Did you hear what I heard?

Just by switching the verb tense, a sweet sensory delight of a Christmas carol can be turned into a reflection of gossip. At best, it's a reflection of reputation. Separating out talking about someone as part of their reputation as opposed to gossip can be a little tricky and often needs clearly-defined morals and circumstances, both of which can be difficult to ascertain in and of themselves. Still, our reputations are important to us. What people think of us on and off the grapevine really matters. Their judgments of our actions can tip the balance over future opportunities and relationships. This is where real life gets a little hinky, because if you haven't figured out how true this little cliche is yet, you are about to: appearances can be deceiving.






***Reader warning--subject matter to follow may not be appropriate for all readers***






For instance, there was a night I went over to Bob's house to watch a movie. Bob and I have both agreed that we will not have sex until our wedding night, an expected but not-often followed idea in our society. We want to follow God's will for sexual relationships. My reputation is also included in this--many people know I am still a virgin, and I want to have that reputation intact on my wedding day. While we are physically affectionate, even to an extent in public, there are very clear lines drawn that the two of us do not cross.

So on this movie night, I plop down on his living room floor (more comfy than the two-seater couch by a long shot) and curl up under a blanket with a pillow to watch the film. He joins me, keeping some distance but still cuddling around my blanket cocoon. It's been a long week for both of us--his job is extremely physically taxing while my three jobs wear me out mentally and emotionally. We're well-fed, warm, and tired. Guess what happens? That's right--we fall asleep. I wake up disoriented, still wrapped securely in my blankets just a few inches away from Bob. I look at the clock. It's after midnight. As it takes about 45 minutes for me to get home, this is a VERY late date for me and we both have work in the morning. I stumble around, waking him with a quick kiss goodbye before grabbing my things and walking out into the brisk night air. As I slowly descend the porch steps, I see the neighbors across the street noticing my presence. My face burns with heat. I know what this must look like. A brief glimpse in the bathroom mirror had showed my rumpled clothes, smeared make-up, and destroyed hairdo. I look like the poster child for the Walk of Shame calendar.

Did Bob and I do anything wrong? In my mind, no. We didn't mean to fall asleep together. We definitely didn't fool around. My appearance, combined with the late hour, gave an impression that probably tarnished, if not ruined, my reputation with that neighbor (and whomever they tell). The question is, then, whose responsibility is it if others start hearing--and believing--that I'm not as chaste as I say I am?

Personally, I believe it's 50/50, even though in reality that's hardly the case. While I do have the responsibility to set an alarm on my phone, tend to my appearance before I leave Bob's house, and try to make sure we don't end up in situations (such as cuddling platonically on the floor) that could be potentially damaging to our reputations, I think the neighbors also have the responsibility to check out the situation before spreading the word. We have all lived through experiences where we made assumptions about people that ended up being dramatically--and sometimes painfully--wrong.

In our society, though, we do make assumptions about people every day--and those who see me from afar should get the same kind of image (though not as sharp--my closest friends will see pieces of my personality that strangers wouldn't) as those I am close to. My leaving Bob's house in such a disheveled state at a very late hour was the mistake. I need to be more responsible about leaving at an appropriate time, or picking different locations for our "together time," such as public places in town or watching movies at his mother's house. ((Granted, I know there are couples who do a lot in a parent's home, but I'm personally weirded out by even peck kisses in front of Bob's mom. I'm a little more affectionate in my parent's home, but still...there are extreme limits to what I will do in those places out of respect for my parents and my heebie-jeebies.))

After all, it's not just my reputation that's at stake here, but also my witness. That's really not something to mess around with.

A Stronger "Thank You."

Every day I go swimming
Pools of salt water that start a deep jade
You point out the flecks of brown and blue
Then the pools shimmer, spill over
Into translucent drops
Picking up smeared colors
As they drain.

Yet like the bottomless pit
The pools never stop refilling
For each day we dive in again
And watch ourselves drown

"It wasn't like this before"
You say.
"I don't understand why."
I say.
"It'll get better in time."
We say.

But it hasn't yet.

There are many reasons why the pools can't
Just stay intact, whole, sparked instead of soaked
We can come up with so many
Like life in general;
Like pressures of techtonic plates
Shifting us into new worlds, new lives,
Letting the magma beneath rumble to the surface;
Like something mysteriously gender-specific;
Like the weather.

The one credit of nearly drowning every day
Is that you appreciate what moments of life surround death;
You holding my hand
You trying to absorb the pain
You daring to change my direction
You encouraging, reassuring, giving me courage to fight
You attempting, daily, to save me.
You never running away to save yourself.

The English language needs a stronger sentiment than
"Thank you."

A Disturbance in the Force

I'm finding it incredibly interesting to watch the development of my relationship with my boyfriend. It's a lot more than just an accumulation of facts, observances of behavioral patterns, and a sky-rocketing cell phone bill (oh, thank the Lord for free mobile-to-mobile minutes when you have the same carrier). As we spend more time together, apparently we are getting better at "reading" each other--or as my good friend Amy would say, "discerning a disturbance in the force."

I've been able instinctively understand others at times, usually people I'm really close to, but always with a varying degree of accuracy. I was certain several times that my mother was upset about something, but she was really just tired (that's a hard distinction to make). I'm pretty good at hiding my emotions when I really want to, so it's not too surprising when others miss out on my changing moods. As we get closer, though, my boyfriend is getting uncanny results on reading me.

Last night I was really frustrated with a breakdown in communication with people, and while some of my signals were pretty obvious (being silent and refusing to look at people are pretty big signs that something's seriously wrong--in this case, I was desperatly trying to control both my temper and my tongue), he had sensed my anxiety level rising long before I resorted to physical signs of distress. It wasn't so much reading me but, without even looking at me, knowing that something had changed. A sixth sense. A ripple in an emotional pond where we are both swimming.

I've heard of twins being able to communicate like this, a deep bond keeping them in touch despite miles or even continents separating them. I never thought I would have anything even remotely like that with a boyfriend--after all, we're from different planets and neither gender can make sense of the other, right?

