Baby smooshing

Heh.

Today, as Matthew and I were having an "anonymous discussion", and he asked where the picture on my profile came from. And I thought that you might be wondering the same thing.

Here's what I told him: I stole it from Yahoo!. When I when I go to the page to sign in to check my mail, all these winners from their most recent photo contest come up on the page. That picture made me laugh out loud, and the momma is a redhead, so I thought it needed to be on my blog somewhere. And, you know, some days I feel like the baby in that picture, smooshed between all these people who have good intentions but are getting on my nerves, and some days I get to do the smooshing. So I thought it was appropriate.

(Is that too deep for a Monday?)

Update

My sources are pretty convinced that Handsome Man with Hot Man Eyes is married. Figures. He was very put-together.

I tried out the Yoga DVD. I also found out that it is hard to be relaxed when I’m trying to look at the TV with my butt stuck up in the air to make sure I’m doing the poses right. Wonder if Hot Man Eyes can see through vertical blinds, too. I hope not.

I'm glad I got up this morning.

"If regular people spotted your hidden, angry inside self, they'd draw back when they saw you coming. They would see you for what you are--human, flawed, more nuts than had been hoped--and they would probably not want to hire or date you. Of course, most people have such bit parts in your life that they're not around to see the whole erratic panoply that is you." ~Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

Today was interesting. Highlights (in no particular order):
1) Got a fruit basket from some Nuns.
2) Bought a yoga DVD.
3) Met the priest next door’s Chihuahua. His name is Peter. (The Chihuahua, not the priest.)
4) Got the first complaints about my newsletter-writing judgement. Held my ground.
5) Learned about the latest media crisis. Man, I never know what’s going to happen when I go into work in the morning! But I like that.
6) Grilled fresh pineapple and paired it with vanilla ice cream for dessert tonight.
7) Got random IM from guy I stole from best friend in high school. Had no idea that I can still go from Me to Cold Sarcastic Witch in 10 seconds or less. (Girls: this is not useful when guys you like are trying to get to know you, but VERY useful when ones you don’t are hitting on you. Problem is it rarely knows the difference, even if you think you do.) Also got random IM from first boyfriend ever, who is now married.
8) Found old tape with Stephen Speaks songs on it. Remember them?
9) Met the guy whose assigned parking space is next to mine. (Well, he said hi and I said hi back. I’m pretty sure he drug out getting the dry cleaning from his backseat so he could speak to me.) Just for the record, he is very, very handsome. The epitome of handsome. Too handsome to date. And he was dressed VERY well. And my hair was all frizzy from the rain and I have hives, apparently, which I’m sure he could see through my clothes with his Hot Man Eyes. I hope he’s gay.

What is it about today? I love these odd days.

# 1 Single

This morning I decided to take a trip to the grocery store to get some new laundry detergent (I think I might be allergic to the kind I'm using now, but not completely sure). However, as I went to get into my car, I noticed that the windshield was covered with ice.

"No big deal," I thought. "I'll just scrape it off!" I proceeded to use my bright yellow scraper to de-ice my windshield, but my ears started getting really cold and I realized that ice scraping is harder work than it looks. I contemplated only scraping the teeny bit on the driver's side, but figured that wouldn't be very safe. So. . .I went upstairs, put my jammies back on and turned up my heater. I love winter, but not when it involves serious ice scraping or driving in snow. You Yankess are crazy. (I hate that I sound like such a girl, but I like my ears where they are, and hate the thought of having to pick them up off the parking lot.)

This means that I have spent the majority of the day on my couch in front of my TV. This is fine with me, of course. It's one of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday.

One of the things I watched was a marathon of #1 Single reruns. For those of you who aren't familiar with the show (and I don't know why you would be, it runs on E!), it's a reality show starring singer Lisa Loeb, who's 37 and looking for love. She's recently out of two six-year relationships and wants to settle down without settling.

I like the show because it's real, and because she's so darn cute. Seriously. She's the kind of girl that you want to hate because she's so cute (in a non-annoying way), but you can't. Because she's so cute. If I had to pick a celebrity to befriend, it would be Lisa Loeb. And here's why:
1) She's real and down-to-earth. She doesn't want to appear in gossip columns, she just wants to meet a nice Jewish boy and get married and have babies.
2) She LOVES to eat, especially dessert. (She and one of her previous long-term boyfriends had a show on the Food Network.)
3) She admits to having a small control problem (I personally think this is okay as long as you're not trying to date someone who has the same problem--obviously I have some experience with this).
4) She is uncomfortable and feels guilty when the guy pays for a date.
5) She can push her OWN shopping cart, thank-you-very-much.
6) She's from Dallas, and her Mom still lives there. Gotta love those Texans!

