Sickness

It's amazing how paranoid a preschool job can make a person. I'm terrified of getting the stomach flu, especially since my sister has it and yesterday one of the kids threw up on the table. Twice. So I find myself wide awake at 4:30am not feeling sick, but afraid of going back to sleep because I could get sick. I've never had the stomach flu in my life, but more than anything I don't want to get it now. I need the money too much to be that sick. It's silly, and it may be a worthless worry but it's there. I am now afraid of picking up the children for fear they'll throw up on me. My job is going to get very interesting.

Realizations and Romance

I have come to the conclusion that I really like being single.

After four years of relationship after relationship finally I am alone to figure out my future. No longer am I tied to a single place because some guy or other whines "Oh, that's so far away!". I am my own woman, and I can do what I like with my life.

One of the main reasons, besides what is written above, is the fact that I now have the chance to figure out who I am. I am one of those unfortunate people who are easily manipulated by the significant other he or she is with, but no more! No, no more. It seems that God has bigger plans, that he is pushing me to be single so that I can spend more time with him and figuring out where he's taking me and my life.

This past weekend was one of the best I've ever had in my life, and there were quite a few revelations that I experienced at the oddest of times during my hiatus.

Number one: the guys in Kentucky are much more likely to give me the "you're cute, I'm interested" look than any guys I have met here at home. The problem with that is my disinterest, as I prefer being single, as aforementioned.

Number two: I have very few useful talents. I am artistic, musical, am a good public speaker, very good at flirting, a fast reader, and decent actress. I can cook, I mix some mean frosting colors, and I know bits and pieces of how to run a sound board. Many male friends come to me for relationship advice, and I have a listening ear. Unfortunately, none of those things are marketable skills for the workforce. However, one skill that I did not mention is giving massages. I have heard from many people that I give a mean back massage, and therefore I have decided to attend massage therapy school and pursue that as my career.

Number three: Did I mention I love being single, and I love Jesus?

Number four: the book I am currently writing will be called "Random Thoughts in a Silent Car". I thought of that title as I was driving home from KY in a silent car, thinking to myself "'guy' is a really weird word". Oh, the amazing ways genius strikes us...

That's all, really. I just wanted to mention my revelation to a blog that no one reads.

History became Legend

I went for a walk this evening. It was a beautiful day but I was lost in thought. No matter where I went people were present, and, for once, other people were the last thing I wanted. Making my way up through the Hollow to the lake and back around through the Hollow up to campus and down the the elementary schools my mind reeled over the world in which we live and the reasons for change.
As I swung back and forth on a swing, a little redheaded girl came running over to swing near me as her mother watched from a nearby bench. It occurred to me as I watched the girl get stuck upside down on the swing that a mere four years ago or so, that girl didn't exist in her mother's life. In one night that woman's life changed and nine months later it would never, ever be the same.

After they left I continued to swing, staring around me at what once had been part of my everyday life. That "big toy" over there was brand new when I started the second grade. I wandered over to the parallel bar, remembering how I'd had to jump to reach it when I first gave it a try. The short metal swing was gone, replaced by jail bars of cerulean blue for the safety of the children who play on it. Looking around the playground the garish plastic monstrosity the kids play on now disappeared, replaced by a small little thing of dark stained wood with a metal slide and a tire swing. Over there had been a HUGE slide that was removed due to it's inappropriate height and another set of swings. That used to be a jungle gym. Oh, how simple life had been then!

I wandered back the swings and sat down, swinging slowly and singing, looking over at the town. There's the pavilion and... hang on. I squinted to make sure it wasn't a mirage. Jumping from the swing I grabbed my phone and sunglasses and headed over in that direction.

Rusty swings, a metal zip line and a square of loose gravel were all that remained of the lower playground. I stood amidst the carnage, very aware that my childhood had suddenly become ancient history, and it struck me to the core. Here, on this place where I stood, had been a large wood and plastic gym with a tubed slide and the perfect monkey bars. All that remains are the memories... watching my two best friends walk arm and arm under the bridge... trying to climb up the inside of the tube... perfecting skipping two bars each swing on the monkey bars... one of my friends, who was still unable to pump, swing on the swings...

