Glory God, oh God is peeking through the blinds
Are we all here standing naked
Taking guesses at the actual date and time?
Oh my, justifying reasons why
Is an absolutely insane resolution to live byLive High
Live Mighty
Live Righteously-Jason Mraz
Do you ever stop to think about what you believe?
I do. More often than you could imagine.
The lyrics to most worship songs have never sat right with me. Having to sing in church used to downright make me cry, even if I’d had a perfectly lovely day and did my best to go in with a good attitude. I’ve always struggled with certain aspects of the faith I grew up in. I’ve never been the girl who had a favorite bible verse and I’m here to admit to you that it wasn’t until sometime last month that all of the details to the Jesus dying and descending to Hell and rising again and therefore saving us all from our sins finally clicked and made sense. I was listening to the Newsboys in my car when all of a sudden it was just like, Oh, that’s how that works.
I’ve had a lot of trouble with all of it, always. The reasons, the details, the interpretations.
What I’ve never had a problem with is knowing that God is up there. That much, I’m okay with and always have been.
The first time I really decided I believed in God, really, I was sitting in my freshman world history class. I was fourteen or fifteen years old. We were discussing world religions, and our teacher was going through many of the major ones, telling us what stories were in their sacred texts, and and it occurred to me that many of the stories were the same. Sure, the names were different, the exact locations may have been vague, but the stories themselves remained in tact. The floods, the prophets… it all added up, all without these two races of people ever having come in contact by the time these texts had been written. And I remember thinking, there is indeed One God, and here all of us are thinking we’ve got the Right One. There is no Right One. It’s the Same One.
So at that point, not only did I decide I really believed in Him, I decided none of us were right.
Or all of us were.
But then, if God is up there speaking to us in different languages so as to get to as many of us as possible, why are Christians the only one with a Messiah who has come? Are we? I guess I don’t know. But so many people say there is no way into Heaven but through Jesus, and I think maybe that’s true, but do we all have to be aware of it? Some people just won’t ever “accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior,” because of many different circumstances, some of which are not their own choices. Does that mean they don’t get in? And those who purposely turn away, maybe even because they’re afraid? If Jesus came to save us from our sins and denying him is a sin, well, I think that one counts, too, don’t you?
And asking too many of these questions, along with other, smaller, day to day things like “Is this really sinful or are these laws simply reflective of the time they were written in?” (I mean, Jews were not allowed to eat pigs. Why? Because they were unclean, not because there is something inherently wrong with eating pigs. Not anymore than eating chicken or cows or anything. And that rule has been changed for us and for, as I understand it, many of the Jewish faith, as well.) causes me to question EVERYTHING.
And I hate that feeling. Because I know… I know there’s a God. It’s the rest that get jumbled up.
And that’s why, for me, it’s about letting go, trusting in life, in humanity. In realizing that no one living in this world will ever have the real answers, but that God really is everywhere and in all of us. In believing the real sins are not the ones we commit against ourselves but the ones that are purely malicious, the ones that directly hurt others, or this Earth we live on.
There are many things we should be searching for answers to. The cure for cancer. The real reason the dinosaurs became extinct. Better energy alternatives. But when it comes to God, does it matter who’s right, or does it matter that we’re living high?
I choose to live high.
I’ve had a facebook profile since Christmas break of my sophomore year of college. I remember this because I remember sitting in my bff’s apartment, where I was staying so I didn’t have to keep the dorm ghosts company, and setting it up, then subsequently finding Preston’s profile and semi-stalking him, trying to decide if it was appropriate to add him as a friend. Was facebook like myspace, where I had very few IRL friends, or was it different?
I ultimately decided it was different and I added him. I still remember his profile picture as well as though I’m looking right at it. I’m pretty sure it’s not there anymore.
What this means is that I’ve had a profile for nearly 4 years.
I just thought about it because in those four years, I’m not sure that I’ve ever changed my relationship status.
Yes, I’ve dated guys. I may have taken the status down from “Single” to nothing at all… but it has never, ever changed to “in a relationship.”
Ever.
The reason I think about this now is because… well… I came home tonight wondering if I should change it.
Ultimately I decided not to, for a few different reasons, but the biggest one?
It’s been that way for four years.
I’m not sure I’m ready to let go.
Is that not the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?
But it’s not really about the facebook status itself… it’s about the actual relationship status.
Even with the guys I’ve dated in the past, though I may have wanted it, I never even for a moment expected that those situations might turn into long-term real relationship scenarios. I got to have fun and flirt and make out a little all while holding on to my precious, SAFE singledom. It was familiar. It was easy.
