So this week marks the beginning of my final year of nursing school. Three days in and my brain hurts. Literally. So does my rump. Seems sitting in a chair listening to lectures for 8+ hours per day will do that. And we are only on day three. I hope clinicals get here quickly, so I can give my rump a rest. My brain just has to continue to process all the information, and hopefully this knowledge comes in handy this semester when I'm helping birth a baby, or working in recovery, or taking care of kids, or working at the health department, or...
I think it's going to be a really busy semester, and I'm excited to see how it changes me, tired brain and all.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Please don't make me go to church
I'm tired. I have a long list of things on the docket for this week. I'm feeling quite unorganized and not at all churchy. (Thank goodness on that one.) I realize drinking Mtn Dew a few hours before bed is a recipe for disaster in the sleep department. So I'm sitting here, my mind is racing. I'm planning worship in my head for several weeks out when it hits me. I hate church. I hate the rules of church. I hate that people get so caught up in their ideas about church, and in creating rules for how church should be done that they create boundaries and walls that exclude entire segments of our population. While yes, technically we are a church at canvascommunity, I hope we never function as one. Before you go further in this little rambing girls thoughts, read this blog:
http://blog.sojo.net/2011/06/24/wanted-an-uncool-church-of-distractions/
So back to me hating church. I hate what we "Christians" have made church. When I think of the church of Paul's day, I think of folks gathering with their friends in their homes. I think of those same folks sharing a meal and stories of hardwork and perseverance. I think of a stranger meandering through town, and ending up in the home on the street that "left a light on" for them. I think of that stranger moving quickly out of the "stranger" category and into the category of "friend".
Today, that might look like a home group. An accountability group. A group of people attending Monday night worship, and then going to dinner together after. A praise team laughing during the creative process of learning new music for worship. The interaction of the ministry team. I have a friend who says she doesn't attend church. She takes part in a faith community. I think she shares my feelings about church. You see where I'm going?
It takes a conscious effort to maintain any type of community. Even more in a community with diverse personalities and leadership styles. One person can literally destroy a community with attitude or unkind words. "It only takes a spark..." to create a safe haven, and that same spark can burn it to the ground. The type of "church" described in the above linked blog is what I signed up for when I decided I wanted to be involved in church. I have been "in" church my entire life. It wasn't always a conscious decision. Now it is something I mostly look forward to. Mostly.
There are still "real people" in church with their ideas of how things should work and strong personalities to match. Real people with real flaws. I'm one of those people. I'm not perfect. I'm willing to admit that I fall WAY short of the glory of God more often than not. I make bad choices. I'm moody at times. I make really bad choices. (Monday night I had the biggest piece of birthday cake. A corner piece. I ate it in front of my trainer. He made me work it off the next morning. Bad choice #5,985.) There are days when I fall flat on my face. There all also days when I'm "right on the mark". Today I'm somewhere in the middle.
I don't like when people are mad at me. I'm a dumb junior high girl in that respect. I get my feelings hurt easily. People are inherently good. People have great intentions, for the most part. I realize that part of being in an "uncool" church means I might have something I say or do taken out of context. People might even question my motives. This next statement isn't going to make sense to most people who know me well. I get accused (often) of being cold and unapproachable. I'm neither of these things.
In all honesty, I'm quite an introvert. An introvert who happened to study vocal performance. An introvert who still get nervous when she sings. I also help lead worship. I'm always "on" when I'm doing my "job" in the church. I'm on as soon as I set foot in the door. I know that when people watch me they see me as the lead singer, or the girl who does harmony when Craig takes the lead. I'm also the girl who has on her mind the next thing to be accomplished. That next thing happens immediately after worship. I have to make a conscious decision to go talk to people. Not because I'm unapproachable, but because it means I have to put aside my to do list and my selfish nature and do something outside of my comfort zone.
I'm uncool. I get in a rut. I stick to what is safe and comfortable. I'm working on it. Monday night one of our littlest members wandered over to the stage. If there had been drumsticks in his sight, he would have gone straight for them. I could have allowed that innocent curiosity to derail me. I didn't. Instead I invited him to join me. I convinced him to let me hold the microphone. I held him and talked to him. And if he had been a tad less squirmy he would have been on my hip while we sang the final song. I hope someday soon we can all say "I'm un-cool, distractions don't bother me, this place feels like home, and it suits me just fine.". Care to join me in that sentiment?
http://blog.sojo.net/2011/06/24/wanted-an-uncool-church-of-distractions/
So back to me hating church. I hate what we "Christians" have made church. When I think of the church of Paul's day, I think of folks gathering with their friends in their homes. I think of those same folks sharing a meal and stories of hardwork and perseverance. I think of a stranger meandering through town, and ending up in the home on the street that "left a light on" for them. I think of that stranger moving quickly out of the "stranger" category and into the category of "friend".
