On keeping a notebook | Response

I loved this essay. It completely hit a chord. I’d never really thought about why I write what I do, but now I understand. Like the author, I’ve tried and failed to keep a diary but it’s too boring! Who wants to write down exactly what you did that day? It’s much more interesting to put down random thoughts, and it’s much more interesting when you go back to read them.

“we are talking about something private, about bits of the mind's string too short to use, an indiscriminate and erratic assemblage with meaning only for its maker. And sometimes even the maker has difficulty with the meaning.”

These things, theses “bits of the mind’s string too short to use”, are mainly the reason I keep a notebook {or journal}. Quotes overheard. Thoughts that are bursting through my mind that don’t make sense to tell others. Interesting people I met. Internal struggles. Those are the things I’d rather look back at, and those are the things that bring me back to those places.

I am, like Didon, one of those people that have to write things down. I can never just file it in my mind and enjoy the moment, I want to write something down to save it forever.

I like what she said about staying in touch with the person we used to be. I might not want to be there, and I might be glad I didn’t stay there, but it’s good to remember.

“It is a good idea, then, to keep in touch, and I suppose that keeping in touch is what notebooks are all about.”

Icouldn'tthinkofagoodenoughtitle

The white bus with blue and red stars, tinted windows and the name “The Friendly Rider” drove quietly through the small town. The slogan under the innocent name proclaimed “an easy way to get from here to there”.

The sun was sinking on the horizon, signaling the end of the calm summer evening. The only sounds were an occasional car as it drove by, and a dog barking a few blocks away.

A tired girl sat on the bench on the corner of 6^th and Illinois Ave. She’d had a long day at work, and she had an even longer walk home. Her black shoes hurt her feet, but were a requirement on the job.

Just then the Friendly Rider pulled up the curb. She wasn’t at a bus stop, and she hadn’t waved them down, but the bus ground to a stop alongside her. She’d never taken the bus before, but tonight she thought, “sure, why not?”

She didn’t pay much attention to the driver as the doors slowly folded open and she reached in her purse to find her fare. She mumbled her destination and made her way to the third row, vaguely noticing the absence of other passengers, other than an older lady in the very back, and plopped down on the seat.

The girl reached down to loosen her shoes, and leaned her forehead against the window. The boulevard trees flew by and she closed her eyes, listening to the soft noise of the engine. Before she knew it she had dozed off.

When she opened her eyes it was dark. The sun had finally slipped behind the horizon, and there was just a faint glowing line left. She rubbed her eyes as she peered out the window, her mind groggy and confused and she didn’t recognize the road passing by. She shook her head and just as she began to realize that this wasn’t the way home, the bus slowed and pulled onto a dark dirt road.

She could just make out a few dilapated* buildings, and what looked like an old fairground. She began to panic and started up the aisle, questioning the driver. “Where are we? What is this?” she asked, but her only answer was silence and a blank stare ahead.  

She pushed on the doors, thinking that if they weren’t going too fast she would jump, but they were locked shut. They rounded a corner and came to a sudden stop. The doors opened and the girl jumped out.  Bright lights lite her panicky face as she stared up at a Ferris Wheel, the only apparent life in an abandoned fairground. And then she noticed the clown.

___________________________________

I don't usually write stories like this, but this one popped into my head one day when thinking about how utterly creepy the "Friendly Rider" bus is. Not to mention fairgrounds at night.  My sister says I have to much of an imagination... but hey, it runs in the family.

Elevator Etiquette

Elevators. Why were they invented? I understand that sometimes they are useful, but more often they are just plain awkward.

I just spend ten days in hotel that only had stairs in case of a fire emergency. Needless to say I had lots of experience riding elevators. The more I rode, the more I wished for a set of stairs, even if that meant being out of breath and taking a little longer to reach my room.

I still haven’t figured out the proper way to act in an elevator. Do you engage the people in there with you? Or do you pretend to stare intently at the screen and watch the floor numbers change? Is it rude to make small talk, or is it rude to pretend that they’re not there?

Both ways can be equally awkward. Like when the older man in the elevator started making slightly unnerving remarks about how beautiful our eyes were when we still had multiple floors to go. Or when you ride nine floors down with the big guy who is wearing gold chains and has tattoos that doesn’t say a word when you get in.

