My Greatest Fears

In no particular order and without sense, rhyme, or reason….here they are: 

1. I'll have nothing to talk about at dinner parties

2, I'll never leave the country again

3, My husband will wish for somebody new

4. I'll finally get up the courage to vent my true feelings on a political issue and then change my mind the next day

5. My dog will run away and I'll not know if he's hungry, cold, or scared

6. The friends I don't keep in touch with will think I don't love them

7. Vampires

8. I won't be able to lose weight

9. All the thoughtless words I utter on the day of judgement 

10. I'll die of cancer…or a car accident..or die at all

11. All my books will be lost in a fire and an untimely iPad failure 

12.  Someone will say I'm not well-read

13 Or well traveled 

14. I'll be angry at my mom 

15. I'll never be able to frost a chocolate cake…that crap is hard

16. I won't be able to think of the perfect word I know I know at the moment I need it most

17. My kids won't be readers 

18. I'll forget the beauties of not knowing and the beauty of trying anyway 

19. I'll be so comfortable I never have to test myself

20. Zombies

21. My children will fail and I won't be able to save them

22. Roaches….just roaches

23. Nostalgia will always be better than my current life

24. Sex won't be all it's cracked up to be

25. Mississippi State will lose the Egg Bowl in the most humiliating way 

What Would You Do With It If You Caught It?

     My life is a mess. I'm pretty sure yours is too. Women, in general, tend to focus on the emotional aspect of life. Every past wrong, every good deed, every misunderstood action, somehow makes it to the forefront of our minds and actions.

     I like you, and then I'm not sure. I'm 100% ready to go through with this, and then I have cold feet. I want what's right, and then I sin. I'm a mess. A complete, utter, mess.

      Somehow, men are drawn to it. No matter how ridiculous I am, not matter what crap I post on Facebook, I come across as "mysterious." Women, without trying, come across as magical wonders who you can't pin down.

      Here's the question men: once we've let you in, once you've "figured me out" will I still be cute as a button? Once you learn that my idiosyncrasies arise from serious wounds from the past, once you see that me being "mysterious" is actually a total lack of not knowing what the hell I want, will I still be beautiful?

       If you caught me, what would you do with me? I'm guessing you have no clue. Before you start chasing after a girl with all this mystery, will these problems still seem beautiful during the day? Will you be there when I'm having an utter meltdown for no reason? Will you be there when I'm trying to work through family issues? Will you be there when I'm insecure, unkind, and selfish? 

       I can grow and my ultimate goal is to grow in Christ's love. I'll always be a mess,  but if you chase me, you might realize that I'm a mess that's truly broken to the core. I can love, I can do good, but I can't always be that tantalizing women of your dreams.

      If you caught me, could you deal with that? 

I Saw a Black Man the Other Day

The other day, I was in a bad neighborhood, trying to find my friend's apartment to grab a key. I parked behind a broken down pick up truck and looked for the right address.

I had the address wrong, so I looked up and down the street trying to find it. A few minutes passed and I saw a black man coming toward me.

He had a hoodie and a hat, a cigarette in his mouth and headphones in his ears. As I got close he saw me and said, "Hey, are you doing?"

I replied "Fine, have a nice day." 

I found the house and got my key. 

A Letter to Married Christian Women from a Single Woman

I've been single for far longer than I wanted to be. I've tried to ignore it by traveling, getting degrees, and basically doing anything to fill that aching void for a husband. It's so hard to be a Christian woman who isn't married but wishes she was.

So many Christian married women are unnerved by us or ignore us completely. Most of these women were married when they were fresh out of college, or found someone by accident when they weren't looking for it. Honestly, I'm glad for you. Yet when you use the tired line of "You want it too much" or "It'll happen when it happens" we single women die a little on the inside. 

You don't understand. 

You perhaps never had to deal with coming home to an empty apartment and deciding to fill it with animals, books, and wine. We are a strange breed. We become the desperate outcasts of the religious world. 

I have of course have my flaws. I am a broken person, daily being put together by the grace of Jesus Christ. I can't attain perfection in this world. I know this, and I am lonely for someone. I know a husband won't fix my problems. I know that in all actuality a whole new batch of problems will come if I ever get married.

I would like for a minute to talk about the realization of marriage. Yes, marriage is hard. The divorce rate is hovering around 50%. I'm still struggling with the whole "you should be happy you're single thing." The bottom line is that you get to come home to someone who's committed to you and who you're committed to. You get to come home to a family, sex, and a life that is highly valued in Christian society. You get someone to be at your bedside when you're dying. 

Single Christian women are not valued in society. We become babysitters, nannies, and someone you can always call on in a jam. We sit at the bar when there's a table left because there's a couple behind us. 

The thing is, I love being a babysitter, nanny, and sitting at the bar. I don't like it being expected and even required of me. 

Married Christian Women….take a second to value what you have. Realize that man was not made to be alone. Fix us up with people, even though it may be awkward. Don't ask us over just to babysit. Ask us over for a glass of wine or a pizza. When we cry that we are single, don't say it's not all it's cracked up to be or make us feel bad by saying all the things we need to do to make us worthy of a husband. Imagine that you are on your own, paying your own rent, without a husband or kids or a valued place at the Christian table. Don't give us platitudes. 

Repeat the gospel, that we have Christ and that IS enough, but affirm our natural desire to be married. Pray for a husband for us. Be our friends, and not just your potential babysitters. Let us catch a glimpse into the beautiful mess of married life. Acknowledge how we feel, and maybe even cry with us. 

I Hope I Die Like Her

     Right before mom died she was in a hospice care facility. Even though she was only there a few days, I felt like I entered and left a thousand times. Despite what a hard time that was in my life, I wanted to look around. I made friends with the patients, with the families. We knew each other and supported each other in a way that only those who are waiting for death can. I especially remember a little old lady that sat by the front door.

