I'm addicted to Facebook...to a point, anyway. A certain somebody in my life can distract me well from my online pursuits. Ah, well, enough mushy stuff--back to the point. I love Facebook, being able to see pictures of my friends and family, keeping up with status updates, and even being reminded when I've forgotten someone's birthday.
I also like creative endeavors on Facebook. I've been known to upload pics and narrate them, leave quirky statuses, and play around with my quotes page. I posted a few statuses (stati?) that reveal two warring issues in my life--and no, I'm not talking about the plethora revealing that I'm having a hard time healing from my oral surgery (more about that drama later).
"I still don't know if I have a job come spring. May find out in a few weeks...or later. This is what I get for praying for patience."
"I wish I could whittle down responsibilities so I could just spend some quality time with the keyboard. I miss writing. I miss editing. I miss creating something that can really touch others."
Now, smart reader, you may already be seeing what the future foretells for this blog entry. I got my answer as far as a job situation: instead of the full-time with benefits job I was praying for, I received a part-time job at the maximum contract hours possible. I am thrilled to have a job and am very pleased with what I received--don't get me wrong. I do wish I could have picked up just one more class and therefore would be living at a much-higher salary and have health insurance. The thing is...look at the other status update. My heart has been longing to write.
I've rejoined the masses at NaNoWriMo again, but I have no delusions that I will ever reach anything close to 50,000 words this month (I have about 3,000 currently). There is just way too much going on in my life for such a project. Come spring, however, with working just one part-time job that only requires me to come into work 2-3 days a week, I'll have plenty of time to write. I'll also have days off to work on some home renovations, strengthening my relationship with my new love, and helping my family. God gave me my desires. I shouldn't be sad that I didn't get everything that I wanted.
I've had a lot of people tell me that things are really looking great for me and that I'm "living the high life." I would look around at my still part-time employment, lack of benefits, solid hit to my budget, and frustrations over stress and health and wonder what on earth they saw. Taking a step back, and having someone actually list things off for me, showed me that I should be counting my blessings. I:
*have a job. Not to be taken for granted in this economy.
*have a job that actually lets me be what I trained to be--a teacher (instead of other master's-level students who are now working at Wal-Mart as cashiers).
*have fairly good health, upgraded once my mouth heals.
*have the ability to pay for most of my doctor's visits, and am on 0% interest plans for the others.
*have a great church family and biological family who love me.
*have lots of extra things not many people can afford, like an iPod and a good cell phone plan with free texting.
*have a car that doesn't break down too often and is usually fixable for under $500.
*have a man who is sweeping me off my feet and loves me even when I'm unlovable.
*have, most of all, a wonderful relationship with Christ. Eternal salvation makes all this other drama and glitter fade to nothing.
So, I'll stop being a little glum and disappointed. I will be smiling and bubbly about the great things in life instead of all the stressors. I will thank God for giving me time to slow down and use the talents He has given me. I will also appreciate 1/2 of the grading, since I never seem to get any of that done anyway. :)
Showing posts with label slowing down. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slowing down. Show all posts
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
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. :)
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. :)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Can You Hear Me Now?
When it comes to prayer, maybe I just don't listen very well. I've never heard God "speaking" to me, audibly or in my mind. I usually get answers by a sense of peace, situations changing, opportunities arising, the advice of good friends, or reading the Bible. There's never been a time where I hear a great booming voice (or even a still, small one) challenging me to sacrifice my first-born son--quite the feat as the closest thing I have to a child is my cat, and the first-born one died decades ago--or to go preach the gospel in Ninevah (ironically the name of the town where my church is located). That is, until Sunday.
I'll be posting several of the things I learned at the ACFW conference, but one moment I want to memorialize early is when I first really heard God. No, I wasn't on anything besides asparagus for breakfast (still not sure how a five-star hotel justified this...two days in a row). I felt compelled to go to the prayer room after the morning worship instead of my continuing education class. I began praying about the conference, my meetings with editors/agents, the women and men I had met and their needs/hopes/dreams, and my confusion and fears over all the drama in my life currently. When I poured out to God everything I had taken onto my plate over the past few months and how overwhelmed I felt, the fear that had ruled over much of my life lately felt so intense in the small room. It was at this moment that I heard three words spoken into my mind. I know it wasn't me who came up with them because it wasn't a voice I recognized (my talk-to-myself voice is rather like my own but with a bit of a southern drawl...and now y'all are wondering what meds I'm on again...shame, shame). It was powerful, sure, strong, and vaguely male. Just three words.
Rest in Me.
It summed up everything I needed to hear in one small, powerful package. I wasn't trusting God like I should have. All my anxieties, all my fears, all my insecurities could be conquered with a simple imperative sentence (and God has good grammar...that's encouraging). All I have to do is just what is right before me--and let God handle the rest. I also need to let go of my safety nets, my human measures to protect myself, and allow the most powerful being in the universe to be in control.
