I loath fake things. A part from my years of obsession with Barbie and Ken's awesome relationship, created by none other than myself and my scary little imagination, I cringe in the presence of human plastics.
My distaste for human plastics has caused me to go a bit overboard...but more on that later.
What, you may be pondering to yourself, is human plastics? No, I am not thinking of lifesize barbie, rubber bands, or any type of prosthetic. I am not even referring to the ever popular lunch mate Tupperware. What I mean by human plastics are the people who, at some point much like me, created a comfy little plastic shell for themselves. One that projects what they perceive others want them to be, want from them, or think makes for a successful, stable, and well-rounded human functioning in the world.
Human plastics like to dance around issues like they are a fire and we are all cavemen, incapable of saying what we need to communicate in any way other than scowls and smiles. That is until we can't take it anymore and we get angry and start brandishing our clubs at one another.
And for some reason, though I have been trained by a culture that continues on this weird merry-go-round of not actually talking about anything and viewing vulnerability as weakness, I have managed to put my club down and hop off.
I don't mean to sound judgmental, so if it seems that way, I apologize, but, I just can't have one more conversation that doesn't mean anything. I can't dance around the fire and never have a REASON to have the fire in the first place. I can't only communicate by holding my tongue and scowling. And it makes me cringe to see other people caught in a place where allowing themselves to be a window is unacceptable.
As much as we like to say we are learning to be who God created us to be, or we are figuring it all out, usually what we mean to say is: "We're all just trying to manage the tension between hiding most of what we are; what we are passionate about and what makes us feel really alive, and looking the part we are expected to in our cultural norm. No matter what part of the culture we are talking about, it usually sounds something like that. Whether American business culture, family culture, church culture...we're always working so hard at fitting in, being unnoticeable, and not rocking the boat so that people believe we are under control and good citizens who recycle and appreciate people who shave on a regular basis. (side note: I acknowledge this is an extreme statement, and I am not saying standards are necessarily bad, in fact some are really awesome!)
We spend so much energy trying to be "well-rounded" that we end up becoming confused or bland. We lose spark, we lose touch with ourself and our God. We feel forced into some kind of a plastic shell, no matter where we are, and when we speak out against it, we are considered crazy, ungrateful, un-balanced, too emotional. But rarely ever is this act of defiance against the expectations considered a beautiful picture of someone really working to be who God has called them to be. Rarely is this seen as encouraging, or inspiring. Not until it pays off...in the very end. We envy and adore the people who manage to do this. I know I do...
I have such a deep need for you to know me, but mostly to allow you room to feel safe to be KNOWN.
And because I so desperatly want people to be FREE in Christ (now don't confuse this with doing what you want. Freedom in Christ, I believe gives us our identity which then causes us to be obedient and submissive to our God, which in turn gives us true freedom in our identity....etc etc. This is the merry-go-round I want to be on...) I sometimes overcompensate with excessive and unnecessary vulnerability. But I want people to flourish, and open themselves up so badly. I want people to love God in a way that inspires others, instead of making others want to take a nap of join a gang of cavemen.
So I burp, loudly. Long and drawn-out-like. Man-bear like. In public, with lots of people listening. I drink beer(s). And I'm a fan of not showering...in moderation of course. But I also love flowers...I love beauty and art. I love honesty, wherever I can find it. In color, nature, humor, and in dirt, burping and flowers. I love to defy what people expect from me, a white, middle class, twenty something living in a nice neighborhood, working at a church, married....I want there to be more to ALL of us than just that.
It's like trying to look in a window, but someone wallpapered it with magazine pictures and words that have nothing to do what's inside. I just want to punch in the window and get to the inside. I want to see what's on the inside. And I will burp until you let me...
10/26/11
{because today is all we have}
my love,
because today is all we have, I want to be reminded why I chose you if we get tomorrow.
we fought the other day. we big time fought. we "almost-slept-on-the-guest-bed" fought. we wrestled up every last ounce of energy from our wits end, our long days, our deep need to simply just be with each other and our frustrations, and we word-vomit fought.
but today I am glad. today I am thankful for that fight.
Today I was reminded that at 17, the year before I met you, I had no intention of loving anyone...ever. I was reminded of my distrust, my independence, my ability to hide behind flirting, non-committing, and humor. but you saw through that...
today I saw our memory box, and the book of photos I made you from our first year.
I saw the 3-D glasses we have from our date to Meet the Robinsons. I saw the pages upon pages of letters you wrote to me. I found the pipe cleaner heart you made and hung from my rearview mirror when you borrowed my car freshman year. I found the tickets you made me for our first christmas, the ones that looked just like real Wicked Tickets. Only we didn't go that year, remember? We forgot...so we went when we got married three years later instead. My heart felt full, whole, and light.
Two days ago we drove home from you mother's house, and we listened to the playlist I made especially for us. Well, it was really for me. Because music+how much I love you+giddy feelings in the first year=feeling like I was literally the luckiest most loved girl in the world and nothing would ever make me sad again.
We listened to the song I first put on repeat (much to my roommate's dismay) when I began to fall in love with you. And I remembered the scariness of wanting to be with someone so much but the fear of it not being reciprocated. The fear of you finding me out and changing your mind, but in my heart knowing you were like the little bear's porridge: just right.
We listened to our first dance song from our wedding. I remember that day how LONG that dance felt! We didn't like everyone staring at us, because you, like me, would rather have our friends surrounding us in the fun than watching us have it. I remember knowing that I had never met someone who loved people more than me until I met you. I remember knowing I had never met someone more peaceful and kind than you.
And I remember how easy it was to trust you...
that had never happened to me before.
So I am glad we had that fight. Because it means I still trust you, possibly more now than ever. I let you see my uglies...and me super uglies. It means we still believe we are worth fighting FOR. It means that I know, in the deepest part of my heart, you love me with unconditional love that blows me away. Love I could never earn or deserve, so I feel safe. And I trust you.
And it means you will never let me sleep in the guest room, becuase at the end of the day, we are still one. Even when we may not want to be.
so...because today is all we have, I wanted to remind you why I chose you, even in the middle of a fight....
because today is all we have, I want to be reminded why I chose you if we get tomorrow.
we fought the other day. we big time fought. we "almost-slept-on-the-guest-bed" fought. we wrestled up every last ounce of energy from our wits end, our long days, our deep need to simply just be with each other and our frustrations, and we word-vomit fought.
but today I am glad. today I am thankful for that fight.
Today I was reminded that at 17, the year before I met you, I had no intention of loving anyone...ever. I was reminded of my distrust, my independence, my ability to hide behind flirting, non-committing, and humor. but you saw through that...
today I saw our memory box, and the book of photos I made you from our first year.
I saw the 3-D glasses we have from our date to Meet the Robinsons. I saw the pages upon pages of letters you wrote to me. I found the pipe cleaner heart you made and hung from my rearview mirror when you borrowed my car freshman year. I found the tickets you made me for our first christmas, the ones that looked just like real Wicked Tickets. Only we didn't go that year, remember? We forgot...so we went when we got married three years later instead. My heart felt full, whole, and light.
Two days ago we drove home from you mother's house, and we listened to the playlist I made especially for us. Well, it was really for me. Because music+how much I love you+giddy feelings in the first year=feeling like I was literally the luckiest most loved girl in the world and nothing would ever make me sad again.
We listened to the song I first put on repeat (much to my roommate's dismay) when I began to fall in love with you. And I remembered the scariness of wanting to be with someone so much but the fear of it not being reciprocated. The fear of you finding me out and changing your mind, but in my heart knowing you were like the little bear's porridge: just right.
We listened to our first dance song from our wedding. I remember that day how LONG that dance felt! We didn't like everyone staring at us, because you, like me, would rather have our friends surrounding us in the fun than watching us have it. I remember knowing that I had never met someone who loved people more than me until I met you. I remember knowing I had never met someone more peaceful and kind than you.
And I remember how easy it was to trust you...
that had never happened to me before.
So I am glad we had that fight. Because it means I still trust you, possibly more now than ever. I let you see my uglies...and me super uglies. It means we still believe we are worth fighting FOR. It means that I know, in the deepest part of my heart, you love me with unconditional love that blows me away. Love I could never earn or deserve, so I feel safe. And I trust you.
And it means you will never let me sleep in the guest room, becuase at the end of the day, we are still one. Even when we may not want to be.
so...because today is all we have, I wanted to remind you why I chose you, even in the middle of a fight....
10/18/11
{i want to be a giver of life}
I want to be a life giver not taker. I want to enrich and nurture, not drain and dry.
I want just a small portion of that piece of Jesus to pour out of me everyday.
I want to touch things and watch them heal, not break them and watch them whither.
So today I pray that I am a giver of life.
"If there is still sin to any degree in one who is indwelt by the Holy Spirit, then there is tension, yes, contradiction, within the heart of that person.
Indeed, the more sanctified the person is, the more conformed he is to the image of his Saviour, the more he must recoil against every lack of conformity to the holiness of God.
