Undeserved Extravagance

Someone gave me a really expensive, extravagant gift this week, something I would never purchase for myself. Ever. I almost went into the ugly cry as I thanked this generous gift-giver because all I could think was, "I don't deserve this. If you only knew how black my heart is, or how often I fake things you would agree with me."

And I remembered that the most extravagant gift I have ever received was completely undeserved. I could never perform well enough or be good enough to earn it. And this gift-giver already knew the truth about me before he paid the price. He already knew the really dark and ugly stuff, he already knew all of my sin and all of my shame. Yet he loved me enough to prove that I was worth the effort and the heartache. It's the purest love I've ever known and my most treasured gift.

Tonight my heart is full because on that holy night 2000 years ago, as creation was groaning in the darkness, the birth of a long expected baby ushered in hope for mankind. It was undeserved extravagance.


Blessings to you this Christmas. May you find peace for your soul and experience the freedom that comes from being intimately known and loved exactly as you are.

A Transparent Life

trans-par-ent
-adjective


1. so sheer as to permit light to pass through; diaphanous.
2. easily seen through, recognized, or detected.
3. manifest; obvious.
4. open; frank; candid.

Remember how fun it used to be to play hide and seek as a child? As I was watching my friend's son "hide" a few weeks ago, I was struck by how much more effort he put in to being found than to staying hidden. He made noise, he moved furniture, he giggled - he didn't REALLY want to stay hidden....he wanted to be found! And once he was found there was great excitement, sure he hid again but only because he knew (hoped?) that someone would find him. As any child will tell you, hiding isn't fun if no one ever finds you.

So I've been trying to figure out the ways that I hide, and while too detailed to list on a public blog, it's obvious that pretending is one of the biggest ways I conceal myself. I'm a master. I may not excel in much but by golly I've figured out how to hide without being found! Now you may chuckle because you think that you can "accurately" read me, but I can assure you you're wrong at least 90% of the time. I'm really good at letting you believe what you want to believe about me. It takes years for most people to realize that they never had me figured out to begin with. So now I'm trying to be honest.....at least with my closest friends.....when they ask direct questions.....and keep asking until I spill it..... Maybe someday I'll be less complicated and easier to handle!

In the meantime I'm doing a lot of wondering. How do I live more transparently? What does that even mean? What does it look like? It can't mean spilling my guts to every person I know, but I'm convinced that it needs to involve more honesty on my part; it needs to involve letting those closest to me find me as I deal with the fallout of living in a broken world. But first I have to become transparent, so the light of Christ can shine through me, so that the truth of who I am CAN be seen, which is impossible if I'm blocking the light by refusing to open the door to the reality that comes knocking every morning. Transparency requires that I let people see the often ugly truth, not a mirage of perfection.

If the truth, meaning the person of Christ, will "set me free", why am I so afraid? Why are any of us afraid? Perhaps revealing ourselves to mortals is frightening because we judge each other more harshly that God does. And we don't love selflessly. And we don't truly understand grace. My prayer for 2009 is that I become a woman whose transparency allows the beauty of Christ's light to shine through me. A woman who offers the love, grace and mercy to others that God offers so freely to me. A woman who loves freely, even when it hurts. There will be times when I selfishly decide to hide to protect myself from the sting of disappointment. There will be times when I will love in an effort to have my own needs met. There will be many times when I will react in anger instead of love. But, I have a beacon of hope already in me, the light of life, the truth. I just have to open the door so He can shine through. Hopefully you'll experience more of him through me in 2009. That's my prayer.

Blue Christmas

The holidays have arrived and I should be excited right? It's the most wonderful time of the year, or so says a very rich songwriter. But the excitement is missing for me. Maybe it's the thought of attending another party alone and answering invasive personal questions from people I don't know.

Party Guest: "Hi, nice to meet you. Are you married? Have you ever been married? Do you have kids? NO??? With a questioning glance...."

Me: "That's right, I'm 38 and single, never been married and have no kids. There is obviously something horrifyingly wrong with me as evidenced by your raised eyebrow. Thanks for making me feel even worse about myself. Any other questions?"

Perhaps my blase mood is because Christmas began so early this year. Radio stations began playing Christmas music 24/7 on November 5. We went from the election to Christmas seemingly overnight. It kind of detracts from the magic for me. I like Christmas to feel special but it doesn't feel very special when it lasts for so long. It feels like any ordinary day. And to top it off the greed and consumerism is annoying. I love to give meaningful gifts that will be truly appreciated, but instead I buy gift cards because most people just want the money. It feels cheap and heartless.

And don't even get me started on the decorating, which is something I normally enjoy. For the past 2 weeks my tree has been only partially decorated, sporting a twinkling light/ornament ratio of 1000 to 1. I even plunked down a lot of moolah for some really beautiful ornaments, hoping to be inspired, but nope. If you were to drop by right now you'd see my normally spic and span, uncluttered place in disarray. It's a huge mess, littered with boxes, totes, tissue paper, glitter and unwrapped gifts. Worse still, I don't even care. If my sink were full of dishes I'd be concerned that I was suffering from Major Depressive Disorder, but so far it's clean.

What to do? I miss the enthusiasm I normally feel. I miss watching cheesy Christmas movies. I miss listening to carols. I miss baking and decorating and wrapping carefully chosen gifts. But, C'est la vie. It ebbs and flows regardless of the season. It just feels a little blue this year. So instead of focusing on my unrealized expectations I'm going to start focusing on the truth of the season. Salvation has come, reconciliation is possible, hope is renewed. That's the truth, thanks be to God.

The Elf Louise Christmas Project

If you're unfamiliar with Elf Louise you can click on this link to read about the organization's philosophy: http://www.elflouise.com/philosophy.php

Last night I took a turn volunteering with Elf Louise after a friend (Hi Becky) who is on the Board sent out a very nice, non-desperate sounding email in November requesting help at the Checkers' table. And I, being a nice elf and all (minus the funny hat and pointy shoes) decided that I would like to play a game of checkers, er, I mean participate in something honorable this year. So I left work a little early (although, just in case my boss reads this let me clarify that I've been working extra from home, so I'm still putting in my hours.....) and made my way to a 50,000 sq. foot warehouse full of toys waiting to be chosen as gifts for underprivileged kids in our local community.

Now Becky had already warned me that the warehouse had no heat and no air conditioning, therefore I should dress in layers and wear COMFORTABLE shoes (hence the reason my cute elf shoes stayed in the closet.) I arrived in jeans, a pullover fleece top and tennis shoes ready for my 3 1/2 hour shift in the cold, but turns out that Jack Frost forgot to drop by so I spent 3 1/2 hours working in the heat, wearing fleece.... I also arrived expecting 9 other people to be helping, but there were only 5, and only one with experience, the rest of us were Elf Louise virgins. Curiously enough, my "friend" failed to mention how physically demanding the position of "Checker" would be. Now, I have been working out, I'm strong and I walk several miles a week, but I was WHOLLY unprepared for the 4 hour cardio workout I received. Seriously, by the end of the night I was a sweaty and stinky mess - my hair was matted and damp, my makeup was gone and I smelled like a Greek in August, and as Stephanie can tell you, THAT AIN'T PRETTY. But ask me if I'd do it again and I'd say yes in a heartbeat.

There is something deeply satisfying in the act of giving and doing something selfless for others, especially underprivileged children who didn't create their circumstances. Yes, I know our culture is greedy and saturated with "stuff" and most of us have everything we need and much of what we want. And even our poor have an overabundance that much of the world lacks. But, I also know that the little kids who will receive these gifts may not receive anything else this year. And they will be excited to receive a toy that hasn't belonged to anyone else. They will be delighted with the dolls and trucks and musical instruments and High School Musical trinkets. They will love their new teddy bears to death and will grow up with the knowledge that somebody, somewhere cared enough to give them a little bit of joy this year. Sadly, there will be some who do not fully appreciate the gifts, but I'm not willing to take the risk of one innocent child receiving nothing in order to weed out the greedy. I'll let God deal with those matters and I'll continue to be a part of things that make our community a better place to live.

So thanks Becky for all of your years of service, I know you've been volunteering since you were a Girl Scout and you and your family have given selflessly to this and many other causes consistently. Thanks for letting me be a part of something so magical. Thanks for letting me see the faces of awkward, adorable 12-year-old boys as they brought their interestingly wrapped gifts to the table for inspection and bagging. Thanks for letting me watch the "too cool for school" teenagers as they gave a little bit of themselves and realized that they were participating in something special. Thanks for letting me watch mothers teach their children how to give to others who truly want for things that they take for granted. Thank you for letting me give of myself. It was a great night, especially after the masseur performed his magic!

