, rolled our eyes, and we all piled into the car and hit the road. As I begin asking the young man where we needed to take him, I hit a speed bump going a bit too fast and Kay screamed out. Her screaming scared me so I hit another bump going too fast to which Kay pulled out the plastic bag full of urine and told me that if I didn't slow it down, the bag would explode ALL over my car. OH NO...NOT KAY'S FECES! I couldn't handle it. If I wouldn't even let Z put the bottom of her feet in my car, how much less would I handle the explosion of Kay's medically-necessary "portable toilet?" To top off the uncomfortable and stressful situation, the guy in the backseat (sitting next to Z - haha) starts demanding that we call him "god." He refuses to be called anything else and will not give me instructions on where to take him unless I address him as "god." At this point, Z is poking me in the back demaning in spanish that we hurry and drop this "crazy" off. I'm thinking, "which one?" The one who's high and thinks he's the savior? Or the bossy one who at one wrong turn or large bump is going to involuntarily have us swimming in a sea of her waste? I am happy to report that we were able to drop "god" off at the right spot and that he exited the car without trouble, and though the explosion of Kay's excrement was still a looming threat, we could all relax a little. Finally (and after taking the long way), we dropped Kay off at her house with EVERTHING in tact. When she got out of the car, I felt such a specific sense of relief. We had completed our mission and my car remained in good condition.
What I didn't expect though, is that a few months later as Z and I were packing our college apartment preparing for graduation, is that we would hear from Kay. Kay was insistent that we see her before we left. When we made it over to her place, she proudly presented us each with a Christmas gift. As we unwrapped our presents, Kay reflected on the help we had been to her and how much it meant, and then this poverty-stricken, ailing, seemingly unlovable woman gave us the most generous gifts she was able. One was a huge painting of an angel and the other was some sort of lion drawing. Both were incredibly frightening and nothing that either Z or I desired to look at again, much less take home with us. I feel bad saying that, but it was the truth. The gifts themselves were nothing special, in fact nothing normal, but the heart of friendship that presented them to us was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. Though neither Z or I have those gifts anymore due to the vagabond-ish existences we lived for years after college, I am sure they are things we will never forget. It struck me recently that sometimes friendship isn't something that materializes right away, no matter how much you put into it. It comes in time, as God sees fit, and is not always expressed by both parties the same way. It was Kay, you see, that God used to show me another unusual face of friendship.
I can't even remember how we first met Michael. I honestly think he was Z's friend first. Every few years, Michael, with his fun personality and influence with the ladies, would pick a few young Baylor coeds and stick to them like glue. How honored I (we) am that we were chosen from 1999-2002. :) The three of us became quick friends and Michael's telling and re-telling of stories soon became a regular part of our week. I don't know what exactly happened to Michael in his younger years, but I do know that he is mentally ill. I suppose he's the type of guy that at first glance most folks would try to avoid as he would either appear "crazy" or dangerous. What's funny is that honestly, he's neither. All that unkempt white hair, those missing teeth, and the same dirty Baylor tshirts probably don't convey the message he would like, but after all, he had limited resources. I remember sometimes being shocked at the miles that he would walk to faithfully attend church each Sunday and how he would forego meals in an effort to keep batteries in the small radio from which he listened to each and every Baylor football game. His love of the attention and friendship of Baylor ladies was only surpassed by his commitment to Baylor athletics and Dr. Pepper. (He should get some sort of loyal fan award - that's for sure!). Sometimes Michael annoyed us (me), and I wished he would leave us alone. I remember being particularly offended one Sunday when Z was out of town and a friend of mine was visiting. Because I had a guest, we made plans to spend time together on Sunday afternoon. So, after church I told Michael we had to hurry and eat at Wendy's across the street from church. He didn't really like this idea, since typically we went to nicer restaurants and spent time talking, bonding, and making the average "after-church" crowd very uncomfortable. As we walked over to Wendy's and got in line and I re-explained to Michael what was going on, he proceeded to call me a "cheap skate." I was insulted. How dare he call me a cheap skate? I (we) buy his lunch every week after church and take him to sporting events, feed his Dr. Pepper addiction and keep in a constant supply of AA batteries. Why couldn't he be appreciative and content? After all, we sat with him every Sunday in church, took him to lunch every Sunday after church and then would hang out with him at our apartment or various other places throughout the week. Didn't he know how much we were sacrificing for him?
