There a person that I come in contact with on a regular basis that I am struggling to understand. And it's no one who would read this blog, but I'm not naming names anyway. My highest-ranked spiritual gift is discernment and while I know I get things wrong sometimes, more often when I get a "feeling" about something, it turns out to be right. I don't think this person likes me. I can't put my finger on any one particular event that could be considered evidence. In fact, it's more about what hasn't been done than what HAS. It's just a vibe I get. So then I start thinking to myself about 1) why does this person not like me? and 2) why do I care?
I have no idea why said person doesn't like me. I don't think I've said or done anything to offend, but then again, sometimes my mouth runs away with me and I just might have said something offensive at some point. Now, I don't think this person actively dislikes or hates me. I just feel more of a "I'll interact with you because I have to but if it was my choice we would not cross paths" kind of thing. As if we will never be friends, just people who are thrown into each other's environment. Is it our life circumstances? Are we just so different we couldn't be friends? And it's not like I haven't made attempts, albeit timid ones. I guess it's human nature to want to be liked. But who says that you have to be friends with everybody who wants to be your friend?
So why do I care? My worth doesn't come from what someone else thinks about me. My worth comes from the fact that I am a child of God. I have to admit I don't like everybody, even those I associate with regularly and like I said, no one says we have to be friends with every single person we know. I do know people that I like but we just don't "click" as friends. Some people are destined to get to a certain level of "knowing" and no further. And I suppose I should look at it from the other person's point of view, which is something I usually pride myself on. Then there's the part of me that just can't help feeling that if we got to know each other, we would find we had a lot in common. Or maybe that's the problem. Oh well. God knows His plans and I need to accept that He knows what's best.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I got my hair cut (well, actually I got ALL of them cut) again
I have long since given up pleasing my husband or children with my choice of hair style. My husband would prefer me to grow it out because he likes it long, the same as most men do. I find that funny, considering that he's never seen me with hair longer than my shoulders, but oh well. I just like it short. I like to look pretty, for sure, but I just don't like to spend more than a few minutes on my hair. If it was long I would just keep it up in a ponytail anyway, so why bother? And why is hair length such a big deal for many men? Is it because they consider it a sign of femininity? I can see why that might be so, but still. There are entire religions where the women do not cut their hair (and most do not wear makeup either but that's a subject for another post). I'm not sure why it matters so much and in a way it bothers me that my devotion to my husband does not extend (pun intended) to my hair length. That might be my way of asserting my (still active) sense of independence and whether that's a good thing or not, it is what it is. Dana doesn't like my haircut either and I don't know what her idea of a good hairstyle is for me. You'd think by now they would have progressed to the point of at least pretending to like it, but no. They will both ignore it, I guess in the interest of "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" and that's OK with me. I told Jon long ago that when he is the one who washes, dries and takes care of my hair, then he can decide how to cut it.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Another Quiz
I received another "Getting to Know You" quiz in my email yesterday, and those things really throw me sometimes. I like to get them. I love to read other people's answers and yes I know I shouldn't read too much into it, but some of the questions really make me think. And it's not a real quiz so I don't need to be afraid of getting anything wrong, but I want so much to put my best answer. Why is that?
One question asks: How do you want to be remembered? A better question might be How do you NOT want to be remembered? I don't want to be remembered as a slacker, or someone who is angry all the time, but I fear sometimes that I am that very thing. Or you could ask, What kind of person do you want to be? That's easier. I want to be someone who cares about people in a way that they can see it, and someone who strives to be like Christ. I think the caring part would come easy if I was more like Christ.
Another one was: What are you afraid of? You'd think the answers would say things like, heights, spiders, etc., but they didn't. Mine was "failing my children". I worry so much about my parenting and I can't put my finger on the reason. My childhood was not picture perfect by any stretch of the imagination yet I'm still OK. I can't make things perfect for my kids either. Maybe I just want to avoid scarring them in some unseen way. Then I have to stop and think about where that sense of failure comes from, and I don't think it's from God. He doesn't condemn us that way, and if it's not from God I need to shut it out.
When I was in 7th grade we read "To Kill a Mockingbird" and I was profoundly influenced by a quote from Atticus Finch about how you never really know a person until you put on their shoes and walk around in them awhile. As a self-centered almost-teenager the thought had never occurred to me to wonder how it would be to be someone else. After that I made it a point to try to see things from the other person's point of view and for many years I was extremely good at it. Maybe it's even a spiritual gift of some kind (mercy? Nah! Compassion? Maybe.) Somehow I've gotten away from that and I'd like to get it back, that ability to see life through someone else's eyes. I'd particularly like to see through my children's eyes to see how frustrating life can sometimes be for them, and whether or not I am loving them the way they need to be loved.
