A "Happy Halloween" Fiasco

The light is green, people, go! She thought, baffled by the lack of rushing during this cold, misty rush hour. Green arrow, green arrow, come on, go faster, I’m going to miss the – great! So much for making the arrow. With a sigh, she rolled to a stop in the intersection and stared blankly at the cars on the opposite side that were, unbelievably, not proceeding through the intersection.

I could have gone. They’re not even moving! Shaking her head, she resigned herself to simply not being home in time to hand out candy to the first of the trick-or-treaters. Well, maybe I should have been more forthright in wanting to meet my neighbors instead of luring them into friendship with candy for their children…

The last of the pokey cars in the oncoming traffic bumbled by, just shy of stopping in the middle of the intersection, and she carefully pulled around the back of the car to execute the left-turn that would line her up with the highway entrance. On my way, at –

THUMP! ROOOARING SCRAAAAAAAAAAAPE!

Ah! What is that?! That’s my car! My car is making a very bad noise! Something fell off of it. Oh gosh. Lord, please don’t let it blow up! Ok, pull over, where can I pull over? There! Perfect! All of this noise erupted both outside the car and inside her mind within no more than half a second, and she probably hadn’t moved more than ten yards down the street before making it to the curb.

The misty drizzle grew thicker.

Flashers on – my gosh that sound is horrible! Engine off – no more sound. Lock the doors. No. I have to see what fell off. Unlock the doors. Boy this neighborhood looks sketchy. Maybe it’s not sketchy. Ok, no traffic, open the door.

She stepped into the road and quickly moved to the back of her car. No sense in being run over by her own car should someone somehow miss the flashers flashing in the misty, depressing dusk and rear end the parked vehicle while she was peering underneath it from the front. Better to hope someone would see her on the ground and simply not hit anything.

She squatted behind the car and hung her head sideways. Oh… My… The long pipe thing that she was pretty sure was her muffler was lying on the ground at the front end where it should have been connected to the engine or at least something near the engine. This is not good…

She stood and quickly slipped back into the driver’s seat, locking the doors before the door had closed beside her.

Phone. Where’s my phone? I have to call Dave. He should be leaving work soon, he’ll go right by here, he could pass by and leave me here if he misses my call – oh please don’t miss my call! She listened to the phone ringing, two rings, three, four – voicemail. She hung up and dialed again. Ring, etcetera, voicemail.

Argh! You have a brand new shiny phone that works perfectly why aren’t you answering now that I need you to answer more than I typically need you to answer?! She was just calm enough to notice how odd it was that she was not actually screaming this at the glowing device in her hand.

She slid the phone open to text her beloved the following: “I need you to call me NOW.” Three seconds passed. She dialed again. Voicemail. “Oh, come on!” She yelled audibly. She texted again: “Muffler fell off. Stranded.” Incomplete sentences are good for sparking alarm in someone, right?

It suddenly occurred to her that she should consider what to do about the car, not just worry about how to get a ride home. Will I get a ticket if I leave it here over night? The nearest parking sign was too far away to see, and now that it was raining in earnest and getting darker, she didn’t really want to go see what  permissions it would grant or deny.

She dialed her father. Somehow in the near year she had lived away from home she still had not accepted that he might not be able to fix any of her car troubles from three states away.

“Yello,” he answered.

“Hi. My muffler fell off.”

“That would make a loud noise.”

“Yeah, even worse than normal believe it or not, and a loud scraping noise. It fell off at the front end. Dave isn’t answering and I don’t know when he’s getting off work. Would AAA tow me to a shop or something? Does that cost extra or is it part of the membership?”

“At the front end?”

“Yes. Should I call AAA?”

“Are you dressed nice?”

“What?”

“Are you dressed nice?”

“Am I dressed nice?” What in the world does that have to do with anything? “What do you – I’m wearing jeans. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Why?”

“Well, you could crawl under the car at the back end of the car and see if there’s anything there that you can disconnect so that the other end comes off too.”

… Disconnect the… What? Isn’t the point to figure out how to get the broken part back on the car, not break it more? “You want me to take the whole muffler off of my car?”

