Commander! Report!

First off, someone is trying to kill my bird, and I don't appreciate it. I have a scratch across my leg because when the neighbors set off this strange hissy firework, Apollo and I both jumped, except Apollo skittered across my leg and to the other side of me. I appreciate his trust that I could save him from the fireworks.


Tonight's VBS Stories

Kid to me, before VBS: "Are the skits gonna be better tonight?"
Me: "Is the audience gonna be better tonight?"
(My brother, after hearing this story: "Oh, great. Way to be a teacher.")

We got a lot of good feedback on the skit tonight. I love the little kids coming up to me to shake my hand. It's great to be a celebrity in the eyes of children—you can make their day just by talking to them. (Which is one of the things I love about kids anyway.) A pair of girls who must have been about 7 came up to ask if I really drank any of the toxic liquid from the skit (supposedly acid). I told them I didn't, but that it would have been okay if I accidentally did because it was really lemonade. This made their night even better, because, as both of them started saying at the same time: "I thought so! I thought it was lemonade!"

I incurred a minor rugburn injury tonight in practicing for tomorrow's skit. Some people sacrifice their bodies to catch spherical objects hurling through the air. I sacrifice my body for the show.

Best Groupie Award

Goes to two young girls from my church, who came up to me after each of the first two VBS skits to say things like, "You had a rough crowd. You guys were good, though. We were laughing. Don't worry; they'll come around." They are so sweet.

The skit group for this year has not yet had a practice together. The other two people in the skit are married to each other, so they've run lines at home. Then there's me. I love this stuff. I am comfortable onstage (sometimes more comfortable than I am offstage). I wish we didn't have to concern ourselves with microphones, but it's a necessary evil when your stage is really a platform in a gymnasium. Good acoustics are for the coddled.

Tonight my fellow actress told me a story about a play she was in where they dropped a crucial plot element in the first act and had to weave it into the second act. This was funny to hear because I, too, have had this experience (though from a directorial standpoint). It's kind of a rush in a way--or it is when it works, and in our cases it worked. Hers was even more involved, because while my play was The Importance of Being Earnest (the dropped information regarded the information that Bunbury was not, in fact, a real person), hers was a murder mystery. Bit more intricate plot.

Song running through my head this morning

Although I've only heard it sung by Harley Quinn in Batman: The Animated Adventures, "Say That We're Sweethearts Again" was one of those kooky songs written in the 1940's. I include here the Harley version, which is abridged and slightly tweaked from the original (but not much).