I've been thinking lately about Sister Carpenter. I don't know her first name. She was married to the pastor of the First Apostolic Church in Maryville and I met her through my first father-in-law, because that's where he went to church for a while. She was always so welcoming and so charming and I'm trying to figure out just what it was about her that made me feel so good inside. For one thing, I never felt judged, even though I did not dress and conduct myself in the way that her church believed women should do. I was always just a visitor there so maybe that might have come up if I was a regular attender. In fact, I have a feeling that the clothing and hair thing might just be one of those beliefs that their church expects you to come to on your own, in the same way as many of the beliefs that I have now. As Rob Bell says, "God has spoken and the rest is just commentary." Anyway, I want to be like Sister Carpenter. I could feel the love coming off her and sometimes it would almost just make me want to cry. She had/has such a sweet spirit about her. I never saw her get upset or flustered and if she was talking to me, all her attention was on me. Maybe it was that feeling of knowing that someone was focusing just on me, and that feeling of acceptance I got from her. I hope I can make others feel the same way.
One question asks: How do you want to be remembered? A better question might be How do you NOT want to be remembered? I don't want to be remembered as a slacker, or someone who is angry all the time, but I fear sometimes that I am that very thing. Or you could ask, What kind of person do you want to be? That's easier. I want to be someone who cares about people in a way that they can see it, and someone who strives to be like Christ. I think the caring part would come easy if I was more like Christ.
Another one was: What are you afraid of? You'd think the answers would say things like, heights, spiders, etc., but they didn't. Mine was "failing my children". I worry so much about my parenting and I can't put my finger on the reason. My childhood was not picture perfect by any stretch of the imagination yet I'm still OK. I can't make things perfect for my kids either. Maybe I just want to avoid scarring them in some unseen way. Then I have to stop and think about where that sense of failure comes from, and I don't think it's from God. He doesn't condemn us that way, and if it's not from God I need to shut it out.
When I was in 7th grade we read "To Kill a Mockingbird" and I was profoundly influenced by a quote from Atticus Finch about how you never really know a person until you put on their shoes and walk around in them awhile. As a self-centered almost-teenager the thought had never occurred to me to wonder how it would be to be someone else. After that I made it a point to try to see things from the other person's point of view and for many years I was extremely good at it. Maybe it's even a spiritual gift of some kind (mercy? Nah! Compassion? Maybe.) Somehow I've gotten away from that and I'd like to get it back, that ability to see life through someone else's eyes. I'd particularly like to see through my children's eyes to see how frustrating life can sometimes be for them, and whether or not I am loving them the way they need to be loved.
I've been thinking lately about Sister Carpenter. I don't know her first name. She was married to the pastor of the First Apostolic Church in Maryville and I met her through my first father-in-law, because that's where he went to church for a while. She was always so welcoming and so charming and I'm trying to figure out just what it was about her that made me feel so good inside. For one thing, I never felt judged, even though I did not dress and conduct myself in the way that her church believed women should do. I was always just a visitor there so maybe that might have come up if I was a regular attender. In fact, I have a feeling that the clothing and hair thing might just be one of those beliefs that their church expects you to come to on your own, in the same way as many of the beliefs that I have now. As Rob Bell says, "God has spoken and the rest is just commentary." Anyway, I want to be like Sister Carpenter. I could feel the love coming off her and sometimes it would almost just make me want to cry. She had/has such a sweet spirit about her. I never saw her get upset or flustered and if she was talking to me, all her attention was on me. Maybe it was that feeling of knowing that someone was focusing just on me, and that feeling of acceptance I got from her. I hope I can make others feel the same way.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Guilty, Your Honor!
So today was my big date at traffic court for that little speeding ticket I got last month in Wellford. This is only the second ticket I've ever had in all my years of driving, and only the third time I've been pulled over (the first time I got a warning). When the officer pulled me over and asked me if I knew how fast I was going, I had to be honest and say, "Not a clue, sir." He ticketed me but wrote the ticket so that I wouldn't get any points on my license, which was nice.
Back to traffic court. I'd never been so I had no idea how it works. I was imagining some kind of public humiliation where I'd have to stand in front the courtroom and explain myself to the judge, and what was I going to say? "Sorry, Your Honor. I was listening to my Witness practice CD and paying no attention to speed limit signs. No sir, didn't even know there was a speed limit." I had no excuse at all. (side note: I found it quite ironic that that last sentence is true of all human beings and our tendency to sin. We have no excuse and we are just plain guilty, yet Christ took on our guilt and paid our debt. I was hoping for leniency but I figured no judge was going to forgive as Christ has.) By the time I actually left for court I was nearly sick to my stomach from anxiety. So I get to the Wellford courthouse, a building only about the size of my house, to find that there are no empty parking spaces. Hmmmm. I found a spot that wasn't TOO illegal, parked the car and went looking for traffic court, just as 3 other people started walking the same way. We found the right door and opened it, only to find that the place was packed! Why didn't someone tell me that traffic court is a cattle call? Moo! So we start lining up outside the door as more and more people come. As I'm standing there hoping I don't see anyone I know, I see a car pull out and out steps Scott Suttles. Great. He looked my way and I waved to him, a little feebly but at least I acknowledged him. Finally the guy in charge (I guess) explained our options to us: Plead guilty and he will reduce our ticket, and we're done; or ask for a trial and explain yourself to the judge. He took up our tickets and called us up one by one. Meanwhile I was making conversation with my "line neighbors". They were all comparing notes on how fast they were going and how much their tickets were and how many points it would mean against their license. Apparently that officer was more lenient than I thought, because I had NO points and the same ticket amount, but I was going more mph over the speed limit than they were! I also noticed that the Wellford government appears to be a bit suspicious of certain forms of payment because they only accept cash, money orders and cashier's checks. Some of my line neighbors must have been repeat customers because they already had their $100 cash in hand (because that's what the ticket gets reduced to). After I got my ticket reduced I had to race down the street to the ATM to get the cash then come back and pay it, because as Mr. In-Charge said, "if you don't have the Clerk of Court enter the disposition of the ticket today, I will have to issue a bench warrant for you tomorrow and suspend your license." Meanwhile the line outside continued to grow and grow. I came back, paid my debt to (Wellford) society and left, and the line was even longer than it had been before. At least they didn't throw me in the pokey.
