The Truth Behind My Name (Also: Planking)

I was sitting at my desk this morning wondering what I was going to blog about today, since it's Tuesday and I'm trying to make that a post day. I have a few posts "in the works", but they're either in-depth or extensive rants and aren't ready for sharing.

I don't believe in karma. I do, however, hold a great appreciation for coincidence and irony. A few minutes after pondering this blog dilemma, I received a voicemail from a customer. It started out, "I was talking to a young lady at your office yesterday," and ended with, "could you please have that young lady call me?" I called her back, and the first thing she said was, "You said Amber? I couldn't remember your name when I left the message, but it's such an unusual name I should have been able to."

Thus contradicting my life-long belief that "Amber" is a fairly ordinary name.

(Counts number of Ambers I know....)

Congratulations, Dad. Not only did you help in choosing nine names collectively for your kids, you managed to pick ones that were relatively unique! Who knew? I certainly didn't.

I suppose now is a good time to share with you the history of my name. Wesley's name story is Mom, Dad, and friends in a car shouting out boy names until they hit upon one they thought sounded nice. Mine? I have the honor of being named after a character in "The Running Man".

Y'know? The Arnold Schwarzenegger movie?

Imagine my delight when I learned that tidbit.

At that point I had never seen "The Running Man". A couple years later, I walked into the living room while Mom and Dad were in the middle of it.

All that hard work learning to appreciate and accept my name started to peel around the edges.

This is why:

Don't even get me started on the suits. Nah, what gets me is that my namesake (or am I her namesake???) spends a good portion of her screen time screaming.

I mean, I probably would spend most of my time screaming if I was in her shoes, but.... Just no. It doesn't help that she plays in a Schwarzenegger movie. (For those of you who can't sense sarcasm through the screen or who haven't already learned this of me: I don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger very much. The fact that I've had to spell his name three times already isn't helping.)

<end rant>

I actually had thought of another topic to amuse you with before the aforementioned phonecall, so since I have the time I'll move on to that!

In the wake of my first post of the year, I sat back and reevaluated several aspects of my life. The conclusion at which I arrived is no surprise: certain things need to change. And unlike some people who are rational and tackle on thing at a time, I've gone for the overhaul approach.

I have a working budget in place and am trying to remain aggressively dedicated to it because, if nothing else, I need a car. I'm already doing OK with my eating habits but they could stand to be adjusted. And I'm trying to stay fit.

Since I miss my 1/2 mile jog at work every day because of the snow, I was starting to get worried about what to do in place of that (not to say a 1/2 mile jog everyday is all I need to do to keep fit, but it's a start). Browsing facebook around the New Year, I came across a post for the 30-day Plank Challenge and thought, "That looks my speed. I do need to strengthen my core. Why not?"

I actually started it Sunday morning, and this is what I have learned so far:

1) My thighs are already killing me. Everything else feels fine so far, so either it's too early to for the rest of my body to get on board the "good kind of pain" train or I have my form all wrong. Possibly both.

2) Never judge a workout routine based on the pictures. I should know this by now. I really should.

3) Never do anything like yoga with my dog around. The moment I lie down on the floor she's in my face. Either she's worried about me; she sees a perfect opportunity to snuggle; or, in her twisted way, she thinks I am finally submitting my authority to her. In any case, I have to ban her from my room when I do my morning stretched.

4) "The secret to getting ahead is getting started." - Mark Twain

5) Half of my problem must surely be the face that I'm trying to plank on a laminate floor.

I've never been very fit. (I ceased being able to touch my toes when I was, like, ten.) The idea is exciting, but I tend to lose my drive pretty quickly. We have Wii Fit and for a while I was going pretty strong on that, at least with a bit of yoga. But have any of you ever had the Wii give that shocked little "Oh" when you wobble on the board? Yeah, I got sick of that. I was walking my dog pretty regularly, but then winter hit and I'm at work sunup to sundown. So planking it is, until I break something or find a better alternative.

I'll keep you posted.

Living vs. Existing

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde

It's been over 6 months since my last post. While I thoroughly enjoyed the hiatus (including the one I took from Facebook), I've developed quite a list of topics I have wanted to blog about. Also, a few southern friends requested I restart the blog so they could keep up with the family. Mom covers the chicken topic enough now, so maybe the reading will be better than before.

For the last few months I've been wrestling with the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I go to work, work 8-9 hours a day at a job I enjoy, come home and try to find something creative for supper, tap out a few words of one of my current stories, and go to bed to start all over again. On the weekends, I sleep in until 7:30, read a book, eat one meal, maybe go to town, and tap out a few more words.

Maybe it's just a phase. I don't really buy into the whole "young people finding themselves" mentality, but perhaps this is just one of those life transitions where I'm finding my rhythm. Maybe.

Something with which I have always struggled is being anxious. By now anyone who has read this blog knows this. I worry too much and over-think things and second-guess myself, and I know a lot of what I'm working through is managing that aspect of my brain.  But then I sit still and try to count all the things I accomplished in 2014. It doesn't really amount to much in 10 minutes' hard consideration. Drawing it out, my life is pretty colorless. Again, maybe it's just a stage. Maybe I'm in a quiet place where all I'm supposed to be doing is sitting still and learning, listening, developing. Maybe.