I never knew that our romance had ended
Until you poisoned my food
And I thought it was a lark
When you kicked me in the park
But now I think it was rude
~~~
I never knew that our romance had finished
Until that bottle hit my head
Though I tried to be aloof
When you pushed me off the roof
I feel our romance is dead
~~~
It wouldn't have been so bad if you'd told me
That someone had taken my place
But no, you didn't even scold me
You just tried to disfigure my face
~~~
You'll never know how my poor heart is breaking
It looks so helpless, but then
Life used to be so classic
Won't you please put back that acid
And say that we're sweethearts again

Pharisees from the inside

When you think about it, the Pharisees were the most theologically educated people of their day. They had gone to religion classes and had ample access to the Scripture and to commentaries. They sound...awfully familiar.

I've thought about the Pharisees a lot this year, since I am one and since I recognize them in many well-catechized and well-educated church people. As a general rule, I think Pharisees were probably nice people. They knew a lot about Scripture and the various commentaries on it. It probably would have been very easy to be friends with them (at least as long as you kept on the right side of their doctrine). I think many of them woke up every morning fully assured of their place in the divine covenant, and just as sure that those who disagreed with them in any point were NOT assured a place in said covenant. Not all Pharisees were wicked people, and probably all of them would have been considered moral people. Nicodemus was probably not the only one to become a follower of Christ. But what does Jesus say to him? "Are you the teacher of Israel and do not understand these things?" He confronts Nicodemus with his lack of understanding because that was his stumbling block. That was the obstacle he hadn't known existed. Nicodemus had been following God, yes. But he had also been following Nicodemus. God could have let him keep on blundering around on his own, but instead Jesus brought humility to Nicodemus, right where he lived. Hundreds of years later, we modern-day Pharisees can look to the same source of deliverance.

It is God, not you or I, Who is the Keeper of Knowledge. Yes, He has chosen to reveal some of His knowledge to us (praise be unto Him!), but even revealed knowledge is His, not ours. May we use it faithfully.

On Encouragement and, for something somewhat different, Meijer

I spent around 7 hours in my office's warehouse over the past two days, accompanied by, from time to time, my boss and another coworker (hereafter known as "the guys"). We were doing Inventory, which in this case is capitalized because it could easily be preceded by words such as "The Dreaded" or "The Intimidating." Before starting any organization, everyone assumes they are fairly well organized. This is, of course, a delusion that enables people to go about their ordinary lives without the need to organize hanging over their heads. Like most delusions, it shatters upon closer examination.

Wednesday I went into the warehouse to see what we needed to do. I was overwhelmed in the span of seconds. I decided not to think about it until Thursday, which was the first time I could actually do anything about it since the guys weren't able to help until then and I can't drive a hi-lo. Thursday morning we tackled pallets, unloading their contents and stacking them in some semblance of order. I made labels for the re-loaded pallets. My coworker who can drive the hi-lo put the pallets on the racks. This is the sort of thing we did for most of the morning. We kept finding more of something that should go on a pallet we thought we'd finished.

This morning, the last odds and ends came together. I opened a few boxes to count and/or to consolidate their contents. I made the last labels. We were very excited.

This afternoon, The Man paid us a visit. ("The Man" in this case is the acting president of our company.) I said something about the warehouse looking good. He said, "Every little bit helps."

My heart sank. My spirit was dampened. I was totally deflated.

"You can't go around saying good things all the time, or people won't want to work or to improve!" said The Man.

To which I responded, "I'm not a guy! I'm a woman! We are motivated by hearing good things!"

"The warehouse looks great!" said The Man.

"I know!" I said.

"I mean, fantastic!" he said.

"We could do even better!" I said. "Now, see, that's how women are motivated!"

It got me thinking about all the times I've given and received so-called "constructive criticism" that was really just a slam. Thinking about the times I've received negative feedback (with nothing positive attached) that made me want to give up, and the times I must have given such feedback. It also reminded me of Pollyanna's contention that you find what you look for—and that it's always easy to find the bad.

What are we doing, settling for what's easy?

"Encourage the exhausted, and strengthen the feeble."—Isaiah 35:3


Today I ran errands. I got all the way to the bookstore (which, thankfully, is all of two miles from me) and realized I left my purse at my apartment. Take two, made it to the bookstore. But the bookstore is not the focus here, although the woman at the register was very helpful in reserving a book for me. In this post I am discussing that jewel of stores, that paradigm of convenience shopping, that giant of the Midwest: Meijer.

I feel sorry for those of you who may be reading this who don't have Meijer access. I know of two Midwest transplantees who miss it dearly, which makes me appreciate it even more. For those of you who do have Meijer access, I'd like you to know that it seems Friday afternoon is one of the Worst Times to shop there. The aisles were crowded with both stocking carts and people. It seemed to take me ages to finish. But when I got into my car I looked at the clock and saw that it had really only been about 40 minutes. I'm so American.

In the checkout lane, as I was thinking in irritation about all the time I had spent waiting for people to move faster, suddenly the voice in my head was saying, "What a lot of good opportunities for prayer you've had here, while you've been waiting." I humbly accepted the admonition, which included thinking about the enjoyable things that happened in Meijer instead of the frustrating things. If I had never gone to Meijer at this busy time, I would never (in chronological order):

• Have seen Santa Claus in a Hawaiian shirt
• Have co-helped an elderly woman who was bedazzled by the multiplicity of Jell-O choices and couldn't find "just plain strawberry." Another woman and I both went to work finding strawberry Jell-O. I found the large packages and she found the small packages. "I think I'll take one of the large ones and two of the small ones," said the elderly woman. My cohort and I handed the packages to her, and she moved off. "We make a good team," said the other woman. We smiled at each other. "Have a good night!"
• Have been helped by a Meijer stocker as short as I am, who climbed up on the shelves to grab two bags of potato chips for me. Another smile and "good night."
• Have purchased some Mike's and then had a conversation with the cashier about how I don't look like I was born in 1979, how I must get that all the time, and how in his last ID picture he had a beard and everybody who carded him would suspect that it was a fake ID because of the beard.

I was looking at this as my most frustrating and therefore my worst Meijer trip in memory. But really, it was the most interesting and best Meijer trip in memory. That could have gone either way. Thanks for the nudge, God.

Office Quote of the Week

"Isn't it weird how we're one way, and everyone else is dumb?"
-- My boss ("we" includes everyone in our office)

Benediction

"Now the God of peace, who brought up from the dead the great Shepherd of the sheep through the blood of the eternal covenant, even Jesus our Lord, equip you in every good thing to do His will, working in us that which is pleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever and ever. Amen."

~~ Hebrews 13:20-21

These words were pronounced over me for a fairly regular basis, and they sunk into my memory. Tonight I took this to heart: for longer than I have realized, I have been blessed with everything I need to do the will of God. The benediction has been said; the promise has been made. I don't know what comes next, but I know that I will be ready for it.

For now, here I sit, living on manna while I wait for the cloud to move.

And my password is....

Well, I'm back from Sedona. Lots of family fun, some hiking, and virtually no change in skin coloration (thanks to our friend sunscreen)! On with the blog....

You know how some people say humans only use 10% of their brains for cognitive function? Mine is probably down to 7%, because at least 3% is occupied by log-in and password information. What is my log-in? What is my password? Again, and again, and again, for a plethora of websites. (And don't think I don't know what a plethora is, because, trust me, I do.) This would be easy if I ignored all internet security advice to the contrary and had One Password to Rule Them All. But paranoia runs strongly through my family on one side, so I have a hereditary predisposition to it.

I bet a hacker could find his way into my personal information faster than I could. (It's not a real bet, for any hackers reading this. No fair taking me up on a fake bet.) I recently lost my online banking information, by which I mean I forgot it. I tried the "Forgot Your Password" link, but in order to make use of it I need to remember my check card PIN. I don't think I've ever used this check card. Want to take a guess as to why?

Back in the old days, all you had to do was remember was the combination to your safe. That's when you weren't keeping all your money in your mattress, or in a flour barrel. But there where downsides to the old days, one of the most horrific of which was the absence of proper indoor plumbing.

So I'll keep trying to remember all of that password information--and wondering what I could do if all 10% of my cognitive facilities were at my disposal.

You're how old?

Last night somebody said I look about 16.

"Does my brother look older than I do?" I asked.

The reply? "Everybody looks older than you do." I find that very hard to believe. I've met some very young-looking people. Infants, for example, are never mistaken for my elders.

Which brings me to the fact that tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 27. I am very excited about this. For possibly the first time in my life, and certainly the first time since I graduated college, over the past couple months when I have been saying how old I am I've been giving an answer that won't be official until tomorrow.

I am not too old anymore. I am not too young. I am where I am and who I am at this time through the grace, power, and providence of God. I don't know what this next year holds, but I know Who holds this next year. All praise be unto Him.

"Forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead,
I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."
~~Philippians 3:13b-14

A local parable

Last Sunday I looked for my favorite spring "church coat" only to find that it was not in my closet. This was distressing, as I had been away the previous Sunday and therefore had not had the opportunity to see if my coat was at church then. After checking my closet repeatedly to be sure I wasn't just missing something, I decided to demonstrate my faith that the coat would still be hanging up at church by not wearing another coat to church that morning. I was cold that Sunday, a coldness that saddened me because it reminded me of my carelessness with my personal possessions, a coldness that reminded me of every person, place, and thing I had ever lost in all of my life. (A physics major would probably have shrugged all of this off and picked out one of the other coats in the closet.)

I sent emails to several people, including the church secretary, inquiring about the coat. The secretary sent an email to everyone on the mailing list. The one response put forth a theory I had dreaded: my coat had quite probably been donated to a thrift store. My church meets in a school, and the school's semi-annual donation to its thrift store of choice had taken place recently.

Anger mixed with sadness as I railed against the donation system as well as my own ability to keep track of my belongings. I mourned the coat, which had once belonged to my mother and as such had sentimental value beyond the sentimental value I assign to virtually everything I own.

I called the school and took down the name and address of the thrift store. I drove there after work to find that it wasn't open late enough on Tuesdays or Wednesdays to enable me to make it out there. Disappointed, I left my car running and walked right up to the windows, peering inside at a rack of coats near the window in a vain attempt to locate mine.

Tonight I tried again. "You're really desperate over this," my brother said jokingly, but if I had left any stone unturned I would always have wondered what could have been.

Also, I wouldn't have found my coat.

YES!

The coat was there! Not on the rack that was visible through the window, the rack in the "boutique" section, but with the more humble coats towards the back of the store. The women at the cash register let me have it back for free because I had "donated" it.

