This Here Is Real: *Vol. 2

*This might become a series. Or it might not.

Ten years ago this month, my first love asked me to be his girlfriend. It was a really big deal. It was the first tangible step in my "ridiculous obsession with love".

I didn't date until I was 15 and up until that point, I vented a lot of romantic frustration by writing. I made up beautiful, sappy courtships for fictional people. Or I re-imagined characters I'd seen on tv or in movies. I'd pull them out of the boring action stories their creator had placed them in and then tend to their sad, grossly unattended personal lives. I knew it was a parasitic approach to creation, but I wasn't old enough or creative enough to envision and birth an entire world and backstory for it by myself. So I spent years as a borrower—and I had a blast with it.

Sometimes I'd take characters who were already in a relationship and expand it, but other times, all I needed was an inkling that two characters were into each other and that their romantic tension was being neglected—then I'd go crazy.

I wrote stories about Power Rangers and Barbies. I wrote stories for cartoon characters, fictional action heroes, and the stars of my after-school tv shows. They all turned into musicals, sometimes with ice skating. Other times I pulled my favorite characters from one cast and stuck them into another cast. (If I was still into this, it would be like taking the characters from LOST and casting them in Les Mis, but still letting them have their behind the scenes relational drama.) True story. That was my life for years.

You can only imagine my shock, when as a 14 year-old, I discovered that I wasn't alone in this hobby.

Have you ever visited fanfiction.net?

Well… you may not want to. It's kind of ridiculous. And kind of amazing. But it was created for and by people with my same mindset; fans who thought they could do it better. Or fans who were just really bored and liked to write. There are categories on this site for everything; anime, movies, books, songs, tv shows, etc. All you have to do is be a fan and think you know exactly what is missing from some character's life.

For me, that character was the daughter of two heroes that meant a lot to me back in 1998. If you care to fly your freak flag and seek out the story beyond the six Star Wars films, you will find books. LOTS of books. And in them you will find new villains and new planets and new reasons to go to war. You will also find new heroes and weapons and academies on remote jungle moons where aspiring Jedi knights go to be trained. Among them, you will find the daughter of Han Solo and Princess Leia (they actually got married, in case you were wondering). Her name is Jaina. She is stubborn and sassy and extremely brave—exactly how you would expect the daughter of the aforementioned two to be.

In the books, Jaina was usually busy getting kidnapped or being hunted or slaying things and fighting in battles, and that was all great—but I couldn't figure out why she didn't have a boyfriend. So I wrote a story and gave her one. An awesome one who was charming and handsome and rough around the edges. He also happened to be a bad-ass starpilot, a guitar player AND he could dance. Dreamboat.

I worked on that story from the fall of 1998 until the fall of 2002. Even after my raging love for Star Wars died down, I was in love with my characters and I couldn't stop editing their lives. I still have the story. It's over 57,000 words on 190 pages in a word document. It's hilarious and dramatic and schmaltzy. But it's finished-- one of the few complete pieces I have. I don't think I'll ever give it to anyone (else) to read, but I'll also never throw it away. It had its place, served its purpose and it is now permanently archived.

So, there you have it. I wrote fanfic. Now that that's off my chest… onward and upward. :)

P.S. if you have read my fanfic and I still know you, you're one of a very select few (Lauren!). And you better not tell anybody how to find it! :)

"I Can't Fight This Feelin Anymore..."

Can I just say this?

I don't think I'm going to be able to write anything else until I come clean...

I'm jealous. Straight up chartreuse with envy.

Mostly of Annie Parsons and Joey Halbert.

Annie & Joey.

I have a raging crush on your commentary.  It's raw and delicious as high-grade sushi. Unabashedly personal, comforting, familiar but fresh. You are the Chuck Taylors on the shoe rack of the blogging world (Annie, you are red high-tops. Joe, you are black low-tops that you don't have to untie to put on.) For me, your everyday vignettes read like an incredible b-sides album of a favorite artist. Or like really good steak that doesn't need any sauce at all. Sure, you could argue that it's just meat. Maybe not even a lot of it. But the pieces you get are enough to make you get up and bear hug the chef. I can't even describe how proud I am to have you both as friends, even though as a writer, you both you frustrate the hell out of me. :) And I admire both of you so much for your gifts. So much so that I can't even express myself without a bunch of ridiculous similes and metaphors. *sigh*

So... there you have it.

Also, Sara Bareilles just came on this acoustic radio station and I'm jealous of her too. Because she plays piano. Just awesomely enough to be powerful, while still maintaining the approachable girl next door vibe.

I am SO frustrated right now. 

But it's a good thing. Just irritated enough to go write something? Maybe?

Or sulk. Just for a few more minutes.

Parallels

I tend to be rather impatient.

I want to know what's next, I want to know what's going to happen so that if anyone asks me, I can tell them. I think that's why I write stories, so I can know and decide what's going to happen and shape and craft all the different scenes accordingly.

But yesterday, during worship at Grace, I had a revelation.

God invented creativity and wit and mystery and suspense. He is the force behind the creation of all of those things. He made JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse. They function the way they function because of HIM-- because of several fantastic pieces that he placed into them. Pieces of Himself.