Easier said, I know. But it's starting to be done. Already I feel better, lighter, more hopeful.
Although that might also be the chocolate I just ate. :)
I'll be posting several of the things I learned at the ACFW conference, but one moment I want to memorialize early is when I first really heard God. No, I wasn't on anything besides asparagus for breakfast (still not sure how a five-star hotel justified this...two days in a row). I felt compelled to go to the prayer room after the morning worship instead of my continuing education class. I began praying about the conference, my meetings with editors/agents, the women and men I had met and their needs/hopes/dreams, and my confusion and fears over all the drama in my life currently. When I poured out to God everything I had taken onto my plate over the past few months and how overwhelmed I felt, the fear that had ruled over much of my life lately felt so intense in the small room. It was at this moment that I heard three words spoken into my mind. I know it wasn't me who came up with them because it wasn't a voice I recognized (my talk-to-myself voice is rather like my own but with a bit of a southern drawl...and now y'all are wondering what meds I'm on again...shame, shame). It was powerful, sure, strong, and vaguely male. Just three words.
Rest in Me.
It summed up everything I needed to hear in one small, powerful package. I wasn't trusting God like I should have. All my anxieties, all my fears, all my insecurities could be conquered with a simple imperative sentence (and God has good grammar...that's encouraging). All I have to do is just what is right before me--and let God handle the rest. I also need to let go of my safety nets, my human measures to protect myself, and allow the most powerful being in the universe to be in control.
Easier said, I know. But it's starting to be done. Already I feel better, lighter, more hopeful.
Although that might also be the chocolate I just ate. :)
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Little Moments
The clock in the living room ticks and tocks at a slight echo to the one in the kitchen, creating a surround-sound atmosphere of time passing me by. Every second comes, goes, and is never to return. When thinking of time in this slightly off-tempo beat of seconds, it's almost frightening. I'm aging in this chair, my clean skin from my recent shower already compiling oils, my hair acquiring a minute sheen that will end up turning my bouncy curls into somewhat-stringy locks by the end of the night. My watch battery will have lost some of its juice, my stomach will be empty and hungry yet again, and I will have failed to complete everything on my to-do list.
Right now, though, instead of forcing myself out the door to face a hugely-full day of teaching three classes, office hours, and preparing to hand over my third part-time job to a new person, I'm sitting in the most comfortable seat in my house. A cat is curled up alongside my hip and the top of my left leg, snoring softly as he warms my jean-clad thigh. Little One tends to annoy me more often than not. He'll beg to be let out, then run away and hide several times before you can either catch him and throw him out or he decides he's finally ready. He'll steal my food and watch me like a hawk while I'm eating, taking any opportunity presented to swipe some cheese or lick my yogurt. He insists on accompanying me to the bathroom because, after all, I'm just "sitting there" and have plenty of time to pet him. (I'm learning to try to head him off with a well-angled foot and shut the door firmly behind me.) Right now, though, he's being precious. A lap cat to the core, he is taking the chill from the air and telling me he trusts me, wants me, and thinks I'm the most comfortable spot in the house. Considering where all he sleeps, that's a rather nice compliment.
I should be putting on some eyeliner, grabbing something for breakfast, checking my three school e-mail accounts, and heading out the door to start my day. The quiet, punctuated only by half-purred snores and time ticking away, is intoxicating. Comforting. The kind of morning moment I want so much more than the drama that comes with my three jobs. I'm taking the time to write a little, pray, and consider just how much chocolate I will buy today so I can make it through the next week. It's a nice little moment that will end in just a few seconds. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Right now, though, instead of forcing myself out the door to face a hugely-full day of teaching three classes, office hours, and preparing to hand over my third part-time job to a new person, I'm sitting in the most comfortable seat in my house. A cat is curled up alongside my hip and the top of my left leg, snoring softly as he warms my jean-clad thigh. Little One tends to annoy me more often than not. He'll beg to be let out, then run away and hide several times before you can either catch him and throw him out or he decides he's finally ready. He'll steal my food and watch me like a hawk while I'm eating, taking any opportunity presented to swipe some cheese or lick my yogurt. He insists on accompanying me to the bathroom because, after all, I'm just "sitting there" and have plenty of time to pet him. (I'm learning to try to head him off with a well-angled foot and shut the door firmly behind me.) Right now, though, he's being precious. A lap cat to the core, he is taking the chill from the air and telling me he trusts me, wants me, and thinks I'm the most comfortable spot in the house. Considering where all he sleeps, that's a rather nice compliment.