It was good songwriting material.
But now I find myself on the verge of something I have no good excuse to run from. No impending graduation, no impending move across the country. Just him and me and good conversations about music and family and cars and theatre and all sorts of other little things that lead me to think I could really get along with this guy.
For quite awhile.
And I am at the point where I’d be willing to take down that “Single” status and just leave it undefined for awhile. But I figure maybe rather than jumping the gun or making implications, maybe I should just wait it out and change it when things have really come to be what I think they may come to be.
I am known for getting ahead of myself, but for once I feel just fine with exactly where things are. That’s not just about this. It’s about my life. I’m good with it. I know it’s moving forward and changing but I’m just perfectly fine with life’s pace right now.
And so I guess I’ll just let things happen as they’re meant to.
And for right now… I guess that means my facebook “friends” still think I’m single.
I am.
Kind of.
I was planning on going into Nashville for an open mic night tonight. One of my friends was supposed to come with me. His plans changed and he had to decline at last minute, and under usual circumstances I’d just go anyway…
But tonight I just need a break.
It was a totally long week (and an even longer weekend) and oh, man, I just want to hang out doing NOTHING today.
What is your favorite way to relax?
I have a confession to make.
I used to be, and maybe to an extent I still am, genuinely frightened of Hard Work.
It’s just that I don’t like doing things I hate to do (obvious statement of the century) and to me, Work is something I Hate To Do.
So I was surprised the other day when I friend called to see if I wanted to go out with her this weekend. Or next weekend. Or hell, anytime. We haven’t seen each other in weeks.
And we could not match up our schedules. Because she is busy. And I am spectacularly busy.
Doing what?
HARD WORK.
But I guess I just don’t see it that way. I was talking to another friend last night about the way my day to day life was almost a year ago when I’d first moved. How I was unhappy and bored and really needing something more in my life. Comparing that to now, when every day is full of something different, a consistent stream of new people and new friends, multiple projects I throw my head and my heart into, and having to fight for time just to sit down and play piano every once in awhile.
And I realized… I am HAPPY.
Of course, I talk rainbows and unicorns around here a lot. You have not suspected me to be unhappy for quite some time, if ever.
But the point is, I’m happy, and I’m Working Hard.
Why was I so afraid?
Actually, I’m still afraid of hard work.
It’s just that, even though I’m working, I’m not really working.
I’m just doing stuff I love to do.
And hopefully, I’ll remain so lucky for the rest of my life.
What do you love to do?
The thing that makes being a new vegetarian really fun (yes! FUN!) is being forced out of my comfort zone as far as food preparation and dietary staples. If I don’t want to live on veggie chili (which, quite honestly, some days I think I could) or, you know, cereal, I’ve got to be constantly looking for new ideas. My family was (is) a steak and potatoes kind of family, so it’s not like I’ve got a whole backlog of recipes to go on.
Thank god for the internet.
Tonight I was looking for something a little different than the soups and casseroles that were the obvious, easy decisions I’ve been making lately.
By the way, straight up vegetable soup really is delicious, and if you’re a fan of zucchini and sharp cheddar, hoo boy do I have a casserole for you.
But tonight? Tonight I was all about the black bean burgers.
I served one up on toast with a slice of cheddar cheese, a dab of sour cream, and a spoon full of salsa.
And a margarita. Duh.
And OH MY.
My friend P. is here hanging out with my roommate, and he wandered into the kitchen going, “WHAT ARE YOU COOKING?! IT SMELLS AMAZING.”
Um, yes, it does, and that’s because it is.
So, now that I’ve learned to make something new tonight, it’s on to the next project.
Yup.
Just call me Susie Homemaker.
Have you tried anything new lately?
I am just annoyed with the male half of our species at the moment. Just. Annoyed.
First of all, if you say, “I’ll call you?” and I nod and smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes, that means I’ll be expecting a phone call. If you have no intention of calling again, do not imply that you are going to call. It’s that simple. Then, try not permanently leaving the state without telling anyone. Kthanx.
Second of all, if I give you my number, and you call, and we then decide to go out and drink coffee and eat mac&cheese (me) and chocolate cake (you) and have a grand time and then you say, “Seriously, call me anytime,” while it’s not preferable to “I’ll call you,” it is, in this case acceptable. But then maybe you should answer your phone when I call you. Or, okay, so you can’t be waiting by your phone at all hours of the day and night, but try calling me back when I leave you a message! Really.
