June 3, 2007
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don’t leave lying around crayons in a hot car
“Don’t forget what God said to you in this place–and what you said to Him.” –Pastor Tom
Last week we went to the last service in the church i grew up in. They are moving–today was their first service in their new place. i was thinking of all that happened there…when i asked Jesus into my heart, got baptized, played tag in the bathroom, ate red-hot apple sauce (i love red-hot apple sauce–that used to be the highlight of my Wednesday nights), singing a solo, trip to Kings Island, camp, the first time i told my testimony, my call to missions, going to Kentucky and Brasil…
We were singing “Let your glory fall” and i realized in this whole “church searching thing” i’d made it all about me. what is best for me. what i need. what i like. what i want. It isn’t about me. As my new obsession, “Blue Like Jazz” said, “Six billion people live in this world, and i can only muster thoughts for one. me.” It is about God. His glory filling the temple. His glory filling me.
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I realized i was stubborn when i saw Karine’s face in the combie. I’d just commented on the stubbornness of someone else and then stated “well, i am not that stubborn.” After seeing her face i turned it into a question–”Am i?” to which i knew the answer. since when am i stubborn? i thought i was just starting to do well in flexibility and going with the flow.
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i like this feeling
i haven’t showered yet
had a good workout
fresh strawberries for breakfast
lying on a down cover
having a million things to do
but not really having any
and so feeling free
i haven’t felt this rested about life
for awhile
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in every generation there are a couple parents who disappear into work lives and leave their children to roam the neighborhood. in my generation it was Kellee, Kristle, and Andrew. Andrew who wore only diapers and rode a big wheel. Andrew who is married now. Then there was Rocky. Rocky, the only person who ever called me four eyes and destroyed my crush, my cockiness, and my self-esteem in one sentence. i still have problems with my glasses. Now it is Celia and Wyatt. The five year old who takes care of her three year old brother. both habitual liars. this became clear after Celia insisted she was 12. I am sitting on the couch and hear the pitter patter of little feet as Wyatt runs through the house to get to the bathroom on time. Celia is always the princess or she threatens to go home. Dad told John to just let her go home sometime and see what happens. Wyatt is always the pirate captain. no matter what game they are playing.
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i sat in my car, having to grin at the irony. you just can’t get angry anymore–it happens everytime. we have it down to a script…i leave the country, come back and check on my girls. One girl keeps in excellent contact. no one else really keeps up like her. most of our e-mails discuss how much she misses me and what we will do when we get together and do something. so when we finally do get together, she’s sitting in the car…and spends the whole time telling me she shouldn’t have come. she shoulda partied, shoulda gone through torture…why would she want to talk to me anyways? i am so weird…i smile, we say goodbye at the end, and then i leave the country and we start the cycle again. Funny how some people say “i love you.”
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i don’t know why Timothy always gets to me. i drove past him yesterday, walking down the street, all of eight years old with his five year old follower. Bad part of town, he left his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his manly chest, talking and laughing as if he owned the world. he swaggered too. maybe because he reminds me of my brother. maybe because i know just a little of what he’s gonna go through growing up where he is. growing up in general. maybe because he is so innocent. maybe because i just don’t want him to be broken.
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If i have books like “Blue Like Jazz” and a place to lay in the sun…i could be happy anywhere. i am sitting across from the amazing beautiful journals at Borders and trying to kill my sensibility and say “of course i should spend $20 on a journal.” they are sirens singing their song. maybe i should move. $20 is what i live off of a week in Brasil. $20 is a weekly minimum wage in most third world countries. all this rationality and i still want one.
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I don’t like mechanics. Dad said one of my tires was flat so i needed to go to the tire place. i go and the man asks “which tire?” i don’t know and so said “the flat one.” he almost patted my head patronizingly. Then he saw my cellphone and said he’d call me when it was ready. too bad i don’t know the number (because i never use it). i sinkingly told him that was not necessary and he had to turn away to hide his smirk. i really don’t like mechanics. they make me feel dumb. and they like doing it.
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“The Irresistible Revolution” made me cry and fight and struggle and burn inside. “Velvet Elvis” made me long to understand God and the Bible and dig into it and open up to more. “Blue Like Jazz” makes me want to write. inspiration. release. like that song that pops on the radio that was written for you and hit you where it hurts and where you need it.
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i went and saw a bunch of people who are alittle crazy Friday night. some had dreadlocks down to their buttocks. some had homemade clothes. none of them cared. a group of kids danced around. a couple of grown men joined them, forgetting that they were twice as old and tall and much more noticeable. they sang about Jesus. They reminded me of David–dancing and singing with all his might before the Lord. He forgot himself in something bigger. i wondered if i was Michael, watching from a window and despising–or one of the maids that held him in respect. There was freedom there. Not so much the freedom to do what you want (although you could)–but the freedom to not have to perform. to “let down your hair”, to forget your pride and what people thought of you and what you needed to PRESENT to them. it wasn’t about me or you. it was energy, emotion, and all that God puts in us that we cannot contain. that must burst forth…and it does.
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finished the mural. for $7 and a blister on my finger. Erica did the lettering. Spray paint is hard to control. probably why i like it and hate it at the same time.
i hate it when i can’t remember what i’ve done lately. i love it that it doesn’t really matter anyway.
This break from school and work and being so DRIVEN is amazing. what i needed. i go to bed without freaking out about what is coming the next day. i no longer count the days, minutes, hours to the weekend. i make a plan and then drop everything to take the puppies and John for a walk. life happens.