As I drove home, secure in the presence of my coat on the seat beside me, one sentence kept running through my head: "Rejoice with me, for I have found my coat which was lost!"

"In the same way, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents." – Luke 15:10

No, gracias....

I called a bank this afternoon. In trying to navigate one of those labyrinthine automated phone messages, I encountered the following option: "If you would like to send money to Mexico…."

What? What's Mexico done for me lately? Mexico never even remembers my birthday!

In Commemoration

Five years ago, on a day that was warmer than today has been thus far, I walked down an aisle wearing a black robe and a black hat. The walk (and the receipt of the folder which did not yet contain my diploma) was a bit anticlimactic, but the masking-taped slogan on the hat helped to make up for it: "MEN FOR SALE."

Happy five-year graduation anniversary, class of 2001!

It is good!

Do you ever consider your own work—writing, knitting, performing, etc.—and find yourself amazed? You know that it is good, and you want somebody to share it with, not out of pride, but out of the joy that is the creation of a good thing.

Tonight I was reading over some poems I wrote in the past weeks, and I came across one I had forgotten. (Yes, I forget things I've written. Some do.) I read the poem and appreciated it almost as though I hadn't written it. It was interesting to feel that this work was so much mine, and yet had such a life of its own.

It started me thinking—this "it is good" feeling must be a pale reflection of the pure joy God took in His creation, and the delight He takes in it even now, fallen though it is. It also made me think that this might be a way to think of the question of free will and predestination, because when I write something it takes on a life of its own, and yet I am still the one writing. Strange! (Thankfully, there is never a work of God that He forgets and surprises Himself with later. "Oh, right, Suzanne! I wonder what she's been up to?")

When theologians say that God delights in Himself, and not in a prideful way, this is what they mean: that God delights in His love, and mercy, and creativity, and because He delights in them He wants to share them with us. Because they are good things, and because He is good.

That sent shivers down my spine tonight, and so that was something I wanted to share with you.

Parody Hilarity

Current Favorite Parody Site: www.fiveminute.net/smallville/

This is a subsite of Five-Minute Voyager. This site has lots of different science fiction "fivers" (brief parodies), from Minority Report to Star Trek to Smallville to Final Fantasy (yes, the computer games). It's great. I want to do this for a living. Oh, but these people probably don't live on this. Hm. Too bad, since that one time a friend and I did a Smorgified version of The Importance of Being Earnest proved that writing these things is at least as fun as reading them.

Highlights from recent Smallville fivers:

Chloe: You know, honestly I don't think I'd win. You'd be mad at me if I did tell you, and you'd be mad if I didn't.
Clark: You think I get mad at you? That makes me ANGRY!

Lois: So why do I always pick the homicidal maniacs for boyfriends?
Ma Kent: Probably because you're stupid. Look, when I was your age, I had some real losers for boyfriends, but --
Lois: I know, I know. You had to date the bad ones to know the good ones and so I just need to stick with it and try to find the Right One™.
Ma Kent: Actually I was going to say, "but none of them were even close to homicidal."

Lex: I don't trust you, so let's have one of those verbal chess match thingies.
Fine: It'll end with me saying "Go on up, baldy!" and you breaking down into tears, so let's just skip that, okay?

Seriously, any parody that includes a reference to one of the less familiar stories of Elisha? Triple the coolness points.

Kiss me, I’m ignorant! (And proud of it!)

This morning two of my co-workers were complaining about the stupid president interrupting their programs with his stupid speech, and how first he did it with the finale of Friends and now he was going to do it with Gray’s Anatomy, and doesn’t he watch TV?

As Bruce Willis would say, somebody call the wahhhmbulance. Like the president or not, watch his speeches or not, going on like this is essentially saying, “I’m an American—I’m politically uninformed and entertainment saturated and if you disrupt my cushy little life you may feel my wrath, which is more likely to come against you for disrupting my TV schedule than for any of your so-called ‘policies,’ whatever they may be.”

Which all goes to say: Don't parade your ignorance for all to see.

Ads don't age well....

My brother loaned me his CD's of "The Amazing Spiderman." All the comic books from 1963 through 1989 are on these. The ads alone are worth reading, with their get-rich-quick schemes and personal improvement plans. They're sort of pathetically hilarious—in about 40 years we'll be looking at internet forwards in the same way. Wait, we already do.

Here is an example of the ads from 1963 (actually, it's an inset in a larger ad about a body-building program):

FREE! 'Secrets of Attracting Girls'!

Fellows! Mail the coupon now, and receive Mike Marvel's FREE GIFT to you, this exciting and informative book. Discover a secret method for developing a new, almost MAGNETIC way of attracting the girls. At parties, dances, at the beach—you will have the girls clustering around you breathlessly, while the guys watch enviously. "What does HE have that WE don't?" they will say. The answer is in this exciting new book, your GIFT from Mike Marvel. Fill out and mail the coupon NOW!

Awww!

"I still have the picture of you, Rebekah, Dave, Morgan, Bram, Becky, Ryan, and Beth on the wall in my office." -- Michael Page

Yay, Advanced Acting class....

Best. Stoppard. Ever.

There are no charms that soothe the savage beast like going to see Arcadia with people who want to discuss it. (The award for Most Endearing Thing Anyone Has Said to Me in Quite Some Time goes to this comment: "Keep talking about the play....")

Physically speaking, Arcadia is not a very intense play. It is set in a single room, and most of the time people are sitting at a table.

Mentally speaking, Arcadia is dense, rich, stimulating material. Where else do considerations of time, literature, math, and sex overlap and interweave so intricately? What other play ends with a reminder of connectedness and (simultaneously) of disparity?

Thomasina mourns all the lost knowledge of the past, symbolized for her on a large scale in the burning of the library of Alexandria: "How can we sleep for grief?" Valentine says any knowledge of value is lost only to be found again. Yet we who watch the play see that the knowledge that is lost is not only mathematical, or literary. Over time we lose, not mere equations or poems, but life, all of the nuance and interactions of life.

Septimus puts it best: "We shed as we pick up, like travelers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it."

To the writing of many poems and the formulating of many equations there is no end. Most of life lies in the "unimportant" details and the undocumented moments. Time is not guaranteed, so put down the pen while you can— and waltz.

"Why can't the past just die?"

Maybe it's an American thing, but we expect the past to stay in the past. If it weren't past, it would be present; and, after all, it is the present that is the gift. (*involuntary gag response*) We like things new and shiny and futuristic. If we are going to buy vintage clothing re-worked into this year’s fashion, we're not going to notice the repetition. We also want the past to become the past quickly. We aren't good at waiting.

Large parts of the rest of the world move much slower than we do as a matter of course. Large parts of the rest of the world place a high value on their connections to their ancestors, their traditions, their heritage, and their inheritance.

More importantly, Scripture emphasizes not only the inevitability and importance of waiting patiently, but also the living nature of the past. It emphasizes remembering the past, not in remembering its mistakes or wishing we could still be there, but in remembering the faithfulness of God—remember the Exodus; remember the Exile; remember the Cross.

Remembering God's faithfulness strengthens us in the weakness of our own forgetful faith. We use the phrase "remember when" casually enough now, and we feel the power it has to connect us to each other. Let's go a step further. Let's remember as God remembers, in remembering as a necessary precursor to action. More importantly, let's remember that God remembers, that He does not forget us and that His love never falters.

Remember when we first knew that He had loved us since before we had the ability to recognize it? Remember when the joy of the Lord sang in our hearts? Remember the touch of His healing hand? Remember when our frustrations with the past fell away when we turned our faces to Him? Remember His good and precious promises?

Praise God for the past, even the past we wish would just die—it points to Him.

Remember!

"This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness."
~~Lamentations 3:21-23 (KJV)

"Seek the LORD and His strength;
Seek His face continually.
Remember His wonderful deeds which He has done,
His marvels and the judgments from His mouth,
O seed of Israel His servant,
Sons of Jacob, His chosen ones!"
~~I Chronicles 16:11-13

"Remember, O LORD,
Your compassion and Your lovingkindnesses,
For they have been from of old.
Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
According to Your lovingkindness remember me,
For Your goodness' sake, O LORD."
~~Psalm 25:6-7

And today's Favorite Person Award goes to:

“Sweating like a pig, thanks, and you?”

Some people exercise and still stay “pretty.” Anybody who has worked at or worked out at a gym probably knows what I’m talking about. You know, there are some people who have the cute tight sporty clothes (some flashing more skin than others…there’s a Jessica Simpson wannabe at my health club), and they run and lift weights and everything without breaking a sweat.

Me, I walk in with my baggy T-shirt and shorts-over-stretchy-pants and within 3 minutes after I start running I am doing just as the title of this post suggests. My face gets so red that “flushed” really isn’t the word for it anymore. The wispy hair by the side of my face gets the touch of exertion-induced humidity and pops out to each side (when it’s not plastered down by the sweat). This has always been true. My brother and I were in TaeKwon-Do classes in our high school years. In the summer especially, people would be asking us if we needed to stop and get some water. We don’t look pretty when we exercise. We look like we’re going to pass out.

Last night I went to the gym and saw two of the gym workers I usually see there. One was working behind the desk. She didn’t get that job for no reason—I walk in and her face lit up and she said “Hi!” as if she’d really missed seeing me (I don’t think she’d been on duty any of the times I was in over the past two weeks). One was “off-duty” and was in the weight room, and said “Hey, how you doing?” as he walked by. Gym etiquette aside (aren’t you NOT supposed to talk to people in the middle of a set?), it was still sort of nice to have another person around say hello.

These people smile and say “Good night” and all that even though I don’t exercise pretty. They are professionals. I like them.

Heard and Overheard

After talking about running outside

Friend: “Don’t go running on the Kent Trails, though, okay? Well, okay, you can run on the Kent Trails, but don’t run with an iPod. And borrow a big dog.”
Me: “And take a gun?”
Friend: “Yeah, take a gun. Or a knife or something…mace. Take mace.”

Before splitting up from the main assembly to go off to our classes last night at church

Pastor: [asks question]
Girl from 3rd/4th grade class: [raises her hand, answers]
Pastor: [asks question]
Another girl from 3rd/4th grade class: [raises her hand, answers]
Pastor: [asks question]
ANOTHER girl from 3rd/4th grade class: [raises her hand, answers]
Pastor: “Wow, we have a lot of young ladies up here tonight.”
Me [turning proudly to the woman behind us]: “Yeah, this is my class.”

My kids rock.


After taking the butterfly clip out of my hair at the end of the class time last night, several 9-year-old girls swarmed around to look at it

Alicia: “Look how curly it is!” [it was wound in one tight rope at this point]
Other girls: “It’s so pretty!”
[A few seconds of running hands through my hair and exclaiming over it followed.]


Somehow awkward-feeling explanation to a guy about why I wasn’t going to hang out last night

“I have this headache….”


Today’s memorable conversation snippet about the weather

Coworker: “I can’t believe it—Wyoming got two feet of snow and in Louisiana it’s 96 degrees!”
Me: “They are pretty far apart.”
Coworker: “No, not really, they aren’t….”
Me: “…”

A song I heard part of when I had to go out and move my car for the landscaping guy, then had to find the lyrics for online

“run away girl”
by Sean Watkins

from his solo CD Blinders On

(he's also part of the band Nickel Creek)
~~~
please show me there's something wrong

