Light and Momentary Afflictions

My least favorite bird ownership responsibility is clipping Apollo's nails.

"Nail clipping?" you might be thinking. "Sounds easy enough."

It's hard because he hates it so much, and with good reason. Birds have blood vessels in their nails, and if you clip them properly, they usually bleed. Doesn't sound right, does it? But that's what happens when you clip them to the recommended angle.

Why clip them at all? Well, besides the lacerations on my fingers, sharp pointy nails mean a greater danger that Apollo will get snagged in the carpet, on a blanket, or on any number of snaggable surfaces, and he could hurt himself trying to pull free. Also, when his nails are sharp, he doesn't get to be with me as much...the nails hurt me.

Here's how the clipping procedure happened tonight.

1) I wrap Apollo in a towel, whispering soothingly that it will be okay (he knows what the towel means).

2) I clip the nails, packing a powder called Quick-Stop into his nails to stop the bleeding...quickly. I usually only get a few nails at a time before having to change my grip, as he struggles throughout most of this process.

3) I check to be sure the bleeding has stopped and then let him back into the safety of his cage, where he rushes to his cuddly rope toy for solace.

4) He shuns me, keeping his rope between us.

5) Within a few minutes, he begins peeking around the rope to see if I recognize the enormity of my deeds (or maybe if I just miss him).

6) I sneeze, and he is on the other side of the rope, one foot on the cage bars, looking at me. "Are you okay?" he seems to be saying. "I could use a little company, myself."

7) He sits on my finger, switching from one foot to another because they are still sore. At first his back is to me, but not for long. After all, I'm all he has.

And because nothing is thoroughly straightforward and linear to me, every time I trim Apollo's nails I think how much alike we are. I, too, wrestle in the grasp of Someone who owns me, and who is only causing me pain for our mutual benefit, and to allow me to come closer to Him. I, too, want to run when it gets painful, to turn to some other familiar thing. And I, too, inevitably realize that I want the comfort of God's presence even when I'm still hurting.

Who else do I have? (Ps. 73:25)

Small Voices

Tonight I went to a baby shower at my church for a mom with twin girls. As soon as I walked into the room, I was overwhelmed—so many people, so many little groups, and me too afraid to exert my presence.

My mom says everybody is afraid of breaking into larger groups, of introducing themselves to strangers, of risking rejection. I'm sure she's right.

And yet....

Tonight the room was full of wives, of mothers, and of many young women who likely aspired to those offices as though they are birthrights. Tonight during the prayer part of the shower several participants prayed "that we may respect our husbands and be faithful mothers." Tonight as one person prayed for the twins she prayed that God might be with them as they grow "into toddlers...pre-teens...teens...wives...mothers...."

I understand that those are the natural steps in many minds.

I understand that wives and mothers need all the prayers they can get.

I understand that people like my church grandma who say things like "What are we going to do about you, Suzanne" have had great marriages and just think I should have the same, because they love me.

I understand all those things, so it seems a bit selfish and rather stupid of me when I start to feel so lonely over them—to feel shut out of the circle because I am one and not two turned one. (I've found that in general, no place is as lonely as church. Shouldn't the opposite be true?)

We're told that sometimes God comes with a still, small voice, but it seems to me that Satan has a small voice, too. It whispers that I would be justified in moping for ages about how lost I feel in the hallways; or how hard it is for me to talk to new people; or how disheartening it is that I could not be in church at all and there wouldn't be anyone saving a seat for me and wondering where I was. It whispers that the women at the shower tonight don't respect me as a whole person because I'm not a married person. It whispers that while everyone has problems interacting with others, mine are only worse because I am a second-class (meaning "unmarried") citizen. It whispers all sort of things I am ready to believe and to act on unless I am ready to defend myself with the weapons I have been given.

"The glory which You have given Me I have given to them, that they may be one, just as We are one; I in them and You in Me, that they may be perfected in unity, so that the world may know that You sent Me, and loved them, even as You have loved Me." -- John 17:22-23

Jesus gave us the glory the God gave to Him, that we may be perfected in unity. That we may be one. Beyond husband and wife. Beyond daughter and mother. Beyond all ties of friends and family, country and culture. One in Christ, for Christ.