It's no secret that LOST is my favorite show. For a lot of reasons, I view it as a pinnacle of storytelling. They way the characters are so well-developed and intertwined, the adventurous, mysterious, intense and intricate nature of the plot, and the boldly meticulous unfolding of the entire series just blows my mind. Over a period of 4 seasons, I've (mostly) stopped being frustrated by the endless rounds of jaw dropping cliffhangers and plot twists and just come to love them. I always tune in again the next week. And while they've still got 3 seasons to go (Is it 2 or 3? I just know it's over in 2010.) I know I'll be along for the ride. I've come to trust the creators of this tale, and subsequently believe that through all the twists and turns, it will all make sense and come together by the final episode. When it's over, I'll think all the way back to the first episode and go "Wow. It all makes sense now! That was a great ride."

So, at church, I realized how stupid I am. For trusting so completely in some nerdy dudes in Hollywood to craft a story-- while most of the time, if I'm really honest, I don't trust the God who made them-- the God who made me-- to work my life out in the same way.

The boldness of that unapologetically deliberate storytelling that I love so much, the kind that doesn't care how frustrated I am about the questions they left unanswered in whatever episode, the kind that makes me respect the show so much-- is exactly the fashion in which God is unfolding my life.

That might sound stupid to you, but you can't even imagine how that put things in perspective for me. I love when He does that. Tailors it for my mind, so I can understand. He knows me SO well-- how little it takes to ease my mind and make me aware of the parts of my heart that still need work. I love Him for that.

So even though I have plenty of unanswered questions concerning the various Where's and Who's and When's and How's in my own life, I don't want to be in such a hurry for "2010" to arrive. I just want to keep breathing, keep walking and savoring the drama of every season as it unfolds.

"I can't tell what happens next,
Just what I've seen,
I don't know what it means...
But I'm holding on the edge of my seat..."
-switchfoot

Leave The Pieces

I have no idea what I'm about to write... you're entitled to be slightly nervous.

I am.

I found something tonight... and upon examination of said mysterious thing, it got me thinking.

There was a point in my life where I fell in love-- i mean, really fell in love-- with a man who had secrets. Kept secrets. He did it to protect me. But he also did it because he-- didn't know what else to do.

One day, not so terribly long ago, he left me. I still don't know why. I never will-- and I can live with that. But if I allow myself the masochistic luxury of pondering, I find myself unsettled. How disorienting it is, to be abandoned, left with your heart in pieces, in the center of a complete mystery.

I wonder how long God is going to have to work on my heart before I truly forgive him and let it all go.

Sometimes I'm terrified that I still love him. I wonder how strong the love of the next is going to have to be to trump my investment in this man from my past. On one hand, there's no doubt in my mind that God is bigger than my judgment lapses, bigger than my ability to hold on to the past, and bigger than my fear of placing all my trust in His divine love and wisdom.

But the feebler, human side of me longs for something microwavable, something warm and instant to slap on my heart and soul that will heal it instantly and blur the hurt of the past into some charming impressionistic piece of art that I can sell on eBay.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my writer's soul is scowling at me, chiding me for giving voice to the most blasphemous of wishes-- "how dare you-- a woman divinely deemed a raconteur, by the loving, generous, Almighty God-- even think of wishing to muddle the greatest gift and tool of your trade you've been given-- your memory? You should be stripped of your latest tale for even entertaining the thought!"

But the Lord understands my heart. He made it after all. And of all who have witnessed the pain it has endured, He knows better than any, its weaknesses and joys and how much pressure it can withstand.

And He does not rebuke me or love me any less for wishing my pain away.

But he shows me, in small, tangible ways, that my vision is dim and that my plans are nothing compared to those He has for me.

When you were a kid, did you ever actually attempt to carve up a puzzle piece to make it fit into the big picture?

Although I know that my life sometimes has a way of looking pretty together on the outside, some part of me feels that I've secretly made a lifelong hobby/habit of sawing away on puzzle pieces with little useless, plastic safety scissors*-- too stubborn to quit or admit defeat, too defiant to be patience and wait for the right piece to present itself at the right time.

So i guess tonight... I'm finally taking a good look at my retarded scissors.

And I'm putting them down.

No guarantees that I'll never try to touch them again... but I pray I'm wickedly convicted next time I even give their wretched plastic blades a second look.



Psalm 27:14 (New Living Translation)

14 Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.



*I had a very specific set of scissors in mind while writing this. Plastic yellow ones with a blue and white sticker of a monkey's face right on the joint that connects the blades. At age 4 or 5, I snipped the single lock of hair off my Carebear's head with one such pair of scissors, thinking it would grow back. It didn't. Therefore, I think it's safe to say that plastic yellow monkey scissors will always spell trouble for me.

I'm So Over It.

I hate to be negative, but blogging is about sharing your thoughts, and lately, these 5 things, when brought up in conversation, tend to invoke those four little words in bold printed above.

1. Celebrity gossip. I don't care. I especially don't care about Britney Spears. Or Paris Hilton. Or Lindsay Lohan. Maybe if we stopped stalking them and paying so much attention to them, they'd calm the hell down.

2. Red Bull. People are all jacked up on it. But it hasn't been around long enough for us to know whether overconsumption of it will really wear out your heart faster or cause your body to do other weird stuff. I just don't like it. It's just one more thing to be addicted to. (How and when did our nation get so prone to/apathetic about addictions?)

3. Reality TV Shows About Rich People. Boring. Stupid. Overdone. I'm tired of getting sucked in by them and having my life wasted.

