I'm thinking about the perfect job for me. Among many other things. Like whether to continue this blog...
Have you ever sat down to think about it for yourself? Perhaps you already have it so you need not consider additional options.
Here is a list of things I have been recommended for over the years.....
1) Nurse
2) Teacher
3) Secretary
4) Baker
5) School Counselor
6) Writer
Here is what I do to acquire cash - pharmacy technician. For a quadrillion stressful hours per week.
If you look closely you will see that none of the suggestions match my actual position.
Now. I often wonder if it is wise to try to make money at something you enjoy. Does it take the joy right out of it?
I love writing. Would I love it less if I were forced to do it every day versus when the mood strikes?
I enjoy kids. At a limit. I can't discipline the children of others. This greatly reduces my enjoyment of hanging out with them. Honestly, folks, there's a lot of bratty kids out there. Word.
I didn't get in to nursing school. #failure
That leaves secretary and baker on my list. I think I could do either quite well. I worked in a bakery before. As the clean up crew. Might I say here bless all the baker's because y'all are a hot MESS. What a disaster. Every single day. I guess speed trumps cleanliness-as-you-go. America needs them there muffins. Stat.
As much as I am encouraged to write. Professionally. I think it should remain a passionate hobby. It is a way for me to break free from the constraints of the daily grind. When I'm writing, I am all alone in the world. It's just me. My pen. My thoughts. And what follows is music and lyrics. You need both music and lyrics to express the soul and that stirring combination is what it feels like when I write. Forcing such a gift is like opening the Christmas present early.
I'm definitely interested in seeking alternate career paths. I'm definitely interested in the release of the overwhelming amount of stress.
For at least the short present it will come in the form of writing as a hobby only and friendships.
Let's share a cup of tea then, friend, and I have decided to continue writing this blog...
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Sunday, August 20, 2017
The Chance We All Deserve
How are you at speeches?
Do you like to give speeches?
I took a speech class in high school, even though I had been performing in plays and programs my whole life. I loved performing and did it every chance I got. I have a good memory which makes me perfect for it. The sick kind like - "On the Monday before Christmas in 1987 I was wearing a purple dress with blue flowers and we had chicken noodle soup for dinner." I remember conversations in detail. I remember dates and incidents. I almost do not need to take notes. I compartmentalize everything that I take in and then sort and re-sort the information in the following minutes, hours, and days. Emotions and feelings are attached to each item and then it is stored appropriately. The higher the level of attached emotion, the more often the item will be re-pulled throughout the day and days following. And this is the lengthy process that cements these events. (And explains why I'm exhausted because my brain NEVER turns off.) This is why I remember throwing up all over my Chemistry test in the 11th grade. The 11th grade. Not the 1st grade which is entirely acceptable. It's why I can vividly see myself aged 13, with braided hair, wearing a pink dress, throwing a cup of water in Matt's face when he had the audacity to publicly make fun of me for choosing not "to go" with him. (I secretly wanted to do just that, whatever it meant, but I had trust issues and he proceeded to prove me right and the betrayal stung. Deeply.)
I expected to excel in speech class, but I was nervous. I felt awkward. I felt uncertain. The reason? It was not fear of attention. It was fear of their opinions. In plays the words are not your own so it matters not. In speeches, the words are your own. Or should be. (It's a shame that famous people have writers. If you are speaking before an audience it should always be authentic.) My grade was fine but I never did get comfortable.
Somewhere along the way....
....that changed.
My ability to convey my heart has become so easy. I do all my own work, just so you know. I do not fear speaking in front of others, because I see their eyes, I see their heart, and what follows is a conversation. Even if it's a group of ten, forty or two hundred.
Not everyone is cut out for speech making. Not everyone gets in the spotlight. But it is the quiet conversations that we should all be having. The "Will you 'go with' me?" ones... The "You mean something to me" ones... The "Thanks for being my friend" ones.." And most importantly, when it comes down to it, the "Goodbye" ones....
We all deserve the chance to speak our heart. We all deserve to look into the eyes of an audience of one, or twenty, to share and inspire, and when necessary, let go, which is the hardest of all the things.
Just be sure to do your own work. Be authentic. Or you might get a face full of water.
Do you like to give speeches?