The deeper his apprehension of the Majesty of God, the greater the intensity of his love to God, the more persistent his yearning for the attainment of the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus, the more cautious will he be of the gravity of the sin which remains and the more poignant will be his detestation of it."
-John Murray (paragraphing John Piper @ Desiring God)
10/11/11
{of which I am afraid}
For some reason I have spent most of my life poised, ready, clenching my body into a steel statue of fake bravery, ready for the worst. And the rest of the time that I am not attempting to mutate into a Hummer or a tank (Transformer style) I am attempting to medicate and numb my fear with a variety of "oh so healthy" fillers and things.
For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to be alone. Not with God, not with myself, not with a mouse, not in a house, not on a boat, not with a goat... (copyright Dr. Seuss). Being the youngest, you would think I was blessed with permanent playmates, but no. I ended up desperately fending for myself most days, to try and win friends. When left alone, I would create my own friends. No, not imaginary or invisible friends. My stuffed animals, duh. They became my children, my students in my school, my friends, my companions. I created a world of imagination where people who always liked me existed. Where I was meaningful. Where I was never, ever alone.
My family knew, without a doubt, I was starving for attention. Mostly because I am a born performer/creativist with a deep need for approval and conversation. Also because the worst thing they could ever do to me was put me in time out. I doubt I have ever been more depressed than the five minutes I spent alone with my moms creaky wooden chair and blue wallpaper. You might even say this was the darkest "hour' of my life.
Being told to go play by myself was like sentencing me to a desert with no water or sandals. Painful, desolate, and seemingly stretching time into an eternity.
The other day, a friend of mine asked me a question that struck this chord, then plucked at it and played it for quite some time. It keeps haunting me because, I think I already knew the answer deep in my heart.
For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to be alone. Not with God, not with myself, not with a mouse, not in a house, not on a boat, not with a goat... (copyright Dr. Seuss). Being the youngest, you would think I was blessed with permanent playmates, but no. I ended up desperately fending for myself most days, to try and win friends. When left alone, I would create my own friends. No, not imaginary or invisible friends. My stuffed animals, duh. They became my children, my students in my school, my friends, my companions. I created a world of imagination where people who always liked me existed. Where I was meaningful. Where I was never, ever alone.
My family knew, without a doubt, I was starving for attention. Mostly because I am a born performer/creativist with a deep need for approval and conversation. Also because the worst thing they could ever do to me was put me in time out. I doubt I have ever been more depressed than the five minutes I spent alone with my moms creaky wooden chair and blue wallpaper. You might even say this was the darkest "hour' of my life.
Being told to go play by myself was like sentencing me to a desert with no water or sandals. Painful, desolate, and seemingly stretching time into an eternity.
The other day, a friend of mine asked me a question that struck this chord, then plucked at it and played it for quite some time. It keeps haunting me because, I think I already knew the answer deep in my heart.
"What would it be like to just be alone with God?"
I stammered. I spluttered. I attempted to use my gift of words to make up some crappy fake answer. Take note that this came after a period of mandatory 5 minute silence. This was a rough outing for me.
I couldn't answer. I had nothing. Well...that isn't true. I didn't want to answer. Because I knew, all along, that being alone meant there was an opportunity to be "found out". And there is nothing I fear more than people really knowing me in my deepest, scariest parts.
Being alone means there is empty space for my brain to expand, and if any of you know anything about me, my brain confined is already scary enough. It doesn't need any room, because giving it room is like letting a wild horse that was taken captive run free again. Rampaging, scary, afraid, determined to run down any form of reason.
Allowing my brain room to expand means thinking. Thinking means fixating. Fixating means anxiety. Anxiety means self-loathing. Self-loathing means destructive behavior and anger. Anger means pushing people away because, in reality, I know I am not so great.
Anger means being honest with God about who I am and what I think. Anger means there are things that I do that God hates, and sometimes things I know I should be doing that I am not.
Allowing my brain room to expand means thinking. Thinking means fixating. Fixating means anxiety. Anxiety means self-loathing. Self-loathing means destructive behavior and anger. Anger means pushing people away because, in reality, I know I am not so great.
Anger means being honest with God about who I am and what I think. Anger means there are things that I do that God hates, and sometimes things I know I should be doing that I am not.
Allowing my brain to expand means self-examination, confession and repentance, change, and needing grace. It means admitting things I can't do, and apologizing for when I try. It means really facing the pieces of myself that absolutely disgust me. It means staring anxiety itself in the face. It means looking at fear and trying to say "I don't believe you" (when I secretly still do...). It means acknowledging the ways I have let people down, fallen short, hurt the ones I love the most, and sinned outrightly against the will of my one true love; God.
So you see, being alone is the thing I fear the most, because of the place it leads me.
Although I will forever be a people lover, needer, obsessor for life, although I will ALWAYS be more energized by talking, relating, and just plain being with people; a small part of me knows that there is a piece to that which comes from my deepest fear.
So maybe I need to learn how to give myself adult time-outs. Maybe I need to take my toe over that self-inflicted line and step into my fear altogether; to learn to be alone with God.
10/2/11
when things change.
I am self admittedly a lover of all things change.
I love fall. Not only because of the much needed relief from Indiana humidity that pastes the very wind to my skin like a wet suit. But because I get to watch leaves change brilliant and unashamed colors of red, gold, yellow and orange. I get to watch trees transform and shed for the coming winter months.
I usually get antsy about once every three months. Antsy for something to be different. This will often result in a hastily made hair dye decision. Or disaster. Take your pick. Or it involves rearranging the furniture. Or starting a craft (usually never finishing it).
I take long drives, and usually end up creating new ways home just so I don't feel so stuck. Sometimes I purposefully miss my house just to keep driving and feel like I am doing something different.
I always try to find new places to eat, drink, and be merry. You know, the usual cliche.
I get bored easily, especially with routine. Mundane, normal life. Details. Schedules. These all make my eyelids want to pick up a match and set themselves on fire. If they had hands, I am convinced that somedays they would actually do this. Fortunately for my eye balls, as well as the rest of my body, they do not.
I can always be depended on to change the plan. To live in spontaneous land, ruled by feelings and whims. Some call it flaky, I call it life.
But recently I have began to see that as much as I live and thrive in the chaos of indecisive whimness (yup, just made it a word)...there is one place that picks at my very heart when it comes to change. One place that takes every ounce of flexibility, understanding, love and patience. Things that usually come natural, but in this one place are more rare than unicorns.
I never. Ever. Know what to do as people change.
Weird, right? Alien life form weird. Talk about a punch in my brains face. I, the queen of cool, the master of go with the flow, the ruler of the land of indecisive and change. I, the least likely to have a plan, the most likely to wing it and rebound in flying colors. The best on the spot decision maker and non-regretter. I don't know how to live while the people around me change.
I wish I could say I am all calm and supportive and positive. That I root for it, encourage it and love it. That I celebrate it with every turn. That I want to write songs to it and make it a cute hat for christmas.
But I hate when change comes knocking on my door in the form of people I love.
I suddenly get awkward. I lose all social skills. I revert to the verbal competency of a four year old and can't find my way out of my own shell-shocked brain. Ridiculous. People change. They should. It is beautiful and good and lovely and healthy. I know this, because it has been for me. But...I can't ever get to this place with other people.
I want to hold on so badly to memories. To special moments and inside jokes. I want to take the love, the fun, the bond, the timely words, the connection of souls, the conversations, and just bottle them up in a Ziploc to carry with me permanently. I want to freeze time on friendships as badly as I wish I didn't know Katie Perry exists. And that is an intense wanting.
This realization struck me as so freaky that I tried, for a long time, to fix the part of my brain that wasn't quite up to speed with the rest of the wheels making it work. I tried to be able to come and go like other people. To be a constantly open or revolving door. To let people come in when the time was right...and to let the relationship revolve into something different and equally as beautiful when the time was right.
I think my revolving door just keeps getting stuck. Or maybe I keep sticking a rock in it just big enough to stop it from moving all together. Then the people inside freak, feel incredibly uncomfortable and suffocated, and at the first sign of freedom run screaming.
I hold on too tightly to security in friendships. I hold to tightly to "how things are". When you grow up like me, sometimes you begin to feel like you can't count on anyone. You begin to feel like everyone who is supposed to hold you will let you fall, but not just sometimes and on accident; all the time on purpose. Life can't be summed up with contrite phrases like "no one is perfect and everyone will fail you." Mostly because that translates as "sometimes people mess up." True, but for me, it felt comparatively bigger than that. Like every single moment of my life was ruled by this failure.
I'm not saying this as an emo tastic feel bad for me, I want attention, woe is me, my life is awful thing. To be honest, my life is cake and gummy bears compared to a lot of other people. I just think I finally understand why my crazy brain can't let people change.
When I found people who I let in. Whom I began to trust with all of me. I found others who I would let hold pieces of me at a time, and with tightly held breath, I waited and waited for the pain of rejection to come. It didn't. And thus began the creation of a new kind of family in my heart. I have held tightly to this ever since, my heart begging for the home it found in the souls of others I have come to know and love so, incredibly much.
