I was at Starbucks last night, closing. I was heating up my stoffers dinner in the microwave. I also had a caesar salad to get my greens from having opened at Apple. Having worked both jobs, eight hours each, in the same day. It occured to me that my life consists mostly of frozen dinners and retail. And if it were not for all of those wonderful and lovely people in my personal life, I would probably cry every morning upon removing myself from bed, in the dark, as that has been the necessary time for me to rise, as of late.

And, by the way, Merry Christmas Eve and Happy Holidays to all of you three people that read this! Be thankful!

I was attempting to get on the escalator yesterday.
A lady bumped into me, a little confused, blocking my entrance.
"I am sorry," she said, "I can't decide where I am going."
Me too, I thought to myself.

I got a sandwich at chik-fil-a. Wheat bun. No pickles. So they put a bright orange sticker on the package to let me know I am special. I thought that was sweet.

I am working now. I work too much at two jobs that don't really stir up anything authentic inside of me. Yesterday when I was eating eggs and an english muffin, because it was the only food in my house, I was hoping that the eggs were bad from the warm refrigerator I had during the ice storm, and that I would get salmonella poisoning so that I would be able to call both the jobs and tell them I wouldn't be able to make it. I think that's a good indication that something needs to change.

here goes

it's been almost exactly three months since I have clicked on the "new post" button. The time is right.

I am feeling inspired some, as of late, for various reasons, to try this again.

Surprises abound. Goodness surrounds me.

The best part of my story right now is that I have nothing tangible to complain about. I have gripes, annoyances, frustrations...but the fantastic far out ways that which is not. People and situations and stories are crossing my path and bringing to life pieces of my essence that I am pretty sure have never breathed air before. And I am thankful...

For Christmas lights...and the long awaited winter chill in the air...for new jobs and new friends and new experiences...for my week-old-life-long-friend Houston that helped me see the need for a committee to spread Cheer and Merriment...for good movies and great conversation and stupid people that miss the point and make me thankful that somewhere along the line, I found the need for critical thought...for genuine laughter and brutal honesty and great scarves...for beginning the day with a fulfilling run and not having to search for a reason to smile...and for whatever is to come...

Seasons

I would like to give you a picture of my life last year: Desert like. Not much water...enough to live, but not enough to ever feel quenched. Also, I was alone in the desert. If there was a bobcat or rattle snake to attack me in the middle of the night, there would have been no one around to notice or chop off the rattle snakes head. And it was fittingly hot all of the time...Seasons? No siree. There were poeple flying overhead dropping aid (packaged food, bandaids, matches, etc.) in the form of movies, books, and co-workers, but they mostly just flew overhead, rarely stopping to share one of those packaged meals with me.

The funny thing is that now that I am where I am, the idea of seasons has taken on an entirely new meaning. Not only am I experiencing the freaking hottest saoson the great state of Oklahoma has, my life is also singing loudly the cliche that I have always heard that there are seasons of life, and that when you are in the midst of them, good or bad, you tend to think that's how things will be. But then something happens, and a new season is upon you, and you realize the world is not out to get you and things change, and get better. You still remember that the desert was hard to endure, but had a purpose, and you don't feel any animosity for the desert, rather, you're just thankful to have stumbled back into civilization, where there is grass and trees and streams that flow, and fall leaves just around the corner. And you try to remind yourself to be really thankful, because there will probably be another desert-like season somewhere in your future, and you want to have saved up enough water to help get you through it...

So civilization? It's great. I was driving to a friends house last night to watch Last King of Scotland. I have seen it twice already, but the ladies I was watching it with hadn't, and their company was well worth the drive. I was remembering the desert on my way there, and I was feeling thankful, while listening to Interpol, a band turned on to me by Michael, my saxophone playing philosophy majoring friend who just left to go back to school in Chicago. I wish I could explain in words on the screen how great Michael is, but it would be a useless effort, and hopefully that says enough.

On my way home, I stopped by Starbucks to get a hot tea and because I knew Chris was working and I hadn't seen her in too many days. She is not just a friend, but a kindred spirit and we feel like we have known eachother much longer than we have. She had a bad day, to put it mildly. She is getting married in October. They have been planning on having their wedding at a friend's ranch (in approximately a month) and the friends are turning out to be snakes walking around with human bodies. Now the day that's supposed to be her happiest has a dark cloud hovering over, and is engulfed in stress, disappointment, a little more stress, and anger. And so I was glad I stopped by, to listen, and give her a hug. Tomorrow evening I am going to have birthday picnic with Amy...her birthday was on Sunday, and so we are going to have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the park to celebrate.

Speaking of Sunday, that was the evening of my life group. I meet at Matt and Amy's house every other Sunday night with a lovely mix of people. There is Matt, the man of the house (ha) who has some kind of great design job. He facilitates. Amy is his wife, and she is creative, and a great decorator, and a kind, giving soul. Then there is Tonya, the artist, who is dating Ken, the big kid with a great laugh and a great heart. Mary is the one who brought me to the group. We work together at Starbucks, and will hopefully be roommates soon. She is great. Giving. Caring. Thoughtful. Fun. Then there is John, and his roommate Nick. Equally great and equally different. John values critical thought, Nick isn't sure what critical thought amounts to, but knows that whatever it was, it was fun. George is in a category of his own. He owns a kayak and likes to fish and likes beer and The Big Lebowski. And every other Sunday, I get to spend a few hours with these people, discussing Christianity, movies, and life, and laughing until my cheeks hurt.

I am not writing this just to give out my weekly schedule or so that the world knows whether or not my calender is full...but to say that right now, I have definitely stepped out of the desert, and here in the valley, life is rich.

shifty shifts

Chris and I have a plan to run together once a week. We look at our schedules, pick a time when we are both off, and plan to meet. We usually try to do it in the morning, but last week we didn’t have any mornings available, so we planned to do it after one of my afternoon shifts.

The shift was a little overwhelming. I was the shift on duty, and there were too many partners there asking me questions at the same time while I was in the process of training one of our new partners on the bar. This consisted of me trying to explain to Patrick, our brand new high school graduate, that there is one less pump of syrup in a caramel macchiato than there is in a caramel latte, and that it is actually vanilla syrup in a caramel macchiato instead of caramel syrup, and how many shots are in a latte and that there is an extra pump and shot in the venti iced but that’s the only one…all this in the midst of making these drinks for the seven people in line and funneling questions as they come…from every where…while standing on my feet for a full eight hours. I am not complaining (in case that’s what it sounds like). It was actually kind of fun. It’s just that when I sat down in Chris’ car after having changed my clothes to work-out appropriate attire, I let out a big sigh, and she detected from my sigh and the look on my face that the last thing I wanted to do was run. It was also sickeningly sticky muggy hot. She didn’t want to run either. So she suggested we go get ice cream. I didn’t contest. The next thirty or so minutes consisted of us driving around looking at beautiful old homes, Chris in the drivers seat enjoying her mint chocolate chip on a cake cone, me gobbling down my cookies and cream in a cup. Thank you Braum’s for a surprisingly sweetly cool afternoon.

Speaking of overwhelming shifts, I picked one up at a store today in Bixby. They needed a shift manager and I was off and I needed the hours. The only problem is that it is a drive thru store, and I was the shift on duty, and I have absolutely no drive thru experience. I work at a café store. We have no headsets. We have one of everything…one frappuccino station, one bar, one ice bin…we don’t have seven of everything. We do not talk to people unless we are standing in front of their face…and I like it that way. It’s simple and inviting and cozy and personal. We are convenient, don’t get me wrong. For better or worse, that is a key component of Starbucks. But convenience isn’t the only reason people come to our store. Our customers are willing to give a little more. They are willing to park their car and actually walk in, even if it’s raining outside. They have not given up on personal service, in the same way that I refuse to use the self check out lane at Albertsons. I would rather have a crabby check-out girl ring me up for something twice than listen to a computer tell me what to do. And then tell me to undo whatever I did that it just finished telling me to do. It’s infuriating, and I would take being furious at a human over a machine any day. The drive-thru was chaotic and confusing, and I am glad that when I open our store tomorrow morning, there will be no sliding windows to open, no headset waiting to adorn my head upon arrival.