“It’s an option.”

“And do what? Leave it in the road and drive home?” This sounds ludicrous! You can’t just leave large car parts in parking spaces on the side of the road! Can you?

“Yeah. Or see how long AAA would be. They might take an hour to get to you. They can tow you anywhere in 50 miles, or maybe 100 if you have a plus on your card. Do you have the plus on your card? You can tell them what garage you want to go to, do you know a garage you can take it to? Is there a place like where we go here, that uh, uh…What’s it called…” The sound of something being shuffled around in the background began, mingled with “uh…”

“I have a plus on my card. I’m not that far from home anyway”

“Ok, then they can take you pretty much wherever you want in town. Do you have a place you take your cars like that place we go here? What’s that called…”

“Tuned Up?”

“Yeah, do you have that? Or some kind of muffler place?”

“I’ve never seen a Tuned Up here. There’s a muffler place where we get our oil changed called Miles’.”

“Or that mechanic where Mom took our car when she was there. They seemed good.”

“I don’t remember the name of that… It starts with an H… Uh…” I am so much like my father! “Are you near a computer? It’s on Harlem. It starts with an H. It’s near Cheyenne and Duke.” A few minutes later he had located the mechanic’s shop that began with an H and given her the phone number and address for both places.

“A muffler place might give you a better deal. A mechanic would probably have to order parts and have them brought in from somewhere, but a muffler place might have whatever they need already to just put it back together.”

After all the effort to remember and find the place with the H we’re just throwing it out? Alright. “Ok well I need to find out if they’ll take the car anyway, and call AAA.”

“Ok. See ya.”

“Bye. Thanks!”

After a call to the muffler place and AAA she finally heard from Dave who, after going in circles together about different options for a few minutes, decided to finish his work and then pick her up in about forty-five minutes. That would be just before the tow truck should arrive, too. In the meantime she called the friend she’d been visiting to find out if she would mind picking her up and taking her somewhere warm to sit and wait.

While she waited for her friend she noticed just how thoroughly soaked the rug under her pedals was thanks to the small leak in her car’s roof. For the next ten minutes she watched the windows become foggier, the sky grow darker, tried to warm her fingers, and listened to the repeating squiiiiiisssshhhhh of water as she rocked her left foot back and forth on top of the sopping rug. Eventually, she recalled the stack of books next to her on the seat that she had borrowed from her friend’s impressive stash, so she picked up the first one and began reading. The Zookeeper’s Wife. Interesting title. She was quickly engrossed, but didn’t make it far before her friend pulled up and she climbed into her nicer, dryer, warmer vehicle.

“Here, let’s turn on the seat warmer for you,” her friend, Grace, said as she slid gratefully into the passenger seat.

Seat warmer?! She thought blissfully. They chatted until the tow truck showed up and the man looked under car then declared, “Ouch.”

“Yeah…” She agreed. Handing over her keys, he clarified where the car would be taken to and asked if her friend wouldn’t mind letting him take her parking spot just in front of the incapacitated vehicle, perfect for loading the car without his having to block traffic.

“That’s why we picked it!” Grace smiled.

Oh, really? She wondered, impressed by her friend’s forethought. She would have considered the parking arrangement a lucky coincidence. She and Grace slid back into the seat warmer equipped vehicle and she said, “I’ll call Dave to let him know the tow truck is here so he can come get me.”

“Oh no, I’ll just take you home.”

“But he has my keys,” she said, her thumb pointing over her shoulder to where the tow truck man was waiting for their parking spot.

“You don’t give them all your keys, just your car key.”

“Well my house key is the only other one on that ring.”

“You don’t give away your house key.”

“Right… That makes sense…” Idiot! She chided herself. How is that you are so blonde sometimes even though you convince people you’re smart? Good thing there are real adults around to rescue you.

After retrieving her house key from the tow trunk man she got back in the car, thanked Grace, and accepted the ride home.

“I’d been trying to decide if I should pass out candy and try to meet my neighbors tonight or go to the campus Bible study, and I finally decided to do half of both, but now it looks like I won’t get to do either.”