At that moment I self-righteously wanted to leave him on his own and force him to see what life would be like without us. In my immaturity, I was sure it be too painful for him to handle and he would come back to us and apologize. HAHA...that never happened. Not even close. What did happen though is that one night we got a phone call. As we answered the phone, a hysterical Michael was on the other end begging for help. Perfect, I thought. He's realized his mistakes and needs us. You can imagine my surprise when he tells us that he's been kicked out of the house where he usually crashes and though he needs a place to stay, he's calling to see if we can help Maria**. Maria and her children were being beaten by her on-again off-again boyfriend and Michael, with all the courage his aging and broken body could muster, stood up to Gustavo** and told him not to mess with Maria and the kids. Gustavo then proceeded to yell at and threaten Michael and kicked him out. So, late at night, Michael is calling us, from a pay phone, not to take care of his immediate need but to help those whom he cared deeply about. As 21 year old college students, there wasn't a whole lot that we could do, but we did what we could. We picked up Michael, gave him a place to crash for the night and told someone about the incident. We also went by Maria's place later to see if there was anything we could do or bring for her and the kids.
In all of this, I saw an unusual face to friendship. I learned that sometimes friendship is about loving and caring for people so they can do that for others, not so that they will return it to you. For Maria and her kids, Michael was someone who "mooched" off of them, but more importantly, he was also someone they could count on when no one else would intervene. He would stand up for them, bring attention to their difficult situation, and always remind them that better days were ahead. This reminds of the "pay-it-forward" concept. Sometimes God calls on us to love not because we desperately need it back, but because HE first loved us. If in some ways we all had that attitude, imagine how many "Michaels" there would be out there loving the lost, the least, the left out, and the unknown? Could be pretty amazing, huh?
Kay was another interesing friend that we made during our college years. In all honesty, Kay was really messed up physically. She had a list of ailments longer than my arm and a bag of meds bigger than my suitcase. AND, she had an attitude to match. She didn't ever take crap from anyone and would let us know exactly what she thought. Through her rough and tactless exterior, there was a soft heart inside of Kay that would lead her to break down and cry when she was discourged or overwhelmed. We would talk to Kay, encourage her, get her clothes and other supplies and just tried to befriend her as best we could.
During this time, I got a new(er) car! I was SO excited. After driving a really old car for years that broke down at some really inopportune moments (later, later), to say I was excited when I got my 2 year old Honda Civic seems like a gross understatement. Z and I would joke that riding in my passenger seat would be a great quad work-out for her, since I wouldn't allow her to put her feet on the floor mat in an effort to keep it perfectly clean, just as it was when we pulled out of the dealership. (Love ya, big dawg!) One particular Sunday after church, Kay approached us for a ride home. About this same time, a young guy who we suspected was strung out on drugs also asked for a lift. Being the people that we are, we said yes to both and all headed for my new(er) Honda. As we were loading into the car, I started to get a knot in my stomach knowing that this wasn't going to be good for "preserving" my car in its new state. I tried to continually remind myself that as God had provided this car for me, I was to use it to bless others. I started to feel a little better about it until Kay stated that she had been to the doctor the day before and had a catheter hooked up which flowed into a plastic bag that she was carrying underneath her coat. Z and I exchanged glances, rolled our eyes, and we all piled into the car and hit the road. As I begin asking the young man where we needed to take him, I hit a speed bump going a bit too fast and Kay screamed out. Her screaming scared me so I hit another bump going too fast to which Kay pulled out the plastic bag full of urine and told me that if I didn't slow it down, the bag would explode ALL over my car. OH NO...NOT KAY'S FECES! I couldn't handle it. If I wouldn't even let Z put the bottom of her feet in my car, how much less would I handle the explosion of Kay's medically-necessary "portable toilet?" To top off the uncomfortable and stressful situation, the guy in the backseat (sitting next to Z - haha) starts demanding that we call him "god." He refuses to be called anything else and will not give me instructions on where to take him unless I address him as "god." At this point, Z is poking me in the back demaning in spanish that we hurry and drop this "crazy" off. I'm thinking, "which one?" The one who's high and thinks he's the savior? Or the bossy one who at one wrong turn or large bump is going to involuntarily have us swimming in a sea of her waste? I am happy to report that we were able to drop "god" off at the right spot and that he exited the car without trouble, and though the explosion of Kay's excrement was still a looming threat, we could all relax a little. Finally (and after taking the long way), we dropped Kay off at her house with EVERTHING in tact. When she got out of the car, I felt such a specific sense of relief. We had completed our mission and my car remained in good condition.