that i don't see in you

some terrible secret flaw that no one could excuse

i've tried to hide you from my mind

and make myself forget

please don't try to stay

we'll only make what's clean a mess

~~

run away girl

run away now

run away girl

~~

the way that you smile at me

isn't helping much at all

please try not to laugh it only makes me want you more

we both know this could never be

but i can't let you go

~~

run away girl

run away now......

~~

what if you thought you saw a ghost

a hundred times a day

what if the thing you wanted most

was impossible to say

~~

run away girl

run away now.......

Run, Forrest, Run!!

My parents' computer doesn't like Yahoo. It will randomly decide that it won't let me send messages. Weird.

Today Dad and I went running (and walking). We were out for two full hours, and we went a little over 7 miles total. Mom gave me a heart monitor of hers that she wasn't using anymore, so I could look down at my wrist and there was the stopwatch/heart rate at the same time. Very cool. Dad postulates that the reason I have only been able to go about a minute at a time outside is because I "take off like a gazelle" and don't set a sustainable pace. This was borne out by the fact that at the pace Dad set, I was able to get up to about 5 minutes at a time, a length of time I had previously only achieved on the treadmill.

I wish somebody who lived close by was a runner, so we could go running outside. I want to make friends with an imposing-looking male who can go running with me, so that nobody will honk. Even better, I want to make friends with an imposing-looking male and his intellectual wife (both beginner runners), so that we could have the male deterrent factor without really having the male/female factor, and so we could also have good conversations as we ran.

I also want a pony. (Okay, just kidding on that.)

Maybe I just need to move back in with my parents. That would solve the "nobody to run with" dilemma. Hm...tempting....

Haitian Proverbs

A few weekends ago my church held its annual missions conference. The pastor who spoke about Haiti shared the following proverbs with us.

• "Behind mountains, more mountains." (Sort of like "Don't be anxious about tomorrow; each day has enough trouble of its own.")
• "An empty sack cannot stand up." (A man with an empty stomach cannot work.)
• "See it or not, your funeral is at 4:00." (From the days when all Haitian funerals were held at 4 p.m., this basically says that everyone will die.)
• "Whatever happens to the turkey could also happen to the chicken."(Just because you're smart doesn't mean you can't do something stupid.)
• "The rock in the river doesn't know the pain of the rock in the sun."
• "A little dog is really brave in front of his master's house."
• "A leaky house can fool the sun, but it can't fool the rain."
• "Women are like mahogany: the older, the better."

And my favorite:

• "If it is God who sends you, He'll pay your expenses."

Sentient, but not sensible

Scenario: You're driving along, and you see someone out walking/running. You do not know this person. What is it that makes you honk your horn? What makes you think that is a good plan?

My dad says that he doesn't think male runners have this problem; at least, has never had anybody honk at him. As a female runner, I certainly don't find the honking flattering. On the contrary, it's creepy. It almost makes me want to stick with running on a treadmill in the gym, where people don't whistle at you because they would have to deal with your reaction and the fallout from their actions.

To anybody who might be reading this who is in the habit of honking at strange women as they pass by, allow me to enlighten you: pretty much any woman you've ever honked at just thinks you're an idiot.

From the Calvin alumni magazine

"The Calvin community includes several gifted writers, be them professors, institute directors, students, staffers or graduates."

A Bad Analogy

From this year's VBS curriculum:

• "Signs of a covenant [...] are like a flannelgraph—a concrete, real picture to us of a spiritual truth."
• "The Lord's Day is another 'flannelgraph' from God" [italics in the original].

On Trust

"You can't go through life thinking that everyone you meet will one day let you down," Danny Glover's character says in Angels in the Outfield.

Yet our experiences constantly prove that people are not to be trusted. They will lie to your face and defend themselves for it vigorously afterwards—it wasn't really a lie because everyone says such-and-such in this-or-that situation. It wasn't a lie because everyone knew it wasn’t true. It was a lie, but it wasn't a big deal.

Every lie is a big deal. Every exaggeration, every omission, every error of speech, every careless word is a huge deal. ("But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned." – Matthew 12:36-37)

Seen in this light, "everyone does it" is not only an invalid excuse, it is a greater condemnation. There is no hope that anyone will ever be worthy of trust.