patchiness

I am sitting here thinking about the orange I was eating. It was very robust…strong, even. I peeled it and started to dig in. At first glance I saw some dryness. A fraction of the slice ends were a little juiceless. But the rest was actually very good. I was sitting here staring at the remnants of peel on my leg, and the inedible part of the orange lying on top of the peelings, and thinking that if I was telling someone about my orange, I had sufficient evidence to say it really was a bit of a disappointment. One of the very first pieces I bit into was flavorless. I could have just trashed the rest of the orange after that first bite, assuming it was all the same. But I realized that my interpretation of the orange didn’t have to be like that. I could instead focus on the good of mr. navel…the pieces I had that were so cold and sweet and juicy, and let those pieces determine the outline of my morning orange experience. And it made me think of life and the way I interpret events that happen…how so often I want to look up and say to God, “why.” And so often I do look up and ask him why a good chunk of my orange was bad…why could it have all been cold and sweet and juicy…why did my first bite have to be bitter…Instead of thanking him for the fantastic orange, for the parts that that were pretty delicious, and also for the parts that weren’t, because they helped me appreciate the delicious parts that much more. Now my hands smell of orange citrus fruit and I am thankful.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the idea if purposeful things happening in our lives that prepare us for something else. There was a period of time where questioned God’s care, and whether or not he led us to places He intended us to be, or if that’s something we just tell ourselves so that we have some kind of security in the decisions we make. I have since came to the conclusion that He does lead us, and gives us situations to handle for a reason, because He knows our hearts and our strengths and our weaknesses and what we can handle. A few examples:

Pam’s sister is pregnant. She is due in two weeks. I saw her this weekend and asked if she was able to sleep at night. She said no. It makes sense, knowing that there is a child curled up in a fetal position pushing around all of her vital organs, namely the bladder. I would think that a pregnant woman feels ugh enough during the day that a good nights rest is pretty essential. But God knows that in a few weeks she will have this little person screaming at her in the middle of the night, and that it will be a while before she sleeps well again. Most of the women I have talked to that have had children say that was nearly impossible for them to sleep during the last month plus of their pregnancy. It makes me wonder if that was God’s way of preparing them for the sleepless nights that they are about to face.

Turtles. I have passed so many turtles on the country roads around where I live. I am sorry to say that the other day I actually ran over one. I wish his shell was indestructible. Is wasn’t. But…it got me thinking about what God was thinking about when he made turtles, and my theory is that in the beginning, he was having some fun with how they would walk. He could have given them legs like a dog, so that they could run fast, or like a cat, so they could climb trees. But he didn’t. He gave them legs that would enable them to get from point A to point B…but very very slowly. After He made the legs, I envision him laughing some, and thinking to Himself how cool they look. And then reality sets in and He realizes how slow they will have to go, and that this puts them in harms way more than other animals. He probably thought for a while about how to change the turtle’s legs without messing with the essence of their coolness. And then it hit Him! A shell! And so I like to think that God meant for them to have shells because they couldn’t run fast or climb up trees and He wanted to protect them.

Me. I am learning to silence my inner critic, so let me know if I am out of my mind. But I have been thinking lately about how blessed I am with friendships. I truly believe that there are people that go through their life without experiencing what true friendship is about, and I am blessed to have experienced it many times over, to be experiencing many times over. The other thing is that many of these friends came into my life through no real effort of my own. I didn’t take out an ad in a newspaper, or sit on a bench that I knew a lot of people would walk by. I was just making decisions and living life, and they were there. For some reason, God decided to bless me in this way. And the doom and gloom in me has just been thinking a tiny little bit that in His infinite wisdom, he knows that I will never find a life long love, and that I more than other people will need wonderful friendships to help sustain my soul, kind of like my own little turtle shell or sleepless pregnant nights.

The upside of this is that most times when I start to jump ahead of God and plan what He is thinking, and kind of try to conjure up my own version of infinite wisdom, I am wrong. It’s just something I have been thinking.

Ideally, I will someday marry and will also maintain these friendships and there won’t be a trade off. Ideally. But either way, I see how He is taking care of me, even when I don’t feel it, and that riding His wave is much more fun than making my own. I feel all yucky when I start to manipulate my life. That doesn’t mean some things aren’t in my hands. If I don’t eat, for example, I will starve. But His ideas are usually much better than mine, and when I intentionally ignore them for what I think would probably be better, it ends up being worse, and my soul feels all shaken up.

I don’t really know how to end this post because is feels a little patchy, so I will end it by saying it feels a little patchy.

slapdash

I have been looking for somewhere to live online. I don't like this whole rent thing. Why is it that we have to pay a lot of money in order to feel somewhat safe? I could live pretty cheap if I wanted to get mugged each night at the end of the day. Or I could pay a lot for rent and not eat. I am out of money either way. I hate that we are allowed as feeble fallen human beings to put a price tag on safety and beauty.

Rudi Julliani is on David Letterman right now. I don't think he is qualified to be our president or vice-president of the United States of America. And then I realized, from our current situation, Americans' these days don't put much consideration into whether or not a man in qualified to hold the position. I nominate Ashton Kutcher for President 2008. I think he has a pretty good shot.

It's funny that people tend to perceive me as pretty level headed and independent, I think, but I usually feel mostly like a mess on the inside. What would it be like if when people saw us, they were oblivious to appearance...hair, eyes, mannerisms, and instead only saw what was going on inside our head and a replay of the things we do when we think no one is watching? Hmm.

I was thinking about writing a story about someone that was very aware of time. They didn't own a watch. Ever. But they alwasys knew what time it was...down to the second. You ask Mary what time it is and she tells you 12:25 and 51 seconds...52 seconds...53 seconds...and then delving into how consumed her mind is with this ability and the toll it takes on her relationships. How even though her inner clock makes her accutely aware of the precise present time, this ability in itself keeps her from enjoying that very thing it is making her aware of...the here and now. I don't think Mary is the right name though. That's just the first thing that popped into my head.

I have worked the past five days. It's like I had a real five day work week that lasted from Thursday to Monday and it hit me today that I couldn't go anymore and I decided that's why day six is the weekend. As much as I would like for my week to be Saturday and Sunday and the weekend be the remainder days, when the man...whoever he was...decided that the work week would be 5 days, it must have been because his feet hurt too much for him to get out of bed on day six.

I took a two hour nap today after my work ended...from 5 to 7. It was lovely. There are few things I love more than taking an uninterrupted nap when I am really tired and have no where else to be. Bliss. It's what that is. And even though I spept for two hours, somehow I am one of those people that will go to bed in ten minutes and have no problem falling asleep or staying asleep. When people tell me they don't like naps in the middle of the day, that they can't go to sleep at night, I usually don't believe them, and I also get frustrated at them. I don't know why. I just do.

And now, after the most random post of my current blogs history, I am going to sleep.

My life at Starbucks

When you tell someone you work at Starbucks, they assume one of two things: you are a student needing part-time work in between classes or a mom needing part-time work to maintain your sanity. I am neither. When I tell them this, that I have finished school and carry a bachelors degree, there is a hesitated resposne that goes something like..."well...er...they have...um...great coffee"...or..."oh...I see. Good for you"...I just smile and go about my way, remindig myself their opinion doesn't matter much and that I am not a failure. It's really quite annoying, actually.

My dream: To someday own and operate a bakery that uses whole and fresh and unrefined ingredients...to spread the idea of mindfulness of what we are putting in our bodies while still enjoying the simple pleasure of a warm chocolate chip cookie strait from the oven or enjoying breakfast - a cinnamon and oat crunch scone - and a hot cup of tea - with a friend...and especially to create an environment for people to just be (I have actually considered calling it Just Be Bakery)...An environment where all are welcome, the prices aren't outrageous, a place where you are recognized and appreciated and treated with kindness...and sent on your way with yummy healthy goodies, to enjoy with the people in your life that you love. That is my vision. Working at Starbucks is excellent experience for someday creating a business of my own. Climbing their management ladder (as much as it pains me to do it at times) provides me the background and real life experience of running a business, but the safety of doing it under the wing of someone else, without the pressure of failing miserably and losing all of my money and investment. Let's be honest folks. The business side of things is NOT my strongpoint. Being able to learn from a company that clearly has a good hold on how to do it is invaluable for where I hope to end up.

At the end of the day, future goals and alterior motives and others expectations aside, I love where I work. I sincerely enjoy my job. Don't get me wrong; it has it's off days. But to be somewhere that enables me to interact with people on a daily basis, provide them with something they truly enjoy, and actually enjoy the partners I do it with...that's a blessing. I lived in Florida last year. Mostly alone. I enjoyed my job and my co-workers, but at the end of the day, I wen't home to a lot of emptiness. Since working at Starbucks, I have found a room-mate to live with at the end of the summer, a yoga buddy, a co-ed softball team, a friend to visit churches with, a book club to attend every other sunday night, where recently we have been discussing modern Christianity and its contrast to post-modern Christianity, what that looks like, and the logic behind it all. Last night we had a girls night...sushi...which I don't like. But I do like great ambiance, and the place we went had it. I had chicken lettuce wraps and a glass of wine and the making of some great friendships, the company of people that I truly enjoy. All of this because I work at Starbucks. I like to believe that God had a hand in it all...that there was a reason that I did want to work there, a reason why Ben hired me right after my interview, an hour before another interview at a different location...a place where I could truly begin to find a community of friends.