I remember in high school when I first learned all of the history of my town. The stairs leading to the lower playground had once been part of an elementary school that stood on the location of the Branch Library, and one fine summer's day I found the brick cornerstones of a classroom in the grass. It was an amazing moment, to find proof that the infamous building really had existed.
I realized, lost in the haunts of my childhood, that years from now, when I return to my hometown with my children for a visit, I will take them to that spot and say, "When I was your age..." New books would be written about New Concord's history, mentioning the old days of the Fireman's Festival and that wooden toy wouldn't be mentioned at all. Instead it will be a story, passed from generation to generation until someday, my great-great grandson will become a famous writer who places the plot in the good old backwoods of Southeastern Ohio and the story told by his great great grandmother will make an appearance, along with that wooden plaything of yore.

The spring in my step was gone as I trudged down to main street. Cars flew by, lights flickered. Creno's Pizza was a floodlight onto the street, the kids inside laughing and chatting with their friends at work. Strains of a piano floated out from the house across the street as I passed. I began to wish for the "good ol' days" back when everyone in my town knew everyone else, where the telephones were on the same line and you could catch gossip just by picking up the receiver, where television didn't exist yet and the lights were so few that stars could be seen in the night sky above. Friends could make an unannounced visit and be welcomed gladly as mothers kept time by the trains that went through town. I wish I had been part of those days. Even with the scares of the war, even with the hard times, it seems like a kinder time, a better generation.

I began my walk with the purpose of being alone in God's creation and I ended with the disheartening realities of an ever changing world. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Random Thoughts

It's one of those nights where I'm SO glad to be home because work was absolutely horrible but I have no idea what to do with myself. I had a friend here earlier so we could do our weekly ab workout but she left awhile ago and it's only 9:20pm. I feel as though I should be content with just being home and doing nothing, but I'm not. Not even close. I'm downloading a movie I probably won't watch, I've already worked on my knitting, and none of my music explains how I feel.

I really want to talk to someone. Really talk, not just have a conversation about whatever. Heart to hearts are so rare right now, and I miss it. Sometimes it's nice to have someone just pour their life into yours and become intertwined through the expression of something that is deep and mysterious and complicated. In college there was always psychology or advanced writing or my senior seminar or acting I to really get my mind rolling over the reasons people are the way they are and why they act the way they do. I wish I lived somewhere that had a corner restaurant with tables on the sidewalk so I could sit and drink tea and people watch, making up stories about strangers I'll never meet. A napkin would hold notes and blips of dialogue I only witnessed rather than heard.

What if I went to a cafe that was so packed people had to share tables with complete strangers? I would go sit at a table with a person who was all alone and strike up a conversation, never asking for a name or background... My first question would probably be, "Why do you think people exist?" Someday I want to circulate a city park and ask that question, writing down answers and comparing them. It's as close to asking about religion as I can get without doing it directly. Because so many people in this world are adamant in their belief that God does not exist or that Christianity is wrong I'd really like to know what the majority really believes. Growing up in a Christian home it was a shock to realize that there were actually people who didn't go to church on Sundays. Now I find it more of a shock when I find people who do. Though I know going to church isn't the mark of a true Christian, if a person goes there's that possibility that the sermon or music will hit home someday.

Even so, I have a problem with the label of "Christian" because it implies something I do not wish to be part of. I recall a rather profound Sunday School discussion involving the quote from some famous person or other stating, "I like your Christ but not your Christians" or something to that effect. Or how about, "I would consider becoming a Christian if I actually met one".
Due to spending my entire summer reading book after book I have fallen in love with Donald Miller's straightforward writing and his profound way of presenting a huge idea in very simple form. Through his books I have come to realize that, while I was once a fundamentalist Christian, I no longer am. I'm not interested in regularity, I'm interested in the spirit and moving as He wills. I have friends who think if one does not pray regularly or wrestle with matters of spiritual warfare or read and study the Bible at any free moment then that person isn't a strong Christian.
This is a load of bull.

One does not have to constantly struggle or feel the pain of a relationship with Christ. While the closest I've ever been to Him all I felt was unspeakable joy. I did not read my Bible constantly, I don't pray as much as I'd like to (conversing with God is one of my favorite things sometimes) but I know what I believe and that it's true. The problem with most Christians today is the stick shoved up their butts about the "proper" way to do things, like those churches who ask people, oh so politely, to leave because they aren't in a suit or pearls. Stupid. Christ cares for more than that.