4. Slasher Movies. They will always be gross, and they're just getting worse and worse. And it seems regular tv has to get more intense just to keep up with people who get bored when blood and brains aren't being slung everywhere. Fact is, there are real blood and brains of innocent people being slung everywhere in countries all over the world everyday... and we hardly ever even hear about it-- because the news is all caught up with the life and times and uh-ohs of the people from bullet #1. And we (as individuals) subsequently, do nothing to stop it.

5. The overabundance of hip hop music that insults my gender and my intelligence. At the moment, namely "Crank Dat Soulja Boy". If I hear that ridiculous song one more time... nothing will happen. Because it's just on, everywhere, all the time and I can't get away from it.
I hate music that doesn't mean anything. I thought that was the point of music. To convey a message, a mood. To tell a story, to give the listener something to relate to. Not just background noise. Not a soundtrack for mindless drunken gyrating. Mindless gyrating is meaningless. Superfluous words that don't mean anything are meaningless. Idleness is meaningless. Meaninglessness is meaningless.

And depressing.

You know what I hear when "Crank Dat" and everything else like it comes on?

Little boys. (And don't tell me I'm thinking too hard about this-- that's how this crap got popular to begin with. No one thinks about it.) Immature, selfish, egocentric, unfullfilled and unaffirmed little boys, telling each other (and any female who will listen) how pimp and tight and BAMF they are, because no one who loved them ever bothered to tell them that they could be more than that. That they could be heroes, role models, defenders, revolutionaries, with power and influence who gain true respect from everyone-- not just they boys in the street.

It's pathetic. Trendy hip-hop is pathetic. And I hate the stereotype that it sets, encourages and promotes for the Black community nationwide.

I also hate that the Black community (like every other community, mind you) allows a place (BET?) for meaningless garbage like this to flourish, instead of demanding a higher quality of popular music (and film, for that matter. God bless Tyler Perry!). I'm mad that most don't think about it past the surface-- and those that do get blasted for "forgettin where they came from" and "listenin to dat white music". In the meantime, those people doing the accusing settle into the stereotype-- and then get mad with they get profiled.

(sigh)

I know pop & hip-pop will always be around, and much of it will always be mindless and meaningless and overplayed. It has it's place among all the rest of the garbage in the entertainment world, but it just sucks watching the general public turn into media zombies. It sucks to watch people stop caring and start settling for whatever. I'm terrified of numbness, and that's what I get from music like that.

Music associated with the Black community used to mean SO much. Jazz and soul and gospel and RNB & reggae and rap all had purpose, substance. They said something. The music was thick and emotional and controversial-- that's what made it stand out.

Now it feels cheap and mass-manufactured. Probably because it is.

I never want to write anything just to be popular. (Which is probably why I'll never make it in the music business. Which is fine.) I want to write things that have meaning. Things that that share wisdom and experience, things that people can relate to, connect to, be comforted by.

I believe my purpose in life is to spread hope to the hopeless through my own experiences and the experiences of others. To connect people by their similar struggles and remind them that others before them have made it-- and that they will too.

Words that mean nothing, do nothing.

And to quote the man who participated in televisions very first primetime interracial kiss,

"I can't get behind that."

File: Create New Playlist

Lately, I have rediscovered that there are several songs on my iPod that I have ridiculous, unbridled affection for. Not all of them are particularly noteworthy... some of them are questionable... yet they remain on my list of faves. Just thought I'd share.


Twin Rocks, Oregon- Shawn Mullins

I started with this one because it's definately the most obscure. It's barely even a song-- it's a story that rhymes a little, that's spoken over gentle acoustic guitar, with a little singing on the chorus. But since the very first time I heard it, it's haunted me in the simplest most beautiful way. I love it. It's so unassuming. It's raw. Honest. Lonely. Flawed. A story of searching, a story of strangers, a story of life paused to enjoy one moment of beauty in spite of-- everything.

Next time its raining and you can spare 99 cents... check it out.

Photograph- Nickelback

I know, I know. Your respect for me is just oozing away. I can feel it. But there's something about this song (especially the way it ends) that makes me listen past Chad Kroger's growly ol' voice that always sounds exactly the same-- and if I commit to it for the full 4 minutes... it sort of gets to me. Again, it's a story. You expect that from a country song, but not really from this genre.

Also, I'm very much a reminiscer, and terrible-- terrible-- at saying goodbye. So the whole "hard to say it, time to say it" line is pretty close to home. Say what you want, but I definitely have a little tiny piece of my heart carved out for this one.

Austin- Blake Shelton


Speaking of country... I don't listen to it often. But this is my favorite country song of all time. Again, a whole story, and a good story! in 3.5 minutes. I'm impressed by that. It's typical, it's cheesy-- but I wish I'd written it. I think it's beautiful. And like I said, before, if I let myself commit to it, I can totally be crying by the time it's over. :)





Harder To Breathe- Maroon 5

This is one of my absolute favorite angry songs. It doesn't get old (to me). Lyrically, it's not exactly golden, but the composition of the music and the vocal inflections and the inherent frustration is hard to beat. If I were to fight somebody in real life, and real life happened to be a musical, it's entirely possible it would sound just like this.



Much Afraid- Jars of Clay

I'm a really big lyrics person. And this song-- I've been there. Plenty of times. And the tone, the mood of this song is exactly how it feels to completely give up. In a good way. I don't think this particular Jars of Clay album was very popular-- but I always thought it was just the right kind of melancholy. Again, very honest, very simple, very raw.