I have been wondering lately where I will end up, where I will go. I have been actually praying about it, and praying for a reason to be here, to stay. After sitting here and writing it all out, I think that I have more than just a reason. I have many.

untitled

I was driving tonight, by myself, thinking about how long it had been since I had blogged. I was thinking about writing and about how I have to feel compelled to write anything worth reading, and even then, it’s not necessarily worth reading. Something inside me prompts me, urges me, to get some part of some story out of the inside of my head…that prompting…urging…happened later in the evening, after my drive had ended. I had spent the day with my best friend…that person that knows you, all sides of you, and likes the fact that you aren’t sane most of the time…that person that knows your history and your present, and in knowing, has a clearer picture of all you are. We had been having fun. And then we moved on to more serious things: boys. It was inevitable, I suppose. We are both dating failures. Well, no, not even that exactly. We haven’t really had an opportunity to fail. We are dating challenged. And we understand this about each other, like no one else in either of our lives could…attempt…to. So there we were, talking about boys, our lack of, and reasoning through it all, attempting to convince each other that we would not end up old lonely hags, in so many words. We talked about our almosts, or rather our almost almosts, and about how much we felt in those instances, and how we couldn’t comprehend what it would feel like when it’s real. We talked about the lack of logic in it all, how we will always feel a certain way for certain people even the tough those people may never know we ever even felt that way…and we will always wonder if they felt anything for us…if we will ever have the courage to ask them, thinking maybe we will, but knowing really we won’t. And that’s how our evening ended, with all of those raw and sincere and sometimes painful realities rising to the surface of both my heart and my intellect, a volatile combination. She left and I was alone.

I was going to go grocery shopping, but my check that I had deposited earlier had not registered in my bank account. It was pending. Damn Bank of America. So I thought I would go and try on clothes. I felt like it was necessary, that when a woman is feeling emotionally distraught, and is also alone, she has two options. Chocolate or shopping. I knew I wouldn’t buy anything, so I thought that shopping would be the least destructive option. I went in Old Navy and walked around for three or so minutes, and it didn’t work, so I left, to go get some chocolate. That was definitely more helpful. And then I ran into an old friend from High School. She is a second year medical student. I love it when second year medical students, who will one day deliver babies or save lives or treat cancer patients ask me what I am doing, because I can say that I work at Starbucks. What a gratifying “look what I am doing for the good of humanity and also how I am oh so effectively using the degree I am currently making payments for” answer. So let me tell you, after the rising of my emotions that deal with a lifetime of rejection from the male population and then my running into the valedictorian of my graduation class, I was pretty much feeling secure and on top of the world. Not. Needy, rather. Yes, that’s a much better word for what I was feeling.

I also forgot to mention that I had driven by a very serious crash on my way to Tulsa…I was passing by immediately after, so much so that the fire truck had to cut in front of my lane of traffic to get to the victims. There was a man sitting, bleeding, probably in shock, a gigantic light pole leveled to the ground, and firemen struggling to get into the other side of the vehicle, the side that wasn’t recognizable. I drove away in tears.

So after I had finished my chocolate and tolerated enough forced catch up conversation, I left the book store and my mind numbing magazine behind, and decided to go and indulge in my other respite from the world…the world of film. I had wanted to see Year of the Dog, with Molly Shannon, for a few weeks now. I had suggested it to my parents, but after reading reviews decided it wasn’t the appropriate humor for my mom. My friend and I had thought of seeing it earlier, but it had started too late. So it worked out perfect, actually, because I felt better about seeing it alone anyway. It’s one of those odd movies that a lot of people wouldn’t get, so there wasn’t any pressure for anyone with me to like what I had recommended, because I was with myself. I got there a little early, and when I went to find my seat, the theater was empty and the teenage employees were still sweeping p popcorn off of the floor. I don’t know why, exactly, but that made me feel even more like a loser. Anyway, I took my seat, in the row right behind the bar, because I like to be able to put my feet on it, and also because it’s sort of close and I am near sided, so I can see better. I sat there for a good ten minutes, the only person in the theater, trying to convince myself that I won’t end up a lonely hag. And then a couple came in the theater, and we joked about how this is clearly a must see film, judging by the size of the audience. I joked that I couldn’t get anyone to come with me, and the man reassured me, saying he and his wife go to movies quite frequently by themselves. I told him I actually do to, and that in many instances, no offense to people, but that I prefer going alone. We talked about the philosophy behind that, about how you don’t feel pressured to talk to who your with, about how you are less distracted and can just enjoy the film, and what I mentioned previously, of how in going alone there is no pressure for the person you are with the enjoy your recommendation. And then he said something that brought me to tears. He prefaced it by saying how in love with his wife he was, so I was confused by the direction the conversation was going, and he was hesitating, forming his words carefully, which caught me a little off guard as well. He said that am a very pretty lady and that I should be out on a date. I am not saying this in arrogance; I hope I have made that clear. I am just saying this because it’s something I really needed to hear, something I don’t think I have ever heard, and it came from a random stranger in an otherwise empty movie theater in a moment of extremely rich neediness. I thanked him, and told him that I thought I was about to cry. And then his wife told me that I could pass for Maggie Gyllenhaal’s sister, and that was a compliment too because I really like her. She actually described her as that baker lady in the Will Ferrell movie, which was even cooler, because I want to be a baker.

This may sound really cheesy, but then I turned my eyes heavenward and thanked God for taking care of me in little ways that I could never expect, in ways that touch so close to the core of my soul. Honestly, that’s all I could think to do. It’s silly, I know. But that little scenario and those few words that came out of that gentleman’s mouth on that night when I was so aware of the feelings in my heart and disappointment on so many levels…it wasn’t just a coincidence. It was a beautiful thing, and I felt as if it was God’s way of reaching out to me in a way that He knew I would hear Him. And I did, very, very clearly.

It wasn't supposed to be, but it always is...

I am always hesitant to put that my interests involve going to the movies. It sounds so superficial. “Like, ok, so I totally love hanging out with my friends and listening to music…and going to the movies.” It’s tainted with high school naiveté. No offense to high schoolers. You’ll understand it when your older…I am sure that probably offends you even more. But you really will. And when you do, you’ll forgive me. Anyway, so, I don’t like just putting that I like going to the movies. Even though I do. I really really do.

A therapist told my brother that he should watch television or a movie before he goes to bed because it will quiet his mind…he has a hard time shutting it down and the therapists rationale was that he wouldn’t have to think, because all the thinking had already been done. His mind would just sort of go numb to the story unfolding in front of him. That doesn’t happen for me. If he was my therapist, I would not have shown up for my next session.

Movies make me feel more alive. They remind me that love exists, even if it comes in the form of a cheesy chick flick. Grant it, it’s not likely that my best friends boyfriends best friend who happens to be the best man in her wedding will be incredibly and insanely attractive and also happen to feel that way about me, and also be a medical professional…say a doctor…and be single and ready to fall in love except for the fact that he is helping raise his brother’s children since his brother’s accident and so he has a lot on his plate and then he falls in love with me and then screws up because he isn’t sure if he is ready and then he spends time alone when it’s raining outside and Damien Rice is playing in the background ever so softly and then in a rare moment of clarity, while watching his nieces play in said rain, he realizes that if he is going to hold onto the things he loves, the things that are most important in life, he will make room for me, amongst his career and his nieces and that it’s all worth the effort and flash forward to a scene where I am contemplating a job offer in Chicago and am actually on the phone with my new potential boss negotiating salary and my kitchen door flings open and there he is, breathing heavily because he had to run three blocks because the traffic was so thick and he opens his mouth and says, “don’t go,” and I tell my un-future boss that I will have to call her back, and he runs up to me and trips on the bag I have waiting next to the door, since my cab is outside, and we both laugh and I help him up and he kisses me and then we get married in someone’s beautiful backyard and so it doesn’t necessarily happen just like that, but love does happen. And sometimes it takes a movie where it does happen like that to remind me that it does actually happen.Movies wake me up, and the breathe life in to the dead parts of my veins. When I walk out of the theater, especially after seeing one alone, it is like all of my senses are on high alert. Life is going on around me while mine is standing still, and I get from place to place without even being aware that my legs are moving. The looks on the faces of the people I pass are more exaggerated, I wonder more about whom they are and what they are about, and why they are here on this night at this time and where they wish they could be.