Today, that might look like a home group. An accountability group. A group of people attending Monday night worship, and then going to dinner together after. A praise team laughing during the creative process of learning new music for worship. The interaction of the ministry team. I have a friend who says she doesn't attend church. She takes part in a faith community. I think she shares my feelings about church. You see where I'm going?
It takes a conscious effort to maintain any type of community. Even more in a community with diverse personalities and leadership styles. One person can literally destroy a community with attitude or unkind words. "It only takes a spark..." to create a safe haven, and that same spark can burn it to the ground. The type of "church" described in the above linked blog is what I signed up for when I decided I wanted to be involved in church. I have been "in" church my entire life. It wasn't always a conscious decision. Now it is something I mostly look forward to. Mostly.
There are still "real people" in church with their ideas of how things should work and strong personalities to match. Real people with real flaws. I'm one of those people. I'm not perfect. I'm willing to admit that I fall WAY short of the glory of God more often than not. I make bad choices. I'm moody at times. I make really bad choices. (Monday night I had the biggest piece of birthday cake. A corner piece. I ate it in front of my trainer. He made me work it off the next morning. Bad choice #5,985.) There are days when I fall flat on my face. There all also days when I'm "right on the mark". Today I'm somewhere in the middle.
I don't like when people are mad at me. I'm a dumb junior high girl in that respect. I get my feelings hurt easily. People are inherently good. People have great intentions, for the most part. I realize that part of being in an "uncool" church means I might have something I say or do taken out of context. People might even question my motives. This next statement isn't going to make sense to most people who know me well. I get accused (often) of being cold and unapproachable. I'm neither of these things.
In all honesty, I'm quite an introvert. An introvert who happened to study vocal performance. An introvert who still get nervous when she sings. I also help lead worship. I'm always "on" when I'm doing my "job" in the church. I'm on as soon as I set foot in the door. I know that when people watch me they see me as the lead singer, or the girl who does harmony when Craig takes the lead. I'm also the girl who has on her mind the next thing to be accomplished. That next thing happens immediately after worship. I have to make a conscious decision to go talk to people. Not because I'm unapproachable, but because it means I have to put aside my to do list and my selfish nature and do something outside of my comfort zone.
I'm uncool. I get in a rut. I stick to what is safe and comfortable. I'm working on it. Monday night one of our littlest members wandered over to the stage. If there had been drumsticks in his sight, he would have gone straight for them. I could have allowed that innocent curiosity to derail me. I didn't. Instead I invited him to join me. I convinced him to let me hold the microphone. I held him and talked to him. And if he had been a tad less squirmy he would have been on my hip while we sang the final song. I hope someday soon we can all say "I'm un-cool, distractions don't bother me, this place feels like home, and it suits me just fine.". Care to join me in that sentiment?
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Storm clouds and Ziggy
I was recently spending time with a friend. She was keeping me company on a day when I really wanted to stay under the covers. We were sharing frustrations, making jokes, and laughing. We have a joint endeavor that involves mounds of fabric samples. I wasn't feeling inspired. She wasn't feeling inspired. We decided to call it a night and forget "work". She went home. The girls were in their rooms. Jamey was trying hard to stay awake. I was trying hard to find distractions that kept me from brooding. I do that sometimes. I get so focused on one tiny frustration and it gnaws at me. Over and over again. That day just happened to be the beginning of Holy Week. The final week of the Lenten fast. The culmination of three years of ministry by JC. And the exact wrong time for a nervous breakdown.
Now you're probably thinking, "She always has it together.". That is mostly true. Kinda. Not really. I'm good at faking it. I tend to be very guarded with most folks. I might have a big laugh, but I'm mostly an introvert. I love quiet. I love "me time". I don't get much of that lately. I haven't for a long time. I've been known to spend my days off seeing how many naps I can fit into one day. I like most people, some more than others. And then there is that tightly knit circle. The "group" I can tell anything, who will share my joys and sorrows. Those I can talk to about anything and everything. That is a very small group. I won't trust just anyone with my heart. It is quite fragile and fractured. While I have most of the pieces, it isn't necessarily pretty.
So I put this blog aside, because my frustrations were (and still are) quite close to the surface. Truth be told, if the offer to run away to a mountaintop villa or a beach with fruity umbrella drinks were to present itself, I might (would) jump all over it. Being human means you leave yourself open to the potential for heartache and heartbreak, sometimes (most of the time) at the hands of those people you treasure the most. I am no different. People are inherently good. Until they prove to me that they aren't. I'm inherently good, mostly.