"Do not trust in princes,
In mortal man, in whom there is no salvation."
~~ Psalm 146:3

"As it is written, 'THERE IS NONE RIGHTEOUS, NOT EVEN ONE; THERE IS NONE WHO UNDERSTANDS, THERE IS NONE WHO SEEKS FOR GOD; ALL HAVE TURNED ASIDE, TOGETHER THEY HAVE BECOME USELESS; THERE IS NONE WHO DOES GOOD, THERE IS NOT EVEN ONE.'"
~~Romans 9:10-12

Have you ever felt the weight of that statement? Not even one is anything but useless. Not him, not her, not you, and certainly not I.

I cry out, with the disciples, "Then who can be saved?" And I receive the words they heard, the words that put them in their proper place and at the same time showed them the perspective they had been missing: "With people this is impossible, but with God all things are possible" (Matthew 19:25-26).

"How blessed is the man who has made the LORD his trust,
And has not turned to the proud, nor to those who lapse into falsehood."
~~ Psalm 40:4

We are all proud. We all lapse into falsehood. People are not to be trusted—nor are they meant to be. In the end, there is only one worthy of trust, and only when we are trusting Him as we should can we see the deceit and failures of others and of ourselves in their proper perspective.

I don't want to be such a trouble....

As usual, I have a nasty cough hanging on after the cold. Actually, I never know if it's just a cough hanging on or if it's turning into something worse.

Yesterday, I was thinking that it would have been much easier in the 19th century, when I could just label it "consumption." So that's what I'm calling it. I'm consumptive. I need people to come over and tuck the piano cover around my legs and perhaps start crying as they contemplate how much I mean to them.

I've always been more of a Jo March than a Beth. But the Brontes were all strange and moody, and they got to have consumption, right? Clearly an angelic temperment is not a prerequisite. So it could be consumption after all.

Now, where did that piano cover go?

On Real Life Subtext

I love subtext. It adds a richness to all art forms. I am adept at ferreting out subtext in novels, plays, and movies of all kinds. I can tell from a glance what a character on a TV show is thinking of another. I can write a scene or a poem that means more than what it says, so that other lovers of the art form can have the fun of detecting the hidden meanings. As far as fictional worlds go, I am a master of the art of subtext.

Then there is the real world.

Subtext in the real world is a fish of an entirely different feather. I had an epiphanic moment while watching Peter Jackson's King Kong. There is a scene in which the (human) hero of the movie gives the heroine a play he has written for her. She asks why he would write a play for her. He says, "It's in the subtext." It was a very clever and witty thing to say from a literary standpoint, but I found myself thinking, "She has no idea what you're talking about." It finally hit me, after all the years I've known that I try to read people like books, that I have virtually NO sense of subtext in the real world.

I have often been guilty of reading subtexts into others--assigning motivations and anticipating future actions based on the slightest "evidences." I have often been guilty of expecting people to read my subtext--seeing myself as nice and easy to understand.

The truth is, I have very little notion of what most people are thinking, and most people tell me that I am incredibly complex and confusing to them. Problem? Yes, but not the problem I used to think it was. The problem is not that nobody understands me. The problem is not that I don't understand anybody else. The problem lies in the unconscious paradigm I had set up that human beings are meant to understand each other and that it is devastating if they do not.

We can never know each other as intimately as we ourselves want to be known. We can never even fully grasp our own thoughts or motivations. Full understanding of anything is solely the provence of God, and feeling frustrated when our attempts to discern motivations fail is to have lost sight again of our place in the order of things. We tried to understand. We failed. God knows all things. Glory be to God.

Giving up the notion that we can expect to be understood by others is freeing in another way. We can stop dancing around subjects, hoping that somehow someone will catch up with what we mean. We can be direct, speaking the truth in love (always that crucial prepositional phrase!).

Giving up the relentless pursuit of subtext in real life is giving up part of the defensive armor we cling to. If we have been crucified with Christ, and if therefore it is no longer we who live but Christ who lives in us, we do not need to protect ourselves. In fact, protecting ourselves is often contradictory to our purpose.

God has provided all the armor we will ever need. And all the understanding, too.

Drama Queen

Sunday night a friend and I were discussing how you can't always fully take us seriously when we're whining about stuff because we're both overdramatic. I'm thinking about that conversation today as I'm dying (e.g. I have a cold). I am sighing deeply and making little pitiful moany noises and snuffling and sighing again.

Then there is a part of me that goes into Impartial Observer mode and shakes her head and rolls her eyes and sort of laughs at me just a little bit (in a friendly way), and the other part of me catches her doing this and says, rather sheepishly, "Oh. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"You think?" says Impartial Observer.

"Is it bothering you?"

"Not really--it's sort of funny. Just remember while you're hamming it up that it's sort of funny, because..."

"...I have a tendency to take myself too seriously. I know."

In summary: I'm sort of miserable today, and it's sort of amusing me.

Sometimes I feel like my entire life is a performance, for myself if not for others. (You can take the girl out of the theatre, but you can't take the Drama Queen out of the girl.) I'd like feedback on how many other people do this or know people (besides me) who do this...you know, the whole "performing and then realizing you're performing" in real life thing.

Soft Touch

I confess, Lord,
while I’ve asked you
to tear this away
to rip me open
to shred my failings
to attack my weak places
to batter my heart
three-personed God
what I haven’t asked
is for gentle grace
for compassion
for pity
for a kind embrace
for sacrificial love
because those
are the hard things
and I was just trying to make this all
easier for you.

I wait, Father,
for you to do
the impossible.

Happiness is....

• Finishing your list of things to do
• Having newly clean pajamas and sheets at the same time
• Spending time with friends, even if they are friends on a TV show (I think Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is my favorite show of my whole life)
• Downloading "The Picard Song" and having it on your computer for whenever you want to watch it: http://www.sims99.com/movie_details.php?dir=47_Sims&id=2407 (aside: Geekiness is watching this song and thinking, "Cool! I wish I could do that!")
• Looking forward to 10 hours of sleep and waking up without an alarm clock

Hm. I can check off most of those things. So on a scale from 1-10, with 10 being "euphoric" and 1 being "immediate intervention needed," I think I'm in the 7-8 range. Somewhere around "pleasantly and comfily content."

Everyone Falls In Love

I wonder—if everyone wrote out a list of people they had been romantically drawn to throughout their lifetimes, would most of the names on the list belong to fictional subjects?

First of all, you have straight-up fictional characters. Mr. Darcy, Clark Kent, Julian Bashir, etc. (Are women more likely than men to fall for a character from a novel? Are women more likely to fall for fictional characters in general?) In some cases, you have fictional characters who may have been written by people imagining their perfect match. Interesting concept.

Secondly, you have celebrities, people viewed from a great distance. These people are often very good-looking, or very talented, and as such are quite probably good people who, if they only knew, had a soulmate sitting alone at a computer screen surfing for pictures to put on their screensavers.

Finally, of course, you have the fictionalized "real" person, someone you construct elaborate fantasies around and who generally turns out to be someone very different. I wonder if people who majored in things like science or math have as much trouble with fictionalizing people as those of us who majored in English and theatre do.

Do lots of people have really long lists? If you actually wrote down all the names you could remember, would you see patterns? And would the patterns be a sign of what you need, or what you need to avoid?

I don't know about the first two, but I strongly suspect that for that last one, the answer...is no.

"You are the storm that calmed my soul"

I am taking my life into my own hands by posting during a thunderstorm. At least, as much as I can take my life into my own hands. Which is, mercifully, not at all.

Throughout history, the sound of thunder has reminded people of the voice of the Lord. Now, I know that thunder is the sound made when air is super-heated and expands rapidly, blah, blah, blah, long involved explanation that doesn't inspire me at all (although I'm sure meteorologists can see the glory of God in ways I can't, because I know my brother gets excited about the glory of God when he is studying molecular pathways). But all of that scientific explanation--it's not what thunder is, but only what it is made of, to paraphrase C.S. Lewis. And heavy rain and loud thunder remind me of the power of God. Even when the thunder is loud and scares me. Maybe more then, because it reminds me that this isn't a cuddly God, but one with deadly serious power. And this is the God who calls me His child. So sometimes thunderstorms can be scary, but somehow they are a comforting scary.

God is so good. This weekend I had a really great conversation with a friend, and I had opportunities to speak up in the youth group meeting, and at both times I was able to speak from the wisdom God has given me through some of the trials He has sent into my life. In the first case, as the conversation ended my friend said, "It's good to know I'm not the only one who feels like this." And I hung up and this bit from Esther was running through my head: "Perhaps it was for this very hour...." God knows why everything happens to me, and it's discipline. Unlike running, which is a discipline I've imposed on myself with a clear goal (to be able to go running with my dad someday and not make him stop every 30 seconds), God's purposes in times of rigorous discipline are not always clear to me. Maybe not often clear. But there are purposes, and He will send ways for me to use the "spiritual muscles" that this training is developing.

But as Susan Felch reminded us today in Sunday School, the Christian life isn't about making progress down a road ("today I am more spiritual than I was yesterday!"). It is about waking up every morning and starting from the same place (nowhere, in and of ourselves), and putting on the same clothes (the armor belonging to God and given to us), and proceeding in complete dependence on God every day. We don't gain self-sufficiency through growth in our faith, we gain God. A far greater gain!