       I remember her because she was happy and she would talk to anybody. Well, I actually I remember her because at night she had a bottle of Arbor Mist by her wheelchair. I felt sorry for her. I never saw her with family, but that doesn't mean she didn't have any. We spoke briefly about her as a family. She's in hospice and she has a bottle of wine every night? 

      Now though, I hope I die like her.  I do hope I have family around. I hope I can comfort that family with my bottle of wine and no telling how many painkillers. I want to die still appreciating my sanity and the good little things in life. I don't want to die sad and bringing down everyone around me. I want to wait on death with a bottle of wine and a smile for those who come through the door who are also waiting. I want to die sure of my future, at rest with my past, and hopefully with a lot of morphine and a bottle of Arbor Mist. 

Last night I fell asleep with a wooden cross in my fingers. 

As I was getting ready for bed, my mind to flip through hundreds of fears, my heart began to race, fear gripped my insides. The never-going-to-happens became the inevitable. I had made so many mistakes that day, God would never forgive me. I was going to lose my job. What it all my family got into a car wreck? What if my bank account was emptied and I couldn't pay my rent? I will never be able to keep my house neat. I won't be able to lose this weight. In short, I was having a full-fledged panic attack. 

Unfortunately, I don't have insurance at the moment (believe me, I'm working on it) so I haven't been consistent with my anti-anxiety medication. I have no xanax. The fear was so intense that I felt I could quite possibly die. Who could I call that would understand? I tried praying, explaining to God and begging for Him to make it stop, but I couldn't get control of my thoughts well enough to do this. 

I needed something. I needed something in my hands, I needed something tangible. I didn't know why, but in a fit of desperation I pulled an old, hand-made wooden cross from over my bed, gripped it tightly in both hands, and prayed The Jesus Prayer over and over again. (Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me.) 

It wasn't a magical cure. I did not immediately become light as a feather. It took a lot of work to calm down. I repeated the Jesus Prayer over and over again, and anytime a fear began to creep its way into my mind, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed the Jesus Prayer fervently, imagining that the prayer was literally a fortress and all of my fears would be cut into pieces against it. 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would ever have spent a night like this, I would have been terrified. I grew up idolizing the Puritans. I would have thought having the cross in my hands was akin to the Israelite Golden Calf when Moses went up to receive the Ten Commandments. I would have thought repeating The Jesus Prayer was too similar to the vegan-eating, yoga-attending, pagan, Prius drivers. 

Recently, I have changed my thinking. I even have icons of Christ scattered about my apartment. Although there is not space in this blogpost to relate my theological understanding of icons and artifacts in my spiritual life (although I hope to do that soon) I would like to be clear that I know that cross in my hands is merely two pieces of wood fixed to one another. I know that the Eucharist is a wafer and a sip of sweet wine. I do not worship that piece of wood anymore than I worship the wafer and wine at the Eucharist. I can worship better because of things. 

I used to think that we experience God only through the mind and heart. I believe now that God gave us 5 senses to worship better. There is nothing magical in crosses, icons, incense, or books, but I'm finally ok with saying that I believe there is something mysterious in them. 

How the hell did I get here?

Last night, as  I was falling asleep, I looked around and for some strange reason realized that I was sleeping alone, in an apartment I paid for, without a husband, without a mother, without a high-paying job in New York City . I was praying, and as a firm believer in being honest with God, the last thing I remember before falling asleep is whispering "How the hell did I get here?"

This was not supposed to be my life. In the life I had planned, I would go from college to a married life and I would have 2 kids by now, probably with a third on the way. Somehow though, I ended up with living the single life at 27 in St. Louis. In the words of Robin Williams in "Mrs. Doubtfire" I thought, This is not my life.

 

To the friends I thought would never get married, I said "I'm so thrilled for you! This will be an adventure and I'm so glad you're taking it!" To the friends who did not do well in college but ended up in exciting places with wonderful jobs I said "I'm so thrilled for you! This will be an adventure and I'm so glad you're taking it!" I said all of this, thinking that some day soon in the future, I would be married, or in an exciting place. 

I made my own decisions. I made the decision of majoring in education. I made the decision of attending graduate school in education at uw. I made the decision of living in Poland and Korea. I made all of those decisions based on what I wanted and what was possible. I made the best decisions I could with that was available to me, what I was good at, what I wanted. 

Somehow, those decisions did not lead me to the life I thought I wanted. 

I do not know if I ever will be married. I do not know if I will ever live in another country or in exciting cities like New York, Chicago, or Boston. I do not know if this will be my life. I do not know.

What I do know is that I have amazing family that chooses to support me. I do know that I have friends who love me, strangely, without conditions. I do know that I have a dog and a guinea pig that take a large part of my heart. I do know that I'm part of a church that loves me even when I fail to attend. I do know that I have so much to be thankful for. 

Surely, this is not the life I had planned. This is not the life I prayed for. Yet I am here. I made the best decisions I could and God has answered my prayers in strange ways. God did not save my mother. God has not brought me a husband. God has not given me a high-paying position in a bustling city. God has me here. It's strange and every now and then I look around and think "How the hell did I end up here?" 

Yet I am here, and I don't want to waste it. I want to love and make connections. I want my nieces to know me and be excited about spending the day with Aunt Callie. I want to spend time with my brothers and sisters-in-laws. I don't want to move away, although I am tempted from time to time with a new start and a new life. After much prayer, I do not think that this is a good time to move away. I want to set down roots. 

I want it all, but God has given me what I have now. I have much to be thankful for. My life's mantra should not be "how the hell did I get here" but "who am I deserve so much?"