I started blogging as a way to deal with my emotions during the impending death of my mother. I keep blogging as a way to deal with my frustrations in everyday life. However, I don't necessarily think it is right to call folks out in a public forum. I use this space to vent -- and I try to always make sure the very thing I'm venting about applies not only to those who have somehow managed to shatter my faith in them, but also to me. I refuse to be a victim. There is a lesson in even the darkest storm cloud.
I'm sure if you live in Arkansas, you are more than a little tired of the rain and the storms that plagued our April. It seems the inches of rain 18 months ago had nothing on this year. (That was deemed a "hundred year flood".) We've seen cities evacuated and interstate highways closed due to to the swelling of rivers and rising of flood waters these past several weeks. We've seen destruction on a grand scale in the form of tornadoes and straight-line winds. Some of us have even experienced it personally. April has been stormy for me. Literally and figuratively. I don't always say the right thing. I don't always use my filter. I have very few people in my life that I let get close to me. If I keep you at arm's length, I don't open myself up to disappointment. That really isn't a very good way to live. Trust me, it hasn't worked for me thus far.
Sometimes, the words you want to hear in the most hurtful situations are "I'm sorry." No other explanation is necessary. No other gesture is needed. Just the acknowledgment of hurt, and the validation of feelings. Whether you think you were completely wrong or not. April is always going to be a gray month for me personally, not that I want to dwell on that fact. In fact, it usually sneaks up on me. Quite literally I turn the page of the calendar and BAM...sucker-punch to the gut. This year it was bad for several reasons, which don't need to be delved into any further than to say, sometimes disappointment happens when you aren't really expecting or prepared to deal with it. I still managed to get out of bed each day, put one foot in front of the other, and even muster a smile every now and then.
So I'm going to put an idea out there that you may or may not agree with -- forgiveness is hard work. It requires putting your selfish tendencies in a tightly closed box and admitting your humanity. It requires the person extending forgiveness to do so, oftentimes without the benefit of voicing the hurt and frustration. It requires putting yourself out there to be criticized by folks who don't know or understand that there is even frustration present. I tend to become very introspective when I'm struggling. I have often had folks ask me (several times a day, mind you) if I'm okay. Rest assured, I'm fine. I'm likely just processing my feelings in a way that isn't a burden to those I love. I've learned in these past few years, that it is really hard for folks to see someone they love hurting. It is, what it is. It is raw and very real to the person who is working through whatever issue brought them to that point.
As a way to move on -- forward momentum is what I need at this particular moment -- I am going to try my hardest to be a person who exemplifies not only strength on the most gray of days, but also one who extends a hand of grace and mercy to others. I am bigger than even the most profound hurt. I didn't ask to be strong, it is truly a blessing and a curse. My very favorite comic strip sums up how I feel most days. Ziggy standing at the top of a mountain. He's having a conversation with some unseen being. The bubble above his head reads, "Hey God, it's okay with me if you don't have quite so much faith in me next year." That comic still speaks to me. Forgiveness isn't necessarily deserved, but it is necessary for the one who harbors resentment to move forward. I have a choice every single day. I can let resentment turn me into someone who is angry and bitter at the circumstances of life OR I can say, no amount of wrong is worth me beating myself up over. I choose the latter.
So -- I forgive you, not because I have to, but because I choose to. I retain the power over my emotions. I retain the ownership of my feelings. Life is too short to become angry and bitter. Do I have a reason to be? I have a decade of reasons. But this weekend is Mother's Day, and I know that my mom is speaking to me through these words, even though I can't hear her voice. I hope that I make her proud with the way I live my life. I know I have probably disappointed her more times than I care to count, but I like to think she would be proud of the woman I've become. I'd give anything to hear her laugh one more time, I just have to have faith that she hears mine every now and then.
Now you're probably thinking, "She always has it together.". That is mostly true. Kinda. Not really. I'm good at faking it. I tend to be very guarded with most folks. I might have a big laugh, but I'm mostly an introvert. I love quiet. I love "me time". I don't get much of that lately. I haven't for a long time. I've been known to spend my days off seeing how many naps I can fit into one day. I like most people, some more than others. And then there is that tightly knit circle. The "group" I can tell anything, who will share my joys and sorrows. Those I can talk to about anything and everything. That is a very small group. I won't trust just anyone with my heart. It is quite fragile and fractured. While I have most of the pieces, it isn't necessarily pretty.