But I hold a little to tightly. I lean a little to hard. I squeeze a little to much. Like a helicopter parent, I hover and need and beg for others to call me family, too. To need friendship like I do. And I know I am trying to rest in all the wrong places.
My heart is big and full and dying to love way too much. But when people change, I get so scared. I get scared that I ruined everything. I get scared that the link in our souls has been broken, irreparably. I get scared that I am going to fall down again...just like before. And I quickly snatch everything I gave them right back into the deadbolt safe around my heart and lock it fast, before anymore love or truth can escape.
It is no one's fault but mine. No one deserves my crazy idea of friendship and neediness to gnaw on their lives all day.
So...in all my love of change, the one constant that is like crack to me is people. It isn't fair to anyone, not even me. But I am just trying to love with my hands open and my heart off of lock down.
I am not there yet. I don't know if I will ever arrive. But this year, I am going to try and let the fall teach me a thing or two about the beauty, not the fear, of change. Change in the things nearest and dearest to our hearts.
I love fall. Not only because of the much needed relief from Indiana humidity that pastes the very wind to my skin like a wet suit. But because I get to watch leaves change brilliant and unashamed colors of red, gold, yellow and orange. I get to watch trees transform and shed for the coming winter months.
I usually get antsy about once every three months. Antsy for something to be different. This will often result in a hastily made hair dye decision. Or disaster. Take your pick. Or it involves rearranging the furniture. Or starting a craft (usually never finishing it).
I take long drives, and usually end up creating new ways home just so I don't feel so stuck. Sometimes I purposefully miss my house just to keep driving and feel like I am doing something different.
I always try to find new places to eat, drink, and be merry. You know, the usual cliche.
I get bored easily, especially with routine. Mundane, normal life. Details. Schedules. These all make my eyelids want to pick up a match and set themselves on fire. If they had hands, I am convinced that somedays they would actually do this. Fortunately for my eye balls, as well as the rest of my body, they do not.
I can always be depended on to change the plan. To live in spontaneous land, ruled by feelings and whims. Some call it flaky, I call it life.
But recently I have began to see that as much as I live and thrive in the chaos of indecisive whimness (yup, just made it a word)...there is one place that picks at my very heart when it comes to change. One place that takes every ounce of flexibility, understanding, love and patience. Things that usually come natural, but in this one place are more rare than unicorns.
I never. Ever. Know what to do as people change.
Weird, right? Alien life form weird. Talk about a punch in my brains face. I, the queen of cool, the master of go with the flow, the ruler of the land of indecisive and change. I, the least likely to have a plan, the most likely to wing it and rebound in flying colors. The best on the spot decision maker and non-regretter. I don't know how to live while the people around me change.
I wish I could say I am all calm and supportive and positive. That I root for it, encourage it and love it. That I celebrate it with every turn. That I want to write songs to it and make it a cute hat for christmas.
But I hate when change comes knocking on my door in the form of people I love.
I suddenly get awkward. I lose all social skills. I revert to the verbal competency of a four year old and can't find my way out of my own shell-shocked brain. Ridiculous. People change. They should. It is beautiful and good and lovely and healthy. I know this, because it has been for me. But...I can't ever get to this place with other people.
I want to hold on so badly to memories. To special moments and inside jokes. I want to take the love, the fun, the bond, the timely words, the connection of souls, the conversations, and just bottle them up in a Ziploc to carry with me permanently. I want to freeze time on friendships as badly as I wish I didn't know Katie Perry exists. And that is an intense wanting.
This realization struck me as so freaky that I tried, for a long time, to fix the part of my brain that wasn't quite up to speed with the rest of the wheels making it work. I tried to be able to come and go like other people. To be a constantly open or revolving door. To let people come in when the time was right...and to let the relationship revolve into something different and equally as beautiful when the time was right.
I think my revolving door just keeps getting stuck. Or maybe I keep sticking a rock in it just big enough to stop it from moving all together. Then the people inside freak, feel incredibly uncomfortable and suffocated, and at the first sign of freedom run screaming.
I hold on too tightly to security in friendships. I hold to tightly to "how things are". When you grow up like me, sometimes you begin to feel like you can't count on anyone. You begin to feel like everyone who is supposed to hold you will let you fall, but not just sometimes and on accident; all the time on purpose. Life can't be summed up with contrite phrases like "no one is perfect and everyone will fail you." Mostly because that translates as "sometimes people mess up." True, but for me, it felt comparatively bigger than that. Like every single moment of my life was ruled by this failure.
I'm not saying this as an emo tastic feel bad for me, I want attention, woe is me, my life is awful thing. To be honest, my life is cake and gummy bears compared to a lot of other people. I just think I finally understand why my crazy brain can't let people change.
When I found people who I let in. Whom I began to trust with all of me. I found others who I would let hold pieces of me at a time, and with tightly held breath, I waited and waited for the pain of rejection to come. It didn't. And thus began the creation of a new kind of family in my heart. I have held tightly to this ever since, my heart begging for the home it found in the souls of others I have come to know and love so, incredibly much.
But I hold a little to tightly. I lean a little to hard. I squeeze a little to much. Like a helicopter parent, I hover and need and beg for others to call me family, too. To need friendship like I do. And I know I am trying to rest in all the wrong places.
My heart is big and full and dying to love way too much. But when people change, I get so scared. I get scared that I ruined everything. I get scared that the link in our souls has been broken, irreparably. I get scared that I am going to fall down again...just like before. And I quickly snatch everything I gave them right back into the deadbolt safe around my heart and lock it fast, before anymore love or truth can escape.
It is no one's fault but mine. No one deserves my crazy idea of friendship and neediness to gnaw on their lives all day.
So...in all my love of change, the one constant that is like crack to me is people. It isn't fair to anyone, not even me. But I am just trying to love with my hands open and my heart off of lock down.
I am not there yet. I don't know if I will ever arrive. But this year, I am going to try and let the fall teach me a thing or two about the beauty, not the fear, of change. Change in the things nearest and dearest to our hearts.
9/23/11
[the stupidest problem]
Dear America/world,
If you could stop making all foods by adding unnecessary ingredients like stupid sugar and stupid yeast and vinegar and other great things I can't pronounce, which makes me just supremely positive they must be super healthy. If you could stop growing animals into mutants by adding things that make my body hate you, like antibiotics and hormones. And if you could stop being overall and in general eaters of all things crappy and go ahead and start being realistic about the state of the food you are trying to sell us, that would be awesome.
Because then maybe you would quit selling me poison labeled "CHEESE PUFFFFFSSSSS EAAAAAT MEEEEEE!" and make actual food. It would be labeled "Hey...I'm just food. I am not trying to be all jazzy and cool. I just make you feel awesome...and also I make your body work right. It's pretty cool, I guess."
Because then I could eat something other than rabbit food for every meal every single day. Since it would no longer contain said unnecessary ingredients and such.
just a small request...
for the stupidest problem ever. (this said only because I acknowledge that there are greater problems in the world than this one.)
love cait
If you could stop making all foods by adding unnecessary ingredients like stupid sugar and stupid yeast and vinegar and other great things I can't pronounce, which makes me just supremely positive they must be super healthy. If you could stop growing animals into mutants by adding things that make my body hate you, like antibiotics and hormones. And if you could stop being overall and in general eaters of all things crappy and go ahead and start being realistic about the state of the food you are trying to sell us, that would be awesome.
Because then maybe you would quit selling me poison labeled "CHEESE PUFFFFFSSSSS EAAAAAT MEEEEEE!" and make actual food. It would be labeled "Hey...I'm just food. I am not trying to be all jazzy and cool. I just make you feel awesome...and also I make your body work right. It's pretty cool, I guess."
Because then I could eat something other than rabbit food for every meal every single day. Since it would no longer contain said unnecessary ingredients and such.
just a small request...
for the stupidest problem ever. (this said only because I acknowledge that there are greater problems in the world than this one.)
love cait
9/19/11
why I suck at blogging....
I have always been about ten steps behind the times. To any onlooker, I look normal enough.
I finally caved to skinny jeans, I cut my hair regularly, I have even been known to shower from time to time. All that being said...there is a dark side to my seemingly average life.
I didn't get a cell phone until I was *gasp* 16 years old. And I didn't even have texting until I was graduated from college...which was only two years ago. I didn't get my license at 16, and I wasn't allowed to color my hair until high school.
I didn't even get a blog until after I started college.
Needless to say, I was always about 1 step behind everyone else my age.
Sometimes, it makes me feel like a caveman, because I scour the internet where my other friends tweet, text, update, facebook, and blog like champs. Their life is all put together and decked out in GAP and other adult clothing. They have regular photo albums and awesome blog thoughts that change the world everyday. They are probably super popular too, if you counted popularity by how many people follow their twitter. I start to feel like I missed the boat...again. And all I have to offer technology is the drool coming from my mouth and my body sweat, both attributed to my jealousy and the stress it causes me to realize that I am failing as a human.
It's like there is a competition for who can be the most connected and best updater...and frankly I am not sure I even qualified to enter this race. But I am sucked in nonetheless simply because of my age.