Maybe the magic ingredient that ties two people together so much isn't necessarily a "love connection" or an awareness of Star Wars terms. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit whispering another's needs in our ear--and since we have such a strong emotional bond with that person, we're more receptive/understanding/attentive to the pull at our hearts and minds.

I haven't figured this out yet, but while I'm working on this new puzzling aspect of being part of a couple, I'll enjoy the attention and comfort of knowing he gets me...at least a little, for now. :)

Deserter

From Jan to Dean, upon a very bad night of arguments.
Rough draft #2

We knew the war was looming off in the distance
Under a blood-tinted sunset.
We knew it was inevitable--we would have to fight.
Neither of us are skilled warriors in this kind of battle--
The kind where you fight those who know you
The kind where you can lose more than you could ever gain
The kind where hiding until the rage storm blows over is more desirable than ever.

Afraid and hopeful that there would come a new solution
A way to avoid the war
To escape unscathed
We worked hard behind the lines
Prayed
And kept our silence.

There comes a time, though,
When the enemy senses your position;
Keeping still and silent will not save you from being surrounded
And with anger, they confront your fearful heart.

I stepped out of the shadows and began to fight
Trying for peace all along
But knowing it wouldn't come until after great struggle and pain.
You were not caught as I
And instead of joining me,
You hid.
You left me alone.

Abandoned, I cried for you
I begged you to come
Begged you to let me run to you.
Together, we are stronger--
Or so I thought

You knew my precarious position
The sharp weapons thrust at me
The wounds already etched into my skin.
A dagger pierced through part of my heart.
My will would keep me in strength for only so long.
Still, you ignored my calls,
Licking your own wounds in a cave of your own making
Barring the door to my entry
And leaving me to the mercy of my foes.

Didn't you understand my vulnerability?
Didn't you see that our bond might be broken?
Didn't you care that I might die?

I survived the night
With God and a few brief moments of comfort
From friends who heard and responded to my cry
Despite their own battles, struggles, and needs.
But they were not my partner,
They were not my teammate.
They tried to take your place,
But no one can fill that spot shaped as you.

I needed you wild at heart
Timid, you left me.
My pain increases
My tears course down swollen cheeks
I cry out to God and run to Him
He comforts me
He didn't leave me

You cried out to me, so
I comforted you,
Cheered your shaken spirit
After my words of warning brought the war to your door.
You revived and began business as usual,
But you didn't note my bloody clothes
Dark skin marking my struggle
And still kept me at a distance
Where I could tend you
But I was left to fend for myself.

I understand why you ran
I still hate that you did
I understand why you didn't see my pain
I still hate that you didn't think to care
I understand your wounds
I still hate that you dismissed mine

Forgiveness will come
But the trust is cracked

The war will not end tomorrow
But before I again engage the enemy
I need to know--
Should I surrender now, let you be alone and accept my fate;
Or will you come rescue me
Fight beside me
And be who I need you to be:
Someone who pursues God's will,
Puts me first (as I do you),
And lets promises be kept
Even in the face of foul fear?

If you want us to continue
If you want me, at all...

Don't leave me again.

Choosing Sides

A few months I went to a high school basketball tournament at a local school. I followed my fiancee into his alma matter, looking around anxiously for people I might recognize from my own old high school. Our pasts were playing against each other tonight in two games--first girls, then boys. I didn't see anyone I either wanted to greet or drastically avoid, so I just let myself be led through the gym, up really steep steps, and onto an uncomfortable wooden bleacher. My eyes searched for two students I was currently teaching and who would be playing for Brashear--my old high school. I noted my finacee's nieces quickly. One played for Novinger's team and the other shouted encouragements from the sidelines with the other cheerleaders.

As the game started, I spotted the first of my students. She wasn't playing the best game, so I cheered extra loud for her. A few times, the people around me started giving me odd looks, but I assumed it was for being too loud. It wasn't until the second quarter that I realized that my fiancee had seated us not in the "available" side of the gym, but on the Novinger side. I was cheering on a Brashear player. Hello, CONFLICT!

Granted, the few women who were really shooting me dirty looks seemed to understand when I explained my situation--I'm cheering on individual players who are my students, not necessarily the team. They would nod as if thinking Why, yes, that does make sense. She's a teacher--she needs to support her students. I think that cheering for my fiancee's neice on the Novinger team helped.

As the game progressed, though, I found myself grinning when Brashear scored. Novinger seemed disorganized, especially on defense, and I took pride when girls, even the ones I didn't know at all, put more points on Brashear's side of the board. Apparently without realizing it, I had chosen a side despite being very proud and wanting a win for the sole Novinger player I knew.

It may not seem that odd that I picked my alma matter to support to most people...unless you've heard me talk about my experiences in this school. Granted, most of it would boil down to the usual teenage angst present in high schools, but my public school years were almost entirely miserable. A few teachers really inspired me, and not every day was a nightmare, but overall, I would NEVER want to relive a single day of my years at that school. While the school has changed a lot (and I taught there for a semester--talk about a creeptastic moment when I found THAT assignment out), I still get weird feelings every time I drive there, my inner self cringing as the gravel crunches under my tires. What am I doing here again? Are you NUTS?!?! Have you forgotten everything they put you through, how you promised you'd never return? There is nothing for you here--run now while you can!

If I dislike my past so much, and don't hold much faith in the crazy public school system I was brought up in, then why was I rooting for my hometown team? Why do we protect the familiar even when it's not at all good for us? When we're picking sides, are we doing it for the right reasons? Are we defending family members, people from our "hometowns", even though we know they're wrong but we feel like we have to protect "our own?" What kind of damage could this do to those outside our circles of influence...or even those we are standing up for?

I'm still proud of the Brashear girls--they deserved to win that night. They were, simply put, the better team on the court. My fiancee eventually forgave me my slight against his team, mostly because the Novinger boys won the next game and apparently I'm "too darn cute to stay mad at."