Not So Happy Things

I'm really trying to stay positive during this holiday season, which despite all of the hustle and bustle can feel extremely lonely and isolating. But before I can be positive, I have to get the following annoyances off of my chest:

Allergies. One of the cons to living in South Texas, where it never gets cold enough to kill off all of the pollen. Sneezing, sniffling, wondering where all of that snot comes from and if I'm actually leaking brain fluid instead of mucus. Allergies are high on the NOT SO HAPPY list for a reason, they're infinitely annoying.

PMS. Last month it stood for Pre Menstrual Syndrome AND Present Menstrual Syndrome since I was in one of those stages almost EVERY day. Yeah, November was not really a fun month for me "female-wise".....enough said.

Insomnia. Is it too much to ask for some good, uninterrupted, quality sleep? I'm considering medication. Seriously.

Pumpkin pie. I know it's un-American, but I hate it. I also hate apple pie, cherry pie, lemon meringue pie, blackberry pie, sweet potato pie and mincemeat pie. Yuck.

Mall Traffic. It's a phenomenon I do not understand now that we are officially in a recession. Traffic just piles up for miles before the mall is even in sight. And we all know how I feel about traffic. :-)

Dumb Christmas Songs. Heard "Santa Baby" lately? The only thing that could make me like it is if I were getting the royalty check each month.... Ditto for "Hey Santa" or "Baby It's Cold Outside". And don't even get me started on "Jingle Bells" sung solely by barking dogs. It's enough to make me vomit.

But, enough whining! Now that I've vented I'll try and think about "happy" things so I can survive the rest of the holidays without medication. But before I go I'll leave you with the lyrics to ANOTHER annoying Christmas song, lyrics that have been stuck in my head since I accidentally heard them earlier today. I admire what Bob Geldof was trying to do, but the lyrics need some serious help, and all of the off-key singing by the likes of George Michael, Boy George and Kool and the Gang (I'm serious), just make the whole song dreadful.

"DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS"

It's Christmastime

There's no need to be afraid

At Christmastime, we let in light and we banish shade

And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy

Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime

But say a prayer

Pray for the other ones

At Christmastime it's hard, but when you're having fun

There's a world outside your window

And it's a world of dread and fear

Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears

And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom

Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you (that's the spirit, better them than me, eh?)

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime

The greatest gift they'll get this year is life (Oooh)

Where nothing ever grows

No rain nor rivers flow

Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

(Here's to you) raise a glass for everyone

(Here's to them) underneath that burning sun

Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

Feed the world

Feed the world

Feed the world

Let them know it's Christmastime again

Feed the world

Let them know it's Christmastime again

Happy Things

A few weeks ago as this latest season of thanks was blown in on the cool, fall breeze, I began my annual tradition of reflecting on the things for which I'm overwhelmingly grateful. Obviously I have an infinite number of reasons to humbly offer my gratitude to the Almighty, and trust me I do - obsessively. But, aside from the never changing blessings of my faith, health, job and freedom - I have an eclectic list of things that bring me joy. Here is a small, by no means exhaustive, list of some of my most recent, favorite, "happy things":

* Run on sentences, keep reading and you'll see why; it would be truly impossible for me to blog or journal without them!

* Good, original, funky, contemporary art with amazing colors, interesting composition and unexpected form, it has made decorating my place so much more exciting, especially when I find something unique that no one else will ever have.

* Hummus, I think I should invest in it because I eat it almost every day without fail. I like all varieties and shovel it in like a starving, desperate woman instead of a civilized, obviously well-fed American. It's too good for me to pass up and I hope I never have to live without it. Yummy!


* Pedicures are such a delightful way to spend an hour, what could be better than someone massaging my feet and calves, putting goopy, smelly green stuff on my feet and scrubbing off my callouses to reveal soft, smooth skin all before painting my toenails in lovely shades of "Rosy Mistletoe" (complete with daisies to decorate my big toe), "Let Them Eat Cake", "Smokin' in Havana" or "Grand Canyon Sunset"?

* Mineral makeup that doesn't cake or sink into the "fine lines" that have sprouted on my once smooth face. This stuff is great, comes with an SPF of 15 and doesn't fade as quickly as liquid makeup, which I loathe anyway; it also doesn't rub off on my clothes and does a fairly decent job of covering my "spots" as my nephew likes to call them. I'm a believer and there's no goin' back now, look for me on the next infomercial!


* Soy Chai, from Starbuck's to Serina's I don't care just serve it to me hot and I'm happy, this stuff is ADDICTIVE (thanks for getting me hooked Serina) and a very nice treat when the weather is cool and I'm tired of diet soda.

* 1010987. I LOVE those 7 digits because dialing them symbolizes one of the best parts of my week, the chance to talk to Laurie for a good hour or two, even if it is usually at some horribly early hour on this side of the Atlantic when I should be snoring, but instead find myself dialing the magic numbers that let us stay connected, INEXPENSIVELY, even though there are thousands of miles and 7 hours between us.

* Cheap gas - $1.65/gal yesterday, I haven't paid that little since 2005!!! Although as a side note, I must add that I would be even MORE grateful if "W" and Dick would try to rectify at least one of their many booboos and "encourage" their greedy, price-gouging, CEO friends to refund us lowly middle class folk for all of the overpriced gas we were forced to purchase the past 3 years....okay, back to happy things!

* Silence - which mostly brings me peace, serenity and rest, especially if I have my candles lit and the air is scented with a mix of spices, and I'm wearing my pink plaid flannel jammies. I crave silence, which scares me on some level because it confirms that I have officially turned into an old fogey, as evidenced by my near panic attacks at the thought of too much noise and/or chaos, unless I'm at a concert or something, at which point silence is way overrated. But, I have to be honest and admit that sometimes I can't stand the silence and freak out and become completely irrational and difficult to handle. This usually occurs when I'm in the throes of PMS and as Laurie, Serina or Steph can attest to, it's NOT pretty, which leads me to my next happy thing.....

* Girlfriends. How would anyone of us survive our emotions, men, families, fashion and PMS without a girlfriend, or two, or three, or four, to listen to us whine, moan, kvetch, vent and over analyze every word, action, deed or encounter we have with every single person in a given day? And HOW would we ever go to the bathroom alone or know what to expect when contemplating hair dye, new laundry detergent, lipstick shades and the best shampoo? Impossible to imagine.

* Malibu Castle - okay, to be honest I don't really love this place for me, BUT I do love to spend time with my nephews and THEY love this place, so that means I love it by default because it makes them happy and I get to watch and participate in their happiness, which in turn makes me happy! Got that?

* Road trips are still fun even after experiencing so many of them, especially when I don't have to drive - watching the miles pass by, wondering about the drivers and passengers in other cars, singing with abandon, keeping an eye out for the next bathroom, trying to figure out how to read the map/directions so we don't get horribly lost in an unfamiliar city - been there, done that! (note to self - on a map, "W" is an abbreviation for "West" not our outgoing President......)

* My Personal Trainer - as I type this I'm forcing myself to be grateful because her idea of a workout is more like my idea of torture. And since she won the battle of wills today I can barely walk, instead I'm kind of hobbling like a pirate with a peg leg after pushing 260 pounds with my calves. Do I hear a collective ouch? BUT, when I get out the measuring tape and see that I have lost 3 inches off of my waist and 3 inches off of my hips I become exceedingly grateful that she has a sadistic side, so I'm signing up for more torture and investing my money in the gym, the stock market is too volatile anyway!

* India Palace - the BEST Indian Food in San Antonio. Which means I should thank Rene for introducing me to my favorite haunt....and Lane for making sure I get my fix on a regular basis....and Laurie for indulging me when she would rather have had Mexican food....and Amy for trying something new when I had a craving and an interview across the street. Oh, the list goes on and on.....India Palace is a VERY happy thing!

* Clay Casa - even though I'm a "wannabe" when it comes to art, this place lets me be creative in a variety of ways - painting pottery, piecing together mosaics, glass fusion and now silver jewelry molding. Woohoo!!! AND, my niece usually goes with me so I get to spend 3 hours of quality time being creative with her, which is more fun than spending 3 hours being creative alone, unless I'm in my silent mode.....

* Family, even the crazy ones. They make me laugh (and cry) and give me someone to "blame" for my neurosis. They also remind me of where I come from and sometimes scare me with visions of how I'll look when I'm old......Dad, did you HAVE to pass on your chin and thighs to me??? Seriously, those really should have gone to the boys!