Somedays I get really brave and attempt to do things that are technological. That help me stay connected, hip, cool, and trendy. Like the other day when I started a second blog. Or when I got a twitter for my photography. I am not sure why I think adding more to my life means I will actually follow through with it. I think maybe I have convinced myself that if I feel more pressure I will preform better in the blog awards, or something. Like I will feel more legitimate about myself if I know I have written about my life that day, or tweeted where I am eating dinner, or who I am with. And I get really excited......because I think maybe finally I have found the key to staying up to date with technology, just pressuring myself into it. A twisted peer pressure.
That lasts for about 5 minutes. Because then I realize my life is boring, and also no one else is as interested in me or thinks I am as funny as I think I am. And I go through instant bloggers/tweeters/facebookers/emailers block.
I also think of about 50 other things I would rather be doing, than blogging/tweeting/facebooking/emailing. Like reading. Or talking to another person. Or eating some good food. Or staring at my dogs. Or making a craft. Or stalking people on facebook.
So then I do those things and I feel great about my decision. The only problem is, I get to the stalking people on facebook like a crazed fan part, and a twinge of guilt settles into my stomach. At first I think I am hungry again. Or perhaps a burrito was a bad idea. But that little twinge starts to grow into full throttle shame that, even at the age of 24, I can't seem to actually follow through with things.
Things that my fellow twenty-somethings seem to have mastered with ease and talent. Crap. How do people do it? So my guilt and shame grow just enough that I update a picture or two...only because I feel bad, I finally email that person back (even though I have been thinking about it non-stop...I just haven't sat down to actually do the responsible adult thing) and I update my blog with something useless about my life.
Sort of like this.
So although I wish I was responsible, tech savvy, and excellent at follow through...I am pretty sure I can go ahead and nominate myself for the suckiest blogger award. And win by a landslide.
I finally caved to skinny jeans, I cut my hair regularly, I have even been known to shower from time to time. All that being said...there is a dark side to my seemingly average life.
I didn't get a cell phone until I was *gasp* 16 years old. And I didn't even have texting until I was graduated from college...which was only two years ago. I didn't get my license at 16, and I wasn't allowed to color my hair until high school.
I didn't even get a blog until after I started college.
Needless to say, I was always about 1 step behind everyone else my age.
Sometimes, it makes me feel like a caveman, because I scour the internet where my other friends tweet, text, update, facebook, and blog like champs. Their life is all put together and decked out in GAP and other adult clothing. They have regular photo albums and awesome blog thoughts that change the world everyday. They are probably super popular too, if you counted popularity by how many people follow their twitter. I start to feel like I missed the boat...again. And all I have to offer technology is the drool coming from my mouth and my body sweat, both attributed to my jealousy and the stress it causes me to realize that I am failing as a human.
It's like there is a competition for who can be the most connected and best updater...and frankly I am not sure I even qualified to enter this race. But I am sucked in nonetheless simply because of my age.
Somedays I get really brave and attempt to do things that are technological. That help me stay connected, hip, cool, and trendy. Like the other day when I started a second blog. Or when I got a twitter for my photography. I am not sure why I think adding more to my life means I will actually follow through with it. I think maybe I have convinced myself that if I feel more pressure I will preform better in the blog awards, or something. Like I will feel more legitimate about myself if I know I have written about my life that day, or tweeted where I am eating dinner, or who I am with. And I get really excited......because I think maybe finally I have found the key to staying up to date with technology, just pressuring myself into it. A twisted peer pressure.
That lasts for about 5 minutes. Because then I realize my life is boring, and also no one else is as interested in me or thinks I am as funny as I think I am. And I go through instant bloggers/tweeters/facebookers/emailers block.
I also think of about 50 other things I would rather be doing, than blogging/tweeting/facebooking/emailing. Like reading. Or talking to another person. Or eating some good food. Or staring at my dogs. Or making a craft. Or stalking people on facebook.
So then I do those things and I feel great about my decision. The only problem is, I get to the stalking people on facebook like a crazed fan part, and a twinge of guilt settles into my stomach. At first I think I am hungry again. Or perhaps a burrito was a bad idea. But that little twinge starts to grow into full throttle shame that, even at the age of 24, I can't seem to actually follow through with things.
Things that my fellow twenty-somethings seem to have mastered with ease and talent. Crap. How do people do it? So my guilt and shame grow just enough that I update a picture or two...only because I feel bad, I finally email that person back (even though I have been thinking about it non-stop...I just haven't sat down to actually do the responsible adult thing) and I update my blog with something useless about my life.
Sort of like this.
So although I wish I was responsible, tech savvy, and excellent at follow through...I am pretty sure I can go ahead and nominate myself for the suckiest blogger award. And win by a landslide.
9/8/11
tolerance and love.
In a world where tolerance is the new definition of love...
How can we as Christians portray the healing and healthy love of Christ to those who don't understand it?
And what is more, how do we as Christians not fall prey to the lie that love means tolerating others choices, or even supporting all their choices, but still ACTUALLY love them despite?
...whew...this is hard work...
Share your thoughts?
How can we as Christians portray the healing and healthy love of Christ to those who don't understand it?
And what is more, how do we as Christians not fall prey to the lie that love means tolerating others choices, or even supporting all their choices, but still ACTUALLY love them despite?
...whew...this is hard work...
Share your thoughts?
9/2/11
If anything has ever described...
I can't stop laughing at this post I just found at http://sortacrunchy.typepad.com/sortacrunchy/
This post is for Stephanie Norwood (and me...because it is literally us in every way) I need to find this lady and be her best friend, because clearly she stole my diary:
"WARNING: The person you are meeting, speaking to, reading, or emailing is most often experienced by others as flaky.
She operates in the world of The Big Picture, and therefore details often fall off of her radar screen.
She will most likely:
1) Read your email and need to think on a response. She will then forget to email you the response, even though she has spent a good deal of time thinking about it.
2) Hear your prayer concern and feel a great deal of empathy for you and your situation. She will probably think about you for days, praying for you often as you come to mind. She will, however, neglect to tell you this.
3) Recognize that you are going through a difficult time and think of no less than a dozen elaborate and thoughtful ways to minister to you in your need. She will probably act on none of these ideas, even though she has given them all a great deal of thought.
4) Be your biggest supporter and cheerleader at the beginning of a project. Her enthusiasm will eventually fizzle. She is distracted easily by shiny things. Going the distance is not her strong suit.
5) Agree to read and review your newest book or project. Weeks will pass before a review is finally published. This does not mean that she did not love your project; on the contrary, she probably loved it so much that she feels her review of your work must be absolutely perfect before she can publish it. She is often crushed by the weight of her own standards which propels her directly into inaction accompanied by guilt.
6) Interrupt you. Her mind is constantly making connections, often at a speed which outpaces human speech and good manners.
7) Astound you with her incredible clumsiness. This may or may not be related to her personality type, but you should have fair warning nonetheless.
8) Start a multitude of projects and finish few.
9) Not take criticism well. She is keenly aware of her shortcomings and imperfections, always hyper-aware of the ways her outward actions don't meet her inner standards. When those imperfections are recognized by others, it can be crippling.
10) Personify capriciousness, fickleness, moodiness, and procrastination. She is also prone to being driven by her feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings.
If you have the great misfortune of partnering with her on a project or serving as her editor, please know that she will accomplish absolutely nothing without a deadline. Be assured, however, that she rarely misses deadlines altogether as she is capable of intense micro-focus and dedicated energy as a deadline approaches.
Finally, if you are counting on her to take an action of some sort, she will probably disappoint you. And even if you aren't actually disappointed with her, she probably thinks that you are."
I am thinking of making this my signature at the end of every email. What do you think?
love cait.
8/29/11
why.
The church classic VBS, wall hanging, and, hauntingly enough, homemade vest from my childhood all share this common, most epic story.
Noah's Ark.
But the real question is, why...
Why what, you may be asking yourself, suddenly intrigued because I mentioned a delicately sewn, classy little story vest. Yes, Noah's Ark, tails and all.
There are a few "why's" the world needs to pause and ask themselves whenever they happen to cross paths with this cheery tale depicted in art.
Why #1: Why does it always look like Noah only made it to Africa and North America?
Did Noah only make it to the African Plains and Old McDonald's farm when he gathered his collection of furry friends? Did he lose his "Don't forget to" checklist somewhere on that behemoth and then suddenly decide to improvise and hope God wouldn't notice? Did he gather a variety of 13 animals, after years of building, to suddenly go "Well...at least we got one with a long neck...good enough close the doors."No...you say? No, Caitlin...how could you? After all the VBS and children's church you have lived through, how could you not think that all our furry and feathered (and scaled...) friends didn't make it aboard this fine floating device? How could you not picture them all cuddling and full of joy as one giant zoo full of love? And maybe even a unicorn or two? I will tell you why. Because some genius artist who grew up on a farm and has only ever read a book about African animals has drawn every single depiction of Noah's Ark to date.
