*Simply Happy*

Chapter 2

Having spent six months in a relationship where I was not treated that well I started to ask some questions.  We were a cute couple, he on the worship team and me on the leadership team for one of the christian clubs on campus.  People said we were meant for each other and I thought the story that was out there among our friends and mentors rather than what was happening behind the scenes was lovely.  He would not call for a week and then when I asked how come he never called he said my job was to just be quiet and supportive and would not understand the pressures of a science major.  He said that I needed to really learn how to be more submissive and he would pray for me.  I used to show up to his dorm with balloons, his favorite candy, or just because.  He would always roll his eyes and say that I needed to be patient for the time that is set aside for us to see each other because he needed to concentrate on his studies and singing.  I tried multiple times thinking he would eventually like it but he never did so I stopped.  I went to the Christian book store and bought a six part study on submission, thinking I was a rebel against the desires of God as a woman in a relationship, and asked my friends to pray for me to grow in this area (because clearly I was laking).  They all looked at me sideways with furrowed brows, but I urged them to do it anyway.
Then my roommate sat down with me one night.  We sat cross legged on our living room floor, she grabbed my hands and asked me, "Is he worth losing yourself?"  I immediately defended my behavior as learning what it meant to be submissive and that I would be so ready to get married when we graduated because I have the time to learn now.  She shook her head no and with a gentle voice said, "Submission and doormats are not the same thing."  Then she said the thing that got my attention.  "He doesn't love you, he loves controlling you."  My eyes welled up with tears, hot, spilling down my cheeks like rivers.  She held my hands and prayed that I would be whole in Christ and not need a guy to tell me what I was or was not worth. When we were done I silently got up, grabbed my keys and walked out.  She came after me but I was on a mission.  I drove from my apartment to the dorms at 75 miles per hour.  I ran up the dorm stairs and called out his name from the top because his window was the first on the second floor.  He looked out, rolled his eyes and then came to the door on the landing.  He started to give his "I have homework and..." lecture but I just started talking over him.  I have this kind of strange switch in my brain that can be flipped on a dime.  It's not so strange when you actually believe that the Spirit is capable of taking over your mind and letting words come out of your mouth that you wouldn't say on your own.  Out of my mouth poured the lessons of the six part study that explained ever so clearly to him that submission is required of all believers, not just women.  As I started to cry I got louder because that is the only way I have ever known how to keep talking through tears.  I told him that I thought he was a good guy but that he and I were going to need to go our separate ways.  He looked at me in disbelief.  I gave him a hug and left him standing there.  He never said a word and we never spoke again.

I drove home sobbing.  It hurt.  Badly.  It was the right thing to do but it felt like failure.

In the next couple of weeks I unplugged from anything that had anything to do with our paths crossing.  Friends called and I told them it was time for our path to go in separate directions.  They dug for more but I left it at that.

I woke up on a Saturday morning and started research on the word and concept of covenant.  I poured over the internet, my bible and walked around my apartment talking out-loud to God.  "God, am I allow to call a time of covenant with you?  Am I allowed to tell you that I want to walk with you like Eve walked next to you in the garden?  God, can you be my partner and my best friend?"  This conversation went on for a couple of hours.  It was very candid; in my mind He was sitting on the roof watching me pace around my apartment while I walked and talked it out with Him.  At the end of that intimate time I knew two things.  First I knew that I was in a covenant with God.  I knew that the covenant would last one year.  And I knew that I was going to be different and changed when the year was over.  And I knew that I had never been so scared in my entire life.  Not the kind of fear that eats at your character but the kind of fear where you know you serve a big God and He is going to rock the house off the current foundation of sand and rebuild it on solid rock.

What was the covenant?  I asked God to be the man in my life that I had ignorantly been looking for in a human.  I asked God to take me on a journey from girl to woman.  I asked God to take over my life and teach me anything that He wanted to teach me.  I laid it all down that day. 