In Repair- John Mayer

I have this feeling I'm going to keep repeating myself. But again, it's been a long time since I've found a song that so accurately depicts where I've found myself so many times. John Mayer is very good at the honesty thing... and while I would think his albums would grow progressively less honest-- so far, it's not true. He may very well be a jerk in real life, but his lyrics are memorable and so easy to identify with. I respect that.



Inner City Blues- Marvin Gaye
(though I'm listening to the version covered by Marc Broussard)

So much was happening in the world when this album was recorded. This song is courageous, flustered, and fed up without being obnoxious. It's the "At The End Of The Day" (Les Mis) for the 1970's. Enter key words of this entire post: raw, honest, simple, unapologetic, real. With quiet intensity, it appeals to your humanity and demands your attention.

Hard Times- Eastmountainsouth

All these songs are kinda depressing, yeah? Oh well. I guess when you're depressed is when you most need to know that someone else has been there. Therefore, a lot of times, the songs that soothe you when you're depressed are the ones you hold dear... because they brought you out. I love this song because it sounds like it's from another time. I'm actually-- using it for a project. I'm not going to tell you what it is yet though, because you might try to laugh. Oh, but when it's finished-- if it gets finished-- you won't laugh then. :)

Straight Lines- Silverchair

This is currently my favorite song. I listen to it on repeat. I have a few friends who really liked it the first time they heard it. But I was indifferent. I'm pretty sure the reason they liked it is because at the time, they were there. They identified. I wasn't there yet. I wasn't ready.

But I'm there now. I'm ready now. And so grateful to know I'm not alone here among the other "desperate believers".

Post Bon Voyage

Okay first this: waitless.org hilarious, occasionally practical ways to save time in everyday life.

Now for an update-- for those who don't know, my roommate Holly recently acquired a spot on the entertainment crew of the Norwegian Cruise Lines ship, the Gem. Along with a crew of 12 dancers and 4 other singers, she will be spending the next 7 months singing in shows while cruising through the Mediterranean and up and down the US Eastern seaboard. The opportunity is a Godsend and we are SO proud of/excited for her-- even though we're missing her terribly already!

So this past Thursday, I made my way to the airport 3 times in one day. First I took Kisha (she went to Texas for the weekend), then Holly (to Germany to board the Gem), and finally Swannymate (back to Australia for a year and a half!) It was an emotionally exhausting day, and with Heather making wedding plans in Florida, I spent most of my weekend chillin at home alone.

And in that free time, I did some thinking. About my whole issue with trusting God.

I started thinking about it on the way home from the airport when I dropped Swanny off. I started thinking about how grateful I am that the majority of my friendships are going to last for eternity. I started crying over the ones that won't (at least not of this moment). I prayed for those. I thanked God for my incredible friends who continually draw me into his presence and encourage me to venture there on my own.

Thinking about my wealth of wonderful friends took my brooding in yet another direction. The divine wisdom of God. God knew the desires of my heart long before I got to ACU. He knew how I longed for true friendship. But it wasn't the kind of thing I brought up with Him on a daily basis. Still, because He knew exactly what I needed, He put Kisha in my life. He put Val & Dani in my life. He put the Oxford Crew in my life. He put Benjamin and Tim Sayles in my life. He put Holly and Jared and Robert and Swanny and Jamie and Barlowe and Tobin and David in my life. He filled my whole life up with amazing, fascinating people—people I couldn't imagine life without—who I didn't even ask for. I never dreamed up a best friend or a posse for myself. I never agonized over who I would walk through life in my twenties with on a daily basis. But He in His great wisdom, simply and exquisitely ordained all these people to be placed in my path. Without any prompting from me, He has met every one of my needs—and many of my wants as well.

This made me think— how many more amazing things does He have planned for my life that have to do with the people and things I have been comunicating with Him about on a daily basis? Namely my future husband, but also in terms of career ops and possibilities, who knows what miraculous stuff He's up to on the DL? If He can perfect something I haven't had consistent dialogue with him about, how much more is He tailoring my future to calm every anxiety of my heart? Clearly, I have every reason to trust Him. He's given me every reason to trust Him. In fact, I'd be crazy to do anything but that. He's the only one who's ever truly been completely faithful to me, the only one who's made good on every promise He's made to me. He's the only one it makes any sense to trust—and yet so often, I place my trust in his busted up kids, and then wonder how my heart and my plans get so broken.

So now that what I need to remember and how I need to act are here in black and white in front of me, I have no excuse. Hopefully I'll come back and read this next time I get stupid and try to rely on anyone other than Him for my happiness and fullfillment.


"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
Ephesians 3:20-21

Hey champ, you've got somethin in your eye there—lemme help you out with that…

Sometimes I feel like all patrons of the Starbucks in Williamson County do is talk about God. Talk about God and read their bibles. Like every Christian in Franklin who's seeking God in any form, is positive that they'll find at least a smidgen of Him sitting in a comfy chair at the bottom of a Starbucks cup.

Every time I sit at any Starbucks and write, there's either a musician/artist with a laptop and headphones writing/editing/designing a song/cd graphic/press release OR a bible study or group therapy session or theology battle or spiritual b-real session happening at the table beside me. It's not a bad thing-- it's what I get for living in Franklin. But every time I notice one of these sessions, I'm reminded of how fortunate we are as American Christians. And how much we take our freedom for granted. How much I take my own relationship with Christ for granted.

