"The truth is that progress is usually small and sneaky. The lie is that only big will do; only big will change the world, so everyone will be kind to each other and the killing will stop. Big is the magic we look for first, but grace is what makes things work out against all odds. If it were too big, it might sweep away all the bits of knowledge and insight we're granted as we go along. If it were too big, it couldn't get through the almost invisible cracks and holes in our walls, in our stone hearts; knowledge comes in tendrils." --Anne Lamott

I have decided to donate all of the empty journals and blank pages that I have spilling out of boxes and drawers to Anne Lamott. She will make better use of them than I ever would. It seems a waste to fill them with anything I have, when she could fill them with everything she has.

See, here’s the thing…
Those personality tests that “help us to learn more about our co-workers/families/etc. so that we can communicate more effectively” really, they just lead to frustration, stereo-typing, comparison, arrogance, and self-loathing.
At least for me.
I think it’s like communism. It looks good on paper, but in reality it just doesn’t work. Mostly because people suck.
At least I do.
I went to a half-day meeting that our HR department hosted on Friday. We took the test to find out our “True Colors.” Then we broke up into groups with others of our color and discussed what it all means and how we should interact with people of a different color. (Sounds like something that would have happened with HR departments in the 60s.)
First, to make us all feel good, we focus on the “strengths” of each color. This is super helpful. Once you know your strengths, and you have the test and handout to prove it, you can easily discern the exact moment to look condescendingly at your co-worker(s). Not that you need to…they know. They learned your strengths, too, so you don’t have to give the I’m-Better-Than-You look or do the corresponding dance. They can just sit at their desk and crumble in their inadequacy. Additionally, you learn how others perceive you. Now THIS is beneficial. That’s what I need. I need a reason to think about what people think of me, because I never do THAT on my own.
Jaded? Maybe a little. I think I have taken too many tests that tell me that I am not the animal, color, or arrangement of four letters that women are supposed to be. I’m not fun, compassionate, adventurous or organized. I’m arrogant, belittling, and domineering. Obviously, I tend to compare the other’s strengths with my weaknesses. I know this because I’m also overly analytical and an intellectual snob. Good to know. Thank you, HR.
And I looked around the group of other like-colored people, especially the women, and it’s not who I want to be…but it is who I am. That’s the problem: the test is right.
So no, HR, it wasn’t helpful. Maybe it was for the other colors, but not for me. I already think about what I think about. For goodness sakes, not only am I thinking about what I think about the fact that I think about what I think about, I’m blogging about it too!

Don’t mind me; I’m just should-ing all over myself today.

Jesus, if at some point it could make sense to me why you made me this way, that would be really great. In the mean time, I will try to accept it…or at least not have a panic attack. I will try to stop comparing because I know that “comparison is the thief of joy.” I will choose to be thankful.

Daniel and I got a new (used…but new-to-us) car last week, so we went on a little road trip out to Tyler on Saturday. See, on Wednesday, one of Daniel’s old friends from camp called and said their church was having a marriage conference that weekend at Pine Cove. A couple of people had dropped out and did we want to go. Sure, why not. The speaker was Chris Legg, who used to be the chaplain for PC and now he has set up his counseling practice in Tyler. I don’t really know him too well, but Daniel does and has a bit of a man-crush on him. So to Tyler we went.

Chris talked about forgiveness, sex, communication, and rest. It was so good. It was good to be at camp. It was good to sit on a bench in the drizzly rain by the lake. It was good to see old friends. It was good to learn.