Chapter 1

No big conversion from drugs or parties, from alcohol or abuse, no release from bondage or footholds.  My whole life I have heard the testimony of other peoples conversions.  My conversion is uninteresting and will never be asked to be spoke of to encourage others.  I was a good kid and did as I was told.  I disliked chores and green beans like the best of any era of youth but I cranked Petra and Debbie Gibson from my little pink tape deck radio and had kitten posters on the walls of my room.  I even had a section of wall with my Cabbage Patch Kids birth certificates framed and I was blissfully proud of this bubble. 

To be quite frank I have lived in that blissful bubble my whole life.  I made some mistakes here and there as a teen and college student but I knew the foundation and truth about what I believed and though I pushed some boundaries, I never crossed any lines that would have given me that great "Rededicate My Life Because I was Lost but Now I'm Found" stories.  I have always believed that the bubble would only be mine to burst and that as long as I was walking the straight and narrow that the bubble would surround me.  And then August of 2008 arrived like a tsunami.  Tsunami's are storms that begin far off at sea where nobody can see them and though they pull from currents that are deep under the ocean that are nearly unknown until they devastate a shoreline.  It was a Wednesday morning, I was getting on the 405 freeway to go to work and my cell rang.  I answered, at my ear, because that was legal then, and it was my Mom.  Pretty normal, we often chatted in the mornings while I drove the twelve miles that takes forty five minutes.  We actually talked about what I had done the night before for a couple of minutes and then I heard her voice shake.  "Mom, you okay?," I asked.  "Umm, not really," she said matter of factly.  "What's going on?," I questioned.  And then the quiver in her throat became a tremble and she said quietly and calmly, "Your dad and I are over."

Have you ever received information like this, over the phone, while driving on the 405 at the rush hour crawl?  Maybe you have and maybe you have not.  I was silent.  If you wonder if a million thoughts can zip around your brain in nano seconds, they can.  You know that button on the remote that allows you to fast forward a show in the tivo?  The way ours works you can press the button three times, one for gentle ff, medium ff and ridiculous ff that never allows you to actually stop on time for the next segment of the show.  That last one was being pushed in my mind.  It went something like this.  What the hell happened? We were just there for the weekend and nothing was said.  My dad did go to bed early which was out of character and there was a very strange conversation about a way to celebrate my parents anniversary, but that was totally normal.  What does "over" mean anyway? And what, dear God, is the right thing to follow that statement?  She never cries, this is serious.  How do I fix this, is it my job to fix this?  Is this happening? Can I take the day off, what is on my calendar for work?  Oh, who cares, work can deal with it?  She's crying, this is serious.  Am I surprised?  Then my mind pendulum swung to screaming.  No! No! No!  My parents were the ones who were going to beat the odds.  I had the parents that were making it.  I have to fix this.  At least I get a day off work.  Oh dear Lord, I have to tell people this is happening.  How do I process this information?  Am I supposed to cry?  There are no tears.  And then...blank.  My mind went blank.  I down shifted into my systematic, process oriented mode.  I told my mom to drive to the church, I would go to work to tell them why I was not going to be, drive to the church myself, find a pastor and he would tell me what to do.  

In response to the comment on my last post: Dear Becky~

That made me laugh out loud right here in my living room.  I laugh because you are totally right, I think I would love it as a hobby and pleasure; ironically I took it in my very first set of classes in the fall of my freshman year at CSULB at got a D.  Great-Great way to start the road towards a diploma. Here are my memories from that class: be in your seat at the top of the hour or get locked out in the hall until the break in the middle.  When the doors were opened you had to apologize to the professor and class.  Basically, if you missed the opportunity to be in your seat you skipped class.  I also remember an incredibly long period (like three weeks) being spent on columns.  I could not tell you anything about columns today, literally nothing, but I remember being amazed that someone would spend their life work studying columns of ancient times. 