So I put this blog aside, because my frustrations were (and still are) quite close to the surface. Truth be told, if the offer to run away to a mountaintop villa or a beach with fruity umbrella drinks were to present itself, I might (would) jump all over it. Being human means you leave yourself open to the potential for heartache and heartbreak, sometimes (most of the time) at the hands of those people you treasure the most. I am no different. People are inherently good. Until they prove to me that they aren't. I'm inherently good, mostly.
I started blogging as a way to deal with my emotions during the impending death of my mother. I keep blogging as a way to deal with my frustrations in everyday life. However, I don't necessarily think it is right to call folks out in a public forum. I use this space to vent -- and I try to always make sure the very thing I'm venting about applies not only to those who have somehow managed to shatter my faith in them, but also to me. I refuse to be a victim. There is a lesson in even the darkest storm cloud.
I'm sure if you live in Arkansas, you are more than a little tired of the rain and the storms that plagued our April. It seems the inches of rain 18 months ago had nothing on this year. (That was deemed a "hundred year flood".) We've seen cities evacuated and interstate highways closed due to to the swelling of rivers and rising of flood waters these past several weeks. We've seen destruction on a grand scale in the form of tornadoes and straight-line winds. Some of us have even experienced it personally. April has been stormy for me. Literally and figuratively. I don't always say the right thing. I don't always use my filter. I have very few people in my life that I let get close to me. If I keep you at arm's length, I don't open myself up to disappointment. That really isn't a very good way to live. Trust me, it hasn't worked for me thus far.
Sometimes, the words you want to hear in the most hurtful situations are "I'm sorry." No other explanation is necessary. No other gesture is needed. Just the acknowledgment of hurt, and the validation of feelings. Whether you think you were completely wrong or not. April is always going to be a gray month for me personally, not that I want to dwell on that fact. In fact, it usually sneaks up on me. Quite literally I turn the page of the calendar and BAM...sucker-punch to the gut. This year it was bad for several reasons, which don't need to be delved into any further than to say, sometimes disappointment happens when you aren't really expecting or prepared to deal with it. I still managed to get out of bed each day, put one foot in front of the other, and even muster a smile every now and then.
So I'm going to put an idea out there that you may or may not agree with -- forgiveness is hard work. It requires putting your selfish tendencies in a tightly closed box and admitting your humanity. It requires the person extending forgiveness to do so, oftentimes without the benefit of voicing the hurt and frustration. It requires putting yourself out there to be criticized by folks who don't know or understand that there is even frustration present. I tend to become very introspective when I'm struggling. I have often had folks ask me (several times a day, mind you) if I'm okay. Rest assured, I'm fine. I'm likely just processing my feelings in a way that isn't a burden to those I love. I've learned in these past few years, that it is really hard for folks to see someone they love hurting. It is, what it is. It is raw and very real to the person who is working through whatever issue brought them to that point.
As a way to move on -- forward momentum is what I need at this particular moment -- I am going to try my hardest to be a person who exemplifies not only strength on the most gray of days, but also one who extends a hand of grace and mercy to others. I am bigger than even the most profound hurt. I didn't ask to be strong, it is truly a blessing and a curse. My very favorite comic strip sums up how I feel most days. Ziggy standing at the top of a mountain. He's having a conversation with some unseen being. The bubble above his head reads, "Hey God, it's okay with me if you don't have quite so much faith in me next year." That comic still speaks to me. Forgiveness isn't necessarily deserved, but it is necessary for the one who harbors resentment to move forward. I have a choice every single day. I can let resentment turn me into someone who is angry and bitter at the circumstances of life OR I can say, no amount of wrong is worth me beating myself up over. I choose the latter.
So -- I forgive you, not because I have to, but because I choose to. I retain the power over my emotions. I retain the ownership of my feelings. Life is too short to become angry and bitter. Do I have a reason to be? I have a decade of reasons. But this weekend is Mother's Day, and I know that my mom is speaking to me through these words, even though I can't hear her voice. I hope that I make her proud with the way I live my life. I know I have probably disappointed her more times than I care to count, but I like to think she would be proud of the woman I've become. I'd give anything to hear her laugh one more time, I just have to have faith that she hears mine every now and then.
Monday, January 3, 2011
TMI
So, I'm going to offer a disclaimer -- as if the title isn't enough of a disclaimer on it's own. This blog might contain subject matter that isn't suitable for all people, unless of course you like me, and like hearing "stuff" that is going on with me. This blog also might seem totally random, but I promise I have a point -- just hang with me for a bit.