I found the above quote from Mr. Wilde quite a while ago and it often comes to mind when I hit one of these contemplative moods. Much as it scares me to admit, I'm not really living my life so much as muddling through it with as little effort or involvement as possible. I'm so caught up in the personal struggle to find my place, of learning the steps, that I've sunk deeply into myself and blocked pretty much everything else out. (I'll be the first to agree that my social interaction is at a level which is undoubtedly detrimental to my health.)

And then I pop out of that shell, take one look at the world, shiver, and withdraw again. Back to the anxiety.

I know I'm here for a purpose. In my family, in this city, as the particular job I hold, in the certain church where we've found a home. In this time, these circumstances.

Another quote which I hold close is from J. R. R. Tolkien and The Fellowship of the Ring. It's more like my life quote at the moment:

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. 

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

God picked me specifically for this location so I could do something for Him. More and more I'm coming to terms with the fact that it may not be very grandiose by the world's standards or even by Christendom's standards. But it's my role. I may be that supporting character who meets one of the key players ten years down the road and has traveled just the right path to know how to nudge them back onto theirs. When I look at it that way, I can't help but get a little giddy.

It's not about finding a springboard to move one from a quiet town to a big adventure. It's about making the most out of whatever circumstances in which one finds oneself. We can't all be world explorers or geniuses or composers. Those people need the clerks and babysitters and nurses. They need the girl behind the phone whose name they can't remember who relieves one small distraction on their plate by informing them that the timeframe they need will work just fine, and who bids them good day with a smile in her voice and doesn't correct them when they get her name wrong again while saying good-bye. (It's not that I'm bitter, but "Amber" is not an unusual name. I can't count the times I've been Amanda, Amy, Andrea, Samantha, or Heather. At this point I just smile and choke down a laugh.)

It is about making what I have been given count in more ways than monetary. It's about loving sleep a little less and hanging out with a lonely friend instead, or meeting for a Bible study. We're here to interact. We're meant to touch, to see, to hear, to speak to, to sing, to guide, to hold. Not to just revel in a sunset, but to glory in Who painted it. Not just to catch our breath after wrestling with a kid, but stopping to read a Bible story and talk about it before helping them crawl into bed. Not just giving candy to an orphan, but the truth as well.

We may not live expansive, bold lives, but we are meant to live on purpose. Wherever we find ourselves, we are meant to make the most out of it for the glory of God.

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. - Romans 12:1

It's reasonable, after all God has done for us, for us to surrender our lives to Him. 

So this post isn't all I had hoped for it to be. They never are. But I think I've said what I set out to. And here are some other quotes and verses which contributed to the concept:

"The fear of death follows the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." - Mark Twain 

"Just breathing isn't living!" - Eleanor H. Porter, Pollyanna  

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot 

"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength." - Corrie ten Boom, Clippings From My Notebook 

"You're not here on accident; you shouldn't live on accident." - Hugh Taylor

The Definition of Happiness

Please note: the following post is long, confused, disorganized, and raw from my brain. I do apologize, but it's something I needed to say, and the best way I know how is to spew it straight from brain to screen.

Recently it was brought to my attention that I possess a crippling habit: list making.

I can't really be sure how this came about in my life. I used to abhor lists. Heather was always the one with the to-do list she was checking off. Maybe it was just the fact that I never seemed to accomplish as much as she did. Or perhaps she wasn't ever as detailed as I in list making. Where she put "clean room", I may have listed: "make bed, sort laundry, vacuum, etc". Who knows? I'll have to ask.

Anywho, at one time in the last couple of years I discovered the thrill of checking things off a list. Something about that tangible evidence that you accomplished something (even though you might be staring at the freshly scrubbed dishes or folded laundry, it's not the same unless you put a check mark next to that line). Hunger for that thrill developed into an obsession, and suddenly every aspect of my life went onto a list somewhere so I could proudly mark complete every visit to the bank; trip to the store to get ranch dressing (check), tissues (check), dog treats (check), flower pots (check), notebooks (crossed out because, turns out, I don't need another); and game prep completed for Wednesday classes.

I think it must have really started when I tried out that Day Zero Project back when I was sixteen or seventeen. At least in that case, it was all fun long-term goals I didn't really need to accomplish, but it was downhill from there.

Lately, I found that those lists were nothing more than a burden. They mocked me, especially when I forgot to turn off the notifications on the newly-discovered "Reminders" app of my phone: "walk your dog", "please put away that horrendous pile of laundry hiding your floor", "find time in your hectic schedule to tap out two or three hundred words so you don't fall behind", and on and on. Also, every Tuesday and Friday for the last couple of weeks, I've scribbled "BLOG!" on my daily list of things to do. Clearly I have a clear grasp of priorities. 

I also found I was relying on my notes for everything, particularly at work.

It hurts, guys. It's painful, like some terrible addiction I know I need to quit but can't bring myself to quit because it hurts. In her own subtle (or not-so-subtle) way, Mom intervened. (Love how I'm making this into a mock-drama of a drug addiction? You have no idea.) She casually remarked that, for goodness sake, I needed to quit writing notes for everything and just use my God-given (and God-ordained rather poor) memory like humans are intended to.