I don't know if this post is coherent. It's late, and I'm tired, and I'm happy because I got more than my daily quota of hugs, which hardly ever happens because I live alone and one of the mega-downsides of living alone is that you pretty much have no physical contact. (This is rough on a touchy-feely theatre type who grew up in a family where on most days going more than an hour without a hug would have been a long time.) And the things that were bothering me so much this afternoon don't really seem important now, which reminds me that the same thing is true on a broader scale, for bigger problems than the laundry machine not working. And I need reminders, because I'm a forgetful person.

I'm still talking.

But God is good! It is always hard to stop talking about it when you really get going!

"Be brilliant. You're brilliant."

Receiving reviews on my fanfiction is one of my favorite things, especially when they are well-written reviews and not just "I loved this! Keep going!" (Although I like those, too.) There is something so satisfying about receiving feedback on something you've written and put out there for everyone to read. Even if what you've put out there for everyone to read is about characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Monk or something. (For the record, in case anyone is confused about this point, Sharona is awesome.) I can't come up with good characters of my own, but I write other people's characters very well. It's a blessing and a curse.

But the reason I'm writing this post is that I have recently received two reviews complimenting me on my "grammer skills." Which makes me pleased and makes me cringe at the same time.

On what "discernment" really means

At college, we heard a lot about "discernment." Generally, many of my peers used it to justify seeing raunchy movies or listening to profanity-filled music. "Ah, but we're discerning!" they would say. "So we know that behavior/language is wrong." Which always seemed to be bad logic.

Recently, I've been thinking about living in the present, and what that means. How not to hold past sins for which you have repented against yourself, how not to imagine future events and plan your life to meet or avoid them. That sort of thing.

Part of my attempt to live in the present has been trying not to assign motives for anyone ("Oh, so-and-so did this because..."), but just to deal with their direct actions and words. And then at the same time, not to accept anyone else's justification or condemnation of the words and actions of others, because that could be just them reading motives, too. Knowing when to write someone off as well-intentioned but wrong. Knowing that just because someone questions your judgment/motive/actions doesn't mean you're wrong. Being willing to accept correction, but distinguishing that from unfounded/misguided criticism. This is where true discernment comes into play.

In one of my favorite books, Winnie-the-Pooh (or, more properly, The House at Pooh Corner), there is a chapter in which Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet and Rabbit are lost in the forest, and they've been going around and around in circles, and finally Pooh brings this up and Rabbit goes off on his own to prove he could find his way right back to where they are, and of course he gets lost. But then a little later Pooh says to Piglet, "Let's go home," and when Piglet asks how he can know the way, Pooh says his stomach can hear his honeypots calling to it. The line I'm especially thinking of as applicable is: "I couldn't hear them properly before, because Rabbit would talk, but if nobody says anything except those twelve pots, I think, Piglet, I shall know where they're calling from."

If God speaks in a still, small voice, hearing it will not always be easy. We hear the words of others, or the words from our minds, and we are so quick to assume that God is in them. But sometimes discernment lies in stopping our ears to all of the outer and inner voices, for regarding them as the fallible human sounds they are, and for sitting in silence to wait. To wait and to listen, until the day He appears.

Maranatha.