I'm not gonna lie-- these Starbucks Spirituality Meetings always bother me a teeny bit. Or if I'm really honest, maybe they convict me because I judge these other patrons according to my own walk. Every time I notice one of these meetings, I can't help but think about Christians in other countries with other governments and religious backgrounds who risk their lives every time they even mention the name of Christ. I think I've romanticized their struggle. I feel like they must know God in a realer, deeper way because they love Him in the minority.

(And while that's true, I shouldn't waste my time beating myself up because I'm not suffering for Christ in that way. I should be praying more frequently for the strength of those persecuted saints, and pursuing Christ even harder to strengthen our my own relationship with Him. Should is the key word. :/ )

But here in Williamson County, Jesus is common ground for most. He's sort of splayed everywhere, loud as a Sunday newspaper advertisement. And sometimes, it feels cheap. So much less genuine than the Jesus Freak martyrs I've read about, who honestly count their lives as nothing compared to the cause of Christ. Their faith seems so much more legit and intense to me. Maybe I'm jealous/ashamed because my faith feels a little mass-produced sometimes. Because my passion for Him hasn't been so ardent as of late.

But that should drive me into my own deeper study—not compel me to judge the ladies with the bibles and the lattes across the shop from me.

Self-loathing of your own walk does not a joyful, contagious Christ-follower make.

"Not that I have already obtained this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself to have yet taken hold of it, but one thing I do know: forgetting what is behind, and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." –Phil.3:12-14*

Thanks for indulging me this little therapy session. :)


*Hehe, just pulled out my bible to make sure I wrote that correctly. While sitting in Starbucks. I am so the person I just blasted. Thanks, thanks for that, Ada**. You and your sense of humor. :)

** Ada (Ah-da) n. : the name Juliette often uses to refer to Christ within their personal relationship. The "why" is not crucial. But if the name ever pops up here, consider your question is answered.

Secret Single Behavior

"Some people call them "guilty pleasures." Sex and the City would call it "Secret Single Behavior," as in the things you could never do in front of your boyfriend. Carrie confesses that when no one else is around, she likes to eat grape jelly on crackers standing up at the counter while reading Vogue.

Most of the time, it's not all that secretive, and we don't generally feel guilty for doing it. It's not always even that outrageous, just something that's slightly weird..." -saltwatercoke blog

Yeah, we all got 'em. Some of mine?

-I have a skirt that I wear only when I'm cleaning my house. Kish has one too, and when we break out the Comet and the Windex, we also break out the Boca skirts.

-Sometimes when I buy really good cookies, and there are only like 10 in the package, I hide them so I don't have to share them. Only child syndrome.

- I love choreography and I always want to know the choreography. Probably because I love musicals. But if a song comes on (from a musical or otherwise) and there are moves to it and I actually know them? I generally always do them. Even if it's not cool anymore.

-Sometimes in the morning… or the afternoon, I'll sit in the living room and eat my bowl of cereal alone. No tv, no radio, no magazine, no roommates. Just me and my cereal, there on the couch. I'm really comfortable with that.

-When I listen to soundtracks in my car, I usually choose a part and stick to it consistently. It makes me feel like I'm in the show and I like that. My favorite parts to play? Elphaba, Mimi Marquez, Ariel (Mermaid) & Eponine Thenardier. But when necessary, I'm also a damn good Mark Cohen & Marius Pontmercy, if I do say so myself.

(Why do so many of my secret single behaviors have to do with musicals? Hmm…)

-I drink straight out of all the containers in the fridge that belong to me. Shamelessly. I've been doing it since I started college. It's going to be a tough habit to break.

- I too, have elaborate, somewhat dramatic pre-conversation/wishful thinking/I-wish-I-had-said-this conversations with imaginary listeners. Mostly while driving.

- I'm a good speller. Always have been. But I will spell the word "definately" wrong for the rest of my life. It's a cognitive mistake. And spell check always fixes it for me automatically. At this point, I think it's the one word that I will consistently spell wrong without caring.

Kiss The Cook

So I may not have a large immediate family/circle or any blood-related brothers (or sisters),
And I may have never cooked for more than five people in my entire life.
In fact, cooking in and of itself is a brand new thing for me.

But I sure did just finish cooking Sunday lunch for a pack of 18 or so Narrow Gate boys. All by myself. It's all in my fridge, waiting to be taken to church en la manana. It's a hearty conglomeration of potatoes, onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, beef and chicken that my House 9 roommates & I affectionately refer to as Man Food. And y'all-- it's good. I'm really pretty proud of myself, and I hope it reheats well in 9 hours or so.

Also, I can I just say that love having male friends who I can call with cooking questions? I now have two fellas in my rolodex who are professional chefs. And I'm not entirely sure what I'd do without them. :)

Mmmm. I haven't slept nearly enough the past few days. It's catching up with me.
So I'm gonna go chase it down. Buenas noches!

"How bout the Big Tippers?"

"I like it!" :)

Remember that "prowling grounds for an untamed tongue" bit? Well, it's not gonna be that bad. But here comes a big ol' sudsy soapbox. Get ready, I haven't been here in awhile.

Okay. You won't find this explicitly in any scripture, but since becoming a waitress, I have recently reached the conclusion that we, as followers of Christ are called to be many things—one of which is good tippers.

That's right. Yes, it depends on the restaurant and the level of service, but as an adult, you know the difference between good service and bad service—and good tips and bad tips. I understand that the amount of the tip should match the quality of service, but there is a bottom line, and as a current "professional server", I'd like to make you aware of it.

