Destiny

My father, though not prophetically, spoke a number of things over my life.

He said I would not just teach violin, but that I would be business-minded and run a music school. Check.

He said I would be independent and buy a condominium rather than pay rent. Semi-check. I live in a townhouse.

He said I would set up a studio in my house, and work for myself. Check.

He said I would always be mature for my age, and that my 20s would be frustrating and lonely as I watched my friends go off and get married, albeit to irresponsible, immature guys who I would never want a relationship with anyway, while I waited around for people to show up who could keep up with me. Check. And run on sentence.

There you have it. My life, according to my father. I know he's happy with me and what I've accomplished, and I do feel good about that. He doesn't seem to expect any more out of me, which makes me feel like a success and not a disappointment. I also feel incomplete. Shouldn't there be more of a goal for my life than developing my career and buying a starter home? What happens from here? Don't I have a destiny? This can't be my destiny. The rest of my life cannot possibly be just hanging out here, where I'm at now.

I want to go forward. I want there to be something - a lot of somethings - to achieve and fulfill in my lifetime. I want purpose, not just existence. I want to move, and change, and grow. I don't want to stop and say "this is good enough". Especially at 25.

Two (random) Thoughts

1 - You have to be crazy to kill your spouse by poisoning them with gold (inspired by the House episode "Clueless"). How much must you have to hate someone to kill them, anyway, and think just because it's with gold you will get away with it. No one gets away with murder! But, the creepy thing is, people must, and no one can know or they wouldn't get away with it. I wonder how many people get away with murder?

1A - I overuse and misuse the word creepy.

1B - Now, murder is a label on my blog. Hysterical.

2 - How can people believe that "sending good vibes" works, but prayer doesn't? All spirituality taken out of it, prayer still wins. Good vibes is good thoughts. Prayer is good thoughts + taking it to a higher power than ourselves. How can prayer not be a viable option?

Empowered

My work computer is an old (PowerPC) white iMac. When I walked in this morning there were pen marks on the white plastic surrounding the monitor. The bottom, in obvious kid writing, said "NOO", and on the top of the monitor "Loser" was written. I wasn't especially offended because I knew what had happened - my boss' son had done it. He'd write "loser" on anything. I told her, she clearly felt horribly, and within minutes her husband knew.

Great.

So, he comes into my office and start cleaning the computer. I find something to do in another room, but honestly, there isn't much to do but wait, so I go back in when I see the writing is mostly off. Of course, he starts on another rant about parking.

I listen for a bit.
I present my case. "I wasn't here last night at 7:30pm - there's nothing I could do".
He gets more upset and says "You need to listen to me"
I say "Actually, I have the right to walk out. Your wife and I discussed it after last week." I moved towards the door.


He starts screaming for his wife/my boss, and she comes over, and recognizing he's flipping out, yet again. "Let's go, Kristin" she says, and we walk out of the room. He comes following us, yelling, and my boss says "Kristin, go take a drive".

Maria seems concerned when I'm leaving.

So I walk out, and drive to the library, which is where I am now, typing.

I'm upset about the situation - clearly unhealthy work environment that I need to get out of.
But, I feel empowered at the same time. This time, I didn't take his crap. And now I've set a new precedent - you don't talk to me that way. You don't disrespect me.

Blogging About Blogs

I read a blog post earlier today on being sick and single. The author, a male, said he didn't find himself constantly thinking about his singleness, but when he was sick with a flu actively wanted a wife. He commented that he knew his roommates could help take care of him if he asked, but that didn't really cover it - he also wanted comfort.

