News flash!

For the first time in a long time, I copied Michael without feeling bad about it. I feel self-actualized now. Oh yes, new layout!

But like all layouts, this one is not without it's flaws . . . or major problems. If y'all are any good with coding, I need assistance. I've fiddled with the HTML a little, but the footer is doing wacky things and my precious editing pencil symbol is gone. Help?

[This is where I return to the noveling I am not procrastinating on!]

"To Do"

I really don't like the term "bucket list," as charming as it is. So this is the rough draft of my life's to do list, a.k.a. my list of selfish personal goals.

• Lead someone to the Lord

Maybe that sounds like a Sunday school statement, but I mean it so much it almost scares me to say it. Is there any greater blessing than that? I don't think so. 

• Visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art

I have a healthy appreciation for art, but it's not nearly strong enough. I have never been to NYC, but ever since my mom read us The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler I have resolved that the Met needs to be graced by my presence.

• Be a vegetarian for a determinable amount of time

I really believe God created humans to be vegetarians, but we eat meat because of the Fall. That's an entirely different blog post for some time when I've read and researched more on the subject, but I am nevertheless intrigued by vegetarianism. 

• Read the 150 most taught works of literature

I value being well-read. And I don't have a good reason for it. Except that books and stories help us understand people better. And that fascinates me. I want to understand people as much as humanly possible. (The 150 most taught is defined according to my Spark Notes book.)

• Visit London

This has been a desperate aspiration of mine for so long, I have enough journal entries on this topic to wallpaper our upstairs bathroom. Every little thing about London fascinates me. 

• Memorize a book of the Bible

I feel so guilty in Sunday school when they talk about Hebrew school and how boys would memorize the entire Torah. I'm horrible at memorizing, but memorizing James 3 has really revolutionized my life in a way, and I want to memorize more. (Any suggestions?)

• Go a year without buying myself clothes

The closest I think I will ever get to being a hippy (which was originally on the to do list, but I'm all about practicality!) Americans, we're so rich. I don't need all the clothes I have. There must be a time for me to live like I actually understand that.

• Have a stranger to dinner 

Something that my parents have worked hard at is hospitality, and I think it's something that's a central tenet of Christian love that I don't completely understand. So in a Hebrews 13:2 fashion, I figure I ought to make hospitality a tangible goal.

• Pay in exact change when I buy something

I have this perpetual fear of exact change. I always over-pay because I'm too lazy to count out the exact money and in too much of a rush to stand there and count it out. It's degenerated into a kind of complex. I don't even count my change anymore. It's sad.

• Speak to a large group of people

This is infinitely more fun than speaking to a panel of three to seven judges. In a strange way, it's less scary and more personable. It's addictive. Maybe this is a particularly selfish goal, but given something actually meaningful to say, it's something I'd love to do.

• Donate blood & be an organ donor

I hate giving blood. But there must be a time for getting over being squeamish. And if I really believe that Christians should love unbelievers, I should live that. That includes self-sacrifice. (In a slightly morbid, kind of icky sort of way?) It saves lives. That's all I'm saying.

• Read the complete works of Shakespeare

I'm not into reading complete works, I like sticking to the stuff I know is good, but for Shakespeare I can justify it. This is precisely the kind of large challenge I hate, which is why it's on here. (But our copy of the complete works is lovely.)

• Be homeless for a determinable amount of time

How can I possible empathize with an minister to the homeless if I haven't the faintest idea of what they suffer? Who am I to offer comfort if I don't know what it's like. Jesus was homeless, why can't I try it?

Some of these things I've done already, some of them I know I'll be doing soon, and some of them I have doubts I'll ever be able to do. But that's the fun, right? While I can't reconcile myself to the incurable selfishness of my list, having goals makes me happy. And maybe God will let me meet some of them.

What are some of the things on your list?

Not a matter of body image

I have been hoodwinked, conned, bamboozled, tricked. I have been deceived into believing a terrible lie. Thanks a lot, world.

You know when you go to conferences or events and they're all, "Here, have a tee shirt with our cause inscribed on it!" And you're all, "Wewt, proof I was here in tee shirt form!" You get people from the event to sign them, or you wear them to promote the event. You know those tee shirts? I have approximately twenty of those tee shirts. Yeah, they're awesome. The problem?

They don't fit! 

Because this is what happens: I get signed up for the event. When they ask for a tee shirt size, my mom puts "large." (I think she thinks I'm fat. It's okay.) And then I say, "Mom, I'm not a size large." And she goes, "Well, they shrink. You're a growing girl. I don't want it to be too tight. You have broad shoulders. Who knows what kind of shirt it is? What's if it's youth sizes, then you'll want a large." And this seems reasonable, so I agree. I get the large. And, shocker, it's too big.

