We live in a world where skepticism is on the rise. Though, even as I type that out I am quickly reminded of the world Jesus was born into. There was no concept or belief in the person of Christ, until He showed up on scene and announced Himself as the “artist formerly known as Messiah”. Maybe the worst Prince joke, ever. (Hoping I haven’t lost you.) All of this to argue, if I say in one breath that critics are on the rise, I must also conclude so are sinners seeking grace.
We all strive to be intellectuals and for some reason, it seems nowadays you can’t have faith and a brain? This was my early struggle when deciding whether or not to “convert” whole heartedly into one of those ‘Jesus Freaks’. Now, part of my testimony would need you to know that I have never discounted the idea of God, but I definitely didn’t have a need or desire to know Him, let alone LOVE Him.
Knowledge is and has always been important to me, well that and pride. If my high school had a debate team, I would’ve proudly worn their “I’m obnoxious” badge. I like to argue, and in order to enjoy arguing.. I need to know more than you. And we arrive back at my house on the corner of Pride Boulevard and Knowledge Street. Nonetheless, before I backed a belief in God as the creator of the universe and Jesus has my dying Savior, I would need to do a considerable amount of research. So I could argue with you, or at least defend my faith as scripture calls us to in 1 Peter 3:15. There was a beauty in my knowledge based conversion. However; there was also a curse waiting in the depths of its waters.
In the last six years I have come to know a God who isn’t scared of my ‘tough’ questions. He doesn’t require of me, a blind faith. Quite the opposite, actually—scripture says in Hosea, “My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge”. I camped in this tent for a very long time. But, this tent was pitched smack dab in the middle of an oversized town called “Better-Than-You”. The more I experienced the realness of God, the more I became frustrated with those who did not understand His love, or worse yet tramped nonchalantly over it. My anger grew for both sides of the spectrum, believers and unbelievers. There are sadly far too many Christians who hide in their Bible bubbles and instead of building relationships with people, rank their companions in order of their sin and what we can “fix” in their lives. I am disgusted to recall the amount of gossip conversations I've took place in that perused over a person's spirit condition. Or worse, if they looked different, we avoid them at all cost and prefer to compare our growth charts with others more like minded. It is much easier to judge, than to ever ever look in the mirror at my own shortcomings. For this, I must constantly beg forgiveness.
The thing about the Gospel is, it’s like a huge rock in the middle of a raging ocean not far from shore. If I cling to the rock long enough, the ocean seems to calm before my very eyes. I begin to get bold, and venture away from the rock. Shore is just in my reach and I start to believe that life on the beach will be more enjoyable. Not too mention how impressed I am with my efforts and excellence—though soon my confidence would start to weaken. But, not before doing a quick spiritual inventory. Glancing across the sea to make sure, no matter my present condition, I was still better behaved than most.
However, the further I drift from the rock, the more I begin to realize my utter dependence on it. My arms start to get tired from all the thrashing. The waves of life have kicked themselves up again. And the shoreline is no longer even in my view. I am most assuredly not concerned with the matters of others at this point. Only the anchor of sin attached to my ankle, making it impossible to keep my head above surface. Yet, I look over my shoulder and the Gospel boulder stands bigger, brighter, stronger and sturdier than ever. I am scooped up in God’s grace and placed back on the solid surface of my redeeming Rock.
Sketched into this rock is another verse worth clinging to in life and one I more than often forget. It’s found in 1 Corinthians 8:2-3, “The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God.” And it hits me, though knowledge led me there, love is what allows me to stay.
There are two opposing camps that might stumble upon this writing. One camp will cringe thinking I am scrounging to justify sin and giving many a foothold to accept their sinful lifestyles as long as there is acknowledgment of a love for God. Or even question, what sin in my life I am trying to overcompensate for. The other camp will turn their noses up at it all together. Fearing it is one more ploy to add to the already growing cult epidemic they have desperately and successfully avoided like the plague.
Where I’ll wrap up tonight is with a quote from Tim Keller. It’s one that I think could bring together the divide, if only for a moment. “God's grace does not come to people who morally outperform others, but to those who admit their failure to perform and who acknowledge their need for a Savior.” It has absolutely nothing to do with what I do or don’t do, and only everything to do with WHO HE IS AND WHAT HE’S DONE. This is not an excuse to stop trying to be good because it’s unachievable or act in a way that doesn’t glorify God because it’s easier and He’s forgiving. But, instead a direct call in life to live to a higher standard out of appreciation for what Christ did to reconcile me to Him. When I start to slip off the rock and began to believe I can act “good enough” on my own is when I will learn quickly what it feels like to drown.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Picking their brains.
We (women) don’t understand compartmental thinking. Our spaghetti brains are completely and absolutely unable to grasp the simple and very much un-complex male psyche. I am not in any way attacking their intelligence level. I am only drawing a conclusion to their black and white nature. If my male surveys have told me anything thus far, it’s this… men mean what they say. They act how they feel. Period. It’s not some exhilarating mind game they’ve conspired to drive us crazy. We enable each other with elaborate illustrations of how he probably meant this, even though he did and said something completely different. We think everything means something else. And rightly so, because we live and breathe in this world. We assume because we act in this manner, that they do as well. Fallacy.
For instance, when a guy is stand offish and doesn’t initiate hang outs, we fit all sorts of square explanations into round pegs of understanding. He is shy. He is probably too scared to ask you out. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re interested in him, and he doesn’t want to crash and burn in a fiery embarrassment. This makes sense to us, because WE don’t always mean what we say. Think I’m way off? Humor me once more with a few examples.
You like a boy. You talk about him to your friends. You’ve even tried signing his last name behind your first name. But when he walks into the room, everything goes white and you avoid him at all cost. You ignore the boy you've spent all day dreaming about.
Boys don’t do this. We do. So we think they do, too.
You are good friends with this guy and have been for some time. You’ve always liked him for the part of your ‘next boyfriend’, but you play the cool chick role and are there for him when he wants to vent about other girls. You like him and will just be here reminding him of how great you are until he realizes his ‘one’ has been under his nose the whole time.
Boys only put friends in the friend zone. We put crushes in the friend zone. So we think they do, too.
He’s shy. He doesn’t approach anyone, let alone a girl he’s interested in. It’s totally acceptable for you to walk up and initiate conversation, maybe even invite him to coffee. He’ll appreciate the effortlessness of it.
We desire that pursuit. So in a twisted way, we’re able to justify its acceptableness. We like to be chased, so we think they do, too.
Do you see that because we assume boys think as we do, we end up doing a lot of silly things and wasting exhausting efforts on boys that were ‘just not that into us’ to begin with? Now, please don’t reply in anger because you did something to the above affect and it worked for you. I definitely don’t pretend to know it all. I recognize I speak in complete generalities and there are many exceptions to the rule. But, I have 15 ‘men tell all’ surveys in front of me that scream in unison, MEN ARE PRETTY STINKIN' SIMPLE.