I can't ever catch her show when the new episodes air, because the time conflicts with Grey's Anatomy, which I am seriously addicted to. This is partly because I work in health care and see a lot of the issues we are dealing with addressed on the show. Let me also mention that I think working in health care should afford me the opportunity to meet my own (preferably single) Dr. McDreamy. (Even though I want you all to know that his character might not be closest to "my type.")

And speaking of health care, I have to make a confession. I miss the foot clinic. I know, I know. If you had told me a year ago that I would miss that place, I would have smiled and nodded. . .and thought to myself that you were crazy. I'll admit that I don't miss coming home with the scent of damp, dirty feet clinging to my clothes and hair. I don't miss the charming entitlement complexes that I had the pleasure of knowing. I don't miss seeing guys I had come to love in such awful circumstances or getting proposed to by other guys who thought I was 17. But I do miss the chance to do some good, to see the effect of thirty or forty-five minutes of work. I miss the chance to pray with those guys, even if they wanted me to ask for things I knew to be almost impossible. I miss working with Ruth and the nurses. I miss the Chinese restaurant where we used to go for the best lemon chicken EVER. I even miss having such an odd profession--it cut down on the need for stupid small talk.

I always knew, even when they annoyed me to no end, that I would miss my first graders. When I passed the little packages of Valentines in the grocery store, I missed them even more. Sweet kids. I hope they're doing okay.

It's good to know that as much as I disliked my year of MY, there are things that I miss about it. I know that there are some things I'll NEVER miss, but I really do feel like I'm making progress healing from some of the hurts I endured during the year. I don't want to be that girl who carries around baggage just because she can, because she thinks her hurts make her special, somehow. I want to be special, but for less please-tie-me-up-in-a-straight-jacket reasons.

And here's one final random thought: I'm pretty sure my involvement in the blogging world will become less frequent than it has been lately. I have been out of the office for three days, and dread the work that I'm coming back to. I know there will be TONS of it. I do appreciate the fact that it will keep me busy, though!

And it's possible that my foot-washing work helped get me my current job. My boss told me the other day that when she heard that I washed the feet of homeless men, she was pretty sure that I could handle anything. And that's important in PR (just ask the marketers at the hospital where Dick Cheney's victim was treated).

My Response to Sarah P:

The reason you have not seen a bitter Valentine's Day post is because there will not be one. At least not this year, anyway.

Why, you might ask? Because I am not bitter about Valentine’s Day. I mean, it doesn’t even really feel like Valentine’s Day. And I don’t wish I had a boyfriend, because I’m more focused on making friends right now; I have the rest of my life to get romantically involved. But most importantly. . .because I plan on eating LOTS of chocolate tonight.

I’ve invited some girls from my college social club (like a sorority) over to my apartment for a chocolate buffet, which I am preparing myself. I am SO EXCITED! I have been baking all weekend and have a little more to do tonight. I have decorated my apartment with candy, roses, candles and lollipop hearts. I’m going to light a fire and turn on the Charlie Brown Valentine special. And we are going to eat chocolate. Here’s a sample of what we’ll be dining on:
1) Candy Bar Chocolate Brownies
2) Paula Deen's Chocolate Bundles w/Chocolate Ganache
3) Brown Sugar Pecan Sticky Bars (they were a big hit over the holidays) with chocolate piping on top
4) Marbled Chocolate Meringues
5) No-Bake Cookies shaped like hearts
6) Fruit & Chocolate Fondue (with marshmallows, strawberries, pound cake & twinkies for dipping)

I've drug out some cool glassware and will have lots of milk (and Dr. Pepper, of course) on hand. This is going to be top-notch, people. Who has time to worry about boys with a menu like that in their future?

Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart!

This year's "Can-a-Christian-drive-a-Hummer" debate

Interesting things going on at ACU. Read here. I commented there about my reactions and how I'm probably not much better than students who I think are stupid for cheering. Feel free to comment here as well--would love to hear what you have to say (as long as it agrees with my opinion, lol).

How Much is Enough?

That's a question I've been struggling with since the end of MY. How much money do I give away and how much can I spend on myself and not feel guilty? Ten percent seems like a good place to start, but that is a flexible number since Jesus never prescribes tithing, at least not that I can tell.