That's probably the most terrifying part: I'm so scatter-brained, without some sort of note to rein me in, I'm bound to forget something crucial at some point. But slowly I'm forcing myself to let go of that security blanket.

The lists are being reduced to taking notes from phone calls and to writing reminders for things I absolutely cannot forget at any cost (which turns out to be very little, really).

And now, I'm starting a new kind of list.

The idea started months ago, when one of the girls mentioned a challenge their youth group team leader had put to their group: every day, write something you're thankful for.

I have often found that I tend to focus on the negative side of life and don't stop to appreciate the bright side: I see the puddles and don't smell spring rain, which I love.

On the radio the other day, I heard something to the affect of "Instead of bashing the things you don't like, try promoting the things you do like". Which is something else I'm working on: not voicing rude things that come to mind when I'm in a bad mood, but smiling whenever I come across something that perked me up.

But back to that list: happiness.

When I force myself out of my own mental puddle and take a breath and a good look around, there are plenty of things that bring that smile to my face. My goal is to learn to appreciate those things rather than getting glum over their muddy counterparts.

Happiness is....

Sunshine

Fresh air

Home-cooked meals

When another driver lets me go first (unless, of course, their kindness results in me getting rammed into, but I've moved on)

Years ago, our youth pastor preached a message which has stayed with me. He talked about our personal levels of contentment, and I believe he used Philippians 4:11&12:

11) Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. 12) I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

The idea was that we can choose how much good we require to be content with ourselves and our lives. We define our own level of contentment. If we can agree with ourselves that we can be content with three square meals, a comfortable house, and a car that runs, we will be happy when we have those things. Furthermore, anything about and beyond that measure will be received as a blessing.

On the other hand, if we convince ourselves that we will not be content until we have a car manufactured after the year 2000, a house with an extra bedroom, money to eat out more than once a month, and our favorite store's entire spring clothing line, we will probably never feel content even with the many things we do have.

I have learned to be content with the condition of my life: my poor beater car, our big drafty house, my amazing family, and a talent for making a meal out of practically anything. However, when it comes to the day-to-day circumstances, my personal happiness can flop like a broken pendulum every time someone walks by.

I have a hard time taking every throw in stride, both good and bad. It takes me a while to recover from a hard word, a mistake, or bad news. And yes, I am severely affected by the weather, and possible the lunar phases as well, but I am consciously working on that.

Last year something I dedicated a post to Philippians 4:5 (or at least I tried to, but looking back, that post was all over the place). Very often these days that verse comes to mind:

5) Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. 6) Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. 7) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Brave the old post if you dare. In short, the idea is maintaining a steadfastness about your nature, not tossed back and forth from despair to joy as the wind changes; leaning on God, trusting Him with tomorrow (rather than borrowing its troubles today), and letting His peace reign.

Happiness is only part of the issue. Happiness is a temporal thing, measured and dictated by our current condition or circumstance, even when we struggle to be content with our lot. The real thing is joy. True joy is something only God can bring, and it is not defined by our outward condition. It's defined by our inward state and our identity in Christ.

I go back to Paul whenever this topic comes to mind. If you want to read about a man who took everything in stride, look at Paul. And after everything, when he stood before King Agrippa and was permitted to give an account of himself, this is what he said: "I think myself happy" (Acts 26:2).

He had suffered shipwrecks and stonings, betrayals and rejection, and now at last was brought as a prisoner before the king. Yet he found himself happy, because he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the king's full attention. Read Acts 26 sometime; Paul makes full use of the opportunity and lays out his testimony in full. Festus calls him a mad babbler, but Paul politely disagrees. He was confident in his work, knowing full well that he was right where he belonged and serving God to the best of his ability, and that was enough.

So maybe I don't have some "great calling" like Paul. I don't think I'd do too well with that sort of adventure right now, anyway. It's better that I bide my time, training myself to take every rude customer and bad day in stride and learn a lesson from each of them, the better to serve when the bigger opportunities rise.

Most of all, I'm learning to be content exactly where I am rather than longing for one more thing, dreaming of a bigger adventure, wasting my time wishing I was doing something else. I'm right where God needs me. I just have to be open for Him to use me in the ways I can't yet see. 

In the Wake of VBS

So that plan didn't exactly work. To be fair, it's been a long week; and, for me, the week can't even begin to be wrapped up until today is over and done and I'm curled up in bed with my breathing and heart rate back to normal.

VBS was phenomenal! Even though myself and my amazing assistant teacher were tucked up in a hot corner room where half the time the food workers forgot about us and the other half of the time they were avoiding us for the sake of their well-being, I enjoyed my job. (Plus, I got to play dress-up as a cowgirl all week. No complaints there!) I've had plenty of practice teaching memory verses thanks to Mom and Dad, and despite the fact that the kids were far more interested in their food than in me, I think we accomplished something. And I had enough wonderful, angelic, attentive kids to almost outweigh the not-to-good ones. Almost.

I'm not sure if the fact that every night but one we had to call in the reserves for crowd control is a testament to my poor ability to handle children, or testament to poor judgement with placing kids on teams. I was ashamed.