After the movie I watched tonight, I went to Barnes and Noble, because it is always hard for me to just go home after my movie high. I needed somewhere to unwind, since movies don’t actually do that for me. I walked toward the bathroom because I wanted to freshen my make-up, as if that matters, and even though I had enough sense to encourage myself that this was necessary, the world around me was still more fresh and alive and out of body than ever. I walked past the section of coffee table books about Marilyn Monroe and Italy and classic cars, and there was a gentleman with high waist polyester pants and a pale yellow polo shirt tucked neatly in, and he had such a kind inquisitive look on his face, that told me he had both lived a full life, full of joy and loss, and that he is indeed still living it. It made me wonder how long he had had those pants and if they were his dress pants that he sat aside special for a night on the town. I found joy in his confidence, and hope in the fact that he had no idea that they were no longer in style, and that if he had had an idea, he probably wouldn’t have cared. I got the feeling that he was somewhat aware of the important things in life.

I kept moving and passed a somewhat overweight gentleman standing in front of the health section. He wasn’t obese, but looked like it wouldn’t hurt him to say no to a donut here or there. I related to that, and I felt with him. I know the, “ I don’t necessarily want to be this way anymore, but I don’t necessarily not want to be this way anymore, and I am thinking about change, but I just don’t know where to start…and is everyone looking at me here in the health section thinking this is exactly where I need to be?” You feel brave and naked simultaneously. I was hopeful for him and sad for him simultaneously.

I got to the bathroom and pulled out my lip gloss and concealer. The concealer has become one of my best friends lately. Anyway, I pulled them out and applied them, and instant confidence booster. Done and off to find a book. I pushed open the bathroom door and in front of me was a woman in a bright red t-shirt struggling to get out of her wheel chair. I wondered how she was going to get the door open, and then I realized she wasn’t...that I was going to hold it open for her. I felt pity. I felt sad for her. In these situations I try to consciously remind myself that we are all people and we all feel and mostly we feel the same. So I looked her in the eye and asked her if she was coming through and held the door open, priding myself on my good Samaritan ways. We greeted each other with a smile and I asked her how she was doing this evening as she struggled to grab hold of the bathroom wall so that she could get to the toilet to do that thing that all of us humans have to do when we have drank a lot. She replied with such sincerity that she was doing “really great actually” and that she and her “husband are out on a date.” I told her that was so great, feeling in my bones the response I gave her, and walked away in shame…as if she was a charity case I should spend my time pitying and helping. As I dodged her wheel chair that was still sitting in the hallway outside the bathroom, I had to dodge in the opposite direction another woman that was all put together with the jewelry and the hair and the smug demeanor, including a facial scowl. Then I felt pity for her, and I walked down the isle, toward the kid section, to a row of fantasy, and I cried. I cried because I was reminded of what is real, what is really real, and I felt convicted of the things in my life that I pursue that have no means. I cried because in that moment I was reminded more of the reality of love, by my friend that had to cling to the walls to make it to the bathroom, so that she could get back to her date with her husband, than any hour-and-a-half chick flick I had ever viewed, or will ever view for that matter…I cried because I acknowledged my need for artificial stimuli to remind me to live, when in reality, what should wake me up is all around me every moment in the faces that appear in my daily life. I cried because of the short but beautiful love story I had just encountered…And it isn’t that I was so impressed that someone could actually love her. It’s bigger than that. It hits at the core of it all, the birth place of whatever it is that enables us lowly humans to feel connected to another individual. That love really is bigger than that, than what we make it. It isn’t based in superficiality or flirtation, as fun as that is, or infatuation, as fun as that is. It’s more than I can put into words, especially since I have never actually been in love. But from what I have seen from the supposed love that has fallen apart to the unlikely relationships that have endured, to the labeled unlovable finding love, it’s just so much bigger than that, whatever that is.

I didn’t mean for this post to end up being about love. But Jack Johnson says something about that, about love being his answer to most of the bigger questions, so it shouldn’t be such a surprise to me that it turned out this way. I also didn’t mean to cry again in public. I didn’t stay at Barnes and Noble. I couldn’t. I had successfully been knocked from my movie high back into reality, and where I ended up was so much better. I walked to my car in tears, and wouldn’t you know, the couple in the car next to me were arguing. Talk about being knocked back into reality. She said something about him not starting it again, and he said something back to her about her not starting it again, and so I cried more for another reason, about how capable we humans are of hurting the ones we love. And then I started the car and a Bryan Adams song was playing, Everything thing I do, I do it for you, and then I laughed, because I really felt like my moment had almost come full circle, that I was now actually in a movie. And so I laughed some more and cried some more and ended my evening with Bryan Adams, feeling so full of life, more so than I have felt in a long while.

closer to myself

Digging deep, I feel my conscience burn.
I need to know who and what I am.
This hunger jolts me from complacency.
Rocks me, makes me meet myself
Jacob walked a limp to remind him
Of the greater gift of the greater one.
But when I fell, I fell to my own resources
How can I carry the truth if I can't even crawl to you?
I wanna feel something sweeter than this sin.
Cover me in leaves roll me over again.
I've been everybody else now I want to be.
Something closer to myself
Paint me in a different light.
Shed me yet another coat of skin.
Mark me with ash until I'm clean again.
'cause I'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I know I can love you, I know that I can La di da di da di da

kendall payne

In the ring: Goodbye versus Badbye

Crying uncontrollably in front of strangers is not fun. I have done it twice this week. Each time, there were looks of consolation, and an equal number of "she is an unstable weirdo" looks.

Monday I opened at Starbucks, my current place of employment. I was bitterly tired, for a number of reasons. One being that my alarm went off at 3:45AM!, another that I was sitting wide awake in bed at 2:15AM!, and finally because I was getting sick and was congested, and so I didn't really get very much sleep prior to 2:15. So basically I was an inner mess and an outer mess and trying to serve coffee with gusto and joy. I forgot to mention that I felt like throwing up all morning long. To add even further to the aura of messiness in my demeanor, my brother and Kim and my nephew Casey jr were going to stop by on their way to the airport to tell me goodbye. I don't know why it is called goodbye. It's not always so good. Sometimes it is, like when people are at your house really late and they aren't getting the picture that all you really want to do is go to sleep. It is a "good" by when they leave. Or if your husband has beat you for several years and you get tired of covering the bruises and lying to family and alienating friends at and also visiting the hospital for "falling off the step ladder in the kitchen" so you finally decide to leave the bastard. That is another "good" by. But when you only get to see your nephew a few times a year and you formerly lived not very far from him and actually saw him quite frequently and inevitably got severely attached to him and his lovely hugs, even the ones you had to beg him for, and then he comes and visits your daily life for about three days and reminds you of how wonderful it is to have him around and how when he is gone there really is some kind of something missing from your awake hours, when he comes by your workplace to go back home to freaking Florida, that is not a "good" bye. It just isn't. I was in fact a badbye and made me cry uncontrollably in front of all of our morning rush customers and the milk man and my coworkers and my boss and all of the insects and God too. I felt naked and vulnerable and helpless, and all I wanted to do was go into the corner of a small dark room and cry by myself until I fell asleep. But my break was only ten minutes, so instead I had to do the dishes and then go back out into the world and serve coffee. After I had regained semi-composure and was taking a woman's order at the register, she asked me how I was doing, a pretty common question to ask your barista. Wrong question to ask me. I started crying again while ringing up her latte. I tried to explain to her, in between the tears, why I was sobbing and she was gracious and kind. In that moment, I was thankful that I was in the Midwest where the majority of people are consistently friendly. I was thankful that she wasn't a man. I was also thankful that she wasn't an insensitive ass who was in a hurry to get wherever she was going and didn't have time for some idiot minimum wage earner's emotional garbage. She went to her table and enjoyed her coffee. About an hour later, when I had gained even more composure and her cup was empty, she came back up to the counter for a refill. She told me she was glad I was smiling again. So was I.

