I tend to be a little bit selfish.
It’s true. I love me. I love my stuff. For example -
- I don’t want you sleeping in my bed if I’m gone for the night. Even if you make it very nicely I will know you slept there. It’s my bed. It’s my job to know. Plus – if you slept in it I’d probably have to prematurely wash the sheets.
- Please don’t move the books on my shelf. They are in order. It might not make sense to you, in fact – it probably wont make sense to you, but it does to me.
- If you want to wear my sweater, or anything else that belongs to me, it would probably (maybe) be okay, but ask me very very nicely first. And whatever you do don’t wash it. I’m allergic to Tide and am very carful about the things I put in the dryer.
- Dont finish off the last of my Arizona Ice Tea with Lemon. It have my name on it for a reason. It’s mine.
- If something of mine is in your way please don’t move it. You might break it. Or make it dirty. Contact me, and I will either instruct you on how to move it/where to put it or just come and do it myself.
- Please don’t interrupt me when I’m working on something. Obviously I’m busy and I’m prone to ignore you. Actually – I will ignore you.
Doing any of the above things (or not doing) is ASKING for me to have a bad attitude. Don’t believe me? Guarantee L & C witness to all things above.
(*raises glass* here’s to honesty)
There is one particular moment I can think of, to be vague- someone was using (incorrectly) something of mine that ]I particularly liked. I didn’t say anything bad or mean to them, that’s not “my style”. Instead I instantly had a bad attitude. Grumpy, grumpy, gills. Which – I convince myself I’m great at hiding, and carry on pretending like nothings wrong, while looking for the opportunity to ‘nicely’ reclaim what’s mine.
This time – someone picked up on my bad attidude. Someone I respect and admire more than basically the entire population (no joke, she makes top 12 at least). She questioned my grumpy face. Probably said something along the lines of, “Little Girl. What’s wrong with your pretty face? Why are you frowning?” (she always calls me Little Girl. don’t tell her, but i don’t mind it.). I probably responded with something along the lines of, “I’m not a little girl. Those are mine and they are wrong.” Because my selfish motives didn’t care about the rest.
Then she gave me the best peice of advice I’ve possibly ever received.
She squeezed my hand. In a way I would recognize even if I didn’t know it was her. A way that say’s ‘I know little girl… I know’. A way that makes me believe her. And trust her. The familiar way she has so many times before. Then she said, “Little girl, you can not love things more than you love Jesus and people. You just can’t do it. It’s not about us. It’s about Him, and that means it’s about them. People. Love the people, not things. The things don’t matter. Okay?”
I nodded, said ‘okay’, you know – all the right things. But truthfully, I didn’t think about it much. Not right then at least. I was still thinking about the misuse of my things, and the battle she just provoked in my head and heart. I think I decided it would be best to just walk away. Which I probably did resentfully. And then refuse to think about any of it.
But everyday I think about what she said. Everyday.
“You can not love things
more than you love
Jesus and people.”
Everyday I remind myself of that.
Everyday I let it take a big whack at my selfishness and pride.
Everyday it’s something I cling to and strive to live by.
Everyday that puts life into perspective in such a way that makes me want to be less selfish.
There’s always room for improvement. and growth. and things to work on.
Everyday little pieces of selfishness peak through. And that’s where Jesus comes into play. Again. And again. And Again. And you know? Again still. Everyday. Breaking my selfishness and softening my heart. Breaking my pride and teaching me humility.
Everyday Christ does a work in my heart. Teaching me. Showing me. To die to self. To live for him. To serve and love others. Oh boy, sometimes it’s so hard.
But - (just because I haven’t used the word ‘everyday’ enough) Everyday the reminder of that truth, in such a simple way, is the best piece of advice I have ever received.
Being Honest: I’m in a bad mood. Why? I don’t know. Do I have to know? I thought being an emotional person was enough to get out of answering anything like that. My bad.
And why do we spell honest the way we do? It’s one of those words that you write and then think you spelled wrong because it looks funny… Ugh. It tricks me every. single. time.
Eating: Milano Double Chocolate Cookies.
Need I say more???
What’s Awesome: When I “tweet” about being in a bad mood and eating cookies and then someone replies saying
“you need a big mug o’ joe to go with those cookies! :)”.
Truth is, I’d make a “mug o’ joe”… if I knew how to work our new coffee machine.
Listening To: A prophetic word I received a little less than a year ago. It’s good to go back and listen.
I was going to play it last night as I was falling asleep but L and J were busy chatting away and talking so loud that listening to anything was absolutely pointless.
Excited For: My new nail polish that I received in my Christmas stocking. It’s a terracotta/salmon color… Similar to the wall color in the bottom right picture. Pretty, right?
Have a peachy Thursday…. Wait. Today is Thursday, right?
I don’t know. I’m all mixed up.
Have a peachy — life.
Meet my friend Hannah:
She is a writer. a brilliant writer. And one of the coolest girls i know. What you’ll read next is something she did as a spoken word. She does other really cool things too though. So when you have a few moments please please check out her blog.
anyway, Please enjoy this (i know i did!)-
If I sink back into the shoes of my 7-year-old self, sequined to the mark the debut of the church’s Christmas Pageant, then I was the star of the show.
The top of the program. Signing autographs outside the dressing room until the sun kissed down behind the hills.
I. Was. A Shepherd.
A sheet on my head. A staff in my hand. Standing off to the side of a stage just like this.
Should have been staring up at the sky, up a Tiny Tinfoil Star Tied Tight to a Spot Light. A galactic ball of energy that, when stripped down to the bare-boned simplicity of it all, simply whispered, “Follow.” To shepherds like me, counting sheep to pass the time. Follow. A King is Born. A King is Born.
