A Story of Faith...

My dad told me this story--I'm not sure what school it is from, but I'm sure someone out there will recognize it. :)

A student was preparing for a speech in his public speaking class. He went to the classroom early and taped a tennis ball on a string to the top middle of the chalkboard. He then pulled the ball to one side, marked the placement, and let the ball go. Every time the ball swung back, it reached a lower height. The student took great pains to mark everything as exactly as he could and finished his other preparations before the class arrived.

When it came to be his turn for his speech, he showed the class the tennis ball markings and explained the law of inertia--that when swinging from a fixed point, an object in motion will come back at a slightly lower place than before due to the forces of gravity. ((As best as I can tell, this is accurate--science majors can correct me if they like.)) He fully demonstrated this law and then turned to the class and the professor.

"Do you believe in the law of inertia?" The class agreed. "Do you really believe that no matter how many times I repeat this experiment, even with different materials, the results will still be the same?" The class, including the professor, agreed. The student smiled. He walked over to the corner of the room and pulled a blanket away, revealing a chair seated on a table. He turned to the professor and invited the man to take a seat. Being a good sport, the professor oomplied. The student asked the professor again if he believed in the law of inertia. The professor, once again, agreed.

The student then walked a few yards away and pulled another blanket off a hidden object, revealing a bowling ball suspended by a rope. The student pulled the bowling ball to within an inch of the professor's nose and looked his professor in the eye as the class oohed, giggled, and gasped.

"Do you believe in the law of intertia?"

"Yes."

The student let go of the bowling ball. The glossy black sphere swung out at a surprising speed, reached its zenith on the other side of the room, then began to quickly return towards the professor. The professor dove off the chair and crashed to the floor just before the bowling ball came within a foot of his body. The student turned to the class and grinned. "You see, he didn't really believe in the law of intertia, did he?"

**

So many times in our lives it's easy to say we believe in things. We believe in equality for the sexes. We believe that we should follow the law. We believe in God, Allah, Yahweh, or according to some of my friends, the Flying Spaghetti Monster (I don't think their being Italian has anything to do with it, though). We claim a lot of things, but when it really comes down to a show of faith, do we perform according to our beliefs? Do we hire the female daycare worker instead of the male because she'd supposedly be more motherly and caring? Do we actually follow the 55 mph speed limit on the highway? Do we really follow the God we claim to be our own?

We're not perfect beings. We all make mistakes and fall short of glory. As a Christian, there are times that I have had opportunities to share my faith, but I've backed off even though it's what I am commanded to do. Sometimes it's because in that particular situation it would be unethical to "preach my religion," mostly because of my career as a college professor. Sometimes it's because the people I am with are obviously not receptive to having a theological discussion. Sometimes it's because I'm not prepared to answer the questions I know are hard enough to answer even with a degree in Biblical studies. Sometimes it's because I'm just plain scared--scared of being rejected, ridiculed, or failing so badly that the person will chalk me up as just another "Bible thumper" or "hypocritical Christian."

Maybe witnessing isn't just about the ABC or Roman's Road methods. Maybe what a pastor said a few days ago to me is another key to changing a person: "Share the gospel--and if necessary, use words."

Actions do speak louder than words (anyone in a relationship of any kind can testify to this...oy, vey!). If we don't live our faith, make it clear to every bowling-ball-weilding person that we do have a trust in God that defies even primal instincts, then what does that say to the person about Who we believe in? We trust God, but only in these areas? What kind of faith is that? Who would want that?

The next time that an opportunity arises for me to prove my faith, whether it's prioritizing someone over myself, actually following the speed limit, or not being afraid to say on a very liberal college campus that I am a Christian, I pray that I have the strength to follow through. Who knows--maybe someone is out there with a bowling ball, testing the waters, and willing to consider belief based on what I do.

Run Away...

A week from today, I'll be packing for one of the biggest events of my year--the ACFW conference. I've been to conferences before, some absolutely huge (try MLA--Modern Language Association--for starters). I've presented my writing at the College English Association conference, several local university-based conferences, and even in front of semi-drunk people at a open mic night. I've invested well over a thousand dollars of hard-earned money into this conference. I've lined up roommates for hotel rooms, carpoolers to split fuel costs, and even a few author friends to try to meet up with for lunch sometime. I've done extremely heavy revisions on my novel and I know (by English professor standards) that it's in pretty good shape. It seems like everything is falling into place perfectly.

And I'm terrified.

I do get nervous before big events where I'll be the center or part of the center of attention. This is different. I'm having massive doubts. I look at my novel and think, "You're a nonfictionist. You have no formal training in fiction, at least not at the college level. There's probably still a handful of head-jumping moments in there. The writers or high-level readers you've asked to read the book have never gotten through it. You'll never be able to sell this thing! No one is going to want to read this! Who are you kidding?"

Yeah, pretty brutal. What's worse is that it's partially true. The few people with good writing skills haven't finished the book--although they have also been extraordinarily busy lately. I didn't take any specialized fiction courses in college. I know there are still aspects of fiction that I need to learn, more that I need to read, more that I need to study. I know I don't manage my time nearly well enough to accommodate three jobs, a church family, a boyfriend, my own family, and my writing. With the economy, I know first-time authors are a dime a dozen and my chances are naturally slim. If it wasn't for all the promises I made, arrangements settled, and money invested, I'd be highly tempted to hide out and make excuses for not following through.

Seriously? You can still see me? Dude...need new hiding place, like now!

A Daughter's Heart is not in perfect condition. I know that. It's probably not the best novel I'll ever write (I think my trilogy in the works already is shaping up better). But it is a good story. It does have real issues with trust and faith to be worked out. It does have good grammar and syntax (I am a professor, after all). It does have great potential. As much as I wish it could be better, I'm also proud of my novel baby. Not everyone actually finishes a novel...and not to toot my own horn, but not everyone can piece a story together well. I'm not saying I'm superb at this, but it's better than a lot of things I've read.

Still the fear and anxiety niggle at me constantly. What if no one likes it? What if no one gives me a chance? What if I get so nervous I pick the wrong words to speak? What if I completely ruin my career as an author before I even start? Is the fact that I have a completed manuscript enough to begin marketing it, or should I wait until I'm more advanced as a fiction writer?

If your questions and doubts have gotten so big that not only do they make a fairly comfortable sitting place but you are also hard-pressed to figure out how to get down without twisting an ankle...it's time to do something about it.

I can hear the twisted logic in my fears and questions, but that doesn't soothe the anxiety much. I want so badly to be published, to start this next chapter in my life (insert pun-groan here). Right now I could use a good dose of courage and strength...the real stuff, not the kind mixed into chocolate and other sugar-happy food that I so depend on.

Although there are limits as to how brave chocolate can make you...

So I'm off to pray, to hand God my worries and concerns and fears. I'll stop being somewhat of a hypocrite and practice what I preach--God is in control, not me, and it's better off that way.

God's Providence...

No risk, no reward. It's the mantra of many a stockbroker (as well as "pass the Tums--my ulcers are killing me!"). It should also, in some respects, be the mantra of Christians. If we stay in our cozy little familiar worlds, we may be "safe," but we can also miss out on many great blessings. Even opportunities that seem illogical or hardly attainable can be brought to our doorsteps by a wonderful and powerful God.

