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.