However, that class had extra credit points available if you went to the Getty and wrote a 3 page paper on how it impacted you.  I drove to the Getty off PCH in the Pacific Palisades by myself.  I wasn't sure my car would get me there and back but I was determined to accomplish that task on my own.  I was intimidated and worried that it would be so obvious that I had no idea what I was doing, what I was supposed to look at, what I was supposed to appreciate.  But...on that day I was overcome with talent and beauty and awe and hope.  I remember standing in front a large marble statue and knowing that the carved creation before me was tangible proof that God is fantastically creative and sometimes hands over the tools to humanity.  I wondered what the criteria might be for God to select certain humans to do His work.
So, your suggestion makes me laugh deep in my soul.  I wanted to do well in that class but I didn't have the where with all to understand that class at eighteen. I suppose a trip to Europe, seeing the beauty in my own daughter and an additional decade of life experience has made room for a class like art history.  I remember the day I looked at you and suggested you might just take one math class and let us support and help you.  I felt like maybe I gave you some room to take a deep breath and think a new thought.  Your suggestion has now done the same for me.  Forever and always grateful for your ability to make me think much deeper than I might have otherwise done.

Peanut butter, bike rides, art and Jesus

I love peanut butter. I love peanut butter on a spoon or on a banana.  I love it in chocolate ice cream or a chocolate chip cookie.  I love it with strawberry jam or marshmallow creme. My favorite is on a spoon.

I love bike rides.  I love to ride in neighborhoods where I can look at beautiful houses and not look creepy going that slow in a car.  I love to ride in the mountains, on paths that are mostly safe and comfortable but have just one or two places where it's a bit steep or the turns are too tight.  I like the rush, the knowing that I will make it but the two or three seconds that I think I might crash and burn get my heart racing, I love that.

I love art.  Such a relative statement.  I love paintings the most.  I could stare as a busy painting for hours.  I first take in the beauty of the whole piece.  Then I dissect every detail.  Where did the painter start?  Was the background one color.  Did they see the image in their mind before it was complete on the canvas?  I wonder if they held a board, or plate or used a near by table.  I wonder who they were painting for and if they received affirmation from the person they desired words of praise from.  I try and figure out all of the color combination's.  I like where art takes me.  I don't transport to the location in the image but rather to a place inside of myself that knows peace.  Not often but sometimes I wish that were a real place.

I love Jesus.  He loves me. I suppose I could complicate it but it's really that simple, so I'll leave it at that.

Leaders Put Their Pants on One Leg at a Time

In my world, there are many people that I call leader.  They are guys and gals that are making a difference in the world, bringing the word to believers and seekers all over the world, though mostly in the US.  They want real, authentic relationships and conversations and they want to just be aloud to be.  Be funny, be pensive, be quiet, be loud, be energetic, be creative.  I have looked up to these folks as if they get it and I'm still trying to get it.  The thing is, I get it, but I'm just not doing anything about it.  They are the leaders I admire while I sit back in fear and intimidation.  I had a conversation with a friend a while back where I said, "Wouldn't it be great if I could just go to Nordstrom and pick up some confidence like I might pick up a sweater or a pair of shoes?"  Of course we chuckled, but deep down that is a reality.
I've been praying for God to open doors that I'd like to walk through but then sat back in silence and just waited.  I have had candid conversations with God to ask Him what I need "to do" as if works will land me in the middle of a dream that already started but then I don't actually do anything.  I don't do anything because then I have to dive into the deep end of the pool and swim, lest I drown.  But you know what is the truth?  I am drowning a little bit in the silence, in the not doing, in the wings of the auditorium.
One of my leader extrodinares was sitting still for five minutes today.  After a previous semi-awkward bit of conversation in which nothing came out the way I wanted it to because my inside voice got screaming loud but my outside voice went all jumbled, I turned to him and said, "How did you get where you are today?"  And then another friend at the table read between the lines and voiced the real question, "Who are you?" That was exactly the right question...who are you?  He told me.  He shared his story from thirty thousand feet, he gave enough detail that I was further intrigued and interested.  And then he turned the tables.  He started asking questions back.  Ut-oh.  I took an internal deep breath and I shared from my heart, from my head, from my soul.  I answered his questions and I found something that he spoke about but was my reality, freedom.  My side of the conversation was not polished and perfect, there were unknowns and it didn't come out perfect, but that's okay.  I was honest and vulnerable and expected rejection but it never showed up.  He told me to let my fears go.  He shared this has taken him a significant part of his life to learn but that it has been a journey worth living. 
I cannot say to what depths this conversation will continue to churn in my heart, as long as I let it I suppose.  I know the churchy answer is to say that I've laid it at the cross, that I've prayed and God has delivered me, but that's not so.  I've got gripping fears, ones that satan is good as reinforcing and that I have spent way too long believing.  I have a tape-deck, cd, podcast, whatever generation you are reading this, I've got one in my head that plays.  My friend Linda calls this a crease in the paper.  She tells a story that once a crease is in a piece of paper it never goes away.  If the crease is reinforced the paper is folded back over itself and the crease pressed firmly into the paper again.  She tells her own life story while she does this with a real piece of paper.  But we have the choice to hold up a stop sign hand and say enough.  And that is what I pour out to God tonight.  Here is my creased piece of paper and I am sliding it across the table to God and saying, "Enough".  I need a new crease...No, I don't need a new crease.  I want to allow for creases that are already there to be reinforced that are not getting any attention right now.  Fold the paper the other direction.