Getting down off my soapbox, I guess my point is that there's more to life and love and Christ than following a pattern. God calls us to be nonconformists, look at Jesus! He was probably the furthest from conformity a person has ever been!

My goal in writing wasn't to give a lecture about nonconformist Christianity. I just wanted to write. There really isn't anyone to talk to, I'm not interested in reading... the only thing that really appealed to me was to write. So I did. And now I'm done.

Inadequacy and Self-Deprication

Throughout all four of my years in college I was often left out. My sorority sisters would go out for someone's birthday and neglected to include me, other friends would take trips that I didn't know about until after the fact, etc. As a general rule I assumed that it was because these things were spur of the moment and really only included those who happened to be present. Living off campus meant I was never around for those spontaneous moments. The rare few times I merited an invitation were a shock to say the least, and naturally I accepted immediately. However, the other times left me feeling unwanted, as though I wasn't worthy of being a member of the group or memorable enough to be included. While I know now that is not true, at the time it very much injured my already low self-esteem.

As time went on I made myself believe it didn't matter, that spending time with those people wasn't actually that much fun and I was better off without it. Sometimes I would conclude, after an invitation was presented, that going hadn't actually been worth my time.
However, now that college is over and I have begun a new job where most of the people I work with are under the age of five I find myself craving someone to spend time with so that I can have a semi-intelligent conversation extending beyond the realm of "Don't eat yet, we haven't said grace, what songs do you know? Twinkle, twinkle little star..." Much to my surprise, a mere week after the college kids moved back into town I received a text begging for my help. This meant an entire evening not spent at home, so I went and had an amazing time. As luck would have it, on my walk up to the college I ran into another old friend who said she missed me and I immediately invited her to join me on a shopping spree where I intended to spend my first paycheck on much needed clothing. In one week I killed two birds with one stone, and that feeling was beyond words after the summer I'd endured.

This brings us to this past weekend. As I said before, I spent most of my four years feeling as though I didn't have a friend in the whole school and during the summer I had no friends at all that live in the area. Stuck in a tiny town with no car, no job, few prospects and no friends, a person can only feel trapped or exceptionally lonely. I felt both. However, over the weekend I received a text ordering me to join a visiting sorority sister at the house to play games. The invitation was a surprise but I was ecstatic to join and to have an excuse to buy a giant bag of Skittles. Once I had arrived and the game was over I reintroduced myself to the friend my sorority sister had brought with her. Asking him if he already knew who I was, he replied that he knew my first name, but was I THAT girl, the one with the amazing last name?

Yes, yes, I replied. That would be me.

Apparently I am a novelty in this guy's world and he asked for my phone number so that he could have my last name in his contacts (I am the only contact without a first name) and he befriended me on myspace and facebook all for the sake of proof that he knew someone with such an amazing last name. While I found this weird and slightly disturbing I was also highly flattered to think that I'm famous to someone. Not only so, but as I was leaving both of them invited me to join them the next day for dinner. Two nights in a row I was relieved of boredom and for once in my life I didn't think about how fat I felt, how broken out my face is, how uninteresting and ordinary I really am. For one weekend I was accepted. For one weekend I was wanted.

Before all of this began I remember praying to God. I prayed that he would help me, that I would find a way to resolve this issue, and his answer to my request was to give me two successive weekends full of fun and interesting things to do.

Of course, this doesn't solve all of my self-esteem problems... but it helps.

Selfishness or Curiosity

Around this time last year I was just returning from a trip to Oregon. A couple of friends were getting married and I was to sing at the reception. On my flight over I had a window seat, for which I was very thankful. Somehow being able to look out the window made being stuck on a plane for three and a half hours more bearable. I know all of you who have taken longer trips are scoffing but it's hard for some of us to be stuck in one place for long periods of time.

From my view at the window I looked down on the flatlands of the Western States, places like Kansas and the Dakotas, and as I looked I saw these long, straight, treeless roads stretching from one corner of my window to the other. Every now and then they were broken by houses or barns. Silos. And as I looked down from that great height I realized that people lived in those houses, going about their daily lives. Someone was probably out tending to horses. Someone else was fighting with her brother. Another was probably not home, out at the grocery store or to visit family or going to a wedding or, heaven forbid, a funeral. None of them knew or cared that I and a hundred others were flying overhead. I found myself wondering about the people below. What are their lives like? Do they have friends? Have they lived anywhere else? Suddenly the thought that I am the center of my universe was laughable, just the naivete of a smalltown girl.

