Wiser? Or just older?

I've been writing blog entries a lot in my mind lately. I didn't realize until I finally logged in tonight, that I haven't actually published one for over a year. It is cliche to ask where the time has gone, but I really can't say. I know from looking back on past entries that I'm still much in the same place, treading water I suppose. Still reeling a bit from God, living at arm's length for fear some action of His "goodness" may actually wipe me out. But still not ready to let go of Him. Of the possibility of a close relationship again. Of the possibility that I might really come to trust and depend on Him and give Him my heart without reservation, and in spite of the very likely reality that, in the process, I will hurt and even feel the loss of some of my more cherished idols. And even possibly be sent to Africa as a missionary.

I am still single. The last thought in my mind every night as I go to sleep is inevitably, "I can't believe I live in this house all alone." I'm still hoping my singleness might change, but then again, it's hard to hope. I had a conversation with a dear and saintly friend tonight who basically believes I am the one putting up the walls that keep me alone. I can't say she's wrong, but I'm not sure how to stop doing it. It's something to think and pray on, at least.

I am changing jobs, but still in teaching. I'll be at a new high school and starting a new program. I'm excited in the sick sort of way you get when something has a lot of potential and you are afraid you may be the only pitfall.

The biggest change for me lately is that I seem to have become a very active and fervent agnostic when it comes to church-going. I don't have a church and am really tired of looking for one. I can't seem to find a place that can really compete with staying home in my jammies and watching "Sunday Morning" with Charles Kerault. (Yes, I know, I'm OLD!) I keep hoping to find a church that really communicates joy and authenticity. And if they happen to be Christian, that would be a bonus at this point....

So why am I writing tonight? Especially in light of the fact that I'm pretty sure no one is out there to read this? I guess it's a good question. I could certainly journal privately. That probably even makes more sense. But I guess there is a part of me that hopes for connection through writing. Even the mostly self-indulgent type of writing this is. So I thought I'd start again.

I first called this blog "300 words," from Anne Lamott's idea that a writer should do at least three hundred words a day. I think the current title is far more accurate. I am falling short - in the writing department and pretty much every other one I can think of, at least at some point in my life. And even though I am holding Him at bay, and even though I am a disobedient, mopey, and selfish child, I'm thankful still that God chose to substitute His holy life for mine.

Walking on Cannon Beach

Last month, a friend and I took a trip to Oregon. I've been wanting to visit for a long time. Seems like I keep reading about it and meeting people from the area. So finally I found a willing traveling companion and we took off.

I quickly learned that a week is not nearly enough time to spend in this beautiful area. I think I need at least a week more in Portland and a couple of more exploring Oregon and maybe heading down to Northern California. Maybe next summer. While on the beach in a lovely little town called Cannon Beach, however, I got to live out one of my adolescent fantasies. If you're of a similar age, you probably know the one. It's born of one of those "Love Songs of the Seventies" compilation album commercials. In it, a lovely woman (with long blond hair, of course), walks along a windy beach. She's wearing jeans and one of those nubby white fishermen's sweaters - probably her boyfriends. The commercial cuts between scenes of her walking and looking into the surf to shots of her sitting on rocky outcroppings staring out into the surf. Depending on the commercial, she may even ride a white horse bareback at sundown as she stares off into the surf. Her true love, of course, is not present, but in his absence, he is palpable. As our heroine stares into the surf, she remembers his strong arms and tender caresses and.... oh, where was I?

Well, this particular commercial image somehow implanted itself in my prepubescent brain as the epitome of romance. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention to the fact that the woman is ALONE. Might have changed my whole life. But still.

My situation wasn't a complete mirror of my beach fantasy stroll. I don't have long blond hair. I was wearing a blue polka dot sweater instead of the cool fisherman's one. And there is no strong-armed, tender-kissing man I was missing (well, not a specific one anyway.) But the longer I live, the more and more I see God redeem dreams and desires long forgotten and pushed aside.

I set out that morning on a walk to the iconic Haystack Rock, which was up the beach a ways. I was lucky enough to get there at the end of high tide. I got to walk around among the tide pools and look at sea anemones and starfish. The sun was high, but it was still a misty, cold day and the rays through the clouds were golden. I poked around for a while and decided to head back to the hotel for breakfast.

As I walked along the beach, the wind was blowing in off the surf, the mist and breeze tangling up my hair. As I looked out at the waves rolling in, the sudden thought of the compilation album commercial played in my head. All I needed was a Leo Sayers song to start playing somewhere. Unfortunately, I can't remember any of Mr. Sayers many hits, however, so I substituted an Air Supply medley instead. I started to laugh as I realized that even this silly little fantasy I had when I was nine or ten mattered to God. He brought it into being and then brought it back to my mind to remind me that he cares. Nothing, no desire, no prayer, no tear is wasted on our loving God.

Catching Up

I'm feeling excited a lot these days! (You know, it's funny just how unnatural that exclamation mark felt). Lots of things playing zing with my heart. Some deep stuff that God finally seems to be getting into my head and heart, like just how much stress it saves me when I don't just say every little thing that comes into my head. Or that waiting for the right time is better than forcing the issue. Or that being single may just be the thing I should be most thankful for since it gives me lots of freedom and the ability to engage in things I'm passionate about without having to stop and make somebody dinner.