When I was younger, especially, I had growth spurts every other two weeks. All of my clothes were always too small, it was sad. So I always bought everything a size larger in anticipation that I would grow into it. But then, I stopped growing. And somehow I forgot the reason for getting everything a size larger, and just persisted in doing so out of habit! I've never worn a size small in anything, and so I was unable to reconcile my mind to the fact that I might be a tee shirt size small. And yet, somehow, the extra larges and the larges and the mediums were always too big and never seemed to fit . . .

So at Student Life Missions Camp I decided to break the cycle. I walk up to the table. I can see the actual shirts. I know which one will fit! I say, "Small, please." And the guy behind the table says, "Are you sure?" . . . arg! Yes, I am sure! After spending all of my teenage existence with size large Teen Pact shirts, size extra large NCFCA shirts, size medium missions trip shirts, and a perpetual fear of the size small tee shirt, yes, I am sure! I am not going to believe the lie that that is not my size. I freaking want the small!

So he gave it to me.

And you know what?

It fits perfectly. 

Just sayin'!

Jesus loves you

Oh, how we can say it so flippantly. It's the center-fold of smiley coloring pages and featured on cartoon-y refrigerator magnets. It's a casual parting salutation and occasionally a witty rejoinder. It's a phrase just thrown out there for good measure, and to hell with reverence.

Except do we even know.

That love is spilled blood and broken body? That love is suffering? That love is battling darkness and brokenness and hopelessness? 

Except do we even see.

That love is serious commitment? That love is serious obedience? That love is dedication to servitude and sacrifice and sanctification?

Except do we even realize.

That love washed our crud away? That love triumphed over death? That love died and rose and lives and is preparing a place for those who believe that?

Except do we even understand.

How can we say it so lightly -- Jesus loves you -- when it is possibly the most true and transforming statement the world has ever known? Do we understand the gravity of those words -- Jesus loves you -- that they can change everything?

And yet we are forgiven. Even for this. Because Jesus loves us. 

I think torture is wrong.

But beyond that, I don't really know what to think. Every time I watch one of these FBI/CIA movies, it strikes me how unaccountable these organizations are. I mean, they have to be, considering espionage and investigation are almost secretive by definition. But I wonder, what do they do? Who are they hurting? 

We're all bad people - why trust an angry bad person to use torture to extract information out of a scared bad person? Does that really make sense? How do we even know that it's about the information and not just about hurting people who hurt us? Does the information justify the means used to get it? No, I don't think so. 

What do you think?

XYZ

I haven't been careful enough. In many ways I've been negligent, really. I nursed my pride and told myself I was doing fine, when I've really been slipping on the fundamentals. And it hurts to admit it, and I'm completely ashamed, but that's what happened. I just haven't been careful enough with the important things.

My momma is always right. I discovered this when I was ten years old and we went dress shopping, and my mom insisted on buying a dress that I hated, and three months later I swallowed my pride and admitted the dress she picked out was pretty. My mom has forced me to do NCFCA, forced me to do TeenPact, forced me to take up debate, forced me to get a job, forced me to speak on organ donation at a Rotary event, forced me to do a lot of things that I dreaded initially, but have been wonderful opportunities. My momma is always right, and my momma says I've been slacking.

She said she was worried about where my priorities are, about how much time I spend with friends and who those friends are, about how careful I am with what I do and what I say, about how closely I flirt with dangerous ideas. Her disapproval hurt, especially because I've felt on track. But that also made me realize, I can't "tide myself over" with small successes. Being better than bad is the very definition of mediocre. I shouldn't coast, but oh, I have been. Letting myself form bad habits, letting myself let go of good habits. I thought I had mastered xyz, and in my pride I let myself unlearn xyz. I tricked myself into thinking I didn't need to be careful, and in the process I became careless.

I used to challenge myself to be friendly. And after challenging myself for a long time, it because easy for me. So I stopped challenging myself. And now being friendly is hard again. I used to tell little "white" lies when I was little, and then I was like, "That's bad" and I stopped. Not lying, even in the little things was second nature. Then I stopped being vigilant against those little "innocent" lies, and I find them popping up more. I used to be a hyper-obedient child, now I struggle with doing what my parents tell me to do. I had a problem with fear, I got over it, I stopped guarding against it, and now fear is always creeping back and I'm ill equipped to fight it. The list goes on and on and on. I've been forgetting the basics because I told myself that I was somehow beyond having to care about the basics. 