I liked two specific things about the blog.
First, he didn't go on to say that in that moment God came and wrapped His arms around him and he felt comforted. I get that God is a father and a comforter. I get that we are to go to God with our needs and desires - He is to be our provider. But when you're in a place of tangible need that advice just doesn't cut it - at least for me. God hasn't cooked me dinner when I get home at 11:00pm, hungry and exhausted. Jesus hasn't done my laundry. People have wiped away my tears before, but God's fingers haven't done that. I'm not trying to downplay His sovereignty, really.What I am saying about this is two things. Point One, sometimes the "God can be that" advice, while true, isn't helpful. Sometimes, it just makes you angrier and most upset. I appreciate when people are knowledgeable and respectful of that, and able to give more pointed, specific, biblical advice. Point two, is it not also appropriate to pray for God's providence? In my opinion, praying for God to BE my everything and praying for God to PROVIDE for my everything are very different things. I don't think the second undermines the sovereignty of God, I think it just opens my heart up for him to use other people, things, ideas, in my life, as well. I've heard/read plenty of times that people say to have God be your spouse if you are single. Okay - right idea, but incomplete idea. God's big enough, and good enough, to be comfort and to provide comfort.


Second, the guy who wrote the sick blog post said that he looks forward to the privilege of providing comfort (among other things) to his future wife. Cool. I share his sentiments exactly, except with a husband. What a privilege it is to love.

Melancholy

Monday afternoon wasn't the first time my boss' husband verbally assaulted me. It gets worse each time - and this time he was in my face, yelling and swearing, while clients were in the adjacent two rooms. He spent the next 12 hours periodically sending me angry e-mails that I couldn't really decipher.

Quote:
how about communication? How about saying "Hey, this is a groovy experiance, but don't bumm the ride, keep the ride groovy like a Steve Reeves movie. You need to park here". How hard is that?

What does that mean? He was clearly on a 12 hour tiraid, I think about where a silver Cadillac had parked, but aside from that it was just paragraphs of similar sounding stuff. I timidly walked into work on Tuesday morning and was glad to find he was not there. My boss walked into my office a few minutes later, surprised that I had even come into work. She was embarrassed and apologetic, and we discussed future handling of similar situations. I still felt upset; upset, hurt, and even a bit scared.

At my counseling appointment yesterday I explained the incident to my counselor. We discussed a lot of things - how to handle this man, how to handle my boss, when to give up and quit.
"Everything is always so difficult," I said.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Maybe this feeling has to do with the lost relationship. Would you feel that everything is so difficult if you still had it?" Yes, I'd told him, and recounted a time when I had had a bad day at work and even purposeful attempts at cheering me up had not worked.

The counselor argued back. He said there was something about having a person there and knowing they will be there, even if my mood didn't change, that makes a difference. When he said that, I remembered using the phrase "sit with" when I'd felt hurt and upset in the past. Experientially, I can't remember this (which is odd), but intellectually I can. "Sitting with" wasn't about talking or solving a problem - it was just about having another person there; companionship.

I started feeling less hurt, and more sad, after that. I thought about the bigger picture of Monday/Tuesday - what it means action-wise for me from this point forward. The difficult choices and actions I will need to take. I'm sure people will pray. I'm sure people will talk through things with me. But I do not think anybody will walk through it with me.

"Melancholy" means "thoughtful sadness" and that is exactly how I feel. People who I have seen and spoken to today would not say I was sad. I've laughed and smiled and been in a generally good mood. I think I look cute today (that seems related, somehow). But as my brain processes what I need to do, where I need to go, and that I'm going alone, well, then I feel sad.

So I will walk down the road ahead of me; thoughtfully, sadly, and somewhat alone. But I will do it, and that is the important part.

Triggers

I hit my left thumb with a hammer once. It hurt, but I wasn't especially injured. No one nearby noticed, even. I just had a small dark mark towards the bottom of my nail. As I watched the dark spot grow up my nail for the next month or two I remembered that incident and the events of the day. I remembered what I was wearing. I remembered the moonlight. I remembered my conversations and my feelings.

On the way to MADJam a few years ago I noticed a sliver on the palm of my right hand. At least I thought it was a sliver, so I made a mental note to remember to pull it out when I get back home in the few days. I forgot - for a few months. After I'd remembered I found myself sitting at Salim's dining room table, screaming. Steve was sitting across from me holding my hand face up with one hand, and an exacto blade in the other. I screamed and squirmed. I didn't trust him to cut my hand opened. I didn't look like a sliver to me, anymore. So he let go of my hand, and went on a rant about other people who had let him cut out their slivers. I was hurt, and stomped out to my car. I looked at my intact hand, the little brown mark right under my thumb, and thought "whenever I look at this, I'll think of arguing with Steve". And I do. I remember it so well, like it was just yesterday.