What I didn't expect though, is that a few months later as Z and I were packing our college apartment preparing for graduation, is that we would hear from Kay. Kay was insistent that we see her before we left. When we made it over to her place, she proudly presented us each with a Christmas gift. As we unwrapped our presents, Kay reflected on the help we had been to her and how much it meant, and then this poverty-stricken, ailing, seemingly unlovable woman gave us the most generous gifts she was able. One was a huge painting of an angel and the other was some sort of lion drawing. Both were incredibly frightening and nothing that either Z or I desired to look at again, much less take home with us. I feel bad saying that, but it was the truth. The gifts themselves were nothing special, in fact nothing normal, but the heart of friendship that presented them to us was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. Though neither Z or I have those gifts anymore due to the vagabond-ish existences we lived for years after college, I am sure they are things we will never forget. It struck me recently that sometimes friendship isn't something that materializes right away, no matter how much you put into it. It comes in time, as God sees fit, and is not always expressed by both parties the same way. It was Kay, you see, that God used to show me another unusual face of friendship.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
home.
Never in my life did I think I would love "customs." Never in my life did I think the sight of such a long, unmoving line would fill me with excitement. Never in my life did I think that I would be so overcome with emotion as i stepped up to the counter with my passport in hand. Generally, "customs" gets a bad rap, and I don't know that I've ever heard some one praise it or long to be there, and while, I suppose I never done either of those, "customs" has a special place in my heart. To me, "customs" connects me to "home."
After some of my longer or more harrowing journeys, typically a long line or some strict rules aren't exactly what I want, yet somehow when I step onto U.S. soil, I am moved deeply. (And while I am definitely grateful to be an American, I wouldn't typically consider myself a patriot) There is something about "that" room in DFW, ATL, MIA, ORD, JFK, or IAD that makes me light up (Next blog idea: success determined by how many airport codes have been memorized!). Somehow, to me, it represents hope, connectedness, and relief. It represents home. I no longer have to watch my back at every moment. I no longer have to feel lonely, longing for quality time with family and friends who "get it." I no longer have to be inundated with complex problems, life-threatening situations, or endless needs. I no longer have to explain what I mean or do the mental gymnastics of articulating my thoughts in a language that is far from fluency for me. I no longer have to life out of a suitcase where roaches may or may not decide to take up residence. I no longer have to boil water in order to have something to drink. I no longer have to sweat just walking from one place to another. You get the picture.
Even after all the times I've winded through that line, I anticipate my turn to step into line 28, for example, and wait for the customs officer to call me forward. Something wells up inside of me as I confidently clutch my passport and immigration form. Things like, "I belong here," and "this is my home," keep going through my mind. I can't wait to get on the other side. I feel so "American." I feel free, alive, and as if the possibilities are endless, thankful that the adrenaline takes over so I'm not so keenly aware of my exhaustede state. And then, it happens. He (yes, to date, I have never had a female customs officer call me to the counter) beckons me to the desk and I hand him my paperwork. In all but maybe one or two cases, words that I so dearly love to hear are spoken to me. "Welcome home, sweetie." "Glad you are home safely, darling." "Welcome back, dear." "Wow, you've been gone a long time. What were you doing?" "That's a lot of countries to hit in such a short period of time. Are you crazy?" Whether or not these quotes are verbatim, you get the idea. I love hearing that I'm welcomed...that I'm home. I treasure the life I've been blessed to lead and the opportunities to go abroad and I wouldn't trade them for anything at all, yet there is something so moving that I get to come "home."
