knock first, and wipe your feet

As of late, I've been doing a lot of this growing up thing I've heard so much about. It's strange really, realizing that I'm technically competent enough to live on my own. Moving out wasn't as tough as I thought it was going to be. The actual physical process of hauling my stuff around was valiantly handled by my dad, brother, and brawny friends. Unpacking and setting up my own place wasn't that difficult either. The bills haven't started rolling in yet, but I don't think I'm being too bold as to say that I've got that fairly well managed either.

I've been out on my own for a week and half now, it feels like hours. I've cooked and cleaned and organized and done all the domestic things. (I'm a terrible cook, a decent cleaner, and I'll organize a sock drawer if I've time enough.) But I wonder what's up next? I suppose that the grandiose dream of being on your own isn't all that grand after all. What does one do when she has a 570 sq. feet apartment all to herself? This girl alphabetizes cds and kicks back a Killians in her pajamas.

I was worried about feeling completely helpless on my own, but I also worried about the opposite extreme--feeling so self-confident that I don't see my mistakes and faults. Strangely, it seems I've found my middle ground. I won't say that I'm perfectly comfortable in my hobbit hole off Walton Way, but I'm definitely enjoying it. I no longer feel like too much for one space. I don't feel like I'm getting in anyone's way, and I don't feel cramped and run over by other people. I've got room to breathe (even if I haven't totally gotten that "other person" smell out of my closets).

Stop by sometime. You'll probably walk in on me in my underwear, wondering just what I should do with myself now that I'm on my own. I think I'll start with that gallon of milk that expires tomorrow.

knock first, and wipe your feet

As of late, I've been doing a lot of this growing up thing I've heard so much about. It's strange really, realizing that I'm technically competent enough to live on my own. Moving out wasn't as tough as I thought it was going to be. The actual physical process of hauling my stuff around was valiantly handled by my dad, brother, and brawny friends. Unpacking and setting up my own place wasn't that difficult either. The bills haven't started rolling in yet, but I don't think I'm being too bold as to say that I've got that fairly well managed either.

I've been out on my own for a week and half now, it feels like hours. I've cooked and cleaned and organized and done all the domestic things. (I'm a terrible cook, a decent cleaner, and I'll organize a sock drawer if I've time enough.) But I wonder what's up next? I suppose that the grandiose dream of being on your own isn't all that grand after all. What does one do when she has a 570 sq. feet apartment all to herself? This girl alphabetizes cds and kicks back a Killians in her pajamas.

I was worried about feeling completely helpless on my own, but I also worried about the opposite extreme--feeling so self-confident that I don't see my mistakes and faults. Strangely, it seems I've found my middle ground. I won't say that I'm perfectly comfortable in my hobbit hole off Walton Way, but I'm definitely enjoying it. I no longer feel like too much for one space. I don't feel like I'm getting in anyone's way, and I don't feel cramped and run over by other people. I've got room to breathe (even if I haven't totally gotten that "other person" smell out of my closets).

Stop by sometime. You'll probably walk in on me in my underwear, wondering just what I should do with myself now that I'm on my own. I think I'll start with that gallon of milk that expires tomorrow.

love as thy wish to be loved

Sometimes I feel that I am insufficient for other people. This is by no means a permanent feeling, but I do sometimes slip into moments of mild self-loathing and feel so completely "less" than everyone else. I look at where people are going to school, who they are interning with, what awards and scholarships and degrees they've received, how much weight they've lost, how happy they are in their relationships with their parents, boyfriends, siblings, how satisfied they are in their salaries and workplace, and I just think "I don't have that. I'm not good enough for that." When people share with me the hurts and stresses in their life, I don't know what to say, I don't know how to offer comfort to them, I feel wholly insufficient to be there for them. When people tell me about the wonderful things happening to them, I don't know how to be excited with them, I feel, again, insufficient.

I don't know what to say, I don't know how to act, I don't know how to be smarter, I don't know how to get a better job or get into grad school, I don't know how to be a better person. There is so much that I am not. There is so much in myself that I draw comparisons with other people, and it almost always leaves me feeling a heavy sense of inadequacy. No one wants to be inadequate.

When did I learn to compare myself to others? When did I learn that I need to be as good or better as someone else to have value and worth? Who taught me that?