I stared at my driveway for a good few minutes on Wednesday night. It was dark outside. I turned the light on the side of the house on and off, trying to get a good view without any glare. There was a shiny spot on the brand new blacktop, but I was hoping it wasn't shiny. I was hoping that it was blue.

Until my driveway was repaved on Wednesday there was a small section of blue spray paint spots on it. I knew it would be a memory trigger the minute I saw it. And indeed, I remembered. I remembered a phone conversation with my mom; "Kristin, lots of women have just developed a headache over the years. . . ". I remembered the clothes I was wearing, I remember changing my clothes. I remembered eating rice with soy sauce for dinner, and seeing a woodpecker. I remembered carrying my computer down the stairs. I remembered laying on the sofa half asleep until 3:00am. I remembered.

I thought I'd forget. The day a letter came in the mailing, telling me the paving dates, I felt sad. I didn't want to lose my spot, my comforting memory trigger, my memories. But I have them all - without the triggers (though I do sometimes wonder about all the things I have forgotten over time). I suppose maybe the trigger isn't some unusual thing, but just my brain.

Laughing

A few days ago my friend Mike asked me how I was. I said "good", and he told me I was transparent, and he knew it wasn't true. He's one of the few people I someone manage not to trick lately. I put on a mask every morning when I leave my house - a mask that smiles, and says "I'm happy with my life, and I am capable".

When I take the mask off each day my face feels heavy. My real face says, "I'm unhappy. I don't feel loved by anyone. I'm overworked and overwhelmed. How is it that I work so hard for nothing?" The real face doesn't smile. Hasn't smiled, in a long time. . .

Until this afternoon, that is. After feeling short of breath and dizzy for most of the day, I was happy to take a break from working with the day camp kids and teach a violin lesson with a 10 year old girl who I've worked with for a few years. To make playing her review songs more fun, I came up with a game to play them in a random order. She would roll the dice, and whatever number it landed on was the number song we would play. Our efforts at being random didn't work. Alexa rolled a 2 (we changed the number 1 to 7, so 2 was first), then a 3, then 4, and when she rolled a 5 next we couldn't believe it.

Song #5, called "Oh Come Little Children" is the first song Suzuki students learn that starts on an up bow, and usually they forget this. Sometimes I remind them ahead of time, other times I don't, to see if they remember on their own. After Alexa rolled her #5 she ran back over to the piano as I played the introduction, with no up bow warning. Alexa played the first note a down bow, realized it by the second note, just when I did, and screeched her bow to a halt. I stopped, at the same time, and in the same manner as she had, and we laughed.

I laughed because the situation was so predictable. I laughed because the screech had sounded so funny. I laughed because Alexa and I had stopped at the same moment, thinking the same thing. I laughed because Alexa was laughing and smiling. I laughed because I hadn't laughed in so long.

We started the song again, still giggling, and I sure had a big smile on my face. And for maybe 90 seconds today, in the real world, I had no mask on. I was me. I was real. I was happy. I was loved.

If You Have Customers, They're Always Right

Bad Example #1 - Getting New Customers
Over here at the corner of "the best intersection in Monroe County" three things happen. Envision a lower level of a house divided into three sections. The section to the left is an insurance agency. The middle section belongs to the homeowners - it is their kitchen and dining room (the second floor makes up the remainder of the living quarters). The right hand section is an arts school. Ron, the homeowner, is also the owner of the insurance agency. His wife owns the arts school, which I am hired to manage.

