FFY

In my childhood, we would occasionally have “Fend For Yourself” nights. These were evenings where you were left to your own devices to slap together some leftovers. It basically meant Mom was too tired to cook, we had leftovers we needed to get rid of, and we weren’t going to spend money by eating out.

I’ve come to a realization that I’ve put my spiritual life on a Fend For Yourself status. This didn’t happen overnight but is rather the result of drifting, bit by bit, from what is supposed to be my main focus in life. I keep trying to figure out why I get so frustrated, discontent, and restless. The answer has been in front of me the whole time. This isn’t the first time I’ve realized this, but previous attempts to get my spiritual life back on track seem to get derailed by my own wants and desires.

And therein lies the problem. When my pursuit of God is left to the whims and constantly changing wants of me, then I’m left with FFY spirituality, so to speak. I’m giving God the leftovers of my life.

So today I packed up my Bible and a notebook and on my lunch break sought out the quietest place I know nearby – the library. I found my old study notes on the book of Matthew and picked up again where I left off. I’ll confess that I didn’t feel like it. My job consists of writing and researching all day long, so lunch is usually my time to not think too hard about anything.

But today I discovered a different kind of thinking hard. The kind of thinking that is basically God saying, “Quit striving and struggling. Listen to what I have to say.” I can’t say I walked out of the library with any great spiritual awakening. But I felt like I made a baby step towards something better in my life.

Tiki Room Church

Our congregation's Wednesday night services begin with a little devo-ette in the auditorium (kind of like homeroom, if you will, to get everyone caught up on announcements, etc.) and then everyone breaks off into classes. Except that in the summer there isn't a lot of choice. They usually put all the adults into one class and call it a "summer series," which is kind of a euphemism for "we've got so many folks on vacation we don't have enough people to teach a class," I believe.

This summer we have a guy showing slides from Israel doing lessons on the Holy Land. I've only been in the class once, however, because the rest of the summer I have either been in missions committee meetings, on vacation, or called in as a substitute two-year-olds helper (now *that* was an interesting night).

Last night I was exhausted and didn't think I would stay awake through the slide show. After the devo-ette I noticed some friends of mine making a move towards the back of the auditorium. Wondering if there had been some sort of contraband singing class set up in the basement, I hopefully whispered, "Hey, is there a singing class somewhere?"

One of them smiled and beckoned with her hand, "Follow me."

So I followed her down the stairs and found myself in a room of 4th-6th graders. But the room was decorated with tiny white lights, ferns, beach chairs, and palmetto tree wallpaper with faux bamboo accents. We all piled into chairs or onto the floor. I snuggled up next to a decorated fern. Someone handed me a songbook, and I opened it discover songs I hadn't sung since my last youth rally in Scotland. Some I had not sung since I left Harding. The kids were generally well-behaved and did a beautiful job singing. We had a nice, practical little lesson about the Parable of the Talents and then, when the bell rang, broke for cookies and Capri Suns.

It was refreshing. It was different. And last night, it was a reminder that God knows just what I need, and He provides just when I need it most.

Of fishes and online dating...

If my 33-year-old self could go back in time and tell my 23-year-old self that 10 years later she would still be single, I think the 23-year-old would have curled up and died right then. Just laid down and tucked a throw rug around her body. Because the thought of being single for 10 more years would have just been too exhausting to contemplate.

Yet 10 years happen one day at a time, and I think I've weathered them fairly well. I certainly feel that I can speak with some, ahem, authority, now on the perspective, trials, and tribulations of a single woman.

And one thing I have to say is this - dating at 23 and dating at 33 sure ain't the same. For one thing, the fish in the barrel have really changed. Many of them have spent time out of the barrel and have now been released back into it. They bear the scars of what happened in the world outside. Some of them are innocent; some of them are not. Many of them have children that will always keep them connected to someone they would rather not be connected with. It makes dating them a delicate matter at times.

Then there are those who have been swimming around for so long they no longer care to try to remain at the top of the barrel and have sort of sunk to the bottom of it, never really seeing any sunlight up there. Talking to them gets so discouraging after a while I just give up.