Check Your Tongue with Your Teeth

As a younger sister, I learned early how to share (and demand my part). For most of my friends, I don't mind sharing things that truly bother some people. If someone's really thirsty, I'll unscrew the top of my water bottle and let them drink. If they're hungry, I'll cut my lunch in half and offer it. In the case of my boyfriend, since we kiss each other, I figure it's perfectly acceptable to drink after each other and, in certain cases, eat off the other person's plate (this way I get the momentary bliss of a crispy french fry before I return to my responsible order of string beans and broccoli).

My pastor is another case, however. In the middle of a sermon, a gnat flew right into his mouth. He grimaced and asked for some water--fast. Since I was sandwiched between several people in the pew, I couldn't get up to get him water, so I offered him my half-full bottle. He turned it down. I wasn't offended, but did lightly tease him about "beggars can't be choosers." He didn't want to share some things with me. It's understandable--because there are some things I don't want to share with him.

Last night at church, it was announced (since the pastor and his wife are driving me) that I am about to get my wisdom teeth pulled on Friday. People prayed, which was comforting, and I'm a lot less nervous about this procedure than before. After the service, the pastor came to sit next to me and proceeded to tell me about his ordeal with getting his wisdom teeth pulled. The story started out on a high note--he woke up feeling just fine, very little pain. Then it took a very dark turn. He developed "dry sockets", which sounds innocuous if you're referencing lighting fixtures but is apparently Dante's eighth circle.

Not to be confused with Dante's fifth circle, which is apparently an extreme form of unending constipation. Yeah, that'll ruin eternity for you.

The story stretched on, including phrases such as "worst pain of my entire life," "filling holes," and "excruciating torture." I'm sure my eyes had to be reflecting my growing horror and unease. I'm a very imaginative person, and my pastor knows this. He paused in a Sunday School lesson regarding cannibalism to warn me as I was munching on my breakfast (a new habit as I can't eat before singing practice lest I lose my voice). He knows I'm a writer, which only furthers the need to watch what is said around me (although I find it funny when he rants about Christian romance novels...and that's what I write). I've admitted to both him and his wife that I'm nervous about the surgery and the recovery. And yet he's sharing his wisdom with me.

I don't mind listening to other people's stories--in fact, I love it. I get to learn about the person and possibly glean some ideas to twist into my next novel.

I *so* want this shirt...because it is *so* true. Bwahahahaha!

Still, I'm uneasy about the future, and getting yet another worst-case scenario in my head to add to all my other fears and doubts that had me sobbing into my boyfriend's chest for an hour Tuesday night wasn't exactly a great idea. I think a female friend noted my look of increasing dread, and so decided to step in. Just as my pastor is getting to the high point of his agonizing memories, she comments, "I had mine out when I was around your age, and I hardly had any problems. A little pain and bleeding, but it healed quickly without any drama."

Bless you, friend.

I understand the need to share horrifying stories, but I liken this to telling excruciating tales of how things went terribly wrong during the birth of a child to a woman in her third trimester (especially if it is her first child). We're already freaking out in vague terms and ideas--we don't need new specifics to color our fears in full Technicolor brilliance. I know it's a way of bonding, even a way we try to prepare others so they can avoid the mistakes we made. Sometimes, though, the trips through memory lane need to be scheduled for more opportune times...like a few months later when we can all look back on it and laugh (or wince).

It's my new motto: A wise tongue is valued, but wise teeth are highly overrated.

This Chocolate Bar is not a Lifesaving Device

My security has been threatened recently from many fronts. My job situation in the spring is up in the air with no safety nets surviving the storm of economics and my insane schedule. My health has thrown me a few curve balls that I'm somewhat managing. "Bob" is probably getting annoyed with my emotional swings, although he's being quite the trooper about it. I was shown some very powerful examples of how I may not be the personality type I thought I was--which may not mean anything to most people, but when it places me in a category that I don't find flattering in people, it was rather shattering. Add in the usual stress of two jobs, big projects lying uncompleted, and a cat who apparently feels a little abandoned himself, and I'm reeling.

Losing my good grip on my identity was probably the hardest blow. It's helping to illuminate some issues I've been having with adjusting to being with Bob, so that does have a solid benefit. My independent and co-dependent issues have been clashing hard. I work very well on my own--the flexibility of having little "overhead direction" allows my creative side the room it needs to roam about and still get things done, even if they are done differently than other people would do them. Being part of a couple, adjusting to nearly constant compromise, collaboration, and teamwork, has been very challenging. I love having someone to share things with, who can and will help, but it's hard dealing with not having as much "creative license" as I'm used to. It's hard to figure out when I need to push for more equality and when I need to just pick up the slack (because it's usually me who perceives there is slack, anyway, whether there is or not). It goes back to the issue of before--having needs and wants, not sharing them, and then getting upset/angry/worried/scared when they're not met.

When I'm feeling insecure, though, what do I do? Lately, eat chocolate, cry on people, and contemplate ways I can escape from everything and be safe (albeit alone and lonely). After a little while, I get distracted, the feelings fade, and I'm back to pushing through the week, encounter high stress...and then the cycle starts all over again.

What I'm doing is literally insane. I'm doing the same thing, treading water, and expecting it to eventually solve the problem (considering the currents I'm caught in, that's not going to happen). I'm subjecting the people around me to torrents of emotion that probably make less sense than a week of severe PMS (and no, I'm not hormonal that I know of). This is not a recipe for anything more than mere survival and testing the perseverence of the people around me.

My big problem is that I am avoiding the giant lifesaver in front of me, one I've known about this whole time, that has been willing and able to carry me through the seas and onto dry land again. Why I've avoided it, I'm not exactly sure. Maybe because it's not as tangible as the sea I know so well. Maybe because I'm stubbornly believing I can get through this through dry humor and patience; I don't want to admit I need more help after everything I've already taken. Maybe because I'm afraid of what it'll cost to take the way out. I may be forced to change, to give up some things I want so badly to stay in my life.