Ron loves to give tours of the old house. Lately, he's been proudly showing all his friend, clients, and insurance reps the arts school's new Lego room. The school is successfully running Lego Education camps each week of the summer. Today, while I was reheating some soup in the microwave, Ron came through with a man and his young son, giving them a tour. As they come into the kitchen from the Lego room the man says "my son is a Lego fanactic! Do you still have spots left?" I wait for Ron to introduce me, and have me get them registered, but he ignores the question and points out some shelves he repositioned in the kitchen. The man asks again, and Ron stammers, and says "yeah, those classes are popular". I'm still standing there. The man asks a third time, and this time Ron directs the man's attention to the wall behind his range, standing right next to me, and suggests that if he put a backsplash on the wall for Ron (the guy must be a contractor of some sort) his son could go to Lego camp. As they walk back into the insurance agency I hear the guy pusing for more details, and Ron just says "we'll work something out".

I'm confounded. Why not just introduce me, and I could have easily given the father a registration packet that would have answered his questions and got his son signed up for camp? In business you have to take the bait and make the sell. Putting the customer off discourages them, and doesn't get you any more business.

Bad Example #2 - The Customer Is Always Right
We tend to use the saying "the customer is always right", when the customer is actually wrong, but in order to keep their business, we treat the situation as though the customer is actually right. What happens when the customer is actually right, but is treated as though they are wrong? In this situation, the customer (myself), writes a scathing letter and withholds payments.

To make a long story short, the HOA for the townhouse complex I live in has not been able to follow through on a number of things covered in the monthly fee that residents pay. In the winter, the driveways and parking lots were not plowed. When I approached the management company about this, they assured me the plowing had been done. They told me my trash collection had been set up, when it had not. Now, when I tell them the grass is not being cut, they tell me (and I read on their website) that it gets cut weekly on Thursday. The lawns are four inches long - they were on Wedesday, they still are today, Friday. Either the management company is lying, or that is some fast growing grass!

I don't know the inner workings of management companies, but I know that in any business the road to success is not paved in ignorance, but in satisfying customers needs, especially when you have agreed, and been paid, to do what the customer is asking of you.

Good Example #1 - Honesty and Assistance
I called the law office of Someone and Someone Else this morning.
"I'm looking for some information about the townhouse I bought several months ago", I told the woman who answered the phone. I explained my situation - the the air conditioner is not working properly and I'm trying to find the name of the person who installed it, as it was brand new when I bought the home and may still be under warranty. I was told that the seller's attorney (who is either "Someone" or "Someone Else") could potentially get that information from the seller. The woman was at first confused as why I was contacting the seller's attorney, not my own attorney, but listened to my request carefully. She asked for the address of the property, my name, and address.
"I'm only here until noon today", she told me "And we keep many files in off-site storage, so I may not be able to get the file today. Would you be able to wait until Monday?" I was surprised at her willingness to help me, and told her that would be fine.

Why would Someone and Someone Else be so helpful to a person who wasn't their client? They could have easily written me off. Someone and Someone Else obviously have good business principles. "If we're nice to this girl," they're thinking, "even though she's not our client, maybe she will be our client next time she needs a lawyer. Maybe she will recommend her family and friends to us. If we're not nice to her, maybe she'll go bad mouth us".


Conclusion:
Doing good business means treating your customers and their concerns kindly, and with respect. Blowing them off just upsets them, and loses you business. Treat people badly: everyone loses. Treat people well: Everyone wins.

Proven Results

As my friends date, get engaged, and then married, I am left absolutely baffled.

People are making their marriage decisions on hearsay, not on evidence!

Maybe I'm overly scientific or overly logical (highly likely), but if someone you are dating says "As your husband, I will provide the income to support you and our 2.7 children" I'd expect that he would have measures already in place to accomplish this - A job, and preferably one that makes more than minimum wage. I wouldn't marry someone who was waiting until after the ceremony to go start earning money. I don't think I know many (I do know some) who would. Guys prove to girls that they can provide the family finances by having a job. If I were looking to marry someone who could contribute financially (which I am), I'd want proof, not promises. (This is just one example of what a guy may need to prove - he might also prove dedication to family, ability to fix household items such as plumbing and cars, and good financial management, just to name a few).