I’ll have you chase a white rabbit for a brief second, if you’ll allow it. A shocking majority of the men… (are you sitting down?) have a strong desire to be married. On a scale of one to five, five being the strongest desire, almost every single male survey replied with a big bold FIVE. I also need to share with you that most of the men, though they might've said it was ideal to be able to provide for his wife by being settled into a successful career, it was definitely not a requirement to engagement or marriage. Most of the men said it wasn’t actually important to them. If the right woman came along, they would seize the opportunity.
I also asked questions such as, “How will a girl know you are interested in her?”. They said... (ready for it?)
they’ll want to... (are you listening?)
SPEND TIME WITH HER. They’ll ask questions about her. They will talk to her often. They will try to hang out with her or just be around her. Pretty complex stuff, right? NOT. Ladies, if they like you, you’ll know. Let’s stop encouraging ourselves and our friends to fall for boys who don’t like us. Unless, you secretly like the fantasy build up, followed by a humiliating rejection: STOP IT.
If that wasn’t reason enough, let me share with you another secret of theirs. They know when they are being crushed on. We think we’re sly; ignoring them some days, nonchalantly writing on their facebook wall. But it would seem they are on to us. The guys I polled had a convincing list of ways they can spot an eager girl out. Follow with me, they can smell it, so if he’s not serving it back… double ouch.
I’ve suspected it for sometime, but there is something about holding the proof in your hands that will sober you up fast. Guys desire the chase. As much as we hope at our core a guy seeks us out and fights for our affection, they equally need to conquer such a fight. If he doesn’t pursue, there is a cheapness to the pursuit and he might never appreciate your heart in the way, I believe, God intends. From the moment you take the reigns, or step out ahead emotionally, the roles are reversed and it would be rather hard, I imagine, to ever flip those roles later in life.
This is where trusting God is vital to our sanity and to our heart’s health. A woman, trusting and waiting for God’s best will understand when it doesn’t work out. She'll recognize that it was grace and not personal failure that led to the end, or maybe even led to the not-even-started. Sweet ladies, if he doesn’t want to spend time with you, it’s not because you need to lose weight or buy a new personality. It’s because he is not the one for YOU. I pray that someone tonight will stick their complex key into this simple lock and open up a security to rest in.
I have only scratched the surface of these male surveys. And I hate to lump the participants all into generic, unoriginal answers, but I must tell you their responses are all written between the same lines. They don’t stray far from each other. (Even down to the fact almost all the men sent back typed answers, whereas all the women hand wrote out their answers.) There is a lot to unpack here. I am blessed to analyze it further, thankful for the men who replied and eager to shed truth on some of the lies we’ve allowed ourselves to subscribe to for far, far too long.
Back to the male brain, I go. Wish me luck, yo.
For instance, when a guy is stand offish and doesn’t initiate hang outs, we fit all sorts of square explanations into round pegs of understanding. He is shy. He is probably too scared to ask you out. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re interested in him, and he doesn’t want to crash and burn in a fiery embarrassment. This makes sense to us, because WE don’t always mean what we say. Think I’m way off? Humor me once more with a few examples.
You like a boy. You talk about him to your friends. You’ve even tried signing his last name behind your first name. But when he walks into the room, everything goes white and you avoid him at all cost. You ignore the boy you've spent all day dreaming about.
Boys don’t do this. We do. So we think they do, too.
You are good friends with this guy and have been for some time. You’ve always liked him for the part of your ‘next boyfriend’, but you play the cool chick role and are there for him when he wants to vent about other girls. You like him and will just be here reminding him of how great you are until he realizes his ‘one’ has been under his nose the whole time.
Boys only put friends in the friend zone. We put crushes in the friend zone. So we think they do, too.
He’s shy. He doesn’t approach anyone, let alone a girl he’s interested in. It’s totally acceptable for you to walk up and initiate conversation, maybe even invite him to coffee. He’ll appreciate the effortlessness of it.
We desire that pursuit. So in a twisted way, we’re able to justify its acceptableness. We like to be chased, so we think they do, too.
Do you see that because we assume boys think as we do, we end up doing a lot of silly things and wasting exhausting efforts on boys that were ‘just not that into us’ to begin with? Now, please don’t reply in anger because you did something to the above affect and it worked for you. I definitely don’t pretend to know it all. I recognize I speak in complete generalities and there are many exceptions to the rule. But, I have 15 ‘men tell all’ surveys in front of me that scream in unison, MEN ARE PRETTY STINKIN' SIMPLE.
I’ll have you chase a white rabbit for a brief second, if you’ll allow it. A shocking majority of the men… (are you sitting down?) have a strong desire to be married. On a scale of one to five, five being the strongest desire, almost every single male survey replied with a big bold FIVE. I also need to share with you that most of the men, though they might've said it was ideal to be able to provide for his wife by being settled into a successful career, it was definitely not a requirement to engagement or marriage. Most of the men said it wasn’t actually important to them. If the right woman came along, they would seize the opportunity.
I also asked questions such as, “How will a girl know you are interested in her?”. They said... (ready for it?)
they’ll want to... (are you listening?)
SPEND TIME WITH HER. They’ll ask questions about her. They will talk to her often. They will try to hang out with her or just be around her. Pretty complex stuff, right? NOT. Ladies, if they like you, you’ll know. Let’s stop encouraging ourselves and our friends to fall for boys who don’t like us. Unless, you secretly like the fantasy build up, followed by a humiliating rejection: STOP IT.
If that wasn’t reason enough, let me share with you another secret of theirs. They know when they are being crushed on. We think we’re sly; ignoring them some days, nonchalantly writing on their facebook wall. But it would seem they are on to us. The guys I polled had a convincing list of ways they can spot an eager girl out. Follow with me, they can smell it, so if he’s not serving it back… double ouch.
I’ve suspected it for sometime, but there is something about holding the proof in your hands that will sober you up fast. Guys desire the chase. As much as we hope at our core a guy seeks us out and fights for our affection, they equally need to conquer such a fight. If he doesn’t pursue, there is a cheapness to the pursuit and he might never appreciate your heart in the way, I believe, God intends. From the moment you take the reigns, or step out ahead emotionally, the roles are reversed and it would be rather hard, I imagine, to ever flip those roles later in life.
This is where trusting God is vital to our sanity and to our heart’s health. A woman, trusting and waiting for God’s best will understand when it doesn’t work out. She'll recognize that it was grace and not personal failure that led to the end, or maybe even led to the not-even-started. Sweet ladies, if he doesn’t want to spend time with you, it’s not because you need to lose weight or buy a new personality. It’s because he is not the one for YOU. I pray that someone tonight will stick their complex key into this simple lock and open up a security to rest in.
I have only scratched the surface of these male surveys. And I hate to lump the participants all into generic, unoriginal answers, but I must tell you their responses are all written between the same lines. They don’t stray far from each other. (Even down to the fact almost all the men sent back typed answers, whereas all the women hand wrote out their answers.) There is a lot to unpack here. I am blessed to analyze it further, thankful for the men who replied and eager to shed truth on some of the lies we’ve allowed ourselves to subscribe to for far, far too long.
Back to the male brain, I go. Wish me luck, yo.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Ghosts of boyfriends past.