But enough of fish and barrel's because now, my friends, we have online dating. Yes, the medium our mother's would never have predicted is now the de riguer of many a single person's dating life. In the beginning (like, at 23) when the dating world was not so much a barrel as more of the whole wide ocean, I scorned such services as being for the desperate, needy, or people I just didn't want to think about.

I hate to think I am one now, but when you aren't really a clubber or partyer or night-lifer, when your main place to meet someone turns out to be at church, well, you tend to consider online dating. I mean, it's fairly popular now. I'm assaulted by eHarmony and Match.com offers on a regular basis. However, by stint of luck, I managed to get hooked in to two Church of Christ singles sites for free while they were beta testing them. So I'm sort of grandfathered in to not paying for them.

And how has my experience been? Well, it obviously has not been successful for me thus far, but I do know of a few people who have met and married their mate from the sites. Granted, I do not hang out in their chat rooms or on their message boards, so perhaps I'm not really "working it." (I secretly worry that I am a lazy single person.) But after a few years I have been able to group the guys who send me e-mails into a few categories. I offer them here for your information:

1. The truly odd. This includes the guy who proposed marriage in the first e-mail and wanted me to move with him to take care of his family in Kenya (Flattering, but no thanks.), to the fella who told me he was heavily involved in church work because he rang the buzzer to signal when Sunday School ended.

2. The everything-at-oncers. These are the ones whose initial e-mail is, in itself, a novella. They try to cram all the information about themselves that they possibly can into the first message so they can get to know you quickly. They basically send you their Manifesto on life. A little intimidating all at once.

3. The non-responders. The ones who seem nice, have a nice profile, and send you an e-mail. You respond once and then ... never hear from them again. Was it something I wrote? hmmm...

4. The separated-but-still-marrieds. You'd think on a Christian site you wouldn't really get these but you do. You exchange a few e-mails and then one time they slip in the little, "I should probably tell you this; I feel like I need to be completely honest with you ... I'm not yet quite divorced." To me, that's like being a little pregnant. You are or you aren't. And if you are, you aren't for me.

5. The need-money-now'ers. I had one ask me if I was a trust-fund baby. ??? Sheesh, even if I was, would I tell you, a total stranger?

6. The I-never-read-your-profile-but-liked-your-picture. I'm always amazed at the guys who obviously never read anything about my profile. They turn out to be either extremely liberal in their church views - like they put down that they don't attend at all, really, to the one's who are so fundamentally legalistic they shock even me. And I consider myself to be fairly conservative.

7. The i-can't-be-bothered-with-punctuation-guys. i find nuthin attracktive abot riting lik this, do u? I was an English major. Call me picky, but I just can't have e-mail conversations where I have to fight a continual urge to edit, edit, edit....

And finally, the one's (whom I can count on one hand), where I have exchanged many e-mails, phone calls, text messages, etc., but it just didn't work out for some reason or another. They keep life interesting, for sure.

I try to think what my 23-year-old self would have said if I had been able to tell her about online dating. Probably something like, "I don't understand this Internet thingy."

It's the Little Things that Get You

At lunch today I slid into my hot car and immediately noticed a man's comb sitting on the front passenger seat.
It was a little unsettling, to say the least. I checked the backseat, but it was reassuringly empty.
The only guy to ride in my car recently is my brother, who definitely does not use a comb. And none of my current hot dates use one either. (Just kidding! Just thought I'd get you all excited there for a second...)

So my only conclusion is that it is my grandfather's, or Papa's, as I call him. He passed away in 2002.
You see, when I moved back from Scotland Grandma generously gave me their car as she wasn't really driving it anymore. Every once in a while I will find pieces of him in it - like the Peanut Planter's can in the trunk that contains a candle and matches and has "Emergency Candle" printed carefully across it. Or the Red Carpet Country doormat that lies inexplicably back there as well. Or that Glen Campbell cassette tape I found buried in the console. So perhaps the comb fell out of a visor or something.