I took a speech class in high school, even though I had been performing in plays and programs my whole life. I loved performing and did it every chance I got. I have a good memory which makes me perfect for it. The sick kind like - "On the Monday before Christmas in 1987 I was wearing a purple dress with blue flowers and we had chicken noodle soup for dinner." I remember conversations in detail. I remember dates and incidents. I almost do not need to take notes. I compartmentalize everything that I take in and then sort and re-sort the information in the following minutes, hours, and days. Emotions and feelings are attached to each item and then it is stored appropriately. The higher the level of attached emotion, the more often the item will be re-pulled throughout the day and days following. And this is the lengthy process that cements these events. (And explains why I'm exhausted because my brain NEVER turns off.) This is why I remember throwing up all over my Chemistry test in the 11th grade. The 11th grade. Not the 1st grade which is entirely acceptable. It's why I can vividly see myself aged 13, with braided hair, wearing a pink dress, throwing a cup of water in Matt's face when he had the audacity to publicly make fun of me for choosing not "to go" with him. (I secretly wanted to do just that, whatever it meant, but I had trust issues and he proceeded to prove me right and the betrayal stung. Deeply.)
I expected to excel in speech class, but I was nervous. I felt awkward. I felt uncertain. The reason? It was not fear of attention. It was fear of their opinions. In plays the words are not your own so it matters not. In speeches, the words are your own. Or should be. (It's a shame that famous people have writers. If you are speaking before an audience it should always be authentic.) My grade was fine but I never did get comfortable.
Somewhere along the way....
....that changed.
My ability to convey my heart has become so easy. I do all my own work, just so you know. I do not fear speaking in front of others, because I see their eyes, I see their heart, and what follows is a conversation. Even if it's a group of ten, forty or two hundred.
Not everyone is cut out for speech making. Not everyone gets in the spotlight. But it is the quiet conversations that we should all be having. The "Will you 'go with' me?" ones... The "You mean something to me" ones... The "Thanks for being my friend" ones.." And most importantly, when it comes down to it, the "Goodbye" ones....
We all deserve the chance to speak our heart. We all deserve to look into the eyes of an audience of one, or twenty, to share and inspire, and when necessary, let go, which is the hardest of all the things.
Just be sure to do your own work. Be authentic. Or you might get a face full of water.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Broken Pieces
I think that there might be things that feel like a right. Something deserved. Unearned. But deserved.
Like reading. Everyone should get the chance to learn that skill.
Like being part of a family. Everyone should get the chance to feel included in a fold of love.
There are plenty of sorrows to choose from if we were to categorize tonight. So many weighted hearts and minds. Most of the weighted seem to find screaming from the mountain tops the best way to rectify and resolve. I almost cannot bear to listen to one more person rail about racism and our president and the flag and minimum wage and capitalism and socialism and marriage laws and public restroom laws AND.... People, you are daily demanding attention...
I can't listen to one more word that you are shouting. Not one more word.
You know what I love about the Old Testament? What I respect about the Jewish faith? The passing of the Word from generation to generation. Verbally. Instruction is given (even now for us Gentiles) to teach the words and stories to your children when you are sitting, walking along the way, when you lie down and when you get up and....
You know what is the second most favorite thing I love about the Old Testament?
This.
"And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice."
A still small voice.
The I AM. Who alone has authority to demand attention with wind and earthquakes and lightening and rainbows and thunder.
The I AM is found in a still small voice.
He spoke with Elijah. I can't even begin to imagine what that must be like, but one day I will know.
If we read into the passage we understand that He CAME to Elijah.
HE came TO Elijah.
Mind blown.
This is what our God does. This is the love that we cannot hope to understand. That in this season of doubt, heartache, worries, strife...the I AM pursues us.
Friends. He is not likely to join your riots. You will not hear him shouting. His Facebook feed will not be covered in political memes.
For now. He will come with a still small voice. You will have to be looking and listening to find Him. Oh, He knows your earthly fears. The rights you think you deserve or need. Better He knows your heart. Your innermost heart. And He still wants you.
When in my humanness I would wash my hands of all of you....God would not.
I cannot explain it. I cannot adequately share my faith because God blows my mind.
These are some lines from a favorite song...
"All these pieces broken and scattered
In mercy gathered, mended and whole
Oh, I can see you now
Oh, I can see the love in Your eyes
Laying Yourself down
Raising up the broken to life"
All these pieces.
If that doesn't describe our lives..
In mercy gathered.
If that doesn't describe our God...
Friends.
A still small voice is the answer. For your fears. For your pain.
He raises the broken to life.
I'm living proof.
Like reading. Everyone should get the chance to learn that skill.
Like being part of a family. Everyone should get the chance to feel included in a fold of love.
There are plenty of sorrows to choose from if we were to categorize tonight. So many weighted hearts and minds. Most of the weighted seem to find screaming from the mountain tops the best way to rectify and resolve. I almost cannot bear to listen to one more person rail about racism and our president and the flag and minimum wage and capitalism and socialism and marriage laws and public restroom laws AND.... People, you are daily demanding attention...