“I think you already missed the trick-or-treating. It ends in five minutes,” Grace nodded to the clock.

“So much for needing to decide.” She consented. “Maybe I'll go reverse trick-or-treating tomorrow and go door to door handing out candy and introducing myself as the girl who missed Halloween because her muffler fell off.”

After arriving home and thanking Grace one more time, she went inside and stared at all the candy sitting in her salad bowl. That’s ironic… She thought.

A total of three families of trick-or-treaters came to the door and gladly accepted the handfuls of candy she doled out.

She did not meet a single neighbor, but it was certainly a more eventful Halloween than she had anticipated.

The above story was inspired by entirely true events. Names and places have been changed. This is also a rather rough draft and would be trimmed down quite a bit if I ever tried to publish it. Hope you enjoyed!

Who Am I? - a poem

The following is a poem I wrote titled "Who Am I?" The title is because it's sort of a riddle, so please comment and answer the question after reading! [Also, disclaimer, I don't write poetry very often... So yes please give feedback, but don't be too harsh! ;-)]

Who Am I?

I used to be lean and fit for a fight.

I used to be stretched to my limits, daily.

There was a day I bemoaned my strenuous life,

When I truly believed I would prefer

Endless

Vacation time.

There was a time that I longed to hang a sign on the door,

Stating “gone fishing,” “out to lunch,”

“Do not disturb”

“Back in ten minutes” (or not!).

Any known phrase to make work go away

And give me

My freedom.

When once I trained daily, hourly even,

As if for marathon level competition,

Now I sit

And watch my former glory and strength

Fade into something

Floppy

And sad.

When once I assured myself

I needed a break,

A siesta or nap time—
Give me just one day off!

Now I cannot believe how

Out of shape

I’ve become.

I thought my might was natural, a gift.

Only now do I see the true state of things:

What I thought was innate was, in reality,

Beaten into me

One day after another,

Using drills and seemingly painful techniques.

I whined and complained and took too many water breaks,

Yet despite my best efforts to escape from each workout,

I became rather fit over the years.

But now—Oh! Look at me now!

I cannot begin to describe my despair!

I can’t do what I once came easily,

I’m a disgrace to my name!

A regular sloth.

I’m lazy

And hazy and

Hungry for the past.

Freedom? I ask myself: is it so great?

Freedom! HA!

Is this what I wanted?

To lose my agility,

To bid adieu to my stature, flexibility, and speed?

To shamefully lack the ability to lift

Even the lightest of items

Which, by the way,

Were once

A breeze.

My cry has reversed now;

(The irony kills me!)

I’m begging for exercise,

Something heavy to lift!

Like language, or new skills, or, or, geography!

Give me a challenge,

Let me flex these drooping muscles again!

Let me re-train myself

Before it’s too late.

Before I can’t even remember my name.

Chances are you don’t recognize me;

I’m not sure I do.

So let me inquire, could you remind me, perhaps,

Who am I?

Some Things I've Learned About Being a Christian

 As a person who is trying to follow Christ in my day-to-day living (which often proves surprisingly difficult) there are a few things I've learned recently that I thought I'd share. These are my recent "light-bulb" moments. Maybe those of you reading who are also Christians have already figured these things out, but in my experience I can never be reminded of valuable lessons too many times.

First off, I've finally caught on to the fact that I can tell how good a Bible study or church meeting was by taking note of how irritable I am, particularly with my husband, immediately afterward. Does that sound backwards? I think so. I should be a loving, peaceful, easygoing person after spending time studying the Bible with other Christians, right? Yeah. Probably. But here's the thing: God was not the only unseen power in that Bible study. His enemy was also keeping close watch, and I have noticed that the more genuine, Spirit-filled interaction I have with God and His believers, the harder the enemy works to drag me down, away from God, as soon as I walk away from that safe environment. Countless times I have walked out of a friend's house where we just read the Bible and prayed and laughed and maybe cried together feeling like I am on cloud nine, and by the time I get home to Nathanael I have thought of something he may or may not have done and figured out how either way, if he did it or not, I will be angry with him. How is that fair to him!? It's not. It's called an attack of God's enemy. It's called letting my guard down because I think I'm so safe since I just spent time in His Word. I have learned and am still learning that when I have had an incredibly sweet time with the Lord and with my fellow believers, I need to pray that much more to be guarded from the schemes of the evil one. Life is a war. My heart and my marriage are battlegrounds.

