Praying and Pondering.

I've been feeling a tugging on my heart from God regarding what I do with my summers.  I have no idea what this tugging means, if it will lead to something different or simply to a change in my attitude regarding my current plans.  However, I was in the car alone for about 3 hours today.  This song came on towards the beginning of my drive, and I repeated it several times while praying and thinking...particularly about the verse I have pasted below.

I've lived in this place and I've known all the faces

Each one is different, but they're always the same

They mean me no harm, but it's time that I face it

They'll never allow me to change

And I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong

I'm movin' on.

I GOT INTO MOODY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Standard Day

Wake Up
Drink a breakfast shake
Go to work
Come home
Flop on couch
Eat dinner
Stare at computer for an hour or so
Shower by 8
In bed by 9
Asleep by 10
No big deal.

Working Girl

So, today I got a job as a cashier at the local grocery store
30-ish hours a week, minimum wage.  One weekend off a month.
It's your typical "I'm 18 and in high school and need money job."
I start training tomorrow.

About an hour after I got home from that interview, my mom called.
"How was your interview?"
"I got the job?"
"Want another one?"
"..."

Apparently, the Spanish teacher at Bo's school is leaving, and they need someone to fill her spot.
On a whim, my mom suggested me.  And the principal got super excited.
So. Now, if the scheduling works out, I will be cashiering 30 hours a week, teaching Spanish on Wednesdays from 8:00-2:30, doing Philosophy online through Moody, and making some serious ca$h.
(My deepest apologies for just spelling cash with a dollar sign. I was possessed momentarily.)

This semester might not end up being so laid-back after all.

It's Not Easy

It’s not easy, being here with you.  So many emotions bubble constantly to the surface, and I struggle to keep my face from betraying them—that would just confuse and upset you even more. 

“Now, was that my sister who was just here?” you ask-after your daughter leaves- and I hurry to the bathroom before you can see my tears.  When Grandpa tells me that you couldn’t remember your name to tell the doctor, my throat closes up and my eyes begin to itch before my brain has registered his entire sentence.  The constant questions about who you are, what we’re doing next, who I am, who your family is, what I’m doing here, and how you’re supposed to perform basic functions—leave me to hide in the bathroom, cry in the car, and blame my puffy eyes on allergies.

It’s not always sad, though, sometimes it’s frustrating.  “What is that you say you’re making?” you’ll ask.  I answer, you put away a dish or two, and then, “Now what is that called that you said you were making?”  This will repeat three or four times, sometimes more.  I get annoyed on the inside, shove the feeling down, and struggle to answer with a smile again.  Within minutes, I’m feeling guilty.  You can’t help it, this repeating of the questions.  I should be happy that you can remember why I’m standing at the stove at all.

I watch you sit down with a newspaper.  Perhaps you remember that the doctor told you to read more, perhaps you just saw it and decided to pick it up.  I know that within minutes, you will be asking questions about its content, what certain words mean, and “Now, Gene, do we know who this thing is talking about?” 

We try to get around the emotion of it all.  We make jokes, we ignore the facts, we pretend like I’m only here to visit my friends.  “Well, even I occasionally forget why I walked into a room,” we say.  It’s easy for me to avoid reality when I’m sitting at home.  I can let the glass be half-full when I’m only remembering, not experiencing.  It’s not easy, being here with you.  Every question, every repeated word, every forgotten name—digs at my heart a little harder, dampens my spirits a little more.

Let's See How Far We've Come

[Typing that title got this song stuck in my head.]


Anyway.  I was reading through an old journal last night (something I do from time to time, when I don't have any books to read at the moment) and came across this poem-written after looking at some childhood photos.  It's from almost exactly a year ago, when I thought nothing would ever get better.  I had lost two close friends, and within a week of its writing, would (temporarily) lose someone I thought I couldn't live without.  It amazes me how clearly I remember writing this, how awful I felt, and how far I've come since then.  God has reshaped and redefined many of my friendships, removed a couple, and--most importantly--reminded me that He is all I truly need.  With the disclaimer out of the way, I'm posting this poem as a reminder... a reminder that God ALWAYS knows what He is doing, and that even when we don't think things will get any better- He knows what will happen.

Oh little girl, with your bad teeth

And stupid glasses

You don't know how lucky you are

Not a care in the world

Always searching for the spotlight

No idea how lucky you are

Your best friend is in your head

He's 18, so he can drive, and he'd never hurt you

You don't understand how luck you are

The only reason for tears is leaving your grandparents

Rejection and loneliness are nothing more than words to sound out

Why can't you see how lucky you are?

Dear little girl, with your sweatpants

And awkward haircut

If only they would tell you how lucky you are

Pain is falling off your bike

Sorrow is flushing your fish down the toilet

Soak in how lucky you are

You don't know the difference between doctrine and a doctor

You just want the waitress to know about Jesus

Oh, sweet little girl, how lucky you are

You never doubt yourself, you always want to be first

No one has ever let you feel anything less than worthy

Oh, my dear, how lucky you are

Your parents know everything, why wouldn't they?

Your tears-only because of physical pain-have no reason to be hidden

Why can't you see how incredibly lucky you are?

Dear sweet little girl, oh awkward little girl

They should have told you what was coming

So that you could appreciate how lucky you are

Those things you take for granted?

They're going to crumble

Friendships, confidence, emotions, sleep...

You'll try to remind yourself how lucky you are

You'll sit awake at 3 am, tears streaming

Abandoned, lonely, confused, and deserted

Wishing you still felt how lucky you are

That imaginary friend has been replaced by real ones

Who rip your heart out and step on it

Now look how lucky you are

Your parents no longer know everything

Your home sometimes feels much more like prison

You can't recall how lucky you are

You'll scream out to God for some vestige of hope

Something to cling to like a life raft

Anything to remind you how lucky you are

My dear little girl, soak it in

The glasses, sweatpants, and awkward hair

Oh, how lucky you are

Your confidence, your obnoxious ways

You're so naive, so content to be yourself

You have no idea how lucky you are

Soak it in, sweet little girl

Soon, you'll be crying in your bed

Writing poems about the time when you didn't realize

How lucky you were

Resolved.

New Year's Resolutions:

• Read my Bible. Every day.
• Write to all my campers.
• Be healthier.

Doable?