I'm also happy about some upcoming times. A birthday party for one year old Joachin Perez, a little boy who I joined my friends Kara and Ram in praying for last year at this time, little knowing his birth and adoption were right around the corner. My friend Pammy is having a b-day, and I'll finally get to meet her new friend Sergio. There's a Todd Snider concert next week (actually three, but I've determined that one late night school night is about all I should reasonably attempt). There just seem to be lots of reasons to be thankful these days.

I was listening to a Don Miller message the other day. My former future husband was talking about how our lives are like stories. We need to see ourselves as the characters in our own lives and ask what God would have us do. We should live with grand purpose in mind and understand that conflict is what a good story is all about. We shouldn't be surprised when our lives wander off in a different direction than we had thought they were going - interesting and compelling characters do that.

I feel like I'm largely still trying to figure out what my story is about. I realized recently that I've spent most of my past years trying really hard to please the "authority" figures in my life, from Dad on down. After a year or so of a break from the last place this was largely in play, my old church, I'm finally less of a pretzel and more of a, well, pretzel stick, I suppose. In other words, although I'm no longer bent out of shape, I'm still not sure that I'm fundamentally any different. I keep trying to remember my dreams from long ago, but I can't. The only thing that I can vividly remember is how I wanted to be a lawyer and judge after reading back-to-back biographies of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Richard Nixon. OK, it was pre-Watergate, so cut me a little slack!

I don't know what dreams God has put inside of me, but I want to find out. I want to listen to my heart in a way that I haven't before and be willing to risk disappointment and hurt to pursue them. I want to build my hope muscle and my faith muscle and learn to trust God - not that he will act as I want him to, but that what he does is Good, so I'm OK no matter what the outcome. I ask God to grow the hunger inside of me to know him and help me not be able to ignore his voice when I hear it.

Beginning a new year...

I woke up to the alarm this morning at 6 AM. Nina Totenberg was telling me that twelve people have died in the past weekend due to ice and snow in Colorado. I quickly turned off the radio alarm and went back to sleep. The perfect beginning to a new year?

Last year, I promised myself no more New Year's parties until I had someone to kiss at midnight. Otherwise, it just feels so forced and fake. Actually, in this past year, I've come to realize that I'm the one who felt forced and fake - because I've been lying to myself and so many others for so many years about what I really wanted, I suppose. I'm reading a book with an embarrassing title right now (no, I won't say what it is, but the subtitle is "Trusting God with a Hope Deferred"), and the writer talks about how we sometimes we start in a place of honesty with God, asking for a desire we have. That desire is almost always good and created by Him, but somehow, along the way, we become convinced that it needs to be fulfilled in a certain way. And then we close our hands over it and make a fist - holding tight to our own vision of fulfillment and alternately begging and blaming God for not fulfilling it. We become the bridezilla of Christ.

That picture certainly describes me during 2006. In a lot of ways, it was a tough year. I spent time learning to cope with Carie's loss, with the loss of my grandmother and with the loss of my church and so many relationships there. This past summer, during which I'd hoped to do and see so much, ended up with me sidelined with an injury to my foot, physical therapy and instructions to stay inert. I got digital cable and spent a month or so in a haze of home improvement and cooking shows, which really wasn't what I'd hoped for. Then, this fall, with all of the tragedy at our school, a lot of tension and pressure on the job, my mother's health crisis - well, it's just been downright eventful. In the middle of this, I've felt incredibly alone. I've really begun to feel the loss of my old church. Not that I feel like I should go back there, but more the sense that I lost a part of my identity when I left there. I thought I knew where God had called me and what I was supposed to be doing in ministry. I'd even hoped to be working in ministry full-time by now. Now, I feel at a loss. The passions I'd been able to engage in at that church are pretty much unheard of elsewhere. I haven't found a creative community with which to engage. And I miss it far more than I ever thought I would.

I miss wanting to go to church. I miss having a sense of purpose and direction. I miss feeling like I had a calling on my life from God. I suppose I still do. I guess we all have a calling of some sort, but I feel like that is one of the things I lost this past year and I don't know how to find it again. And tied into all of this is unhappiness at being single at my age. I've approached God, especially this last year, with a combination of incredulous entitlement and wounded uncertainty. One of the things I realized in 2006 is that God's goodness and my perception of goodness don't necessarily match up. Sometimes the good things that God does feel painful to me. Seem senseless to me. It is a matter of faith to continue believing God is really good and in control, but I haven't always approached it that way. As I look back, I realize this last year has involved a lot of lip service on my part as I said, "Yes, God. You're good and in control," while I very carefully protected my heart from Him. I acknowledged His goodness without believing in it, and the past year of anger, frustration, and distance from God have resulted.