Chris talked about how quickly a “gift” in marriage can turn into a “wage”.
I am altering his example to make it more PG rated.
Let’s say I went out of town for a couple of days, and while I was gone Daniel decided that he was going to surprise me by cleaning the apartment. I get home, and I’m so thankful. Let’s say 6 months later I go out of town again. In my head, on the way home, I’m thinking how nice it will be to come home to a clean apartment. But this time Daniel didn’t clean because he had a crazy week at work or isn’t feeling well, or just didn’t even think about it. I pout around for a couple of days and when we finally talk about it, Daniel realizes that it’s because he didn’t clean. Six months later, I go out of town. If he cleans the apartment this time, it’s not because he wanted to do something nice for me. It’s not a gift. Rather, he cleans because he wants to avoid my negative response. It’s a wage. He is paying to get something (or not get something), and in Scripture wages are associated with death. Gifts are associated with life.
I think this type of scenario can play out in any relationship. So the thought for the day:
Don’t make your spouse/friend/family pay you a wage. Let them give you gifts without turning them into expectations. And you give your spouse/friend/family gifts, not out of obligation, but out of love.

Warning: Really long post ahead. Break it up over the next few days and it'll seem like I blog every day.

My colleague is a wonderful British woman in her late 50's. She loves her kids dearly; I can tell by the way she talks to them on the phone. She wants to do her job with excellence, whether it's making phone calls or making purchases for our department. Occasionally, if she's really angry, she uses four letter words. And I can't help but smile...because she's British and I like how she sounds. She's the sort of person you want to be around.

And she doesn't believe in God.

We've talked about it. She has a really hard past. One of those stories that doesn't seem real. And she can't get past the age-old question, "How could God do this to me and to the people I love?" What do you say in that moment that doesn't sound trite? I don't know how to offer any comfort or joy to her situation. I can tell her that God is Love. He is good, and kind, and peace-giving. I can tell her that God didn't do this.

But then I get stuck.

Because He did let it happen. And we all know from our years of D.A.R.E and classes against bullying, etc., that letting it happen is the same as doing it yourself. That's what we're taught to believe anyway.

So today my colleague started the day by asking me, "Do you believe in the rapture?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

And I felt like I was saying that I believe in Care Bears and leprechauns and fairies.

Seriously? I believe that one day everyone who trusts in Jesus is going to get sucked up into the sky to go live forever with Him?

Yes. Yes, I do.

I would think I'm crazy.

I don't doubt it for a second. I believe so thoroughly and deeply that I don't think I could ever not believe again. But it's hard to explain.

I asked her if she believes. No. Obviously not. She believes that earth is Hell and there must be something better after death.

I told her I agree...sort of. This is as bad as it's ever going to get for those who have trusted Christ. Whether I die, or Jesus comes back, I'm living forever with Him in heaven.

After we talked about that for a few minutes, she started to tell me about her neighbors. She told me, "I think they're trying to save me." She is annoyed by this and slightly offended that anyone would think that she needs saving. She told me that she was getting out of her car one day and she had her arms full of groceries and pool cleaning equipment, when her neighbor and a friend approached her with "religious materials" and started talking at her. She told them it was all rubbish and that she didn't believe all that, and they went away, no doubt, feeling defeated.

At this point in our conversation she said, "But there must be a God, because at that point I realized that I had locked myself out of my house."

Her inherent belief in Karma has somewhat persuaded her to a belief in God.
Or at least god.
Interesting.


Her story continued...

She was feeling guilty about treating them kind of harshly and was sharing the whole story with another neighbor who invited her in to her home. My colleague said that this neighbor kept saying "Mmmm," and looked at her with surprise (at her unbelief) and then pity. But this neighbor made her a cup of coffee and let her use the phone (to call to try to get someone to come unlock her house). While they waited they chatted. And the woman sent my colleague on her way with a copy of The Case for Faith by Lee Strobel. I've never read this book, but I hope that it can explain things better than I do. I told her that she should read it...that it may offer some answer to the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" She said she would.

Then she started talking about spirits and ghosts. She believes in all of it. I told her I agree...sort of. I told her that I believe in angels and demons and the devil. I believe that there is evil lurking and that he/she/it will do whatever possible to drive a wedge between us and God.

Then we went back to work.


Last Sunday, part of the sermon was about how no Christian should hate their job, because he/she is God's plan for redemption for where they are.

Boo that!
I hate my job.