Exes, ugh. Most of us have them. Most of us wish we didn’t. Again, I speak in absolute generalities and 100% from experience. Unfortunately, I seem to have an awfully hard time moving past my past. I’m really great at understanding why it ended. Not so good at the letting go part. I’m awesome at manipulating myself into rationalizing harmless texts, or insisting that I could handle a friendship. It very much resembles something like the few times I’ve attempted to surf mushy hurricane swell. You want to catch a sweet wave so bad, but in the end you just get worked over, worn out and rained on. Or in my specific case, stitches in the back of my arm and a trail of blood leading the sharks right to me. This seems like an awesome example, but it's actually a true story.
I’ve learned from my survey responses that every broken relationship came with its equal share of unbroken, rather large in fact, red flags. It’s like owning our very own army issued night vision relationship goggles. I don’t know much about night goggles. But I picture us walking around in the dark fully functional, until someone flips a light switch on (or in this case a break up, an argument, a brutal rejection… name your vice).
I’ve got analogies all day to describe the junk we walk through to get over our exes. But the exciting part is this… I think I've stumbled on to something. It could be a stretch, or it could be in genius. Hear me out, lady friends. I think, just maybe, it is actually a pride issue. When I first popped this pill in my mouth, it was bitter and hard to swallow. I’ve got a list of insecurities a mile long. How does it even make sense that pride would be the root of my break up hang up? To answer this, I’ll have to expose a little of myself here. This is the part that I try to hold tightly to when posting on a social network for all to see. Who wants to admit they are walking around wounded? Not I, said the pride.
There are two men in my adult life that I can’t seem to dismiss. Now, I have nothing bad to say about either one of them; the opposite, actually. I seem to only remember the good stuff. I shake my fist at you, selective memory. All I know is that they both liked me a lot and then seemingly overnight, not so much. It’s confusing and depressing all wrapped up in one burrito.
The rational side of my brain recognizes that with one of these guys, I built him up to be my very own grown up Aladdin. Aladdin was always my favorite. Mostly because Jasmine was the only Disney princess I even remotely looked like but, also because he was dangerous, had a magic carpet and the kingdom at his finger tips. Boy #1 offered up a whole new world, a new fantastic point of view. (Are you singing the song with me yet?) The magical Disney moment passes and I realize, I looked to this young man to be my absolute savior from… myself. I didn’t blame him one bit as I watched him exit quickly, carpet tassels flapping in the wind. I was young and silly. Pride won’t let me take a step further. And here’s why. Somewhere deep down I have to believe I am something great and irreplaceable. That’s why it’s incomprehensible that he is not trying to ‘look me up’ or reply to my breezy facebook messages. Its pride AND insecurity. I have a feeling there is a lethal relationship here that I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of.
Boy #2 (let’s all pretend we don’t know who this one is). I had to take a few long breaths here to even muster up the courage to unpack this lovely present. I’ve never been tackled by a professional linebacker, but I’ve experienced the painful aftermath. Unlike the last example, this one didn’t unfold so pleasantly and wasn’t as easy to predict. Think more… car accident. I’m jamming out to the radio. Seconds later, I’m flipping through the air and meeting what feels like my fatal demise. Craziest thing… the wound looks almost the same. He doesn’t return my texts, or put forth any effort to be friends. It hurts something bad to lose a best friend. And I find myself wishing upon all wishes to go back to the friendship stage of that relationship. If only we could’ve stayed there. I’d be spared of the hurt and the new void. He’d still be here to make me laugh and hang my Ikea pot rack.
This is when I first realized the pattern. This is me recognizing the wound needs to be cleaned up (even if it stings) and then properly medicated. To do this, I will attempt to self diagnose. Then, we operate.
I’ve talked about this before. I wished I was more like a dude, instead of wondering and pining over all the things I did wrong. I’ve heard it said before that men are like dresser drawers. They can close up shop to an emotion or an event and completely function on to the next. When I get dumped, it spills over into every single smelly square footage of my life. I get intensely hung up on closure. I seek it out from the handlers of my brokenness. It’s like I’m screaming out… desperate to make sense of it all. They’ve dumped me, so I’m convinced there is something wrong with me. Insecurity. But, then I think if they just get a taste of how witty and great I was/am then there’d be no need for closure. Instead, they’d remember they are still in love with me and recognize they won’t find better. Pride. What a nasty cycle. It’s about to be a broken cycle.
I’m leaving all my shame and graveling at the feet of my ghost of boyfriends past. As much as I hoped for a different outcome to both stories, I am finally learning from them so it doesn’t seem such a waste. For now, I’ll just hope they’re single longer than I. And that I some how profit big time from them breaking my silly little heart. Dare I say, best seller?
Dearest friend, if you're out there still hung up on the ending of something mediocre... let it stop today. Or at least start walking in a new direction with me. If we're honest, I mean really honest... is it the boy we're still hung up on? Or could it be the rejection we've been handed that dinged our ego? If you think I'm way off, humor me with a quick example to prove my point. I can't even name the number of times I've seen this played out in my own life and the lives around me. You are halfheartedly flirting around with a boy. He's shorter than you'd like, or maybe wears funny shoes. You don't really care too much for him and you maybe even have a few others like him on the side. But a pretty girl writes on his facebook wall. Or suddenly one too many of your calls have gone to voice mail. Is your blood pressure rising from recognition? What seems like overnight we are obsessed with a boy, we didn't actually even like to begin with. It's the game. It's the loss of our pride that feeds the insecurity and blossoms into a big heaping disaster of poo. Somehow, we're devastated and chasing a guy that is less than desirable, all because he breathed a breath of abandonment.
Catch it right now. Put it outside and hope it curls up and dies somewhere. We're better than this. I promise. Do you believe it? Of course you do. Don't try to bail ship because you're keeping score with "him", but do it because you're trusting God for a better YOU.
I’ve learned from my survey responses that every broken relationship came with its equal share of unbroken, rather large in fact, red flags. It’s like owning our very own army issued night vision relationship goggles. I don’t know much about night goggles. But I picture us walking around in the dark fully functional, until someone flips a light switch on (or in this case a break up, an argument, a brutal rejection… name your vice).
I’ve got analogies all day to describe the junk we walk through to get over our exes. But the exciting part is this… I think I've stumbled on to something. It could be a stretch, or it could be in genius. Hear me out, lady friends. I think, just maybe, it is actually a pride issue. When I first popped this pill in my mouth, it was bitter and hard to swallow. I’ve got a list of insecurities a mile long. How does it even make sense that pride would be the root of my break up hang up? To answer this, I’ll have to expose a little of myself here. This is the part that I try to hold tightly to when posting on a social network for all to see. Who wants to admit they are walking around wounded? Not I, said the pride.
There are two men in my adult life that I can’t seem to dismiss. Now, I have nothing bad to say about either one of them; the opposite, actually. I seem to only remember the good stuff. I shake my fist at you, selective memory. All I know is that they both liked me a lot and then seemingly overnight, not so much. It’s confusing and depressing all wrapped up in one burrito.