Later we went to Karis' softball game, where they lost once again. Luckily the girls don't seem to notice but it weighs on poor Coach Jon. In between keeping the scorebook and keeping up with Quinn, I got to enjoy a few of those life moments, like when Karis started running from first base and ignored all the coach's instructions to stop on third base and instead kept heading for home plate, just two steps ahead of the girl trying to tag her out. Karis was safe and I don't think she ever even knew the girl was coming up behind her. She came to me afterward and said, "Did I look like Dash (from The Incredibles)?" And I told her that she certainly did - she ran so fast the other players couldn't catch her. As long as I live I will remember the sight of her just jogging around the bases like there's nothing going on around her. La-de-da... what ball? Game? What game? Gotta love that girl!
Back to traffic court. I'd never been so I had no idea how it works. I was imagining some kind of public humiliation where I'd have to stand in front the courtroom and explain myself to the judge, and what was I going to say? "Sorry, Your Honor. I was listening to my Witness practice CD and paying no attention to speed limit signs. No sir, didn't even know there was a speed limit." I had no excuse at all. (side note: I found it quite ironic that that last sentence is true of all human beings and our tendency to sin. We have no excuse and we are just plain guilty, yet Christ took on our guilt and paid our debt. I was hoping for leniency but I figured no judge was going to forgive as Christ has.) By the time I actually left for court I was nearly sick to my stomach from anxiety. So I get to the Wellford courthouse, a building only about the size of my house, to find that there are no empty parking spaces. Hmmmm. I found a spot that wasn't TOO illegal, parked the car and went looking for traffic court, just as 3 other people started walking the same way. We found the right door and opened it, only to find that the place was packed! Why didn't someone tell me that traffic court is a cattle call? Moo! So we start lining up outside the door as more and more people come. As I'm standing there hoping I don't see anyone I know, I see a car pull out and out steps Scott Suttles. Great. He looked my way and I waved to him, a little feebly but at least I acknowledged him. Finally the guy in charge (I guess) explained our options to us: Plead guilty and he will reduce our ticket, and we're done; or ask for a trial and explain yourself to the judge. He took up our tickets and called us up one by one. Meanwhile I was making conversation with my "line neighbors". They were all comparing notes on how fast they were going and how much their tickets were and how many points it would mean against their license. Apparently that officer was more lenient than I thought, because I had NO points and the same ticket amount, but I was going more mph over the speed limit than they were! I also noticed that the Wellford government appears to be a bit suspicious of certain forms of payment because they only accept cash, money orders and cashier's checks. Some of my line neighbors must have been repeat customers because they already had their $100 cash in hand (because that's what the ticket gets reduced to). After I got my ticket reduced I had to race down the street to the ATM to get the cash then come back and pay it, because as Mr. In-Charge said, "if you don't have the Clerk of Court enter the disposition of the ticket today, I will have to issue a bench warrant for you tomorrow and suspend your license." Meanwhile the line outside continued to grow and grow. I came back, paid my debt to (Wellford) society and left, and the line was even longer than it had been before. At least they didn't throw me in the pokey.
Later we went to Karis' softball game, where they lost once again. Luckily the girls don't seem to notice but it weighs on poor Coach Jon. In between keeping the scorebook and keeping up with Quinn, I got to enjoy a few of those life moments, like when Karis started running from first base and ignored all the coach's instructions to stop on third base and instead kept heading for home plate, just two steps ahead of the girl trying to tag her out. Karis was safe and I don't think she ever even knew the girl was coming up behind her. She came to me afterward and said, "Did I look like Dash (from The Incredibles)?" And I told her that she certainly did - she ran so fast the other players couldn't catch her. As long as I live I will remember the sight of her just jogging around the bases like there's nothing going on around her. La-de-da... what ball? Game? What game? Gotta love that girl!
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