There were deadly dog-piles and the handing out of "men" and children whose vocabularies were temporarily reduced to "no" and "why", but we survived with our sanity only slightly damaged and some fun memories. And I reminded myself that it doesn't matter if it feels stupid; sometimes I need to play along and laugh at myself, because the kids will love it.

Yellow Team won the overall points for the week. And that's historic at our church. Yellow has had a losing streak for longer than my family has been attending, I think. Some years they may have won third instead of fourth; once I think they got second. But I've never seen them whip everyone else like they did this year. Even though my own Green Team fell in third, I was happy. Even better was the amount we raised in the penny offering for some beloved missionaries of ours. I think we're finally getting the hang of the penny offering.

One of the youth workers, who's more like the "All Youth Activities Director, Supervisor, and Supreme Overseer" at church, is not only brilliant, but I think a little crafty. Our verse for last night was Colossians 3:23: "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." I explained to my kids what "heartily" meant: quickly, happily, and with excitement, the way your parents want you to do your chores. I also reminded them that the verse is saying it doesn't matter if man praises you; man's opinion doesn't matter. All that matters is doing right because it has to be done.

When the Supreme Overseer pointed to a vacuum parked in the middle of the sanctuary and said, "That's yours", that verse rang in my head, and then this sneaking suspicion developed: I bet she picked that specific verse for tonight as a reminder to the workers who get stuck cleaning in the aftermath. Halfway down one row of pews and three banged knuckles later (have you any idea how difficult it is to vacuum between church pews?) I was convinced. Smooth.

I like getting recognized for my work. Who doesn't? And I try to make sure I recognize others for their hard work and when they are honestly putting in an effort. Which is why I incorrectly used the box of candy given to me for prizes in class. The candy was intended for kids who could say all four of their verses. When the head Cowboy for the week came in and suggested a quiet seat prize, I jumped on it. I can do bribes, too. In my last class, I extended it, and all eight of the kids left with candy in their hands (except one who, for reasons I still can't quite figure out, gave his piece to another boy because "I know you worked really hard on your verses"). I had four problem kids in that class, and the last night they all worked harder than I could have hoped, and most said at least one verse. Victory!

Anyway. People did tell me "thank you, Miss Amber" (what is with this "Miss" stuff? Boggles my brain, I tell you) and I sang back over the whine of the vacuum "You're welcome!" But I kept telling myself that, though the praise felt good, I would have put in the same effort if everyone else had all gone off to bed or (because few people my age make a habit of going to bed by 10) out for ice cream. Right? Of course right.

In short (because I have to get going for the longest day thus far in my career), I learned a lot this week. And I'm convinced I'll need every lesson down the road, from child care to knowing the right balance of discipline and bribery to doing what needs to be done simply because it needs to be done and there's a vacuum standing in front of me, even though some silly person will probably come along in 10 minutes leaving behind a trail of dust and garbage. But it's okay.

If I'm still alive and sane, I shall see you...probably next week. Tomorrow is going to be a long one, too.

Back to Walking (and blogging)

Aaaand.... I wrote most of this on Saturday but never finished. Right.
Let's just say it's been a very busy week. We had Missions Revival (phenomenal, by the way) in the evenings Wednesday through Friday, and I had a full work week. The weather has been gorgeous. It was like as soon as May hit, so did the warm weather. "April showers bring May flowers", anyone? The trees are bursting into "full leafery", as a friend recently described them. The chicks and ducks are growing, while my flowers are dying under their assaults. I didn't think that one through. We have one rooster who is getting huge. Especially his feet. Man, I need to post pictures!

The house is slowly but surely undergoing remodeling. I finally hung some stuff around my room today; stuff which had been sitting on the floor for the last five months. (Has it been that long?) My mirror, cork board, and elephant picture are all up. I'm getting a nifty blackboard of sorts made by a friend in church soon. I've never had so much wall space to fill!

One big thing for me is that I'm trying to get back into walking with Sasha at the picturesque-ly named but not-so-picturesque park a couple miles from our house. So far I'm up to two days. I was going to blog about that yesterday (Friday), but the day was weary and I didn't manage it.

Another good habit I'm returning to is waking before 8. Most mornings, I've officially been up at about by 7:15, though the sun gets me stirring closer to 6:30. Sasha finally gave up her habit of huffing and puffing in my face when I didn't wake up by 7:30. Now she waits quietly and analyzes my breathing, thumping her tail when I breathe deeply during a stretch. As soon as I swing my legs to the floor, she's on her feet and dancing around me.

She hasn't yet picked up on the new change in the morning ritual. I think she'll have it in a couple more days, which probably means she'll return to being my alarm clock. (Good thing, because half the time mine doesn't work.) Yesterday, she didn't get excited until I held the harness up for her to see, and then she couldn't keep still.

I had laid some towels across the backseat in hopes that it would keep her hair off the newly-cleaned seats. Right. She was bouncing all over the car and the towels were crumpled on the floor before we were out of the driveway. She isn't like normal dogs who enjoy sitting by the open window and feeling the breeze. She barely pays attention to the windows. She just wants to breathe in my face.