The second time I cried that week in public was the following day when I put my other equally precious nephew on the plane to go back to his home in Wisconsin. I will spare you the details, but it was sad and people were kind and I recovered, and I learned that crying uncontrollably in front of strangers is not fun.

a sexy surprise

I am a reader. I love biographies and memoirs, and the chance to learn and grow from someone elses story. I can dive into fantasy and close my eyes to the light of reality for days. I literally wrap my life around a great novel, often crying when it is over, not necessarily because it is sad (though often it is), but usually because it is over and there are no more words. Staying involved in the current situation of our World is important to me, so reading the news, in a paper or online, is a natural reaction to that need. I am usually reading some kind of nutrition book (though not always practicing the content of the book) alongside whatever else I am reading. I love history and the way it shows me that we are all the same, connected, repeating similar mistaking and learning similar life lessons, and then forgetting them, and learning them all over again...so I have been known to read a history book from time to time. I am also a woman who happens to be interested in men...so it would make wonderful sense that I pay special attention to the male readers that come into our store.

Carl reads the paper. Well, he mostly does the crossword puzzles, but I am sure he reads part of the paper too. He nearly always buys the Times and the Tulsa World, and then asks for a receipt, because he pays cash and I guess wants to be able to prove to us he has paid in case we ever get the urge to confront him about the papers in his lap. He is older and was probably a looker in his prime, but now he mostly rides his bike and spends the money he should have used to get a haircut on his daily duo of papers. Nice guy, but with the age thing and the hair thing, not really my type.

Drew reads the Bible. A lot. He is well dressed and always always very gracious and friendly. These are all very appealing qualities. He's just a super nice guy who clearly loves the Word. However, in the stereotypical world of men, he's the kind of guy "you marry and bring home to mom, but not the kind of guy you what to date." In this scenario, I am going to pretend that’s the world I live in, only a female version.

Mr. marketing company owner with large biceps reads before he comes in. He reads the Starbuck's nutrition information so that whatever he orders (which happens to be a quad venti sugar-free vanilla non-fat caramel macchiato - light on the caramel) won't pose any danger to his large biceps.

And then today, just a regular Thursday by all other standards, some man with facial scruff comes in and drives a wedge in my trusty list of readers. He was cute but not necessarily someone I would do a double take for. He did have a nice smile...that was probably accentuated by what he was reading. If you haven't guessed it by now he was reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I didn't know this until today, but there is nothing sexier to me than seeing a man sit down with his americano and read about my favorite boy wizard, by choice. He even paused for a minute to ask me who Dumbledore was because he was getting him confused with "the big guy", as he put it, and the scene wasn't making sense to him...the big guy being Hagrid. I tried to focus on coffee, but I couldn't. I really really couldn't. So I decided to refill the condoment bar...I mean condiment bar, while the love of my life sat in the corner and read. Making my future husband even more interesting and appealing is the story of why he was reading Harry Potter. He quit watching TV a while back, and he was getting a little bored but didn't want to start watching it again. His reaction to this dilemma was to go to the library, despite the fact that he "isn't much of a reader". He walked around for "like and hour" and eventually decided upon Harry. Of all the books in the library for sexy scruff to choose, he chose Harry. And then, as a sad ending to my story, he closed his book, said goodbye, and walked out of my life...I mean the store, and I was left alone, with only a stocky gray haired traveling businessman reading the latest John Grisham thriller to keep my attention. Needless to say, it was no longer difficult for me to focus on the coffee.

What I sort of sometimes know...

I felt tonight a strong urge to reevaluate my ideals and values before embarking on the week ahead. I don’t want to just float through life…mostly. I sometimes do, on rainy days or days when I am really tired. But mostly, I don’t want to just float through it. I want to freaking enjoy it. I want to be completely present in the midst of spring green leaves sprouting from trees, blue sky sunshine and even sadness.

I am twenty-four. I would like to think that I have learned truths about myself over the years, and lessons that, if I pay attention to, could help me live this life better...and to be relevant, keep me from just floating through it.

1. I need breakfast I will be cranky if I don’t have it, and I will likely eat something that isn’t very good for me at all, and then continue that trend for the remainder of the day.

2. I need sleep. I spent my first year in college pretty sleepless. I also gained weight and experienced a lot of frustration and aloneness. My sophomore year, I made sleep a priority, and I have never been as effective as I was then. I had a desire to exercise, mostly because I had the energy, because I got enough sleep.

3. I live better when I eat healthy. I did something before. It worked. I stopped doing it. It quit working. Maybe I should try that again. Its basic premise operated from – “love yourself enough to do what’s best for you”. I have also discovered that this motto is an ongoing battle, and I wish is wasn’t.

4. I need sleep. Did I say that already? I mean it. I really do.

5. I like to run, and if I don’t eat healthy or get enough sleep, I fool myself into thinking that I don’t like to run, and that’s a lie.

6. I am listening to John Mayer…Waiting on the World to Change. I can’t wait on mine to change. I have to do things to initiate change. If I need help, I need to ask for it, because other than super heroes and magicians, regular everyday people can’t read my mind. If I want to be at a healthier weight, I need to move more. If I have no motivation to move, I need to get more sleep and make eating well a priority. If I want to be more content with life, I have to quit being frustrated with the fact that I am not. I have to look at what is instead of what isn’t. And, I can’t can’t can’t underestimate God’s part in it all, or box Him off to handle the portion of my life that I am comfortable with Him handling. I have to trust Him with it all.

7. I am happiest when I am most at peace with Meredith and God’s decision to make me the way that he did. I am most miserable when I view the world through what I do not have as opposed to what I do. I love giving to others, but I cannot do that effectively unless I give to myself, and care for myself. I make impulse decisions for comfort and solace when I am discontent, then regret them, wonder why I made them in the first place, and then resent myself more than before. Then my soul suffocates.

8. I am not crazy or stupid or a failure. I am not the only person in the world that struggles with life. Other people worry about what other people think of them, other people make mistakes and wish they would have done things differently. But change and healing are possible. I have seen it happen. Good things do come. Bad days don’t last forever. They really only last twenty-four hours, and about sixteen if you count the time you're asleep. Red red tulips come up from the ground in spring, reminding us to treasure the simplicity of natural beauty, beckoning us outside, reminding us to reevaluate where we are, and that sometimes a little change - like the change from winter to spring - is the little push we need to keep us from digging ourselves deeper into the rut that seems to be continually tripping us down into disappointment…nudging us out of the rut to bloom…

9. I need people in my life. I can’t do it alone, and I wasn’t meant to. I spent a shit load of money at a college I felt like God wanted me at. I left with a degree that will never make me a living and a large sum of really spectacular friends. What this tells me is that money can buy friends. And the people that influence and impact my life are really important to God, because He felt it necessary for me to spend a lot of money on them.

10. My parents will never ever be all that I want them to be, and I will never ever be all they want me to be, and the sooner we each realize this, and focus on what we actually are to each other, the sooner we an start having a less dysfunctional relationship.

11. I don’t understand the sovereignty of God. I don’t understand why some really great and influential and kind and sincere people die horribly tragic and gruesome deaths. I don’t understand why children who have no choice are born into this world with terminal diseases, or why there are people that have a lot of money that spend a lot of their money on things that break or perish or stain while a good chunk of the worlds population drink from the same water source that bodily fluids seep into, and watch their children die slowly from starvation. However, I see so much good in this world. I see true love, the kind that was fought for in Princess Bride, for real, and I see people that need each other find each other. I see people being healed and restored and loved. I see beautiful little children learning and experiencing life’s lessons raw and with wonder and it gives me hope for our future.

I saw an older couple today who looked like they have been married for many years…since before electronics made their debut and filthy rich talentless celebrities populated our streets…before milk was available in plastic cartons and injected with added unnecessary unhealthy hormones…since before divorce was socially acceptable. I am just going to say now that I will not do this story justice with my words. It was one of the most moving encounters with two strangers that I think I have ever had. They clearly had a love for each other that is so very rare, it literally caused this salty watery substance to flow from the ducts of my eyes while standing behind the bar. They were holding hands, she had an oxygen tank, and he helped her up the concrete step into our store for their first ever Starbuck’s experience, to wait out their time before her doctors appointment across the parking lot. They were eager to try something new, something they had never had before, and they had the same childlike look of wonder and joy in their eyes that I mentioned before, that I also sometimes assume ends after the age of five. They ordered two tall lattes, nothing sweet because they “better start off slow their first time, and work their way up” and then they sat at a table, face to face and just really enjoyed each other for the next thirty or so minutes. They had that air of ease and contentment surrounding them, even after all these years, despite her oxygen tank and their aging bodies; this, more than just about anything else, gives me hope for our future…and makes me want to run over Paris Hilton - and all that she represents - with a ginormous lime green monster truck.