On August 17th, I was told by my father about an ad he saw in the paper asking for English teachers to help with tutoring students. While I am ok with the two jobs I have now, I was intrigued. I looked the ad up online and found a second listing for a teacher, but this one hadn't been printed in the paper. It was for a adjunct communication teacher to teach public speaking courses at a local university. This university was one I had finished my undergraduate degree and also completed my master's degree at. I loved this school, missed it terribly, and while all schools have their problems, I would love to teach there. It got my attention...but there was a problem. I had a MA in English. This called for a MA in Communications. There is a lot of overlap between the two fields, but they are very different. Community colleges will let English majors teach many communication classes, but universities often are pickier. I wasn't qualified to apply.

Something made me call the provost office, though, and ask if the position was still open. The deadline for applications was August 18 (*really* late in the semester to be hiring!) and according to the secretary, she didn't think anyone had applied, but knew for sure that no one had been hired. At this news, I knew there were a few things going for me. First, I had taught several sections of public speaking at the community college I worked at, and was pretty sure both colleges used the same textbook. Second, being an alumnus, I had some connections and had a good reputation among the English faculty. Third, if they were within a week of classes starting and no one had applied, they'd be desperate enough to hire anyone. Desperate times are what get green teachers like me hired. :)

So I ran home and spent a few hours updating my CV and working on a cover letter and teaching philosophy. I had only mixed hopes about this job...and when I didn't hear anything by the weekend, I just shrugged it off. It was a very long shot anyway. I had two good jobs that together paid for my bills. God had blessed me.

Today, I get a phone call at 3:30 in the afternoon. Someone from the selection committee is calling to see if I could do a phone interview today. "I'm in town, so would being there in person be better?" He seemed pleasantly surprised at my suggestion and jumped on it, asking me to be there in an hour. I rush home, change, try to do something with my crazy hair, and get back to the university just in time for the interview. I find myself in a room with five people, all kind professors who seem really helpful and supportive. One of the professors has a wife who works at the community college with me, so it was nice to have that connection.

The interview went well, and I was surprisingly not that nervous. I explained how I taught my classes currently and they were impressed with my creativity. There were some major differences: I approach public speaking from a performance and literary perspective while they have different levels of rhetoric that they use. I admitted that I didn't know much about those other fields, but instead of being hesitant, they welcomed my questions and said they would fill in the gaps with their knowledge and resources. In other words, I'm going to get an unofficial master's in communication if I listen to them. :) I heard several repeated comments about this being an 11th hour hiring, so they would really guide me through this fall semester without huge expectations. How 11th hour? Here's the skinny: if they hire me (the decision needing to pass through several high levels of administrations first), I'll be told Wednesday afternoon. My first class meets Thursday morning. Yeah, it's really last-minute.

Am I nervous about this, especially as I have a strong feeling I'm probably going to get offered the position? Extremely. I'm hearing this little snippy voice in the back of my head saying, "You're not a communications major! This is a very high-level university! You're not going to be able to convince those kids that you know more than they do. You can't pull this off at this high of a level. You don't even have that much teaching experience! If you wash out here, what do you think your future chances of employment are going to be?" I know these are all lies, and that I can do a lot of things once I really buckle down and focus. I will learn. I'm not lying or hiding my inexperience or even some of the downsides to hiring me, but I'm not downplaying my passion for my career or my willingness to try a new challenge.

I took a risk applying for this job. I'll take a bigger one accepting it. The blessings, though, will be immense. The job turns full-time with benefits come spring semester, which means I'll have the opportunity I've wanted for years--to have one full-time job that will support me and let me have time to write, spend time with family and my church, and enjoy a budding romance that I'm beginning with a new guy. God is answering my long-time prayer in a very unexpected way, and I have faith that He would not put me in a situation I could not handle or not be successful in. This is going to be a challenge, somewhat stressful at first, but a beautiful, beautiful blessing.

If I get hired. :)

A request you can't deny

A prayer I pray a lot, especially lately, is "God, show me what you want me to do." Note the word choice there--show me. Yes, I'm from Missouri, which indicates one of two things depending on which story you believe about the origin of our state motto: I am either slow on the uptake and need to be shown everything to understand it, or I want proof before I will act on something. In my prayer life, it's a little of both. I admit to being a bit dense sometimes when it comes to making decisions. For instance, I was battling with a particularly sticky situation when a friend came in and, with common sense, parted the murky waters I was wandering lost in. The light bulb indicating my EUREKA! moments is apparently more of a flickering candle than, say, an incandesent wonder.

Not all of us can be like the Centennial light and keep burning nonstop for 109 years...but who wants to be right and wise every single time for that long?

So I keep asking God to show me paths I'm supposed to take. Just show me the way, God, and I'll go. No questions, no hesitations--just go. Big words for a fallible human. You see, I already know a destination God has for me (or at least, I believe it's one). He has laid a particular writing project on my heart. It's not a fiction piece or a really cool poetry project. It's nonfiction. You would think that writing creative non-fiction wouldn't be such a difficult task for me. I specialized in it in college. I love writing in this genre. It's rather what the project is about that has me balking. A year ago, I accepted the charge and knew I was being called to write this massive project. I had already a few small pieces to form a base with. I was strong in my faith and several years past the harrowing sections of my past that would feature in this book. I had perspective. I had praise for a God Who had brought me out of such darkness.

I also had intense fear. My conversations with God were more like desperate arguments than prayers.

Um, I'll write Your book, God. Sure. Just not today.
It's really emotionally intense, God. I'm stressed right now and can't risk it.
I can't publish that. It could keep me from getting published in other arenas.
I can't put my name on that. It'd be linked on my resume.
What college will offer me a full-time position knowing that part of my past?
You've given me a way to minister to people through my current church. If they find out about my dark past, they may not allow me into their lives. I could be ostracized like I was before in different places. Are You wanting me to risk Your will with this book?

I love how I try to point out logical fallacies in God when doing so is so incredibly illogical in and of itself. Fighting God is a completely pointless thing. All I am doing is hurting myself.

A bum hip is only one tragic excuse away...

God knows I need to put this part of my past finally to rest. Writing about it will let me do that, allow me to move from victim to victor. Writing about it will allow me to touch other people who are suffering with the same problems I was, give them hope, let them know that there is light at the end of the tunnel (and it's not a train). Writing about it will allow me to educate others who don't understand the types of darkness that we humans can become so rolled up in that we do things that we would never do otherwise. Writing about it will allow me to see the truth in myself and come to terms that I did make mistakes, I did learn things, and it's ok to be a person who "used to be" severely messed up. I can let go of the anger and the shame by putting words on a page.

I know all of this. I'm still afraid, still ashamed, still trying to protect myself from being so vulnerable.

This is where--did you see it coming?--faith comes in. If God is the One Who gave me this mission, it's not for my destruction. It's for me to have a future, to have hope, to find him (Jeremiah 29:11-14). God's not going to put me on a path, give me a sense of purpose to do something for Him, and then let me be completely ravaged. Yes, I'll face spiritual warfare again. Yes, there will be consequences. I may lose some friends. I may lose some opportunities. I may even lose jobs. In the long run, though, I know God isn't going to abandon me. I know what I do for His glory, to further His kingdom, will be successful. I don't have to worry.

I need to be brave and expose my heart. I need to remember Who is in control and submit to His authority. To do otherwise is to insist I know better than God. I may be crazy, but I'm not that insane.

Americans have given their lives in response to an ad from a fictional character. How can we expect any less from a request from a very real God?