Many of the females I know who are starting off their marriages this summer are going to be housewives. They will cook, and clean, and raise children - yet they currently partake in zero of these activities on a daily basis. Now, if I were one of the guys who was considering marrying one of these girls I'd be looking for some proof. I'd want to see that they can prepare three meals a day, and then clean up the dishes. I'd expect that they would have some sort of home, or room of their own, and they were able to maintain it's cleanliness and organization. I'd want to know how often they washed their towels. I'd want to see that they could live within a budget. I'd want to witness their interaction with children, or at least know that they had some experience. I've not seen any of this, though. I see guys choosing to marry girls who say "I'll make you dinner every night", yet the girls have never managed to make dinner every night for even themselves before. The girls are not giving any proof that they can perform normal housewife duties. In fact, while their words are full of promises, for some of these girls, their actions are proof of the exact opposite!

My bafflement is for the following reasons:

1 - Guys are typically far more logical than girls, so shouldn't they be going through more of a reasoning process?

2 - Why on earth would any person marry someone who has not shown you they can and will do what they say they will?

3 - There are plenty of girls out there who have proven that they can do what the offer, including girls who offer to be housewives. Why are these guys not picking the girls with proven results to be their wives?

Marriage is like medication. Say you have a sinus infection and your doctor offers you amoxicillin (which your health insurance covers and so you pay nothing out of pocket) or to be part of the drug trial for some new pill called Medication X (which would be at no charge). All other factors equal, I'd choose the amoxicillin because it's been tested, already, so I know it's going to work.


Note: I've never been engaged or married, so maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about. This is just my method of evaluation (in everything), and I fail to understand why it is not the preferred method of more people when it comes to engagement and marriage, especially males.

Note 2: If you're opposite of the rest of the world, and a guy/girl you are dating provides you with the specific evidence you are looking for, and you don't marry them, that's just as ridiculous and non-sensical, in my opinion.

Note 3: This does not apply to everyone who gets engaged and married, or even everyone I know getting engaged and married this summer, I've just seen enough people in this situation to notice that it is fairly common.

Broken

In my college choir, which for some reason I auditioned for and got into, every concert was ended with the hymn "A Mighty Fortress". We performed the song from memory each time, yet the words were meaningless to me. The only gratifying thing about the hymn was the organ solo before verse four, and the key change. Other than that, it was repetitive, boring, and pointless.

Last summer, along with "Click, Click, Click" by New Kids on the Block, and some country song called "In A Hurry", "A Mighty Fortress" was constantly running through my head. I sang, and sang, and sang the song, and now, five years after learning it, the words were meaningful, not just a bunch of gibberish. I meditated on God's strength and power, His ability to provide, but mostly His sufficiency. The final words of the hymn struck me the most:

Let goods and kindred go
This mortal life also
The body they may kill
His truth abideth still
His kingdom is forever

"Certainly", I thought "if I lost everything important to me - my favorite things, my favorite people - I'd still love God and be fine". So I sang the song! I did it out of happiness - I felt like I was on top of the world, and nothing could bring me down! I told God that He could take anything I had, anything I loved, that none of it mattered, that He was first and I'd be fine.

God took me up on the offer.

For nearly a year I've been watching things in my life crumble - endeavors, hopes and dreams, relationships, goals. As I feel a year of destruction coming to an end I only have a couple things to say.

First, be careful what you pray for. Be careful what you sing.

Second, and more important, God has broken me. A year ago I was prideful and arrogant, thinking I was absolutely indestructible - and I didn't even know it. Today, I see some real truth in the song. It simply says that in spite of my destruction - physical or emotional - God still is. It doesn't tell me to ask or pray for pain and hurt and loss, it doesn't tell me I have to be happy about it if that is what happens, it tells me that God is the indestructible one, not me.

My Aloe Plant and I

Steve gave me an aloe plant for a housewarming gift. It was a clipping from his aloe plant, which I'd seen transported from all of his homes in a small turtle shaped pot. It was a symbol of a friend of his who had died in their childhood. The day after I closed he came to my parents house, to help me take a car load of stuff over the the new house, and brought the aloe plant with him. He handed it to me and hugged me. It was small, and green, and I could see the roots and dirt through the glass jar it was in. It was cute, and sweet, and I liked the plant right away.