I see lonely people making friends, meeting new people, finding out that they don’t have to live this life in isolation. And I see how so much of our lives are ordained and sacred, even if I don’t understand why or how…and it is encouraging to know there is Someone above me, Someone that defines wisdom and is the concentrated embodiment of all the things that we as a human race truly need, looking out for me and scooshing me along, sometimes in big foot steps, sometime just on my tip toes, sometimes against my will…but scooshing me nonetheless.

Now, I am going to sleep...see again numbers 2 and 4...

It's not about Indians

So I was sitting there on the couch in my Uncle's office reading. A book. The book must have been invisible, because another attorney in the office sat down and started talking to me. I will never understand this phenomenon. He must not like to read. People who don't like to read interrupt my reading and if you want me to be completely honest, when they begin running their mouths, usually saying something that is generally not one-quarter as interesting as the sentence I am trying to finish, I want to throw my book at them. There. I said it. Anyway, I am trying to read and Mr. Bankruptcy lawyer, who often reminds me that he is doing God's work, and, as he put it today, "would be a saint if I were Catholic or dead," begins to try and make up for what he said to me earlier about Indians. About an hour before, he was talking to me about something of little relevance to anything else, and he referred to the lot of them in a degrading manner. As he walked away, off to save another client from losing everything to the people they owe, he must have been interpreting the look on my face. It told him he probably should not have said what came out of his mouth before he had a chance to reason through it...that is, if he ever reasons through what comes out of his mouth at all. So when he sits down the second time and interrupts my reading (did I mention that yet?) he asks me if I am Indian. I said yes and the conversation continues with him saying various nice things about Indians, about how his last client was surprisingly attentive and eager for an Indian. He thinks this is painting him in a more positive light to me. Then he begins to tell me about this Indian friend that he used to have who was actually a Kentucky Colonel, like the Kentucky Fried Chicken one. I think Sanders was his name. That point is irrelevant to the rest of my story, but I thought it was interesting. Anyway, this Indian-colonial-friend of his was once involved in the Hollywood scene, and had many relations with women in his old age, and that he could believe only a fraction of the stories that his Indian-Colonel-friend told, the fraction probably being close to half. This friend of his was rather nice "for an Indian" and had some pretty Caucasian qualities about him. There were a few shits and damns mixed into this part of the story about his Indian-Colonel-friend, and when they entered the picture, I stopped listening and realized that I am an adult. This attorney feels comfortable enough in my presence to flippantly throw shit out there, without the gates that usually surround the language a respectable man says around a child.

His lips keep moving, the gray hairs of his beard following suit, but I am gone. "When did this happen?" I ponder. "When did I become a real adult?" "How long have I been like this and why didn't I notice before." I have friends who have children, who are married, who are fighting a war, who own homes and cars and boats. Of course they are adults. But for some reason, I feel immune to it, as if it's all one big joke that society and history and movies and our parents play on us, kind of like the reality of death to someone who is alive and not terminally ill. And then it makes me wonder about what the definition of adult is...Webster's says, "fully developed and mature," or "grown-up". I forgot to mention that the Indian-Colonel-friend actually had Mr. Bankruptcy attorney deemed Colonel by the governor of Kentucky...which would make him Colonel-Bankruptcy-attorney…again, irrelevant. So, in the Colonel's eyes I am an adult. In my parent's eyes, I am adult-like with a few shortcomings. But in mine, I don't know that I will ever be an adult...I will probably be eighty-three sitting in a rocking chair, listening to the oldies on whatever music playing device that has been developed by 2066 - by then maybe Jack Jonson will be considered oldies - and I will be wondering when I will reach adulthood.

When I think of grown-up, which was the second part of Webster's definition, I think un-fun, responsibility laden, no-time-to-sit-and-enjoy-a-cup-of-tea-or-the-smell-of-the-rain because there are too many things to get done...and if that's the case, I don't ever want to be a grown-up. Maybe that's why I work at Starbuck's making $3 an hour, despite my bachelor's degree, and not in an office. Maybe this post just affirms the suspicion I have been having that I need more therapy. It also may be that I live with my parents during this current season of my life, which makes me feel like a child most of the time.

It's funny. I am going to bed early tonight because my alarm will go off ate 3:45 tomorrow morning so that I can be there by 5 AM. If that doesn't make me feel like an adult, I don't know what will.

I heart Anne's books

I just finished Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. I swear, her talent for writing truth about life and faith is a part of her DNA code...it's like she has perfectly written little paragraphs floating through the blood in her veins. That sounds a little morbid, but I believe it. I always feel more hope after finishing something she has written...it's like she has subtly sprinkled it with magic fairy dust that is invisible to the naked eye, and that you can't see when you are in the midst of it, but when you close the book to move onto something else, like say laundry, you just feel more optimistic about your lot in life and more optimistic about who God is. This is what one would call a recommendation.

I think I could post about her writing for a year and not run out of inspiring material...but I won't, because it would be more beneficial for one to just go out and read something she wrote, instead of my take on something she wrote. But I want to write about something...she is writing about taking things day by day, and about what you do when you need to forgive someone (her mother) or someone else (president Bush), and she says she is going to go for a walk to the library, because the library "makes her think kindly of her mother" and that she has "found sanctuary in libraries" her whole life...the line that struck me about her walk to the library goes like this..."I am not sure if this will lead me directly to the soupcon of forgiveness, but you never know. You take action, and the insight follows". I love how that helps the steps that I am taking in my own life...my last post was about the wrong equation most of us live by. Key for me was the realization that I can't just change it all on my own, that I have to open myself up to being transformed by God (there is quote in the book from Anne's pastor that says that much more eloquently than I did...pg 225 if you want to look it up)...but on the other side of that is the work that I do have to do...that He is probably not going to reach down and wave His magic God wand and transform into truth every false lie that I have always believed, ensuring that I will never have to look back or fall back into the ditch. I wonder how I change it, how do I stop the negativity, the self deprecation, stop the thoughts that drift in out of nowhere, while I am folding clothes or filling someone's cup of coffee, or starting my car? "You take action, and the insight follows." So lately, I have been asking myself this question...If I really was excited about my person, if I was thrilled with God's decisions in making me who I am, what would I do, what would I wear, who would I call, what would I eat? What actions would I take that would help the healthy insight about myself follow? Well, I would not wear a sweatshirt and jeans every day to hide each "flaw" that resides underneath and I would accept a friends invitation to meet for coffee even if she hasn't seen me since I gained this last ten pounds and I wouldn't eat a cookie every time I felt alone or tired or loathsome. Nor would I keep myself from ever eating a cookie. So I am praying that God would help transform my heart's feeling about me, and letting Him know I believe He can. And I am putting on my cute khaki board shorts with the button on the bottom and going to work.

The Real Us

I talked to a friend last weekend about my troubles. Mainly my inability to be content with me on a regular basis. She went through some kind of intense spiritual equipping program a few years ago, and we dug out some of the notes she took during that period of her life. Much of it was truth I needed to hear. I thought it was worth sharing.

the wrong equation so many of us live by (especially including me):

what I do + my successes at what I do + what you think of what I do (how you rate my successes) = who I am

the right equation:

I am made in the image of God + I am loved uncausedly and unconditionally by God + I can respond to Him in obedience and know Him = who I am

This is the equation I am supposed to operate from.

"We have to have our identity based on the fact that we belong to and are loved by God. The reason you are loved has nothing to do with your efforts. You are loved by God because you exist" and inversely - you exist because you are loved by God..."Man was intended to have his identity in this love"

"The reason we feel inferior is because another outside voice entered the picture that wasn't God's and told us the lie that man is autonomous."

"We operate out of this lie and instead of choosing God we become ashamed of our belief in the lie and our failure to succeed in life. Instead of saying that the lie isn't true, we live in it, stuck in it. We try to make the lie work and believe it is true. Instead of choosing a new base for ourselves" - and opening ourselves up to God to help transform the lies into sustaining truth - "we try to improve upon it and make the lie base work. It never will. We will never be able to handle life independenlty from God." I don't completely agree with the last sentence. I think we can handle life. I just don't think we can thrive in life or find true contentment and joy in life apart from God. Who wants to just be able to handle life? That sounds pretty sucky to me.

I know some of this can seem pretty elementary and it's like, "duh, meredith," but seriously, I have known this for some time but have not been able to truly claim it. But all of the surface struggles I have in life are rooted in something bigger...the lie...and the fact that the daily struggles are rooted in something that isn't even true, and yet I still operate from...it makes me sick to my stomach. Identity is such a huge cornerstone to fulfillment and mine has been based on fine grains of sand sliding down a ginormous mountain that sits atop an enoumous fault line...seriously...I have got to get my priorities strait.