I feel as though I often neglect the joy of "home," always looking for opportunities to leave, explore, experience. Though I LOVE traveling, adventure, challenges, and trying to "make it" in places very different from here, I am privileged to have such a wonderful and welcoming "home." This period of my life is one of "home." Living, growing, learning, and being "home." What a special, sacred, and blessed time it is. Time to BE "home."
After some of my longer or more harrowing journeys, typically a long line or some strict rules aren't exactly what I want, yet somehow when I step onto U.S. soil, I am moved deeply. (And while I am definitely grateful to be an American, I wouldn't typically consider myself a patriot) There is something about "that" room in DFW, ATL, MIA, ORD, JFK, or IAD that makes me light up (Next blog idea: success determined by how many airport codes have been memorized!). Somehow, to me, it represents hope, connectedness, and relief. It represents home. I no longer have to watch my back at every moment. I no longer have to feel lonely, longing for quality time with family and friends who "get it." I no longer have to be inundated with complex problems, life-threatening situations, or endless needs. I no longer have to explain what I mean or do the mental gymnastics of articulating my thoughts in a language that is far from fluency for me. I no longer have to life out of a suitcase where roaches may or may not decide to take up residence. I no longer have to boil water in order to have something to drink. I no longer have to sweat just walking from one place to another. You get the picture.
Even after all the times I've winded through that line, I anticipate my turn to step into line 28, for example, and wait for the customs officer to call me forward. Something wells up inside of me as I confidently clutch my passport and immigration form. Things like, "I belong here," and "this is my home," keep going through my mind. I can't wait to get on the other side. I feel so "American." I feel free, alive, and as if the possibilities are endless, thankful that the adrenaline takes over so I'm not so keenly aware of my exhaustede state. And then, it happens. He (yes, to date, I have never had a female customs officer call me to the counter) beckons me to the desk and I hand him my paperwork. In all but maybe one or two cases, words that I so dearly love to hear are spoken to me. "Welcome home, sweetie." "Glad you are home safely, darling." "Welcome back, dear." "Wow, you've been gone a long time. What were you doing?" "That's a lot of countries to hit in such a short period of time. Are you crazy?" Whether or not these quotes are verbatim, you get the idea. I love hearing that I'm welcomed...that I'm home. I treasure the life I've been blessed to lead and the opportunities to go abroad and I wouldn't trade them for anything at all, yet there is something so moving that I get to come "home."
I feel as though I often neglect the joy of "home," always looking for opportunities to leave, explore, experience. Though I LOVE traveling, adventure, challenges, and trying to "make it" in places very different from here, I am privileged to have such a wonderful and welcoming "home." This period of my life is one of "home." Living, growing, learning, and being "home." What a special, sacred, and blessed time it is. Time to BE "home."
Proverbs 30:18
Never in my life did I think that one verse would have such a profound and somewhat funny impact on me. At a staff retreat last week, this verse came up and we, of course, took it out of context and added our own "inspired" words to it. Seriously, though, this verse has really stuck with me. It is a perfect example of an awe-struck author thinking of the things of God. It says, "There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand." It goes on to list three things that are beautiful and unexplainable physical creations of the Lord, and then then the final one is the way of a man with a maiden, which even now still makes me laugh out loud. (I definitely don't understand that!)
As we laughed about it, we decided that extending the verse to say, "There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand," and 9 that simply drive me crazy is the way that we would prefer it to read. To that extended verse, I commit this blog. If I were the writer of such a profound proverb, mine would read like this, " There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand:
1. The brilliant colors, the rolling plains that continue for as far as the eye can see, and the wild creatures taking it easy at a watering hole at sunset on the Masai Mara.