I'm not saying you have to be an extravagant tipper, (unless of course you want to be. That's a calling in itself and a tremendous blessing if you are willing and able.) but when you go out, especially to a fine dining establishment, you need to factor in at least a 20% tip when you're deciding how much you can spend.

As believers, I think we have a real opportunity to be blessed and to be a blessing every time we venture out to eat. God calls us to be cheerful givers. Your pastor probably reminds you of that every Sunday. But, it's really true. You might not really think about it, but when you've received gourmet food and quality service, I think the amount on your tip line is directly correlated to your level of common sense AND your level of faith. Clearly, if you're not financially stable, you don't need to throw your dough away (or be blowing it at fine dining establishments). But think about how much money you burn in a week's times on superfluous, impulse buys. God provides you with money for stuff like that. And we all take it for granted. But add that stuff up and divide it by the number of times you eat out at places where you're required to tip in a week? You've got more than a couple of very nice tips. Give or take $5, chances are, you're not even going to miss it.

I'm not saying this so much for me. I always give my best to my customers, and if I have a crappy section, or a bad night, I don't flip out and curse humankind. That's just how the business goes. Regardless of how much I have to tip out the bartenders and the server's assistants (even when it does hurt), I know that God's going to use the people at my tables to provide for my ALL needs. He always has, and I don't believe He's going to stop now.

But unbelievers are a different story. My point is simply this: Beloved, every time you tip, you have an opportunity to be a very tangible blessing and an encouragement. And if you are blatantly Christian (i.e. praying over your food) AND stingy, I can PROMISE you, you are being judged. And the image of Christ is being judged right along with you. The church has a bad enough rep already. As a server who is also a believer, I entreat you to seek to break these stereotypes, encourage unbelievers and, honestly, just brighten someone's day. If you've ever served before, you understand how one unexpected generous tip can turn your whole day around.

Speaking of judging, let me throw out a couple of rather unscientific facts…

Stereotypically, senior citizens, women, teenagers and church goers are the worse tippers. Any career server will tell you that.

With seniors, sometimes you expect it a because they come from a time when things were a lot cheaper and tipping ten percent was the norm. Then again, sometimes, they totally surprise you. (That goes for all these groups, really. There are always exceptions.)

Women often come in (occasionally in larger groups) spending money that their husbands/boyfriends have given them, (i.e. they don't want to spend too much of it and get in trouble) so they skimp on the tip at the end of the meal because they don't think it's that big a deal and somebody else will cover the majority of it because after all, they are just one person and they only had water with lemon and a salad!

Ahem... sorry. This happens most often at lunchtime.

Teenagers sort of have an excuse too. They don't know about money, they don't understand finances, and they generally don't have any bills to pay. Unless they're servers too or they have brothers and sisters who are servers, they'll probably throw soy sauce or ketchup all over the table and they'll ask for 25 lemons and more bread and ranch dressing and extra pickles and then probably leave you $20 on a $18.73 tab. Just like babies throwing food on the floor, it's sort of to be expected. (Which is why we encourage teens to dine in groups and thank the Lord for auto gratuity.

But church goers? We don't have an excuse. It's just pure unadulterated cheapness. It's bad enough that servers have to skip church to work on Sunday morning to make ends meet, but then you leave an 8% tip after we had to clean up your child's urine TWICE?!?! (That was an extreme circumstance that one of my friends had to deal with on a Sunday morning.) That doesn't even make sense. If anything, our servers should know we are Christians by our love, our patience, and our generosity. Granted, your server has a responsibility to be timely, polite and to answer have any questions you may have while you're dining, but there's nothing quite like being monetarily rewarded for your efforts.

However, for the non-church going or non-Christian servers reading, lemme spit a bit of ugly truth atcha; Honestly, the majority of church-goers eating at your table on Sunday afternoons don't tithe either. If they're not cool with giving God 10%, they're probably not gonna leave you 20%.

(Christians: Burn. I know. But it's true. Trust issues, much, people of God? (Myself included!!!) But think about it… has He ever really left you hangin' with nothing? I doubt it. Jesus is definitely faithful enough to be worthy of 10%. And that's a LOT more important than my 20% tip. You might need to pray about that. Not tryin to be funny or judgmental… just sayin'…)


Also, this notice to Nashvillians:

If you work for a Christian record label, or are in anyway affiliated with a Christian artist, or if you are even seriously involved in a relationship (business or pleasure!) with someone who is affiliated with a Christian record label or artist—you are dubbed/assumed to be a Christian. And therefore a representative of Christ. Non-believers in the food service industry look at you and your bad tips and go "Those damn Christian/church-going people are so freaking cheap!" I promise that's what they say. I hear it multiple times a week. And many times, they are entirely validated. (My friend who had to clean up the pee? Twice?! And then got shafted?!? They were "church people". It was Sunday lunch, so it was more obvious. Fortunately, he's a true Christ-follower himself (not to mention a father), which was probably the only reason he dealt with the situation as well as he did.

So I know that's a lot… but keep that in mind, Theophilus? Next time you're fillin' out that tip line. It means more than you think it does. Thanks for listening...

Admitting It

There's a battle raging inside me. Right now. Ignited tonight by the testimonies of friends spread across the world.

I house two sides, both noble causes, destined to be united...

But right now the intensity of the combat is forcing hot droplets out of my eyes.

I want to be away.