Steve and I got in my car, and headed for the post office before going to my new house. The glass jar holding the aloe plant didn't fit in the cup holder of my car, so I handed it to Steve and asked him to keep it safe. On the five minute drive to the post office Steve wedged the plant between the passenger seat and door, and when he opened the door at the post office the plant fell to the pavement and the jar broke. We laughed. He went in to mail his package, and came out with an extra envelope to scoop up the dirt and plant from the parking lot. He took an empty water bottle from my backseat, cut the top off, and emptied the dirt and the plant into there. The water bottle fit into the cup holder, where it stayed until we got to my new house.

At my house, I put the plant on the windowsill in the kitchen, and I commented about hoping I didn't kill it. Steve said he'd kept his alive through college, so certainly I would not kill mine. So far, I haven't. I water it, and it has been growing. After a month, Steve brought over some larger containers, and replanted it in the bottom of a juice bottle, where it lives now. I've watched the leaves grow up and out. I've watched two shoots come up on either side of the original plant. I see the leaves turn towards the sun. The soil the plant is living in is moldy, and it's just an empty juice container, but it's still alive and thriving.

Today, when I watered the plant, I thought about it, and it's history. It seems to me like it's been through a lot, for a plant anyway. I feel compassion for it, even if it is just a plant. With me, it's never lived in a nice pot. It's been dropped on the ground. It's been repotted a number of times. Right now, it's home is moldy. But it's thriving, anyway. And I thought "plant, I feel the same way. Do you know how many times I've been dropped on the pavement and everything around me broke? I feel like I'm living in a big pile of mold now, too! But, plant, I am still growing and thriving, too". I felt like maybe everything would be okay. Because if the plant can do it, well so can I. If the plant can do it, then I'll do it with the plant, and we'll be okay.

My Arm Aren't Long Enough

I recall having an especially tough period of time a few years ago. I don't remember the particular circumstances surrounding why. I do remember my best friend was somewhere far away - either El Paso or Iraq.

"I need a hug" I typed to him, upset, on AIM one day.
"My arms aren't long enough, dear" he replied.

He wanted to hug me. He wanted to help me. He wanted to fix it. But it was an impossibility. You can't reach to Selinsgrove, PA from Iraq no matter how much you might want to.

I can do a lot of things. I'm thoroughly capable. Thoroughly more than capable. I can't do the impossible, though. I can't fix people. I can't even get people to fix themselves. I can't reach Iraq. The only place my arms can really reach is myself.

I do wish my arms were long enough.

Meaningless

Today I woke up on time, easily.

I made my coffee, I ironed my clothes. I packed my breakfast and lunch. I took out the trash. I left for work early.

At work, I was greeted with a surprise: a huge, oriental carpet, soaked in dog urine, conveniently placed right in front of the door so my clients couldn't walk in.

"Why is this carpet here", I yelled (despite knowing perfectly well, why) "I have an interview at 10:00 and he's going to need get in."

The carpet was moved, and sprayed heavily with a pet odor eliminator.

At 10:00 I interviewed a man who is older than me for a lower paying position than I have. I've already done that 3 times this week.

I answered phone calls all day, sent out registration forms, taught violin lessons, sprayed more pet odor eliminator (which seems to be useless). I convinced my boss that we can't hire someone just because we like them, but they need to qualified for the position, as well.

At 5:00pm, instead of leaving, I listened to a mother tell me why every make up time just wasn't good enough for her schedule.

During my 20 minutes in traffic to get to my parent's house, a trip that normally would take 5 minutes, I took a work call. At my parent's house I picked up polyurethane and carpet cleaner and left right away for home.

At home I sprayed the polyurethane at a spot on my newly painted wall, and then tried to figure out why my garage door opener remote control won't work. I followed the set up directions, but it didn't take. Next, I headed upstairs to tackle at least two dozen small stains I accidentally created last night with buffalo sauce. I sprayed the Resolve on my carpet, waited five minutes, and blotted it out, with no results. I went back downstairs and did dishes. I washed the recyclables. I cleaned the non stick pans by hand. I gave the wall another spray of polyurethane before I ran out the door.