Decisions

Anticipation tastes like good dark chocolate: complex, a little unexpected, but with sweet rewards at the end. My literary equivalent of 70% Madagascan cacao is currently swirling through my mind as I type. Today the 60% completion mark on in-depth edits is finished. I can see the finish line looming ahead, the knowledge that a read-aloud edit is almost here, and then...it's ready for submission. As much as I love working on this text, I'm ready for it to be out of my hands.

I click down to the next chapter, full of perky blue, yellow, and purple highlights. It's one I marked through my first revision process as needing a lot of work. Some of the edits are easy. I take out unnecessary adverbs, reform passive voice sentences, and fix a few typos. My fingers stall on the keyboard as I look at the next paragraph. What am I going to do with YOU?

I read it over in my mind and spot a head-jump to a different character. I change the description of emotion to a reflective facial expression. It solves the problem, but it's my go-to solution for my problems with popping suddenly from one character's mind to another's. I do it too often and the repetition is annoying even me. I insert dialogue instead. I read it out loud. I change the inflection of my voice and read it again. I groan. It's too interpretable.

I insert a few qualifiers around the quotes, giving some gestural clues. It's better, but seems wordy and clunky. I try using punctuation to show pauses--pauses reflect emotion. Then I remember that ellipses (...) are considered unprofessional. I use them all the time. I substitute em-dashes occasionally where a pause is really needed. Now it looks like a prose version of "Because I could not stop for Death--." I erase some of the dialogue. Now it's stilted and unrealistic. I delete all the dialogue and switch to a play-by-play of the character's thoughts. It's boring and feels like I'm trying too hard. I liven it up. Again, it's stilted and unrealistic. A lesson from a published author flashes through my mind of how suspense scenes, ones that build up action and increase the pace, need shorter sentences--long sentences slow down a reader. I cut down the sentences dramatically. Now it sounds choppy and simplistic. I want to throw my laptop across the room in frustration.

Anger management is a lot easier when you can rationally think about the costs to replace necessary items beforehand...(although with how old this set is, it probably only costs about $20 nowadays).

My novel is my brain child--as much as I love it, I also know it needs a lot of guidance and tough love to stand on its own in the sometimes-cruel world of publishing. Karen, Ben, and even gothic minor character Sunny Daize seem so real to me. I want them to shine in all their fallible brilliance (none of them are "Mary Sue" characters). It seems as much as I am a good writer, I am also a terrible one. I keep thinking with every page I scribble over, "This is going to work. This is going to endear the reader...or maybe not. No one is going to want to read this! No one is going to be unable to put this down!" I'm starting to feel incredibly bipolar.

An author's love-hate relationship with writing brings a whole new definition to two-faced; although, with all the characters living vivid lives in our heads, we already have multiple personality disorder, so being just two-faced is probably a step in the right direction.

Change is never easy. The whole time we're changing, we're constantly second-guessing ourselves. Is it really worth it? This isn't fun or simple. Was my old life really that bad? When we're talking about changes for a Christian, we get compounded with guilt. Guilt that we aren't changing as smoothly as we "should." Guilt that we are resisting the change. Guilt for failing to be successful. Guilt because we can't seem to move on.

While feeling guilty can be both a good and bad thing (a blog entry for another day), the crux of the situation seems to be about acceptance and faith. In order to deal with my failings, I need to remember on a logical, rational level that as long as I am on Earth, I will be a fallible human. I will sin. I will fall. I will try to change and I will have setbacks. It's not an excuse to sin (check out Galations for Paul's opinion on that subject), but it is a fact that I have to accept. Trying to be perfect, or expecting myself to easily conquer my sinful nature, totally diminishes--if not destroys--the need for the cross. If I could do it on my own, what's the point of having Jesus? I can't do it alone. I need faith. I need forgiveness. I need patience--but I know better than to pray for that one. :)

When I turn back to revising during the scant free moments in my schedule today, I need to have the mindset that it's ok to struggle. It's ok that I've rewritten a scene eight times and it's still not flowing right. I may just need to set it aside until I get the idea I need (like it's taken me four months to come up with the perfect name for my antagonist). I may need to wait and ask a fellow writer to help. I may need to just keep trying and appreciate what the struggle is teaching me about the craft. I may need to just pray and depend on my Father's wisdom instead of my own.

It's not easy. It's not simple. It's going to cost.

All the good things do.

Awkward Steps...

I'm going to date myself with this post. Prepare yourself.



Remember that Sesame Street game, the one with the cool song, "One of these things is not like the others...one of these things is just not the same..."? The object was for children to notice patterns, develop cognitive skills. Since they personify practically everything from shoes to goldfish to cupcakes, I wonder if the writers for this show ever thought about what it's like to be that one out-of-place item.

It's a feeling I think everyone experiences from time to time, but one that I struggle with a lot. Satan knows it's an easy button to push for me. When I feel awkward or uncomfortable, my extroverted personality does a 180 and I either try to fade into the background (hard to do when you are over six feet tall) or withdraw, even to the point of leaving/running away.

Hey, it's not easy blending in with spiral-print purple vinyl!

Knowing that I "don't belong" is just one tiny step away from rejection, or so Satan tells me. That these are lies doesn't always sink in...and my pattern of behavior holds.

Just yesterday I "escaped" from the church I've been attending since January. I've talked about this issue of feeling as though at any moment some preschooler will walk up to me and point, "That's the one who doesn't belong!" (Ok, maybe not anything quite that dramatic, but the point's valid.) I looked around the sanctuary of visiting people and couldn't think of a thing to say to anyone or any way to join in on a conversation. I felt lost and craved the safety of being alone, in my car, listening to an audiobook or thinking through the scenes I wanted to write for my new novel. In my fantasy worlds, I control things. I'm never awkward. I never say the wrong thing--or if I do, I can rewind and try again with no penalties. There's no one to accidentally offend, no one who can really hurt me, no one to give me a pity smile as they try to understand what on earth I'm talking about. In a way, I'm God. It's a powerful place...and ultimately a lonely and empty one.

Apparently this girl is not only lonely, but also double-jointed (or about to realize her back HURTS).

My fantasies are good in that they become Christ-driven stories for me to write, but escaping into them too much just takes me away from the blessings I could be receiving from the people I love. It'll take time for me to completely trust my new church family, but so far, they've accepted me. I've found ways to help them...and the rewards for getting involved and taking risks have been incredible. Why did I do the Magic Schoolbus thing and "take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" with such fallible people? At those times, I was trusting God to love, protect, and guide me. Ouch. Guess what I wasn't doing last night. Ouch again.

Hey, Bob? We're going to need the industrial-sized version for this boo-boo.

It's amazing that, with such an awesome, powerful, sovereign God, I have such problems letting Him take over all the time. It's not like I ever do a better job than He does. I suppose letting go, even to Someone you trust and love, is not a one-time decision but a daily--or even hourly--decision.

So...here goes trying for a stronger faith first in my God, one step at a time. God, guide me, and help me remember just how much I trust You.

Although I may not have scored high on the trust meter with God, I just earned massive cool points by posting a pic of Indiana Jones on my blog. Go me.

How to get out of a speeding ticket...

I have been pulled over a total of two times in my life. The first was a state trooper who stopped me to make sure that I knew I had a headlight out (I had bought a replacement bulb and was driving home so I could repair it...amusing timing). The second happened last night...but it wasn't so innocent.