Second, and along similar lines, it dawned on me last night while reading 1st Thessalonians chapter 5 with a few other people that the amount of time I spend by myself needs to be proportional to, or better yet outweighed by, the amount of time I spend reading God's Word and in prayer. Let me explain. I am currently at home by myself for the majority of the day because I'm not certified to teach yet. Maybe it's just my personality, but bad things happen in my heart and mind and relationships when I spend that much time by myself. Pity parties ensue. They get out of hand. I deem myself miserable and my life unfair and can't seem to figure out what God is trying to teach me through this period of--by my account--unreasonable solitude and loneliness. If this description is the sum total of my day, I really should present a warning sign to anyone who has to endure my company come evening. However, if I spend the same amount of time at home but sprinkle times of sitting down to read and pray through the Bible, or read on the phone with a friend, or study a book on a spiritual topic, or sing along with worship music while I do things like fold the laundry, the time I spend with other people is so much more pleasant. When it's just me all day, it really needs to be me and God because the more it's just me, the further away any thought of God becomes with each passing moment, and the more my world becomes all about me me me without a single thought of "I wonder what that person needs today and how I could help him or her."

The bottom line is:
me+time without God = I'm a jerk.
me+time with God = God gets to express Himself through me
me+time with other Christians followed by immediate "me" time = bad news. I'm a jerk.
me+time with other Christians followed by prayer for protection against the enemy's attacks = the devil gets the boot.

And don't all of us who call ourselves Christians really want the devil to get the boot and for God to be expressed? I know I do. How many of us would actually prefer for our pity party and misery to be what's displayed through our day? Not me. Unfortunately, that's the recipe I allow for all too often.

I'm learning.

Lost in the Move

You search for your phone charger, sure you packed it in your computer bag, but it’s not there. It seems to have gotten lost in the move. 

There’s this great pair of pants that you haven’t seen in years; maybe they got lost in the move and were never recovered? 

It seemed completely logical to pack my spare car key in my desk drawer at the time, because surely I would open that frequently enough to remember it was there, but when I needed it I forgot to look there and was absolutely convinced it had been lost in the move. Apparently the next time I stumbled upon that key I put it in an even more fool-proof, highly logical place, because I can’t find it for the life of me. 

“Did you bring the outlines?”
“I printed them… But they got lost in the move. Sorry.”
An exchange such as this has become something of an inside joke here in Buffalo. So many people have moved over the past several months, and so many of those moves have been in and out of each other’s homes, that it’s been like a game of musical houses. 

People move and change frequently in life. No. Constantly. We are all in a constant state of change. Sometimes it happens at a breakneck speed, and we think, “Surely this time, this much change will kill me,” but somehow, we survive. Sometimes it’s so gradual that we don’t even notice, until suddenly we look around and aren’t sure where we are or what we may have lost in the move.

Over the past few years, I have made several overlapping moves, some literal, some figurative. I have moved from single to married (with a few obvious steps in between), from an over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived college student to a graduate caught in the limbo of “What do I do now?”, from my parents’ house in Toledo to the Browns’ house in Buffalo to the house I now share with my husband in Buffalo, from a commuter student to a housewife. Along the way, much was gained. But some things were lost as well. My swimming goggles, for instance. I have no idea where those went. My student health insurance. My status as a dependent in my parents’ household. The closeness in my relationship with my best girlfriend.

I am truly ashamed to admit that I let her be misplaced in all these moves I've made. As I focused more on preparing for marriage, moving to a new state, figuring out student-teaching, finishing school, and creating a new home, I focused less and less on the friend who had always been the first person I talked to about anything before this whirlwind of change began. Change is natural. When you don’t see your parents face to face every day, your relationship is bound to change. You have to adjust to your circumstances and find new ways to communicate. When you get married, your relationships with your best friends as a single person will alter somehow; it’s up to you to make those changes positive. It’s impractical to still have sleepovers every weekend at your girlfriends' houses. Your husband might feel neglected. It’s especially hard to maintain the habits of your friendship when you’re three states and three hours apart. So what do you do? Do you simply turn aside as your friendship disintegrates? Do you pray for a miracle? Do you shrug your shoulders and chalk it up to another thing lost in the move?