* Friends, people who love me, or TRY to because they WANT to, NOT because they have to. WOW, it's completely overwhelming to share my very messy life with people who could easily and with good reason choose to walk away from my complicated, neurotic self. Thanks for sticking it out with me. Because you love me well and practice the type of community modeled by Christ I have found deep healing and a safe place to discover who I am. For you I'm most grateful.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia is one of the bittersweet by-products of getting older. Reminiscing about the years gone by; looking back at who I used to be; seeing who I am today; looking forward to who I have yet to become. Sometimes there are tears as I confront the dying dreams of my youth. But usually I find serenity when I start digging in their rubble, because despite pain and disappointment, my life is good, and full, and happy. And for that, I'm grateful.

Last weekend was full of nostalgic digging for me. I felt like I was stuck in a time warp as I was transported to my youth during a reunion concert of one of my favorite artists. Granted, most of the concert-goers were, ahem, "aging", some more gracefully than others, and no one really stood or danced for long, (at least not like they did 20 years ago!) Yet, it was still fun watching the band, swaying to the rhythm, listening (and singing!) every word to songs I've known for 20-25 years. Remembering what they meant to me when most of my life was still stretched out before me. Knowing what they mean now as I approach the middle of my life. Wondering what they will mean when I'm old and gray and spend more of my time remembering than doing. Those 3-minute melodies formed the soundtrack of my youth and they always transport me back in time.

As the last strains of that soundtrack faded I traveled on to Tulsa to attend the wedding of my nephew, a man still in the prime of his life. Youthful, handsome, hopeful. It was moving to watch the man I remember as a little boy embrace his glowing bride. To observe my parents as their pride and joy, my brother, watched his own pride and joy enter a new stage of life. I don't think I've ever seen my brother "beam" as he did on that night. To catch a glimpse of nostalgia as it crossed my sister-in-law's face and momentarily clouded her stunning blue eyes with tears. To sit and know the groom's sister, my niece, as an equal, a fully grown, married woman instead of the girl she once was. It was deeply moving and powerful to watch all of these things with the memories of soccer games, dance recitals, graduations and travels swirling around in my head. How has time passed so quickly?

As nostalgic as I sometimes am for the carefree days of my 20s, other than Laurie moving back, I usually don't ever want things to go back to how they used to be. Too many painful wounds that I'd rather leave alone. So, although I allow myself some nostalgia, I'd rather move forward, learn, grow, live and love. Freely. Openly. Vulnerably. Peacefully. And so I am.

Most Embarrassing Moment #3

Once upon a time there was a young teen (yours truly) who was gifted with an extensive underwear collection by her lovably eccentric Grandma Jim. (Yes, she had a boy's name - long story.) And since I was the first granddaughter she went all out when it came to outfitting me in cute, girlie delicates.

Now Grandma Jim didn't buy plain white undies, no sirree, she bought undies with characters on them, like whales and ladybugs and fairies - great when you're 3 - not so much when you're 15! Every birthday and Christmas brought a blush to my cheeks as I was "encouraged" to hold up my gifts and display them so my family could ooh and ah. Sometimes Grandma went off the radar and bought outrageous gifts like a "jeweled spider hair bun holder thingy" (I still have it as proof of her eccentricities) but no matter what she always kept me well-stocked in underwear. And I wore them because I didn't know any better and I figured no one else would see them.

I WAS WRONG.

One hot, humid, East Texas, summer day my youth group took a trip to Astroworld. We piled in the blue and white church bus and sang silly songs for the drive to the theme park. We were obnoxious dorks but we sure had fun! We were also daredevils and rode EVERY scary ride from the gigantic roller coaster to the "Screamer". AND we were hot. REALLY hot. So we rode the log ride and "Thunder" OVER and OVER to cool off with the splashes of icy water. It made the humidity and hot Texas sun infinitely more bearable.

There I was, my undies safely hidden beneath a very cute magenta skort. Until I rode the log ride and discovered that magenta becomes transparent when it gets wet. So I got to walk around Astroworld, trying not to cry as all of my friends and every stranger noticed that my undies were decorated with little blue whales. And that, my friends, is why I buy plain white underwear.

Showerhead Bliss

Ahhh, I'm in heaven. After months of ongoing showerhead trauma I finally did it, I broke down and bought a new one. Yes, I know I could have called the landlord, Ray, but I'm pretty sure he would have just tried to fix the old one, he's cheap that way. Plus, I have "space" issues, meaning I don't like the maintenance man in my space - EVER. So, I decided that daily bliss from a shiny, new showerhead was a great return on a $20 investment. You know what? I was right. I'm MUCH happier now because the spray is steady and the temperature is just right, and I can even adjust the dial and get a little massage, which is F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S after a hard workout! And not to be TOO geeky, but it is Eco-friendly and has a nifty little button that lets me turn off the flow while I'm washing my hair, THAT makes me feel better about taking long showers. (Hey, with my hair it can take 10 minutes just to rinse!)

Now it's on to more pressing matters like the peeling paint in the tub. You see, before I moved in Ray had the tub and sinks "refinished". The sinks have held up fairly well, but not so the tub. It's truly one of the worst refinishing jobs I've ever seen, not that I've really ever seen any refinishing jobs, but I'm just sayin'..... Anyway, the first time I took a bath the paint started bubbling. The next time it started peeling. So can you guess what I have been doing for the past 18 months? Yep, I've been peeling paint every time I take a bath. It's actually cathartic in some ways, kind of like when I peel my skin after a sunburn.... I challenge myself to peel a longer strip each time, and I'm happy to report that I've almost completed the job. All of my hard work has revealed a shiny tub underneath. I can't even figure out WHY the tub was refinished to begin with, but I'm really hoping it had nothing to do with lead or anything toxic! He could have invested that money into replacing the disgusting carpet or feeble dishwasher. But no, he decided to refinish a perfectly good bathtub, which means I get to explain to houseguests why it's partially unfinished now, thus implicating myself in the peeling process...... Thanks Ray.

Daihatsus, Dumptrucks & Electric Cars

Many adults around my age look back on their childhood and chuckle at the cars their parents drove. Huge Buicks, ugly station wagons, Pintos.......UGLY, UGLY, UGLY! But if there were a contest in embarrassing cars of our youth, I would certainly win HANDS DOWN. To be fair, let me clarify: my parents drove some normal cars, like the Subaru station wagon, the Cadillac El Dorado and the Oldsmobile '88, but believe me when I tell you there were some humdingers.

Like this lovely little Japanese import - the miniature Daihatsu:

Or the bane of my 15th year, the dump truck, complete with a wooden bed, only our model was a disgusting shade of green resembling poo.....More on this little gem later in a post about THE most embarrassing moments in my life!

And I can't forget the electric car. My parents were proud owners of one of the earliest models, a "City Car" to be exact, but ours was white.....and it resembled a cheese wedge crawling down the street, (I'm pretty sure it couldn't go faster than 40-50 mph). Of course, we also had to stop and charge it every few hours, or during a rain storm......

There was also a Triumph motorcycle with a white side car, a motor home, a wench truck (similar to a tow truck but the wench pole is bigger), a miniature yellow Honda, and the multi-colored and rusting "to-do" truck, aptly named because there was so much work "to-do" on it.....Ugh, told you I would win!

I'm Voting For.....

Did you REALLY think I would tell you who I'm voting for??? Silly, silly, silly. I'm not that stupid, some of you know where I live! Honestly, I've avoided writing about politics because to be honest I've been bored this election year. Yes, I know, I know, "this is the most important election of our time", but aren't they all?? Most of our current problems can be directly linked to decisions made long ago in administrations far, far away, rendering those seemingly "less important" elections as pretty significant now.

And yet, I'm still bored. I decided early in the year who would win my vote, so the smears, campaign promises and "politics as usual" just don't interest me. I simply don't have the stomach to watch. Nor do I have the stomach to argue about who I'm voting for and why I should choose the other candidate. And enough with the steaming bowls of guilt, I won't eat it so you can quit serving it. How I vote is really just between God, me.....and the electronic voting machine.

Throughout this entire process, the one thing that has not bored me has been the political parodies on Saturday Night Live. Watching Sarah Palin was hysterical, and her husband dancing around in a moose costume? Priceless. At least they can laugh at themselves while they look at Russia from their porch..... Of course the Hilary and Obama impressions were pretty funny too. SNL is at it's best during an election year.

This election year presents a tough choice for people who don't cast their vote based on 2 issues or along party lines. For me it is not as cut and dried as it is for many of my friends. Do I really want a lifetime senator in the White House? Or a woman who uses terms like "Joe six-pack" and "you betcha"? Um, no. Good ole' boys and girls terrify me. But can I really believe in the "candidate of change" who picks a VP from the old guard, a VP with more years in the Senate than almost anyone? No change there...

So I say:

He would definitely shake things up!
(If you have no idea who Pedro is use "Google" to figure it out!)