I should be putting on some eyeliner, grabbing something for breakfast, checking my three school e-mail accounts, and heading out the door to start my day. The quiet, punctuated only by half-purred snores and time ticking away, is intoxicating. Comforting. The kind of morning moment I want so much more than the drama that comes with my three jobs. I'm taking the time to write a little, pray, and consider just how much chocolate I will buy today so I can make it through the next week. It's a nice little moment that will end in just a few seconds. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Distractions...
Just as prevalent as air molecules, just as dangerous as a drunk driver going 80 on a gravel road, just as persistent as a two-year-old fixated on a Dora doll...
Distractions. They're everywhere. It can be something we see, feel, smell, or think about. An odd sound, an old memory, a tickle at the nape of our neck. Some of it is due to our survival instincts, our need to be aware of our surroundings to be protected against danger (which is why I scream bloody murder when I finally feel the light tapping of spider legs against my leg--a deaf spider can't bite you because he's too busy howling in pain over his burst eardrums). Some of it is just environmental or the curse of a racing mind (my thoughts could beat Usain Bolt--love that last name--in a foot race any day). Some of it, though, is purposeful.
"I need a distraction." I've said this many times lately, a remark reflecting on my extremely busy and hectic life. I've spent hours chasing after distractions, letting my to-do list ferment in my purse as I instead watch a cute kid's movie, hang out with friends and family, and let this deliciously handsome man intent on courting me have the pleasure of my company for several hours. The people around me ask if I'm busy, and of course I am. I have lots of lesson plans to make and keep up with. I have a website that is a full month behind schedule for release. I have a novel to do a few last-minute touch-ups on. I have gradebooks to set up, attendance records to update, and mounds of paperwork to complete, file, and organize. What I need is to sit my butt down and get to work. What I want is to go dancing with my sweetheart, bake cookies until 2am, watch some TV (because I hardly ever get to during the school year), and snuggle with my cat. And sleep. Miss that terribly.
Someone fairly wise for his very young age told me once that I do way too much and need to take more time out each day for "fun" things--activities to rejuvenate my spirit and brighten my mood. Otherwise I'd end up bitter. Not good. The hazard is to create a good balance--I need to get my tasks done, but also live joyfully each day. I need to focus...instead of surfing about on Facebook for a few hours. I need to just get through that to-do list...instead of playing Freecell for thirty minutes while listening to an audiobook. I need to be grading...instead of watching YouTube videos (or uploading my own).
This week, my challenge is to make that to-do list and get through the whole thing by Friday so I can enjoy my last weekend before the conference. Praying for strength and concentration...now.
Distractions. They're everywhere. It can be something we see, feel, smell, or think about. An odd sound, an old memory, a tickle at the nape of our neck. Some of it is due to our survival instincts, our need to be aware of our surroundings to be protected against danger (which is why I scream bloody murder when I finally feel the light tapping of spider legs against my leg--a deaf spider can't bite you because he's too busy howling in pain over his burst eardrums). Some of it is just environmental or the curse of a racing mind (my thoughts could beat Usain Bolt--love that last name--in a foot race any day). Some of it, though, is purposeful.
"I need a distraction." I've said this many times lately, a remark reflecting on my extremely busy and hectic life. I've spent hours chasing after distractions, letting my to-do list ferment in my purse as I instead watch a cute kid's movie, hang out with friends and family, and let this deliciously handsome man intent on courting me have the pleasure of my company for several hours. The people around me ask if I'm busy, and of course I am. I have lots of lesson plans to make and keep up with. I have a website that is a full month behind schedule for release. I have a novel to do a few last-minute touch-ups on. I have gradebooks to set up, attendance records to update, and mounds of paperwork to complete, file, and organize. What I need is to sit my butt down and get to work. What I want is to go dancing with my sweetheart, bake cookies until 2am, watch some TV (because I hardly ever get to during the school year), and snuggle with my cat. And sleep. Miss that terribly.
Someone fairly wise for his very young age told me once that I do way too much and need to take more time out each day for "fun" things--activities to rejuvenate my spirit and brighten my mood. Otherwise I'd end up bitter. Not good. The hazard is to create a good balance--I need to get my tasks done, but also live joyfully each day. I need to focus...instead of surfing about on Facebook for a few hours. I need to just get through that to-do list...instead of playing Freecell for thirty minutes while listening to an audiobook. I need to be grading...instead of watching YouTube videos (or uploading my own).
This week, my challenge is to make that to-do list and get through the whole thing by Friday so I can enjoy my last weekend before the conference. Praying for strength and concentration...now.
Friday, July 16, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
A Wake-Up Call....without the hotel bill.
It's been nearly a year. Wow. Talk about not following through. :) It'd be ridiculous for me to try to post an entire year's worth of news, musings, and revelations. That's something I can use to fill in future days when I feel I have nothing/little to say (and those who live around me...know that is never really true).
How do I restart a part of my life so obviously abandoned? With the truth.