We also talked about how this happens, how we begin to base our identies on the stability of God, and stop believing the lie. Knowledge is not enough. I have had the knowledge for some time. A friend of my uncles that came into the law office the other day said that if you are a parent and you tell your child from an early age that black is white and white is black, they may grow up and find out the difference, and be corrected by a good hearted teacher, but they will always question it in their heads...as an adult, they will always look at black and wonder if it is indeed black, or if maybe it's white. I think that is a lot like this. I may be told the truth, but I still wonder. I think a lot of it is discipline, telling my brain to stop being negative when a worthless Meredith thought pops into my head. But I have to believe that part of it is opening my soul up to the Spirit of God and telling God that I believe Him and asking Him to work it out, that I trust Him to do it, that I believe He will do it, that I am worth enough for Hom to take the time to do it, and that I will be here for back-up...to try and buff some rough spots I encounter along the way.

I am off of work tomorrow. I really enjoy my job, especially the part where my schedule is not 8 to 5 and sometimes, I just have a thursday off. I like not viewing the week as this structured thing where I long for Saturday and Sunday...I like to think of it as an even playing field.

People and Beef

While munching on a blueberry muffin during break time at work this morning, I realized that the one of the aspects of my job that I love is seeing the diverse group of people walk through the door. We have some truly interesting characters, and there isn't just one type of person that visits our location. It's right off of the highway, so we get quite a bit of travelers, and it is also in a part of town that is a break between money and not so much...

At the time I was on my break, there was a teenage girl in line, men and women of different ethnicities, backgrounds, and from what I could see, job options. I thought to myself, "what I wouldn't give to know what was going through their heads"...the woman at the counter was probably chastising herself for not requesting non-fat milk…or for getting the drink in the first place…the man glaring at the receipt while walking out the door was wishing he would have finished college so that he could have a job which would actually enable him to afford the latte he gets each morning, regardless…and Pete, who is chatting with girl barista Charlie, is wishing he was twenty years younger and that she wasn’t engaged – and is surprised by how interested he actually sounds in her talk of school and classes and the like…and Thomas…oh Thomas…he would chat with the wooden table that he sits at if there were no one else in the café…and he would explain to the table his take on school reform, his wife’s woes of his jobless situation, and finally he would remind Mr. Table to never lose hope in God, followed by the phrase, “I don’t want to keep you,” which would be followed by a ten minute explanation of the documentary he saw on the history channel last night, involving a tribe and a sacrifice and a midget. All the while, Phil would be working on the crossword puzzles in both the New York Times and the Tulsa World, as he does each mid morning of the week…

This is the color of my job…and I love it. I am there to listen, feed their addiction, and give them a bit of respite from the otherwise monotony of their day. And again, I love it.

Tonight I will be going to McNellie’s Public House for their $3 burger night. A girl that I work with has invited me every Wednesday for the past month, and I have yet to accept…but I don’t have to work tonight and my grandma is out of the hospital, so I said yes! It is a good thing that I am fasting from dietary restrictions, because in the normal life of Meredith, I don’t eat beef. But tonight, bring on the cow and sweet potato fries. She said a group of her friends go every Wednesday night…and she is an initiator, which is good for me, because I am not. Those are the kind of people I need in my life right now. Supposedly, my friend Lorelei from work is going as well, which makes me happy, because I really, really like Lorelei. She is sarcastic, which means she gets my sarcasm, and isn’t easily offended. That makes things easy for me. And fun too. I hope they serve Margaritas, because I want one.

*names have been change in order to protect identity

I read that in memoirs and I always wanted to be able to say it.

Mr O

So it's the day after the Oscar's and I am going to write about them because I stayed up late last night to watch them, despite the fact that my alarm went off at 3:50 this morning so that I could be at work at 5. I didn't know Starbuck's opened at 5:30 when I was hired. I wasn't thinking that far ahead. I usually don't think too far ahead. And I curse myself for that on days that I have to open. Anyway, I earned the write to babel about them because I sacrificed my deep sleep in order to finish them so that I could see the happenings live and not hear about who won from a customer...speaking of Babel...it brought home the Oscar for music score. I am not going to elaborate any more than to say this: Watch It. Rent It. DO what you have to to see it. I think I may have been tired and emotional the night I saw it, but nevertheless, I was moved. I cried all the way home from the theater. When I got home I tried to tell my mom about it and she said that she was worn out just from listening to me explain it. The director last night said he started out making it to portray how disconnected we all are, and upon completion of the film, he realized that it was about how we are all connected...that we are all the same. I am not sure that it necessarily deserved any more performance Oscars (Brad Pitt could have been nominated for supporting, and the film probably deserved an editing nod, maybe) but the film as a whole speaks volumes of what we all, as human beings that inhabit this earth together, need to hear.

Yes, Forrest and Helen both deserved their Oscars for their leading roles, in my opinion. The only film I didn't see for the Male leading role was Venus, and though I am sorry that Peter O'Toole is 0 for 8 in his run for the oscars, I am pretty sure Forrest gave the best performance...and that is difficult for me to say because I am a recently converted Leonardo fan...and as much as I wanted to see him on the podium, I knew it wasn't meant for him. Helen won it, hands down. I could say more but I am choosing not to.

More about my conversion to admirer of Leonardo Dicaprio (I didn't say fan becuase if sounds so juvenile) - I came to this place after seeing The Departed. Hands down, the best made film, in my opinion (and the Academy's) of the year. His performance freaking blew me away. I was never attracted to him when he was a teen idol, or in the midst of the Leonardo craze of the late 90's. I didn't even like Titanic that much. He seemed like a little boy. But friends, I am here to tell you that nowadays, he is indeed a man. The performances in the film...all of them were so graceful and fluid...the directing was genius (the Academy agreed with me there too), the writing was, as others have said, flawless (if that's possible) and the editing, musical score, and mixing are what made the rest of the film hold together so tight...I just simply cannot say enough about the execution of the movie. Watching it made me see what movies can really be like. I went out and rented Raging Bull and Good Fellas just so that I could soak up every ounce of Martin that I could. So, in a nutshell, I was jumping and clapping at the TV when the best director and best picture awards were announced.

I think Ellen did a great job hosting. Her presence in the show was not invasive or obnoxious, and she has such a lighthearted sense of humor. She could be telling you something horrible about yourself, and because of the way she delivers it, the way it rolls off of her tongue, you would probably thank her.

I was talking to my buddy Jesse at work and we were discussing that another aspect we appreciatedabout last nights show is how much diversiity was represended in the nominations...age...color of skin...language...sex...genre...Ellen hinted on that in her opening monologue, and we agreed.

I am extremely tired right now, for serious. I have that lingering headache, apathetic attitude, and fogginess of brain that comes when I go more through more than one night of little sleep. But it was worth it. Oh, and a shout out to Pam for singlehandedly winning the JBU talent show. Maybe not single handedly, but it may as well have been. She's a rock star.

I will leave you with my top three must see films of the year...in not-necessarily consecutive order...

The Departed (a strong R, but so so so much more if you are one of those people that can look past that)
Little Miss Sunshine (an unexpected stream of sunlight during an unbelievably gray day)
Babel (amazing supporting role performances by all of the cast...diverse and interesting to watch, with an underlying message that everyone needs to hear and is said without anyone ever actually vocalizing it...subtle enough to not be shoved down your throat but strong enough to move you from your otherwise comfortable zone)

And one more thing...Gwyneth Paltrow is my pick for best bressed last night...she made a splash in Oscar de la Renta when she won for Shakespeare in love, and I thought her dress last night was indicative of how her life has evolved from that youthful pink dress to a wife and a mother and a child who lost her father...someone that has grown and learned and lived...so much from just a dress...

lollipops and wedding cakes

I don't have much to say this time, I just want to make note of the fact that I am at Barnes and Noble typing this post on my new lap top computer graciously financed by my uncle. I walked in the office today to answer the phone and he said something came for me...I was so excited!

I am here killing time before I have to go to work. I work from 5:30 to 10 tonight, and then I am going to go and see Notes on a Scandal. I was trying to see as many of the high sakes (I say that because I have not seen every foreign language film, best sound mixing, etc) oscar nominated films before I actually watched the oscars. I know it is a bit of a nerdy goal, but having had a lot of time on my hands, and seeing as though I love movies, it wasn't too hard to achieve. I had seen most of them before I started trying. The only two I will lack, assuming to see Notes tonight and Dreamgirls tomorrow, will be Little Children and Letters from Iwo Jima. Shucks.