Brainless Conversations with God

Earlier this week when I hopped on the scale to check my progress in this never ending battle with the bulge I was SHOCKED to see that I had gained 3 pounds. Excuse me??? I've been living on rabbit food. I've been avoiding "bad" carbs. I've erased the word sugar from my vocabulary. I've been walking 4+ miles faithfully almost every day. I've been paying an arm and a leg to workout with a trainer who causes me physical pain. I've been really good, and I haven't cheated!!! How in the world did I GAIN 3 pounds???

At this point a rational person would have stopped and calmly considered the situation, but I chose "crazy, psycho woman mode" and decided that the Almighty and I needed to have a chat about how unfair all of this was.

Really. BAD. Idea. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And thus began another of my brainless conversations with God.

Me: I'm confused! I'm doing everything right. Why did I gain 3 pounds?
God: silence
Me: Do you think you could help me out here? I'm really trying!

God: silence

Me: You WANT me to be fat, don't you? You really don't care that I'm trying so hard, do you? Are you trying to teach me a lesson? Because this is a really cruel way to do it!!!
God: silence
Me: Why are you doing this to me???
God: silence
Me: Fine if you don't want to help me then I'm done. I'm tired of trying. If this is all I get then why don't I just go have a slice of pizza? If I'm destined to be fat anyway I'm going to eat what I want. So there.
God: silence
Me: Whatever. I knew this would happen anyway. Since I'm supposed to "give thanks in everything" let me just say thanks for all of your "help". Hmmffff.
God: silence
Me: Finally snapping out of "crazy, psycho woman mode" thinks, hmmmm, maybe I'm retaining water. When was my last cycle? Oh. Blush. That's it. I really hate PMS. God?? I'm really sorry please don't strike me dead. Thanks.

God: No problem, and you're welcome...

Yes, I know what you're thinking - "Watch out for lightning" and believe me I am! Sigh, maybe when PMS is no longer in my vocabulary I'll get it right. I sure hope so, I'm tired of being an idiot....

The Human Coupon

I don't know anyone who hates a bargain, especially considering our nation's current financial crunch. With fears of a worsening recession and possibly another depression looming I am finding myself clipping more and more coupons in an effort to save pennies. Of course, I did that before the stock market took a dive, I'm just more anal about it now. Make no mistake, I have an eagle eye when it comes to making sure every last penny is deducted from my bill. There is no way I'm going to pay $0.25 more if a coupon says I don't have to!

One reason I love coupons so much is because they save me from haggling. I have no bargaining skills - zero, zip, nada. I'm a sight to see in foreign markets where it's expected that people will bargain. I'm sure I've paid triple the price for many items because I was just too nervous to actually try to get a better deal. If I didn't look so much like him, my bargaining failures would make me wonder if I were even related to my family's very own walking, talking Human Coupon - my dad. The man can walk into a restaurant and get a discount for no reason. He can effortlessly trade one piece of....er, junk (sorry Dad!) for another. He can find the only thing worth finding at a garage sale and pay almost nothing for it. He can scour an antique shop, find a valuable piece of furniture and walk out with freebies. One time he went with me to find a dresser. When I saw what I wanted I was willing to pay the full asking price, but he sensed a bargain and managed to get the owner to throw in a scooter (or bicycle, I forget). Had I not blown it by speaking too soon I'm sure he would have walked out with more loot. Um, yeah I definitely lack the Human Coupon gene. Darn it.

You know how some people have a sign on their forehead? Mine says, "Sure, you can tell me everything I never wanted to know about yourself, no problem!", while his says, "Human Coupon, you will give me a deal!" Sigh, I like his sign better......but since mine was apparently tattooed in permanent ink I have decided to take him with me when I want a better deal. He gets to do the talking, I get to do the listening and we both walk out happy. So Dad, I have some shopping to do, are you free on Wednesday? It's a triple coupon day!

Autumn's Harvest

Autumn, my favorite season. To me it's the perfect blend of summer and winter. Deep breaths of crisp air. Thinking that I might need a jacket but choosing to go without one just so I can feel chilly. Spicy scents of nutmeg and cinnamon. Pumpkin patches with the kids. Crunchy leaves. Rich, earthy colors. Delicious pumpkin bread. Anticipation of the holidays. Ahhh, I love fall!

It's my favorite time of year to travel. Getting to see the changing leaves that I miss while living in South Texas. A stunning mix of red, gold and orange set against a turquoise sky. Relaxing at festivals. Reveling in the general excitement that people feel after the heat of summer has been chased away by shorter days and cool breezes.

I love the fact that I can wear a sweater and feel all warm and cuddly. I adore listening to George Winston's "Autumn" while I curl up on my couch with a woobie, sip hot tea and read with the scent of a cinnamon candle wafting into the air.

Fall has bewitched me with its melancholy mood, so perfectly suited to my temperament. And in a season meant for reaping I have found the harvest to be plentiful this year. Though I don't till the soil of the earth I do till the soil of my soul, and the hard work is finally bearing fruit. Embracing truth, learning to love freely, settling in to how much my Savior loves me. I'm growing and stretching and hoping. I'm seeking and listening and accepting. Shedding old, dysfunctional coping skills and adopting new, healthy ones. Ahhh, I love fall, it's such a beautiful season in my life!

Seriously, Please Don't

I have spent the past 14 years of my life working for doctors, and for the most part I enjoy the field of medicine, at least the administrative side. But boy have I had some interesting experiences. While most of us could be considered "quirky" by others, (especially me!) there are some people whose names MUST appear beside the word if you were to look it up in the dictionary!

Currently I work for GI doctors, specialists who deal with everything from the Esophagus to the Colon. That means a lot of colonoscopies, which in turn means a lot of "preps", which is the industry term for cleaning out the colon before that dreaded procedure. Preps have come a long way and are now available in pill form which alleviates the need to drink that hideous, chalky liquid before becoming best friends with the great, white, porcelain throne. But it's important to know that preps have never included the use of suppositories, unfortunately we had a patient who didn't get that memo...

She was a very old lady (close to 90), a gentle, kind, mannerly woman; the kind of woman you imagine as the best grandmother in the world - capable of dispensing warm hugs, encouragement and the best home-cooking ever. She was very, very nice and endearing. But she was old and easily confused. The day after her consultation she called and spoke to an equally kind and gentle medical assistant. The patient was concerned because she was experiencing extreme discomfort in preparing for the procedure. The MA tried to reassure her that the discomfort was not abnormal but the patient was adamant that the suppositories were not working. At this point the MA's ears perked up because suppositories are not normally prescribed before a colonoscopy. She asked the patient the name of the prescription and was alarmed when she discovered that the patient had mistaken the tablet, to be taken orally, for a suppository, to be inserted rectally. The MA gently explained that the prescription was to be taken by mouth with a glass of water to which the patient replied, "Oh! I was wondering how I was going to get 32 up there." Needless to say we now stress that there are NO suppositories involved in colon preps. Why would you put something in your colon when you're trying to clean it out??? Mercy me!

Before entering the GI field, I was the Administrator for a mental health clinic, which also provided me with many memorable experiences. At times I had to restrain patients, call the police/911 and confiscate razor blades. I also cried when patients regressed or couldn't heal from their emotional wounds. But on the other hand I saw people grow and deal with their problems. I saw marriages renewed, depression lifted and Schizophrenics and Bipolars stabilized. It was very rewarding to be part of the process that allowed so many to heal.

I have a heart of compassion for those struggling with serious mental illness. And now that I work for GI doctors, I have heart of compassion for those struggling with embarrassing physical ailments. But no matter how sick a person is, there are certain things that should never be done.

I humbly offer the following insider tips based on my own experiences (yes all of these things have really happened):

*Please don't assume that I secretly work for the CIA, the only reason I know your name, rank and serial number is because you gave it to me. Accusing me of being a spy will make me wonder what you're really up to... Besides, if I were a spy it would be dangerous to blow my cover.

*On the other hand, since I'm really NOT a spy, please don't assume that I know who you are unless you tell me. There are hundreds of patients who visit or call the office, it's unlikely that I will remember you unless you do the last thing on this list...

*Please don't shove anything furry and/or squirming in my face. I WILL scream and possibly cry. Then your poor "gerbil, mouse, hamster, ferret, squirrel, lizard, snake" will likely panic, get loose and scare everyone else in the office. So just don't.

*And if you own said "gerbil, mouse, hamster, ferret, squirrel, lizard, snake", please don't bring homemade cookies, cakes or food to me, as I will not eat them, EVER, and neither will the doctor.

*Please don't leave your psychiatrist's office and attempt to hit on me by asking the following, "So, are you a patient here?" I can assure you I won't be flattered.

*Please don't yell at me because the doctor is running late, it's really not my fault. And don't blame the pharmaceutical reps either, the doctor has to meet with them to get the samples you want...