If you do start a conversation, it’s always rudely interrupted by the elevator doors opening, but if you don’t start one…. the time feels like forever.

What if the ones you're stuck there with five times in just two days, don't speak much English but try to ask you questions?

Do you say goodbye when you leave the elevator? It feels like you should, but when it’s the only thing you’ve said… it feels even more weird than saying nothing.

What about getting on the elevator? The best part is when neither of you realize there’s someone on the other side of the door, and get fairly surprised. Best reaction to that situation? “Oh! Hello! And WELCOME to your floor!!” (this particular instance was made even more awkward by the fact that we were in swim suits, and that the above comment was followed by, “your clothes are in your room!”)

What do you do when the door is closing? Do you run and stick your hand in to make it open? Or just wait until the next elevator comes? It feels kind of dumb to sit there and wait, when there was just one there, but it feels even more dumb to go racing to the door, start waving your arm and then jump in to a group full of people (“Hi!”).

I guess the only thing I’ve figured out for certain is that elevators can be handy for times when you are carrying big loads of luggage, or when you are all by yourself and can jump and sing, but usually it’s better to take the stairs.

God the Creator

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” {Genesis 1:1}

We’ve ignored a huge side of God in today’s Christianity, the creative. In the beginning, the very first thing He did was create.

God is the Ultimate Creative; He designed not only this world, but the universe, but we tend to forget that fact. In the church today we recognize the need for Christians in math and science, and even business, but the arts? Nah. The arts are evil, but there’s no need to take them back; they’re just for entertainment after all.

But God created the arts. Losing a Christian influence in the art industry has limited our view of God to the left-brained scientist. We’ve put Him in a box, ignoring His freedom to create, and reducing Him to a mathematical formula. If you get one small part of that formula wrong, the project (i.e. your life) won’t turn out.

This is where we begin to believe that being a good Christian looks a certain way, and that it takes a specific equation, because that’s our view of how God works.

This is why I feel we desperately need to take back the arts, because without being an active part of them, from movies and music to photography and painting or potter, we fail to grasp the importance of the "other side" of God.

God’s path for your life (and others) is beautiful, and a lot of it is due to the fact that it’s different than anyone else’s. He takes pleasure in creating unique places and roads just for you. Don’t forget that He’s not limited to one formula, even though we tend to think He is.

Purity and our Past

I read this post on Stuff Christians Like, on “Guys like girls with a past” the other day. There are a lot of things I could say about this, and there were a lot of good arguments in the comments, such as why guys *shouldn’t* like girls with a past and other topics but it really just sparked some different thoughts for me.

____________________________________________

Wait a sec…there’s a difference? You mean there are girls without a past? Woah woah woah. When did this happen? I don’t know any.

I think sometimes we need to realize the fact that ALL of us have a past. Maybe the guys are attracted to the ones with an “open” past because they’re more real*. They’re admitting that they’ve messed up. That they’re not pure.

Because none of us are pure. I don’t care if you’ve never slept with a guy, never even kissed a guy, never watch a PG-13 movie, listened to secular music, or been around people who swear [much less use one yourself],  we were born with sin. We were born marked, tarnished… UN-pure. In Christian circles we talk about “losing our purity”, but how can you “lose” it if you’ve never had it? We talk about, strategize and stress [and stress and stress some more] KEEPING your purity, but how can we keep what we’ve never had?

“All have sinned and fallen SHORT of the glory of God.” {Romans 3:23}

We can only gain purity. We can only be given purity, it’s not something we already have. We were never whole, we were never blameless, and never spotless. Jesus came to give us that, He came to make us that way. Pure is something you become, not something you were.

Accepting this fact, for me, is freeing. Because instead of being something on me [I need to keep my purity, I need to be so careful because if I lose it… I can never get it back], and turns into something on God [He’s the only one that has it, and the only one that can give it]. It turns our focus from us to Him. Exactly where it should be. It frees us to do, and be, and say exactly what He wants of us because we have forgotten that it’s on us to save our purity.

Never forget, only Jesus can give us purity, it was never ours in the first place and it’s gift. But it’s a gift He’s more than willing to give.

“Come, and let us return to the Lord; for He has torn, but He will heal us. He has stricken, but He will bind us up. After two days He will revive us; on the third day He will raise us up, that we may live in His sight.” {Hosea 6:1-2}

_________________________________________

{The P.S.'s} 

*This has nothing to do with the "past" or the "cooler past" that they were talking about in the post. And this is not me saying that guys should be attracted to "bad girls", it's more me saying that really we're all bad girls [and boys]. 

