Cereal and Beer: A Philosophy

So, about a month ago now, a friend was staying with me, and during this time, said friend went “grocery shopping” (why the quotation marks, just wait) and brought back cereal and beer. That’s it. Granted, this was not a permanent residence, so I wasn’t expecting bags of produce and such, but it still struck me as funny that these two items were deemed essential. I even laughed a little. Now, upon reflection, I realize just how Zen this is. Not because I have an affinity for beer – anyone who knows me knows I detest the stuff (even if it does have a hint of blueberry) – but the philosophy behind it is quite brilliant. Stay with me on this…

I am a list-making, goal-oriented, gold-star kind of gal. The plus side of this is that I tend to get things accomplished. I mean, I wouldn’t have my awesome career or the ability to take care of myself without being this kind of person. Being left to my own devices as a kid (as long as I wasn’t burnin’ the house down anyway), I had the choice of either taking on the big picture or letting my life get away from me - even if the responsible decision felt overwhelming at times.

The downside is that I have lists, goals, and gold-stars dictating my idea of should. When I go to the grocery store, I should get list of fruits and veggies, water, meats, etc. I mentally plan meals or at least the basics to throw a meal together. This is not bad per say; it can even be argued that there’s purpose in it. The inherent problem, at least for me, is that I convince myself that I have a lot of “essentials” that are not, in fact, essential. I also get it into my head that I have to have the whole thing figured out ahead of time - the idea that if I don’t know where I’ll end up, my first step is futile at best, disastrous at worst. Admittedly, this is a little dramatic for groceries, but I do hope you’re following the metaphor.

So, how does the beautiful combination of cereal and beer come into play? One is a want, the other a need. Perfect balance. This does not negate my desire for purpose in life, but it does help with my ever continuing search for perspective and overall enjoyment in life. In actuality, it helps this quest for purpose by slowing things down and taking one task at a time. Perhaps the new question (or heck, even list) I pose will be this: what is one need I have and what is one want? Fulfill a need and a want then move on to the next thing. Keep the big picture somewhere in the background, but maintain a clear focus on the small steps that make up the journey. Who knew I’d ever get so much out of beer?

A bit of fiction

I have an itch to write, but so frazzled with other agendas in my life, I could not think of a solid idea – I just knew that I was letting myself get rusty again, falling into the trap of letting teacher work get in the way of personal work (and development quite frankly).  Luckily I came across this prompt: show a dirty room without using those words.  Well, here it goes...

When my third entreaty to get inside was ignored, I decide to open the door and go in anyway.  This is easier said than done as I find resistance from the discarded bills, fliers, and other mounded collection of useless advertisements.  With a little more force, however, I manage my way in and immediately try to suppress a gag as my sense of smell does not need the same time to adjust as my eyes.

When the room does come into focus, my mind is racing to keep up, to take in how this place has changed in just a few short months.  The same pictures hang on the wall, but are now laden with dust.  This same film has also painted every other surface in sight.  I shudder to think at what the shag carpet is now housing.  I force myself to continue, creating a makeshift pathway through the once pristine living room, knowing I'll have to go all the way to the den to find him.  Most likely he'll be in that chair of his that has balded from use.  The closer I get to the den, the more the smell of rotting food and poor hygiene prick at my eyes and lump in my throat.

Once I make my way to the den, I fully take him in before he notices me, giving me time to see the greasy hair, the week old stubble, and the frail, arthritic hands clinging to a now tattered picture. I doubt those hands have really held anything else since she's been gone.  When his watery eyes finally meet mine, I force out a very thin, almost choked, "Oh, Dad."


[Okay, so I veered a bit from just the room, but I wrote; that is an accomplishment today.]

Fasting Revelation

Last week was my church’s Seek Week and it’s no misnomer. The church staff and attendees alike are to actively seek God’s direction for the church through fasting and prayer. Instead of having some textbook ten year plan, each year is planned one at a time. This is my third Seek Week at RockHarbor. In the past, I have prayed for the church during that week, when the emails that were sent out reminded me anyway. Even then, the prayers were more for the leaders and said as a “good for them for doing this” kind of sentiment.

This year, however, I knew I needed to be a little more pro-active. This year I would actively pray and fast. Now, I have fasted before in my life. I have fasted chocolate or soda or TV for a specified amount of time. I have even gone without food for 36 hours (not as easy as it sounds). This has been my history. So when I decided I would abstain from all solid foods from Sunday to Friday, I had little confidence of my success. Thankfully, that rarely stops me these days, so I proceeded.

The week was not fun. Anyone who knows me knows just how much I love food and the act of eating. Some have even witnessed my good-food-happy dance. I am sure my students, had they known I was fasting, would have asked me to eat because I was, shamefully, a bit cranky. I was even tested. Tuesday morning, my dear friend and colleague sent a few glazed twisty doughnuts to my classroom, you know, just because. I resisted. My Bible study, which has been snack free for a while, had goodies galore that night (a freshly baked apple pie included). Again, I resisted.

So, by the time Friday rolled around, I was seriously hoping…okay, expecting a grand revelation. I think my thoughts went something like this: “Um, not to be pushy God, but do you have a divine epiphany you’d like to share with me? After all, I haven’t eaten solid food all week.” And then it dawned on me: I hadn’t eaten solid food all week. The "happy dance for food" girl. The "plan my vacations and activities around food" girl. I had this great peace about life. More than that, I realized that God had answered my prayer.