what is on my mind right now

umm... 94 on the econ mid term.  haha...that's the grandest ability to regurgitate studied information I've had to date.  need to pull it off again for the final.  i don't type this proudly, rather to say that anyone can do anything they set their mind to, this is proof.

threw a paper clip at my manager today.  yep.  someone had just thrown one at me while my back was to the group of suspects and in a moment of complete brain shutdown i threw one back, choosing her, and hit her.  of course as soon as it left my hand my brain reengaged and i watched her face in slow motion to see if it would be my last day with the company.  haha.  lets just say it was good it was friday afternoon at 4pm and that everyone laughed and thought it was funny and laughed.  lucked out this time.  won't do that again.

i put a can of orange and a can of black play dough on everyone's desk on my team on monday.  i just have a couple instructions: make a pumpkin and have fun.  the team voted today and we had a winner.  more importantly i learned that this is a deeply creative group that deserves more opportunity to let that side of themselves be put on the table and used for good.  we don't work in a department that requires a lot of creativity for the actual job, it's pretty straight forward, but there are so many other ways that it can be utilized in change management and morale.  great stuff from a few bucks of flour, salt and water.

tv was exceptionally good this week.  grey's anatomy - wow, so good. the next iron chef - they got it right.  project runway - wish i could do all that, maybe someday, so good.  

went to to the church carnival tonight.  sally put on her dress for sleeping beauty-aurora that gma sharon made for her.  she looked so beautiful.  thank you gma sharon, the dress is awesome.  and immediately started crying.  she said she was being itched.  we asked her to keep it on for pictures and hoped the itching would stop when she saw and experienced how fun it was going to be.  we got some pictures and got her face painted but all threw clenched teeth and fighting back tears.  we put her clothes from the school day back on her and will wear a leotard under next time.  the rest of the evening was good.  peter looked adorable in his skeleton costume.  this year sally was drawn to all of the activities that involved bounce houses, blow up slide bounce things, the gynormous slide.  there are pics of all of these things but honestly, i am too tired to load and edit them right now.  i will share in the morning!

wondering if it will all get done. laundry, cleaning, prepping my heart and mind for what the next week, next six months and next year.  lord as my guide, it will, i know that.

This is so much fun for our family!~

Mummy Dawgs and Apple Almond Chompers

A spooky bit of fun in the kitchen tonight...

   
 