In the town I live in, there's a back road I travel nearly every day that winds past a hospital. The speed limit sharply drops from 35 to 20 mph on a downhill curve by the emergency center. It's a tough thing to do, but I'm used to riding my brakes down the road. Last night, however, I apparently didn't hit them as hard as I usually do, because when I was halfway-past the hospital, I was still at 25mph. I saw the cop car in the parking lot just ahead. The first thought in my head was that he'd stay there for someone driving much faster--and after all, my brake lights were clearly on, so it was obvious that I was slowing down. I have *NEVER* been pulled over for speeding and RARELY ever drive more than five miles over the limit. This couldn't happen to me.

A few seconds later, the cop pulled out behind me. His lights turned on. My stomach twisted like a frustrated teen trying to work out a Rubic's Cube. Panic and reason battled for control of my thoughts, eventually working out a 50/50 split that had my hands shaking but my voice steady. I busied myself pulling my driver's license from my wallet, searching for my registration, and trying to find my most current insurance card (I never throw them out for some reason, so it took a good few minutes to find the one that wasn't expired). The police officer, a guy I didn't know--shocking for my hometown, actually--walked up to my window, asked for the paperwork, and retreated to his car. That minute was one of the longest minutes of my life. I was in trouble. I hated being in trouble. It's one thing to admit you were driving a little fast. It's another to have to literally pay for it.

The officer approaches my car again and hands me back my paperwork.

"Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma'am?"

I nod. "I'm guessing it's because I wasn't slowed down fast enough. I was hitting the brakes, but apparently since you pulled me over, I was still over twenty."

"I clocked you at 26."

I nod. There was no point arguing it. My old car had a faulty spedometer, but this one was fairly accurate as well as I knew. Now that I was thinking about the details, the needle had been resting above the long line marking the legal speed limit.

"So...do you think I should give you a ticket?"

My face must have shown just how confused and surprised I was at his statement, but his face remained impassive. Should he give me a ticket? What kind of question was that? How was I supposed to answer? For a moment, it felt like I had just been Punked or put on some crazy television hidden-camera show that would showcase a real American reaction when put on the spot. There was a correct answer to this, but it wasn't black and white. I wasn't purposefully driving too fast. I have a clean driving record. I know just about all the police officers (except this one, of course) in town and could have easily played the "friend" card. It wouldn't be lying to point out any of these things. I had excuses I could claim, too--I was tired, had bad allergies, the sun was actually in my eyes, etc. Dozens of "cover stories" raced through my mind, sorting themselves by believability and potential persuasive power. I opened my mouth after making a fast choice that seemed natural and right.

"Well, obviously I don't really want a ticket, but I understand if you have to give me one. Techically, I was breaking the law when I passed you. I'd appreciate a warning instead, but if you feel you should give me a ticket, that's fine. I'll pay it."

The words had barely left my lips when I heard a voice screaming at me inside my head. Did I really just suggest to a police officer to ticket me? How was I going to pay for it? What would my mother, who has shouted from her soapbox for years about how speeding tickets were the stupidest tickets anyone could get because they were completely avoidable, say when she found out? I had little idea what all was involved in paying for such a citation, either. Would I have to go to court, or would this be as simple as mailing a check to the appropriate state office? What about the points on my record? Loudest of all, had I completely lost my mind?!?!

In the sense of the world's opinion, I had lost at least my common sense. Using an excuse or trying to downplay the event would be the most logical choice...assuming that my goal was to get out of the ticket. That would be anyone's goal. At that moment, though, even though I knew I would have a hefty financial and emotional price to pay, I just didn't want to lie or bend the truth or "come up with something." Maybe I was more afraid of getting caught in an excuse or even, had I chosen to do so, a white lie. Maybe I figured in the long run that this wasn't that big of a deal.

I'm pretty sure the streak of extreme truth was more of a sign of my strong(er) walk with God. I did what He would want me to do--be honest.

Apparently I wasn't the only one surprised by my answer. The officer looked closer at me. "Excuse me, but did you just say you were ok with getting a ticket?"

I smiled. "I guess so, yeah. I mean, I can't really deny that I was going a little too fast." My shrug at the end hopefully conveyed what I couldn't find words to say. Although this is going to really be uncomfortable, it is the right thing to do.

The officer took a step back and smiled at me. "Well, then. In that case, Ma'am, you have a nice day."

I blinked at him, mutely watching him nod respectfully as he went back to his cruiser and talked briefly into his radio before driving off down the road. My shock permeated every inch of my being. It worked...and I hadn't even been trying.

Doing the right thing is rarely the easy thing to do. What makes it harder is that even if we do the "right" thing, there's no guarantee it'll work in our favor in the end by other people responding in kind or the situation coming to a satisfying close. If I had pulled out some of those excuses or "variations" on the truth, there's no way to know for sure if I would have been as successful in avoiding the ticket. My experiences with persuasion and knowledge I have of other people's encounters with cops tells me that I probably would have been ok using the not-so-squeaky-clean methods. What I gained yesterday was not just relief after a close call. I also gained self-respect and joy that God took care of me for doing His will. He would have provided the money if I had a ticket to pay, and directions for doing it properly so my name wouldn't end up in the newspaper under the police blotter.

So today I drove down that road...very, very slowly. God blessed me once. Next time, I might have more discipline in store than a simple warning.

Stolen--or is it?

Over the past few weeks, there are several moments (days, even) that, if pressed to describe, I would say that "it feels like my joy, my happiness, is just...gone." Some of these moments have definite causes. I feel criticized for things I cannot help or sincerely cannot see anything wrong with (such as the way I eat beef jerky...that was a weird conversation). I had to follow a driver who was doing a poor job and made me have to swerve or slam on my brakes multiple times to avoid an accident. Over the past few days especially, I've had encounters with a large amount of very rude people...something that instantly gets under my skin on even the brightest of days.

Even as a child, Stephanie Tanner had a good grasp of the situation.

I've "dealt" with these situations and moved on from each specific occurrence, but there still seems to be something--or someone--keeping me from being the bubbly person I normally am. Instead of laughing and smiling all the time, I'm getting a little mopey and have even burst into tears a couple of times for no reason. No, it's not PMS (and shame on you for thinking so...hehehe). The blue fog fades after a few minutes or hours...and then I'll be busy with one of my jobs, projects, or listening to my Christian fantasy novels on my iPod. The joy returns.

A close friend told me that it sounded like a spiritual attack--Satan was stealing my joy, putting obstacles in my way, because he's scared of me and the wonderful work I'm doing for God. It made (and still does make) a lot of sense. All of my jobs are service-oriented. My writing is primarily Christian or from Christian perspective. The music and books I listen to are almost all Christian as well. My sports and singing work, the goodies I bake...all are tied to my church. When I'm serving God, I'm joyful again. The more I work, the more joyful I am...and the more I encounter these periods of blue funk. Hmmm. Doesn't take a genius to start connecting these dots.

What is really striking about these attacks is how they are resolved. I do something, whether it's praying, serving someone, singing, worshiping, reading something inspiring, or using the talent God gave me for writing and creating a new blog entry or advancing a fiction novel to the next level. Satan may know exactly what buttons to push to drain out the stores of joy I've built up, but there's a problem with his plumbing pranks. He's stealing a renewable resource. Every time I turn back to my faith, turn back to the path that God has me on, I'm given joy unspeakable and full of glory (to paraphrase that old song). I will never run out of joy provided that I never stop choosing God over the darkness.

Just one of many daily occurrences as a Christian...although I don't look *this* fantastic in draped fabric.