So read the article at the bottom of this page entitled, "Does Jesus Want me to be Poor?" It's alright, but there's something missing, and I'm not sure exactly what that is. What do you think?

I AM IN LOVE WITH A MAN! (Or want to be, anyway)

I would have to define this time in my life as a time of searching. I think that is partly because I am in a time of starting over and deciding, now that I have the time and resources to do so, how exactly I want to live out the rest of my life (regardless of how long that might be). I think this is also because I just spent a year out of my comfort zone, which always causes some type of change.

And here’s a side note: I hate it when people talk about how we should live every day like it’s our last. I mean, great idea, but if today’s my last day, then I am going to do some very specific things and NOT do some other very specific things (like go to work, go grocery shopping, floss). But if today is NOT my last day, then I need to go to work so I can have money for things like food and shelter and I need to go to the grocery store so I can buy that food and take it to my place of shelter. So it doesn’t make any sense to live every day like it’s our last. At least not to me.

But back to searching. . .I had a period of searching in college (albeit a shorter, more comfortable one) and I thought that once I finished that one, I would never have to have another one. But I was wrong. It seems that NOW I am building a framework for the rest of my adult life, and that involves making decisions about what “style” I will use to decorate my apartment as well as how much money I feel good about giving away and how much is okay to spend on things like clothes. I am building off the framework I built in college, but I hope for this new framework to have a much firmer foundation.

One of the parts of this search involves examining my religious beliefs and carefully attempting to integrate myself into a church while still carrying the scars from some recent ugly confrontations with Christians and their churches. This also involves finding a way to appreciate the good things in my life while not expecting them to ALL be good. As Job said, “shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (Job 2:10) I need to find faith in a loving God who allows pain, who allows the evil in the world to mean that many children go hungry every day while some are outfitted with designer clothes and the newest cell phones. I need to find a way back into relationship with Him. I think I used to have one, but I lost it somewhere in Oakland, that sea of disappointment.

At church yesterday, the preacher was talking about “being in love with Jesus.” And I started to wonder what that really means, outside of the meaning we Christians have assigned it. Is it possible to be in love with someone you can’t see or hear or touch? (I’m afraid that I’m much more likely to be in love with Cheez-Its.) And if it is possible to be in love with Jesus, how do I do that?

I mean, it seems like some people accomplish this. (The preacher told a story about another preacher who stood on a table in Golden Corral and yelled, “I AM IN LOVE WITH A MAN!” He meant Jesus, of course.)

The preacher also talked about how he sees Jesus in different people in that church. And I get that. I have no problem seeing Jesus when people are generous and loving and forgiving. So we see Jesus when other people are like him, I guess. I guess that’s how we have to see him.

And I guess touch is possible, too, if we factor in his people. (Let me point out, though, that the way I touch someone I am in love with and the way I touch someone I love might be VERY different.)

And I can hear the words of Jesus read, I guess.

The problem is that I have mostly talked about loving the people of Jesus and not being in love with him. I think being in love with him at least requires my commitment to spending time talking with him (even if I feel like it’s one-sided sometimes). So then those two things, loving the people of Jesus and being in love with Him, are not exactly the same. Which takes me back to my original question, is it possible to be “in love” with Jesus, and if so, how?

Or is it just that the whole “in love” analogy is not a good one? (It seems somewhat appropriate, though, based on the whole “church as the bride of Christ” thing.) Should we be using different terminology, then?

C’mon, bloggers. I need some help clearing this up. (And it appears that I need someone I can hear and see and touch to bounce these ideas off of, preferably someone who knows more than me.)

Investments vs. Charity

Today Larry James posted about what might happen if people moved from a "charity" mindset to an "investments" mindset as far as their concern for the poor. (Read the piece for more info.)

I think this relates to the idea of corporate salvation (which I currently define as the idea that God saves us as one body--and therefore some smaller bodies as well--from a life doomed to meaningless consumption and promises us hope and companionship for the journey). I think becoming convinced of the need to invest in our brothers and sisters is much like becoming convinced that their well-being is the responsibility of all who are members of their community and those who aim to be followers of Christ.

The meaning of life (a.k.a. blasphemy)

So a few weeks ago I went to dinner with a friend and we were talking about Christianity. We both attended ACU (at different times, though) and have some of that conservative CoC stuff in common. He was saying that he doesn’t really agree that Christianity is all about getting to heaven/avoiding hell. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway. And that got me thinking. And watching out for other people who felt the same way.