Lucky for me, Kayla is very stubborn. Throughout all of my changing and moving and figuring out life, she waited. When I was buried in student teaching and wedding planning, she waited. Though she was terribly hurt and unfairly neglected, she waited. She prayed. We would talk and both feel confused and accused and wounded. We prayed and cried together. We prayed and cried separately. We tried to read books together and set schedules to talk. We talked again and cried some more. We got angry, we tried harder, we nearly gave up, we apologized. It usually seemed like nothing helped and nothing changed between us except that more bitterness accumulated in the chasm that was growing between us. For whatever reason, bridges simply refused to be built. There were a lot of reasons, but no excuses. Through it all, neither of us completely threw in the towel. Kayla waited for me to pull my head out of the sand, settle down, and get incredibly lonely.

And I did.

And even with the mountain of regret and sorrow between us, she was there when I looked around, wondered where I was, and started to take inventory of the things that I lost in the move. There is remorse and that unattainable wish to go back and change the past, but there is also forgiveness. By the grace of God, we know how to forgive and love and support each other despite our track record.

Like those favorite pants that seemed to be gone forever but were really just tucked into the wrong box in the wrong closet, some things are never really lost in the move. Kayla’s friendship couldn’t be shaken enough to be lost forever. It is rooted too deeply, anchored by the love of Christ. I am indescribably thankful to be so blessed by having this girl in my life.

Thank you Kayla, for waiting so long. I don’t know what I would do without you.

“Love is patient, love is kind… It keeps no record of wrongs… It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, excerpts. NIV.

To All the Freshmen:

Dear College Freshmen,

One of the greatest pieces of wisdom I was given as I embarked on my college career was from my mother: "You almost need a college education to figure out how to get a college education." Within her sarcastic remark I found incredibly sound advice. Ask other people how to go about completing your program(s). I'm not talking about the advisers provided by your school. In my experience, they're nearly useless. Yes, than can help you get into classes that are "full" by providing you with the right forms, but rarely are they good at advising what you should actually do while in school.

The one thing I tell every high school graduate I have the chance to talk to before they go to college is to find someone, multiple someones is better, who is in the same program or at least has similar required courses as you and shamelessly pick that person's brain about which classes to take, which to avoid, which professors will make your semester miserable, and which to be sure to sign up for and get a good seat in their classes. Those who have gone before you have already learned by trial and error. They have already signed up for the course with the fascinating title that sounds like it's going to be a dream class only to find out the professor is a total quack who talks in circles, makes no sense, assigns way too much work, doesn't grade the work in a timely manner, and tests you on material you've never heard of. They have been there, done that, and can spare you the grief of following in their footsteps.

You can borrow or buy textbooks from them, too! And they can tell you the secrets of the financial aid world that they've learned. They can show you the best (and cheapest) places to eat on campus, tell you what areas to absolutely avoid at night, and, believe it or not, just be your friend!

As you begin college, let's just be honest: you have little to no idea what you're getting yourself into. Your peers who are just a few steps ahead of you can help you swim rather than sink and flail and choke on what you accidentally swallow. Don't try to be a pioneer. Embrace your helplessness and seek a mentor and friend who can show you the ropes of getting the best experience possible out of your college years.

Love,
A recent (and very nostalgic) college graduate

The Voices in My Head

My husband begins working full time tomorrow in the career he went to school for after just graduating in May. He is twenty-two. I am incredibly proud of him.

Being thankful for his job and proud of his achievement must be mentioned first because there are so many other thoughts and feelings tugging on my mind’s ear, and while I sift through them I don’t want to forget that I am excited about this new page in our lives.