This year needs to be different. I need to open my heart to God in a new way. I know that it may be good for me to live as a single woman. I know it may be right for me to stay in a job that is difficult, in a church that is unfulfilling, in a life that falls short of my dreams. Because it may be that in the midst of the pain and frustration and downright boredom, God can shape me into his own image in ways I would never allow him to if I came into possession of all of my dreams. It may be my role to stand by and watch others receive or achieve the things I've dreamed of. And if it is my role, it will not feel good, but it will be Good, because God will have his way with me. But I cannot go into that prospect in anyway other than abandon. I know now, that resignation is a spiritual death sentence. I need to go in to everything, even disappointment, with a full heart and honesty. I need to be willing to cry before God, to wail and scream if necessary. To beg and plead and cajole and even bargain, knowing full well that the Almighty will have his way, and whatever it is, it is Good. And in that more honest place with God, as I open my fist over the dreams and desires I've been strangling, I think I'll find God's goodness in a very real way. In a deeper and more lasting joy than I would have felt over the satisfaction of what is ultimately a momentary desire.

I enjoyed my new year's eve last night, which was just a low-key celebration with a friend. Maybe next year or in years to come, though, I'll enjoy going to a New Year's party because I'll be able to accept it for what it is, not place my own fisted expectations on it. I'll not feel like it is a celebration of my own failures because I am not kissing anyone at midnight, but instead I'll be able to enjoy the company of those around me. And maybe even help someone else who is feeling alone and unloved know the truth. Know that, in all things, God does work for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

Lobotomy & the Social History of Food

Well, I finished The Lobotomist. One bad thing about reading a book about drilling into people's brains is that it is difficult to find people who are willing to talk about the topic with you. Especially when you get to the transorbital part - that's the entering through the eye socket with a pick part. It did lead to an odd discussion with my mother and sister-in-law about trepanation, the practice of drilling through the skull to "free" your mind. By the way, the International Trepanation Advocacy Group (http://www.trepan.com/) is looking for some folk who'd like to undergo voluntary trepanation as a way of "evolving." Hope that works out for them.

So, having poorly followed the suggestion of Don Miller, too-cool-for-church writer dude, into the muddy waters of brain surgery, I have found my next book to read. First, I've been on something of a book-buying binge of late. I'm thinking I may need a voluntary fast from Amazon for a while. I have numerous options at my fingertips. I have several more books DM suggested - books I accurately remembered and purchased, mind you. I have several books that promise to tell me how to be a completely fulfilled single person, which is a topic I desperately need sound advice on. It's been a tough few weeks of feeling very lonely. But somehow, I'm pretty sure these books are really going to either tell me nothing or tell me everything I've been doing wrong. I'm feeling a little fragile for that right now. I started reading Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire. I have thoroughly enjoyed his other fairy tale offerings, especially Wicked, but I'm feeling like I need to reread it before I'm really ready to read the sequel.

So what has finally made the bedside table? A book I've been dying to read: The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Last summer, I read The Botany of Desire during a family trip to the beach, which completely mystified my family. ("You're reading a book on potatoes and tulips? Why?") I found it completely fascinating. His thesis is essentially that these particular plants (potatoes, tulips, apples, and marijuana) have tapped into particular desires in people that have allowed them to propagate beyond what they naturally would have done on their own. Pollan's latest book is a social history of several meals. I've only read through the introduction so far, but the book appears to take the growing of corn through its eventual fate as part of a Happy Meal in its first section. Later sections examine "organic" farming and what that really means and a kind of "back-to-nature" approach in which Pollan makes his own meal only from food he has found or killed himself.

In the introduction, Pollan asserts that we Americans have a national eating disorder. He cites the bread-phobia of recent Atkins persuasion and the wild swings we seem to go through as we label certain foods "bad" or "unacceptable." As a current (and probably forever) dieter, I'm fascinated by this idea. I know that I don't do myself any good when I decide that some foods are bad and rule them out completely. I'm setting myself up for a fall. But there are foods that are just a bad idea pretty much all the time. And foods I know I can't eat- I can't even have in the house. For some reason, one of those foods for me is the Pop-Tart. Iced brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts, to be specific. For some reason, pop tarts are a total trigger for me. I'll eat a box in two days. I've had to come to the conclusion that they simply can't be in the house.

I know moderation is the key in all things. Unfortunately, I've been rather "moderate" about staying on Weight Watchers this weekend. I decided I didn't want to "count" this weekend. But I know I've got to get with it again this week. I also haven't been to the gym in two weeks. It's just been so stressful with so many hours needed at school of late, but things finally seem to be settling down, so maybe this week will be better. At least, according to Pollan, I'm in good company with my "issues."

I've been promoted!! And demoted!!

I got to play at being a school administrator this evening. Our school has two open "principal" positions and our head principal asked if a few people could help cover some of the after school activities. So I got to be one of the "administrators on duty" at our 7th grade football game tonight. What does that entail? Mostly walking around with a walkie talkie and occasionally saying things like, "Toni, what's your location? I copy that" to the other admin on duty. FUN!

Still, after getting home at 9pm, it makes me even more amazed at all our administrators do for us. I can't imagine doing that week in and week out! And I'm glad I don't have to.

Oh, and we lost. Really badly. No glory for the 7th grade tonight.

Why I am reading "The Lobotomist"