2007: The Year I Started Taking Pictures?

I've never been one to take pictures. I haven't even enjoyed having my picture taken!

But the stars must be aligning:
--Robbie and I got new phones for Christmas that have a camera!
--My friend Julie has inspired me by trying out Project 365.

I think I'm going to give it a try...one picture a day for a year.

2007 may turn out to be really interesting.

(Here's hoping these are more than New Year's Resolutions!)

2007: The Year I Wrote About...

My district manager gave me a Christmas gift today. It was a beautiful notebook with an amazing letter in it.

His letter said some really moving things, but the short of it is...he is encouraging me to write--to journal.

As I commit to working more faithfully on my blog, I'm sensing a cosmic theme here.

Hopefully all this writing will yield some benefit (and not just for me).

I'm watching Claymation Christmas!

What's your favorite Christmas show? Or Christmas commercial?

If you haven't seen it in a while, you might be able to watch it on this awesome site: The Christmas Spot! You can "Watch 101 Classic Christmas Videos Online."

I still haven't found any Hanukkah or Kwanzaa sites yet...I'll keep you posted.

(Thanks, Pop Candy!)

Church thoughts...

I had a great conversation today with a guy at work. We are in similar positions in the company, and have similar backgrounds as well--lots of church.

As we talked about our struggles to be part of the organized religion that had once been such a prominent part of our lives, I found myself talking again about what church could be...

Instead of a big black hole where you are compelled to throw your money, time and talents, I wish it were a launch pad to help you be a better family member and a better employee. Some people may say "that's what it is!" But this is not my experience right now.

I feel like the church wants me there more and more (which makes me want to be there less and less, despite the fact I still like a few people there). I want to be able to be more and more "present" at home and the office. That's where I can actually make a difference...rather than just serve as a pretty ornament in a museum with the name of an organized religion on the door.

I also surprised myself as I spoke about a passion for learning to harness the power of the media to change people's lives. I'm not talking about writing my own tv show or making my own film, necessarily. I'm just talking about helping people talk about all of the amazing, moving media that is being produced every day--the good, bad and the ugly. Anything that moves us or makes us feel anything could be used as a launch pad for dialogue about life.

And that--for myself--is a lot more interesting than anything else going on in organized religion.

Anyone else want to pull up the couch and watch a movie?

Why so fruitless?

I'm just posting today because I want to get into the habit of writing. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I have anything to write about...

Is it because I'm boring? Lazy? Because I watch too much mindless television?

In a conversation with one of my mentors this week, I heard myself actually say that I was still holding on to the hope of being "discovered." For what, I have no idea...I'm getting too old to be discovered for my youth, and I'm not sure what else I've got going on...which is reflected in my inability to write about anything today.

So I'm just posting to post. Rather like my just "existing to exist." My mentor said I should pursue something--anything--to keep myself from burning out at work. Ah, if only I could find something to pursue. I'm interested in everything, but nothing stands out enough to say, "Yes, that's what I want to do!"

So I guess I'll just post this and go watch some television. Sadly, I'm pretty sure the answer won't be there!

Wishing and working...

I'm working on my final paper for my next to last class in grad school. And I'm wishing that I were more excited about writing...

Not just writing my paper (although that would be great!) but writing in general. I really admire my friend Julie, she's definitely a writer by nature.

I would love to be able to write and express myself in a way that would be meaningful to myself and to others. So I ask myself...what if there is nothing in me that is meaningful to express? Is that why I can't write?

Is that why I don't update my blog more than once every few months?

If I believe that writing is so important, why can't I make myself do it?

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions. You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

What European City Do You Belong In?

Who knew? My great great great great great great great great great grandfather (Joseph Eaton, I believe--that's nine greats, if you're counting) came to the United States from Ireland. Maybe I've still got remnants of Irish blood tooling around my veins.

I've never been on a pub crawl, but I do have a bicycle...so maybe I'll give the Irish life a try!

What is control?

It's not a new dilemma, for me or for many. I'm wrestling once again with the idea of God being in control.

The devotion that I read for this morning stated that when the Hebrews were being enslaved by the Egyptians, God was still in control. The stumbling block du jour.