I don't get to sit in a corner and feel sorry for myself. I have to pursue unity. I have to pursue the grand cosmic "us" of God's people, even though it's against my natural inclination to do so. I have to heed Paul's advice: "Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil" (Eph. 6:11).

I have to admit—and thank God this is true!—that I'm not the only one fighting down here.

Tonight the voice whispered to me that it would be okay/understandable/perfectly right for me to jump up after prayer and leave the room without saying goodbye to the guest of honor. I didn't listen. And when I did make my way to her, the first thing she said was, "When are you coming over?"

The Holy Spirit's small voice is louder than Satan's any day.

Baby Factory

Apparently I'm going to have to get pregnant in order to be in the conversation loop around my office.

Just kidding...mostly. The part that's serious is that everyone else in the office is big into baby talk right now. Three people have had babies in the past year, and one is now pregnant. Maybe Harvest fertility is catching, and can be dragged into other environments? If this is true, I'm sure we could find a way to turn it into the next fundraiser for our building project.

The big boss came through the office the other day to congratulate the co-worker who is pregnant now. And then he said to me, "It's working its way around the office, Suzanne. You're next." One of those semi-funny and semi-awkward comments.

I replied, "There are a few other things that need to work their way around first."

One of these things (and it's a little way down on the list) would be the willingness to be pregnant. I know a couple who can't have children biologically, and they are looking into embryo adoption. This is because, the woman says, she has always wanted to be pregnant.

What? Always? Wanted?

If I ever wanted this, it has been a long time since then. I remember thinking kids would be nice, but the nine month production process hasn't been a rosy fantasy for me, and I have no particular desire to pass my genetics on any further. I mean, sure, the world could handle another insanely cute kid, but there are other really cute kids around.

If I had the choice between adopting an embryo or adopting an infant (or child), I would choose the pre-fabricated version, hands down. "No assembly? Great."

"Now where's the user's manual?"

Healthy Holidays

Today I am fantasizing about having one of these.

I especially want the Sit-to-Walkstation. I would pay good money to have this in my office space. Never feeling too sedentary at work again...never feeling (as) guilty for skipping the gym.... Mmmmm.... Too bad I live on the third floor and it would be really awkward, or I would totally look into this for my apartment.

In related news, I am in a little competition (accountability group?) with some women I know from work. Our goal: maintain or lose weight this holiday season. I'm hoping for "lose," as in "lose the five pounds I picked up last holiday season and haven't shaken off." Stupid five pounds.

Because we're all trying not to gain weight, I sent an email to employees in the field asking them not to send us candy for Christmas. That was awkward. It sounds far too bold to say "buy me this instead of this." Even if you are pretty sure a gift is coming, it sounds presumptive. But on the other hand, I'd appreciate someone telling me (gently) that they don't really use/like what I tend to get them.

And because of that email, I will have llama mittens and a llama scarf for Christmas. So. Cool.

All that's really left now is the Walkstation....

Speaking While Tired

I should not speak when I am overly tired. I find myself far more likely to express opinions that I do not actually hold, or at least express them in a way that does not accurately reflect them. Often, when I am speaking while tired, there is another voice in my head asking, "What are you saying? Did you check with the rest of us voices to make sure we agreed on the position you are currently espousing?"

(It is the inability of the tired mind to work in concert with itself that sets it apart from the alert mind. Also, the inability to use words like "espousing.")

For example, today in describing why I did not particularly care if I attended a certain meeting I said that I dislike conflict, which led to me saying I dislike arguments, which led to me saying I only liked arguments I won. Now, I am sure there are amounts of truth in all of those statements...uncomfortably so in the last case. But they don't comprise the whole truth.

Do you often get at the whole truth in a crowded church hallway? Probably not. Still, propogating half-truths doesn't seem like the right solution. Especially because there are people who simply accept the words out of your mouth as the totality of your opinion on a matter (which is most of my real problem with improperly conducted arguments, actually).

As I grow, I want to speak less and say more. Especially when I am tired.

Last night I was on Heroes.

Sort of.