The rational side of my brain recognizes that with one of these guys, I built him up to be my very own grown up Aladdin. Aladdin was always my favorite. Mostly because Jasmine was the only Disney princess I even remotely looked like but, also because he was dangerous, had a magic carpet and the kingdom at his finger tips. Boy #1 offered up a whole new world, a new fantastic point of view. (Are you singing the song with me yet?) The magical Disney moment passes and I realize, I looked to this young man to be my absolute savior from… myself. I didn’t blame him one bit as I watched him exit quickly, carpet tassels flapping in the wind. I was young and silly. Pride won’t let me take a step further. And here’s why. Somewhere deep down I have to believe I am something great and irreplaceable. That’s why it’s incomprehensible that he is not trying to ‘look me up’ or reply to my breezy facebook messages. Its pride AND insecurity. I have a feeling there is a lethal relationship here that I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of.
Boy #2 (let’s all pretend we don’t know who this one is). I had to take a few long breaths here to even muster up the courage to unpack this lovely present. I’ve never been tackled by a professional linebacker, but I’ve experienced the painful aftermath. Unlike the last example, this one didn’t unfold so pleasantly and wasn’t as easy to predict. Think more… car accident. I’m jamming out to the radio. Seconds later, I’m flipping through the air and meeting what feels like my fatal demise. Craziest thing… the wound looks almost the same. He doesn’t return my texts, or put forth any effort to be friends. It hurts something bad to lose a best friend. And I find myself wishing upon all wishes to go back to the friendship stage of that relationship. If only we could’ve stayed there. I’d be spared of the hurt and the new void. He’d still be here to make me laugh and hang my Ikea pot rack.
This is when I first realized the pattern. This is me recognizing the wound needs to be cleaned up (even if it stings) and then properly medicated. To do this, I will attempt to self diagnose. Then, we operate.
I’ve talked about this before. I wished I was more like a dude, instead of wondering and pining over all the things I did wrong. I’ve heard it said before that men are like dresser drawers. They can close up shop to an emotion or an event and completely function on to the next. When I get dumped, it spills over into every single smelly square footage of my life. I get intensely hung up on closure. I seek it out from the handlers of my brokenness. It’s like I’m screaming out… desperate to make sense of it all. They’ve dumped me, so I’m convinced there is something wrong with me. Insecurity. But, then I think if they just get a taste of how witty and great I was/am then there’d be no need for closure. Instead, they’d remember they are still in love with me and recognize they won’t find better. Pride. What a nasty cycle. It’s about to be a broken cycle.
I’m leaving all my shame and graveling at the feet of my ghost of boyfriends past. As much as I hoped for a different outcome to both stories, I am finally learning from them so it doesn’t seem such a waste. For now, I’ll just hope they’re single longer than I. And that I some how profit big time from them breaking my silly little heart. Dare I say, best seller?
Dearest friend, if you're out there still hung up on the ending of something mediocre... let it stop today. Or at least start walking in a new direction with me. If we're honest, I mean really honest... is it the boy we're still hung up on? Or could it be the rejection we've been handed that dinged our ego? If you think I'm way off, humor me with a quick example to prove my point. I can't even name the number of times I've seen this played out in my own life and the lives around me. You are halfheartedly flirting around with a boy. He's shorter than you'd like, or maybe wears funny shoes. You don't really care too much for him and you maybe even have a few others like him on the side. But a pretty girl writes on his facebook wall. Or suddenly one too many of your calls have gone to voice mail. Is your blood pressure rising from recognition? What seems like overnight we are obsessed with a boy, we didn't actually even like to begin with. It's the game. It's the loss of our pride that feeds the insecurity and blossoms into a big heaping disaster of poo. Somehow, we're devastated and chasing a guy that is less than desirable, all because he breathed a breath of abandonment.
Catch it right now. Put it outside and hope it curls up and dies somewhere. We're better than this. I promise. Do you believe it? Of course you do. Don't try to bail ship because you're keeping score with "him", but do it because you're trusting God for a better YOU.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Poker Face.
I was dealt a hand in marriage that, fortunately enough, I was able to fold on early in the game. I mean, if we want to get technical, I think in this case, God folded my hand for me. If you’ve never played poker with me you should know, I’ll win every time… the first time. I won good money from tough boys in college. The first game is always mine. And then they learn after I take their money that all I have is luck and the ability to lie through my teeth. This strategy only works for a time. More hands than I can count, I kept betting money on a lie. The pot got bigger. My chips were bleeding into the center of the table. I was in it to win it… until I lost. I’ve said it many times before, I would have gone down with the (relation)ship I was in. Clever, huh? It’s sad, but true. At the time, I was betting a “winning” hand. Looking over my shoulder I was nothing short of delusional. Except my redemption in poker chips, was served out by my Savior. I am a lucky, thankful, gracious young lady. It hurt bad and I lost big. But it could’ve been far worse. I could have been married to the game.
I am going to tread lightly here and I hope you’ll give me the grace to not drown in your misinterpretation. I sent questions out to a group of amazing women. It just so happens a majority of the women in my life are married, so the results will statistically swing that way. I sent it to successful women, corporate women, world’s best mom women, gorgeous women, creative women, exceptional wives, role models and exciting singles; though I still believe every thing about them, I got answers back from broken women leaning on a perfect Lord.
This whole process has got me thinking, we are a wounded bunch of birds. I mean, really. We are hobbling around with broken wings. Some of us have been hit by cars, others of us shaken out of a tree by a careless boy. It also made me realize this single girl has got IT made. I opened up a letter from a married friend. It brought me to my knees in tears. Another one. I broke again. And again. I spoke with a dear friend recently, who has walked through an unimaginable heartbreak. As I listened to her tragic story unfold I was hit with so many different emotions: Anger towards the person who had wronged her so horribly, sadness knowing she had to carry such a weight, and admiration for a woman with so much integrity and strength to stand amidst the wreckage of what justifiably could've send her straight to the couch under the covers never to return. (That's where you could find me.) The worst part of it all? I could copy and paste that last sentence over again for far too many of my incredibly resilient friends.
I mailed out empty envelopes and they have come back to me with lyrics to songs of strong women walking through some pretty tough, pretty yucky stuff. I have found myself on my knees in prayer more times since picking the brains of my loved ones, then maybe ever. I had absolutely no idea what God would throw at me on this journey. No idea. Here's what I do know.. I sought out on this road to break up recovery expecting to arrive at emotional health. I am on a mission to security and I’m not stopping for potty breaks. I'm so close I can almost taste it, but I need you to jump with me. I might even share my beef jerky. (An indisputable must have for any roadtrip, sorry.)
Here’s where I’ll need the grace. Though, I broke for some of my single friends, their replies just read differently. They echoed with excitement and fear. Kind of like traveling to a new state, I live for the adventure and excitement of it all. I thrive on it, actually. Every single lady desires an adoring husband. And our tears are split over nothing more than our boy-less existence. I love my single ladies. But I have GOT to make it clear. We have the light load. Did you hear that? Do you believe it? If life were a puzzle, we’d have the one for ages 4 and under. Marriage is awesomely tough. We are sinners, there is no way around it.