A couple months ago, I had one of those great moments alone with God where I felt we had a great conversation. During this conversation, I asked God to show me how to live out Him being my sustaining force, not in the churchy abstract way, but in a real life, this is who I am kind of way. I am a tangible person, so I guess I was asking for some type of palpability from God.

For me, the palpability came in the very real hunger pangs and slight but persistent fatigue. More importantly, it came in the success of fasting for a week, knowing that on my own I wouldn’t last half a day. When I was weak, He was my strength, when I was agitated, He nudged me towards patience.

His grace brought me through in a truly "real life" way. I thanked Him for this. And yes, I thanked Him (quite passionately) when I was able to sink my teeth into the best Western Bacon Cheeseburger ever. There may have even been a bit of happy food dance involved.

Five years from now...

Looking at journal prompt for kids…

Journal prompt for an elementary school student: Where do you see yourself in five years?

When I read this prompt, a few things went through my head.  In the Blitzkrieg of thoughts however, the one that stood out was how the answer to such a question changes with age. When you’re young “five years from now” feels like an eternity, and as one gets older, it is clear that “five years from now” happens in a few blinks.

As this was originally intended for a young student, I can only imagine (or vaguely recall) how a fifth grader might answer. Thoughts of a romanticized high school experience along the lines of a great Full House episode may appear. (And yes, I just called Full House great). Your current best friend will still be at your side, naturally. This accompanies other grand notions of high school liberties, oddities, and possibilities.

When we’re in high school, we dream of college and independence, friends and boyfriends, perhaps even apartments and careers. There will be plenty of money and the responsibilities will be of the fun variety as seen on Friends. Heck, the idea that life will be a personal version of Friends isn’t such a bad idea either. After all, five years makes anything possible.

At 20, things begin to pick up speed and the delusions of five year grandeur begin to take shape with a little more life experience thrown into the mix. Personally, I figured that by the time I was 25, I was going to be married (even had someone in mind to fill that role), be a brilliant teacher at my Alma Mater, be wiser, somehow thinner (not sure where that one fit in logically, but it was on the list), travel the world, and live in a different city – somewhere fabulous of course.

When I actually reached the quarter century mark, I had accomplished, oh, not a thing on that grand list. I had at least graduated from college, though that took longer than planned. I did have a nice apartment in a new city: Corona (not exactly fabulous). I did not, however, even have a passport, stamp-free though it would have been. I wasn’t married; heck, it had been at least a year since I had even spoken to the man with whom I was so sure I would spend my life. So…

When I took stock of my life, I knew that it wasn’t bad- I had people with whom I had fun, some even good friends, a nice guy I was dating, and enough frivolity to occupy my time- but I was not fulfilled. Finally at 26, I got off my butt and realized I had to act right then and there. I went back to school and began teaching. A year after that, a nice Irishman placed a stamp in my passport. I also thanked God I was not married – it would have stunted so much that I discovered about myself. And therein lies the true accomplishment: a change in mindset. There would be no more “five years from now”; there would be only “now.”

At 30, I look at this question and smile at the possibilities. I may be married; I may be single; I may be in the same apartment; I may be in a new city. Really only God knows. The only certainty is that I will savor the good and learn from the bad. I will enjoy every moment and seek out new adventure. My “now” for the next five years (and beyond) will be amazing - whatever they may hold.

Another Italian Remembrance

No pictures please...

All the tours today forbade cameras – so much history and beauty left unfilmed. For someone who can be quite addicted to my camera, I lamented this but only for a moment.

Just as things have been beyond words, so too are there sights beyond photos. There are things that should only exist in actual experience and memory. There are things that require the utter silence or cluttering noise, the smell, or the whole of the place to truly do justice to it. Even a picture would minimize the grandeur of a place or work of art or tomb. It could make you think that history could somehow be contained within a frame. How silly to think such a thing – it could even be said that it borders on blasphemy.

However far one chooses to take that idea may depend on what is being observed. Sometimes taking pictures helps one to focus on the details of the thing, but then the giant nature of it can be diminished. Saint Peter’s Basilica, for instance, is built on such a grand scale that to say I felt tiny would be an understatement. I felt comfortingly insignificant in the face of such history, power, and beauty. Art, statues, and alters fill this vast space enclosed by marble and adorned by gold. There is no way to capture this through a viewfinder.

This place is so full of detail that it seems ridiculous to begin to write about it. So, I will, in fact, refrain from the attempt. I will say however, that I like to think of all those works of art (and, if I am honest extravagance) as works of love and reverence for God. So, how could I ever put love in a frame?

Musing #5

The Danger of Daydreaming...

Why do I do this not thinking-when-it-is-vital thing that I keep reminding myself to do. I get ahead of myself so often, carried away in the possibility of a thing instead of the reality of it. This is not to say that I want to lose that quality I possess to hope for the best, but I do need to keep my hope and expectation on balanced levels.

You see, I have this ongoing script in my head of how situations and conversations need to pan out, and when they don’t, I feel a loss for something that never was. Instead of a level head, I am often left mourning what could have been (or at least what I imagined could have been). It’s ridiculous really because while I waste time lamenting a figment, I could actually be missing out on making real memories.

Is there a balance to be had between my active imagination and practicality? Suggestions are welcome.