I had recently discovered I had electricity powers, sort of like Kristen Bell’s character has. I could zap things, and also I could fly (because of some electricity current thing). I was still trying to figure out how this power worked, and it kept running out, leaving me with mere trickly blue light with about as much force as static electricity. I realized this power needed recharging, and somehow I knew that it would be recharged by other electric bursts (guess I was a bit like Megavolt, from Darkwing Duck?).

So finally I came to a decision that action must be taken. I “climbed” a pine tree during a lightning storm (I didn’t have to do much actual climbing because my flight powers were letting me sort of hover my way up—bit by bit, because my powers weren’t highly charged at this point), and waited for a lightning strike that I knew would fully charge my powers forever.

“Will this hurt?” I thought apprehensively. “Nah…lightning can’t really hurt me, I have lightning powers.”

Later, I was hanging out with an unknown girl and Claire-Peter (she was Claire, but didn’t really look like Claire, and she had Peter’s powers on top of hers) in Claire-Peter’s room, and I was telling her something about how my powers were a little hard to explain, and she pointed to the ceiling, where I saw a large number of metal darts.

“Ohhhh,” I said, enlightened, because I also had practiced manipulating metal darts with my powers (electricity provides extensive powers, apparently).

Then, out of nowhere, Claire-Peter pulled two darts from the ceiling with her power and shot them across the room at me and this other girl.

“Ow!” we said. “We don’t have regenerative powers like you, remember?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”

And that’s about where I woke up.

Too late...but maybe next year....

Some friends of mine and I (all big fans of The Office) have jokingly discussed the possibility of taking an Office roadtrip, where each of us would pick a character and then stay in character as long as possible for the whole trip. If only this had been serious, we could have attended...THE OFFICE CONVENTION.

Yes. Seriously.

I have wanted to attend a fan convention for so long. Star Trek...ComicCon...that sort of thing. I think a convention for The Office would work, too.

I am such a nerd. I love that about me. I love that I know more about comic book lore than most of the teenage boys in my church. (Admittedly, the nerd ratio in my church is almost disturbingly low.) I love quoting random TV/movie bits with friends. And how fun would it be to go to a nerd convention??? Aside from the being surrounded by strangers, I mean?

Years ago, Stephenie said something to me that I have mostly not forgotten (I say "mostly" because I'm sure it has been slightly paraphrased over time). It remains one of my favorites Nerd Suzanne quotes: "How are you not dating? I'd think you could walk into a Star Trek convention and walk out with a guy hanging from every limb."

Yes, I'm pretty sure taking a road trip to Scranton with a car (or van) full of Office wannabes would be hilarious. If I ever actually go, I'll let you know how it turns out.

Absolutely, I will.

My Life as a Musical

Sometimes I wish I were the only person in the world...or at least that I could suspend time or become invisible so as to produce the same effect without damaging long-term loneliness. I most frequently wish this when I am outside. Unlike inside, outside is an uncontrolled environment. I could run across any number of people I had not planned to run across. These people could be hostile. These people could just be male, which is almost the same thing.

What's the problem? The problem is that I have a jukebox in my head. (Also in my iPod, which only magnifies the head jukebox problem.) And when a song comes over the jukebox, I often want to sing along with it, and usually do a little dancing to it, too.

I have embraced this eccentricity far more recently due to my pastor and his kids, who all vocalize their internal jukebox soundtracks. I have much less of a problem breaking into snatches of song when in the company of friends. I have been taught, however, possibly just by being female, that it's not a great idea to draw attention to myself outside the company of friends. If I were to go skipping and dancing along down the trails near my place, who knows what could happen. I don't care nearly as much as I used to about people laughing at me. I am still concerned that random strangers could fall madly in love with my carefree abandon, and I would be breaking who knows how many hearts. And that is the most pleasant option. (And if you think that option is not that bad, you don't know me very well.)

Nichole (a friend from college) had a sort of fantasy in which she and a large group of her friends would go to a mall and divide up into various stores. Then Nichole would start walking through the mall singing, and her friends would jump out of the stores at various points and join in, and everyone who wasn't in on it would wonder what they had wandered into.

My musical fantasies aren't that complicated. I just want to do a little twirling and fake choreography from time to time when I'm out walking.

Until I get braver, I guess I'll settle for dancing until I round corners...and making 360 degree turns slowly as though I had to look at something behind me...and extending my arms as though it were part of my exercise regimen.