"My soul waits in silence for God only;
From Him is my salvation."
~~~
Psalm 62:1

God of Pets

A friend on the CTC "blog-ring" whose name is Beth just had a post about how excited her puppy is when Beth gets home: "She almost breaks through the front door when she sees me. It is just about the most amazing feeling in the world. It makes me wonder if God goes through the same thing when we enter his house."

Of course, we would be the dogs in that metaphor. So as the (local) reigning Queen of Analogies, let's think about pets in general. Can we learn about God from our pets? Well, I have gained a few insights about Him by thinking about pets, so here they are.

• To start off with Beth's example, we see how excited our pets are when we return, as if they can't stand to be away from us for five minutes. Wouldn't it be great to be that purely excited about the mere presence of God? Wouldn't it be great to want to follow Him around all day, expecting that He will give good things because we trust that He is the kind of person who enjoys giving us good things?
• God is so marvelously extravagant! He didn't have to create a world that would come to include birds in so many colors or dogs in so many sizes. He didn't have to give "personalities" to animals. He didn't need to make anything cute. He could have made everything monochrome and bland if He wanted to. But He didn't want to. He enjoys His own creativity, and seeing the results of it. So we, too, can enjoy our God-given creativity, and can thank Him for giving us that awesome way to image Him.
• Sometimes my bird's nails get so long he has trouble walking, and he starts getting caught in the carpet. So I have to trim his nails sometimes, which involves holding him in one hand and trimming the nails with the other hand. Every single time I do it, he squirms around as if I'm going to kill him, or as if I may cut his foot off, even though there is strong evidence that he still has his life and both feet. The squirming always makes the process longer, and quite possibly more painful. Last time we went through this I started thinking about how when things are going "wrong" in my life (i.e. when some situation is causing me pain), I squirm all around and assume that something terrible is happening, when really maybe I need to take a deep breath, look down, and remind myself that (literally and metaphorically) I still have both my feet, and that that says something about the one who is holding me.

Switching Temples

I have long been amazed by the absolute un-necessity of the individual human being. I have seen it in death, a wrenching separation that everyone else, strangely and sometimes unwillingly, manages to live through. I have seen it in divorce, more painful than death in some ways because the person you knew died and their face and form still populate the world. I have seen it in departure, in which friends and family go their own ways and have their own lives. I see it even on a small scale, when I am away from my church for a few weeks. Two weeks in a row away from my church is enough time for some momentous changes to happen. Two weeks’ absence is enough time to show that you aren’t really needed at all.

Which is all as it should be, shouldn’t it, at church above all other places? Isn’t God the only one who is ever truly necessary? Yet the deity of self insists on worship. It demands to be needed, to be missed, to be wanted—regardless of the passage of time, regardless of deserving—needed, missed, and wanted for the sake of self. For the deity of self, it is easier to draw back from everyone and live completely alone than to confront the fact that you are not the center of anyone’s universe. To claim your right to be the master of your fate and captain of your soul, even if your fate is inner death and your ship is sailing over the edge of the world.

One of my favorite comments on how we should perceive ourselves in relation to others comes at the end of Dorothy L. Sayer’s book Gaudy Night. When Lord Peter Wimsey proposes to Harriet Vane, she asks, “If I refuse, will it make you desperately unhappy?” He replies, “I would never insult myself or you with the word ‘desperate.’ But if you accept, it would make me very happy.”

There is no loss that truly takes the life out of us, not the whole life. There is no person without whom we could not go on living, without whom we would be desperate, despairing of all hope. But there are people whose existence makes us very happy. There are people who have been placed into our lives as blessings from God. There are people who come into our lives as trials from God, and when you get down to it, even the trials are blessings. None of these people are there for forever, and to try to hold onto them as if they were is an insult to them, to ourselves, and to God, who has appointed seasons for all things and for all people.

May God be the only one we can’t live without, and may we wake every morning to find the deity of self lying prostrate and broken before His glory.

Bambaran Wisdom

My friend Pete ("Professor Henry Higgins" from Intro to Directing, for any who might remember) is working with the Peace Corps in Mali right now, and he sent out a list of some of his favorite proverbs and benedictions in the local language. Here they are.


Ala k’an kélén kélén wuli
Good night; literally, “May we wake up one by one”. (If everybody wakes up at the same time, something bad has happened.)

Ala k’a dogow caya a korow ye
“May he have more younger siblings than older ones”; a benediction used when a child is born.

Ala k’aw kan bén
“May your voices meet [be harmonious]”; a benediction for marriages.

Ala k’aw kisi sabaranitigiw ma
“May you be saved from the gossipers”; another benediction for marriages.

Yirikurun mén o mén ji la, a té ké bama ye
“However long a log stays in the water, it won’t ever become a crocodile.” Things and people are what they are despite their surroundings.

Gabugu ka koro ni misiri ye
“The kitchen is older than the mosque”; family is the basis of society.

Bolokoni kélén té se ka bélé ta
“One finger can’t pick up a rock”; importance of teamwork.


Sen kélén té sira bo
“One foot can’t make a trail”; friendship must be reciprocal.

Ni do ka ba ma sa, do ka na té diya
“If someone’s goat doesn’t die, someone’s sauce won’t be good”; sacrifices are necessary for happiness.

N’i y’a fo, ‘a ye n démé ka n ka waraba faga’ o ka soro a tulo b’i bolo; nga, n’a ku b’i bolo mogosi t’i démé
“If you say, ‘Come help me kill this lion’, you had better have its ears; if you only have its tail, no one will help you.” Have control of a situation before you ask others for help.

Dondokoro kungolo té dogo naji la
“A rooster’s head can’t be hidden in the sauce”; someone’s character always comes out.

Kélé bé ban ; kumajugu té ban
“Even wars come to an end, but insults never do.”

Mogo bé na mogo de bolo ; mogo bé taa mogo de bolo
“People arrive in human hands and depart in human hands”; between the midwife and the gravedigger, people need other people.

Concert Update

The Rachel Zylstra and Some Other People concert was so fun. I saw Katie Boelema and Megan formerly-Kok and Morgan Foster and, of course, the lovely Rachel Zylstra. I spent time in the Gezon, which was a much better space for the concert than the FAC (where I erroneously believed it was being held). That space is close to my heart--it is rejuvenating to be there.

Something about watching artists at work makes me want to rush out and be artistic.... But something about having a meeting in less than 8 hours and then having to drive for 2 hours and then ride for 3 hours and then be a guestbook attendant at my cousin's wedding and then ride for 3 hours and then drive for 2 hours the next day makes me want to rush to bed.

I'll plan on creative dreams.

Beautiful music, comin' up!

Guess where I'm going tonight? The FAC. Guess who I'm going to see there? Rachel Zylstra. That's right. And I'm bringing my CD so that she can sign it for me. Ohhhh, yeah. When she's famous, I'll have this signed CD, and I will never sell it because it will be a cherished memento.

I have another signed CD in my collection. It bears the names of Karl Boettcher, Morgan Foster, Ryan Hoke, and Tim Haig. I wonder if they signed a lot of other CDs.... Perhaps the infamous ("more than famous") Karl could shed some light on that question.

Speaking of autographs, an 8-year-old girl came up to me in church a few weeks ago and asked for mine. She told me she was collecting autographs because she was bored. It was sort of a strange feeling to sign an autograph, even if it WAS just for an 8-year-old playing at celebrity hound because she had nothing better to do.

Leave the poor man alone!

Last night I was on the treadmill for about half an hour, and the "Cheney shoots hunter" story was on CNN for most of that time.

For crying out loud, leave Cheney alone! Yeah, it was a horrible thing that happened, but it was an accident. It's not because he's inherently stupid, or because he was trying to kill someone. And if you accidentally shot one of your friends, would you appreciate gloating media attention? Um, no.

Lay off, already!

Hearing my own words

Usually when I write something, I can't remember exactly how it went. It’s on the page, so it's out of my head. I can remember lines here and there, but only as I remember someone else’s work. Sometimes I find that later I am quoting my own lines to myself, and that they mean something new to me now. It's almost as though in some way I wrote them to my future self.

To take some of the profundity out of that, the most recent work I’ve found myself quoting repeatedly is a short fanfiction monologue starring Spike of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame. The entire piece can be found at this link (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1810430/1/), but here is the bit that has been running over and over in my head: "Everybody leaves. One way or another, they all leave, even if all they're trying to do is stay. Life doesn't ask you for your opinion. [...] You can leave without taking a step, luv. It takes all our running just to stay in one place."

Oh, Spike...you’re so right....

Youth Group Skit Directing Notes

My directing style with people who don't take it seriously is rather...drill instructor.

Me: Janessa and Colin, I want you to...Colin...Colin...HUNTER! I'm TALKING to you!!!

Me: That's why it's called acting. You don't have to like it, you just have to say it, so SAY IT.

Me: You two! We need you here an hour ago, but we'll take now--get onstage!

The kids don't like me when I do that. But then if they play nice, I try to reward them...like pets.

Me: Great line reading, I think that's the best line. You're both right on target with that set of lines.

Me: That was much better, much...I knew you could do it.

Me: Good job; thanks, guys!

Because, really, all I want from them is for them to respect everybody's time and to put their best effort in for the group. I'm not looking for the next Dustin Hoffman, I just want them to do their best, because I know they can all do better than they think they can do.

And then when they do it, and the mutual respect clicks....

Colin: I'm sorry for being nasty and having a bad attitude.
Me: Thanks, Colin. I am not worried that you won't be able to do this. You're gonna do great.

It's a beautiful thing.

I don't do all-nighters.

The latest I've ever stayed up was the time I grossly underestimated how long it would take to put together a collage for my stage make-up class at Calvin. I was up until 5:00 working on it, but I was driven by "I can't believe I didn't do this yet and it needs to be done for class TOMORROW" adhrenaline. Group sports don't motivate me in the same way. I enjoyed my time at the youth retreat I went to on Friday night, but not enough to want to keep playing around for the whole night. Sleep is one of my favorite things.

Why then, you ask, did I sign up to be a leader at an all-night youth retreat? Well, I didn't know when I was signing up that it was an ALL-nighter. I thought it was OVERnighter. (Lesson: Read the brochure carefully.) I was going to try to stay up, but at about 2:30 I realized that I had lost the will to keep trying, so I slept on the couch in the lounge. This led to entertainment for lots of the kids and younger leaders, as when I woke up at 6:00 I got a lot of "Hiiiiii, Suzanne! Did you have a nice nap?" sort of greetings. One of these people said, "Did you sleep well? I was poking you." I asked if he was serious, and he said, "Yeah, I had a cue stick and I was poking at your finger and everything, but you didn't get up, so I stopped." Wow. Didn't know I was that far out of it. It felt like I was mostly awake the whole time.

A sad thing about the retreat last night was that it was held at the YMCA downtown and there were large sections of the place that were cordoned off. It makes sense, but I was hoping to get in some good treadmill and weight-lifting time. Oh, well. I ran around the track a few times (stopping for breath before making it all the way around) and discovered that running on a track is a step up from running on a treadmill. You create wind resistance on a track. Fascinating. Anyway, I probably did all right considering I've only been working on my running for a few weeks. And there were people cheering me on, which was not exactly helping because it made me want to laugh, but it was nice anyway. I didn't get to do the climbing walls, either. Now I want to go climbing. Sometime next month, maybe, as all my February weekends are booked already.

When I woke up on Saturday afternoon all I wanted was to go back to my new mattress--it's so much more comfortable than my old mattress was. (I can't believe I've been missing out on this quality sleep for so long.) Well, in a classic "be careful what you wish for" turn of events, I contracted an intestinal virus on Sunday morning and I was in bed from about noon yesterday until about 9 a.m. today, and I will probably be spending some of today in bed again, too. Well, at least it's a great mattress for almost-dying on....

Too much cruelty....

My co-worker forwarded me this link about bird abuse: http://queeniedesigns.com/CindyTest2.htm. Now, on the animal level, bird abuse is for me what dog abuse is to most other people. It makes me sick. I almost cried. And now I want to hug my parents' macaw Frodo, although to Frods that would BE bird abuse, so I guess I take that back.

It isn't on the morally reprehensible level of child abuse, but I think that people who abuse animals are not much better than child abusers. Because, really, abusing animals or children is feeding off a power rush over people and creatures who are not able to defend themselves. Why do people who don't want to care for their animals even have them? Why do people who aren't going to protect their children even have them, when there are so many people who would love to have children and can't? Why must we insist on control even though our desire to lord it over other creatures and people harms them and us?

No wonder all of creation groans together.

Joseph's Trouble

I've been thinking a lot lately about my short view of suffering. I get so frustrated about any sort of suffering that lasts longer than a few weeks. I try to figure out why it is happening, and what I need to change to make it stop, and on and on and on. But while Jesus promises trials to believers, He never says that they will ever be resolved in this life. As an example, we have Paul, who prays for the "thorn in the flesh" to be removed and comes to accept that his continuing suffering is somehow part of God's plan, even though it seems to be hindering his effectiveness in ministry. God certainly doesn't give us a schedule of His plan. How arrogant to expect one!

I have been especially pondering this issue in light of the believers of the Old Testament. I just finished reading about the life of Joseph. Here is a man of God in prison for a crime he did not commit. He has been serving his best even in prison, and suddenly there is a ray of hope--a man whose dream he has explained will be released, and has promised to plead his case before the Pharoah himself! And then...nothing happens. For two years.

For two years, Joseph sits in prison. Was he examining and re-examining his life for secret sins to explain why he is there in the first place? Was he hoping for release, and giving up, and hoping, and giving up, over and over? We know that it all turns out for the good, and eventually Joseph will know that, too. Meanwhile, he sits in prison, waiting for a deliverance he is uncertain will ever come.

"Better Than I"
(Joseph's song in prison,
from Joseph: King of Dreams)

~~~~~
I thought I did what's right

I thought I had the answers

I thought I chose the surest road

But that road brought me here

So I put up a fight

And told You how to help me

Now just when I had given up

The truth is coming clear
~~~

For You know better than I

You know the way

I let go the need to know why

For You know better than I
~~~

If this has been a test

I cannot see the reason

But maybe knowing "I don't know"

Is part of getting through

I try to do what's best

And faith has made it easy

To see the best thing I can do

Is put my faith in You
~~~

For You know better than I
You know the way
I let go the need to know why
For You know better than I
~~~