I will still have bad days. I will still have moments where I doubt myself or God when I truly know better than that (just like I know better than to walk down the candy aisle at Wal-Mart....). I will still struggle sometimes and need friends and God to help push me back to where I need to be. The difference between the woman I was six years ago who fell to the brink of no return and woman I am now is mostly my relationship with God. It's not a perfect relationship by any means--I want it to be a closer, stronger one. I need it to be.

I still find great comfort in knowing that God's got my back. With Him for me, who can really be against me? I have faith in that no matter how I feel or what is going on, God will NEVER give me more than what I can handle. He will ALWAYS keep me, love me, and protect me in his infinite wisdom and power. It's like ADT...only a billion times better with an unbreakable guarantee.

A supernatural security plan is more available than you might think....

Passionate Devotion

It's no secret to those who get to be around me for even just a short while that I'm a very passionate person. I love a lot of things, and I pour myself into them. My time, money, energy, creativity...you name it, it's in there.

Kind of like the chemical composition of some processed food...only I don't think I cause cancer.

I adopt a church family and suddenly I'm there all the time, taking care of babies, baking pies, dashing off trays of danishes, crooning worship songs, and catching fly softballs (well, I try, anyway). I take on teaching classes and I'm bringing in treats, buying DVDs of documentaries to show (Netflix isn't that reliable around here), and even agreeing to meet with students on the weekends or talk them through tough paper problems in the late evening hours (I've stopped the 1am conferences mostly out of respect to a promise I made to a friend about erecting and policing boundaries). As a babysitter, I can't leave a sink full of nasty dirty dishes behind, even though I didn't contribute to them while making the kids' dinner. I've even scrubbed tile grout on my hands and knees while the children were sleeping because it needed to be done. Passion...and insanity..are intrinsic to who I am as a person.

This goes double for me in relationships. I pour who I am into my serious relationships. I call, send texts, write emails and mail off cards (just don't expect one on the "normal" days, like birthdays or anniversaries, because I can't seem to remember those obvious ones). The investment I make into these relationships involves money, energy, and an extreme amount of time and caring. I give people my heart as though it was that crappy tootsie-roll wannabe candy people on floats throw out during homecoming parades--with near-complete abandon and way too much trust. It's no wonder, then, that my heart ends up trampled and damaged on a fairly regular basis. I want to believe people will treat me the way I treat them...and since we're all humans, it's going to involve mistakes and disappointments. Lately I've been learning that someone I gave my heart to really didn't deserve it...and the consequences for this choice are still somewhat affecting me.

We're going to need to buy stock in Scotch tape on this one, folks....

The simple solution, at least for future avoidance of this painful problem, seems to be to just guard my heart with jealous abandon and stop giving it away. In fact, it's even Biblical--we are supposed to guard our hearts so that we aren't influenced by Satan's attacks and seductive promises.

Not too bad of a job, but even the National Guard gets a day off once in a while.

Still, for me to not invest myself in something I care deeply about, whether it be my career, my friends, my family, my faith, my relationships...it's just not me. God created me to be a person who loves, and loves deeply. Guarding my heart is fine, but closing it off to where I don't give of myself anymore...that's not an option.

So what am I supposed to do with this incredible spirit of devotion and passion within me? If I trust other people with it, I get hurt. If I trust only myself with it, I lose the blessings I receive from my successful interactions with others...and I waste the gift that it is. It rots on a shelf, the opportunities for sharing long gone and now nobody can receive anything beneficial from it. There doesn't seem to be a safe path...or is there?

Enter God. It seems so obvious, but it is also what I forget the most. God is more wise, powerful, loving, and gracious than anyone or anything in the universe and beyond. He sacrificed so much for me so I could have this relationship with Him. He wants my heart, my passion, my devotion, and it's not a fallible human relationship on His end. He will NEVER mistreat or mishandle the gift of my love and devotion...and the benefits of giving everything to Him are unending and truly amazing. God will guide me through the brambles of life, showing me where and whom I need to love...even if it may hurt. No matter what, God will always love me. I need to say that again. No matter what, God will always love me. If He is holding my hand, I can make it through the pain and strife in this frail human life. He's never going to let me down, betray me, or suddenly decide that He just doesn't have feelings for me anymore. I'm safe with Him. I can trust Him.

For once, there won't even be the awkwardness that always comes with my gigantic-sized hands--everything fits perfectly. Now if this could only translate to when I go shoe shopping....

I've had a burning desire for nearly all of my life to be a wife and a mother. I know God has given me the ability and temperament to be pretty darn good at both. For right now, though, I'm accepting that it's just not God's plan. He has things for me to do that I can do better as a single woman. All my projects, the ministries I'm involved in, the jobs I hold that help so many people--they all need time and attention that I would have to (and want to) give to a husband/family. In a way, it's hard for me to do this, give up fighting for this dream. In another way...it's incredibly freeing. The guilt, confusion, pain, and disappointment that comes with shattered dreams is only hindering me in what is a truly joyful existence. Instead of jealousy watching my married friends be held and loved by their husbands, I will be happy for them...and happy that I don't have to deal with twice the laundry and weird video game obsessions. If God grants my dream someday, I will joyfully accept the glass slipper and cry tears of happiness down the aisle. If not...then I will joyfully accept my independence and relax with a "perfect" husband that no mortal man can ever compete with.

So today I will use my passionate devotion to work on a few projects for my church, perhaps revise more of my novel, and maybe even finish the final storyboards for a children's book or two (and, of course, finish my grading/teaching prep for the week). Watch out, world...I'm going to love you. :)

The Dandelion's Manifesto

Some say I'm a downright pest--
Poking my stalk in among the best,
Bouncing around on my own personal breeze,
Enjoying my days as if they were in ease,
Smiling and laughing though the rain will only drown
And the brilliant sun scorches everything brown.
Nothing's going to keep me down.

My exuberant petals spring from the earth
As if I was gifted Slinkies at birth
To propel me to heights I should never reach
'Cause the joy of my soul is a favorite fluid to leech.

I ruin perfect rows of perfectly planned pansies and petunias,
Purple poppies and potatoes and peas that go right through ya.
Where an exact order of beauty is established through selection and mutation,
I creep into the ranks, a new variable for computation.

My stalk's too fat, my leaves curl the wrong way,
My scent's intolerable, my roots have gone gray.
I ruin everything just by existing,
My rights and my desires--everyone's nixing.

Since I am not always self-sustaining and "properly" entertaining,
economical and ecological
with a smile maniacal
as I recite alphabetical
what is right and good and Cosmo-certified to work in 30 days or your money back
Not that it'll get you back on track
With the credit cards
And manicured yards
Botox injections and
Heart infections
Revealing the disease
If you please
Is not curable by the pill
Or by giving "reality" audiences a thrill
Or through donating large sums to charity
(As though dollars ever buy us clarity).

It's healed through tears,
Fighting constant fears,
Ignoring hateful leers,
Stubbornly insisting, "I'm HERE!"
And nothing's gonna keep me down.

So bring on the Weed-B-Gone,
Pour it out from dusk 'til dawn,
Rip up my supports deep in the earth,
Declare my agony's result is stillbirth,
Refuse to allow me to live or exist
As you get high on your powerful twist
Of what you claim is "the way it's gotta be--"
And there is utterly no reason for me
To breathe
To live
To smile
To give

'Cause my life is a hint of something soul-saving sweet,
But with your lack of faith, it'll be a bitter-tasting treat.
My God-given, spirit-pleasin' remedy
Is just what our P.C. world needs:
A little faith, hope, and love,
Truth without the kid gloves,
The kind of power that can conquer America's permanent frown,
Because you can't keep an agape weed like me down.