Could I still make it through the next two months without the lifesaver? It's possible, but given where I'm at, I'm not sure I can last that long. I'm almost positive my friends and family won't last that long. It's time for me to swallow my pride (that I can survive anything), take a chance on the safest bet around, and let God save me again. He made me. He gets it. He doesn't mind my insanity. He'll listen and give me peace again.

So, okay, God. Stick on the water wings. I'll wear them with pride. My Daddy bought them for me. :)

Risky Behavior

Getting a tattoo from a "beginner." Texting while driving, irregardless of age (in Missouri, it's only illegal if you are under 21). Bungee jumping with your dentures in. We could make a list stretch on for miles over risky things we do, but probably one of the riskiest ones would be far down on the list despite it being one that we humans do every day. Talking to other people.

Sure, there are obvious ways our words can get us in trouble. Telling a cop he should spend less time chasing our car and instead chase donuts. Sassing back to a teacher when she asks that we stop pulling our classmate's hair. Using certain derogatory words around people of other ethnic/racial groups. From the time we were children (and for some of us late-bloomers, teenagers), we have learned that you just don't say certain things. For the most part, this is good--respect is such a rare commodity these days (and yes, I'm starting to sound like my grandparents already and I'm still in my twenties). In some cases, though, not saying something is more harmful than we could ever imagine.

Although I have gotten better at constructively criticizing those around me when I need to, I recently discovered that this is a skill that still needs work. Case and point? My very serious romantic relationship with a guy I'll name "Bob." I haven't been that honest with him lately, mostly because I'm still figuring out when I need to say something and when I need to keep quiet. To be safe, I've been keeping quiet a lot...and that led to a repressive emotional blowout full of sobbing and a chucked Kleenex box (to my credit, I was alone in the room at the time and I just threw it at the tabletop). It was a lot of little things, really, things that didn't really bother me that much. Added all together, they created feelings of resentment, disappointment, pain, and fear. I knew I was feeling insecure, and was able to share that with Bob, but I didn't understand why, especially when I had conquered most of my past ghosts.

The big answer I finally figured out with the help of two wise married women? I wasn't getting some of my needs met, mostly because I hadn't told him about them. I could figure out his needs really easily without being asked (hot meals, clean[ish] house, cuddle time on the couch, a listening ear, etc.) and even then I would keep asking and discover more things I could do to make him feel secure and loved. My needs weren't so simple to tease out, and even when he did ask, I wasn't good at revealing them. Part of it was due to fear that I would be selfish to ask for things/actions/services in return, that he wouldn't be able to or want to provide those things, or that I would be too much of a "bother" or considered a "high-maintenance woman." Another part of my silence was due to literally not knowing how to word the requests. I know, I'm a writer, an English professor, and I can't figure out how to use words effectively. Insert *facepalm* here.



By trying to avoid hurting his feelings and protecting myself from possible rejection, I turned myself into ticking time bomb of emotions. I kept up this facade of "I'm okay, I can take care of myself, no need to worry about me, just let me serve you and I'll be fine..." for the most part, but found myself eventually crying nearly every time I was with him. Insecurity bombarded me with thoughts of how he didn't really care, he was going to get tired of me and my drama, he wouldn't be able to deal with my requests, or (really ugly moment here) he was just going to use me and throw me away like others have done in the past. Yes, projecting past experiences onto Bob didn't help, but one of the core reasons was that I felt neglected and negated in some respects. Whose fault was that? Mine.

I needed to stop feeling guilty asking for things, especially the small things. No matter how tired, grumpy, irritated, or sick he is, Bob loves me and wants to take care of me. He needs to take care of my needs, to provide for me just as I need to be needed by him. I'm not his slave and I need to stop acting like it--especially as he NEVER asked me to be that!

Bob's reaction to this situation? Well, it was best summed up during a conversation where I tentatively (read: tiny little-girl voice) said, "So it's ok if I ask for that?"

"Well, of course! What, is this that new-age women's lib crap where you have no needs and are all self-sufficient?"

A little crass, but the point is valid. We, as women AND men, are NOT self-sufficient. Whether we realize it or not, we desperately need God and, second to Him, each other. If not, why were those the two commandments Jesus gave us? We are to love God and love one another. That means both give and take.

Honesty 101

As someone who works at a highly-regarded university in the Midwest in the Communications department, you would think that I'm a fairly good communicator. Like I teach my students when we cover the communication cycle, there is always interference (otherwise known as "noise") that makes messages garbled, misunderstood, or just plain nonsensical. One form of interference that I have to deal with daily is my poor hearing. I often rhyme out words I hear and it's especially difficult for me to hear well in crowded/noisy rooms. Not being able to understand others, especially when the people around me seem to be doing just fine, annoys me to no end--and I get discouraged, uncomfortable, and tend to withdraw from the group. My problem-solving skills tend to focus on what I can change about myself to work with others, not have others shift to work around me. After all, we're supposed to love our brothers (and sisters) more than ourselves...so wouldn't that mean just dealing with the problems and only focusing on them?

Not exactly. By not communicating my needs, especially ones that aren't that big of an issue (for the most part, no one would begrudge me asking for us to move to a quieter spot. After all, if I can better listen to them, then I can minister to them more--it becomes a win-win situation for all.), I'm only hurting myself and my friends/family. Ignoring my needs and emotions will only poison my time with these wonderful people and make me less of a good support for them. I have to be brave enough to ask for help and prayer with my own issues...and be honest about what's really going on.

The big issue? Fear. I'm afraid I'll lose my friends, my family, because I'm too needy or demanding or something like that. After all, it's happened before. By not being honest, though, I'm not encouraging a real relationship with these people--just empty or superficial shells of friendship and fellowship where I can't trust the person (and maybe the God within) with my vulnerabilities. A recent two-day talk with a very close friend about some serious miscommunications really drove this point home. I was so afraid of hurting her (because I knew how sensitive she was) so I didn't confront her appropriately with the results of some of her actions. Instead, I hid the pain and the discomfort, pretending to be my usual bubbly self. When I got to the point where I couldn't hide anymore, I nearly washed my hands of the relationship and ran away. Part of it was because I couldn't bear to witness the effects of my words on her. Part of it was because I didn't know how to tell her that I was angry and felt like I couldn't trust her sometimes. She meant (and still does mean) so much to me that I didn't want to risk losing her, but as I've learned recently, it's not a bad thing to be angry. Anger is a positive emotion--it's what you do with it (kill, vandalize, hide in the corner) that makes it a negative thing. After all, even the only perfect man who ever lived got angry (John 2:13-22). We did talk things out, and while I never expressed my feelings of betrayal, I think she got the point. If she didn't...I'll soon know.