We arrived at the park and, to my delight, didn't see any other cars parked there. Then came the issue of me needing to carry keys, my phone with headphones, and treats, and having only one tiny pocket on my workout pants. I ended up shoving the treats in my pocket and gathering my phone, the cords, and the clicker in one hand, gripping Sasha's leash in the other.

Commence Sasha's excited lunging and dashing about and tripping me up. I've been working on "heel" with her, and she gets the basic concept, but doesn't realize I mean for her to keep it up the entire time.

Eventually her excited antics wore out and she settled down, for the most part, to walking. Well, pulling me, I guess. Can't say I expected any more. I called her to heel as often as I could and tossed her treats when she acknowledged me and fell into step beside me. It wasn't until we were almost to the point where we would turn around to head back when she realized coming to my side and walking there earned her rewards every time.

And, of course, I was low on treats. Right. Just as she started to listen.

We started back for the car. Now Sasha was almost constantly pacing at my side. I turned up the volume when one of my favorite songs came on, and we continued. I knew it'd all fall apart when Sasha discovered her treat disposal was broken, but for the moment, we were in the zone.

Then I heard voices behind me.

Looking back, I saw two people on bikes coming up behind us. We'd been kind of hogging the sidewalk. Smiling uncertainly, I tugged for Sasha to move over.

But as soon as Sasha saw the people, it was like she turned into a feral beast. She snarled at the bikers and pulled at the leash. One of the bikers has started to say hello in that funny "good doggy" tone, but stopped when my dog transformed into an angry beast before her eyes. They hurried around us while I reached for Sasha's collar. I think I may have dropped my phone, which I had tucked under my arm.

Sasha settled down quickly, but her concentration was broken, and it was back to lunging and dashing and tripping me. Oh, well. I'd run out of treats and had resorted to enthusiastic "good girl"s and head pats, anyway.

We were almost to the car when I saw the bikers had stopped near it at the top of the hill, looking out at the view of polluted water and seagulls, with a backdrop of factories. Glorious, no? I decided if they were still there when we reached the car, I should probably apologize.

"Oh, sorry about my rabid mongrel. She's quite possibly mad and hates people for no apparent reason. My excuse is that her brain is underdeveloped and the flight part of her flight-or-fight instinct is broken. Whenever she gets startled or meets unfamiliar people or animals she either gets severely defensive or ready to attack; can't be sure which."
When we arrived at the car, the bikers were still there. I shuffled Sasha into the backseat. She immediately hopped forward to the passenger seat and barked quickly. I rounded the car and made eye contact with the bikers.
"I'm really sorry about my dog. I don't know what her problem is." (Yeah, not sticking to the script.)
They were very understanding, suggesting without my prompting that perhaps they startled her. Maybe it was the traffic that set her on edge? (And that's a negative. It is Hershey who hates sirens, loud noises, and a big trash truck driving toward him.) You know, there's a dog park not much further down the road (they seemed to have gotten the impression that I was new to the area when I said we'd just moved and wanted to try out this park). Maybe she needs some socialization?
Is it that obvious I'm an inexperienced and rather careless dog owner? I'm trying, people. If I ever dare to get another dog, I'll know better, and that dog will have a lot higher expectations to live up to. Plus, we're all convinced Sasha just isn't quite right in the head. Her reasoning is all off.
Okay, and now that it's Monday....
So, obviously I need to get back to work on that whole post-a-day deal. This week is setting up to be a lot less crazy than last. Mostly. I walked Sasha again on Saturday. She did well, and we didn't meet anyone the entire time.
The trees are filling out still; as is our yard. But not our garden.
Well, gotta go.

Little Wonders

A while ago a friend of the family had a blog where she wrote about one magical moment she found in every day. She kept it going for over two years, I believe. When I was a younger blogger over one homsechoolblogger.com, I followed some girls who took challenges to blog every day for a week, a month, or the like. That's a true challenge in every sense of the word for noncommital me.   :)

I've seen little "magical moments" all over the place lately and thought to myself, "That'd be great to blog about". Maybe it'd break from my self-enforced style of long posts, but aren't more, shorter posts better than infrequent long ones? (Especially when most of the length is recapping.) It may not look like it from where you're sitting, but my life is actually very colorful and I find blogging material every day. I just lack incentive. Probably a month ago I drove past an elementary school on my way to work and saw a group of girls posing with a police officer in front of his car; on one of the rare nice (though cloudy) days this month, I saw people flying kites at Overlook Park (which really isn't as picturesque as it sounds); though I vowed not to write about work, sometimes I catch a cute moment I just have to share, like when the boy came in with a hand-written note and said he'd be back later with his girlfriend and could we put the note on her cup? (I have this irrational fear of the people I blog about actually stumbling across my blog and going, "Hey, that's me!", which is part of the reason I don't blog about work much.)

So why not? What could it hurt to try? A post a day, for as long as I wish or can manage, about the ordinary things I'd be otherwise inclined to forget. I don't know about you, but I found my blog rather boring and greatly lacking in proving how much of a tapestry my life can be like.

Here's today's:

As anyone who lives around here knows, we've been having some flooding. I mentioned before that the main (or most direct, at least) road into town was flooded for a few days. It opened yesterday (though, according to the weekly forecast more rain is bound to close it again soon) so we've gone back to using it. However, the areas all around the road are still under significant water.