2. The way the clouds seem to sail through the sky on a crisp, clear morning as I fly by looking out an airplane window.
3. The creativity, passion, sense of humor, and endlessly inspired heart of God that would form so many nations, peoples, languages and all around beautiful things.
4. The way of a man with a maiden. (so true, so true)
And then, there are the 9 things that drive me crazy:
1. The way, despite my best attempts, I follow in the ways of Paul and "for what i want to do i do not do, but what i hate i do."
2. Drivers who pull right in front of you when the other 2 lanes on the road are wide open.
3. The way Satan uses our past mistakes and propensities to creep up on us when we least expect it or are struggling.
4. Carts that are left wandering that run right my car in the grocery store parking lot.
5. The way the Holy Spirit gently prompts and convicts of where we have gone wrong and shows us "the way forward," as my Kenyan friends would say. (So necessary and such a blessing, but let's admit it, sometimes it's a pain!)
6. Dust.
7. The events that have so scarred or impacted us that we have no choice but to remember and do something about them.
8. The way that every tree, bush, flower, shrub, and blade of grass in North Texas hates me.
9. CATS.
If you're still reading along, thanks.
As we laughed about it, we decided that extending the verse to say, "There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand," and 9 that simply drive me crazy is the way that we would prefer it to read. To that extended verse, I commit this blog. If I were the writer of such a profound proverb, mine would read like this, " There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand:
1. The brilliant colors, the rolling plains that continue for as far as the eye can see, and the wild creatures taking it easy at a watering hole at sunset on the Masai Mara.
2. The way the clouds seem to sail through the sky on a crisp, clear morning as I fly by looking out an airplane window.
3. The creativity, passion, sense of humor, and endlessly inspired heart of God that would form so many nations, peoples, languages and all around beautiful things.
4. The way of a man with a maiden. (so true, so true)
And then, there are the 9 things that drive me crazy:
1. The way, despite my best attempts, I follow in the ways of Paul and "for what i want to do i do not do, but what i hate i do."
2. Drivers who pull right in front of you when the other 2 lanes on the road are wide open.
3. The way Satan uses our past mistakes and propensities to creep up on us when we least expect it or are struggling.
4. Carts that are left wandering that run right my car in the grocery store parking lot.
5. The way the Holy Spirit gently prompts and convicts of where we have gone wrong and shows us "the way forward," as my Kenyan friends would say. (So necessary and such a blessing, but let's admit it, sometimes it's a pain!)
6. Dust.
7. The events that have so scarred or impacted us that we have no choice but to remember and do something about them.
8. The way that every tree, bush, flower, shrub, and blade of grass in North Texas hates me.
9. CATS.
If you're still reading along, thanks.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Thursday Afternoon...
Never in my life did I think I would have a meeting like the one I did on Thursday. In planning my day and thinking ahead to that particular meeting, nothing seemed strange or uncertain. In fact, it was my first official one-on-one meeting with my new financial advisor. If anything, I was taking a sense of pride in the fact that I had arrived as some kind of "grown up" for whom these sorts of things are reserved. (Although, truly, I should share that the reason I was meeting with him was because due to the crazy life that I lead I figured I should have some kind of life insurance policy.) Nonetheless, I was there with all the necessary documents in hand ready to march into "adulthood" and trick him into thinking I actually have money. :)
As it turned out, all of the offices and conference rooms in our building were being used, so the advisor and I had to meet in this small, hot, window-less room next to a huge copier and a dorm-sized refrigerator. Not all that glamorous after all. However, we started to meet, and things seemed to be going smoothly. We went over my monthly budget, I asked intelligent questions and tried to make him laugh with self-depricating humor, and he showed me my options and made suggestions. At one point, as I was trying to explain large gaps in my work history and share where I would like to be financially in about 2 years, and he got all excited about aggressive investments and money markets. As his voice grew louder and more passionate, I was prepared to hear something from him that would change my financial life, and at that moment when I couldn't wait any longer, he proclaimed, "Balls to the wall, Allison, balls to the wall." Not only was that NOT what I expected to hear, but innocently, I wanted to reply, "I don't have balls." Of course, I had heard that phrase before and had an idea of what it implies, but I had to ask myself, "Is he telling me that we are going to be aggressive and move full speed ahead?" Or "Is he telling me that the next few months or years might be uncomfortable?" I wasn't quite sure where this was headed.