But instead I stared at Mary with a beady-eyed look of Envy Perched up in my Pupils as a I craved to be the one to stand shaking in my sandals as a Golden-Glinted Gabriel stood by a kettle in my kitchen and told me I would birth a baby.
A baby born with ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes & one nose. Just to Save a Soul Like Me.
And some would call him Son of Man, and you might say E-Man-Nu-El. But for right now, let’s just call him Baby. Baby, let’s just call him Jesus.
I’d have traded all my Christmas presents to be the one to stand with the pink bed sheet on my head and the pastor’s baby in my arms. I’d have cradled that baby & rocked it. The way the New York City Transit Line Rocks a Thousand Single Tired Souls to Sleep in Just One Sitting.
I’d have swallowed every rule in swaddling until… until I realized the Mandatory Matter of the Mary in the Manger that Night. For she would be the one to go out to find the words to pair with the teeny, tiny words that she collected so furiously like sea glass to somehow form a lullaby.
Which is really just a Single-Stranded Melody for a King that Deserves a Symphony.
I would have slid down from the back of the donkey, a sweaty little boy whose name was really Teddy, and we all knew he wanted to be a wise man but he got down on Hands & Knees to Carry a Marry to a Bethlehem that Didn’t Know Her.
Wait, I would have said. And poured out into a crowd of people just like this, to as people Just Like You.. And You..
What do I say? And how do I sing? Because my vocal chords aint strong enough and I’ve not got the bones of Billie Holiday, and my breath? It just aint thick enough to Sing a Song for the Son of Man, E-Man-Nu-El.
I’d have searched until I found the one to pull me in by the pink bed sheet on my head and say,
Mary, you be strong. And Mary, Don’t You Cry. And don’t you doubt these aching, breaking arms of yours. For your knees might shake, but your arms are strong. And they? Well, they were made to cradle a King.
You suck in your breath, you pull back your shoulders, and you sing for the baby whose cries will crack the mountaintops. You sing for the child who already knows all his Little Children and has the Holes in His Hands to prove he loves them so.
Be you 7-years-old, a shepherd staring up at the sky, or someone standing on a stage just like this. Wishing she had more to give her King than a Single-Stranded Melody for the One that Deserves a Symphony.
Still, you suck in your breath, you pull back your shoulders, and you sing.
Yesterday was family shopping.
L brought her camera, but I’m pretty sure she only took one photo… woot woot.
A while back L came home from a short trip with some consignment shop finds. Goodies for her and a couple for me.
These shoes were one of my “gifts”.
Some crazy flats with CHRISTMAS TREES ON THEM that she expected me to wear.
But I guess she knows me well…’cause I’m wearing them right now.
Yay for funky shoes that make a day pathetically entertaining.
You guys, I have a problem.
I bought another - another – pair of shoes. But seriously, how cute are these shoes??
*Please forgive the annoyingly dirty mirror. We really do clean it… it just doesn’t want to be clean.
Sorry this is so late. I had some massive issues uploading it. (you’ll witness to that at the 1 minute and 18 second mark. hello glitch)
This is my family. It’s small these days, but, really?
I LOVE THEM.
Look at Little Brother’s head. It’s the perfect head to give noogies to (and you know it). And look at how tall C is! I’m wearing 4.5 inch heels and she’s wearing flats and she still beats me by at least 2 inches. She grew up too fast, if you ask me. Too, too fast.
And those two people on the right? Yeah… they’re my favorite. There’s really not a lot to say regarding how much I love them because, well, I JUST LOVE THEM a lot. They’ve given me the best family, the best home, allowed me to do some crazy things (how often do parents send their 14 year old little girls off to Spain for a month?) and taught me about Jesus. Does it get any better than that?
I wish you were in my family picture, too. Because, really? There’s not a better family in the world.
P.S. I’m totally biased. But I’m pretty positive all my reasoning is backed up by a lot of evidence. So biased or not, they are the best family… in my opinion. =)
There are only a few minutes left in the day.
It’s Wednesday, and since we have a category called “That’s Dumb Wednesday” I thought I should post something dumb.
But the fact that I’m doing it just to get another “that’s dumb” post in, is by itself quite dumb.
Another dumb thing? I listen to our
so-cool-i-cannot-stand-it covers almost as much as I do to other artists.
I know. LAME. I need a life or somethin’.
Wanna know a secret?
My heart is wounded. My heart is hurt and broken.
Some days, it bleeds. Some days, cuts become larger, deeper. Some days, I can’t fight the tears or keep a straight face; my wounded heart consumes me.
But some days, it starts healing. Some days, words filled with spite and anger don’t bother me too much. Some days, I see that metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel.
On those days, I listen to songs like these that remind me that this isn’t the place I was really made for. One day, I’ll be with my Creator. One day, it really will be OK and my broken, wounded heart will be made whole.
This is what I live for: the promise of eternity with the One I love.
After singing my heart out — no, I wasn’t pretending that I was 3 again, belting “Annie”… we’ve been practicing our parts for the Christmas Eve choir and what not, so put those smirks away — I escaped to the cavern. During the rehearsal I had apparently forgotten that it gets dark rather soon during the winter months, so when I got to my room and it was dark I was quite surprised. [silly me, I know]
Instead of popping a light on I decided to go with the candles. And who wouldn’t when you’ve got this awesome lighter that turns and goes every which way you like?
To say that the cavern may be in danger is an understatement…
But on a good note, lighting candles has never been so much fun. Aren’t you glad we’re being entertained?
This is a favorite Christmas book.
Mr. Snowman and the lantern.
Ain’t he cute?
Here’s a view from a few feet away, ’cause you always need them.
And here’s my pretty tree.