And please hear me. I’m not sweeping that precious unmarried heart of yours under the rug. Girl, I’m single. I get it. But we don’t get it… if ya get me? Got it? I’ve learned a couple things on this trip. I have no business writing to the married heart. How could I even attempt it? I won’t even try. Next, I could get red in the face with excitement talking about how we should be SEIZING THIS SEASON, ladies. If you were next to me, I'd shake you until your eyeballs popped out. I won't let go until you believe it too!
If you already knew this. You're far wiser than I. I believed for 26 years married people are lucky and a group to be hated, envied and the like. They have nothing to be sad about. Me, with out the ring? Now that was something to shed tears over. Let's just say the 'me today', wishes she could flick the 'me then' in the forehead.
As I drove home tonight, radio off, windows down… it hit me. I have heard one too many stories of us getting let down, experiencing a broken heart, shattered dream, someone we love saying the wrong thing, or walking away, a brutal rejection, he cheated, he lied, he was emotionally abusive, or emotionally absent and the grotesque list goes on. This is not a boy bash session. That is not and will never be my heart. I love boys. I fall in love often and fast. Boys are lovely and exciting. I can't wait to meet the lucky guy who gets stuck with my vivid imagination and love of facebook self portraits. But tonight truth washed over me and I smiled big. God will never hurt me. It’s just not going to happen. I will never be able to say that He checked off one of the wrongs listed above. I will never cry myself to sleep over a God who doesn’t pursue me, or love me. He does not reject or walk away. He can’t lie and He won’t cheat. I am blessed to be romanced by a freakin’ stud.
This season is one to be savored like a big bowl of ice cream. Girl, grab a spoon.
I am going to tread lightly here and I hope you’ll give me the grace to not drown in your misinterpretation. I sent questions out to a group of amazing women. It just so happens a majority of the women in my life are married, so the results will statistically swing that way. I sent it to successful women, corporate women, world’s best mom women, gorgeous women, creative women, exceptional wives, role models and exciting singles; though I still believe every thing about them, I got answers back from broken women leaning on a perfect Lord.
This whole process has got me thinking, we are a wounded bunch of birds. I mean, really. We are hobbling around with broken wings. Some of us have been hit by cars, others of us shaken out of a tree by a careless boy. It also made me realize this single girl has got IT made. I opened up a letter from a married friend. It brought me to my knees in tears. Another one. I broke again. And again. I spoke with a dear friend recently, who has walked through an unimaginable heartbreak. As I listened to her tragic story unfold I was hit with so many different emotions: Anger towards the person who had wronged her so horribly, sadness knowing she had to carry such a weight, and admiration for a woman with so much integrity and strength to stand amidst the wreckage of what justifiably could've send her straight to the couch under the covers never to return. (That's where you could find me.) The worst part of it all? I could copy and paste that last sentence over again for far too many of my incredibly resilient friends.
I mailed out empty envelopes and they have come back to me with lyrics to songs of strong women walking through some pretty tough, pretty yucky stuff. I have found myself on my knees in prayer more times since picking the brains of my loved ones, then maybe ever. I had absolutely no idea what God would throw at me on this journey. No idea. Here's what I do know.. I sought out on this road to break up recovery expecting to arrive at emotional health. I am on a mission to security and I’m not stopping for potty breaks. I'm so close I can almost taste it, but I need you to jump with me. I might even share my beef jerky. (An indisputable must have for any roadtrip, sorry.)
Here’s where I’ll need the grace. Though, I broke for some of my single friends, their replies just read differently. They echoed with excitement and fear. Kind of like traveling to a new state, I live for the adventure and excitement of it all. I thrive on it, actually. Every single lady desires an adoring husband. And our tears are split over nothing more than our boy-less existence. I love my single ladies. But I have GOT to make it clear. We have the light load. Did you hear that? Do you believe it? If life were a puzzle, we’d have the one for ages 4 and under. Marriage is awesomely tough. We are sinners, there is no way around it.
And please hear me. I’m not sweeping that precious unmarried heart of yours under the rug. Girl, I’m single. I get it. But we don’t get it… if ya get me? Got it? I’ve learned a couple things on this trip. I have no business writing to the married heart. How could I even attempt it? I won’t even try. Next, I could get red in the face with excitement talking about how we should be SEIZING THIS SEASON, ladies. If you were next to me, I'd shake you until your eyeballs popped out. I won't let go until you believe it too!
If you already knew this. You're far wiser than I. I believed for 26 years married people are lucky and a group to be hated, envied and the like. They have nothing to be sad about. Me, with out the ring? Now that was something to shed tears over. Let's just say the 'me today', wishes she could flick the 'me then' in the forehead.
As I drove home tonight, radio off, windows down… it hit me. I have heard one too many stories of us getting let down, experiencing a broken heart, shattered dream, someone we love saying the wrong thing, or walking away, a brutal rejection, he cheated, he lied, he was emotionally abusive, or emotionally absent and the grotesque list goes on. This is not a boy bash session. That is not and will never be my heart. I love boys. I fall in love often and fast. Boys are lovely and exciting. I can't wait to meet the lucky guy who gets stuck with my vivid imagination and love of facebook self portraits. But tonight truth washed over me and I smiled big. God will never hurt me. It’s just not going to happen. I will never be able to say that He checked off one of the wrongs listed above. I will never cry myself to sleep over a God who doesn’t pursue me, or love me. He does not reject or walk away. He can’t lie and He won’t cheat. I am blessed to be romanced by a freakin’ stud.
This season is one to be savored like a big bowl of ice cream. Girl, grab a spoon.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Do they make antibiotics for CRAZY?
Do they make antibiotics for CRAZY?
I’m going to step on toes, most of them mine. Here’s the deal, lovelies… We’re crazy. It’s true. You know it and if you disagree you’re probably still in Stage One: denial. Stay tuned I’ll start shining the flash light in the dark un-talked about places in the backwoods of relationships. Hear me out, if I guy tries to call us out, we’ll go to bat for each other. Girls aren’t crazy, guys are dumb. But, if it’s just us sitting around a tub of ice cream, girl, you KNOW that to which what I am speaking of.
Maybe not, though. Maybe you’re different than me. Let’s try on a couple scenarios from my personal memory bank and see where you rank on the rector scale’o’needy.
You’re dating a boy. Friday is here. You know he’s free. You know, most likely, he plans on spending it with you. There you sit in front of your computer screen at work dreaming up all the fun romantic things he could plan, or ways he could surprise you. The time clock runs out and now you’re at home awaiting his phone call. Maybe you wait for a while, maybe not for long. But you’ve made up your mind he needs to be the one to call. Right? If he wants it, he’ll call. If you have to call him, you’re admitting you like him more. No lady likes looking in the mirror and seeing the aggressor starring back at her. No thank you. I’ll just wait. I’ll walk around with the phone to my forehead waiting for his call. I’ll check my service often. I might even dial out once or twice to make sure everything is ship shape and running smoothly. But I definitely don’t stare at the phone begging it to ring. Okay, yes. Maybe I do.
The crazy starts to inch its way in.
He calls. He small talks. He asks you about your day, but you’ve already set up this invisible standard for him to meet. So you mistakenly look right over his sweet concern. You can almost see red, but you try to reel it in. You're breezy.
He talks more and about nothing, at least nothing concerning your upcoming dinner by the sea and dessert painted sunset sky.