Today as I was surfing the ACU blog circuit and looking busy, I came across a blog by someone who graduated when I did. And she had this to say:
So I'm still reading Mere Christianity. . . Anyways I just finished the chapter on Hope. Basically its about how we forget Heaven. Heaven is the point of who we are and how we live isnt it? We dont try to live righteously for the sake of goodness do we? We don't go to the grave with Christ on our lips for glory do we? No. We read, we love, we evangelize, we give, we missionary, because when this whole thing we've been doing for so long is over...we're looking for the greener grass.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I disagree. Who wants to live life if the only point is waiting for death? What’s the point of getting out of bed if my only reward is heaven? Sure, I want to go to heaven. Yes, I want to avoid hell. But I want. . .well, something else. Something to get me through today.

Mission Year was the first time that I ever really understood why people said they were looking forward to heaven, because I never really had. There were still things I wanted to do and accomplish before I died. But when I was miserable and staring face-to-face at the ways our society fails the people who most need help and how unable I seemed to provide them with a little love, much less anything else, then I got it. I understood why heaven would be alluring and even comforting. I recently finished a book called 90 Minutes in Heaven, about this guy who died in a car wreck and experienced heaven and then was brought back to life. (It sounds like a junior high kissing game, I know, and it wasn’t quite what I expected, but it was interesting.) He talked about how wonderful heaven was and how he saw all these people from his life and how he forgot about things happening on earth. He spends most of the book on his tedious and painful recovery and how angry he was that he had to leave heaven to come back here. And I get that. But I can’t believe that that’s the only part of God’s plan, the only story we have to tell.

I think we need to change our story, anyway. Another thing this friend and I discussed was how the gospel we preach paints us as really bad and God as really good. (That’s a horrible way to say it, but just stick with me here.) I get that God is good, and much better than me. But the thing is that yelling at me about how bad I am and how much I need saving turns me off. Offering me “salvation” from my bad-ness doesn’t get me excited. I guess because I don’t think I’m that bad. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not perfect, and I’ve done some awful things, but I think the good things I’ve done kind of balance it out. I know I can be nasty and still do things I don’t want to do, but I also care about people, I donate to charitable causes, I believe in God and try to do what he wants, I try to use my gifts to help others, I floss (sometimes). So telling me that I’m an awful person and need to be saved from myself doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.

What DOES make sense to me, though, is offering me a life free of mediocrity. A life of meaning. Life’s going to be hard however you live it, but life with someone to walk beside is much more comforting. Life is also going to be confusing and unfair and not make sense, but believing that perhaps it makes sense to at least God, that perhaps it is working itself out into a beautiful pattern somewhere is helpful. Even one-sided communication with someone bigger and stronger than me makes me feel better (most of the time). Promising me that I’ll SOMEDAY get my reward for a hard life? Not so comforting.

Robert Fulghum tells a story about Alexander Papaderos, a Greek man who worked to heal the hurts and hatred between the Germans and the Cretans, wounds which have existed since WWII, when the Nazis invaded the island of Crete and were met by villagers wielding kitchen knives and hay scythes. The retribution by the Germans was horrible, and whole villages were lined up and shot for assaulting Hitler’s finest troops.

Papaderos, a native of Crete, has established an institute to heal the wounds of war on the site of those horrible events. Once, Fulghum got the chance to ask him if he knew the meaning of life. He tells it this way:
Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was. “I will answer your question.”

Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter.

And what he said went like this:
“When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.

“I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine—in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.

“I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But light—truth, understanding, knowledge—is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.

“I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world—into the black places in the hearts of men—and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life.”

And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk.

Now THAT’S a story I can get behind. And it sounds strangely like what we call the gospel, but more practical, somehow.

It makes me feel better

when other religious groups make themselves look stupid and fulfill stereotypes.

(C'mon, guys, sending masked gunmen to make your point just lends more credibility to the cartoon of your leader wearing a bomb on his head.)

Bono vs. Bush

More to read, more to read.

Big-League Bloggers

There seem to be some major bloggers coming out of Texas. If I had to make a list (at least as far as religion & the poor are concerned) I’d include Mike Cope and Larry James. It seems that Steve Holt has been working his way into the mix lately. Sometimes I just get bogged down in his stuff (I’m sure N.T. Wright is great, but “huh?”), but I did appreciate this post, which I thought did a good job of being honest without overly trite