Because apparently, Noah only grabbed a cow, a pig, a giraffe, an elephant, a zebra, some monkeys, a horse, a sheep, some lions, an alligator pair, and a bird. Sometimes a bear. Occasionally a hippo or an ostrich. If your lucky, you see a penguin or two. Maybe a deer.
Thats it. Noah quit after that. Because clearly, waiting around for animals was too exhausting. Never mind that he spent half his freakin life building the thing. He just didn't have the energy to sit and put checkmarks on a list as the animals walked onto the boat.
So we ended up with a zoo drawn from the brain of a toddler. Congrats. Why...why are these the only animals ever depicted on Noah's ark? Can't the groundhogs get some love?
Why #2: Why the bird?
Somehow, in more than half the depictions of Noah's Ark, there is a parrot -like-bird. This is nice. I see we are branching out to new life forms that possibly existed at the time. But...just wondering...why is this parrot always piggy backing on some large animal like an giraffe? Do they have a special bond? Did the giraffe save this parrots life in 'Nam and now they can't be separated? Are they Romeo+Juliet-ing it against their parents will in love? Does that just seem like an obvious place for a bird?
"Oh look a giraffe....but something isn't right here. Hmm it has spots...and horns....there is it's freaky tongue. Oh wait I know...where is it's parrot?"
Get it an eye patch and call it Captain Hoof. Because apparently that would be all that is missing the giraffe gone out to sea.
Why #3: Speaking of Giraffes...
Why is it, that even if there is NO OTHER ANIMAL in the picture, there is always....ALWAYS a giraffe? Is this the world's best representation of animal life? Are these animals just commonly found around the world?
"What was that noise in the basement, honey, it sounded like clip clopping..."
"Hmm...we must be getting giraffe's down there. I'll call the exterminator tomorrow."
No. If anything, Noah should have a pair of rats chillin on his ancient shoulders.
Noah's Ark.
But the real question is, why...
Why what, you may be asking yourself, suddenly intrigued because I mentioned a delicately sewn, classy little story vest. Yes, Noah's Ark, tails and all.
There are a few "why's" the world needs to pause and ask themselves whenever they happen to cross paths with this cheery tale depicted in art.
Why #1: Why does it always look like Noah only made it to Africa and North America?
Did Noah only make it to the African Plains and Old McDonald's farm when he gathered his collection of furry friends? Did he lose his "Don't forget to" checklist somewhere on that behemoth and then suddenly decide to improvise and hope God wouldn't notice? Did he gather a variety of 13 animals, after years of building, to suddenly go "Well...at least we got one with a long neck...good enough close the doors."No...you say? No, Caitlin...how could you? After all the VBS and children's church you have lived through, how could you not think that all our furry and feathered (and scaled...) friends didn't make it aboard this fine floating device? How could you not picture them all cuddling and full of joy as one giant zoo full of love? And maybe even a unicorn or two? I will tell you why. Because some genius artist who grew up on a farm and has only ever read a book about African animals has drawn every single depiction of Noah's Ark to date.
Because apparently, Noah only grabbed a cow, a pig, a giraffe, an elephant, a zebra, some monkeys, a horse, a sheep, some lions, an alligator pair, and a bird. Sometimes a bear. Occasionally a hippo or an ostrich. If your lucky, you see a penguin or two. Maybe a deer.
Thats it. Noah quit after that. Because clearly, waiting around for animals was too exhausting. Never mind that he spent half his freakin life building the thing. He just didn't have the energy to sit and put checkmarks on a list as the animals walked onto the boat.
So we ended up with a zoo drawn from the brain of a toddler. Congrats. Why...why are these the only animals ever depicted on Noah's ark? Can't the groundhogs get some love?
Why #2: Why the bird?
Somehow, in more than half the depictions of Noah's Ark, there is a parrot -like-bird. This is nice. I see we are branching out to new life forms that possibly existed at the time. But...just wondering...why is this parrot always piggy backing on some large animal like an giraffe? Do they have a special bond? Did the giraffe save this parrots life in 'Nam and now they can't be separated? Are they Romeo+Juliet-ing it against their parents will in love? Does that just seem like an obvious place for a bird?
"Oh look a giraffe....but something isn't right here. Hmm it has spots...and horns....there is it's freaky tongue. Oh wait I know...where is it's parrot?"
Get it an eye patch and call it Captain Hoof. Because apparently that would be all that is missing the giraffe gone out to sea.
Why #3: Speaking of Giraffes...
Why is it, that even if there is NO OTHER ANIMAL in the picture, there is always....ALWAYS a giraffe? Is this the world's best representation of animal life? Are these animals just commonly found around the world?
"What was that noise in the basement, honey, it sounded like clip clopping..."
"Hmm...we must be getting giraffe's down there. I'll call the exterminator tomorrow."
No. If anything, Noah should have a pair of rats chillin on his ancient shoulders.
8/23/11
wasting my life.
We spend so much of our lives trying. Don't you?
Trying to succeed at our job. Trying to make more money. Trying to be taken seriously. Trying to make a difference. Trying to get good grades and make good friends. Trying to keep our marriage going. Trying to be different but not stand out so much that we break the social norms we live in.
Trying to be a good person and trying to be right. Trying to be educated and smart.
But I feel like I spend so much time managing my "trying" that I quit all the "trusting".
I spend so much time internally examining myself, or comparing what I am doing to what I should be doing at the age of 25, that I somehow have quit believing in what really defines me. Do I have the right job? Do my clothes fit the norm? Do I sound like an adult? Am I making educated comments? Am I reading the right books? Am I teaching well?
am I good enough?
I recognize I am not. I recognize that to the world I live in...I look like I am wasting my life.
But realizing when Jesus said "If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first. The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of the world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you."
He was talking about this too. He meant also, that people, family, friends, bosses...many will tell you that you are wasting your life. Wasting your potential. Wasting talent.
And they will shake their heads and say "remember what's her face? Yeah, then she got all weird and quit doing such and such to do this." They will say "remember when she got all crazy and religious", or "remember when he went to that college or that job, and with a brain like his? What a waste...". "THey could have made so much money, or gained so much respect, or been so famous, or (insert description here)."
I fall for this trap of self-worth. Defining myself by the standards of success my culture has set before me.
Because in all honesty, what I believe, if I really believe it, will soon make my life look as though it is wasted. If I give up the idea of fitting culture, raising kids a certain way, working a job because I am supposed to, making a certain amount of money, making educated adult like comments, being perfect or faultless, being in charge, being successful in everything I do from relationships to my work here at church,
I will look like I am wasting my life.
And in all of that, I have to trust what He said was true. He is the vine, we are the branches. He will sustain everything we need, everything to fulfills, everything that brings peace, joy and life. None of it can be manufactured by any amount of success, recognition, education, like-a-bility or money. I have to quit trying so hard and start trusting in the absence of that trying.
It is not that any of these things are bad. Being educated, making wise choices, earning a living, taking care of family, being successful. I suppose it is mostly about how important that is to you, and if you let that run your life.
And in all of that, I have to trust what He said was true. He is the vine, we are the branches. He will sustain everything we need, everything to fulfills, everything that brings peace, joy and life. None of it can be manufactured by any amount of success, recognition, education, like-a-bility or money. I have to quit trying so hard and start trusting in the absence of that trying.
It is not that any of these things are bad. Being educated, making wise choices, earning a living, taking care of family, being successful. I suppose it is mostly about how important that is to you, and if you let that run your life.
So maybe I am measuring success wrong. Maybe from now on, I should take our culture's idea of success, compare it to what I am doing, and if I look like I am wasting my time trying to communicate the love of my God, giving up something "valuable" or being too devoted to being last place, I will know I am wasting my life...
in the exact way I was supposed to.
So...here I go...continuing to waste my life.
wish me luck.
8/20/11
angels on your pillow...
Tradition has always held deep meaning to me. Not because it is the way things have to be done, but because it feels like coming home after a long time away. Do you know what I mean? Like putting on your favorite sweater. Like egg nog on Christmas eve, like Catch Phrase and sweet potato casserole every Thanksgiving. Like my family repeatedly saying "Caitlin, what part of no don't you understand". It feels like dancing a familiar dance
And I easily remember the steps as I fall into a place that is cozy and full of memories.
As long as I can remember, since I was a little girl, my Mema would always tuck me in with a kiss goodnight and say, "angels on your pillow", just before she would walk softly from the room. It became so familiar, so homey, that I almost forgot about it, zoned it out of my brain, like it was second nature. Almost, until today.
My 93 year old Great Grandmother passed away today. She was an amazing, tough old lady, full of life through to the last second. In one of her surgeries over the past few days, the doctors came out and said she had the "bones of a 30 year old" and they were shocked at how well she was recovering. Yup...she was too stubborn to even let her body get old.
My first memory of my dear, stubborn Great Grandma is from when I was around 4-5 years old. My mother, grandma and I were driving to Pennsylvania to visit her and Muffy, her cute little white dog. As per my usual fashion, I tried to roll down the windows on the highway and when I was told "no", I decided a better option would be to open the door instead. One of my finer moments, I believe...