Jesus commanded us to love one another (John 13:34). Part of love is being honest (1 Cor. 13:6). We can't hide behind fear and think our silence and crossed fingers will make everything better eventually. We have to be brave.

Daisy Love

I love you
I love you not
I love you
I love you not
A child’s game made to predict a choice
Of whether someone’s love would be given a voice
Searching for acceptance, forgiveness, and security
In the plucking of petals full of nature’s purity
Maybe it should be concerning, this turn to God’s inanimate creation
Instead of to the people designed to love in every nation
Why is it that we leave our hearts up to chance
Instead of trusting others in life’s tumultuous dance?
Again, the children have discovered the key
To why we have lost so much faith in “we”:
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your words will ever more hurt me
Bruises and cuts will heal
But words can steal
Our joy and peace
Hope is decreased
And when you’ve spoken and slammed me to the floor
My soul is crushed, my heart cries, “NO MORE!”
1 Corinthians 13 sounds more like a joke
Or some fantasy a romantic fool wrote—
Do we mean that word posted above our door,
Or is “love” something we have mixed meanings for?
Love means sacrifice—not always fun or easy
Love is not about what would best please me
Love means not grumbling when the lady ahead in line
Has to re-run her debit card for the thirteenth time
Love means not deliberately looking away
When a veteran with a sign needs food for the day
Love means confiding, not screaming to the world other people’s wrongs
Understanding that some lives really are like sad country songs
That what we really need is someone to listen, to encourage, to know
That the sinful person we are has great potential in Christ to grow
But when we love only with great hesitation
Saying that we are far above or different than that person’s station
And rebuke them with so much ill-tempered consternation
Are we destroying our Savior’s reputation?
He Who is in us is reflected in our words and actions
So what does the mirror show of our transactions?
When I haughtily describe a Brother’s mistakes
Does he see Jesus in my frowning face?
And when I look down on other people’s sins,
Is that God’s light shining from within?
When my comments online are scathing and unrefined
Is it “God loves you” or “I judge you” written between the lines?
Our country has given us the right of free speech
But do we use it to love or only to preach
How the world should acknowledge that I am always right
And getting behind me is the only solution in sight?
In a place called the land of the free and the home of the brave
Everything comes at a cost and few stand up to save.
Trusting in a human is like plucking a flower
You’re taking a chance in fallible power
Will what you find be worth the trouble and time
Or will you soon murmur that sad children’s rhyme?
It’s not the human, but the God in them we should trust
Loving them anyway, correcting gently when we must
Knowing that God’s love in a person’s heart
Doesn't make them perfect, but gives a good place to start
Changing the chant when others look our way
Showing them how God can teach us to say
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

Do Not Cross This Line

Any relationship has boundaries. There are a list of things you can and cannot do and say. For one of my clients to hug me would cross a boundary of professionalism, but not so with one of the little tykes I watch in the nursery at church. I know better than to go on and on about my thoughts on faith with one of my friends who is an athiest, but I can remark on the Bible as much as I like with my best friends. I can talk about sex and romance with my friends but not with my parents (ew!). Boundaries establish comfort zones, protect us from harm, and allow us to get along.

When boundaries are crossed, even inadvertently, big problems can result. I set up boundaries with a new friend of mine and he crossed the line. He didn't mean anything malicious by it at all--just a simple lapse in judgment. To be fair, I wasn't guarding the boundaries as well as I should have. Still, when that line was crossed, the reaction was strong. Fear, pain, anger, and sadness roiled inside me. I ended up crying and even briefly snapping at my friend before controlling my temper and trying to talk out the situation. When I realized how hurt he was, I felt guilty for my responses and buried the emotions, distracting myself and him.

Problem was, I didn't deal with the issues of a boundary being crossed--I just repressed it. It took a while the next day, with a good Christian female friend, to talk out the problem, see where I overreacted, understand how I was projecting past experiences onto this one (thus not seeing things reasonably or logically), and get my bearings back. I had to forgive my friend for doing what he did, especially since he apologized. I had to forgive myself for not guarding my boundaries. I had to remember that God forgave me, too. Knowing that things would still be ok, even better than ok, once I dealt with the emotions helped so much. Still, picking up the pieces is hard.

There's a phrase I hear every now and then: I forgive but I never forget. It often struck me as a contradiction, but there is a seed of truth in there. We do need to forgive, but we also can't forget the lesson learned. When that boundary was crossed, it hurt. Therefore, instead of putting ourselves in situations where those lines could be crossed again, we need to protect ourselves--not because we don't trust the other person(s), but because it's the best thing for everyone involved.

To be or not to be with you...

During Sunday's service, my pastor described a situation he was counseling a teenager through. This boy had some friends who weren't Christians, but he wanted to be a witness to them, hang out with them, and be there for them. Instead of being this great light for Christ, he was making some poor decisions to fit in with these friends. Our pastor's advice? Don't hang out with them anymore--block them from your phone if you have to and stop going to their house.

While I understood the logic behind the advice, a part of me didn't agree. We as Christians are commanded to witness to others, to share our faith, to show God's love. If the only people we associate with are Christians, then evangelizing becomes rather hard to do (to the point you may be literally preaching to the choir). After all, Jesus hung out with prostitutes and fishermen and (gasp!) the Roman IRS. We shouldn't cloister ourselves off unless the situation is truly dangerous, right?