I like all these little things that pop up and remind me of him - Godly, tall, hardworking, gentle, and generous. At the risk of sounding too "out there," I like the thought that the comb is sort of a little heavenly "hello" from someone I miss.

Ocean Allure

It’s been many years since I’ve been to the beach. I can’t include the time spent on the beaches in Scotland, because although we valiantly tried to pretend we were having a “beach day” we could not ignore the fact that we were quietly shivering every time the wind blew or the fact that no one would play in the North Sea. Considering that, 200 miles out to sea, there was probably some man on an oil platform wearing a survival suit and a parka dampened our enthusiasm for the bone-chilling water.

But this past week, due to a friend’s wedding on the North Carolina coast, and another’s friend’s generously placed aunt and uncle, I got to have my beach days.

In a way, it was a return to my youth in San Diego where I spent many happy hours on Coronado Beach, or Mission Beach, or Pacific Beach. My bag held a towel, some Burt Bee’s chap stick, and sun block. I laid claim to my few feet of sand and hit the waves – boogie boarding, bobbing up and down, letting them crash over me. I played paddle ball and some ill-fated volleyball. I walked up and down the shore in ankle-deep water. I stood facing the Atlantic and watched while the waves rushed back to the deep and the sand began to bury my feet.

And I began to reconnect to a part of me that I had forgotten existed. The girl who loves the ocean. Maybe, just maybe, this is where I truly belong after all, I thought. The water welcomed me like an old friend, folding me in its tides and lifting me up in its troughs. I marveled at how it glittered in the sun and its great vastness and the God of wonders who made it all. And I found, for a few shining moments, peace.

This is the sound of my teeth grinding

Is there anything more frustrating than looking forward to a vacation for months (nay, almost a year), planning for it, buying for it, dreaming about it, only to fall ill the day before it begins? To realize that I will, in all probablity, be sitting on a beach with a head cold and wads of Kleenex distributed about my person?

I don't know what happened. I felt fine yesterday. But today my nose is dripping, I've been sneezing, my eyes keep running, and I have little fevers that come and go. And to top it off - my stomach will just not settle. I've been feeling nauseous all day. Just thought I would share that with you.

However, so as not to leave you with the impression that this blog entry will add nothing of useful value to your life, I leave you with some little life lessons learned the hard way, courtesy of me:

1. Do not attempt to drive after recently applying Bath and Body Works creamy lotion to your hands.
2. Do not attempt to hug your cat after applying fresh lip gloss.
3. If your water bottle is smaller than your cup holder - there is a 99% chance it will, indeed, fall over on you as you make a turn.
4. Your dollar bill, no matter how crisp or wrinkled, will always be rejected by the snack machine. Just get the change already and save yourself from this frustration as you see the sugar and carbs you so desperately crave immediately out of reach.
5. If you are able to snag a lovely little table at Panera so you can indulge yourself in your latest book understand that Mr. Loud Cell Phone Talker will park himself right next to you. Scan the area for others who are bibliographically minded.
6. If your passport expires within six months and you are planning to do a little international traveling during that time - get a new passport. Trust me on this one.
7. If you dinner date mentions another girl say, oh, a minimum of three times during the course of the meal, it is quite possible he is not that into you.
8. Head colds + weepy movies = pathetic-sounding voicemail messages
9. The beauty of the shoe is inversely proportional to how comfortable it will be.
10. Fluroescent lighting does not a confident woman make.
11. If you dye your hair, make sure the cats do not walk through the dye as you are applying it.
12. Shower acoustics rock.
13. There are certain stores that you have to understand you will need to double your estimated shopping time. For example, you think, "I will just run into Wal-Mart for that milk; it should take me about 15 minutes, tops." You may need to triple or possibly quadruple that time estimate. Other stores to take into consideration: Home Depot, Target, and Old Navy.
14. If you like a certain top, be aware that it is probably ridiculously low cut. All the styles are now. How will I remember 2006? That I spent most of the year with a safety pin in my shirt.

Wishing you all a Happy Independence Day!