I can't listen to one more word that you are shouting. Not one more word.
You know what I love about the Old Testament? What I respect about the Jewish faith? The passing of the Word from generation to generation. Verbally. Instruction is given (even now for us Gentiles) to teach the words and stories to your children when you are sitting, walking along the way, when you lie down and when you get up and....
You know what is the second most favorite thing I love about the Old Testament?
This.
"And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice."
A still small voice.
The I AM. Who alone has authority to demand attention with wind and earthquakes and lightening and rainbows and thunder.
The I AM is found in a still small voice.
He spoke with Elijah. I can't even begin to imagine what that must be like, but one day I will know.
If we read into the passage we understand that He CAME to Elijah.
HE came TO Elijah.
Mind blown.
This is what our God does. This is the love that we cannot hope to understand. That in this season of doubt, heartache, worries, strife...the I AM pursues us.
Friends. He is not likely to join your riots. You will not hear him shouting. His Facebook feed will not be covered in political memes.
For now. He will come with a still small voice. You will have to be looking and listening to find Him. Oh, He knows your earthly fears. The rights you think you deserve or need. Better He knows your heart. Your innermost heart. And He still wants you.
When in my humanness I would wash my hands of all of you....God would not.
I cannot explain it. I cannot adequately share my faith because God blows my mind.
These are some lines from a favorite song...
"All these pieces broken and scattered
In mercy gathered, mended and whole
Oh, I can see you now
Oh, I can see the love in Your eyes
Laying Yourself down
Raising up the broken to life"
All these pieces.
If that doesn't describe our lives..
In mercy gathered.
If that doesn't describe our God...
Friends.
A still small voice is the answer. For your fears. For your pain.
He raises the broken to life.
I'm living proof.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Trouble With The Curve
Today, for the first time in his young life, my son resisted a hug from me . Because he was having some tweenage angst regarding instruction. He didn't just resist. He firmly pulled away. And he was good with that choice.
And I'm having a serious moment (or several) about it.
Parenting, like leadership, is a draining task. To keep all your little peeps trucking along in a row. To guide them. To instruct them.
If you're doing it well, you will not be making friends. At least not all the time. Someone in your row is going to be upset with you from time to time because receiving direction and instruction can be difficult. We all like to go our own way. But. If you report to someone, you have to go in the way that they desire. Because they are responsible for you. They are held accountable for your action or inaction as it pertains to outcomes.
Man. If parenting were all snuggles and baby kisses. Well. I'd have a lot more than two.
But.
Tweenage angst. (😡)
Adult entrees. (💸)
Book fair. (💰)
You understand.
I'm crying over here. Legit, real tears of sorrow and mommy pain.
My baby is an independent person with independent feelings and he is now on his way to stretching, pushing and growing his boundaries.
I'm trying to keep up with the curve, but like the movie, I have a little trouble with it.
It's probably ridiculous. But I felt that life inside my body and I birthed that child with great love and longing. I thereby reserve to have all the (several) moments of all the rites of passage that are now beginning in this household.
Son. I love you, sweet baby. You are my greatest joy. Your hands are letting go. And it's healthy. And natural. (Although not always done in the right way.)
And. No one. No one. Can prepare a Mommy's heart.
And I'm having a serious moment (or several) about it.
Parenting, like leadership, is a draining task. To keep all your little peeps trucking along in a row. To guide them. To instruct them.
If you're doing it well, you will not be making friends. At least not all the time. Someone in your row is going to be upset with you from time to time because receiving direction and instruction can be difficult. We all like to go our own way. But. If you report to someone, you have to go in the way that they desire. Because they are responsible for you. They are held accountable for your action or inaction as it pertains to outcomes.
Man. If parenting were all snuggles and baby kisses. Well. I'd have a lot more than two.
But.
Tweenage angst. (😡)
Adult entrees. (💸)
Book fair. (💰)
You understand.
I'm crying over here. Legit, real tears of sorrow and mommy pain.
My baby is an independent person with independent feelings and he is now on his way to stretching, pushing and growing his boundaries.
I'm trying to keep up with the curve, but like the movie, I have a little trouble with it.
It's probably ridiculous. But I felt that life inside my body and I birthed that child with great love and longing. I thereby reserve to have all the (several) moments of all the rites of passage that are now beginning in this household.
Son. I love you, sweet baby. You are my greatest joy. Your hands are letting go. And it's healthy. And natural. (Although not always done in the right way.)
And. No one. No one. Can prepare a Mommy's heart.
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