What I've realized since is that while I should continue to befriend nonbelievers and include them in my life, they can't be my core circle of friends. I look back at some of the lowest and darkest points in my life, other times when I found myself really struggling with sin, and in every instance I see myself spending a lot of time with nonbelievers who encourage me (or participate) in that bad behavior. Like my pastor's wife says, it's like crabs in a bucket. When one tries to climb out, the others will actually pull him/her back down. It's very dangerous for a Christian--not only can we lose our ministry, but we can damage our relationship with God. I don't think that a fun evening with "the boys" is worth that.

So my final opinion? Caution and moderation, combined with strong, healthy relationships with believers to keep us accountable and uplifted. I know, it's the same opinion I have with sugar. Let's pray that I do better with my friendships than I do with my chocolate consumption.

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.

Timing

I had come in to the college an hour before I had to teach. After weaving my way through the empty student computer lab, I walked the couple yards to the employee work room where I usually held my office hours. I left the door open in my haste to get to work--I hadn't refreshed my memory on the story I had assigned in my American Literature course, and while I could have bumbled my way through well enough, I wanted to be well-prepared. Forty minutes passed and I was only 3/4 done with the in-depth analysis. A loud conversation drifted in through the room and my eyes stilled on the page. The students' voices were instantly familiar. One was quite loud, a girl lamenting to a guy about the email she had received a few days earlier.

"...and then she replies and says, 'Well, there are a few techniques I can show you, but it would be better if we could go over it in person.' Like that was going to help me, and now I'm completely lost and have no clue what to do."

The snippet confirmed exactly who the girl was--a student in my morning class...and she was talking about me. She had missed the previous class, and while she had claimed in the email to have been ill, I was told by one of her friends that she hadn't finished her paper and had elected not to come to class because of it (I still give the student the benefit of the doubt, but the other story rang true with the girl's personality). Had she come, she would have realized that all of her classmates were struggling and I spent the entire class period helping them revise and strengthen their papers--using techniques that worked much better for an in-person demonstration. To be honest, I could have described the methods to the girl in the e-mail, but I wanted to work with her one-on-one and encouraged her in the e-mail to make an appointment when she could for us to go over the material. She hadn't.

Leaving my prep work behind, I walked to the doorway, leaned against the doorjamb, and looked at the young woman. "Well, if you want, I can help you right now." Both the girl and the male classmate looked up with the expected expression.

Even plastic and acrylic can cry out, "Uh-oh."

The smile on my face had some underlying cheekiness to it, although I schooled my features to be as professional as possible. I had busted them, vividly proving the old addage that people should be careful what they say--someone could be listening. Since I knew I had done nothing wrong or inappropriate, I was more than willing to tease the young students. After all, I could have responded very negatively, and there was certainly some tension in the room. The male student transitioned from shock into amusement after ascertaining that I was not upset. The young woman remained angry and frustrated.

Heloise's Hint: back away slowly and offer chocolate/coffee/vice of choice.

She began ranting, still loud and angry, about how she didn't "get any of this stuff" and she was only in the class for financial aid purposes. She wanted to drop the class and it was "too hard to understand the reading." She burst into tears. I sat down next to her, my mood instantly changing. The subtext was screaming into my mind as though her thoughts came equipped with a megaphone. I'm stupid. I can't understand this. I never will. No one will help me. I'm beyond help. I feel trapped.

The other students in the room silently turned back to their computers or left the room, letting her have the modicum of privacy available in the public lab. I knew asking her to come to the office wasn't a move that she would respond well to, so I let her express her fears and frustration through the tears and occasional rants against the class. As she spoke, my mind flitted to a memory of a twenty-year-old woman who had stood before an older male professor. Her tears blocked all but the fuzziest appearance of the man as she admitted her inability to understand the grammatical structures he had talked about for a week. She felt stupid, alone, and trapped. Especially stupid. Although flabbergasted at the emotional response, the professor kindly gave up part of his lunch hour and stood in the empty classroom, demonstrating point-by-point the essence of a copula and antecedents, eventually stumbling across different ways of explanation so the young woman could finally grasp onto the definitions. I've never forgotten those concepts since that day.

All but ignoring the other students in the room, I sat by her side and waited until the emotional malestrom ebbed. I handed her a tissue, then reassured her that literary criticism was often hard to understand but she could do it. We discovered that a great deal of her problem was reading comprehension and worked together to decipher a 19th century essay. The time ticked past the point that I was to begin class, but I ignored the clock. At the moment, I had more important things to do.

When it comes to priorities, sometimes we just gotta smash the critters.

As a professor, it was my responsibility to start class on time--I had policies on tardiness for my students. If this had been just a week later, my boss would have been also in attendance for my semester evaluations. I was supposed to do something, and I chose not to. I knew that the ten or fifteen minutes it would take to finish encouraging this young woman back onto a positive track would not be the end of the world for the rest of my students. The young man she had spoken to would surely explain the situation, so no one would leave. They were all adults and perfectly capable of starting the discussion without me--or at least entertaining themselves (they chose the latter. Big surprise.). There was no way I would leave until I knew she was able to work on the paper on her own again--even if it meant she would miss the first half of class in order to have that precious time to do so.

Hours later, I started thinking about Jesus' parable about the lost sheep.

In this depiction, the sheep's black. Think about that (and not so much that Jesus oddly resembles Tom Cruise here).

Jesus said (in Luke 15:3-7, if you want to look it up) that he would leave the 99 to find the one lost lamb. I remember thinking when I first heard this story that it didn't quite make sense. Shouldn't he be worried about the big flock, too? Who's going to watch over them while Jesus goes looking for the single lost lamb? Is one lamb really worth the danger he could be putting the others in?

The point of the story isn't about the 99, though. They're fine, they're safe, and they can take care of themselves for the time being (note that He said He left them to look for the other lamb, not for infinity--this isn't abandonment but a shift in priorities; also, since God is omnipresent, He never *really* leaves...but that's a blog for another day.). Jesus is saying that He will pursue those who are lost and alone, afraid and frustrated. For a moment, in a very small way, I ministered to that student in a way that God ministered to me. By taking the time to really care, listen, and invest in her progress, I showed that she was important to me and I was willing to put the others, who were prepared, on hold in order to catch her up.