The problem with most humans today is that they can't think about anyone but themselves. We get caught up in our own wants, needs, desires and forget that other people are affected by the way we handle ourselves.

During my trip down memory lane to the gardens in Portland and the air above Utah I thought of something.

For years I've had extremely low self-esteem. There was this lingering feeling that I wasn't enough, no one liked me, I had no true friends and there was nothing about me worth being around. I wasn't pretty enough, thin enough, exciting enough, funny enough... And yet anyone who saw me wouldn't have any idea I felt that way. When I'd drive to WalMart my music would be up loud as I dangled my arm out of the open window, the sun glinting off my sunglasses. As I walked through the automatic doors it was with the air of belonging, as though I proclaimed "I own this store. Bow to me!"

At my college one of our buildings has doors that, when you open the inside doors forcefully, the outside doors automatically open. I guess it's a handicap feature designed to make life easier. If the doors stayed open long enough it probably would. These doors, in truth, are a vice for the underappreciated. If you happened to be the lone person to be yelled at or to mess up your lines during dress rehearsal for the upcoming production, or you were just in a bad mood these doors would help you regain your sense of purpose. Shoving the doors wide you stride out, epicly unafraid, hair blowing in the sudden wind into the wild darkness of the unknown called Muskingum College, stretching your arms wide you scream into the night sky "I am Spartacus!"

Who wouldn't find a sense of purpose with a scenario like that?

Even with my obsession with doors and feeling better about myself I eventually began taking the side door. The one for mere mortals. As I wander campus or search the aisles or fly overhead in a giant silo with wings I find myself glancing at the people around me. What's their story? Even now, as I sit at home alone every day, praying for God to give me a job and end my boredom, I hear voices on campus and I wonder who it is. What are they doing? Why are they out in the darkness of the night? Or I get on Facebook and see a cryptic status. What happened? Why do they feel that way? Sometimes I make up stories about them, pretending that they've answered my questions.

So today, as I thought about this I wondered about those people who can only think of themselves and I realized, I can't do anything without wondering about someone else.
Yes, I'm still selfish, still wallow in self-pity, but all I can wish for is to meet new people, find new faces, learn new stories... perhaps its the writer in me. Perhaps it's because other people's stories are far more enticing than my own. So many people outside of my little world with stories and adventures and ideas that are completely foreign to me. One friend spent an entire semester in Africa because, as he told me, he wanted to go completely outside of himself into a new place. New world. I was fascinated. Being a person who believes she has nothing to offer I often wonder what these people, with all the experiences, can teach me. What will I learn from them? Because obviously they've learned enough, I've nothing to give.

I have to wonder... is this tendency good or bad? Is it selfish, to want to learn from others experiences? It's such a slippery slope that it's a hard question to answer, let alone ask. Unfortunately I can't answer. It was just a thought.

Complaining and How to Stop

It's that age. The age of double takes. The age of being in between. The age where daily life is so confusing that Alice in Wonderland makes sense. The age when jobs are needed but few, where friends are married and names change and people we thought we knew aren't the same. The age where life should be starting but instead the world has become a box even the greatest magician can't escape from. The age of discouragement. Rejection.

Twenty-two. It's a terrible age.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if God just skipped this age? You know, like how Louis Sachar skipped the nineteenth story because there is no nineteenth story in Wayside School? The floors went directly from eighteen to twenty. Even in the sequel the skipped story became a place where the work was impossible, like memorizing the dictionary from beginning to end and no matter how badly you wanted out there was no escape. It sounds exactly like being twenty-two. If Mr. Sachar's book could be interpreted as a sort of life story, perhaps he chose to skip the nineteenth story because the story of his nineteenth year was one he wishes to forget. I'm making that up, but what if? Had I story I wished to skip it would be the twenty-second. If wrote a book with that many chapters twenty-two would be missing. It's an unlucky number.

It seems that whatever is looked forward to the most either turns out to be one hundred times better or one hundred times worse that we thought it would be.

I remember going to Washington D.C. in the eighth grade. I was so excited even if I was rooming with three girls I barely knew, and during the trip we played on the statue of some man's half buried body, added chewing gum to the gum tree outside of Ford Theater, ate chicken every day, the toilet broke, and I got sick the last night we were there. Not to mention the typical thirteen year old drama.