One day (God, when in the worlds is that?!), all my finances will be a little more under control and I won't spend all my days serving expensive food and wine to the wealthy inhabitants of Williamson County. One day, I'll--

God, maybe I'll have nothing. But maybe I'll still be considered wealthy in the neighborhood I live in. Maybe I'll just have the clothes on my back, the shoes on my feet and the journal in my hand. Maybe I'll have access to food that I buy from a market, or maybe I'll just have to eat from the tables of my brothers and sisters who are out on the battlefront with me. Maybe I'll wear a scarf in my hair and be surrounded by children who don't have biological parents anymore. Or maybe they won't be orphans. Maybe I'll be teaching their mothers to sew or weave or print-- so they can continue to have a livelihood. Maybe I'll speak another language, and I won't quite fit in-- and it won't matter.

I want that. I want it. I know it would be hard everyday and it would just be me and Jesus-- but that's so attractive to me.

At the same time, the other part of me just-- doesn't want to go it alone. Maybe its because I've been so immersed in community for the past 5 years. Maybe the idea of going off alone sounds unbearable to me. Maybe I know that my parents would worry less if I wasn't alone.

Or maybe it's because I'm not meant to go alone.

I might be wrong about all of this. God may really need to change my heart, and if so-- here's me being vulnerable with my weaknesses.

But I want to build an adventure with someone else. And not just the next person I pass on the street. Someone brave and passionate and compassionate and selfless enough to build an adventure with me. I'm not calling anyone to perfection, any more than I'd challenge myself to it. In fact, that idea of a perfect partner is terrifying.

No, I need another fractured soul, who has been made whole in Christ. Someone like myself with fears-- with trust issues or doubt issues or other sin in their lives. Someone who's strengths line up with my weaknesses and vice versa. Someone who I can encourage and build up and challenge and love and look up to as we chase the path set before us-- even when we can't see it clearly.

Maybe I'm not ready to team up. But God, how I long to be. And the more men and women of God I read about, charging into the darkness, carrying the light and the hope of glory, the more my heart screams to be caught up in that kind of adventure.

The more my soul screams, "Somebody take me away and let's do some good in the world. Please.

Not just any somebody. And don't do it because I asked you to.

Do it because He dared you to move-- and because He's compelled you to take me with you. Forever."

Indescribable

I know you prolly know this... but I have to re-iterate--

God really uses crazy people to do His work.
I mean, people with mad issues.

"You see the depths of my heart, and you love me the same..."

Crazy. Crazy how He forgives us every time we fall and continues to use us for His glory.

The other morning, I got a little disheartened thinking about some poor decisions I'd made recently and I ran across Samson's story in Judges. Dude, Samson was a crazy freak! His story is larger than life and filled with more relationship issues than US Weekly Magazine. Samson tore open a whole lion, while it was still living, with his hands. Just his hands. And then he killed one thousand people with a donkey's jawbone.

ONE THOUSAND, y'all.
That's everyone I graduated with, plus 100 or so more people.

Granted, he was appointed by God to annihilate those people, but that's still a lot of baggage to deal with. Not to mention the fact that he had a terrible weakness for women to match his terrible judgement of female character. (You wanna talk about the B word some more? Read about Samson's women!)

The thing is, Samson's sins were apparent, but not necessarily the highlights of his story. While there was a severe price to pay for his sins, God used every bit of his wretched life to ultimately bring glory to himself. The same way he uses thousands of wretched people every day to do His work. And he doesn't just use us-- he loves us. Loves me.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
-Romans 8:37-39

"You are amazing, God..."

The B Word

If you'd asked me three years ago if I ever thought I'd be a cusser, the answer would've been a resounding "No." Swearing made me uncomfortable. I found it to be uncreative, a superfluous use of nasty language. (Which it totally still can be.) I will even openly admit that I quietly looked down upon cussers.

But the thing is, I finally realized you have to go through a situation that requires swearing to really develop an appreciation for it. Having been through a few such sitches, my thinking has changed/matured. I am a cusser. Not a superfluous one by any means, but a cusser nonetheless. Cuss words have a place, just like every other word. Yes, they're kinda gritty, but sometimes there's really just no better way to say what you gotta say.

Now there are still a couple of severe words that you will not hear coming out of my mouth-- because my Savior is much too good and loving and powerful and forgiving for me to put obscenities before or after His name.

But there's a part of me that is minutely infatuated with the proper use of cuss words. In their proper place, they can be very effective. And I know a lot of people think it's a respect thing not to swear in the presence of ladies, but honestly, when we're good enough friends that you can get mad, or get honest or even just slip and say something in front of me? I'm into it. It's a new level of friendship. :) So long as you don't abuse it and develop a limited, R-rated vocabulary.

So… I have cuss words in my life. And I'm okay with this. But—there are some that still rub me the wrong way.

The one I'm talking about today, you can guess from the title of this post. Beside the two most common compound cuss words which are used superfluously in most current pop/rock and hiphop songs (rolls eyes), I do not like the word bitch.

Now granted, there's a place for it. And as a verb, it doesn't bother me as much. But as a noun or an adjective, especially casually?! Oh no. I hate it. I hate it when women call each other that affectionately and I sure as hell better not hear any man calling me that. I don't care if he's joking or not. Those are fightin' words (really they are coming from a female as well) and I sure will put your ass out. Or at least re-evaluate how much time I spend with you if you have the nerve to ever apply those words to my face.