I recently waved a casual goodbye to several of my "lady parts", well all but Sheila. I have named my remaining ovary, because I needed to blame someone for the bouts of human emotion that have taken over my life of late. I might have become a tad cranky with my dad at Christmas (but he is sooo bossy sometimes) -- I still love him, but holidays are hard, without hot flashes, and weight restrictions and night sweats, and tears (OMG, the tears). I did all of this during my 15 day break from school. Every single minute of my break, to be exact. Sheila isn't really playing by the rules. I feel certain she is suited up, but she hasn't really committed to playing the game. I NEED her to play. I need to not have a fit of laughter that turns into tears (during the Rose Bowl parade, mind you -- I cried at a float...yes, you heard me right).
I'm home sick, which I don't do well, and I'm listening to worship online (which rocks!) and organizing the 700 pages of syllabus and lecture notes. While I'm trying to make sense of the mounds of paper in front of me (I did the math, 200 students, 700 pages, a LOT of trees died), I'm reflecting on a difficult situation that one of my friends finds herself in with regards to faith. Ironically, I have found myself in a crisis of faith of late. I'm busy. Really busy. School is tough. Work is required to pay tuition. Life has its ups and downs, and faith waxes and wanes.
I question the decision I made to let Sheila hang around, in order to forgo HRT. I question the decision to do nursing school. I question decisions every day. I question God. I sometimes yell at him. He can handle it. I on the other hand, feel incredibly fragile these days and I'm not sure I can handle it. So I'm pondering this conversation regarding faith, and it hits me. I don't have to. I don't have to do any of "this" alone. I have family and friends that let me vent, or share my tears. I have people in my life that allow me to have down days, but love me way too much to let me stay there. I have the best friends a girl could ask for. I'm human. I'm far from perfect. I don't have this faith thing all figured out, but I'm trying really hard. And some days, it just doesn't click. BUT when it does, wow -- it is amazing.
Kinda like Sheila. I suspect, she's in shock. I suspect, she is just waiting to jump into the game and hit a home run. And if she doesn't, the worst thing that happens is things won't have gone according to my plan. And I'm okay with that. The reward will be that I will feel better. And I will give her the hormones she needs to not have to do her work alone, afterall, for 24 years, she had a partner in crime. She shared the work. She didn't have to walk alone. And neither do I.
I recently waved a casual goodbye to several of my "lady parts", well all but Sheila. I have named my remaining ovary, because I needed to blame someone for the bouts of human emotion that have taken over my life of late. I might have become a tad cranky with my dad at Christmas (but he is sooo bossy sometimes) -- I still love him, but holidays are hard, without hot flashes, and weight restrictions and night sweats, and tears (OMG, the tears). I did all of this during my 15 day break from school. Every single minute of my break, to be exact. Sheila isn't really playing by the rules. I feel certain she is suited up, but she hasn't really committed to playing the game. I NEED her to play. I need to not have a fit of laughter that turns into tears (during the Rose Bowl parade, mind you -- I cried at a float...yes, you heard me right).
I'm home sick, which I don't do well, and I'm listening to worship online (which rocks!) and organizing the 700 pages of syllabus and lecture notes. While I'm trying to make sense of the mounds of paper in front of me (I did the math, 200 students, 700 pages, a LOT of trees died), I'm reflecting on a difficult situation that one of my friends finds herself in with regards to faith. Ironically, I have found myself in a crisis of faith of late. I'm busy. Really busy. School is tough. Work is required to pay tuition. Life has its ups and downs, and faith waxes and wanes.
I question the decision I made to let Sheila hang around, in order to forgo HRT. I question the decision to do nursing school. I question decisions every day. I question God. I sometimes yell at him. He can handle it. I on the other hand, feel incredibly fragile these days and I'm not sure I can handle it. So I'm pondering this conversation regarding faith, and it hits me. I don't have to. I don't have to do any of "this" alone. I have family and friends that let me vent, or share my tears. I have people in my life that allow me to have down days, but love me way too much to let me stay there. I have the best friends a girl could ask for. I'm human. I'm far from perfect. I don't have this faith thing all figured out, but I'm trying really hard. And some days, it just doesn't click. BUT when it does, wow -- it is amazing.
Kinda like Sheila. I suspect, she's in shock. I suspect, she is just waiting to jump into the game and hit a home run. And if she doesn't, the worst thing that happens is things won't have gone according to my plan. And I'm okay with that. The reward will be that I will feel better. And I will give her the hormones she needs to not have to do her work alone, afterall, for 24 years, she had a partner in crime. She shared the work. She didn't have to walk alone. And neither do I.
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