For that moment, I ignored it and we moved forward. After ordering my life insurance policy and talking through a number of IRA's, we were finishing the paperwork and seemed to be wrapping up our meeting, when he hits me with another surprise. He looks at me says, "Now, I need to give you an HIV/AIDS test. I will open the package and hold it out to you and take the swab out of it so that only you touch it. Then, I need you to swab the inside of your cheeks on both sides and then hold it against the inside of one check for a minute. I will time you and tell when the minute is up. Then, I need you to place it in this tube and break the stick off. Ok?"
HAHAHA...I thought to myself. Are you kidding me? I've already had an HIV/AIDS test this year, and it was no joke (More on that later!). How can saliva and sticking this swab in my mouth really tell you that? Don't you need a blood sample? You're a financial planner?! I don't ask my lawyer to take a stool sample?! What is going on here? This kind of thing must only happen to me! After all of that internal dialogue, I did what he said and very quickly we were finished. I was dying to get out of that hot window-less dungeon (gets more dramatic as the story goes on!) and tell someone about the funny things that had just occurred, so I bust out of the room only to be stopped in my steps by two Hispanic pastors bowed in serious prayer crying out to the Lord in Spanish. So, I tip-toe past them and hope to find someone else. Nope. No one is there. So, I bury this story and reveal it all to my co-workers yesterday in dramatic fashion. As we are all laughing about the things that only seem to happen to me, I chuckle and smile deep inside, because I am grateful the Lord has given me the life that He has and that I can say, "
Never in my life did I think I would be sitting a hot, window-less dungeon with my financial planner listening to him tell me, "balls to the wall," as I take an HIV test while in the next room a Hispanic pastor is crying out to the Lord." What a day. :)
As it turned out, all of the offices and conference rooms in our building were being used, so the advisor and I had to meet in this small, hot, window-less room next to a huge copier and a dorm-sized refrigerator. Not all that glamorous after all. However, we started to meet, and things seemed to be going smoothly. We went over my monthly budget, I asked intelligent questions and tried to make him laugh with self-depricating humor, and he showed me my options and made suggestions. At one point, as I was trying to explain large gaps in my work history and share where I would like to be financially in about 2 years, and he got all excited about aggressive investments and money markets. As his voice grew louder and more passionate, I was prepared to hear something from him that would change my financial life, and at that moment when I couldn't wait any longer, he proclaimed, "Balls to the wall, Allison, balls to the wall." Not only was that NOT what I expected to hear, but innocently, I wanted to reply, "I don't have balls." Of course, I had heard that phrase before and had an idea of what it implies, but I had to ask myself, "Is he telling me that we are going to be aggressive and move full speed ahead?" Or "Is he telling me that the next few months or years might be uncomfortable?" I wasn't quite sure where this was headed.
For that moment, I ignored it and we moved forward. After ordering my life insurance policy and talking through a number of IRA's, we were finishing the paperwork and seemed to be wrapping up our meeting, when he hits me with another surprise. He looks at me says, "Now, I need to give you an HIV/AIDS test. I will open the package and hold it out to you and take the swab out of it so that only you touch it. Then, I need you to swab the inside of your cheeks on both sides and then hold it against the inside of one check for a minute. I will time you and tell when the minute is up. Then, I need you to place it in this tube and break the stick off. Ok?"