I am not (currently) struggling with the question "Why do bad things happen to good people." I believe that bad things happen to everyone at some time, although some things are worse than others. Bad things just seem to be part and parcel of life on planet earth.

What I am struggling with is whether or not I believe that God is in control of it. If so, then what does it mean to be "in control"? I am not comfortable believing that God causes bad things to happen. And since God is not stopping bad things from happening, what does that say about God's control? And God's choices?

I'm pretty sure I'll never have an answer to this. I just want to be honest and open about the fact that I'm still struggling. I don't want to go numb.

Unresolved issues...

I have finally finished my semester, and was looking forward to just kicking back--then today happened. I had a major issue arise at work (mostly in my head) that has totally disrupted the time-space continuum.

I realized today that after I left my last job of 9 years, I told myself that I really needed some time to sort through my soul. And today it smacked me upside the head: I have never taken the time to do that. I left my job and went right into school and a new job. And my new job has proven to be much more time consuming (and mind consuming) than I thought it would be.

So even though I thought I was moving forward, today I realized that I haven't been moving at all.

How in the world am I going to stop my life long enough to figure out who I am?

Bag of Inconsistencies...

My mind is like a plastic trick or treat pumpkin filled up with lots of candy. Some are good, some are not, and I never know what I'm going to get when I reach in without looking. I like to write, and, for the life of me, I cannot make myself finish writing my final exam! I want to be recognized for my great mind, and I just spent a ridiculous amount of money trying to find the right mascara to make my eyelashes look good...

My life is full of inconsistencies, too. I shower every day, but can't make myself dust my house. I work out, and then go eat at White Castle's. I read the Bible every day, and have a hard time dragging myself to church some days.

Well, at least my mind and my life seem to be consistent in their inconsistencies, I guess.

Off to finish my final exam!

It just dawned on me...

My friend Dawn checked out my bog oh, maybe two weeks ago...

Since then she has started her own blog and has something like TEN posts on it already. I have FOUR in two years. FOUR. What is wrong with me?

So I have accepted the challenge. Gauntlet thrown, gauntlet picked up (to quote "Ask a Ninja"). I will no longer strive for perfection in my posts--just persistance.

Thanks, Dawn! I owe you one.

A Real Miracle

I have almost stopped believing in miracles. Just this week I heard a news story on the radio about a scientist who is suggesting that perhaps Jesus did walk on water—and he can scientifically offer an explanation. I stopped caring about science proving or disproving ‘miracles’ a long time ago, probably because I had a hard time seeing the relevance of miracles in my personal life.

I have been accepting the use of the word miracle to describe things like the birth of a baby or a beautiful sunset. While they don’t exactly wow me like the childhood stories of miracle like the parting of the red sea or turning water into wine (obviously I am not a mom!) they are certainly beautiful and important moments in life, events that make us pause and take a breath, remembering again the sacredness and the fleetingness of life. But it occurred to me this week that perhaps I have been overlooking a pretty big miracle in the New Testament.

I was a full-time employee of the local church for 12 years, serving as both a youth minister and a children’s minister. I have seen the good, the bad and the ugly in the local church, and unfortunately I have seen a lot more of the bad and the ugly. The cynic in me believes that church brings out the worst in people, and even on a good day I still mostly believe that. That’s what make the story of the woman caught in adultery that much more amazing…

As the story goes, a group of men—religious men—brought to Jesus a woman who had been accused of committing adultery, an offence punishable by death. Some believe that they were trying to trap him; I think perhaps they were just trying to get him to pick a side. In any case, Jesus basically said, “Sure, go ahead and stone her—just make sure that whoever throws the first stone is the guy without sin.” And here’s the miraculous part: For the first time before or since, every one of those religious people dropped their stones. If you have spent much time in a church, you know what I’m talking about. Some people on a good day will drop their stone, but most days you can find someone slinging a rock around the church. Most people have been hit by a flying stone or two. But on that day, something about that situation made each man drop his stone.