Later that night I snuggled in for bed in my Great Grandmas home, and as she was tucking me in and walking quietly from the room she whispered, "angels on your pillow"...and I knew where my grandma had borrowed the phrase. It is a piece of my family. Like a family heirloom, or an extra hug. An extra note in the symphony of my families story, the one that adds flavor and harmony.
Yesterday, her daughter, my Mema wrote this...
...one two three one two three...
And I easily remember the steps as I fall into a place that is cozy and full of memories.
As long as I can remember, since I was a little girl, my Mema would always tuck me in with a kiss goodnight and say, "angels on your pillow", just before she would walk softly from the room. It became so familiar, so homey, that I almost forgot about it, zoned it out of my brain, like it was second nature. Almost, until today.
My 93 year old Great Grandmother passed away today. She was an amazing, tough old lady, full of life through to the last second. In one of her surgeries over the past few days, the doctors came out and said she had the "bones of a 30 year old" and they were shocked at how well she was recovering. Yup...she was too stubborn to even let her body get old.
My first memory of my dear, stubborn Great Grandma is from when I was around 4-5 years old. My mother, grandma and I were driving to Pennsylvania to visit her and Muffy, her cute little white dog. As per my usual fashion, I tried to roll down the windows on the highway and when I was told "no", I decided a better option would be to open the door instead. One of my finer moments, I believe...
Later that night I snuggled in for bed in my Great Grandmas home, and as she was tucking me in and walking quietly from the room she whispered, "angels on your pillow"...and I knew where my grandma had borrowed the phrase. It is a piece of my family. Like a family heirloom, or an extra hug. An extra note in the symphony of my families story, the one that adds flavor and harmony.
Yesterday, her daughter, my Mema wrote this...
"I don't know if Mom will understand, but please tell her I love her and give her a kiss for me. I know that 'angles are on her pillow' and surrounding her. She is in the Hands of Our Father and Her Father. He will keep her with Him. "
In these sweet and sorrowful moments that have come to pass, I am grateful for this family that God built. I am grateful for the chance to have a "favorite sweater" kind of feeling. To have something hidden in my family, even though it is simple and silly to any onlooker. But I have something to hold onto...I am a piece of a small puzzle, and we fit together a certain way.
Great Grandma left a lot with us. Courage, bravery, happiness in simplicity, and the genetic stubbornness that winds through our family like a cord. She even had a hand in my blue eyes. But she also left us with a "cozy sweater", with traditions that belong to our family, and something for me to tell me children as they grow and drift into dreamland. A small piece of what makes my family mine...
So, dear great grandma, goodnight...sleep tight...sweet dreams...and angels on your pillow.
8/5/11
54 years.
54 years ago:
Dwight D. Eisenhower was President.
Russian was still under Communist Regime.
Kansas won the NCAA Basketball Championship
West Side Story debuted on Broadway.
Humphry Bogart died.
54 years ago it was 1957.
54 years ago, my grandparents said "yes" to one another. And have been saying yes everyday since then. 54 years ago, my grandparents made a choice that has forever influenced my life and made me believe in marraige, in love, and in relationships as God has intended them to be.
54 years ago, my then young grandparents chose each other. Till death do them part. And have never looked back. They had a cheap wedding that was rich in love and cake. They had a one-room-one-light-bulb apartment where they learned of their first pregnancy, my mom, in their kitchen.
They embarked on a journey marked with trials, children, joy, tight finances, and millions of questions and smiles. They didn't do everything right, but they left all that to God.
They did what they could, with what they had, where they were at.
And someday, I will tell my children about them. I will tell my children about their love and marriage. About how they hold hands at 74 and ride their bikes. About how they chose each other even when they didn't feel like it. About how they sacrificed what they had to in order to take care of their children, and especially their grandchildren, like me. About how they have the mommy they have because of the the grandma and Pap she had.
All because, 54 years ago, two people said yes. The world is forever changed, and the life I will lead is forever in the hands of Jesus. 54 years ago, my life was changed. Even before I existed...God had a plan. I am in awe...
Dwight D. Eisenhower was President.
Russian was still under Communist Regime.
Kansas won the NCAA Basketball Championship
West Side Story debuted on Broadway.
Humphry Bogart died.
54 years ago it was 1957.
54 years ago, my grandparents said "yes" to one another. And have been saying yes everyday since then. 54 years ago, my grandparents made a choice that has forever influenced my life and made me believe in marraige, in love, and in relationships as God has intended them to be.
54 years ago, my then young grandparents chose each other. Till death do them part. And have never looked back. They had a cheap wedding that was rich in love and cake. They had a one-room-one-light-bulb apartment where they learned of their first pregnancy, my mom, in their kitchen.
They embarked on a journey marked with trials, children, joy, tight finances, and millions of questions and smiles. They didn't do everything right, but they left all that to God.
They did what they could, with what they had, where they were at.
And someday, I will tell my children about them. I will tell my children about their love and marriage. About how they hold hands at 74 and ride their bikes. About how they chose each other even when they didn't feel like it. About how they sacrificed what they had to in order to take care of their children, and especially their grandchildren, like me. About how they have the mommy they have because of the the grandma and Pap she had.
All because, 54 years ago, two people said yes. The world is forever changed, and the life I will lead is forever in the hands of Jesus. 54 years ago, my life was changed. Even before I existed...God had a plan. I am in awe...
7/31/11
nothing fancy, deep, or profound...
I am out of fancy words or deep thinking for today. Or should I say tonight...
but...
I did just take a trip down photo memory lane.
And while some of those photos show my pimples. Some of them show my "why did anyone let me leave wearing that" outfits.
Some of them show hair cuts, or hair tragedies, or colors that might make me look more transparent than casper.
Some of them show my pre "grown into myself" body.
Some of them really show that I was absolutely confused about what I should ever smile like, wear, or do in a photo, ever.
Heck, some of them might make you think I had never seen a camera or had a family photo done my whole life.
However, every last one of those photos make me laugh. Literally. I crack myself up sometimes. Those incredibly awkward moments were my best memories. And lets be real, if I'm not making someone looking at a photo of me think, "wow...clearly she had no idea that there was a camera, or people, or mirrors available in her lifetime..", then really, would it be a picture of me?
So...even though there is an "untag" button, and a simple delete would do the trick, I think I will leave them.
Mostly because those photos represent the best, if not most important parts of me, simply because of whoever is standing next to me in every single one. I am so blessed...so lucky, and so in love with the people I get to have in my past, present and future. They all make every last pimple laden photo worth it.
Dear God,
thank you for making other people for me to know and love.
Sincerely,
Cait
but...
I did just take a trip down photo memory lane.
And while some of those photos show my pimples. Some of them show my "why did anyone let me leave wearing that" outfits.
Some of them show hair cuts, or hair tragedies, or colors that might make me look more transparent than casper.
Some of them show my pre "grown into myself" body.
Some of them really show that I was absolutely confused about what I should ever smile like, wear, or do in a photo, ever.
Heck, some of them might make you think I had never seen a camera or had a family photo done my whole life.
However, every last one of those photos make me laugh. Literally. I crack myself up sometimes. Those incredibly awkward moments were my best memories. And lets be real, if I'm not making someone looking at a photo of me think, "wow...clearly she had no idea that there was a camera, or people, or mirrors available in her lifetime..", then really, would it be a picture of me?
So...even though there is an "untag" button, and a simple delete would do the trick, I think I will leave them.
Mostly because those photos represent the best, if not most important parts of me, simply because of whoever is standing next to me in every single one. I am so blessed...so lucky, and so in love with the people I get to have in my past, present and future. They all make every last pimple laden photo worth it.
Dear God,
thank you for making other people for me to know and love.
Sincerely,
Cait
6/26/11
conversations in cars...
Is it just me, or do all the best conversations and all the best realizations seem to happen in cars?
If i think back along this weird, long, mostly tiring but always exciting journey I have had so far,
almost every moment that stands out to me
seems to have happened in my car.
Or next to it.
Or right after I got out of it.
Or it had something to do with a car...
Somehow I think it has something to do with feeling a sense of freedom, just for a moment,
from everything else going on.
Like by going that fast, in my car, I have the power to just keep going.
Or to change my mind.
And I have peace from chaos.
Where I can just listen to God and watch the world from my safe (umm maybe not so safe when I am driving) little box of a car.
And so in those moments, I feel this rare sense of honesty.
With myself and the people who happen to be in the car with me.
Ha, sorry if you were one of those people. Rare honesty with me can be an awkward place.
A place where I can say everything.
Or play a song that says it for me.
Welcome to my brain......
6/22/11
so there is this kid...zach...
Everytime I get on facebook, there is this guy, Zach Wathen, who always blows me away with his status updates. He is one inspiring guy... every time he shares my spirit feels encouraged and light. so I thought I would share one...
Time is so valuable.. how wonderful is it that we're all alive right now.. that we have another second to live. Do not let the mistakes and sins of your life take away from the eternal love Gods wants you to accept... it's in his living water that we can forever drink and Live and Love together.. all of us! We're all here to help one another, so look for someone to Love. Forgive and be forgiven. We are all beautiful.