I'm not saying that "the greater good" isn't a good policy or that I should always pause my teaching for a single straggler (that is also what one-on-one conferences are for). I can't realistically afford to do this every single class period. I can, however, give her enough hope and faith in herself and in my attention to her that she can succeed even in an American Literature course. Maybe this will transfer to the rest of her college classes and, perhaps, to her life in general. Only God knows how far the ripples of this moment will reach in the pond of her life and in the lives of my other students. My prayer is that it will spread good to all involved...and lend a little sanity to an insane world.

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. :)

Held in Heaven

If you asked me if there was one thing I could change about how my relationship with God works, most days I'd probably say that I'd like to have regular, face-to-face conversations with Him where I could ask questions and get (hopefully) straight answers. That this sort of reduces the need for faith...well, that's an unfortunate side effect. Lately, though, my heart has been changing my usual answer to that "genie wish" question. I want some cuddle time with Jesus.

Squeeze as tight as you like.

We as human beings need to touch and be touched (although how much and to what degree varies widely). Babies can die if they aren't loved on enough. I'm a very touchy-feely person and adore hugs. I get a few each Sunday during our church's meet and greet...but there are times I need more than just that. I need a cuddle. When I was dating a guy, I practically glued myself to him on the few times I was able to see him because I was so desperate for that kind of safety, love, and security that comes with cuddling and hugging, holding and being held. Now that I'm single again, it's hard to find someone willing and able to be a cuddle buddy. I do have a teddy bear I still sleep with every night partially for this reason (and it keeps me from flipping over and squishing my cat at 3am).

This photo should be just as endearing and cute if she was in her thirties.

Still...cuddling with an inanimate object just isn't fulfilling enough. Sure, Beary Michael is a great listener and hasn't complained once, but he also gets thrown to the floor and ends up burning his fur on the heat registers (ever see a white bear with brown stripes?). He fits perfectly within my arms, but I can't remotely fit in his. I need something, someone, alive. My cat might work, but he's not remotely a lap cat (more like a proximity cat...he'll sleep with me occasionally and usually is in the same room, but rarely ever on my lap). So...my options are pretty much limited to humans now (especially as I'm no Brittney Spears and DO NOT find a python's squeeze remotely comforting).

Hugging humans is great...except for finding good situations for doing so. Most of my good friends who would qualify for cuddle buddies are extremely busy women...like me. :) I feel guilty talking to them on the phone for half an hour when I'm upset. Asking for even a five or ten-minute cuddle session seems absolutely ridiculous. Besides, finding opportunities or appropriate places for such sessions is even harder sometimes than finding someone to do it with.

Two is company...and this is just *WRONG*. If you have to put on nametags before cuddling, it's not a good cuddle. It's creepy (especially if you noticed some of those hands are on butts). Not cool.

One solution to my need for this kind of affection has been gifted to me in the form of children. I babysit for a couple of girls (9 and 11) while their mother is overseas. I've known the family for years, and am close to the girls anyway, but over the past month of babysitting after a three-year hiatus, I find myself becoming extremely affectionate towards the girls. I tussle their hair, tickle ribs, give hugs, and kiss their foreheads goodnight as I put them to bed. When we sack out to watch a movie, they usually curl up on the couch with me, letting me stroke their hair or trail my fingers up and down their arms like my mother used to do to me when I was sick as a child. They miss that female touch...and I'm more than willing to share in such moments. I want to be in their shoes, but can't. I can, however, live vicariously through them.

Someday...this will be me with my own daughter instead of a borrowed one.

Still, when their mother comes back next week, when school starts, when they are finally old enough not to really need a babysitter (which will happen all too soon), I'll be left without my two adorable cuddle buddies. God, in His infinite wisdom, put me in a church that already has a good smattering of babies and several more on the way. Babies. The perfect solution for a woman who needs physical attention. They need to be held and they hold onto you. They adore and love you (as long as they don't realize that they want their real mothers more at the moment) without judging...and think rocking to sleep is one of the best things in the world. What a coincidence--so do I.

Go on, baby. Make my day.

Still, I can't always grab my pastor's daughter from his wife's arms and carry her off for cuddle'n'fun time whenever I'm needing it. She's growing up...and her mother rather likes having her daughter around her (go figure). Even if God blesses me with a husband and a family of my own someday--which He may not, and for reasons I know are for the best for me and my ministry to others--I still won't have unlimited access to the kind of peace, comfort, love, and tranquility that comes from sweet hugs and being held/holding others. The world doesn't revolve around my desires (although if it did...wow. Talk about a huge blessing and a huge mess all in one :) ). That's why my deepest genie wish is for cuddle time with God. Omnipresent partners who are infinitely kind, loving, forgiving, giving, patient...it's the perfect situation. God can soothe my soul in the relationship we have now, and does on a daily basis. Many days, though...I want to be held by my Creator, have Him stroke my hair, and just love me in one of the most powerful ways I know. I think I'll spend at least half of my eternity in Heaven in that position. :)

Until I get to those bejeweled gates, though, I'm still looking for those cuddle partners, people made in the image of the One I love more than anyone else who can minister to me until I see Him face-to-face. Any takers, apply immediately.

Soon, God...soon.

Logic Bombs

A friend of mine was telling me the other day about a situation she found herself in a few years ago. She was at church and a few older people had mentioned that they didn't think her attire was quite appropriate for being in services. She saw absolutely nothing wrong with the outfit--it covered everything, was a moderate length, and there was only a tiny hint of cleavage (and she's a very buxom woman, so it's hard to avoid "showing the line"). Being judged isn't something any person wants to have happen, and some respond very strongly to this kind of scenario. I've seen women burst into tears immediately after the confrontation, locking themselves into bathroom stalls for nearly an hour. I've seen women decide to "give 'em a show" in order to contrast "truly inappropriate" attire with what they normally wore--in one case, a 30ish lady donned stripper heels, a miniskirt that didn't even cover the bottom of her bottom, and a top that left nothing to the imagination.