HAHAHA...I thought to myself. Are you kidding me? I've already had an HIV/AIDS test this year, and it was no joke (More on that later!). How can saliva and sticking this swab in my mouth really tell you that? Don't you need a blood sample? You're a financial planner?! I don't ask my lawyer to take a stool sample?! What is going on here? This kind of thing must only happen to me! After all of that internal dialogue, I did what he said and very quickly we were finished. I was dying to get out of that hot window-less dungeon (gets more dramatic as the story goes on!) and tell someone about the funny things that had just occurred, so I bust out of the room only to be stopped in my steps by two Hispanic pastors bowed in serious prayer crying out to the Lord in Spanish. So, I tip-toe past them and hope to find someone else. Nope. No one is there. So, I bury this story and reveal it all to my co-workers yesterday in dramatic fashion. As we are all laughing about the things that only seem to happen to me, I chuckle and smile deep inside, because I am grateful the Lord has given me the life that He has and that I can say, "
Never in my life did I think I would be sitting a hot, window-less dungeon with my financial planner listening to him tell me, "balls to the wall," as I take an HIV test while in the next room a Hispanic pastor is crying out to the Lord." What a day. :)
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Single & 29! (It's a long one)
Never in my life did I think I would be approaching the Big 3-0. Really. Something about looking into the future when you're a kid never gets you that far...I recall thinking at one point that glasses and braces are cool, that I would go to college and get a big-time job, and then I thought I'd get married and have kids. I guess in 10-year old speak, you've conquered the world by 30 and that's all there is to it. (Forgive this lapse in judgment...after all, I just admitted I thought glasses and braces were cool and wanted both so badly)
As the years passed and I ventured into the uncertainty known as "after college" and then into the wider uncertainty of Africa and the world, there have been points along the journey where I thought that was the end of me (stories to come...). Nevertheless, here I am and I'm 9 months away from the big 3-0, and I don't fear it or feel as I once thought I would. Sincerely, though, another "never in my life" is that I'm 29 and single. I guess I always figured I'd be married by now. (Hang in there, this isn't the bitter rant of an unhappy woman).
So, the reality is that I'm not anywhere close to being married and I'm ok with it. It hasn't always been this way, certainly my family and friends can attest to that. The truth is that through some of the most heart-wrenching months of my life (the last 6 I just spent in Kenya), God taught me so MUCH about Himself and about myself. He healed wounds that had been hidden, wounds I didn't want to acknowledge were still a part of me. He led me on a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance that changed the way I think, pray, and act. (If anything, this has helped me to become more of who I once was. More joyful, more sure, more content). The Lord taught me a couple of key lessons during this time.
First, He taught me that I'm a late bloomer. (In terms of how average Americans see life, I haven't "grown up" yet or "gotten serious with my life" yet or "you're how old and not married?" Which is so ironic to me, since on a regular basis, I'm dealing with issues most American adults will never face in their lives.) Initially, I hated the idea that I was "behind," as I pride myself on being a go-getter and a leader, but in retrospect, I'm deeply grateful the Lord allowed me to bloom at all! :)
Second, He taught me I'm never too old to re-learn how to love people and allow them to love me. Over the past several years, I've been hurt (not just in relationships but in life!) and I've wallowed in it and allowed it to fester to the point of no return, or so I thought. Instead, the Lord has showed me that there is no point of no return. With Him, returning, healing, and fresh starts are never outside of His power. During a time of great sadness and despair, Jesus came to me and reassured me I was loved and special and that I need to start acting like it (especially in the way I treat myself). I also needed to re-learn how to act "normally" around men. While I'm not sure I've quite figured that out (I don't ever act normal anyway), I'm definitely improving and hoping not to "scare" them away anymore. SO, fellows who may read this, don't run away. :)
Finally, He taught me contentedness that I had never known before. I've read what Paul wrote about "learning to be content in any and every situation," though I've always longed for it or tried to get it, that sense of contentment never materialized, until about 6 months ago. Then, as I began to accept myself, the Lord's specific plan for my life, who I really am, and began to fight the urge to compare myself to others, something beautiful happened. I began to love the Lord more deeply, and I desired to KNOW him and spend time with him unlike had ever been the case previously. I also grew to love myself more deeply. Its NOT that now I get what I want or that I don't sometimes think my butt is too big or that I'm always happy, instead I trust Him from deep down in my soul, and I'm excited to take the journey that He has set before with the knowledge and acceptance that it's going to be unique. I am who I am and HE is who HE is. Life is much more joyful when we play our given roles.