My life as a stealth musical.

Ah, personality tests...how I love you....

Kerri posted a link to a Meyers-Briggs-type personality test. I, of course, love these things. I answered quickly so as not to get too stuck in "sometimes yes, sometimes no" overanalyzing. So here we go. This is my personality tonight (I find these things usually change...except the ones where I'm Hermione).





Your personality type:
Independent, original, analytical, and determined. Have an exceptional ability to turn theories into solid plans of action. Highly value knowledge, competence, and structure. Driven to derive meaning from their visions. Long-range thinkers. Have very high standards for their performance, and the performance of others. Natural leaders, but will follow if they trust existing leaders.



Careers that could fit you include:
Scientists, engineers, professors, teachers, medical doctors, dentists, corporate strategists, organization founders, business administrators, managers, military, lawyers, judges, computer programmers, system analysts, computer specialists, psychologists, photographers, research department managers, researchers, university instructors, chess players.






The above category used to be "Careers that could fit you includes," but of course I had to fix it. Hm. None of those careers sound interesting. So few careers do....



I came up IITJ: Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Judging. [Per Lisa, that should actually be INTJ. "N" for iNtuitive.] I leaned pretty strongly towards each of these, too, which is unlike my usual college results where I was fairly middle-of-the-road. Maybe this is an example of what Pastor Dale meant when he said that living alone tends to make you more and more like yourself?

And speaking of personality, just last night Lisa and I were talking about the disconnect between how we see ourselves and how others see us. Isn't it strange that perceptions can vary so widely? I maintain that it IS. Strange. It is strange.

ACK-tually....

Now it sounds like plans have changed and I will again be...I almost wrote "sleeping alone this Saturday." Hm. And by "again".... What I mean is that it sounds like my company will not be coming. Fortunately I did not just buy two gallons of milk, two loaves of bread, two cartons of ice cream, four boxes of cereal, four pizzas, and a jar of peanut butter specifically for the occasion. Oh, wait.... Blast.

Alas, I may not be the destination for a road trip, after all. But it was a nice thought while it lasted.

If it absolutely falls through, I will be hitting some of you locals up to come over for dinner on Friday night. Possibly also karaoke somewhere afterwards. Pencil me in?

Life is funny

There are a number of people who used to be members of my current church who have attained near legendary status by the simple expedient of moving away. In their cases, absence has indeed made hearts grow fonder. If any of these legends return, they will be swarmed with people practically falling over themselves to talk to them.

In a related subject, lots of people at my church have been there for their formative years. They grow up in the church. They marry in the church (or marry new blood into the church), and they stay in the church. This means that they have ages of in-jokes and "do you remember the time when" stories that I do not understand.

As you can tell, I have never at all felt any unreasonable sensations of being marginalized and second-rate because of any of this. Seriously, though...other than family members, I don't have any friends anywhere that I've known since I was a little kid. But this year, I realized something. I have known other people since they were kids. They are the kids of my parents' church, the church where I grew up. Kids I babysat for, kids I taught in VBS, kids who were just part of the church life. And I realized one Sunday at my parents' church, as I was hanging out in a circle talking to these kids, that this is how the "legends" of my current church must feel: not like legends, just like normal people who are happy to see others with whom they shared so much history.

This Saturday, I am hosting a sleepover for 5 to 7 teenage girls from my old church. Some of them I have known for ages, some I have known of for ages, and some I have known for a fairly short time. But when I suggested a few weeks ago that it might be fun if they came to visit me, they agreed. With enthusiasm. And I am hosting with similar enthusiasm.

It's an encouraging, endearing, and laughably enjoyable thing to be the destination of a road trip. I'm excited.

Also, getting 8 women ready for church in the morning in a one bathroom apartment should be interesting.

Abba! Father!

The weight of the world and its people
proving their rights and righteousness
their position and power
striving
contending
crushing
falling
rising to cycle through again
Oh, father, lead me past my experience
bring me in to your life
break my heart as yours breaks
stretch me for the world
you stretched yourself for
save and heal
save and heal
Oh, father, how long?