Time is so valuable.. how wonderful is it that we're all alive right now.. that we have another second to live. Do not let the mistakes and sins of your life take away from the eternal love Gods wants you to accept... it's in his living water that we can forever drink and Live and Love together.. all of us! We're all here to help one another, so look for someone to Love. Forgive and be forgiven. We are all beautiful.
6/21/11
peace.
"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:67
My recent struggle with anxiety has lead me to a place that I recognize I cannot get myself out of. But it has lead me to a place of understanding a little more about grace.
My homework for counseling last week was to find people in the Bible who didn't deserve grace, yet received it anyway. I think I almost read the whole Bible.
And see in myself a piece of each of these stories.
A part of my soul begging that God grant me grace, for nothing I have done has earned an ounce of it.
It is hard for me to forgive myself. I usually don't believe I could be given much more than the grace of God.
And even though His entire story is a story of redemption, I often believe I am beyond it. Most days my anxiety yells to loud for me to hear that He loves me no matter what.
And even though His entire story is a story of redemption, I often believe I am beyond it. Most days my anxiety yells to loud for me to hear that He loves me no matter what.
Time and time again God gives me an abundance of things I have never earned.
And I am reminded that the economy of the Kingdom is so different and so difficult to understand.
So, my prayer, and the summation of my homework is this:
That I always be someone who looks beyond the surface.
That I always grant myself the same forgiveness that my God has granted to truly live in His freedom as He has called me to.
That I love first and always.
That I strive to seek God's heart all the days of my life.
That forgiveness sits on the tip of my tongue.
And that God may grant me a peace beyond all understanding.
6/1/11
granola at heart
I am a granola lovin, earth huggin, maple leaf astonished girl at heart. Can't help it, but I think I know why.
I think I know why nature is so overpoweringly beautiful to me. Why it seeps into every corner of my soul, why something about it gives me peace and teaches me something that was mysterious to me before.
Nature reveals to me when I am being an Atheist Christian. When I believe that God is real, but I forget the rest. When I forget who God is, not just what I think He is.
When I forget how big He is, I am reminded by the pine in my back yard how incredible small and fleeting I am. When I forget how much love flows out from Him, how all encompassing and complete it it, I look at the delicate things: the flowers, the honeybee, the ant. I look at the food I get to eat, the garden I am cultivating in my own back yard, each plant grown from a small single seed. And I see the abounding love of my God. I see the provision and delight my God possesses for us.
And when I wonder if I will overcome, if I will fight the same battle with fear for the rest of my life. When I wonder if I will ever remember what it feels like to be free or to breathe deeply with no fear in my bones, all I have to do is shuffle into my own back yard, lay down in the sweet cool grass and stare up into the enveloping skies. I see the bigger point then. I know the bigger story then. And I know we; He in me, has already won.
So maybe I am a hippie at heart. Myabe I will bake you some homemade bread, or grow my own tomatoes. Maybe I do love all things organic. But I think it is because God made me to see Him that way. God made me to see how everything we touch, taste, and see all connects back to the bigger story of who He is, and, oh how much He loves us.
Nature. Creation, to me is the start of the story. Yes, that story of oh how much He loves us.
So pass the darn granola...and go hug a tree.
I think I know why nature is so overpoweringly beautiful to me. Why it seeps into every corner of my soul, why something about it gives me peace and teaches me something that was mysterious to me before.
Nature reveals to me when I am being an Atheist Christian. When I believe that God is real, but I forget the rest. When I forget who God is, not just what I think He is.
When I forget how big He is, I am reminded by the pine in my back yard how incredible small and fleeting I am. When I forget how much love flows out from Him, how all encompassing and complete it it, I look at the delicate things: the flowers, the honeybee, the ant. I look at the food I get to eat, the garden I am cultivating in my own back yard, each plant grown from a small single seed. And I see the abounding love of my God. I see the provision and delight my God possesses for us.
And when I wonder if I will overcome, if I will fight the same battle with fear for the rest of my life. When I wonder if I will ever remember what it feels like to be free or to breathe deeply with no fear in my bones, all I have to do is shuffle into my own back yard, lay down in the sweet cool grass and stare up into the enveloping skies. I see the bigger point then. I know the bigger story then. And I know we; He in me, has already won.
So maybe I am a hippie at heart. Myabe I will bake you some homemade bread, or grow my own tomatoes. Maybe I do love all things organic. But I think it is because God made me to see Him that way. God made me to see how everything we touch, taste, and see all connects back to the bigger story of who He is, and, oh how much He loves us.
Nature. Creation, to me is the start of the story. Yes, that story of oh how much He loves us.
So pass the darn granola...and go hug a tree.
5/18/11
...in honor of my wedding week anniversary...
to my dear, sweet, forgiving, nerdy, tone deaf, stubborn, genius, cuddly husband.
We tried and tried to loosen the knots
Thinking once we're untangled we'll be better off
But it's these failures and faults that hold us together
Better or worse
But what else can we do?
And better or worse
I am tethered to you
If it's not either of us
Tell me who are we fooling?
This beautiful tangle that's bruising us blue
It's a beautiful knot that we just can't undo
Together we're one but apart tell me
Who are we fooling?
Cause real love
Is hard love
It's all we have
It's a break-neck
Train wreck
It's all we have
So we're back here again
Turning away from the edge of the end
Arm in arm
Better or worse
But what else can we do?
And better or worse
I am tethered to you
If it's not either of us
Tell me who are we fooling?
This beautiful tangle that's bruising us blue
It's a beautiful knot we just can't undo
If it's not either of us, tell me who are we fooling?
Together we're one, but apart tell me
Who are we fooling?
Thinking once we're untangled we'll be better off
But it's these failures and faults that hold us together
Better or worse
But what else can we do?
And better or worse
I am tethered to you
If it's not either of us
Tell me who are we fooling?
This beautiful tangle that's bruising us blue
It's a beautiful knot that we just can't undo
Together we're one but apart tell me
Who are we fooling?
Cause real love
Is hard love
It's all we have
It's a break-neck
Train wreck
It's all we have
So we're back here again
Turning away from the edge of the end
Arm in arm
Better or worse
But what else can we do?
And better or worse
I am tethered to you
If it's not either of us
Tell me who are we fooling?
This beautiful tangle that's bruising us blue
It's a beautiful knot we just can't undo
If it's not either of us, tell me who are we fooling?
Together we're one, but apart tell me
Who are we fooling?
i love you and choose you for everyday of forever.
stinky.
5/12/11
.why I hate minivans.
It never fails. I always see those commercials with happy, skinny, put together moms. They're long hair glistening in the sunshine as they usher in loads of kids from a soccer game (miraculously powder fresh, might I add). Or perhaps they're perfect cherub of a baby has fallen into a deep sleep (that seems to exist only in commercial land) because of the perfect classy-ness of this wonderful, magical, family uniting vehicle.
The mini-van.
But, I am no fool. No, mini-van makers, you have not fooled me. I have learned your dark secret.
They're must be some kind of power high that takes over people's body when they put their key into the ignition of a mini-van, because, without fail, they all turn into the 21st century version of head hunters.
Whenever a mini-van is within 400 feet anxiety racks my body. Will they tail me, will they give me the evil stare down? Perhaps today I will get honked at, swerved past, or maybe today will be a game of "chicken" suburban style.
There is no room on the road, you see, for anyone but you...mini-van drivers. And if some pathetic little honda happens to trot across your path you have no fear in going into attack driving mode. Move aside you measly drivers of cars. How pathetic your life is. Clearly we have NOWHERE nearly as important to be as those who dwell in the land of the mini-van. Kindergarten soccer cannot wait for you. Your life cannot be spared in lieu of the bake sale or karate practice. And if you had it your way, mini-vaners, you would probably install saw blades in a secret compartment on your door, T-Bird style, and chop my car in half as you laugh maniacally and pass me by.
Something about that automatic sliding door gives you a power high so far out of my reach that I am in awe. So tailgate your little heart out. Honk and mean mug until your hearts content. Speed past me going 90 in a 50. Give me that mom stare down.
As for me? I will be sticking to Honda's for a while...(and no...that doesn't include the oddessey)
The mini-van.
But, I am no fool. No, mini-van makers, you have not fooled me. I have learned your dark secret.
They're must be some kind of power high that takes over people's body when they put their key into the ignition of a mini-van, because, without fail, they all turn into the 21st century version of head hunters.
Whenever a mini-van is within 400 feet anxiety racks my body. Will they tail me, will they give me the evil stare down? Perhaps today I will get honked at, swerved past, or maybe today will be a game of "chicken" suburban style.
There is no room on the road, you see, for anyone but you...mini-van drivers. And if some pathetic little honda happens to trot across your path you have no fear in going into attack driving mode. Move aside you measly drivers of cars. How pathetic your life is. Clearly we have NOWHERE nearly as important to be as those who dwell in the land of the mini-van. Kindergarten soccer cannot wait for you. Your life cannot be spared in lieu of the bake sale or karate practice. And if you had it your way, mini-vaners, you would probably install saw blades in a secret compartment on your door, T-Bird style, and chop my car in half as you laugh maniacally and pass me by.