Links to the two blog posts that sparked these thoughts of mine [they were also feed by some of the talk at Junction last night]

http://laurennicolelove.blogspot.com/2011/10/what-makes-woman-good.html

http://www.jonacuff.com/stuffchristianslike/2011/11/stuff-christians-guys-like-girls-that-have-a-past/

Kind of like Sisters

So I've decided that I hate short stories... so much for thinking this was an easy assignment. They always end up so lopsided... my intro is as long as the rest of the story for crying out loud. And the whole thing doesn't have a very strong story line for someone who wasn't there. Ahhhh! I guess practice makes perfect... So I should just suck it up and do more, right? haha

__________________________________________________

 The girl waited impatiently to leave the plane. She stood in the isle with her backpack slung across one shoulder and her suitcase at her feet. She pulled at the neck of her Twins sweatshirt and shifted. Thoughts flashed through her brain, ‘was this really a good idea?’ she second guessed herself.

Eventually the line started moving and everything went from the quiet calm on the plane to busy people rushing here and there, the sound of roller bags on the linoleum, sometimes a different language. The girl briefly wished she wasn’t wearing a sweatshirt and tennis shoes in the California airport, but the thought was interrupted by the sound of her name.

“You’re here!” hugs, parking lots and cars followed, and then a year’s worth of catching up. It didn’t take long to skip the small stuff and jump right into what God had been doing in their lives, but still the quiet doubts lingered.

The next day the two found themselves in San Diego, looking for a gelato shop in the midst of all the crazy ComicCon goers. After enjoying cappuccino flavored gelato they ventured up the outside staircase to find the bathrooms. Laughing and talking as the followed the sign the pushed open the door and stopped when they realized it was a single bathroom.

  

 “ummm, go ahead,” one of them said, and the other walked back to the main room to awkwardly read the bulletin board. Before she could get to the board however, one of the men sitting at a table looked up from his computer with a laugh and remarked, “not that good of friends, huh?”

“ha… yeahhh not that good,” she managed, and the man went back to his work.

The girls had a good laugh about it on the two hour drive back, “what an awkward comment!

Nine days, a wedding, four days of camping in a small tent, tramping all over Yosemite with their bibles, a day of rock climbing, being mistaken for sisters (and mother/daughter), meeting crazy people, brushing their teeth in the street, 24 hours in the car and hoards of adventures later, they were sitting at a picnic table in the dark, somewhere in the mountains, talking.

One of them remarked on how they both had such similar taste, “I mean we never have to argue about what kind of music to listen to, we get the same kind of coffee where ever we go, we like the same kinds of food, and the same kinds of activities. It’s kind of a good thing...”

“I know! It’s a really good thing… Otherwise I don’t know how the ten days would have gone. To be completely honest I was kind of wondering how good idea this was,” said the CA girl. “I was thinking, ‘I liked her at Photoj and all, but that was two years ago..”

“Since we’re being honest… I had the same thoughts!” admitted the one that came to visit, “What if we didn’t have any of the same tastes!? What if we didn’t get along very well and had to spend all that time together?!?”  The two laughed about how unfounded their fears had turned out to be, and tried to ignore the fact that they wouldn’t be together in another day.

The next night was her last night in Cali. She cuddled up on the floor while her friend crawled into bed. “What are you doing down there?!? Get up here and bring your pillow!"

She laughed, “I guess maybe, by now, we are ‘that good of friends’.” 

Sweaters and Hoodies

Sometimes I can't decide who I really am.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm having an internal identity crisis. Actually a lot of the time.

Part of me thinks I'm an artsy person. You know, the sweaters, skinny jeans and TOMS wearing, trend setting person. An abstract and impractical one, loving my new haircut and always being creative. The dreamer, the right-brained.

And the other part of me says I'm just pretending. That I'm just an right-brained wanna-be.

That at heart, I'm really a jock, the one that wonders what the heck I'm going to do with these bangs when I'm lifting or climbing, the part that chooses sweats and a hoodie with the hood up over a sweater and jeans, and the one that disses all things impractical.

Can I actually be both? Or am I one or the other?

Am I pretending? Or am I really a part of both people?