I wouldn’t diminish the fact that it was a woman that Jesus was saving that day, either. Funny that despite Jesus’ treatment of women, the church has continued to deny women an equal place. And if the writer of that gospel hadn’t inserted his own textual comment—“Go and sin no more”—imagine what a different place our churches might be. Of course, I could be wrong on this, and I will probably be branded a heretic, but I’ve seen the maxim “Hate the sin, love the sinner” fail too many times to believe that God actually believes it.

You know what else? I bet none of those guys even recognized it was a miracle.

How David Sedaris saved my live...

I purchased the book at the airport, having finished the novel I had incorrectly assumed would last for the whole trip. Being of a cheap sort, I hesitated to shell out the $14.95 suggested retail value—although I was sure it would be worth it—because I knew that if I waited long enough, one friend or another would offer to let me borrow their copy. However, the thought of facing a two and a half hour flight (and the inevitable wait for my ride at the terminal after my arrival) without some sort of reading material was enough to push me over the edge and whip out my credit card. Hopefully, Mr. Sedaris would appreciate my generosity. Perhaps he would donate $15 to a nice charity.

I began the book before I ever stepped on the plane and quickly found myself stifling my chuckles. Had I been alone, I would have laughed out loud, but I was unsure if my fellow travelers might find my behavior disconcerting before boarding a plane with me. Air travel is so strained now. If I had been with my husband Robbie, I would have been reading salient portions aloud, which takes me three times as long to read a passage because I can’t contain my own laughter when I hear his words out loud.

Somewhere over Kansas, I realized that I was going to finish the book before we touched down in Cincinnati. I debated: should I try to read slower? Should I take a break? I glanced at the gentleman sitting (mercifully) two seats away from me; he was reading one magazine after another—the variety that I couldn’t help but look at on the newsstand but frowned upon others for actually purchasing. And not because I’m cheap. Just because they seem to be so tasteless. Why do we want to know the popular young starlet has lost too much body mass, now weighing in at just slightly above the average house dog? Why do we want to read others’ speculation about the reasons for the break-up of that famous couple’s two year marriage—two years, we thought for sure they’d make it!—and grieve with the ex-wife, looking miserable in her unfortunate photo, caught on the way to the 7-11 without make-up, as her happy ex-hubby is shown cavorting with his latest film co-star? Nope, I’d rather continue reading at my regular pace than continue pondering why this beefy guy reads girly gossip mags.

As I closed the book (should I start over?), I stared out the window and wondered why I enjoyed Mr. Sedaris’ work so much. The answer was more than just “it’s funny stuff.” It seemed to touch a deeper place in me, especially at this time when next to nothing seemed funny. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more miserable. It’s nothing of a personal nature—my marriage, family and friend situations were all fine—but something about my job has worn a piece of my heart and soul so thin that I seem to be in constant pain. Pain so real and so close to the surface that I cry at the drop of a hat. And as a self-proclaimed macho-girl, I don’t like to cry, so this emotional crap was really taking a toll on me.

And then I began to think that perhaps it was the way that he looked at his life. Mr. Sedaris seems to write about real life situations with his family and his partner—situations that probably are very much not funny at the time, at least to those around him. But something about the filter on his brain, his outlook on life, gives some sort of hope to life rather than making me cry.

Despite my near-depression state and my personal holy war with God (something that has probably not shown up on the radar yet for my church family, but those who are very close to me have glimpsed), I still take the time to read my One-Year Bible every morning and write down verses in my journal that catch my attention. At the present, the plural “verses” often can only be used when one combines my writings over days. But I’m still whacking away at it, for some reason I can’t seem to identify. I rarely look back at what I have written, since most of it seems so far from relevant that my tea leaves speak louder, but something in me suddenly remembers what I might have jotted down today. I have to pull it from my knapsack to verify, but there it is written in my own hand: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” This morning my only reflections on this proverb were “Wow, crushed spirit really resonates with me right now” and “why is the writer so bent on being negative—can’t he end on an up note?” Now however, the idea of a cheerful heart stands out to me. Whether Mr. Sedaris or his family would identify his own heart as a cheerful one is a quandary to me, but I know that his words, if only for a few moments, lift me out of my own unhappiness (an unusual departure from life as of late).