To end all of this, 29 and single isn't too bad, and neither is the girl who's writing this! :)
As the years passed and I ventured into the uncertainty known as "after college" and then into the wider uncertainty of Africa and the world, there have been points along the journey where I thought that was the end of me (stories to come...). Nevertheless, here I am and I'm 9 months away from the big 3-0, and I don't fear it or feel as I once thought I would. Sincerely, though, another "never in my life" is that I'm 29 and single. I guess I always figured I'd be married by now. (Hang in there, this isn't the bitter rant of an unhappy woman).
So, the reality is that I'm not anywhere close to being married and I'm ok with it. It hasn't always been this way, certainly my family and friends can attest to that. The truth is that through some of the most heart-wrenching months of my life (the last 6 I just spent in Kenya), God taught me so MUCH about Himself and about myself. He healed wounds that had been hidden, wounds I didn't want to acknowledge were still a part of me. He led me on a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance that changed the way I think, pray, and act. (If anything, this has helped me to become more of who I once was. More joyful, more sure, more content). The Lord taught me a couple of key lessons during this time.
First, He taught me that I'm a late bloomer. (In terms of how average Americans see life, I haven't "grown up" yet or "gotten serious with my life" yet or "you're how old and not married?" Which is so ironic to me, since on a regular basis, I'm dealing with issues most American adults will never face in their lives.) Initially, I hated the idea that I was "behind," as I pride myself on being a go-getter and a leader, but in retrospect, I'm deeply grateful the Lord allowed me to bloom at all! :)
Second, He taught me I'm never too old to re-learn how to love people and allow them to love me. Over the past several years, I've been hurt (not just in relationships but in life!) and I've wallowed in it and allowed it to fester to the point of no return, or so I thought. Instead, the Lord has showed me that there is no point of no return. With Him, returning, healing, and fresh starts are never outside of His power. During a time of great sadness and despair, Jesus came to me and reassured me I was loved and special and that I need to start acting like it (especially in the way I treat myself). I also needed to re-learn how to act "normally" around men. While I'm not sure I've quite figured that out (I don't ever act normal anyway), I'm definitely improving and hoping not to "scare" them away anymore. SO, fellows who may read this, don't run away. :)
Finally, He taught me contentedness that I had never known before. I've read what Paul wrote about "learning to be content in any and every situation," though I've always longed for it or tried to get it, that sense of contentment never materialized, until about 6 months ago. Then, as I began to accept myself, the Lord's specific plan for my life, who I really am, and began to fight the urge to compare myself to others, something beautiful happened. I began to love the Lord more deeply, and I desired to KNOW him and spend time with him unlike had ever been the case previously. I also grew to love myself more deeply. Its NOT that now I get what I want or that I don't sometimes think my butt is too big or that I'm always happy, instead I trust Him from deep down in my soul, and I'm excited to take the journey that He has set before with the knowledge and acceptance that it's going to be unique. I am who I am and HE is who HE is. Life is much more joyful when we play our given roles.
To end all of this, 29 and single isn't too bad, and neither is the girl who's writing this! :)
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
the beginning of blogging
Never in my life did I think I would want to write a blog. But, nevertheless, here I am and I want to. I have all of these thoughts and ideas and stories and I want to do something with all of them, literally. From starting a non-profit to writing, from backpacking to moving abroad, from compiling stories and jokes that have made me laugh until I wept to developing strategies for meeting real needs, my thought life and my heart energy feel so consumed (often in good ways, though). So, because I am limited in time, money, patience, and sleep, I'll begin by hashing them out here.
So, join me if you will or block me if you want...
So, join me if you will or block me if you want...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