Schedule Conflicts

No, this isn't about over-booking, although I had a major blow-up in my life over that last weekend. I have managed NOT to double-book since...well...last weekend. (You have to start somewhere.)

Here's what is bothering me about schedule conflicts now: too many people with too much busyness in their lives. This includes me. I don't like having to whip out a planner and book somebody for four weeks down the road. I don't like "booking somebody" at all, if it comes to that. (This may come as a shock to almost everybody who knows me.)

I'd rather not work around everybody's employment schedules, and other friends, and previous commitments. I'd rather just be there, without thinking about it so much. I'd rather life didn't work as hard as it does to keep us all apart.

Tonight I think that part of the joy of heaven will be not having to "find time" for anything, or anyone. There will be an infinite amount of time to enjoy God and to enjoy each other, creations of God that we are. And the whole family will be there, and nobody will ever be too busy ever again, and we will always have time for each other, without having to fight for it as we must now. It will be a restful, exciting, glorious place.

Shall we plan on meeting there in a few years?

Is it something in the water in Brooklyn?

Yesterday I went to my cousin's son's first birthday party. The following is a snippet of the conversation that took place almost immediately after I sat down at a table next to my great-aunt Irene.

Aunt Irene: How are you?

Me: Doing good.

Aunt Irene: Are you married yet?

Me: ["oh, Aunt Irene" laugh] No.

Aunt Irene: Are you seeing anybody?

Me: No.

Aunt Irene: Are there any fellas at your church you might be...?

Me: What is it with you Brooklyners?

Aunt Irene: You're wasting time....

Seriously. Between my church grandma Rosemary and my Aunt Irene.... Actually, I don't even know how to finish that sentence. Those women make me laugh and roll my eyes at the same time.

Surprised by Grace...if grace is out there....

No matter how many times I am shown grace, I have difficulty really believing in it. I do really stupid things, and intentionally mean things, and just plain careless things. I make promises too swiftly, then break them. I condemn people for being rude to me on the phone. I speak first and think later. I obsess over my own problems. (Count the "I's" in this paragraph alone.)

Maybe (maybe) God won't cut me off, but that's because he's God. Your parents aren't allowed to disown you, and God is the greater father, so...he CAN'T cut you off, right? But friends, and co-workers, and strangers? Those people can turn on you in a second, and be completely justified in doing so.

"If I were You-Know-Who," muses Luna Lovegood of the arch-villain in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, "I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else. 'Cause if it's just you alone, you're not as much of a threat."

Which just reminds me that Satan doesn't believe in an overcoming grace, either.

It's hatefully messy here, horribly easy to hurt and to be hurt. But can we really love without diving into the mess? Can we really love when we focus our attention so intently on our failures that they seem insurmountable? Can we really love without believing in grace?

The list of reasons I have to despise myself is long, but God is at work, granting patience, forbearance, perspective, and wisdom. God shows me a grace that is greater than all my sins...and I have often seen that grace manifested through people I have wronged, intentionally and unintentionally. Because God is not only at work in me.

I believe in grace. Lord, help my unbelief.

What is this feeling?

I don't think I can be the only one to experience this.... Today I kept feeling that I wanted to be writing something, but that I didn't know what to write. I wrote 800-900 words (total) on a few separate things, just to be writing, but I wasn't really as into them as I've been sometimes. Even this post is feeling a little forced.

Revolutionary thought: writing is craft, and as such writing can be done even if it doesn't feel right.

Still, I'm feeling a strong need/desire for something that's hovering on the edge of my consciousness, and it's driving me crazy that I can't put it into words and make sense of it. Is this thing fiction? Is it non-fiction? Is it just an item I've left off one of my lists of things to do?

I get this feeling fairly often, actually. Fallout from something that wants doing but remains undone. Maybe it isn't even writer's blues at all. Maybe I just need to clean my bathtub.

Ah, well. While I'm trying to figure all that out, I guess can cross "new blog post" off my mental to-do list....

A future full of promise, a heart full of love; life full of God's blessings from heaven above.

See? Writing a wedding card isn't (as we say at my office) rocket surgery. There would be occupational hazards, I guess—spontaneous stomach sickness, eyestrain from too much rolling, brain turning to goo and draining out of your ears.