Ok...I am off to barista...

A fast of sorts

I mentioned this in my last post, but I went to hear Elizabeth Gilbert at Barnes and Noble do a reading from her book Eat Pray Love. She is a writer. I would like to be a writer. So I asked her what she did to get started writing. Do you know what she told me? She wrote. She just read a lot of books and wrote a lot of stuff. She also said that a desire to write isn't a huge jump away from the love of reading. I agreed. She took a few writing classes in college, but nothing substantial. She simply always had a pen in her hand and just went for it. Enter Blog.

It is the season of Lent. This week we experienced Ash Wednesday. I love these rituals and traditions, bringing me calmly and methodically back to the faith that gets clouded in the questions. I have always held these things to be kind of private, something you decide between God and yourself, and share only when asked, and possibly not even then. But I am taking a different approach this year. I know, more than anything, I want to be at a place in life where I can celebrate myself and the person God created me to be...to not just be content with myself, but really happy with myself. I want freedom and peace, to be who I am without worry or shame. I have this idea in my head that "if only I did a, b, or c" I would be a likeable person, I would be ok with myself, if only I met those challenges. So for Lent, I am going to give up those challenges in an attempt to transition that lie of thinking to a healthier view point. I am going to fast from dietary restrictions. Anything goes. I have not lived like that since I was about 12...there are always forbidden foods, foods that if I eat, I have failed and have to pick myself up off the ground to start over. Because of this, the idea of eating as a pleasure has left my senses. Gone. Completely. So, in this time of lent, when I am supposed to be relating to Jesus suffering on the cross, I will be struggling though it all with onion rings from Sonic and, dare I say it, a hamburger. I am aware of the fact that I may put on a few pounds. I can handle it, becuase they will be pounds I earned with pleasure and intention...not in secret or desparation. And it isn't forever...just until Easter. That doesn't mean I am opening to doors to stuffing myself...I am not going to eat more than I should, I just have a lot more options to choose from now. It will be interesting to see what I learn...and how I grow (ha ha)...I will keep you posted.

Lately

Lately, in my life, I have been plagued by questions. Questions of purpose, and what mine is. Questions of God and who He is. Questioning where He is. Questioning my decisions; Big questions like, "Should I have left my brother in Florida and moved back to the place I was so looking forward to experiencing life away from?" and small ones like, "should I have eaten that piece of lemon raspberry bar after dinner considering the fact that I followed lunch with a serving of baked fudge.?" Questioning my worth, and questioning where that worth comes from. Questioning my future and if I am wasting my present. Questioning, in January, where the money to pay my electric bill from November will come from. Ugh. I have exhausted myself with the questions, literally. My eye twitched consistently for two months. I wake up in the mornings feeling like I have been run over by a semi, and the semi driver thought he just lost something off of his load, so he put his truck in reverse to check it out, and ran over me again. The questions are plentiful, the answers sparse.

I read this book Eat Pray Love. It's by Elizabeth Gilbert. She went through a nasty divorce and was in the midst of a deep depression and decided to travel to Italy, India and Indonesia. She went to Italy in pursuit of the art of pleasure, India in pursuit of Spirituality, and Indonesia to find Balance. She was at Barnes and Noble in Tulsa tonight for a book signing. She read from her book and then answered our questions and signed our copies. She has some pretty far out spiritual experiences and ideas, but at the root of it all, she reminded me of the reality of God and where to look for him.

I was in a friends wedding last weekend in Little Rock Arkansas, home of former president Bill Clinton. I rode back to Siloam with my friend Devi, who I had not seen since graduating from college a few Mays ago. I told her of my questions. She reminded me of truth, and that it's not enough to just ask the questions. That will only lead me to frustration. I have to look for the answers too. She told me of God's faithfulness, and her spirit and attitude spoke to me that truth even more loudly than her words.

My friend Pam made me this book for my birthday. She gave it to my on Sunday, the Sunday of a long weekend in which I felt very alone. That Sunday followed a long week of my feeling very alone. And that particular week followed quite a few months of my feeling very alone. The book was a compilation of letters from people in my life telling me, or the reader, who I am to them...a word that describes me...and their wish for my birthday. Some of the people in the book, I am ashamed to say, I so easily forgot were in my life, and others said things that I may have never heard until sitting on a cloud, overlooking my funeral (assuming the said persons live longer than me) had it not been for this book. This gesture from Pam, who is beyond a friend to me, reminded me so eloquently and gracefully, that I am, in fact, not alone at all. And it reminded me to feel differently.

So here I am. Looking so desperately for a turning point, believing that I may have reached the tip of what could resemble something that almost looks as if, at one point or another, played the role of a turning point. Since questions have been permeating my days, I would think that it is only healthy for me to remind myself of what I do know to be true, things that go without question. So here goes. Justin Timberlake makes me want to move my body in ways I didn’t even know it could. I drive too fast and do not pay enough attention to the road when I drive. I love my cat Murray more than is healthy for a human species to love a cat. I love sweets, and I usually eat too much of them when I am sad. I am my own worst critic and have always been too hard on myself, and that needs to change. There are people in my life, people who I care and who care about me. I am happiest when I am focusing on all the things I have and am, rather than what I don’t have and am not. Questions lead to authenticity and seasons don’t last forever. It just isn’t a part of their make up. God is real and He has His hand in my life. I may never know the answers to the questions I am asking, but I do know the former mentioned things to be true, and from my current view, it’s a pretty good place to start…over.

White Lillies

I got in the car yesterday and the radio was on to NPR. It was valentine's day (I know I am probably supposed to capitalize it, but I don't like giving it too much credit, so it will stay in lower case form) and I figured there would be more mushy songs on the radio than I could stomach, so it stayed on NPR. The host was interviewing Daniel Jones, editor of the book Modern Love: 50 True and Extraordinary Tales of Desire, Deceit, and Devotion - based on the Sunday New York Times Column Modern Love. They started with astory of an employer who knew a lot of personal information about his nanny (the person he trusts to take care of his children)...He knew that she had had more female partners than male, her woes of nannyhood, and that she "woke her lovers in the night by biting them"...he knew this because of her blog. It's like the anti-blog-auras of the universe were stacking against me, shamelessly wispering to my insecurities through the innocent informational facade of NPR...I had already had the wave of insecurity the night before...that feeling that I had exposed a piece of myself and should probably take a step or two back...but I am making a conscious decision not to. I am sticking with it...I will write as often as I have the courage to, and I will refrain from letting any of my future employers know that I have a blog.

I was going to say something about valentine's day, since it was yesterday, but I made a decision when I woke up Wednesday morning (I don't have a problem giving "Wednesday" credit, so you see, I capitalized it) that I would believe it was only Wednesday, and also hump day, and Lindsay Hamm's birthday and maybe it could have been independence day for one of the countries on planet earth, but that yesterday's Wednesday held no other great significance.

In other news, my uncle is going to help me buy a lap-top computer. I work for him in the afternoons. I answer the phone, play with his daughter, and occasionally clean his house...so he is going to take money out of my check each week to pay him back. It was his idea...they recently bought one from someone here in claremore who builds them for a great price, and I had mentioned that I was going to save for one when I got some looming bills paid off...I came in today and he told me of this plan. I didn't know what to say...so I just said thank you, and felt completely inadequate and ill-prepared to deal with this level of Kindness. Then I went to the bathroom and did my business and then jumped up and down and in a circle a few times. I think this would have effectively displayed my gratitude to my uncle, but it probably would have freaked him out too, and the two emotions would have canceled each other out, so I am sticking with thank you...

I am also having a hard time coming up with an appropriate title for this post, so I have decided on those occasions I am just going to think of something with a pleasant sound that brings forth an equally pleasant picture in my head and use that as the title.

the giving in

Ok. I am in. I have made a decision to embrace this blog thing and no longer give credit to the looming doubts. I have been playing a kind of tug of war with the idea of internet communication...treating them like a come and go friend, using them when it was convenient for me and turning my back to them when dependence became an issue...but with common sense and some basic sensorship on my part (something my friend Amy recommended to me the last time I axed my blog), I think blog and I can live a long and happy life together. I am passionately tossing my arms in the air, hair blowing in the wind, with a smile of anticipation and contentment, and I am going for it...

I love to write, regardless of whether it is something I excel at, or something something else reads, so I am going to take that nugget of truth and run with it. I have much to look forward to...