Something about that automatic sliding door gives you a power high so far out of my reach that I am in awe. So tailgate your little heart out. Honk and mean mug until your hearts content. Speed past me going 90 in a 50. Give me that mom stare down.
As for me? I will be sticking to Honda's for a while...(and no...that doesn't include the oddessey)
5/5/11
just exactly perfectly what i needed today.
"Why can’t I teach you in the midst of joy? In what better way could I reveal the heart of who I am, goodness, then in the midst of something good? You believe I can only teach you in the midst of great hardship and hurt. But failure is not my only laboratory. Does not a father learn something profound about my miraculous goodness when he holds his newborn baby for the first time after delivery? Does not a bride not see my glory when she walks down the aisle toward her groom? Life and lessons cannot be limited to heartache."
5/2/11
on fitting in...
My life...the giant question mark. After a good year of some stability, my life will soon be on track to change, yet again, in some major ways.
So, in living the giant question mark life, I am beginning to ask the same question I have been asking for about 24 years now, which is WHAT is GOING ON? (definition: n. life: what am I doing with my life?)
I'm not trying to be indie or emo, so quit judging and keep reading.
See, here is the problem I keep running into. My brain works in mysterious ways, and I have yet to find a brain quite like mine. I am not more awesome than you, and by no means am I smarter, I just have a problem fitting into any of the molds I have found so far. In my heart of hearts I believe this was on purpose. That we all have this particular problem in some way or another. But if that is the case, why do I feel like I am about 10 steps behind everyone else I know when it comes to being a functioning adult in the world of Starbucks and ipads?
I lieu of this question rearing it's head, yet again, I have been reading up on the church as per Paul's definition in 1 Corinthians.
So, in living the giant question mark life, I am beginning to ask the same question I have been asking for about 24 years now, which is WHAT is GOING ON? (definition: n. life: what am I doing with my life?)
I'm not trying to be indie or emo, so quit judging and keep reading.
See, here is the problem I keep running into. My brain works in mysterious ways, and I have yet to find a brain quite like mine. I am not more awesome than you, and by no means am I smarter, I just have a problem fitting into any of the molds I have found so far. In my heart of hearts I believe this was on purpose. That we all have this particular problem in some way or another. But if that is the case, why do I feel like I am about 10 steps behind everyone else I know when it comes to being a functioning adult in the world of Starbucks and ipads?
I lieu of this question rearing it's head, yet again, I have been reading up on the church as per Paul's definition in 1 Corinthians.
"For the body is not one member, but many.
If the foot says, "Because I am not a hand, I am not a part of the body," it is not for this reason any the less a part of the body.
And if the ear says, "Because I am not an eye, I am not a part of the body," it is not for this reason any the less a part of the body.
If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole were hearing, where would the sense of smell be?
But now God has placed the members, each one of them, in the body, just as He desired.
If they were all one member, where would the body be?
But now there are many members, but one body.
And the eye cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of you"; or again the head to the feet, "I have no need of you."
On the contrary, it is much truer that the members of the body which seem to be weaker are necessary;
and those members of the body which we deem less honorable, on these we bestow more abundant honor, and our less presentable members become much more presentable,
whereas our more presentable members have no need of it. But God has so composed the body, giving more abundant honor to that member which lacked,
so that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another.
And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it."
So, perhaps it is my fault, perhaps it is the fault of the "american dream", perhaps it is the fault of lies being heard in my little brain for years; but this concept seems to be missing from so many of our lives. Selfish confession: there are things that are "necessary" to survive as an adult that I:
1. absolutely suck at, hands down, no effort in life has changed this. go ahead, make a suggestion...bet you $5 I have already heard it, tried it, failed it.
2. have about 1% desire to do. ever. under any circumstances. not saying I won't do it, just don't want to.
Wheels a turnin'. Is this because I wasn't made to be well rounded? Is this because we were meant to fill in each others blanks, to link together like the tendons of the body and secure our reliance on each other? Like the joints of a body that fit together to create a beautiful functioning person, so are we the pieces that fit perfectly but are respectively different.
Why do we assume that this only applies to spiritual gifts? Why do we assume that we can only form a differing body in the "spiritual" sense, as if the rest of us isn't spiritual? As if God didn't purposefully form our minds, personalities, approaches, likes, and talents in a just as spiritually unique way as He did our gifts? And if He did...well then...that seems to change a lot, at least for me.
We like to celebrate the idea of differences, but when the reality of that hits us in the face, in our job, in our relationships, we try to change different into same. We try to coax each other into our version of normal...I am so guilty of this.
Bottom line, for me anyway, is I am afraid. I am afraid to be what God made me to be, because it means having to go it alone in some aspect. Others will walk next to me, but they can't walk it FOR me. It means that I can't compare myself to others and make sure I am doing it "right". It means risking a failure or ten. It means not being able to explain why, sometimes, or how. It means taking a leap into territory that is sometimes uncharted and without a map. I know what I am good at, but I am so afraid of failing that I try and make myself something I am not. It isn't really anyone's fault but my own for trying to fit the wrong mold.
So, cheers to you, and me, for never feeling like you really fit in. Because, hey, you weren't supposed to. And hope to you, and me, that this wasn't an accident, and the most wonderful people I know are the ones who have decided to not let the fear of different get in the way of living.
4/27/11
new things...
hey all...
not sure if you see my work...
but i have a new photo blog! just for photos! don't worry, i'll still be writing my little nuggets in this one.
http://papergirlphotography.wordpress.com/
just thought i would like some feedback and followers, the two essential f-words. haha.
cait
not sure if you see my work...
but i have a new photo blog! just for photos! don't worry, i'll still be writing my little nuggets in this one.
http://papergirlphotography.wordpress.com/
just thought i would like some feedback and followers, the two essential f-words. haha.
cait
4/14/11
Of course He isn't safe, but He is good.
Is it at all possible that 90% of what Jesus said was what he actually, literally meant, and not just a figure of speech or an analogy? Because if it is, then I have got quite a bit of learnin’ to do.
Since last week, my mind has been on warp speed thought process. Actually, let me take that back, since I was born my mind has been on warp speed, I just kicked it up to Star Trek style mind powers. I reference this only because
1.That is obviously logical and could really happen and
2.I have only seen three Sci-Fy movies and none of them were Star Trek so I actually have no idea what they could do with their minds...I just like to think warp speed was a cool specialty of theirs.
(back to the point...)
Is it possible that all my life I have spent apologizing for my God I have inadvertently told Him I do not really know Him? Is it, in fact, quite possible, that we have watered down, weakened and not spoken the real truth of what Jesus said, did, and was? That we have allowed things, excused things and all around poorly represented the sometimes scary-hide-under-my-covers truth of what God has asked of us?
Is it at all possible that we may have missed it? That when Jesus said few would be in the Kingdom, He wasn’t kidding? That when He said some will call Him Lord and He will send them away, and He isn’t kidding?
I am re-reading the book of John and I am fascinated, yet again (maybe even to the point of nerd-dom) by the life Jesus lived, in three short years. Three years.
So, each time I venture through His recorded life, I find, over and over, that there is something hidden there. Something my little eyes didn’t have the capacity to take in the first or second time around. And most of the time I feel a bit overwhelmed by the task He left us. I often feel like maybe He misspoke, perhaps He was not thinking of people like you and me when He asked us to carry out His story of redemption. Mostly because, let’s face it, there are days I feel far from redeemed, and even more days I certainly don’t live like I am.
If God is at work making me “ME” while completing the missing pieces and redeeming all the sin, am I wasting my time on things that don’t matter? Or does it all matter?
More often than not, if I am real, I realize I want Jesus to be safe. Maybe that is why all of this is so hard to digest. I don’t want to really have to surrender control to everything, just what is easy. I don’t want to examine the way I live for fear of finding it empty and fleeting, for fear of seeing exactly what I do not want to see, that I have not spent my time here well. I don’t want Jesus to rock my boat, so I ignore some things, or maybe try to change what they mean. I try to justify my anger at the American Church, or my wanting to hoard money and collect clothes. I enjoy entering conversations where I won’t be challenged and avoid those that will send my mind into the aforementioned warp speed. But in these rare moments, where I honestly have (though you may not see it) a rare sense of clarity, I am reminded of the beaver’s quote from The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe:
"Safe?" said Mr Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."
He is not safe. He wasn’t while He dwelled here. He wasn’t with the Israelites, He wasn’t with Jonah or Noah, or Esther. He wasn’t with His disciples, with the rich or the poor. And He will not be with me. But, He is good.
And suddenly, I see the point, I see the story unfolding. I see where His heart truly is.
So I guess, my point of this poorly written, terribly thought out, and even more terribly executed post is, what do you see of Jesus in the Gospel? What do you see when you think about Heaven? What do you feel change, move, tremble or grow in your insides when you read about the man called Jesus?
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