Wedding cards are the worst cards to shop for. Most feature sappy and/or sanctimonious sentiments, often phrased in truly atrocious "poetry" that pretends to rhyme but doesn't quite make it (see self-created example above, then take it down several levels).

Wedding cards are full of the rampant cultural fantasy that marriage is your ticket to a magical fairyland where bad things do not happen. From what I've heard, real marriages are a lot more like real life: you love people, but they get on your nerves sometimes; you love people, but you let them down sometimes. It can be fun and enriching, but it can also be confusing and frustrating.

I guess there may not be much of a market for wedding cards that say, "Congratulations as you embark on your journey together. Prepare for sharp turns, bad weather, and ambushes." So then why can't some of the cards be funny? Marriage is a serious choice, yes, but I don't think it has to be taken Quite So Seriously. Comedy, after all, rises most frequently from the unexpected, and there is something inherently ludicrous—and I mean that word in its joyful sense—in the intersection of male and female. (Praise be to the God who specializes in the joining of disparate elements!)

I bought two wedding cards today. They will probably end up either in a landfill or in the back corner of a closet.

I think I'm okay with that.

You might be overdoing it if...

...your story includes a sentence like "Kate sighed and closed her hazel orbs."

Just call them "eyes." As soon as you use the word "orbs" to refer to eyes you've crossed over into melodrama, or something like it. Maybe just bad writing.

Also, don't bother to call out eye color at every turn. In real life, people don't usually pay that much attention to eye color. At least this sentence didn't talk about some character's "chocolate brown eyes," which is a huge warning sign that you have stumbled across a really sappy story. Personally, I would be weirded out if somebody looked at my eyes and thought about food. Who really ever wants to hear, "I'm so attracted to you...and also, your eyes remind me of chocolate...which kind of makes me hungry, now that I think of it"? When people look into my eyes, I would much rather they think about eyes.

This has been a public service announcement to any and all aspiring authors. Thank you.

Foxhole Pagan

I say I believe in predestination and election, and I do. But when things get a little shaky, I start rationalizing. Maybe I messed up somewhere along the line, and that's why [fill in the blank]. Maybe I should be there instead of here, do this instead of that. Maybe my actions are of such cosmic importance that they can derail God's grander plans.

It looks ridiculous, doesn't it, printed out like that?

Tomorrow I will be going on my first outing with my church's newly incarnated Adopt-A-Block ministry. We'll be going door-to-door in the same 12 apartments every other week for the next 6 months, getting to know people, seeing how we can help them, living the Gospel before speaking it.

That's the plan, anyway. The thing is, the Gospel in my life is pretty messy. It's one thing to swoop in with carefully crafted words, making Jesus sound like the beautiful solution to all problems. But what about the fact that after 28 years of walking, I still trip over a short fuse and a low tolerance for the faults of others? What about the fear that speaking truth will lead to the unpleasantness of being disliked? What about the terror that somehow I will singlehandedly turn people away from this God I profess? If I really believed this stuff, really loved this Person, wouldn't my life and witness be...what? Neat? Simple? Easy?

I was thinking this morning of my motives for sharing God with others, and of how incredibly mixed they are, and these words from Paul came to mind: "What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed; and in this I rejoice." (Philippians 1:18)

And I was thinking just now of my incredible smallness, and the words of a more recent saint, Sara Groves, came to mind: "What do I know?" Her song counters the question "what" with "Who"--"from what I know of Him...."

I am scared of my own weakness. I will just have to rest in His strength. Which is not a triumphant declaration of faith so much as my only possible option.

After all, when it comes down to it, being as important as I tend to think I am is pretty horrifying.

Top Three Star Trek Inventions I Wish Really Existed (in no particular order)

Transporters

Avoid construction; avoid long, boring solo drives…hey, avoid driving altogether. Far-flung family and friends become quickly and easily accessible.


Medical Tricorders

Instant, accurate diagnosis of most common ailments and injuries (such as, in a completely random example, ankle pain). Since medical tricorders can be difficult to read sometimes, I would settle for an LMH (Long-term Medical Hologram).


Food Replicators

No time-consuming cooking! Virtually no clean up! And easy access to well-rounded, healthy meals based on the recommendations of your medical tricorder (or LMH).