You are, at this point, convinced he has no interest in you. He doesn’t even like you. You are wasting your time. He is just going to end up breaking your heart somewhere down the road, probably like the last guy. And maybe you’ve not only stuck a sword in it, but twist it a little with the notion that you can surely do better.
Keep in mind, boyfriend has no idea what is going down in that precious, yet psychotic head of yours. His flight deck shows all signs are green for take off. Skies are blue and the air smells sweet. You, on the other hand, have rather quickly radioed ground control and informed them of the raised terror alert. He has gone from blue (guarded) to orange (high) in a few short seconds. Unfortunately for this pilot, he is about to have the wind removed from his under his wings and he has absolutely no idea.
Now this pretend scenario could go many ways. All of them will merit fairly the same crazed response, but for the sake of personal recognition I’ll paint a few canvases.
“Hey, I think some of us guys are going to see a baseball game.” This could even be followed by an invitation extended for you to come along, but you will have NONE of it. He’s made his decision. Clearly his friends are more important than you.
“I can’t wait to see you. What do you want to do tonight?” He is a jerk and he NEVER plans anything. You are completely carrying the weight of this relationship on your shoulders and he couldn’t care less.
“I have a paper to write before Monday and I haven’t started it.” How dare he not prioritize his life better? Now he is wasting your time. This relationship is clearly and hugely a waste of your time.
“Want to grab some Moe’s and then see a movie?” You love burritos and you should be ecstatic the kid even planned something, but will you appreciate it? Nope. Because earlier today you put all your betting chips in the romantic basket and this falls short, way short.
You feel the insecurity rise up in your throat. You see the whole thing play out like a movie, yet you are powerless to hit eject, pause, rewind… anything. It proceeds before you like a smoke billowing locomotive with faulty brakes.
You handed him an imaginary (to him) pop quiz and he failed. Nonetheless very soon after one of the above responses make it out of his mouth he’s met with a dart right to his temple. He shakes it off, dazed and confused by it all, he continues on in oblivion. You hurl another dart, angry that the first one didn’t do the trick. This one hits him between the eyes and he realizes, he is clueless as to why, but he knows he made a wrong turn somewhere. The good ones will desperately try to swerve out of the oncoming traffic, understanding this can only lead to a fatality. His.
But, none of these are you, right? Ha. I suspect the men we date are on their feet at this point recalling a painful, yet similar occurrence they themselves have experienced.
I don’t know what form of mud you’ll drag him through, but it never ends pretty.
Or what about the time you got upset because he plopped down on the loveseat before the movie started, instead of the couch where you’d both fit more comfortably? Instead of pointing him in the direction of the couch, or cuddling up to him on the love seat… you stomp your feet all the way to the furthest seat.
Or how about when he’s knee deep in a poker game with friends and instead of being dealt in, or playing a supporting role you sit in another room pouting waiting impatiently for him to realize you’re missing.
I could write of these all day. I’ve lived in this city, even purchased a home here. It’s a little town I like to call “insecture”. Yep. I made that up. It’s a cross between insecure and immature and it was invented in my head at approximately 2am, for this I apologize.
This multi-case recollection has gotten wordy. The goal tonight was to meet you where you are… or in my case ‘was’, and hope never to be again. I write, if for nothing else, so that someone can maybe hopefully learn from my stupor. I have had more than my share of relationship blunders. I intend to share every painful, silly and embarrassing one with you. Will you please see me for the schmuck I was and intensely inspire to be different? I know this writing venture will be a guide I hope to look to and remember in my next relationship, I have the potential to discern the crazy. Hope is not lost.
Tonight, we recognize. Tomorrow, we defeat.
Goodnight, my beautiful crazies.
I’m going to step on toes, most of them mine. Here’s the deal, lovelies… We’re crazy. It’s true. You know it and if you disagree you’re probably still in Stage One: denial. Stay tuned I’ll start shining the flash light in the dark un-talked about places in the backwoods of relationships. Hear me out, if I guy tries to call us out, we’ll go to bat for each other. Girls aren’t crazy, guys are dumb. But, if it’s just us sitting around a tub of ice cream, girl, you KNOW that to which what I am speaking of.
Maybe not, though. Maybe you’re different than me. Let’s try on a couple scenarios from my personal memory bank and see where you rank on the rector scale’o’needy.
You’re dating a boy. Friday is here. You know he’s free. You know, most likely, he plans on spending it with you. There you sit in front of your computer screen at work dreaming up all the fun romantic things he could plan, or ways he could surprise you. The time clock runs out and now you’re at home awaiting his phone call. Maybe you wait for a while, maybe not for long. But you’ve made up your mind he needs to be the one to call. Right? If he wants it, he’ll call. If you have to call him, you’re admitting you like him more. No lady likes looking in the mirror and seeing the aggressor starring back at her. No thank you. I’ll just wait. I’ll walk around with the phone to my forehead waiting for his call. I’ll check my service often. I might even dial out once or twice to make sure everything is ship shape and running smoothly. But I definitely don’t stare at the phone begging it to ring. Okay, yes. Maybe I do.
The crazy starts to inch its way in.
He calls. He small talks. He asks you about your day, but you’ve already set up this invisible standard for him to meet. So you mistakenly look right over his sweet concern. You can almost see red, but you try to reel it in. You're breezy.
He talks more and about nothing, at least nothing concerning your upcoming dinner by the sea and dessert painted sunset sky.
You are, at this point, convinced he has no interest in you. He doesn’t even like you. You are wasting your time. He is just going to end up breaking your heart somewhere down the road, probably like the last guy. And maybe you’ve not only stuck a sword in it, but twist it a little with the notion that you can surely do better.
Keep in mind, boyfriend has no idea what is going down in that precious, yet psychotic head of yours. His flight deck shows all signs are green for take off. Skies are blue and the air smells sweet. You, on the other hand, have rather quickly radioed ground control and informed them of the raised terror alert. He has gone from blue (guarded) to orange (high) in a few short seconds. Unfortunately for this pilot, he is about to have the wind removed from his under his wings and he has absolutely no idea.
Now this pretend scenario could go many ways. All of them will merit fairly the same crazed response, but for the sake of personal recognition I’ll paint a few canvases.
“Hey, I think some of us guys are going to see a baseball game.” This could even be followed by an invitation extended for you to come along, but you will have NONE of it. He’s made his decision. Clearly his friends are more important than you.
“I can’t wait to see you. What do you want to do tonight?” He is a jerk and he NEVER plans anything. You are completely carrying the weight of this relationship on your shoulders and he couldn’t care less.
“I have a paper to write before Monday and I haven’t started it.” How dare he not prioritize his life better? Now he is wasting your time. This relationship is clearly and hugely a waste of your time.
“Want to grab some Moe’s and then see a movie?” You love burritos and you should be ecstatic the kid even planned something, but will you appreciate it? Nope. Because earlier today you put all your betting chips in the romantic basket and this falls short, way short.
You feel the insecurity rise up in your throat. You see the whole thing play out like a movie, yet you are powerless to hit eject, pause, rewind… anything. It proceeds before you like a smoke billowing locomotive with faulty brakes.