I was recently prompted (read: coerced) into going to the doctor. I had ignored a persistent fever and a myraid of other symptoms for two weeks...and some of the people I love were worried, especially my boyfriend. Wait--scratch that. He was not worried. He was concerned. Learned that distinction.
The sinus infection was a new deal, but not wholly unexpected. The other news...dropped me like a wobbly water balloon down five stories onto the college freshman-littered sidewalk below. My blood pressure was sky-high. Granted, I had excuses. I've been sick for two weeks. I had only two hours of sleep the night previous. It's the most stressful time of the year for me--approaching finals. Didn't matter to the doctor. He gave me an ultimatum: start taking care of myself and get on a medication for the problem, or end up having a heart attack/stroke at the ripe old age of 25. I got the prescription filled within the hour.
God (and many other people--maybe He was speaking through them, maybe it was just that obvious) has been trying to get through my stubborn, willful, self-sacrificing head for a long time that I am doing way too much. I'll argue the point until...well...I have a heart attack. I've always worked multiple jobs, sometimes two or three while going to school full-time. I'm used to having lots of committments, using the stress to get me through the long hours of the day. I thrive on being needed, being wanted--and what better way to constantly feel needed/wanted than to put your hand in as many projects as possible? This, however, is not God's plan. At least, it's not for me. Facing the very real prospect of an impending premature death rather emphasizes this.
I've been worried about losing half of my teaching contract this fall, not finding a full-time with benefits job teaching at a college, trying to deal with the insecurities of a long-distance relationship. What God has been waiting, much more patiently than I ever could, for is for me to stop and really sit and listen to him. Instead of burning my candle at both ends and six different places along the middle, He wants me to be a steady, strong light to others. He has given me gifts for teaching, writing, ministering, creating, loving. I can't use any of these to the best of my abilities if I don't follow His plan for them.
So here's a step in the right direction. I'm going to keep up with my blog, using this platform to minister to others who are involved in academia, are writers, both, or neither. I'm going to stop fussing internally about money and trust that God will provide (and that I really don't need to overspend like I tend to do). I'm going to enact more self-discipline to make myself more dependent on God and independent of the world. It's going to be a long road, but I'm anxious to start walking.
Well, maybe not at 12:30am. Perhaps I should start another positive habit, getting enough sleep each night, and discuss some the particulars...later. :)
Take care, all, and welcome to a new chapter.
How do I restart a part of my life so obviously abandoned? With the truth.
I was recently prompted (read: coerced) into going to the doctor. I had ignored a persistent fever and a myraid of other symptoms for two weeks...and some of the people I love were worried, especially my boyfriend. Wait--scratch that. He was not worried. He was concerned. Learned that distinction.
The sinus infection was a new deal, but not wholly unexpected. The other news...dropped me like a wobbly water balloon down five stories onto the college freshman-littered sidewalk below. My blood pressure was sky-high. Granted, I had excuses. I've been sick for two weeks. I had only two hours of sleep the night previous. It's the most stressful time of the year for me--approaching finals. Didn't matter to the doctor. He gave me an ultimatum: start taking care of myself and get on a medication for the problem, or end up having a heart attack/stroke at the ripe old age of 25. I got the prescription filled within the hour.
God (and many other people--maybe He was speaking through them, maybe it was just that obvious) has been trying to get through my stubborn, willful, self-sacrificing head for a long time that I am doing way too much. I'll argue the point until...well...I have a heart attack. I've always worked multiple jobs, sometimes two or three while going to school full-time. I'm used to having lots of committments, using the stress to get me through the long hours of the day. I thrive on being needed, being wanted--and what better way to constantly feel needed/wanted than to put your hand in as many projects as possible? This, however, is not God's plan. At least, it's not for me. Facing the very real prospect of an impending premature death rather emphasizes this.
I've been worried about losing half of my teaching contract this fall, not finding a full-time with benefits job teaching at a college, trying to deal with the insecurities of a long-distance relationship. What God has been waiting, much more patiently than I ever could, for is for me to stop and really sit and listen to him. Instead of burning my candle at both ends and six different places along the middle, He wants me to be a steady, strong light to others. He has given me gifts for teaching, writing, ministering, creating, loving. I can't use any of these to the best of my abilities if I don't follow His plan for them.
So here's a step in the right direction. I'm going to keep up with my blog, using this platform to minister to others who are involved in academia, are writers, both, or neither. I'm going to stop fussing internally about money and trust that God will provide (and that I really don't need to overspend like I tend to do). I'm going to enact more self-discipline to make myself more dependent on God and independent of the world. It's going to be a long road, but I'm anxious to start walking.
Well, maybe not at 12:30am. Perhaps I should start another positive habit, getting enough sleep each night, and discuss some the particulars...later. :)
Take care, all, and welcome to a new chapter.
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