And I feel like I ought to be discouraged and overwhelmed at this realization, just as I was hurt when my mom inadvertently  pointed it out, but instead . . . I don't know, I feel relieved. I understand now. Sanctification is real, I am a work in progress, and God is active, bringing my shortcomings to my attention and gently redirecting me to where I ought to go. Do you see the overwhelming love in that? How many times have I read Philippians 1:6, and yet, it has never resonated in this same way! I am not doomed to be this flawed and jagged creature forever, God is there, He really is, changing me bit by bit. There are no words to say it, just that God is so good! 

We cope by putting layers between it and us

People should not break bad news over the phone. That's the most recent sentence of my novel.

Last October I some how got roped into either calling or answering the phone, I don't even remember how it happened, just that I was on the phone with my shooting coach and he was telling me that an acquaintance had killed himself. And I didn't know what to say. What does one say?

I didn't really know him. He was a young guy, maybe 23, one of his brothers was friends with Hannah. This guy had coached me for a few weeks in winter 2008. That was the extent of my involvement with him.

I just sort of stammered when my coach told me, I didn't fully comprehend what he had said until after I hung up, and I felt kind of weak in the knees when I told Mom who was freaked out by the look on my face. 

I felt like an impostor for being so sad. Or maybe it's just that suicide is inexplicably horrible, no matter how well one knows the person. I still felt like I didn't have the right to be hurt and disturbed, but that also didn't stop me from writing a novel about it. 

I don't know why I'm thinking about it just now. Maybe I need to stop writing novels about suicide. Is it wrong that things always mean more to me in retrospect? Is it an illusion that emotions, like cheese, get sharper with time? 

According to Michael Buckley, if the Taylor Swift/Joe Jonas break up taught us anything, it's don't break bad news over the phone.

How wretchedly insensitive the world is.

Venture

Mom: I'm going to the store, going to run some errands, anyone need anything?

Me: zomg, kenicomewhichu?

I like going to the store. I like going to Wal-Mart because they feed my obsessions with their cheap nail varnish and massive bins of cheap DVDs. Today I was sifting through a bin that was overflowing, going systematically through each heap, DVDs were falling everywhere, people were staring, it was great. And Mom comes over and asks what I am searching so fervently for. "Dad said he saw Stand By Me in here a few weeks ago, but I've already been through most of the bin and no cigar." And Mom grabs the first DVD she sees off the side of the pile, "Oh, this has River Phoenix in it?" It was a severely deflating moment, but at least I got the DVD. 

When we walked in the store, the greeter said to the lady in front of us, "Welcome to Wal-Mart" and she kept walking without even looking at him. A miniscule part inside of me died. Maybe it's because I'm reading 1984 and everything seems farce to me now, but the manufactured feeling of the store killed me. All the bright colors and uniform labels and new merchandise, a theoretically a place that makes me feel happy, but all the people were frowning and dirty. And next to them everything in the store felt fake. Smiling felt fake. The overpriced crap they were selling was supposedly a testament to the success of capitalism. The people buying the stuff looked content enough to be wasting their money. The cake is a lie.

After Wal-Mart we skipped on over to the supermarket. I think the second I am spending my own paycheck food shopping I am going to go crazy. It's insane, all the good food waiting to happen, confined to one building - in a small, very removed sort of way it reminds me of heaven. The asian pears, the pure blood orange juice, the special cheese with cranberries in it (sorry Jake, I don't remember what it's called, but it smelled amazing),  the specialty bagels, the foreign vegetables, the fresh ground coffee aisle . . . the best was the all-natural ice cream section, though. Food is almost as interesting as literature. I am a hopeless food romantic. Maybe it's just successful marketing, that I can even begin to feel happy about all the food options I have when other people have nothing to eat at all, or maybe it's just savoring one's blessings.

While we were in the deli section, we crossed paths with this guy who seemed sane enough, but was talking incessantly to no one in particular about the music playing over the loudspeakers. And we proceeded to run into this man about forty times in the course of our time in the store. He was saying things like, "Why don't they play real music anymore? This sounds like rap. They should play some real women singing, not these snot-nosed brats. Gawsh, won't they stop whining?" He was also laughing a lot. Everyone just kind of ignored him or gave him weird looks, or laughed nervously until they realized he wasn't talking to them. He was really interesting, and I feel like I was supposed to have learned some important lesson from being around him for an hour and a half, but I didn't.

That's all. I guess I'm ready to start noveling. Too tired.