You handed him an imaginary (to him) pop quiz and he failed. Nonetheless very soon after one of the above responses make it out of his mouth he’s met with a dart right to his temple. He shakes it off, dazed and confused by it all, he continues on in oblivion. You hurl another dart, angry that the first one didn’t do the trick. This one hits him between the eyes and he realizes, he is clueless as to why, but he knows he made a wrong turn somewhere. The good ones will desperately try to swerve out of the oncoming traffic, understanding this can only lead to a fatality. His.
But, none of these are you, right? Ha. I suspect the men we date are on their feet at this point recalling a painful, yet similar occurrence they themselves have experienced.
I don’t know what form of mud you’ll drag him through, but it never ends pretty.
Or what about the time you got upset because he plopped down on the loveseat before the movie started, instead of the couch where you’d both fit more comfortably? Instead of pointing him in the direction of the couch, or cuddling up to him on the love seat… you stomp your feet all the way to the furthest seat.
Or how about when he’s knee deep in a poker game with friends and instead of being dealt in, or playing a supporting role you sit in another room pouting waiting impatiently for him to realize you’re missing.
I could write of these all day. I’ve lived in this city, even purchased a home here. It’s a little town I like to call “insecture”. Yep. I made that up. It’s a cross between insecure and immature and it was invented in my head at approximately 2am, for this I apologize.
This multi-case recollection has gotten wordy. The goal tonight was to meet you where you are… or in my case ‘was’, and hope never to be again. I write, if for nothing else, so that someone can maybe hopefully learn from my stupor. I have had more than my share of relationship blunders. I intend to share every painful, silly and embarrassing one with you. Will you please see me for the schmuck I was and intensely inspire to be different? I know this writing venture will be a guide I hope to look to and remember in my next relationship, I have the potential to discern the crazy. Hope is not lost.
Tonight, we recognize. Tomorrow, we defeat.
Goodnight, my beautiful crazies.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Researching the woman's heart.
I have been humbled to receive your answers in the mail. I assumed I’d know all the responses and that nothing would catch me off guard, but we are so ridiculously and wonderfully made. One of the small lessons I’ve picked up on this search, is that while each of our struggles are uniquely different, our hearts seem to be singing the same song. We’re each just singing different parts of the song and all at the same time so it’s harder to notice. I won’t be diving deep into this “theory”, just yet. Because frankly I wouldn’t be so sure I’d surface. The depth of a woman’s heart is bottomless, me thinks. However, I wanted to make a few profound (at least to me) observations.
Observation number one. There is something to be said about a woman who is knee deep in something she is passionate about. Maybe I over did it on the ‘something’ but she is outstandingly different then her peers. She stands a little taller and has an amazing pair of rose colored glasses. She doesn’t wear them everyday, but she at least owns a pair and looks great in them. Just think, if I can pick this up in her writing, I’m confident boys can smell it. This says to me, we should seek passion and pursue it. As long as said passion isn’t, let’s say… stripping.
Awful joke. Moving on.
Write down on a piece of paper what you enjoy doing. Or maybe what you’re good at, even a hobby that you’re awful at, but really want to be good at. For me, this is running. The awful at it part, anyway… definitely not the passionate part, unless you count how passionate I am about not wanting to be running as I’m running.
My serious answers would be writing, photography, and traveling. Yes, these are a few of my favorite things. I add a couple years to my life as I read that sentence over and over. (For the sake of not appearing like a sloth, I did not include my forbidden love of sleeping in this list.) When it comes to the pursuit of my above mentioned happiness, I would say, I am attacked often and from every angle.
I write good. Who even says that? Not authors, they would say, they write ‘well’. The dream of writing my own book is even a prideful, yet embarrassing thing to announce. I’m implying I think people care about what I have to say and that it would be worth a hard earned hour of pay for them to purchase. So, I shouldn’t write. And I go months or even years doing, (or is it not doing?), just that.
Photography. You must know, that I could never shoot a wedding. This object on my list goes hand in hand with the other love of my life, vacations. I really like photography when the things I’m taking pictures of don’t need any editing or an explanatory caption. (But because of the whole liking to write thing, you’re probably going to get a caption.) This is why I come back from Haiti with 500 pictures on my memory card, or how I managed to take 52 pictures in seven minutes of the sun rising over the rim of the Grand Canyon.
I could speak of these moments all day. But, you don’t want to hear it, let alone read it. And only the really lucky people get to make money doing it. So it gets buried by a 9 to 5er. There is a Donald Miller quote that I’ve kept with me for sometime, it goes something like this… “The devil’s greatest trick is not to have us falling into some great sin, but rather have us wasting time.” I might’ve butchered the quote because I was too lazy to look it up, however it falls in line behind the entire book of Ecclesiastes. Solomon, the wise, says 1453 times (I made that part up) that everything is meaningless and a ‘chasing after the wind’. I picture us all running around chasing the wind and not in a good way, in a very exhausting, out of breath way.
Back to the paved road we were on… I think you can see a difference in the woman who has started her own business or who is making a difference in the lives of the kids she’s pouring into. A woman doing what God has gifted her to be doing is like a lily among the fields; easy to point out, be picked, and then put in a vase to be marveled at and delighted in.
My next discovery has been our uncanny ability to find beauty in most things, unless of course we’re speaking of ourselves… then it’s a mystery. I won’t stay at this point long, because I don’t have a solution yet. Not even close. Just observing for now, though I’m pretty sure a guy can smell this too. Their choosing of a mate just depends on which one of us stinks less. Most of us are good, or think we are, at covering up this smell. I was told before and not nicely, that I have a ‘go away’ sign on my forehead when I walk into a room of men. This was not his choice of words, I took it upon myself to remove the profanities, I don’t even recall who told me this, but regardless I was blown away. I can’t think of a time in my life that I’ve ever been “secure” enough to think that highly of myself. Not even right out of high school when I was sadly, the closest I’ll ever be to having wash board abs. But after some examination of myself and others, I realize we’re (most days, that is) good at faking it. And if we’re having an extra hard time faking it, we’ll just critique the other women in the room. Don’t you point that finger of judgment at me, you KNOW what I’m saying is true.
Now where was I going? Oh yes, we stink of insecurity but we wear a perfume to mask it, though heaven forbid we run out or forget to put it on one day. Sometimes at the bottom of a really good self loathing session I couldn’t find a teaspoon of beauty if I had all day to look in the mirror. But, in two seconds of walking into a room of some of my favorite ladies, I can spot it in their faces, outfits and adorable handbags.
My next and greatest gender generalization of the day is that God pursues every one of us. He has fallen for us and fallen hard. Do you feel pursued by God? Romanced by God? Every single answer to that question has been an unwavering yes. This tells me one of two things: we’re really good at saying all the right things or there is an amazing thing to be unwrapped here. I picture the most tragic of love triangles playing out. I can recognize it, because I have lived it. We want be pursued by Johnny Doe. And Johnny Doe might be a swell guy, but if I’ve learned anything from our responses, it’s that even the best guy can still fall a little short on a bad day. I’m being nice here. Some guys fall a lotta short on their very best day (another day, another book).