Maybe it's because I feel like on a fleshly level, I have as much license to be a bitch as any other woman, and I choose/God has given me the grace not to be. I believe that word should be reserved for the description of a female with absolutely no social grace, no mercy, no patience, no regard for anyone but herself and an inflated sense of entitlement. Everything I believe urges me to be the polar opposite of that. And if you choose to call me that anyway? It's like a slap in the face. If we consider ourselves friends, I will most likely take it personally. If you say it flippantly, or if I don't have a close relationship with you, then I'll just lose respect for you and assume that you don't know any better.

Anyway, that's how I feel about it.

So ladies-- don't call your friends "bit-chez", please? Just because they do it on the first season of Laguna, doesn't make it cool. And if good women are runnin around calling each other trashy things, how can we expect more from anyone else?

Tres Historias

A "Such A Time As This" Story

On Wednesday night, I pulled into my driveway after work. As I got out of the car, I noticed our next door neighbor out "walking" his dog in the front yard. I've yet to meet this kid, as we've only lived here about a month and I have sort of a wild schedule. Anyway, he's a good-looking guy, about 25 or so, a bit shorter than me, always working on his car or mowing the lawn, and always without a shirt. (He claims to be allergic. Mmhmm.) He said/sort-of-slurred hello to me across the lawn and as an afterthought, asked my name. I responded, commenting on the fact that it was strange we hadn't officially met yet. I dropped my shoes, my keys and my apron in the house and flipped on the porch light as he and the pup came across the lawn. We shook hands and I learned that his name was Clint, and that his adorable five-month old German Shepherd/Husky mix's name is Mojo. :) Wicked cute.

Anyway, I'm standing in my socks, in the flower beds on my front lawn, talking to this man who I can now tell is clearly wasted. He starts talking and all of a sudden, confessing that he "doesn't even know me and I prolly don't want to hear this", he starts telling me about what's going on in his life, how he's sad because he has to "go away" and by the time he gets back, he won't even recognize his dog. Turns out he's headed to jail for five months for "[getting] angry and doin' something stupid". I didn't inquire the nature of his offense, but instantly felt sympathy for him. I told him that my roommates and I are a praying household, and that we'd be lifting him up during this really craptastic time in his life. And I reassured him that I wasn't just saying that, but that it would actually be done, on a daily basis. He was kind of shocked and very appreciative. He told me he prays every night before bed, mostly about his problems, and I encouraged him to keep talking to God, about anything he wanted, because he would always be heard.

We chatted/he rambled a bit more, and I played with Mojo a bit. After about 10 minutes had passed, we were about to part ways when I told him again that I'd be praying for him. It struck me then that I should pray for him immediately. So I asked him if I could, and while taken aback, he instantly agreed to it. I prayed for his strength, his protection, his heart, his will and his faith.

When I finished, he was sort of quiet. Then he thanked me very sincerely and asked me what church I attended. I told him about Grace, as it is a haven for many young men (and women-- and older men and women!) much like him. I invited him and gave him my number and told him he was welcome to ride with or follow my roommate and I on Sunday morning. He seemed very interested in the possibility, and after that, we shook hands again and parted ways.

When I walked inside, I realized that those 15 minutes were the best part of my day. What a joy to be used by God! To point someone so disheartened in the direction of his Creator! Wow. I was so grateful for that moment. I don't even know if Clint remembered our exchange the next morning, but I've been praying for him, and you're welcome to join me. If all the drama we've been through with this house was simply to remind Clint that Jesus loves him and is with him always? It's been worth it.


An Imaginary Car Chase Story

I made a new friend this week. He's Irish (descended from-- no accent, but can fake it pretty convincingly). He's visiting from Wisconsin, and he has long coppery orange wavy hair and freckles. He's also hysterical-- and can spin a car around 180 degrees and then drive it in the opposite direction.

How do I know this?

He showed me a video on his phone of him doing just that in a snowy parking lot in WI.




...and then (after a tic of deliberation) I let him do it to my car.

We were in the parking lot behind Target in Franklin, started out going backwards at about 20? mph. Then he ripped the wheel around, heading us in the other direction (made a magnificent screech) and sent us flying forward and away from the scene of the (noise) crime.

I know, I know-- one day my "man, this'll make for a great story" excuse is going to get me in mad trouble... but isn't that cool?!?!

By the way, his name is Adam.

I mean, of course it is! ;)


A Delightfully Unfair Story

Okay, clearly my roommate (Kisha-- well, Holly too, but this story is about Kisha) is beautiful. But this is exactly how beautiful (and divinely favored) she is:

Last night, she and I were driving home from Chili's and we got pulled over because her left tail light was out. The popo had noticed this immediately. What he did not notice immediately was the fact that her inspection sticker was expired, the fact that her car is still bearing Texas plates, even though you're supposed to get them switched to Tennessee plates after 30 days of residency-- and yes, we've lived here a year now-- and the fact that she'd left her license at home on her bed.

He asked for her license and registration, one of which, she produced. When she confessed to not having the former, he goes, "Well, here... just write down your name, your social and your birthday so I can run you through the system."

So she does.

He comes back. He tells her to get her light fixed, tells her to always drive with a license, tells her to get her plates changed, gives her directions to the DMV--

And tells us to have a good night.

No tickets. Not even one.

Fie upon the day when all tickets just come in the mail and live popo's are replaced by unsympathetic A.I. robots.

Till then, God bless you, Williamson County traffic law enforcers. We know it's completely unfair and we've done nothing to deserve such favor--

--but we're grateful nonetheless.

:)


THE END