And third, if I have invited you to numerous outings both with groups and without, if I have called and texted and tried my very hardest to see you again after one very random and wonderful night, and you flake out on me every single time to the point where even though you always say you’ll try I just get tired of hearing it so I stop inviting you out, almost two weeks after our last half-hearted communication is no time to text me at 10 pm to see if I’m in town. No, I am not in town, and if I were in town, I would not be dropping everything and hotfooting it to whichever location you happen to be in, be it a bar across the street or your kitchen across town. If you have suddenly decided you were stupid to be such a girly snowflake, then you’d better man up and apologize for being a stupid girly snowflake, and then try a little something I like to call Planning Ahead. I’m not picky. You know if you’re gonna catch me in town it’s likely going to be a Monday. Try asking Sunday night. Hell, I’ll take Monday afternoon before I hit the highway. But don’t expect to text me and have me be there 5 minutes later.
Girly pansy snowflakes.
Men.
Last night fatigue was catching up with not just my body but with my brain. I was supposed to have the entire weekend off to be mindless, to shut down for just a little while, to recoup. From what? I don’t know. Life, I guess.
But I ended up picking up an extra shift for yesterday, and when Saturday rolled around and I stumbled across a job opening I absolutely couldn’t pass up, I went to work with resume revisions and other miscellaneous tasks, and ended up with no weekend at all.
Which is fine, in a way. I have to use my motivation when I’ve got it.
But that left me feeling cloudy and plain old out of it yesterday. I came home and tried to work on a few more things but couldn’t focus for much longer than a minute or two. Honestly, that’s hard for me all the time, but it’s not something I can’t fight through. Last night? Impossible.
So I decided I’d take what was left of my weekend, I’d curl up on the couch with a pillow and a blanket, and I’d watch My Girl.
That wasn’t the original plan, My Girl, but I’ve seen most of my movies so many times, and most fairly recently, that I’ve got them nearly memorized. My Girl is on VHS, so I tend to forget about it.
So I popped it in, purely because it was the only movie I wouldn’t be able to recite the first 34 minutes of perfectly, and I zoned in, tuning everything else out.
I knew I’d cry. I always do. Usually it’s around the time Vada runs in during Thomas J’s funeral and yells, “He can’t see without his glasses!” Oh. my. heart.
It breaks every time.
But I found myself crying long before that, this time. I don’t even remember what it was that made me cry the first time, but when I looked at the time and realized I wasn’t even halfway into the movie? Wow. I knew I was in for a long two hours.
My roommate came out of her room at one point to ask if she could turn off the kitchen light because it was keeping her up and I was bawling like a baby and basically just had to sniffle and nod and croak out a “suuuUUUUURrrre.”
So I finished the movie and I wiped the tears from pretty much MY ENTIRE FACE and ran to grab a tissue to blow my nose.
And then I realized something.
I was AWAKE.
I don’t know what I needed to cry about, but I guess maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I just needed to.
I feel so much better now.
We’ve got mice running around in our walls.
My roommate set up traps in the garage, where it seems like they’ve made their way in, and lured the cute, disgusting little things into them with peanut butter.
Smart girl. Who wouldn’t risk entrapment for peanut butter? I know I would.
But these are smart mice, I have to say. They ate the peanut butter and got away, although, it seems, not without a struggle.
I didn’t see them, but she said the way she found the traps, all she could do was imagine one caught up while the other grabbed his tiny little hands, screaming, “Don’t worry! I’ll help you!”
All this imagined scene was really missing was some sort of time line to add to the suspense– you know, like in The Great Mouse Detective, when Ratigan’s song ends, and the record player trips off a complex Rube Goldberg sort of machine that means imminent and total death for Basil of Baker Street and his trusty friend, Dr. David Q. Dawson.
Until they use the simple and obvious laws of physics and geometry to set themselves free instead, of course.
But now that we’ve turned these little rodents into Disney characters in our heads, I’m really not so sure I want them to go.
I mean, of course I do. There’s no way they can actually get into the house at the moment, but hearing them scratching in the walls at night while I’m trying to sleep isn’t the awesomest thing ever.
But a big part of me, the kid that’s still left in me, is imagining these little friends as The Littles, just a harmless, cute little family, living on our bread crumbs and having crazy adventures in our walls.
And what if our mice are little chefs like Remy?
That wouldn’t be so bad.
Surveys, job applications… everywhere you look, when somebody is asking you about your racial heritage, the question always arises:
Hispanic/Latino, or Not?
Why that particular distinction? Why not African American or not? Why not American Indian or Not? Why not German Hungarian or not?
Anyone know? It seems weird and a little unfair to me.