I got to Jitters, sat down at a booth, and filled out a form for AllState about a recent car "accident" (A woman backed into my parked car). I waited for 45 mintues at Jitters, and naturally, no one showed up for the dance practice they all claim to be so enthusiastic about.

I drove to Wal-Mart, bought shampoo, sandpaper, paper towels, and oxy clean.

Next, I drove to FasTrac. I filled my tires with air, and paid for my gas with cash.

Halfway home from the gas station my mom called, and I talked to her until I got back to my place. I unloaded my purchases, changed my clothes, and brought the painting supplies up from the basement. My second coat of red paint started with a big splatter on my white walls, which I cleaned up right away. When I was happy with the paint job I went upstairs and spent an hour blotting out the orange buffalo sauce from my gray carpet with oxy clean. At least it worked. I went back downstairs, did paint touch ups, and then washed off all the brushes and roller.

I'm tired. When I'm done typing this I'll take a shower, read my bible, dry my hair, and go to sleep.

It's 10:36pm, and I haven't stopped moving today. What do I have to show for it? I have a car with proper air pressure in the tires. I have a red wall. Yet another child can play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star on the violin. My carpet is restored to it's gray color. I know my Dad's old garage door opener remote control won't work with my garage door opener. I have sandpaper - 100, 150, and 250 grit.

I'd rather a hug.

Solomon says:

There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother. There was no end to his toil, yet his eyes were not content with his wealth. "For whom am I toiling," he asked, "and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?" This too is meaningless - a miserable business! (Ecc 4: 8)

What's the point of all it, with no enjoyment, with no companion?

Nothing. It's meaningless. It's miserable.

Negotiables

This is (sort of) a precursor to my next post, and also just random thoughts, not leading up to a particular conclusion.

In life, there are things that are negotiable, and things that are not. Some non-negotiables are eating, sleeping, and having heat in the winter months. I, or any other person, will literally not survive without those things. Some pretty obvious negotiables are: eating out at fancy restaurants, owning a brand new car, having a gigantic net worth. 

Then there's the category of things that seem non-negotiable, but are actually negotiable. We think we need them, but we actually don't. For example - a car. Cars are not necessary for survival. I drive my car every single day. If I didn't have one, I could ride my bike to a bus stop up the road each morning, and ride the bus to work. Do I prefer the car? Heck yeah! Would I survive without it? Yes. My life wouldn't be as comfortable as it is now, but I'd certainly survive. 

Another example is a cell phone. I use mine every day. But does my survival depend on it? No, not really. Most days I use it for fairly unnecessary purposes - such as receiving picture messages of my sister's hamster. Of course, I acknowledge that a cell phone can get you out of some difficult, dangerous situations, like being stuck in a snowy ditch on I-90.

Something I can't seem to categorize is companionship, and/or, I suppose, love. Most of me says it's unnecessary. Yeah, people want to be loved, but are we going to die without it. . . I want to say no. I've noticed this trend, though.  I have a physical reaction to being alone, lonely, feeling abandoned. I get this rash. It looks kind of like dry skin at first, or some sort of abrasion. It grows, gets itchier, and turns bright red in water. I have it right above my knee now. I've had it on my elbow before. This could all be coincidence, too. I mean, I do refer to myself as "allergy girl" on occasion, so it's not that far fetched to believe I'd have a reaction on my skin - it's happened plenty of other times. Who knows.

He Is

On Saturday night, I pulled out of the parking lot of a Catholic church's gymnasium crying my eyes out. Currently, I'm battling lonliness. It's so easy to type that word, to say that word, that I wonder if it can truly carry the level of emotion I feel. There's no end in sight, no solution to work towards, and so I cried as I waked across the parking lot, got into my car, and drove away, because it was the only thing to do. 

I remembered pulling out of that same parking lot a year earlier. I was feeling uneasy. My boyfriend, whom I thought should be with me, wasn't. He was on a retreat because he was thinking of moving to China to do missions work for a year. I was concerned about a number of things. Would he go? Would the relationship end? Would I be miserable for a whole year? What if he went back again for a second year? How would I say goodbye? How would I handle any of it with grace? I had lots of questions and fears, and they were all running through my head as I pulled out of the same parking lot of the Catholic church.