My senior year of high school I couldn't wait for band camp because finally, after years of torture, I would be on top. It came, and the second to last day I found out my cousin died and I went home to a funeral.

When I hit college I couldn't wait until I turned twenty. Finally I wouldn't be a teenager. I love the Anne of Green Gables books and in Anne of the Island she talks about how when she was younger twenty seemed like such a ripe old age. This, of course, totally makes sense because somehow it sounds more mature when you can say "I'm twenty" as opposed to "I'm nineteen". There's really a huge gap between the two.

Twenty wasn't my favorite age either.

I turned twenty-one and the day after my birthday I accidentally stabbed myself in the hand with my pocket knife and fainted. I had to skip church and spent the day in bed. I still have the scar. In fact, so far, the twenties have revealed themselves to be completely horrendous minus one or two minor things. You know, like marriage. Or having children (eventually). Or actually finding a good job. Or finally graduating from college and realizing you'll never be tortured by school again. But what do those matter, really, when confronted with other much bigger things?

Really, though, when it comes down to it what good does it do to complain? Living on earth means that life won't always be wonderful and perfect and it's something we eventually get used to, like moving to a new place or finding out you can't have chocolate anymore. So in the end the moral to the story is, things will happen that you can't stop but dwelling on it won't change what has happened. Silver lining, kids. We only live on this earth once.

Just For Starters

I decided it was time to start a different kind of blog. I don't like xanga much, not since it tried to become like Facebook or Myspace, and I'd rather have a blog that's more private anyway.

Mostly this blog will be stories, ideas, a place for me to practice my writing and to put ideas or thoughts that I would like to share instead of keep to myself. I don't consider myself a very good writer, so please bear with me. This is just practice, after all.

For now, I figured I would just throw some thoughts out into the void.

During church this morning I discovered that there are parts of worship that I don't really enjoy. We were singing a song, I forget which, but the words are "I will not not hold back anymore". It's the bridge, and apparently the worship leader considered it a highly powerful part because we sang it over... and over... and OVER until I just wished the song would end so we could move on to something else. The point of worship is more than repeating the "powerful" parts. I prefer to think of it as the time to commune with God on our own, to really place ourselves in his presence, but on our own time and in our own way. The leader, however, seemed to be taking her own method and shoving it, gracefully and musically, into everyone else. Maybe I didn't want to sing that part five times over. There's a song that I love that I've sung in many places and for some reason the part I like the most is only sung once while every other part is repeated. Perhaps it's just me, but I don't like feeling as though someone else's personal worship time is infringing my own.

Secondly, it kind of bothers me when whoever is on stage says anything along the lines of, "Take this time to talk to God, repent of your sins, etc, etc". I rather resent it and tend to do the opposite of what others tell me in instances like that. Standing there, just after singing, I'm usually not in the mood to really pray and even if I tried to do what they asked I'm never given enough time. Usually I'm interrupted.

I'm not saying that these things aren't good things. I'm glad our worship leader feels the spirit, more power to her! If she didn't feel anything I would question her right to be a leader in the church in that way. And I know other people appreciate the chance to do some of their own praying. It's just my nature, to prefer praying or really worshiping in my own time, on my own terms, during a time where I really feel I can communicate with God.

All through the service I could hear the words of my discipler from a few years ago. She told me once that there were certain songs she didn't sing because she really didn't believe the words. Why bother telling God something that you really don't believe, or don't agree with? That's rather how I felt today. I wish it wasn't the case, but it is. Perhaps someday it won't bother me so much, but today it was rather poignant.

Part of me feels like the reason I don't feel free to join in with the leader's kind of worship or why I don't particularly like being directed on what to pray for is because of my feelings on my church in general. Having attended my church for so long because that's where my parents go has begun to wear on me. It's not a place I enjoy being, not because it's not filled with the Spirit or because people are evil, but because I am alone in my age group. The church is one that is full of either parents with younger children or older people, both married and not, and it's just not a place where I feel I belong. Sad, but true. After all these years I no longer feel as though I'm welcome in my own church. Eventually, someday, hopefully soon, I will have moved out and moved on and this won't be a problem. Luckily that time is sooner than it feels.