*Please don't wait until Friday afternoon to request a refill for a medication you "can't live without". I do not have the legal authority to refill your prescription without the doctor's approval, and the doctor is not usually available on Friday afternoon, which means you will have to wait for an on-call doctor to be paged, contact the pharmacy and approve the medication you "forgot" you so desperately needed....

*Please don't discuss your bodily functions in the waiting room or with the administrative staff, I'm not lying when I say that NO ONE but the doctor is as fascinated with your bowel movements as you are...

*And most importantly, WHATEVER you do, PLEASE DO NOT bring a plastic grocery bag full of your excrement into the office. EVERYONE will be completely disgusted and the doctor will likely schedule a psychiatric evaluation for you, seriously, please don't.

Tripped Up

There are many things in life that have "tripped me up" over the years, but sadly nothing so much as my own clumsiness. So guess what I did today? Yes folks, I tripped.............going UP the stairs. Now I would LOVE to place blame on my heels and extra long pants, but that wouldn't be fair. The honest, embarrassing truth is that I'm a klutz, plain and simple. And if you've spent much time with me at all, then you probably recall seeing me stumble while trying to do something as complicated as say, walking, which I've only been doing for about 38 years. I'm really hoping my walking skills improve with age.

Now, I've also been known to trip going DOWN the stairs. When I was 22 I was leaving the office in a hurry and once in the stairwell I tripped and fell down the last 5 or 6 stairs, breaking my leg and damaging my knee in the process. To this day my knee still bothers me and my leg still aches when the weather gets funky. You've probably noticed me rubbing my knee and randomly commenting on the impending rain I'm sure is coming because my aching tibia told me so.

As shocking as this may sound, I tend to be a cynic..... That's one reason I'm usually so careful going up and down the stairs in my apartment. I'm convinced that one day I will trip and fall and lie dying in a crumbled heap on my floor and none of my family or friends will realize that I'm down for the count. Of course, I know that my co-workers would notice my absence so there is a slight chance I would be found before making my way to the pearly gates. But just in case I would hope that if you don't hear from me for a few days you would assume I have tripped, again, and desperately need your assistance!

But seriously, as I tripped on the stairs today I started thinking about all the other ways I've tripped on life's journey. The countless times I've hurt people in my clumsy attempts to love them are cringe-worthy. Same with my failed attempts at vulnerability and intimacy. And worse, the thousands of times I've tripped while trying to stay on the narrow road of my faith. I know I'll make it to the finish line but I fear I will be limping instead of running! Thankfully God's grace is abundant for one like me and I know that when I trip and fall I am not alone, He is still with me and will help me get back on my feet again. I may have a few bumps and bruises but I will persevere and hopefully grow a little wiser in the process. I'm so thankful for God's grace in the midst of my clumsiness and I'm thankful for family and friends who help pick me up when I've tripped yet again!

Resting in the Mystery

Sometimes I long for the idealism of my youth. Everything was black and white, right or wrong. Shades of gray were unacceptable because I had it all figured out, you know - life, faith, the reason for living, etc. I thought I knew so much! Ummm, yeah. Not any more. Now I really am smarter and know that, well - I know VERY little. And for that I owe all of the credit to God. He has done a stellar job of deconstructing my ideals, and much to my chagrin he constantly escapes the box I try to keep him in. Darn it! If he would just be who I want him to be.... At least I can be thankful for the fact that he is more interesting and gracious and compassionate than how he was presented to me. He is more. He is beyond definition. He is mystery.

The past several years have found me finally resting in the mysteries of faith instead of trying to figure them out. And although there is nothing wrong with ideals and honest questions, for a long time I found myself wrestling with theology, and worrying about whether or not I was a Calvinist or Arminian more than just believing God and taking him at his word. His word became less about him and more about the various doctrines or opinions of others. It was a very limiting and legalistic way to live and view the world, sorely lacking in grace and love.

Now when I'm confused or find myself striving for answers I'll never have, I seek quiet and stillness. He always shows up and makes his presence known to me. He moves me with beauty. He loves me with compassion. He loves me with himself! He delights in calling my name ever so quietly. He speaks to me through his word. He is Immanuel. He is with me. He is. His mystery dances with truth and I no longer try to tear them apart or analyze and dissect them, because God knows I hate it when others do that to me! And as I've I've begun to expose the deep wounds of my heart to his love I've discovered that there is healing and hope, I've discovered that I can rest in his mystery.

"I'd forgotten who I was until I stumbled through my history. I came to life because you were there." Without a Clue, by Matthew Perryman Jones.

"Take me to a place where love can mend these wounds, where mystery can dance with truth, and the broken soul finds refuge......lead me to a place where beauty dwells." Refuge by Matthew Perryman Jones.

Laundry Day

My apartment is cute, if I do say so myself, and there are so many things I love about it. It's fairly large at approximately 1100 sq feet. It has two bedrooms so out of town guests actually have a place to sleep and spread out, which never happened in my 550 sq foot pad. It has large closets and good storage. It has two floors so if my bed isn't made, no one else has to see it, guests can stay downstairs without invading my private space (that's a HUGE deal for a girl with spacial boundary issues.....) It has Pergo floors downstairs and some really cool abstract art! Overall it's G-R-R-R-E-A-T. BUT, for all of the positives there is one glaring negative:

NO WASHER/DRYER HOOKUPS.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the lovely (annoying) experience of hauling laundry around, let me just state for the record that it STINKS (sometimes quite literally.) Laundry day usually finds me driving 20 minutes to my parents' house and spending several hours making sure my clothes are clean. The whole process can take up an entire day - that's not irritating AT ALL......grrrr. Who wants to spend their entire day off washing clothes? Sure, I could go to the laundromat, but that is ummm, how can I say it? Unappealing. I'd prefer to at least hang out with family (sometimes) while I'm in the process of laundering my scant wardrobe. Plus, my parents have dogs who like to snuggle and make me feel like their life is incomplete without me, no one at the laundromat gives me the same warm fuzzies, and I'm pretty sure I don't want them to! :-) At LEAST I'm not hauling laundry down to the river and scrubbing and beating the dirt out of my clothes with my hands and rocks or something. Knowing that people still do that in other parts of the world helps temper my frustration, usually....

Well on one of those days when my frustration was NOT tempered by the suffering of other people, my friends Laurie and Amy and I were discussing my laundry woes over lunch, because well, girls do that. And let me just tell you that Amy became one of my favorite people ever on that day. Aside from being funny, smart, beautiful and the maker of my favorite goat cheese dip, she filled me in on the wonders of portable washing machines. Yes, you read that right, PORTABLE, as in it hooks up to the kitchen sink. Duh! They do that in Europe all the time and I've seen it, but it never dawned on me that I could buy one for myself. Sometimes I'm so dense....

So guess what I'm doing right now? I'm washing clothes in my very own apartment. I didn't have to drive 20 minutes. I didn't have to haul them to my car. I just walked into my kitchen and loaded my adorable little portable washer with dirty clothes. I've already done 4 loads tonight and I'm so happy I could cry. I even did my own version of the happy dance, which was pretty pathetic but I don't care because my clothes are clean! And even better, the freshly cleaned clothes just get transported up the stairs to my very own portable dryer! Does this sound a little bit like the Showcase Showdown on the Price is Right??? Well let me tell you, I bid $585 for both machines and the PRICE WAS RIGHT so I won. Who knew that doing laundry could make a girl wanna dance?

Hurricanes and Hope

As I watched the news showing the devastation left along the Texas coast after Hurricane Ike, I remembered my experiences as a shelter volunteer after Hurricane Katrina 3 years ago. So much devastation countered by so much hope. I'm thankful that my family and friends in the Houston area are safe and I pray that those who lost so much this weekend find the same hope I saw in those who survived Hurricane Katrina.

"Perspective in a Sea of Faces"


September 3, 2005
1:30 am

I can’t sleep. My dreams are haunted by the sea of faces, some desperate, some void of emotion, some reflecting the trauma they were experiencing, who now call Kelly USA home. Stranded for days in deplorable conditions, without water, food or sanitation, stuck on rooftops, under bridges, or in hospitals. I could smell the suffering in the air, mixed with the smell of the sweat-soaked bodies of the determined but exhausted survivors of Hurricane Katrina’s wrath.

Gone was the luxury of privacy, replaced by row upon row of individual cots, many without pillows or blankets. Silence was stolen by the rustling of thousands of people now calling an old Airforce base home. There was a constant, low murmur as people talked amongst themselves, sometimes replaced by angry shouts as frustration and misery boiled to the surface, only to be calmed by armed police officers.

My job in Section 2B, was to walk around and listen to people’s stories, to offer encouragement, to take them to get basic necessities like underwear and toothbrushes, to direct them to the cafeteria, missing person’s center, telephone bank, showers (not private showers, but tent showers set up outside), and most importantly to help them to find their dignity.