I know that as a whole, our society is highly comparative. Women are bombarded with ads featuring sexy, skinny, flawless underwear models just as men are thrust into a world of hyper-masculine, muscled, sexually charged jean guys. Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey are role models, the janitors that clean their offices are not. Yale is better than Georgia State is better than ASU is better than Aiken Tech. Size 2 is better than size 16; normal is better than abnormal. But amid the conclusions being drawn about people in the mass of people called society, where in all of that did I learn to make those conclusions applicable to myself? I have no conscious memory of saying to myself, "this is the time to start realizing that the blond haired skinny girl is better than you," but it happened around 6th grade or so. I realized quite gradually that I was a "dork" and "fat" and "unstylish" and "unpopular." And in middle school, when you are those things, it means you are unloved. But I'm not in middle school anymore. I don't have people whispering behind my back, pointing at my shoes. I'm not even in high school anymore, with boys looking right through me to the girl with a prettier profile.

And yet I'm still drawing conclusions. I still feel that I need to be more of something, and less of something else to be considered worthy of the love that other people can give to me. Why do I and countless scores of other people feel that the evaluations other people hold of us carries any substantial weight at all? I'm not saying that the opinions of other people are devoid of value, I'm saying that they shouldn't be the foundation of my own sense of self-worth. When I see that someone is doing better at a better university than I am, I shouldn't feel like my own personal value has decreased at all. I shouldn't feel like less of a person when someone more beautiful walks by. I shouldn't feel like I should have to change at all when I talk with someone who has a better paying job than I have.

You would think that when I am feeling so completely inadequate for the world that an otherworldly, indiscriminatory, complete love would be undeniably attractive to me. But instead I've found that when I can't love myself, I can't accept the love that others offer me, even the overwhelming love that Christ offers me. How illogical is it that I should disregard the warmth of love that people offer to me daily in favor of lonely hours of self-doubt? The proverbial "Golden Rule" (also Matthew 7:12) says that we should treat other people as we wish to be treated; I see that also as we should love as we wish to be loved. I also see that as a rule of reciprocity--I can only be loved as well as I love. The first step in finding a pure, holy kind of love is to love people without filters. Love them wholly, for who they are. Love myself, for who I am, not what I am not.

if I had wide angle eyes

I didn't have to work today, and so I stayed home and packed and thought about how wonderful it was to not have to work. Before I knew it, I was mentally complaining about my job in all the worst kind of ways, and I'd gotten myself into a grumpy depression, dreading the workday I've got to face tomorrow. Luckily for me, I do sometimes posess the ability to be smart and snap myself out of it. Today, it was remembering something I'd written almost a year ago, after a particularly different kind of day at work. Here's a (rather long) excerpt:

"Working in retail, you meet some special people. I suppose last night, I was just asking for it, but it seemed like everyone that came in had something to offer me if I just looked for it. But really, I suppose that is the case all of the time.
There was a woman buying her daugher a gift because someone had broken into her checking account. She bragged for a solid 20 minutes about her daughter... Rarely is it good things that are shared with me from customers. The mother's husband came in having just bought some sort of random computer-related cable, and although his wife was blabbing to a random sales associate about their daughter, and running around trying to put together a gift bag, go to the bathroom, and show him a card all at the same time, he just laughed and smiled, and said "i love you...
'There were 3 15-ish girls that wanted to share with me their excitement over their upcoming Homecoming. I could care less about that stuff, but just seeing how giggly they got about some unnamed yet ever-present boy, and how big their smiles got when I asked them about their dresses made me almost wish I was 15 again, just so I could remember what it feels like to think dresses and boys are the most important things.
'And I love those sheepishly mischevious looks girls give when they think I can't see them pinch their boyfriends on the rear. I love the looks the boys give when they realize that their girlfriends hand is grazing (and staying) a little south of their belt.
' And I can't forget the laughter of the little old man who just wanted to talk. He didn't need a card for this, that, or the other, he was just lonely, and wanted to let someone hear about his days in France during WWII. That's where he met his wife. She died about a year ago."

I don't know why that day should have felt any different from the scores of other days I have at work; I certainly didn't enter it in any better mood than I usually do, and I still had a lot of the same rude or tired or irritable customers I always have, just like I had the same happy, easy to please, kind customers I get. What made my perspective shift to see the good in people?