Riding home on the bus today, I was trying to amuse myself with the passing scenery. We drove past one of the lowest points along the road. On either side, the land had turned into a scattering of ponds, with portions of sidewalks, sturdy trees, and fences lost in their midst. In one temporary pond, I saw a solitary swan. There weren't any other birds on the water; the geese are gone and the sea gulls are in hiding. Just one swan, floating along and occasionally dipping his head under the water.

Swans have interested me more and more. I think it started back on a camping trip when I noticed for the first time the funny sounds they make. Mom was trying to photograph two of them on a pond. Something startled them and they were across the water, honking gruffly and flapping like mad. For a bird depicted as such a graceful creature, swans can be downright awkward when it comes to take-off from the water.

And then, a while ago, Dad somehow got on the topic of the swan song, something I'd either never heard about or didn't remember hearing about before. It's one of those sentimental or sadly romantic kind of things which tend to pique my interest.

I found a book a couple years ago, The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale, based on the classic Goose Girl fairytale. The fairytale itself has always sort of creeped me out. I mean, come on: the princess's servant betrays her on the way to the princess's wedding and the princess is weak enough to be cowed into going through with an identity switch, and then her horse is beheaded and his head hung over the goose pasture gate where she is sent to work, and it talks to her about how her mother's heart would be broken if she knew her daughter's fate. Where did people come up with these stories? (It is a Grimm fairytale.) Shannon Hale's retelling (and I have such a weakness for fairytale retellings) is easier to enjoy. The princess can talk to animals - mostly birds - and has a great love for swans.

So yes! All that prompted by one short glimpse of a white bird in a puddle. Am I the only one whose mental train can switch across so many tracks so quickly?

On a side note: I had a thought today, while pondering how to get back to blogging, that it might be funny to try and record my train of thoughts throughout the day. I quickly dismissed that notion; how embarassing!

There! Day One down. Let's see how long this lasts.

Also: the title of this post was inspired by this song (start at 20 seconds), which plays at the end of Meet the Robinsons. It makes me happy.

I dare you....

Have you ever had one of those Sundays where it's one amazing message on top of the other, so that at the end of the day all your mind-blown self can think is "Wow!" as you try to process everything? This last Sunday was one of those days. It wasn't just one mind grenade waking me up; I was in a minefield. 

Especially Sunday evening, when our youth pastor preached. Once a month we have Youth Service on Sunday night, where the teen choir sings, one of the young men directs the congregational songs, the boys take up offering, a group of teens performs the special song, perhaps a young man preaches a mini-sermon, and then the youth pastor preaches.

It was kind of like his message came in two parts. He was in I Thessalonians 2:7-13, where Paul is encouraging the Thessalonians on how they should live. Paul sacrificed so much so he "would not be chargeable unto any of you" (verse 9). It was his desire not just to preach the message God had given to him, but to help everyone he came in contact with to live it out to the fullest.

Then the message turned a slight corner, and some things my sisters had told me about their Sunday morning service were repeated.

Key word: dare.

First Paul talked about how he was gentle to the younger and weaker Christians (vs. 7), using the analogy of a nurse. Then, in verse 11, he talks about how he and his companions "exhorted and comforted and charged every one of you, as a father doth his children". The preacher pointed out that the analogy of a father implies giving instruction to more mature children, on whom greater expectations are placed. Infants and young children are treated differently than teens and young adults. 

As usual, my youth pastor threw in a sports analogy. He pointed out how coaches raise their voices a little when they want to challenge their players to do better. Yelling at a baby to eat all their carrot mush only results in tears. Yelling at a 12-year-old boy during a basketball game tends to make him run faster and put some effort into his game. The coach (analogy: God) sees the big picture and our place in it. He can't go out on the floor and play our position for us, but He directs and encourages us. We have to take the outcome of the game into our own hands. If we don't do it, there's a good chance in won't get done, because each of us has a role. One person can't stand around and expect someone else to come along and pick up the slack.

Our youth pastor talked about the competitive spirit normal human beings have, and how that is a driving force that, in moderation, causes us to excel. Then - and here is the point he was going for - that competitive spirit makes some people do crazy things when they are present with the words "I dare you". What guy won't rise to accept any challenge when it's preceded by those three dangerous little words?

As our youth pastor said: "Some people get offended; other people get determined."

It was mostly a challenge to the young men in our youth group to accept the dare of being true men of God, but it could be received in a broader sense by everyone as a challenge to live for God.

He pointed to Romans 12:1 - "I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice". And I Timothy 6:11-14, where Paul "charges" us to "fight the good fight of faith", among other things.

In any good sermon, our own minds tend to latch onto certain aspects which resonate with us and add to them our own observations and experiences. At least, that's what I do. I could miss the main point of a message yet still get something truly important out of it because of one little passage or phrase that God stirred my heart about. While it was a key point of the message, it was also the one part that really stuck with me: the dare.

I thought about the oft-used analogy of the sports game, and the challenge to be participators and not spectators. 

A portion of a song I've heard on the radio kept running through my mind: "I dare you to move." I've only heard the song a few times, but the way I translate it is as a challenge to leave everything else behind and just live for God. To stop lying around and dare to live well.