It’s not easy to survive a catastrophe and still find hope. Yet everywhere I turned I saw it. Reflected in the eyes of 12 year old Kevin, who performed a rap for me and taught me a cool new handshake, which I have to say beats the wimpy “white” girl handshake I was using! In the eyes of his friend, aptly named Robin, who told me that he liked 3 Doors Down and then joined me in singing “Here Without You”, before giving me a big hug and asking me to come back the next day for another one. In the Coleman family, who thanked me over and over again for “everything” I had done, even though I had done nothing but sit with them and listen to their story. A family who was happy to be together in an air conditioned room, with water and food, and whose happiness turned to sheer joy once we located much needed underwear.

I saw determination in the eyes of the medical workers from University Hospital in downtown New Orleans. Stuck for days with patients they couldn’t treat, finally evacuated by helicopter and then plane, they chose to look toward an uncertain future with hope, not bitterness or anger. Beverly was an amazing woman whose tragedy defined her character. Her frustration was evident, but her faith was stronger than her fear. She was determined to form a small business to help the poorest of the poor learn how to escape their poverty. She wanted to be proactive, to make a difference in her corner of the world.

One of my most treasured books is “Whistling in the Dark, A Doubter’s Dictionary”, by Frederick Buechner. Here’s an excerpt from my favorite section:

“Faces, like everything else, can be looked at and not seen. ……you’re surrounded by thousands of them. Here and there one of them may catch your eye for a moment, but in another moment you’ve forgotten it. They are without personalities and without histories. There is nothing to remember them by. But, the odds are that for at least one other person somewhere in the world each of them – even the unlikeliest – matters enormously, or mattered enormously once, or someday, with any luck, will come to matter. ……..if you set your mind to it, there’s hardly a one of them you can’t imagine somebody loving…… You can see even the bitter faces in terms of what probably made them that way. You can see even the hostile, ugly faces in terms of what they must have been once before the world got to them, what they might have become if they’d gotten the breaks.”

Those words help me look at others with fresh eyes, to remember that every soul matters, and if there is someone who feels like they don’t matter, then maybe I can show them that they do. So that’s what I did. I loved people, however they needed to be loved. Some required a smile, others a hug, some just a listening and sympathetic ear. When it became emotionally overwhelming I just remembered that each person was a piece of my Father. I extended Christ’s love to them, and tried to give it a human face so they would never forget that they matter. Now that I know a little of the personalities behind some of those faces, they will not be forgotten.

I will return to love them again with a fresh perspective. I will remember that no matter how “hard” my life seems, it could always be worse. I will care less about my own comfort and more about the comfort of others. To remember that the most important things in life have nothing to do with the size of my house, my car, or fitting into smaller jeans, but with giving myself to family, friends and fellow humans in good times and bad. I will look at the sea of faces and strive to learn their story and to love them extravagantly, even if I get nothing out of it, simply because I am loved extravagantly.

Temper, Temper

My name is Robin, and I suffer from road rage (among other afflictions that I will not admit to in this blog!) TRAFFIC is the one thing that ALWAYS tops my pet-peeve list. I detest it.

Normally my commute looks something like this:

But this afternoon it looked more like this:

What's really sad is that today started out as such a nice day. TRAFFIC was light this morning; I balanced the office books to the penny; I hired much needed help for my billing manager; I ate a spectacular lunch at Aldino's (I've never seen such large ravioli!); and I had a good meeting with the owner of a computer company. Better still, I was eagerly anticipating the best part of the day, 5:30 pm when my dad would be delivering my new washing machine and dryer! Since I was so excited I left the office at 4:55 pm fully expecting to arrive home by 5:15 pm, blissfully unaware of how irritating the next 50 minutes of my life would be.

Normally my commute is very pleasant and the longest it takes me to get home at the end of the day is 23 minutes (yes, I'm so anal that I timed it.) But not today, nope today there was TRAFFIC and lots of it. The kind of TRAFFIC that turns me into a raving lunatic. You know what I mean right? I mean West Coast TRAFFIC in San Antonio. Snarled, barely moving TRAFFIC on the one day I needed to get home by a certain time. Now we all know that I'm an emotional girl (cough, cough) and I've been known to make "snippy" comments when frustrated (surprise, surprise) but it is rare that I completely lose my temper in front of other people. Unless I'm driving in TRAFFIC with nameless nincompoops who cross into MY lane while trying to dial their cell phones; or who drive 45 mph in a 65 mph zone, bless their hearts; or stop at yield signs - why?; or sit through perfectly green lights, um there's only one color green on the stoplight people!; or tailgate me when TRAFFIC is crawling, as if there was somewhere I could go! Hello, don't you think I'd go faster if I could, I don't want to be sitting in TRAFFIC either!!! There must be a special place reserved for tailgaters..... Sorry, got off on a little tangent there. Anyway, I could go on and on. Driving in TRAFFIC literally drives me out of my mind. (Of course I'm perfect and have NEVER done any of the things that drive me nuts.....)

But hey, there's something therapeutic about being able to "say" what I'm thinking without any immediate or obvious consequences. My car is the one place where I can vent about all of the frustrations in my life, not just the jerk reading the paper in the next car over, and then leave it behind when I arrive at my destination. My car has become my very own padded room, with air conditioning and really cool music to boot.

Ah, but the reality is that displaying a raging temper while driving is not very Christlike. Yep, I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't flip someone off like I did last week (blush) and I'm even more sure that he would not be uttering the words favored by sailors, and me (!) when I'm stuck in TRAFFIC.... He'd probably teach an amazing parable involving the tiny burgundy Saturn sandwiched between big ole' honking Texas trucks. But I'm not Jesus so I'm still trying to figure out how to keep my road rage under control. Until then, may you never be forced to ride with me in TRAFFIC unless you're prepared for a show. My name is Robin, and I suffer from road rage.

Great Expectations

I had such great expectations when I was young. Expectations of how my life would play out and of who the characters would be.... how many children I would have, how wonderful my husband would be and how perfect I would be as both a wife and mother. (Yes I know, a very idealized view, perhaps almost as idealized as the single lifestyle is by married folks........grass is always greener!) Those expectations were formed in my ultra conservative private school and on Sundays as I was bombarded with the message that they were the nirvana of womanhood. Now that those worthy goals have been shattered by reality I find it hard to keep believing that doctrine.

In the pain of accepting both God's and my own choices for my life I cringe when the church teaches that there is no higher calling for a woman than M&M: marriage and motherhood. What does that mean for me, a single and childless woman? The very teaching implies that my life has less value because of my romantic failures and broken body! I'm smart enough to know that the doctrine is a lie but it is so deeply embedded in my soul, and in the soul of the church, that sometimes I live like I still believe it, especially because M&M are the only two things I ever really wanted. Therein lies the problem.

Lately I've been asked repeatedly how I deal with the disappointment and loneliness without extreme bitterness. After one friend asked a variation of that question her husband wisely asked "what makes you think she has?" Nailed it. It's definitely a roller coaster for me, some days are good and some days are very, very bad. As I contemplated the question I remembered the countless nights I've cried myself to sleep; the numerous times I've awakened to the sound of silence, keenly aware that I will not be hearing a baby's cry (who wishes for that right?); or the thousands of times I've arrived home to an empty house with no one to share the dailiness of living. The cold, hard fact is that there is no one who cares about the mundane things in my life like whether or not traffic was terrible; if a patient yelled at me; if I had a delicious lunch; or....you get the idea. Every day I arrive home and face the reality that no one is there for me in the little things, and it's in the little things where I'm the most lonely, and the most susceptible to bitterness.

Today my personal challenge (can't worry about tomorrow's challenge) is to let Christ transform my life into something of value because of who he is. To invite him into the pain and disappointment, into the loneliness and heartbreak instead of denying that they are present. That's a risky proposition because being honest about the excruciating loneliness means that I must be vulnerable to God AND to those he has tasked to love me. Many people are uncomfortable with gut-wrenching honesty or authentic expressions of pain, most just want to "fix" the problem (me) and move on. Thankfully I have found a few people who seem to enjoy the challenge that is me, and actually try to love me when I'm impossible and support me when I'm sad. Each time they do I see a little more clearly how deeply my Savior loves me. My prayer is that as I find peace and healing, I will love those friends as purely and support them as selflessly even when their great expectations give way to reality.

Irrational Fears

Could you drive across these bridges?