You don't have to cover every inch of skin, but the congregation can't blur you out, either.

I can understand that instinct to pull out the logic bomb on people who, to us, have such ridiculous opinions that it offends us. I've had students deem me as stupid and apalling due to my weight right in front of me and during class. At that moment, I pulled out the biggest logic bomb I had and let it explode all over their judging faces. Not only did I disprove that fat people are always jolly (my German-Austrian temper was highly evident), but I also pulled their logic out and showed all the holes involved in making assumptions about people simply because of outward appearances. Problem was, we as humans make assumptions all the time. If I see someone who looks like they're a heavy drug user fiddling around my car when there are no other cars parked remotely close to mine, I'm going to suspect that they're trying to break in and steal something. It's a defensive mechanism that originates within our primal instincts of survival.

While I'm sure the rhyme has helped many a person stay safe when dealing with snakes, I just scream and run no matter what they look like--that way instead of a 50% chance, I'm hitting closer to 100% of surviving the encounter.

We should confront those with mistaken assumptions, especially if they are potentially damaging to other people, and logic bombs can help. Paul pulled one in Galations 2:11-16. Peter was falling back into his legalistic ways and, due to being a major influence on so many, was causing others to fall away from the truth. In front of the others, Paul chastises his friend and mentor, reminding him, and those following him, of the truth.

Sometimes a logic bomb can go the wrong way, though, blowing true logic all to pieces instead of demolishing falsehoods. (If you don't believe me, go to the E.R. on Independence Day and count all the injuries from fireworks that "weren't supposed to do that.") The woman who decided to channel her inner Brittney Spears and let it all hang out in church? It was definitely an explosive move...and not one that necessarily reflects the point she was trying to make--that she has discernment when it comes to dressing. Yes, showing up the "enemy" can be very self-satisfying. Doing so, however, is not always the most effective at actually resolving the situation. Those students in my class learned that I was a caring, very intelligent, and capable person not through my outburst but through my day-to-day dealings with them in the class. I had one-on-one conferences with them over their papers that really highlighted just how much I knew...and how much I could really teach them.

What should we do when we find ourselves chastised for something we don't see as wrong? Well, there are a few options. Talk to the people involved, find out why they have the issue, and see if you can come to an understanding (sometimes we really do have to "agree to disagree" and let it go at that). If they are staunch on the issue, especially if they claim it is tempting/harming others, then the Bible clearly states what our solution has to be: give it up. We wouldn't have wine bottles everywhere when inviting a recovering alcoholic to our house, so why would we flash cleavage and thigh at men who are recovering adulterers or porn addicts? If we want others to respect our choices and needs, we need to respect theirs. Otherwise, we're heading for war...and those bombs really hurt.

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.

Lessons for the Teacher, Part I

Part of what makes an excellent leader, and teacher, is the desire and ability to continue learning. For teachers, it's often called professional development. We have days set aside every semester for us to get together and talk, discuss policies, share teaching strategies. There are conferences where we can meet people from across the state or even across the country. We leave perhaps tired from the travel, but inspired and exhilirated, ready to take on the challenges of educating others all over again.

The problem with conferences is not just the cost, or the travel, but rather the infrequency of them. While I was a graduate student at Truman, I was able to go to three major educational conferences, mostly because there was funding available for us. Since graduating, these incredible large-scale meetings of like-minded people have been mostly out of my reach. There's little to no funding on the community college level, and since I work two jobs, getting out of responsibilities for five or more days at a time is a huge challenge at best. The euphoric inspiration, the feeling of belonging, and the excitement of being in this field at this time fades quickly as I reenter reality. If only I could have these experiences more often, get this sort of refueling on a regular, even weekly or daily, basis.

Thing is, I can.

The center of my life, the rock that keeps everything else grounded, is God. Just as I want to excel in my profession, I desire even more to excel in my walk with Him. I don't need to depend on the occasional revivals, camp meetings, or brilliant "lightbulb" moments that come once in a while and dissipate as I forget the lessons learned. What I need are the daily reminders and weekly meetings with like-minded Christians.

Enter "Quiet Time" and "Church."

Church isn't as much of an issue as it used to be. After years of allowing fear to keep me from taking a chance on a place to fellowship and worship, I have found a church home that ministers to my heart. I have rediscovered old friends, made new ones, and am touched by the truth and beauty in the people there. Quiet time...is another matter. My family and the few women who have either been blessed or cursed by having to live with me all know that daily regimens, outside personal hygiene, are not one of my strong suits. Vitamins. Daily writing time. Exercise. Reading. Homework. You name a habit, I've tried, and failed, over and over, to develop and keep it. I've tried methods to help me, ranging from positive reinforcement, accountability partners (who either forget or are fooled by my tricks to "get out of trouble"), punishment, deprivation, and even financial retribution. Nothing works for long. That first day that I let myself slide, that I say it's ok for me to skip...is the beginning of the end.

If I want to see God working in my life, if I'm sincere about my desire to be an instrument for Him, if I want to weather life's storms better than "just surviving," then I need to get with God's program. As many have said, "How would your significant other feel if you didn't talk to them every day, only called when they needed something, or made excuses every time you wanted to spend time with them?" I understood this before I had a boyfriend, but now that I'm in a serious relationship where we DO talk every day, I see the huge impact this has a lot more clearly...and I'm feeling the guilt.

Thing is, guilt isn't to punish us, but to push us into action. If we feel bad about lying, then we need to be honest. If we feel bad about isolating ourselves, then we need to take a chance and fellowship. If we feel bad because we're using/ignoring God, then we need to take time to be with Him.

It's not going to be easy. I have lots of excuses. I'm making a committment, though, starting today, that I'm going to challenge myself to be the best daughter of the King I can be. One small step at a time, one goal at a time; the most important one I can have is my relationship with God.

Step 1, Day 1: Daily time, set aside, to read my Bible and pray (not just for what I want/need, but to really talk/commune with God).