Back when I was still searching for a title, I found this quote from Mother Teresa, and it also came to mind:

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.

Life is beauty, admire it.

Life is a dream, realize it.

Life is a challenge, meet it.

Life is a duty, complete it.

Life is a game, play it.

Life is a promise, fulfill it.

Life is sorrow, overcome it.

Life is a song, sing it.

Life is a struggle, accept it.

Life is a tragedy, confront it.

Life is an adventure, dare it.

Life is luck, make it.

Life is too precious, do not destroy it.

Life is life, fight for it.” 

And, of course, while I was searching my Goodreads quotes for the above, I came across this one from Theodore Roosevelt:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

Dare, verb:

1. To have the courage to try; venture; hazard.

2. To meet defiantly; face courageously.

3. To challenge or provoke (a person) into a demonstration of courage; defy.

Challenge, n:

1. A call or summons to engage in any contest, as of skill, strength, etc.

2. Something that by its nature or character serves as a call to battle, contest, special effort, etc.

3. A call to fight, as a battle, a duel, etc.

4. Difficulty in a job or undertaking that is stimulating to one engaged in it.

   v.:

5. To make or issue a challenge.

Charge, v. tr.:

1. To command; place a burden upon or assign responsibility to

   n:

2. A duty or responsibility.

3. A command, injunction, or order.

Exhort, v:

1. To urge, advise, or caution earnestly; admonish urgently.

Beseech, v:

1. To implore urgently; entreat.

Like any good challenge, there's risk involved; otherwise, it wouldn't be a challenge. But when someone emerges victorious from a challenge, it's empowering to them (and often those around them) and it shows them what they're capable of if they just try. When someone looks us in the eye and whispers with a smirk, "I dare you", we're willing to put forth a little extra effort - 110% - to prove to them that we aren't wimps. We'll risk more, try harder and longer, go to greater lengths to achieve our goal than if someone simply said, "Could you, please?"

God, through Paul, is daring us to see what we can accomplish for Him. He's challenging us to look beyond this temporal world and live with eternity in mind. He's charge us to not waste one precious second of our existence on things that don't count to anything or anybody. He's calling us to press toward the mark, to fight the good fight, to run well in our race, to live to the fullest. Challenge accepted?

The End of the World (or not). Plus: a Little Christmas Spirit, all Year Long

*WARNING: High linky usage. Proceed with caution. Do not engage linkies unless you want to waste time and maybe get a chuckle out of it.*

 

You know those days when you get a song stuck in your head, and you're playing it over and over in your head pretty much all day long? You might even look them up on youtube so you can listen to the whole song, which you've forgotten, as opposed to the one line you remember. Sometimes I like to think of those songs and theme songs for the day.

Yesterday's theme song was "It's the end of the world, as we know it, and I feel fine!"   :)

I don't know how the rest of the song goes. I just know that part because they play it on "Chicken Little" as "the sky is falling".

(Side note: I googled "Chicken little scream like a little girl" looking for the right picture and got this, which just made me happy.)

*cough* Anyway!

Opinions among my facebook friends concerning "the End of the World" are greatly varied. Some people couldn't stop cracking jokes; others were telling people to stop picking on other people. I'll admit that I posted one or two sarcastic posts and comments to posts, as well as a few pictures. And I'll also admit I was worried about how yesterday would go. Not the world ending, but the possibility of stupid people doing stupid things in honor of the world ending.

At least in our corner of the world, December 21st was here and gone without a supernatural hitch. I worked, helped deliver papers for the routes we're subbing, helped clean the house, and overall had a pretty good day.

While I have to scoff at the people who decided it was a good idea to heed the chiselings of an anciet civilization of humans as equally fallible and finite as themselves, this event served as a nice reminder to me about the uncertainty of life. We aren't given a time when Christ will return. All we are given is a warning to use this precious life carefully and make it count.

In other news, our house is picking up the so-called "Christmas Spirit" a little late this year. But then, I guess we always do. Or maybe it's just that it comes gradually for us, because we tend to start the Christmas music playing around September, and we're usually drinking hot chocolate at least at that time.

I feel bad saying I think it's going to be a good Christmas in light of the Sandy Hook shooting. Maybe it's the feeling that we kind of need a good Christmas. Having a job means I finally have money to spend on gifts, and that is gratifying. I know some people are all about making gifts, my youngest sister one of them, and I don't disagree that those make very personal gifts. However, Sometimes there are things I see that I know will bring a smile, and I'd like to give that smile. I know we don't need money to express our love for those around us, but sometimes a little money helps.

Yes, I still get excited about opening my own gifts, but here's the thing: who really remembers what they got for Christmas last year, much less the year before? It's the emotions of the day, the sense of love and happiness, the break from life, that we remember. At least, it is for me.

I don't necessarily look forward to a new year. I'll spend the next three or four months trying to remember what number to put as the date. (And then my birthday will come and I'll have to remember how old I am.) What's the fun in that? I don't techinically do "New Year's Resolutions", because the overwhelming sense of guilt when June comes and I realize I've accomplished next to nothing on that list is too much for me. But the New Year is yet another healthy dose of reality. "It's a new year. We're still here. We're new people, but we still have a life to live, and we've been given another day to live it."