I couldn't! Just looking at them causes me to hyperventilate. I'll ride in a gondola, suspended by a tiny, steel cable to the top of the tallest mountain in any given country, but put me on a tall bridge and I can barely control the panic I feel. I'll take a glass elevator to the top of a skyscraper without a thought, but steep bridges send me over the edge, or at least I'm afraid they will.... Yes, I have an irrational fear of tall bridges. It's probably post traumatic stress from so many years of riding with my grandmother in the mountains. She took those hairpin curves at speeds I'll barely drive on the highway. Something about looking over the edge and seeing only air makes me nearly pass out.

The fear is getting worse too as San Antonio groans its way into becoming a bustling metropolis. The former construction zones at the 281/410 and I10/410 interchanges have given way to huge overpasses with tall bridges. Every day I speed my way under the newly built concrete ramps on 281 lest they topple over with me underneath, then I thank God that I don't have to drive over them because that would be much worse.

My niece loves to tell the story of the time I took her and her siblings to the coast and we had to drive over the tall bridge connecting North Padre Island and Corpus Christi. In order for me to cope I instructed the 4 children to remain silent, then I turned off the radio and held on to the steering wheel for dear life. The kiddos thought it was funny and kept giggling as I fought back tears and tried to breathe normally. The laughter escalated each time I asked them to be quiet. Finally, at the point of near hysteria I barked at them to "shut up!" Kaitlyn laughs with delight each time she tells that story. Of course, I feel terrible for setting such a poor example, but then I was panicking and afraid that four of my favorite people (plus me) would meet their maker after plunging to their deaths into the Gulf of Mexico.

Just yesterday I felt the same panic as Serina and I were driving home from the mall. I would have taken San Pedro Ave to Woodlawn, all to avoid the bridges, but the highway is faster and I wasn't driving so I found myself covering my face in fear and peeking out to see how much longer it would be before I could breathe again.

That scenario has been repeated many times, with many different people and each time I feel like the biggest dork ever. I'm a logical, intelligent (usually) person. I KNOW that the bridges will carry even my weight, but they are so tall and narrow and people drive WAY too fast. All I can see is a car careening over the edge and crashing to the highway below and it terrifies me.

Since I am a woman of deep faith the question begs to be asked: Why am I afraid when I know my life is in the hands of my creator? I'm guessing it's because a car careening off of a bridge symbolizes how I feel about my life: OUT OF CONTROL. I'm technically driving but I'm not really in control. God is. I can steer and brake and try very hard to stay on my chosen path, but God will take me where he wants me to go, even scary, hurtful places. I know this and it scares me and infuriates me all at the same time. His approach is often wild and unpredictable, which is disconcerting. Not that he hasn't proven himself to me time and time again. His love created me. And when I was fallen and could not get up, he sacrificed his Son so we could reconcile. Obviously he has the best intentions toward me. But despite his goodness, I see through a glass darkly and being out of control isn't comfortable so I try to avoid it.

How do I reconcile God's love and goodness with my fear of really bad things happening? What if my car DOES careen off of a tall bridge and I meet my maker in a smoldering heap? Does that make God less good or does it simply mean that the fall interfered with the original plan? Do I REALLY believe that I could do a better job if I had ultimate control? Those are questions I'm still struggling to answer. Even though answers come slowly the process of questioning has deepened my faith in who God is, and knowing him despite his silence has brought unfathomable peace to my tired soul.

I guess it's time to let faith conquer my fear, which means I'm going to have to start driving over those tall bridges with my eyes wide open. I'm fairly certain I'll survive, although I may end up with a bleeding ulcer before it's all said and done. Just remember, if you happen upon a maroon Saturn driving about 20 mph, please don't tailgate me and whatever you do PLEASE don't honk as that will startle me. Just smile and remember that I'm learning to trust and will eventually speed up to 25 mph!

The Female Brain

* Why are women serene one moment and apocalyptic the next?

* How can women remember conversations, events and emotions in precise detail?

* Why do women take everything so personally? (I'd LOVE an explanation for that one!)

Ah, just a few of the questions that have kept me up at night for the past 38 years, right up there with other biggies such as, "Why are violets blue instead of violet", "Why did Noah include roaches on the Ark", "What is the purpose of a training bra?" and "How would we know if a word was misspelled in the dictionary?" No wonder I can't sleep with so many important things to ponder.....

Of course, I've already figured out that PMS is responsible for my moods at least one week out of the month, but what explains why I'm a neurotic mess for the remaining 3 weeks? Thankfully, researchers have come to my rescue by spending countless hours and moolah attempting to understand the female brain. I'm guessing they're all men desperately seeking answers. God bless 'em.

HERE'S A BRIEF SYNOPSIS OF THEIR FINDINGS:

THE CORTEX-certain regions that control high-level computing are thicker (this does NOT mean women are thick-headed!) in the female brain. This is apparently why women see meaning in even the smallest of gestures. Of course, not I, I never read too much into anything, oh no. I'm perfectly balanced and always respond with love to offhanded comments such as, "I'd rather (insert event here) than spend time with you." That never causes me to respond with tears, slammed doors or the word jerk. Nope, not me..... Ha!

THE HIPPOCAMPUS-this is the place where memories are formed, and for the life of me I cannot remember why someone decided to include the prefix "hippo" when naming a part of the human body. Ugh, I already have a hippo complex! But I digress, apparently a larger "hippocampus" explains why women can remember even the most minute details of a conversation from 19 years ago. Or why we can remember random details from events in our childhood. For example, I can remember my best friend's phone number from 2nd grade - 512-625-0391, while mine was 512-629-0931, but ask me to remember a quote from a movie and I draw a blank. I remember relational and emotional things and very rarely forget them, which should scare the men in my life into taking notes or something. (Not that I remember everything, but I especially remember things that are important to people I care about.)

THE TEMPORAL LOBE CORTEX-this is the area that controls language processing and comprehension and women possess a much higher density of neurons. Explains why women are verbally fluent by nature. Yep, a well-written note or heartfelt conversation gets my attention every time because it speaks my language!

SEROTONIN-women have less of it than men do, and since this is a natural "happy" pill it makes sense that a woman can be perfectly content one minute and devastated the next by something as traumatic as a lost earring or a pimple. If I happen to be the next woman you encounter in a state of devastation the best approach is a hug and back rub - or a really strong margarita! Whatever you do, DO NOT offer advice (of course I'm speaking to men because women already know this about each other.) Just keep rubbing and filling up the glass until the Serotonin stabilizes.

So there you have it, the female brain in a nutshell. I'm glad they think they have it all figured out. At least I'll sleep better tonight now that I have an excuse, er, explanation for my neurosis!

Flying High Finale - Night Trains, Gypsies & Little Green Men

After recovering from the shock of Prague's Subway KGB the time came for me to move on to my next destination, Salzburg, Austria. I booked a night train, which allowed me to kill two birds with one stone by sleeping and traveling at the same time. I had lucked out with my last reservation and ended up traveling to Prague with 2 American women...that would NOT be the case on my return trip.

While inquiring about the status of my reservation I was utterly dismayed to learn that I would be sharing my compartment with a man. Apparently the other sleeping compartments were full and mine was the only one with any remaining beds. Now, I could lie and pretend that I didn't almost pee in my pants at that bit of news, but the reality is that I was TERRIFIED at the thought of being locked in a small compartment containing beds and a strange, foreign man.

Thankfully I possess what is known to friends and family as "the look" so by glaring at him with my evil eye I terrified him almost as much as he terrified me and thus ensured that he stayed in the hall smoking and drinking for most of the night. Late in the evening, after casting many nervous glances at me he finally found the courage to cautiously enter our shared compartment, lie down and sleep. While I felt some relief at the rhythmic sounds of his snoring, I soon faced a new dilemma, should I lock myself in with this drunk, snoring man or should I leave the door unlocked thus risking a robbery from infamous gypsy gangs known to board at various stops and steal from sleeping tourists? I waited until we were pulling up to the next stop and my fellow traveler was most definitely sleeping before I reached up and locked the door. I'm glad I did because the 2 times that door was rattled from the outside were unnerving, and whether or not the gypsy gangs were an urban legend or the source of those mysterious rattles, I felt safer with the door locked.

Bright and early the next morning, after sleeping for a scant 4 hours I got up to find that my passport and tickets were missing. PANIC! Did the strange foreign man take them during one of my brief naps in the middle of the night? I hastily unpacked and repacked my bags at least 3 times before locating the missing documents in my backpack. Poor foreign man, it wasn't his fault after all, apparently after one of those late night ticket checks I had tucked them into the wrong spot. Upon finding them I desperately clutched them to my chest as a few tears escaped my very tired eyes and then secured them in my "secret money belt" before heading off to find the train that would take me to my next destination.