Getting Uncomfortable

A friend of mine changed her status on Facebook to "If we want to grow, we are always out of our comfort zones." I've heard this sentiment before, usually with the imagery of stagnant ponds that, while they are useful, aren't the beautiful bodies of water that can really make a difference (tell that to the family of tree frogs who thoroughly enjoy the unchanging pond off my backyard, but....point made). This one brings to mind a tender green shoot of a plant, having to push through first earth, then air that is often unforgiving and rarely protecting. Honestly, that plant was safer under a layer of black dirt, even with the beetles scurrying around down there.

I made a choice a few weeks ago to put myself in a new and rather uncomfortable situation: I joined my church's recreational softball league. To put this in context for you, I am very unathletic. I'm tall, overweight, not very coordinated in a gross-motor way, my hand-eye coordination works excellent with embroidery needles but not so much with large balls that could potentially concuss my skull, and I have a multitude of physical problems that make sports difficult (no cartilidge in my knees and fibromyalgia, mainly). I don't even necessarily like sports. I am easily the worst player on the team and not just because I don't even understand all the basic rules of baseball (let alone slow-pitch softball).

The thing is, our city's recreational league rules demand that there be at least four girls playing on each team at all times. The pitcher and catcher must be of opposite genders. At least two girls must be on the infield besides the pitcher/catcher. Batters must be lined up in alternating gender order. If there aren't enough girls on the team, the team forfeits...and loses a costly deposit. Needless to say, our church was having issues getting enough girls. The first few times the pastor asked the congregation for volunteers and a few friends invited me, I shrugged them off. I'm not an athlete. I'll be gone several weekends visiting my boyfriend. It wouldn't work. I'm not comfortable playing sports--and I don't like doing things, especially publically, if I don't think I'll be very good at them.

God had other ideas. Within a week, I had been dumped by my boyfriend and had two ladies practically push me into going to a practice for the team just so I wouldn't be stuck moping around the house, trying to kill off old feelings and deal with being a single woman again. "A little exercise will help distract you, and besides, you need to be around Christian friends right now." I was needed and apparently wanted despite having nothing substantial to offer the team besides my gender. I showed up.

Through a couple practices and a tragic double-header game, I decimated any high hopes of being an asset to the team. I can throw shorter distances ok, but catching is not my strong suit and batting...I'd have better luck if the ball was five feet in diameter. It took me a game and a half to realize, as catcher, that I was supposed to try to catch the foul balls. I kept, to my dismay, squealing and jumping out of the way of close pitches as I batted, terrified of getting hit (not that it kept me from some painful impact bruises). A few bad catches, the ball hitting my left forearm twice with considerable force, ended up jamming the nerve in my arm and I lost the use of my hand for nearly an hour. I tried cracking jokes all the time to relieve the tension I felt, the feelings of being a failure, and basically to keep myself from crying in pain and anger. Not everyone got them...and few of them were laughed at. Apparently my discomfort wasn't so hidden after all.

The logic that a very unathletic girl in athletics probably wouldn't be successful was something to fight against. I was a very intelligent, stubborn, persistent, and often patient person. God wouldn't have pushed me into this activity to make a fool out of me...would he?

Besides a nice dose of humility, something even Paul said was needed for Christians, I believe that God wanted me to stretch myself. I'll never be scouted by a professional team and may never actually hit a ball and get on base in my lifetime (although getting "walked" to first is such a wonderful blessing). I do need to try new things, keeping my focus on being out there, in this crazy uncomfortable world, so I can shine with God's love and be a witness for Him. I can't show my faith if I'm sequestered in my house or only venturing out to do things I know I'm good at (although, if I am willing to remember, I wasn't always good at those things, either).

Surprise of all surprises, I rather like softball. I'm watching baseball games on TV and picking up some ideas. I'm getting excited about games and want to do what I can, as much as I can, to support my church in this ministry. I never would have done this if I hadn't been in so much emotional turmoil over the dissolution of my long-distance romance. Already there is a silver lining, a purpose to losing a guy I thought I could marry someday. Now I'm looking forward to finding a new guy who is even better for me...and who knows. Maybe he'll like softball, too.

The difference between small and insignificant

I read this at church last week, mostly on a whim (I wrote it that afternoon in the softball dugout) and because a friend of mine and her husband encouraged me to...and I figure that if God speaks through other people to me, I need to start listening more.


Sooooo...the reading went well, even if most of the audience didn't *quite* know what to call it. "Your poem...story...reading...oh, whatever it was, honey, it was good." Hehehe. For your reading pleasure, I present my new poem, still a bit rough around the edges but not half bad. :)





I thought it would be awesome
To have a Mentos God
A God who would drop
Into my Diet Coke Life
And create a chain reaction that would
Douse everyone within a
10-foot radius.


A candy-coated God,
Instantly effective,
Infinitely attractive,
A catalyst for an explosive combustion that would spill
My contents
My heart
My faith
Onto the world.
Instant dazzle.
No work on my part, just a willingness to be open
To His presence.


It worked for others--a bright, passionate light that
Inspired
Oohs and ahhs
Like a 4th of July fireworks show over the Potomac
(Before budgets constricted the celebration).


You've heard about these
Sonic Boom Christians.
They had books written about them,
Their diaries published,
Hallmark movie specials, and
Colorful inspirational inserts in
Sunday bulletins.


Their lives meant something on a grand scale--
And no one could deny the effects of their
Carbonated demise.
So I prayed for the kind of drama that would turn me into
God's perfect 2-liter bottle.

And wished.
And prayed.
And imagined.
And prayed.


All I got was the mundane, very
Un-tv-worthy existance of
An old dollar bill.

No powerful ministry,
No Barbara Walters knocking on my door,
No satisfaction of knowing I have,
In one fell swoop,
Propelled thousands of bubbling Christians to
Heaven's door.


Just a crumpled dollar bill.


I've been forgotten and left behind in the mud,
Caustically bleached in the washer,
Mangled and marred by insensitive people.
The face of a leader that I was
Designed to
Display is
Faded and
Shaded
Almost beyond recognition.
He's still there, but no one seems to pay attention.


I'm not even generic Cola.


All I've done is help Carrie pay this month's rent.
And brought a smile to little Kevin's face when Mama had
Just enough
To buy that Happy Meal.
And symbolized the start of the new business downtown that,
After two years,
Was able to sponsor a youth softball league
And got dozens of kids off the streets.
I was used to minister to a foreign exchange student
During her first Wal-Mart trip with a
Member of Campus Crusade for Christ.
I was used to bail a teenager out of jail
When he thought
No one cared
Anymore.
I was used to send a missionary to China--and his
Brilliant blast to Heaven claimed eighty souls for
Christ before they took
His life.


So maybe I won't implode over the masses in
True Mythbusters Special fashion.
Maybe I won't be a conduit for an impressive shot of
Divine power,
A flash of glory for even the
Blind to follow.
Maybe, in years to come,
No one will remember I existed.


But for right now
Today
I can touch
One
More
Person
In a small way--and that might make a
Beautiful,
Soul-saving difference after all.


It's a multitude of tiny,
Individual bubbles
That overflows the edge.

The 25th Letter

I think God must think Himself to be one heck of a preschool teacher. I mean, He's the Lord of millions of humans who flat-out don't listen, can't survive on their own, and usually end up making messes of EVERYTHING. We get fingerpaint all over the walls, cost a fortune (or your son's life), and consistently forget at times to think of others besides ourselves. We don't always play well with the other kids, and while we still have innocence, it's not always the kind that we truly need to preserve.