Knowing myself as only I can know myself, I'm aware that I'm a pretty not-nice person. I'm cynical, halfway bitter, sarcastic, and I get irritated really easily. And all of my bad qualities are amplified at work. I don't have a bad job, it's just not what I want to be doing. It's retail, it's angry customers and corporate rules. But it's a job, and it will be helping me pay my electric bill in 10 days, so I'm keeping it. I just wish I could keep my good moods as easily.

I have little faith in myself to put myself in a good mood. I know people who can force themselves to smile, to be happy, and I'm jealous. Seriously, insanely jealous. Because I have never been able to do that and probably never will. So I guess that's one of the reasons I love it so much when I am able to see things in a better light, because I know it's not me changing my perspective. It's got to be something bigger, putting those ridiculous happy thoughts in my head, creating better stories about people that may or may not be true, but the point is that I'm happy, instead of feeling irritated with the human population. I don't know why, but I am almost fully convinced that it's God changing my perspective; not because I've done anything to deserve that, I didn't even pray before clocking on to feel better about things (because why would I want to feel better about my job? Why would I want to be in better moods, seeing people as good? Yeah, did I mention I'm sarcastic?), but I think that sometimes God really does laugh at me, and changes things up a bit, just to see if I'll notice how much better the world can be.

I don't really know, but I think sometimes God wants to show me how much happier I could be if I were just more like Him. He's not doing that to show off, or make a world of little clone-Gods, but I think that He really, genuinely wants us to love each other. It's pretty hard to love someone if I don't even see them as being more than a mean customer. So He shows me the good people. He shows me the bad people's whole stories. He shows me when I'm being a jerk, and I can kind of appreciate that, because it makes the day go by faster and sometimes I even have dates planned after my shift.

It all depends on how you look at it, I guess; perspective is one of those things that is annoyingly eye-opening. It makes things new for you, and the newness of things is indeed something to enjoy.

things are best said over chocolate pie

I am notorious for loosing things. I'm also notorious for finding them again, in silly places (like right where I left said lost item, for instance). I went shopping today, to get more stuff for my apartment, and after getting home a few hours later, I realized I'd lost my debit card. I had a little bit of a panic-moment. Okay, I had a lot of a panic-moment. I was freaking out, calling the stores I'd been into, obsessively checking my online banking, making sure no one had been using my card, digging through my laundry, purse, car, all to realize that I wasn't going to find my debit card in a cute little forgotten pocket of my wallet. So after a bit more freaking out, I got on the phone with my bank to cancel my card. Of course, I was put on hold. I got my card cancelled, and new one is being mailed tomorrow for me, so everything is worked out.

But not once did I stop to collect my thoughts, breathe, or even pray. No "Hey, God, can you please help me find my card?" or "Please don't let anyone mean find it." It was just me, freaking out, cursing at myself and at automated phone services and even the size and color of my (very lost) card. It was just me being alone, being frustrated, being stubbornly arrogant in my own searching. So yeah, i got it all sorted out eventually, but I think it would have been much easier had I just been able to calm myself down and handle things the way I'm supposed to.

How often do we all do that? How often do we rely on our own reason instead of reminding ourselves to calm down and just talk to God? It seems to me that if we say that we trust God, and rely on his strength, it would make sense that we don't act like jerks when we lose things. I know that there are a lot of people out there with much larger issues than a lost debit card. My fear is that if I can't even trust Christ enough with all the silly things I do, how can I ever fully trust him when bigger, tougher issues hit me?

We learn to trust with the little things; our dads don't let us go when making us human airplanes, the training wheels don't fall off with his handiwork and we grow into teenagers who believe that he'll pick us up when the movie is over, and we believe he'll be there when boyfriends mess up and when test grades are bad. No one trusts anyone else unless they've been through a lot of little things together. If I want to be able to trust anyone (especially God) with big things, I have to at least give them an opportunity to be trusted through all the little things. How much of a control (read: pride) issue do I have as to not let the God that made me create peace within me when things are shaky? When I'd realized I'd lost my card, it was just me, alone, freaking out. If I'd stopped and invited Christ into the situation, I wouldn't have been freaking out just by myself, and I would have taken at least one step towards letting myself trust my Savior.