How is it possible for one small human being to have so many opposing feelings toward one thing? How can I be anxious and peaceful at the same time about what I will do while Nathanael is gone at work all day? How can I even be so selfish as to pout about my own misfortune of having to fill my own time, and why would I choose to italicize that “I” when I’m clearly concerned about myself already; there is no need to emphasize the point.

I don’t have a job lined up for this fall.

This fact freaks me out.

This fact gives me freedom to serve, to learn, to create.

I’m scared to death.

I’m not worried at all.



I

am

a paradox.



Again, I must know: how is it possible to think and feel so differently about one situation? How can so much opposition even fit inside my soul?

The answer is actually quite simple. I have God’s life inside of me, and He is living through me. I also have my sin filled human nature inside of me, and I don’t know how to live except according to that. God’s life lived out of me is like breathing; I don’t achieve it by my own effort, and I don’t fully understand it. My human nature is like breathing; I don’t achieve it by my own effort, and I don’t fully understand it. These two so often disagree, and yet they coexist. Are they mutually exclusive? No way.

Romans 7:15-24 reads: “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

This passage may seem far deeper and more complex than being at peace with not having a job while my husband does or deciding how to fill my time while I wait for my job hunting to hit its mark, and, well, it is. But it’s also the root of the problem. I am at war within myself about how to feel, what to think, what to do, and whether or not I am too petty or if I can justify my bouts of pity-partying with the fact that some BIG life changes are happening.

“I do not do [think, feel, want] the thing I want [to do, think, feel, want], but the very thing I hate [to do, think, feel, want.” I am constantly waging war against myself in matters great and small because of the greater war at hand inside of me and, indeed, throughout the whole world.

God is real. God has a very real enemy.

I want to follow God to the degree of trusting Him to bless me with a teaching job or to lead me on some other path. Sometimes I do trust Him. Those moments are blissful but fleeting. Fleeting because there is a greater battle being fought, and my woes, minor or major, are mere reflections of the fact that satan wants me to crumble and fall. To deny my Savior. To re-commit the original sin of believing satan over believing God. To not trust anything. To scoff at the idea of faith worth clinging to. But God has written His law on the hearts of man, and He wants us to love Him. Because of that, when we are heading any direction other than chasing after God we cannot achieve true peace and rest.

I am terrified at the prospect of filling my time in unexpected ways if I don’t find a job. I dread spending days at home without Nathanael. I even sometimes let myself be afraid that I won’t have a career in the field I spent years be educated for.

Simultaneously, I am peaceful as I wait for my latest teaching credentials to be official. I am at rest with the fact that I can’t apply for a job and be taken seriously until probably after the school year starts. I like the idea letting my Lord fill my time in unexpected ways. I am at peace. I am hopeful.

“For I do not understand my own actions… [I]n my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive… Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

Jesus.

Jesus will.



In the end, satan loses. The real war, the big war, is already won by Jesus Christ.

In this little tiff, I just have to let go of my control and let God be God. It’s what He does best.

Why this blog?

Dear Whoever Reads This,

I decided to create a blog because, like my mother, I am often met with an itch to compose with words. Lately I've been thinking more and more often that I would like to write... something. I have a big girl dream to someday write a book, but I don't completely feel like a big girl yet so we'll see where that goes. For now, I simply don't know where to start. There are a few topics I'd like to write about and actually have people read what I write; you know, like an article or something. But how does one jump straight from an itch to write to publication?

This blog is "a work in progress" for a few reasons. For one, things that I write here are likely to be literal works in progress. Thoughts that bounce around and clamor for attention in my head and demand to be heard by someone other than me but that I'm still not quite sure how or where or when or to whom to voice them.

Secondly, I am a work in progress. There is a better, higher, perfect Author who is writing my story every moment even as I attempt to scrawl my own thoughts on a page. I am far from complete, much like the things I hope to write someday. But I know that unlike blogs that are begun and forgotten, I will be fully written and polished and complete because the One holding the ultimate pen of my life does not let His Word fall to the ground, and His Word states that the work He has begun in me, He will see through to the end.

My scribbles may be incomplete, uninteresting, painful, or perhaps even enlightening or funny. But my story will be brilliant, because I am a masterpiece of the ultimate Author, Jesus.