My behavior at times over the past week has been much of that of a two-year-old (although I refuse to have a full-on temper tantrum on the floor--my knees won't take the beating anymore). I keep asking God, "Why?" I know He has a reason--adults *always* have a reason, even if they don't know it. A lot of things have fallen apart lately. My jobs are shaky at best, lowering my contract work to half. My heart has been broken by a man I loved. I spent two sleepless nights crying, then staring into the darkness chanting that infamous 25th letter of the alphabet. I've told friends that if I could see some sort of purpose, some sort of reason, some sort of light at the end, that it wouldn't be so bad.

Truth is, while I'm grabbing onto things that may be the very reasons I seek, it doesn't change the facts that I still have to grieve for my lost love and be a lot more financially cautious. There are still consequences for my choices and the choices of others. No man is an island--we all affect each other in ways that may ripple out to be huge blessings...or disasters.

I'm still not sure what God's trying to tell me through this rough patch, but I have suspected a few messages and reminders so far. First, I'm turning to God more than I ever have...not quite enough, but it's definitely a big change in instinctual behavior for me. Instead of isolating myself, which provides just the darkness necessary for brooding, depression, and self-hatred to grow, I've been pushing myself (and letting others push me) into the light. I've joined the church's recreational softball league despite having no athletic talent in that area. I'm conditioning my long-neglected voice and filling in as a substitute on the praise and worship team. I'm seriously considering beginning a PhD program next fall...something I've never really considered pursuing again. I'm starting new projects with friends and have even stumbled into a surprise babysitting job for a family I love. All these things probably wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for losing my job security and my boyfriend.

I will still be cautious, trying not to take on too much as I so often do (and, as keeping busy helps me work through pain and sadness, it's incredibly tempting). God needs me to rest a little more this summer, take care of myself, and really focus in on my relationship with Him. Eventually God will bring me my heart's desire, if it is His will. It's about being patient and believing.

I'm still tempted to say, "NO! I no wanna! Gimme now!" I think God's had enough of rolling his eyes at me for now, though. :)

A Christian Walk(through)

While I've never been very "into" video games, computer games have been a part of my life for over a decade. Things have changed a lot since the simplistic MS-DOS adventures--now there are complicated adventure, arcade, and strategy games to tickle my fancy. While most of the time I enjoy bumbling my way around these virtual worlds, figuring out puzzles and discovering the elusive paths to rewards, there are many times when I lose patience or am just a little too eager to reach the end of the game and find out "the ending." It's similar to my impulse I try to control when reading suspense novels--I want to flip to the back and find out whodunit. (Now, when I exercise enough restraint to keep plowing through the book instead, I often end up skimming the reading and staying up all hours of the night until I'm done. Not exactly a better option, although it depends on how you look at it.)

Enter the wonderful invention of walkthroughs. These are postings, sometimes with uber-helpful illustrations (screen captures) that describe, step by step, how to progress through the game. If I can't figure out just the right combination to the secret safe, the answer is just a google away. Annoyed that this "boss" won't keel over so I can rescue the cute, imprisoned kitty? A walkthrough will give me suggestions that usually work perfectly. My anxieties are over, and I can progress confidently, knowing that any future sticking points can be easily solved once again. If only real life could be this simple.

In real life, I'm often worried, confused, frustrated, and even scared. I've been constantly asking God for signs in many respects of my life. My job situation is a little shaky, thanks to the economy; I want a steady, full-time job with benefits. I don't like the insecurity that comes with working two part-time jobs that aren't permanent but rather contract-renewable. I don't like the insecurity of being in a "dating" relationship. I don't like the insecurity of being around people who don't know the meaning of "constructive criticism." I'm scared and frightened and want to flip forward in the book of my life to reassure myself that things are all going to work out. I want to know if it's worth the pain and drama of a long-distance relationship or if my current boyfriend and I are only destined to be friends. I want to know when I'm going to get that job, and if there are avenues I need to start pursuing now (like my PhD) in order to find that job. I beg God almost daily for signs, for revelations. I want concrete, undeniable (or at least certifiable) messages. Billboards would be nice. I want to google my life, find the walkthrough, and examine how to best get through this tricky maze. Then I get frustrated because nothing's popping up, which makes me more scared...and it turns into a vicious cycle.

Like most times in a game (this one being Life, and not the Hasbro version) when I can't see the way out, I realize I've been looking in the wrong place the whole time. God has given me a walkthrough, but I've been ignoring it in favor of things that I think I must do or will help me escape from the painful reality. It's the obvious answer: the Bible.

Now, I'm not saying that all the answers are explicitly in there. Nowhere does it say, "Tamara, you will be married in three years, have five children (keep the youngest away from bees--trust me on that one), be a published author after your 29th rejection, and will be a New York Times Bestselling Author on your third book." It does say a few things about my namesakes, but those two stories are...for another day. :) What the Bible does provide is exactly what I've been asking for: Revelations. Although I am an English professor and enjoy playing around with symbolism occasionally, this book is not what even I, the girl who reads the Oxford English Grammar for fun, would call a satisfying and understandable read. I get all caught up in the minutia of horns and seals and colorful horses that I forget the big picture. It's a walkthrough, and the ultimate ending is there for me to know in black-and-white: God wins. Satan loses. Enter peaceful eternity.

My "minutia" seems enormous to me, but in the scope of eternity, whether or not I get a full-time job or end up marrying my boyfriend is practially insignificant. My jobs, as my pastor says, are primarily to love God, love people, and enlarge Heaven (by leading others to Christ). If I take my focus off my problems and worries and instead focus it on God, I can find that peace and reassurance that I've been searching for. In the end, God wins. In the end, it is HIS will. In the end, He is in control. I just need to focus on what is right in front of me and let God take care of the rest. He's got it. I need to trust Him.

True Relaxation: God Can Use You Anywhere!

Too many times in my life I feel like a toddler following my mother around the house, asking a single question in response to her every word. “Why?” Lately I’ve been doing that to God. Why haven’t you given me a sign as to my future? Why have you given me the struggles that I have? Why have you healed others but not me? As of this morning, I have an answer.

Living with a disease like fibromyalgia is a study in patience and perseverance. Everything could cause pain, but not everything will all of the time. It’s so full of variables and unexplained phenomena that I’m constantly on my toes. Will I be able to climb the stairs today? Will sitting in my office chair suddenly cause stabs of pain in my hips? Will I get a migraine or not? There are no definite answers, no good “preventative” treatments, at least not for me. There is just my willpower that will breathe through the pain and the prescription narcotics for when it’s too much for me to bear. One thing does help: massage therapy. Going once a week to have these talented women work out my knotted muscles and address the misfiring nerves actually makes each week more livable.

Still, I wondered why God hadn’t healed me. I accepted long ago that there was a reason for this, but we all know how that goes. Without knowing what that “reason” might be, it doesn’t mean as much. Yes, I have developed a great friendship with the two therapists I work with, but is that all?

No.