I told God that I don't want to be His plan for here. I don't like it here. I would like to be His plan for somewhere else. And I came to work, ready to sit at my computer and not fulfill any plan.

And then my colleague asked me about the rapture.

I still don't want to be God's plan. I don't think that I would be the best plan. (I actually got excited when I heard about the neighbors, because it was a reminder that I'm not THE plan. There are others. It's bigger than me).
I do think, however, that I can love my neighbor. At least, sometimes.
And I think we should be more like the second neighbor. Inviting people in for coffee and to use our phone, helping them carry their groceries, and gently handing them a book that may help answer some questions. I don't think that when someone is weighed down with something, whether it be pool supplies, fear, pain, or resentment, I don't think that's the best time to thrust our faith in their face. That's the time to take some of the burden, and when they've had a chance to catch their breath, when they've had their coffee, then you can offer some answers. Then you can share your faith.
Because our faith is not one that makes the burden heavier. It is not something to add to what we're carrying. His way is easy. His burden is light.


And I guess I'm ok being part of the plan for here while I'm here...as long as it doesn't keep me here.

There is a little more room in the freezer this morning. For the past year, there has been a cake in there. It was a pretty little cake, square with white butter-cream icing and decorative squiqqles.

And it was delicious…a year ago.

The year has been so good. We’ve been to weddings together, doctor’s appointments together, funerals together, the bank together, work events together, church together, family stuff together…and at the end of the day, we get to go home together. We’ve been to fancy dinners and we’ve eaten taco salad (almost every Tuesday). We’ve stayed in incredible hotels, and driven home way too late to avoid paying for a hotel. We didn’t get pregnant, we didn’t get a pet, and we didn’t kill our fish.

It’s been a great first year.

And I’m not gonna lie…it made me a little sad to throw the little white cake away last night.

Thank you, Mr. Smith, for being such a wonderful husband for one whole year.
So far, SO GOOD!

After reading some blogs and thinking about camp, I wrote a little poem.
I know that the tense changes. I know that it's been two years since I was there; I still get overwhelmed by it.
And I wrote.
Don't judge me.
____________________________

Camp again. My heart a drum.
I deeply dread, and yet I come
With honest expectation of
Seeing Jesus, feeling love.

I cry along the road trip here,
Forgetting grace, consumed by fear.
Then I’m there, the road just ends
And I have to jump and make new friends.

The weeks are short, the days, so long
The millionth time to sing that song
I’m can’t be excited anymore.
I need to sleep; my legs are sore.

But a camper’s heart begins to melt
Thank God. The pain no longer felt.
Miracles abound out here
As her blank stare emits a tear.

A tear, the evidence of Him
A love that’s felt in every limb.
Her arms once crossed, now raising high
Beautiful. I can’t help but cry.

The weeks are short, the days, so long
And I’ve been given a brand new song.
Jesus heals, redeems, and frees
Within the walls of those pine trees.

I cried the road trip home that day
Exhausted, sick, again afraid
I know that He is everywhere
But times like those…they seem so rare.

It's not that I don't want to blog.
It's not that I don't have things to say, stories, observations, etc.
It's just that blogging requires the Internet, which we don't have.
And my job blocks me from blogging...unless this works...loophole!

I am a we now. I used to tell my boyfriend, then fiance, "We're not a 'we' yet," but we are now, and I love it. We have been a "we" for 9 months, and it seems more natural than "I" ever was.

Here are some things that are going on with "we," in no particular order:

We like each other.
We are going to have a nephew.
We are starting P90X.
We are sore.
We are celebrating my 25th birthday tomorrow.
We miss Matt and Liz.
We are so proud that Daniel made it through his first year teaching.
We are looking for a new-to-us car.
We like to eat taco salad on Tuesdays.
We wish I could find a new job...maybe teaching.
We can't wait to hear what flavor of baby Meredith is having.
We are excited that Switchfoot is coming out with a new album.
We are desperately missing camp. (We...mostly I... almost cry just thinking about it).

I missed you.
I hope to do this more.