I saw one cloud and thought it was the sky

I saw a bird and thought that I could follow

But it was You who taught that bird to fly

If I let you reach me, will You teach me

~~~
For You know better than I

You know the way

I let go the need to know why

I'll take what answer You supply

'Cause You know better than I

"Just improv it!"

My church is dominated by the athletically inclined. These people do not understand artistic people. They also don't understand that pulling off a quality play/skit/other dramatic endeavor involves more than it takes to throw together a volleyball game. ("That was always your problem, Jason, you were never serious about the craft!"--Alexander, Galaxy Quest) I guess in a way it is flattering that people who don't understand what you do think you can do anything and everything. But I mainly find it frustrating.

The following illustrates both the attitudes of the athletic types and (if we're being honest) my relative incompetence when it comes to dealing with them.

October: I suggest an ethnography as entertainment for the Valentine's Day banquet, which is the big youth group fundraiser. I try to explain what an ethnography is. "That sounds interesting!" say the senior leaders. They promptly forget what "ethnography" means.

November: I try to explain that I want the interviews recorded. They don't see any need for this. They say they will take good notes, since I can't be there for the interviews. Despite repeated inquiries on my part and promises on their part, I never see any of these notes.

December: I ask about the next round of interviews and am told they "don't have anything scheduled," but that they figure they can do them in January.

January: I say that we really don't have time to put together proper skits (by this time the show has morphed from an ethnography focusing on the parallels between marriage and one's relationship with Christ to a series of skits focusing on funny couple stories). The senior leaders say we can share the load, and each work on two or three groups. One of the senior leaders says, "Besides, I don't think we really even need to write anything. We can just improv it!" This leads me to wonder if he has been paying any attention to the general skill sets and memory spans of these particular teenagers. The phrase "just improv," to me, also suggests that he has no idea what good improv actually is.

February: I get out of town for that weekend, because I do not want to see everyone pull off a halfway decent job to rave reviews from the audience when I was hoping for ample preparation time, enthusiastic participation, and a quality performance. (Seemingly I have yet to internalize the athletic dominance point.)


With fond memories of Calvin theatrical collaborations,
Me

What do they teach them in these schools?

This week I received a fundraising letter from a girl at my church who wants to go on a missions trip. One of her prayer requests was for "confidence for me as I teach these children Englesh."

Bless her, her heart is in the right place...but I hope she lets other people do the teaching....

Academic Inquiry

Tonight somebody from my church was talking about the annual Valentine's Day banquet, and saying that she was against the ballroom dancing idea partly because it would make the single people feel awkward. "The whole event," I said, "will do that." To which her husband promptly responded, not "Interesting--maybe we should rethink the concept of the church promoting a holiday that fosters unrealistic and misdirected expectations and makes single Christians feel like lesser members of the body of Christ," but "Don't worry; there's someone out there for you."

Why is it that when you say anything resembling "I don't like Valentine's Day" people invariably come out with a comment like, "Don't worry; there's someone out there for you"?

And why is it that if you posed this question, large numbers of people would jump down your throat over it and accuse you of being a bitter and/or cynical person?

Me neither.

Have you ever been driving down the road, seen a sign outside of a grocery store advertising sale prices for "Pork Butt," and thought, "Oooo! I gotta get me some of that!"

Just because he looks like a mild-mannered reporter....

So here we are at the gas station, on the way back to my office after lunch. I am making Jeremiah talk to me while I am standing at the pump, because pumping gas is the Most Boring Thing Ever.

From my point of view:

Voice: *mumblemumblemumble*
Jeremiah: No, I can't do that.
Voice: *mumblemumble*
Jeremiah: Well, I'm gonna be gone in...[looks at the pump to see how much gas is already in the tank]...one minute, so no.
Voice: *mumble*
Jeremiah: I already told you no. [shrugs] Sorry.

This whole time, I am wondering who Jeremiah is talking to (but I stayed hidden behind the pump 'cause I'm a wus), and if they have weapons, and if they are about to break the weapons out, and if Jeremiah will have to use his martial arts training. (He holds the rank of second-degree black belt in TaeKwon-Do.) After the conversation is over, I see two teenagers walking away.

Jeremiah: Well, that's never happened before....

From Jeremiah's point of view:

Jeremiah: I saw two guys walking right towards me, and I switched on. I didn't know what I was going to have to do....

Teenager #1: Hey, can you run inside and pick me up a single malt?
Jeremiah: No, I can't do that.
Teenager #1: Wouldn't take you two minutes.
Jeremiah: Well, I'm gonna be gone in...[looks at the pump to see how much gas is already in the tank]...one minute, so no.
Teenager #1: Come on.
Jeremiah: I already told you no. [shrugs] Sorry.

This whole time, while Teenager #2 is looking shifty, as if he didn't expect the plan to work at all, Teenager #1 is trying to intimidate Jeremiah by not breaking eye contact. (Amanda, after hearing the story: Of all the people to try that with....) Jeremiah, of course, is staring right back at him. (Jeremiah, in his head: Two can play this.)

Back in the car, Jeremiah expresses his disappointment at not getting the opportunity to beat someone up....

Jeremiah: That was a rush. That was the closest I've ever come to having to use what I've learned. [pulls down the visor and opens the mirror] Do I look 21?

(Melissa, having heard the story: Um, no offense, but, no.
Amanda: He was the wrong person to ask on so many levels!)

All in all, it was the most exciting fuel purchase I ever made.

The year draws to its close

For the past few Christmas seasons, I've thought I should send out one of those Christmas letters, or at least cards. Yeah. Still working on that. It turns out I have writer's block when it comes to updates. Also, it has been a crucible year, and I'm still too close to everything to put it all in perspective.

Almost. Because this is the perspective I do have: God has proven Himself again to be, as the hymn says, the joy that seekest me through pain. I can rail against His methods, but He knows what is best for me and what will bring the most glory to Himself, and I would not choose the easier, emptier way.

Abraham and Sarah spent years childless after being promised a son. The Israelites spent years in captivity after being promised a nation. David spent years running from Saul after being promised a kingdom. The world spent centuries waiting after being promised a redeemer. The son was born; the nation was founded; the kingdom was established; the Redeemer lives.

"How goes the world?"
"The world goes not well."
"But the Kingdom comes."

Hallelujah. May it be to me as You have said.

Work Wisdom

(Perhaps this post should be subtitled: You can come up with good analogies anywhere. But then I have analogies for just about every situation for which I have a theory, which is for just about every situation for which I have a quote, which is just about every situation.)

• In the filing system of life, it’s always easier if you just spell it out.

Musing on infants

Jessie just posted about meeting a friend's baby. She posted a series of pictures.

It's amazing to think that once we were that small. At this time of year, of course, my thoughts turn more readily to the birth of Christ. If it's strange to think of ME once being that small (and I'm not all that large now), it's even stranger to think of Jesus being small. He who had seen the creation of the entire world opened His infant eyes for the first time to see a stable. He who could not even lift His own head had come to lift up our heads. He who couldn't do even one thing for Himself came to do everything for us.

Someday we'll be able to live in the glory of that knowledge always, instead of pushing it aside because it's too wonderful for us to comprehend every second of the here and now.

Grazing Day

Today is one of our semi-annual "grazing days" here at work. Everybody brings food and we all gorge ourselves all day long. We leave feeling bad about ourselves but good about the tasty food. Mmmm...hypocrisy....

What I've eaten so far today:

• A bowl of Cheerios (I always forget just how much food there is going to be here)
• A piece of coffee cake
• A handful of Chex Mix
• A few handfuls of bell pepper slices, some with dip
• A few cucumber slices, some with dip
• A few Ranch-flavored Wheat Thins
• A few Multi-Grain Wheat Thins with a garlic cheese spread
• 10-15 cocktail sausages
• A small piece of brownie
• A small piece of a chocolate chip/butterscotch/graham cracker dessert

And, yes, all this before 1:00 in the afternoon. I'm sure the eating will continue.

What I am bringing to the Christmas party I'm attending tonight:

• A sour cream coffee cake
• A...sugar thingy with a name I can't remember
• Chocolate-covered figs
• A loaf of cranberry pecan bread

What all of this means:

• Holy indigestion, Batman!

The next thing: Why fear the future when the future belongs only to God? | by Andree Seu (Dec. 3, 2005)

I bagged rice on a co-op line elbow-to-elbow with a peaceful woman who was the mother of five children and several foster children, and was involved in the pro-life movement. I asked how she did it, and to her credit she didn't brush off the question with feigned modesty, but said, "I do the next thing that needs to be done."

I have pondered that statement for years, the distillation of a lady's life of wisdom. Laurie is a Christian, so I know what lay unspoken in her answer: God is sovereign, and God is good. Indeed, it cannot be otherwise if one would simply "do the next thing that needs to be done."

First, if God were not in perfect control, Laurie would have to control all things, even every atom in the universe, to assure a desirable outcome. But she knows she cannot in fact control all things, not even the next two minutes, and so she concedes control to Him.

Second, she believes that the God who controls all things controls them for her good (Romans 8:28). On these twin pillars does her soul find rest.Laurie's Bible also contains commands, rules to live by. And so, what Laurie has done, evidently, is to divide life into two categories: the things she can and must do something about, and the things she cannot and must not, for they belong to God (Deuteronomy 29:29).

Mary the mother of Jesus was hep to that division of labor. She "did the next thing" during an awkward wedding moment. Being lousy at making water into wine, she turned to her Son and said, "They have no wine," then went on her merry way to do whatever it was she was able to do herself—folding tablecloths or stalling thirsty guests. Jesus, not one to turn down people who come to Him for help while acknowledging their own helplessness, performed the harder part.

Am I too busy these days? Discouraged over duties left undone? I will preach to myself that there is only one priority—the glory of God—and under that the several duties. When these come flying fast and thick, I will do triage and decide what should come "next." It's God's problem, not mine, to orchestrate the universe and make it all pan out.

Am I fearful? Fear is a focus on phantoms of the theoretical future. But the future is God's, not mine; mine is only the present moment. I am fearful because I'm thinking I have to live the rest of my life. But I don't. I only have to live the next five minutes. To me belongs obedience; to Him belongs outcomes.

We have so far discussed in general terms. But life does not throw up "general terms"; it throws up brutal concreteness: No one's been fed dinner; Aimee is having a sixth-grade crisis; the roof leaks; unread newspapers pile up like an indictment. I will review what I know of God, and do "the next thing." His job is making it all work.

Am I depressed? The concept of doing "the next thing" is just the ticket. Granted, I am far too weak to go on with life—but I can do a load of laundry. And after that I can make the kids breakfast. And after that I can pick up the phone and call a deacon for help on balancing that checkbook. One foot in front of the other: Do "the next thing."

Have I totally messed up my life? Fine, make a list. Here are the things I cannot do: I cannot turn back the clock, I cannot cork up sinful words once spoken, I cannot take back squandered opportunities in career or love. But here are things I can do: I can start from today—with today's time, today's skills, today's health, today's grace. I can do this trusting, even at this stage of the game, that God is still sovereign and still good. And faith, come to think of it, is the whole enchilada.

The lady at the co-op was a well-placed prophet. And said it more succinctly than this writer could.

Copyright © 2005 WORLD Magazine December 17, 2005, Vol. 20, No. 49
http://www.worldmag.com/subscriber/

Long set-up to the quote of the day

At work we were talking about fundraisers involving bread, and how you could just buy a loaf and rip chunks off it and eat it like that, and the following conversation ensued.

Me: It’s like you’re reverting back to Anglo-Saxons or something.

Les: A loaf of bread in one hand, a drumstick in the other, I’m all set.

Tobin: Dragging your wife around by the hair....

Me: I think you’re going a little too far back.

Tobin: Hey, you have the perfect length of hair for that!

Me: *“watch it” glare*

And here it is, the Quote of the Day:

Tobin: You need to get yourself an Anglo-Saxon!

Icicle-Bane

Monday night I returned to my apartment to find that it had sprung a leak. This has happened before. In the winter, icicles build up, ice gets on my wall unit air conditioner, and (so the theory goes) this is why water seeps in through the unit into my apartment.

Being the resourceful superhero that I am, I jumped into action. Pink chair to move! Done! Towels! Done! Large bowl to catch water! Done! Shovel! Done!

"Shovel?" you may ask.

"Oh, yes," I may respond.

I covered Apollo to save him from drafts, I put my coat and my boots on to save me from pneumonia (after moving my mat so that I could step right onto that with my wet boots), and I went out onto the balcony, armed with a shovel and only ALMOST shutting the door because of the ancestral legends of the danger of being trapped out on a balcony, especially in winter. I proceeded to knock icicles off the gutter and off the air conditioner. I also shoveled my balcony. I could hear my back muscles the next day. They were asking, "Why were we used for shoveling when we live on the third floor of an apartment building?"

Last night I repeated the icicle-clearing portion of the performance. I forgot to cover Apollo, and it turns out that he was less bothered by the cold than by the sight of me out on the balcony swinging around a shovel and making things fall from the roof, all the while wearing my scary winter coat, which he knows has it in for me.

I think I got hit in the forehead by a piece of icicle. There is just a little spot where it is tender. I am rather afraid of icicles. Often the icicles over the entrances will grow to be--well, they must be at least 8 feet long and a full foot around. I always find myself wondering what would happen if they suddenly fell while I was walking into the building (I don't usually wonder about this while walking out, because I can't see them as easily then). If I ever get hit by a large icicle and die, I hope somebody sues my apartment complex for not maintaining their gutters properly and therefore being guilty of negligent homicide.

Current favorite TV show: Smallville

Current favorite relationship: Clark Kent & Lois Lane

Current favorite quote related to the above:

Lois: I'm glad you made the team, Clark, but why be a conformist? At least with the whole farm boy plaid thing, as lame as it is, it completely belongs to you.

*pause*

Clark: In the future, let's restrict our conversations to "hello" and "goodbye."

How do these things happen?

Somehow I became part of the committee referred to below....

Thank you all for your willingness to participate on the web committee. I’m looking forward to working with everyone on developing unity with our web sites and improving our intranet site.

As a team some of our goals will be:

Sharing web information with end users in your departments and others on the committee.
Forming ideas for insidegt.com (intranet site).
Aiding in the design of your department web site.
Creating unity with G&T web sites.

Each web site will be approved by all committee members. I will be meeting with each one of you to get your ideas for your department and Insidegt.com before you meet with the developer.

A Brief Manifesto

Because I have an opinion for every situation for which I have a quote.

"Turkey Day."

[Pinteresque pause]

I can understand this from people who deny that we have anyone to give thanks to, because we got here by ourselves and we are the captains of our souls and all that.

But from Christians? Are you also too cheap or short-sighted to give thanks? Do you think you're being cute? It isn't cute. Words have meaning, and symbolism matters, and "Happy Turkey Day" reduces the one holiday I have any respect for to the same materialistic level as all the others.

I'm sure nobody I know who uses the phrase has thought about it yet. Or maybe they have and decided that it doesn't matter. Maybe this is what you deal with when you're one of those people who, as my pastor said Sunday night, "wear their feelings right under their skin." Not that I would know what that's like.

I'm da man!

I just replaced my windshield wiper blades. Alone. With no assistance. Unaided. Turns out it's quite a rush doing something you didn't know you could do.

Dad: "You replaced your headlight, you replaced your wiper blades...what's next, rebuilding your whole engine?"

Could be, Dad. Could be.

Jibblyjibblyjibbly!!!!

This morning, moments after getting in, Amanda yelled, "Suzanne, don't move, it's going to kill you!!!"

"WHAT?!" I said calmly, jerking my feet off the floor and looking around down there.

She pointed at the wall above me. I turned around. We saw the creature from the monstrous unknown!

http://www.whatsthatbug.com/cent.html

Second picture down. Oh, yes. Except larger. And the legs always moving, moving, moving. And (apparently), antennae and beady eyes.

I say "apparently" because Amanda and I saw this thing and screamed, "Boy! We need a boy! TOBIN!!!"

Tobin is the boss. And a quality boss, as this incident shows. He came out and got on a desk. After a closer examination of the beast, he killed it and threw the carcass in the dumpster outside in case it came back from the undead to terrorize us again.

Through all of this, Amanda and I were taking turns hiding behind each other and squealing and shaking our hands/arms because we each had a severe case of the jibblies.

The hideousness of that creature will haunt my dreams....

Christmas gift ideas for the linguist who has everything

http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/086516472X/ref=sib_dp_pt/104-4397925-5586330#reader-page

http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0865164207/ref=sib_dp_pt/104-9031017-5439150#reader-link

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0865165556/104-9031017-5439150?v=glance&n=283155&%5Fencoding=UTF8&v=glance

"Not daydreams--dreams."

Last night I dreamed I had papers due, but I didn't finish them. Then I dreamed I was driving somewhere and got lost, and that I had left my cell phone somewhere so I couldn't call anyone for directions, and I didn't know how to get back to the place with my cell phone, and I had somewhere I wanted to be and I arrived about 9 hours late, at which time the reason for being there was practically void anyway, and nobody else who was at the place I wanted to be had thought it was important enough to call me, because they didn't think it was important to have me there, and I kept waking up and thinking "it was just a dream" and then I would fall back to sleep and right back into the same dream. It probably didn't help that just before I went to bed last night I had finished watching an episode of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer in which nightmares became reality.

I am so tired...it's going to be an interesting day....

Defending Honor

Sometimes I wish I were married just so that I could defend men from the onslaughts of four out of five of the other women in this office, who are constantly complaining about how men are insensitive, unthinking idiots who are more trouble than they are worth. I want to say, "No, actually, men are just different, and I for one appreciate that very much, and it has been extraordinarily helpful to me in my personal growth, and I love the opportunity to see things from another perspective, and they might not always think enough but generally we think too much," etc., etc. But when I try they kind of look at me like, "Oh, you don't have a man of your own, you don't know."

For the record, I know some really awesome men. So I get really defensive when people make blanket negative statements about men. True, I have been guilty of throwing those around in the past myself, but I have come to realize that I was wrong.

Back off and/or get some perspective, bitter coworkers.

"T" as in "Tom," "V" as in "Victor"

Isn't it interesting how many letters sound the same over the phone? And isn't it interesting to hear what words are chosen to represent them? As soon as the woman I just spoke to said "'T' as in 'Tom,'" I knew exactly what was coming next.

One time we had a customer calling in to request a pattern sample, and the number for it was M621-something, and he said, "'M' as in 'Muratone,'" which is the name of the pattern, and it amazed us all because so few people use the word that the letter represents in order to explain what the letter is. (My syntax has been off all week. I apologize.)

Next time we have to spell out a word over the phone, let's start using words and names that nobody else uses as helpful aids. Imagine how entertained the customer service person you are speaking to will be when you say "'T' as in 'Troglodyte,' 'V' as in 'Vermicious.'"

"I decided I don't like her. She's too real."

The above was a friend's semi-joking comment after she listened to my copy of Most of It Is True. We both agreed that when we listened to the CD it was hard to fight off the impulse to look around to see if anyone else knew that Rachel Zylstra was reading our minds and then singing about what we were thinking and feeling.

For anyone reading this who doesn't already know who Rachel Zylstra is, hearing that she is a fabulous singer-songwriter doesn't really go far enough. Go to CDBaby.com and order her CD, which is currently out of stock because it's so great, but will hopefully be back in stock for you soon. In the meantime, go to her website (www.rachelzylstra.com) and find out more about her...you can even download songs and song clips.

Go now.

Fine, I guess, unless you're actually asking, in which case the answer is gonna be longer....

"How are you" is possibly the most awkward question in the English language. Certainly the most awkward question likely to be encountered on a regular basis. I hate that question. I want people to clarify.

Example 1: How are you? By which I mean, "Hi, I haven't seen you for a while, but I don't really care about you at all because we weren't ever really friends, so please don't answer the question unless you use a meaningless response like 'Fine.'"

Example 2: How are you? By which I mean, "I am in fact concerned about you, but only on a surface level, so I just want to make sure that no one you know has died lately and/or you aren't two seconds from suicide."

Example 3: How are you? By which I mean, "I care deeply about you as a person and I really want to know, and even if it takes you hours and you start crying while you're trying to explain, I won't be glancing at my watch and wondering why I bothered asking how you are, because I honestly do care a lot."

Without this sort of clarification, there tends to be an awkward pause while I try to decide how the questioner intended the question, and then I answer hesitantly while I ponder whether there is a difference between lying and adhering to social convention.

I need a better response to the question. Any ideas?