He didn't go to China. When his retreat was over, the next day, he called me up and I went to his house and sat on his bed in the sun while he folded laundry. "I learned two things this weekend", he told me. "First, I learned that China isn't for me". I breathed a huge sigh of relief, and wondered why I'd been so worried. "The second thing I learned is that I've been afraid to love you". Wow. I was ecstatic. The pain, the worry, the experience, had been worth it, more than I could have imagined.

The next time I was in the Catholic church parking lot was in December. I was downright miserable. All my dreams had been pulled out from under me. My heart was broken. My paychecks were bouncing. My efforts in buying a home had fallen through. I couldn't participate in my favorite activities. I got in my car, in my black performance clothes, and started sobbing.  I drove back to my parents house, screaming at God for destroying my life and putting me through so much pain. I didn't see any way out, any redemption, just unending hurt.

After that, not another paycheck bounced. Within several weeks my relationship was restored. Within two months I was homeowner.

On Saturday, despite my loneliness and tears, I remembered that God had been faithful. Twice before I'd driven through that parking lot feeling hopeless, and twice before my hope, and more, had been restored. When I arrived back at my dark, quiet, empty house I didn't feel any less alone or lonely, but I felt sure of God's sovereignty in my situations. He Is. He Is the same yesterday, today, and forever!

Homeownership

On Wednesday, I ran into my first big problem as a homeowner.

Currently, the only thing residing on my deck is a bird feeder made from an orange juice jug. Actually, currently it's in the sink in the basement, but earlier in the week it was sitting on the ledge of the deck. On Wednesday, from my upstairs window, I noticed the bird feeder had blown off the deck into the grass, and I decided it would be better to move it than to litter. 

I don't think I'd ever walked down the steps of my deck until Wednesday, and so when I went out there to get the bird feeder I looked around the area a bit. Right away, I noticed a little pile of fur towards the back of the deck and was nearly giddy with excitement. I figured it must be a baby bunny hole! I ducked down and went farther under the deck to look more closely. 

It wasn't a baby bunny hole. 

It was a dead bird.

I think my throat dropped into my stomach. I grabbed the bird feeder and went inside, somewhat disturbed. 

(The bird feeder had two slugs in it, and that's why it ended up in the basement sink.)

I figured ignoring the dead bird under the deck would be simple enough. How often do I go under the deck, anyway? The problem stayed out of my mind for maybe an entire 14 hours, until Thursday morning, when I was getting ready to leave for work. I'd opened the door from my hallway to the garage, hit the button that opens the garage door, and as the daylight came streaming into the garage I noticed an unusual blob on the cement floor. That unusual blob was a dead, semi-squished, frog.

I know how to solve both of these problems - with a shovel - but I just haven't been able to bring myself to do it. You know, I knew homeownership would present a lot of new challenges, but I just never expected dead animals to be one of those. 

Sunshine

For the most part, I hate getting out of bed. I hit the snooze button three times on a normal day, and then proceed to continue laying in bed for another 10 minutes. I'll sacrifice any number of things, like a warm breakfast, a cup of coffee, the chance to make some phone calls, in order to stay in bed for even 5 minutes longer. Maybe I'm just not a morning person, or maybe it's my obsession with being wrapped in blankets thats the problem. Maybe laying in bed in the morning is my only chance for down time. Maybe I feel safest there. Whatever the reasoning, Tuesday was different than normal. 

Before my alarm went off, before I even opened my eyes, I could see the sun. It was bright, and warm. I smiled. I threw my blankets off of me and just enjoyed it. It was pouring in my windows, filling the entire room. I laid there calmly, in peace. 

After a few minutes my alarm went off and my brain woke up, and I remembered the day that was inevitably going to begin. I wasn't particularly excited about it, but I wasn't particularly depressed about it, either. I asked God for lion-strength, threw my sheets back, stood up, and had a good day.

I love the sun.