Some people talk about how we ought to have that "Christmas Spirit" all year 'round: peace and goodwill, love, giving, etc. I agree. When friends complain about me singing Christmas songs in July, I tell them what my dad likes to say: Christmas is the original praise and worship music. And there's no conclusive evidence that Christ was born in December to begin with, so why limit the honoring of such a miracle to that month?

I agree that some aspects of the Christmas spirit ought to be with us all year 'round. And here's another thing:

We wake up on January 1st, Brand New Year, and see the year stretched open and promising (most of the time). We make promises to ourselves about what we're going to do, because the first day of the year is a great milestone by which to track our progress. Maybe we 're still in the same mindset on January 2nd, and possibly January 3rd. By the time March 26th rolls around, however, we're living the day-to-day like always. It's just seasons changing and time passing.

What if, like the "Christmas Spirit", we woke up every day of the year with that sense of opporunities waiting to be seized? What if we jumped out of bed singing praises that we're waking healthy and safe under another sunrise? I know I roll out of bed reluctantly most mornings. Before I'm fully concious, I'm building a to-do list. When I go to bed, I'm not rejoicing in what I accomplished; I'm starting tomorrow's list. That isn't living; that's existing. 

What if, every morning, our thoughts go to God and determine that "this is the day which the Lord hath made" and we strive to use it to His glory? Every day is a new day, a new chance, no matter what number we attach to it. We're always sinners saved by grace, pilgrims in a world that is not our home.

 

 

And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.

The night is far spent , the day is at hand : let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light. 

Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.

But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.

- Romans 13:11-14

Practice Makes Perfect

With some of the money I earned from inventories and babysitting, I bought stuff for the dogs the other day. The Kong toys we bought a while ago both went missing (okay, one got left by accident at the boarding kennel and we never took the trouble to get it back) and the dogs have resorted to chewing our things because they're bored. I also got dog treats (the special all natural kind even humans could enjoy) and a new body harness "guaranteed to stop pulling instantly" because the nose harness finally broke.

This was all in support of that healthy, positive lifestyle I've been meaning to develop for the past few years. Nothing like spending my own hard-earned money to encourage me into action. Sasha's nearly a year old.... Wait! Her birthday was two days ago! Whoa. Okay, so she's a year old, and she truly knows only two commands: "sit" (and then her butt barely touches the ground before she's up again most times) and "drop it" (but never with toys). She knows key words like "outside" and "walk", but mostly she catches onto routines: me grabbing the gate and an ice cube means bedtime, my getting on my sneakers in the morning after bringing her in from the kennel means a walk, me holding a treat and telling her to sit in the living room means "lay down" and "crawl" are to follow. She doesn't come when called, she doesn't stay (she'd quite ADHD), she pulls until she can't breathe on walks, she barks incessantly at anything that moves, she's abusive to Hershey and the cat, and, frankly, it's my fault.

When we visited our friends down south and saw how well-behaved their two-year-old dog was, I decided (again) that it was time to make some changes and teach my dog obedience.

All this to get to the point: walking.

Walking is the best way to get out Sasha's natural energy, and it's a good habit for me, too. However, she always pulls and she always leads. I've heard that a dog who follows on walks is a dog willing to follow and submit to their masters in other areas of life, so I figured it was a good place to start (since I failed to teach her "come" and "heel" as a puppy). I started by teaching her the concept of "heel" indoors, keeping her on my left side with her nose by my hip. She saw the clicker and was ready for action, and soon got the idea that walking beside me on my left earns a treat.

However, once we got outside, any such notion was forgotten, and she pulled away. She would come when I called "heel" and gave the signal, but only long enough to earn a treat, and then she was off again. Indoors, she'll fall into step beside me and watched me excitedly, but not outside.

Today was the second day of that exercise. I got 10 treats and broke them in half, debated about bringing more just in case, and decided it wasn't worth it. Then we were off.

I called Sasha to "heel" quite a few times on our street, and she did. However, she's learned where every dog on the street lives and watches their houses expectantly as we walk by, so she was very distracted. I decided to drill her on the "leave it" trick, which essentially means ignoring whatever has her attention, from the cat to a dog to something tasty on the floor she's eyeing. Basically, I clicked when she finally looked away.

Our normal route takes us up our street and across to the next one over, down that street, and across the park back to our house. Half-way down the other street, I'd pretty much given up on "heel" for the walk, and I was running out of treats. Then, all of a sudden, right near the end, Sasha stopped pulling and came back to my side, looking up expectantly.

Wonder of wonders! I dug in my pocket for the last treat I had, praised her, and kept on. Of course, now I was begging her to just behave until we got home so I didn't disappoint her with no more rewards.

We were half-way through the park when she did it again. I gave her all the crumbs I had, and she pulled the rest of the way home.

There are pros and cons to having a smart dog. Pro: she picks up quickly on things. Con: those things are both good and bad. Con: she has a lot of energy. Pro: if I'm persistent, she's willing to use it productively. Con: she assumes because she's so smart that she's better than the rest of us. At least, that's how I explain her attitude. It may just be her natural personality, but I think part of it is, again, my problem.

You live and learn, right?