2b or not 2b

Deep inside of me there is a writer. I make no claim one way or the other that there is a good writer in this head of mine, or heart for that matter, but it is so much of my DNA that nearly everything that occurs around me during my waking hours I attach to a chapter in a book or a whole book concept. I am also a reader. I read all the time from blogs to magazines, from novels to biographies, from news to devotions, from the bible to text books.  I analyze what I like about the style, the story, the grammar and the use of analogy; I love the use of the perfect analogy to create a picture for a reader.  I read for enjoyment but I also read for skill and for research.  Now, let's be honest, my desire to write professionally is huge but I don't have any specific professional training.  I'm a college graduate and I am doing well in my master's program, so the skill of writing does exist.  I understand the very basics of formulating a message via written word.  But then I hear my cousin say that she is attending a writing workshop or I read some of my favorite blogs and learn that they are contracted for their next book with their publishing company of choice and I become a frozen ice cube.  It's been eighty-nine degrees for the last couple of days and yet I am so frozen I could stand on asphalt at noon and still not melt away this trepidation.
For the last seven weeks I have been reading a book that makes me draw one corner of my mouth back and suck air in through clenched teeth.  It's interesting but not intuitive.  It's full of jargon that I want to lock away for a day when the demand for words will need to be filled by the supply of them in my head.  It is a three inch economics text book.  We may appear the best of friends right now.  I mean, we can be caught sharing a small table at Starbucks or a free moment on my lunch break, but don't draw any conclusions.  We're not that close.  I want to master the subject as it pertains to business but I don't want to be an economist.  I walked out of the midterm knowing how to determine when a firm is operating at efficiency and knowing when to manufacture one good rather than multiple goods.  So, yeah, I understand what I am supposed to do with the five hundred supply and demand charts that have been drawn for me but I have no idea how that will further my desire to be a good writer.  I suppose when the publishing company wants to sell to a niche market and they give a suggest retail price I will know if that is a good number or not.  But like other subjects that do not peak my personal interests, such as art history from freshmen year of undergrad, I know the details of this information will be purged to make room for something more tangible.  I will never attend the World Economic Forum but I will find my way to the product markets with words on a page, a cover to keep them together and my name on it in embossed letters.  And that will mean that the opportunity cost to not write will have been overcome.

Yeah, I watch

So, I totally watch The Hills.  I have watched the show since day one that is spun off Laguna Beach.  And I laugh because I know that the show is clubs, cat fights, Spidey and such.  I also watch because I thinks it funny how you can tell the layers of importance in the cast.  Important to the story line, they get to go to the hair and make-up trailer.  Not so important, they have to do their own hair and make-up.  The little vignettes where the producer/crew tells those in the shot what to generally talk about but then they don't usually have anything to say because nobody knows what to say their nemesis with the camera rolling, so they get thru the scene with non-verbal's that are hilarious.  Then I walk into Ralph's, see these kids on the tabloids, and I think, what do these kids have that  the majority of kids in the youth group in my church don't have?  The answer? Nothing.  The kids in the student center have the clothes, the homes, the clubbing, the relationship drama, they have over protective parents and parents that don't know them, they have cars and places to be seen.  And, for the most part they have Jesus.  And that is the difference.  They aren't perfect, they struggle with the very things the kids on this show struggle with; having Jesus in their heart and the relationship to cry out to Him in the good and bad does not make them exempt from that which this world offers them.  So let me ask you this?  Do you know a teenager or college student?  I know you do.  So adopt one, or two or twenty, your church Gen Y'ers and pray for them.  And don't just pick the whole youth group because that makes this segment of the population nameless and then you don't have to feel it or think about it.  If you truly don't know a Gen Y'er, pray for the whole group, but then pay attention to what is going on around you because I assure you there is a Gen Y'er closer than you think.  Once identified, put their name on a sticky note, place it on the bathroom mirror and pray for them. 

One of my Gen Y'er is my little sister.  She's is an adorable 19 year old woman who recently got married and is leaving for the middle east in three weeks with the baddest command of the US Army.  So, she is a girly girl with a command presence that keeps that unit in line and moving.  I imagine she is like Charlie in Top Gun when she is doing her thing.  Badass pencil skirt telling them how to fly a plane by day and giggly girly girl by night.  The drama of the Army is like the drama of the Hills  but at the end of the day peoples live, like OURS, are on the line.  So, while I know that Spidey, LC and Brody Jenner are not exactly saving the free world, they are influencing it in a significant way.  And I know that while my sister is actually putting her life on the line, she will probably never be on the tabloids.  So are you in?  Do you have your Gen Y'er picked or the plan to find one?  Get a sticky before you forget.  Don't have a sticky note pad, leave a comment or email and I'll mail you some!  

Okay good!  Welcome to the adopt a Gen Y'er!  I'm excited to hear your stories!