Today my session ran a little late (my shoulders were tighter than expected). I dressed in a hurry, worrying about the delay causing a problem for the next client waiting for her treatment. The waiting room was a little more crowded than usual, two women waiting on the couch. I usually would have not taken as much time getting out of there, and even offered to call back later to reschedule for next week. God wanted me to stay, though, and the therapist held me off for a few moments, comparing schedules and getting me my requisite post-massage glass of water. I was about to leave when one of the women burst into tears. Turns out that her quiet phone call in the waiting room was to a sibling concerning their sister—who had been told that depending on the surgery today, she would either survive her cancer for three weeks or three months. Ordinarily, sympathetic looks would be all that I could offer—the sobbing redhead was a stranger to me. A fellow client, but no real connection. God didn’t agree.

Before I knew it I was ministering to the woman, telling her my aunt’s story of a miraculous healing from cancer just about ten years ago. “God healed her. She had faith that she would survive, and in six months there was no trace of the cancers whatsoever—and the doctors still can’t figure it out.” Just this past March we had another scare with my aunt. There was a possibility that her brain tumor, surgically removed back in the 1970s, had grown back as her eyesight was once again diminishing. A specialist in Chicago stood dumbfounded as for no “medical” reason, the disruption in sight had disappeared and there was no trace of that looming tumor.

The crying woman gave me a big hug as she left, and later asked me in the parking lot for my name and phone number so I could try to get her family in contact with my aunt. “Thank you so much for sharing that,” she said while wiping her eyes. “It’s exactly what we’ve been needing.”

If I hadn’t been diagnosed with fibromyalgia two years ago, I never would have started getting massages. If I hadn’t build up such a great relationship with the therapists, I never would have seen them this often. If I hadn’t been slammed this week with responsibilities, I never would have made my appointment for this morning. That I met this woman in such great need, my story the exact balm necessary, can only be explained by the hand of God.

When it comes to accepting “there must be a reason” philosophies, leaving our faith in God for Him to show us in His time, be prepared for a wonderful and amazing experience. It may take months, years, or even decades, but everything will come together for His glory. Praise God, our Heavenly Father, in His infinite wisdom and grace.

Blank Directional Signs

I have been praying for signs. This is different than when I'm usually praying for signs--when I'm lost in a new (or old) town and can't seem to figure out if my directions meant Main Street or Main Drive (don't even get me started on GPS--driving in Chicago was not fun). I've been praying for God to give me a sign of my future employment, what will determine the next few months of my life. I didn't ask for wet wool on dry ground, or even a baby deer sighting (leftover from a sign I asked for in 5th grade--and got). I simply let the sign be of God's design.

I haven't had a clear directional shout, but I have had confirmation that God has a sense of humor when it comes to teaching me patience.

Hardly any of the schools I have applied to work at have contacted me to let me know of either my rejection or approval, and phone calls have yielded only lukewarm results: we're starting the process now, and should be picking people shortly. My other option was to work part-time (but full-time work) at a local community college which pays insultingly low salaries to adjunct professors. This is my back-up plan, my safety net in case God's choice is to keep me here in my hometown. I'd also work my full-time job on the weekends to keep benefits (meager as they are). If God intends for me to stay in this small town, then I am "prepared." I am also jumpy as a skittish housecat during an electrical storm as I work my way through these last remaining weeks of the school semester.

My boss at my full-time job announces that I might have a brand new client to care for soon, one who will require a lot of lifting and a lot of routine changes. I'm not that fond of change--God, is this a sign that my time at this job is over and I'm going to be moving on? My mother gives away some of the furniture that she was saving for me when I move out. God, is this a sign that I'm going to continue living here for at least another year? A good friend of mine is probably moving back to the Midwest and could use a roommate when she gets here. God, am I heading off to live with her, working in some college while she does her travel agency work? A friendly undergraduate remarks on how much he is going to miss me if I leave and really wants me to stay. God, am I still needed here to help some of these undergrads and former students? Every circumstance, every happening, from finding out I could get used to living at home without going to school (staying here) to packing up kitchen supplies for my own home someday (leaving) is being obsessively examined for clues. I look over my life with a magnifying glass, breathing a prayer for wisdom to spot the nefarious anomaly that will solve my future-seeking dilemma once and for all.

God has got to be chuckling over this. At least shaking His head and wondering what He's going to do with me.

I'm finding that fear is creeping in as the semester eeks away. I will soon be graduated. A non-student adult. My identity, for better or for worse, will be changed. Uncertainty is leading to a discomfort that I push down, deep inside, pretending that it isn't there and that I have faith enough to move mountains of doubt. Truth is, I'm getting nervous. Perhaps my back-up plan is God's sign, and I've just dismissed it. Perhaps all these mixed signals are just designed to test my faith. So far, I'm not sure I'm passing.

My prayer for today is this: God, teach me how to listen to You. Let me know what it is that You want for me, and help me to be patient and wait for that answer.

If nothing else, just keep me sane for finals. :)

Waiting for a Sign

Something you don't often hear me say is that I envy Old Testament Biblical characters. Do I care to be Bathsheba, lusted after by a king so much that he kills my husband? Nope. Perhaps Rachel, then, mother of one of the greatest Biblical heroes but competes for attention from her hubsband with her sister. Don't think so. Esther, savior of the Jewish people? Not really in the mood for a beauty contest, thank you. All that aside, I do envy some of the men, particularly now. I could use a burning bush a-la-Moses, or just a soggy piece of animal skin a-la-Gideon. I'm waiting for a sign from God...and I'm finding out just how impatient I can be.

Don't get me wrong--I know that God has plans for me (Jeremiah tells me so) and that He is in total control. I know that my worries about finding the right career path at this time are just that--worries. Unfounded concerns that might show my human failings more than I wish. I would love to be so completely in tune with God that I wouldn't give any of the daily reminders that my future is quite uncertain a second thought. At the end of the day, I'm still human. Still failing. Still worrying.

Take one part economic recession, one part academic competition, and one part indiscriminate "change" and you have a cocktail for peace broken into chaos. I have a back-up plan in place, and even a back-up to the back-up. If I have to, I'll stay working at the company caring for mentally/physcially handicapped people. If I have to, I can always go back and teach preschool again (I still love those little rugrats despite the temper tantrums). If I have to. What I want is to use the education I've acquired, get a full-time job teaching in a community college. I've applied and applied. The only answers I've gotten so far are rejections--the rest are terribly, nerve-wrackingly silent. At this point I would almost prefer a rejection. Anticipation is overrated, at least where jobs are concerned.

I was doing pretty well for quite a while, even fooling myself that I would be perfectly happy with my back-up plans. I told everyone that I had faith. I did, and do. It's just not as strong lately as I'd like it to me. What I need, in typical whiny human fashion, is an indelible sign. Something unmistakeable. Something that will give me the answers I need: should I stay or should I go? Will I be moving this summer or staying here? Will I be teaching full-time, part-time, or not at all? Will my job duties change at my current position, making my routine life as a "house parent" suddenly a lot more difficult and stressful?

I'm finding myself in limbo, and not the happy party game (although I never really enjoyed the concept of a game that would only benefit chiropractors). It's scary graduating school, especially with no options for staying in school, in relative safety. I'm going to have loans to pay back soon. Extra bills. I'd rather have homework...again.

I've prayed for signs. I've prayed for dreams--and trust me, those have NOT been helpful unless my sister is really going to help care for my mother's mysterious birth of quintuplets (thanks, Dad). I've prayed for peace, for patience, for whatever other virtue is going to get me through this time. I feel some of it. I'd be going crazy 24/7 if I didn't. I just don't like this uncertainty, this worry that I'm not going to make the right choice. That I'm not going to have a choice.

Praying for faith and patience is a good thing. If God answers the prayer, though, be prepared to learn them in spades. :)