Austria. A little jewel tucked into stunning mountains - it was gorgeous, and the people were so friendly and laid-back. Salzburg was my first stop and it was well worth the time and money. The birthplace of Mozart, the setting for "The Sound of Music", breathtaking flower-strewn meadows and hills that really did seem like they were alive....with the sound of music. I hummed the entire musical as I wandered all over and saw Mozart's home, the castle, the square, giant chess games, marionettes, youth choirs, gardens and outdoor classical music concerts. I even observed a wedding at the church made famous in the movie!

After walking all over I was soon thirsty so I stopped to buy a coke in a cute little store. An added bonus was that the coke was COLD - woohoo! The cashier put it in a small paper bag and I walked out to find the catacombs and cemetery just a few blocks away. I reverently strolled around the beautifully maintained tombs before finding an inviting bench to sit and enjoy my nice, cold coke. With the can still in the bag I popped the top and took a huge swig of what I thought was going to be sugary liquid. Instead my eyes teared and widened in shock at the taste of bitter, stout Austrian beer pricking my taste buds. I hastily pulled the can out of the bag and discovered that I had inadvertently grabbed beer, which I would have realized had I paid attention to the little green men dancing on the can. Coke does not have little green men! To top it off I didn't (and still don't) like beer. (Offer me wine or a mixed drink and I'll partake but beer? Not so much.) And remember, I was still in my BSF phase so beer was a big no-no. There I was in a cemetery, trying to remain solemn with a mouth full of beer I didn't like and wanted desperately to spit out without causing a scene. I DID NOT want to be a rude American so I casually walked to a trash can and emptied the contents of my mouth into it before angrily tossing the cold beer in as well. I did receive a few curious stares, probably because I threw away perfectly good beer, which is probably a sin in Europe, but I quickly slinked away to find water, because by then I was really thirsty and I wanted the beer taste out of my mouth ASAP. Of course the shop I purchased the beer from was closed because it was lunch time and as I realized too late there was nothing that would keep a European from closing for a 3-hour lunch! My best option was the Casino's outdoor, rooftop restaurant so I hiked to the top and replaced the beer's aftertaste with coke, lasagna and the most magnificent view of Salzburg.

The remainder of the my first European adventure was spent in Innsbruck, where I learned of the O.J. Simpson drama from Time Magazine and visited the Olympic Village. I moved on to Garmisch, Germany, which is a wonderful little resort town high in the mountains and stayed in a quaint home with a private bathroom and balcony overlooking the Zugspitze. While there I enjoyed the local Pizza Hut (I was missing American food at that point) and an American cinema where I watched City Slickers 2. I took the cable car to the top of the mountain where I was rewarded with fresh snow and amazing views of Austria and Switzerland and thoroughly enjoyed relaxing in such a stunning place. Upon returning to Munich for my last day in Europe I wandered the city, poked in and out of churches and museums and made sure to eat lots of bratwurst, schnitzel and fresh fruit - especially the sweet, ripe cherries.

What an adventure! Despite a few "Chevy Chase" moments and embarrassing, silly mistakes I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything. They helped shape me into the woman I am today and I am better because of them. I grew up a lot on that trip and discovered more about myself and my faith than I thought possible. Now I'm off to plan my next adventure, which will hopefully include Slovenia and perhaps Croatia in February 2009!

The Evil Stomach Monster

Last Saturday dawned bright and clear and I woke up happy and feeling less stress than I had for several months. My new job was looking good, I was in a healthy state of mind and I was relaxed. I spent the day puttering and running errands and just doing normal Saturday stuff. And then the evil stomach monster arrived at my door....

After returning from the grocery store and hauling my loot upstairs I felt the sudden need for a nap. Since it was Saturday I allowed myself that little luxury and ended up dozing for 2 hours. When I finally opened my eyes I felt achy and a little nauseated so I decided to eat some tortillas or bread. Now I don't buy white tortillas or white bread, I buy the "healthful" stuff, and while that's generally a better option, let me just state for the record that it's not really a good idea to eat a lot of fiber when your tummy has been invaded by an evil monster. I just hadn't met the evil monster yet so I didn't know I was provoking him.

You know what I did? I ate 2 high fiber, whole grain tortillas, watched a movie, emailed and read some blogs before crawling into bed. By 2:00 am I was wide awake and bathed in sweat, spasms of pain causing me to physically cry out as I made a run to the bathroom. After getting a good view of my porcelain throne I crawled back into bed, still not aware of how seriously angry this particular monster was with me. I was soon to find out though as I awoke to the same scene for the next several hours wondering exactly where I had gone wrong. The thought of driving to the hospital crossed my mind, but since I was in between health coverage due to my new job and a delay in my COBRA paperwork, I was reluctant to spend the night in the E.R. and pay thousands of dollars in medical expenses. I still naively thought that I had a case of food poisoning and I began mentally placing blame on Chick-fil-A or India Palace, the last 2 places I had eaten.

Sunday was really no better. I skipped church and barely made it to my nephew's birthday party before driving to Walgreens to try to find something to help me ease the stomach cramps. After arriving home I showered and crawled into bed at 6:00 pm and tried to sleep. But nope, that was NOT gonna happen. Approximately every 2 hours I felt the need to bow before the great throne of porcelain before crawling back into bed hoping for relief. And to make matters worse, I had an unwelcome, uninvited monthly visitor show up at about 3:15 am. That did NOT help matters because although I like many of my relatives, Aunt Flo is at the bottom of my list, (pun intended) and she always makes me grumpy.....

Monday I was awake bright and early because calling in sick was not an option, I took a shower, dressed and left for work clutching a bag of crackers. I spent a lot of time resting my head on my desk after running to and from the bathroom. I'm sure my staff was wondering what exactly was going on..... At lunch I tried to sit in the break room and chat, but I was so ill that I ended up in my office sleeping with my head on my desk for over an hour. My Billing Manager awakened me and looked very concerned when she noted how pale I was, but I didn't have time to chat instead I grabbed the trash can, which effectively ended her stay in my office... My boss stopped by, took one look at me and told me to get downstairs to the surgical center for an immediate IV. I was so sick that I didn't even argue, even when I arrived downstairs and the nurse told me to undress. Normally when a co-worker tells me to disrobe I do not obey!

I laid there in severe pain, shivering as the IV pumped cold liquid into my veins. My parents arrived and waited with me until I was finally released and told to go straight home. Now my parents do not know the Stone Oak area and I am new to it myself. I also tend to be impatient and cranky when I'm ill, and I hate having to explain things so I fear I was not very nice to my poor dad as he kept questioning my directions for how to get home. Finally I convinced him to trust me and off we drove with my mother in hot pursuit, dad pedaling really fast and avoiding a wreck while I unexpectedly emptied the rest of the contents of my stomach into a plastic bag. Poor dad.

The remainder of Monday was miserable. My boss called me, prescribed medication and gave me strict instructions of what to do. Every 2 hours I would awaken crying and delirious; at one point I was seriously CONVINCED that I had seen the face of Jesus in the toilet bowl. I AM NOT KIDDING, I would have sworn to that under oath at the time. I was obviously really sick, and I was terrified because I'd never experienced a hallucination, let alone a sacrilegious one and I don't want to experience another one ever again!

I hugged the porcelain for the last time Tuesday morning and my sweet mom delivered medication and Pedialyte. I was still impatient and cranky but the medication at least quelled the vomiting and put me to sleep. Wednesday I arrived at work at 10:30 and stayed for just 3 1/2 hours before heading home again. I was weak and exhausted and running a fever and the doctor told me to go, so I did! I spent the day trying to get comfortable but my back was killing me after I had pulled every muscle repeatedly for the last 72 hours. Later that day I drank some water and finished my first bottle of Pedialyte before falling asleep at 7:15 pm.

Thursday I worked all day but took frequent naps. I managed to make it home before passing out and then had a friend deliver bananas - a safe food according to the BRAT diet. I partook of my first solid food, 1/2 a banana chased by 1/2 a bottle of Mango flavored Pedialyte and then fell asleep on my sofa, which helped support my aching back. By Friday morning I was feeling human again. I worked a full day without a nap and was actually somewhat productive. I did drive straight home and take a nap after work but I was able to eat another banana and drink enough water to keep me hydrated. I also stayed up until 10:00 pm watching a movie and returning emails I hadn't checked for a week.

Today was a complete day of rest. Nothing but movies, the Olympics, reading and a lot of sleeping. Tomorrow promises to be the same, there is NO WAY I am risking a relapse. Thankfully India Palace was not to blame, but instead a nasty, evil stomach monster. I really, really hope you never meet him. But if you do, just know that Mango or Fruit flavored Pedialyte trumps the unflavored version every time. And if you're not blessed enough to know a really good GI doctor, I sure can recommend one. I am grateful that he took such good care of me and he has forever earned my respect, loyalty and trust, which is really hard to do.