God is the guy we call, after we just got stood up for the Prom. And He’s at our house in two seconds because He was really waiting outside in the rain the whole time for you to wise up and call. It’s ridiculous yet we do it everyday. We can all recognize He’s there, always ready to swoop in and clean up the mess from some careless (or even oblivious) boy. We know this. And I’m afraid to admit, we probably take advantage of this. Actually, I’m sure of it. I think husband or no husband… when we start to get pumped about God as our Prom date we’ll be able to toss the waterproof mascara.
I think I might’ve hit my word quota for the afternoon, because I am unable to wrap this up cleverly. I used whatever creative juices I had left on my Prom date analogy. But, I wanted to thank those of you who have participated so far, yell at those who haven’t replied yet and encourage those who might stumble upon this blogish ramble.
I also wanted to announce that I’ve had some cream of the crop men agree to having their brains picked for a good cause. If I pull off a book one day, I would LOOOOVE to unveil a ‘men tell all’ sort of chapter. I know we can be insane, emotional and a little reckless at times, but what I really want to know is how to trick a guy into loving me regardless. I kid. But really.
Ladies, here is your chance to volunteer a question you might have about the man psyche. Surveys are going out soon, so hurry it up if you want me to squeeze one of your questions in.
Observation number one. There is something to be said about a woman who is knee deep in something she is passionate about. Maybe I over did it on the ‘something’ but she is outstandingly different then her peers. She stands a little taller and has an amazing pair of rose colored glasses. She doesn’t wear them everyday, but she at least owns a pair and looks great in them. Just think, if I can pick this up in her writing, I’m confident boys can smell it. This says to me, we should seek passion and pursue it. As long as said passion isn’t, let’s say… stripping.
Awful joke. Moving on.
Write down on a piece of paper what you enjoy doing. Or maybe what you’re good at, even a hobby that you’re awful at, but really want to be good at. For me, this is running. The awful at it part, anyway… definitely not the passionate part, unless you count how passionate I am about not wanting to be running as I’m running.
My serious answers would be writing, photography, and traveling. Yes, these are a few of my favorite things. I add a couple years to my life as I read that sentence over and over. (For the sake of not appearing like a sloth, I did not include my forbidden love of sleeping in this list.) When it comes to the pursuit of my above mentioned happiness, I would say, I am attacked often and from every angle.
I write good. Who even says that? Not authors, they would say, they write ‘well’. The dream of writing my own book is even a prideful, yet embarrassing thing to announce. I’m implying I think people care about what I have to say and that it would be worth a hard earned hour of pay for them to purchase. So, I shouldn’t write. And I go months or even years doing, (or is it not doing?), just that.
Photography. You must know, that I could never shoot a wedding. This object on my list goes hand in hand with the other love of my life, vacations. I really like photography when the things I’m taking pictures of don’t need any editing or an explanatory caption. (But because of the whole liking to write thing, you’re probably going to get a caption.) This is why I come back from Haiti with 500 pictures on my memory card, or how I managed to take 52 pictures in seven minutes of the sun rising over the rim of the Grand Canyon.
I could speak of these moments all day. But, you don’t want to hear it, let alone read it. And only the really lucky people get to make money doing it. So it gets buried by a 9 to 5er. There is a Donald Miller quote that I’ve kept with me for sometime, it goes something like this… “The devil’s greatest trick is not to have us falling into some great sin, but rather have us wasting time.” I might’ve butchered the quote because I was too lazy to look it up, however it falls in line behind the entire book of Ecclesiastes. Solomon, the wise, says 1453 times (I made that part up) that everything is meaningless and a ‘chasing after the wind’. I picture us all running around chasing the wind and not in a good way, in a very exhausting, out of breath way.
Back to the paved road we were on… I think you can see a difference in the woman who has started her own business or who is making a difference in the lives of the kids she’s pouring into. A woman doing what God has gifted her to be doing is like a lily among the fields; easy to point out, be picked, and then put in a vase to be marveled at and delighted in.
My next discovery has been our uncanny ability to find beauty in most things, unless of course we’re speaking of ourselves… then it’s a mystery. I won’t stay at this point long, because I don’t have a solution yet. Not even close. Just observing for now, though I’m pretty sure a guy can smell this too. Their choosing of a mate just depends on which one of us stinks less. Most of us are good, or think we are, at covering up this smell. I was told before and not nicely, that I have a ‘go away’ sign on my forehead when I walk into a room of men. This was not his choice of words, I took it upon myself to remove the profanities, I don’t even recall who told me this, but regardless I was blown away. I can’t think of a time in my life that I’ve ever been “secure” enough to think that highly of myself. Not even right out of high school when I was sadly, the closest I’ll ever be to having wash board abs. But after some examination of myself and others, I realize we’re (most days, that is) good at faking it. And if we’re having an extra hard time faking it, we’ll just critique the other women in the room. Don’t you point that finger of judgment at me, you KNOW what I’m saying is true.
Now where was I going? Oh yes, we stink of insecurity but we wear a perfume to mask it, though heaven forbid we run out or forget to put it on one day. Sometimes at the bottom of a really good self loathing session I couldn’t find a teaspoon of beauty if I had all day to look in the mirror. But, in two seconds of walking into a room of some of my favorite ladies, I can spot it in their faces, outfits and adorable handbags.
My next and greatest gender generalization of the day is that God pursues every one of us. He has fallen for us and fallen hard. Do you feel pursued by God? Romanced by God? Every single answer to that question has been an unwavering yes. This tells me one of two things: we’re really good at saying all the right things or there is an amazing thing to be unwrapped here. I picture the most tragic of love triangles playing out. I can recognize it, because I have lived it. We want be pursued by Johnny Doe. And Johnny Doe might be a swell guy, but if I’ve learned anything from our responses, it’s that even the best guy can still fall a little short on a bad day. I’m being nice here. Some guys fall a lotta short on their very best day (another day, another book).
God is the guy we call, after we just got stood up for the Prom. And He’s at our house in two seconds because He was really waiting outside in the rain the whole time for you to wise up and call. It’s ridiculous yet we do it everyday. We can all recognize He’s there, always ready to swoop in and clean up the mess from some careless (or even oblivious) boy. We know this. And I’m afraid to admit, we probably take advantage of this. Actually, I’m sure of it. I think husband or no husband… when we start to get pumped about God as our Prom date we’ll be able to toss the waterproof mascara.
I think I might’ve hit my word quota for the afternoon, because I am unable to wrap this up cleverly. I used whatever creative juices I had left on my Prom date analogy. But, I wanted to thank those of you who have participated so far, yell at those who haven’t replied yet and encourage those who might stumble upon this blogish ramble.
I also wanted to announce that I’ve had some cream of the crop men agree to having their brains picked for a good cause. If I pull off a book one day, I would LOOOOVE to unveil a ‘men tell all’ sort of chapter. I know we can be insane, emotional and a little reckless at times, but what I really want to know is how to trick a guy into loving me regardless. I kid. But really.
Ladies, here is your chance to volunteer a question you might have about the man psyche. Surveys are going out soon, so hurry it up if you want me to squeeze one of your questions in.
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