I discovered this past week how bad I am at dealing with the unexpected. I'm not just bad at it, I react atrociously. I am not just talking about pouting (although I did that) or arguing (yes I did that too) or throwing an all out temper tantrum (which happily I can say I didn't do - I am a little more mature than that). I am talking about an all out rejection of the situation with which I was presented - feeling cornered.
Lets preface all of this with a big congratulations to my brother in law - Spencer, and his fiance Sarah. They are getting married on 12/12/12 (yes you are reading correctly) in Hawaii. Yes. Hawaii. Thus the unexpected. I knew that they wanted to get married there, but they made it official and my in-laws officially made it official that they wanted us to be there (to the extent that they would assist with the costs).
Lets just say that, sometimes, I don't react well when someone says "think about it, we need your response by tomorrow afternoon."
Tomorrow afternoon???
Immediately, my brain goes in seventeen different directions. None of which are very flattering to my own sense of self. I start thinking about how we can't afford it. About how Hawaii isn't even on my list of vacation spots. About how I didn't want to make a decision about December in the middle of July. About how I only have 6 days of paid vacation left and they are asking me to save all 6. It ended with me breaking down about how I want to save money for a house and now I am saving for a vacation that has been forced on me.
Lucky for me, I have a wonderful and patient husband who simply allowed me to freak out for a bit before pointing out the painfully obvious in all of this - we are going to Hawaii on vacation in December. How amazing is that? And you know, once I realized that I really did want to go see Spencer and Sarah get married, and I wouldn't mind snorkeling or hanging out with my other family, I realized I was reacting extraordinarily selfishly.
Even though this wasn't in my carefully laid plans, or my budgeting scheme, I get to experience something that I otherwise wouldn't have experienced and I get to do it while celebrating the marriage of two pretty amazing people.
What I am coming to see in all of this, however, is my potential for allowing my plans for my life eclipse what are opportunities for amazing things to happen. What if I get all bent out of shape again next time something comes up that is out of my realm of "the expected" and instead of ending up with the Hawaiian vacation scenario I end up missing out on the opportunity all together. And what if that opportunity was what God wanted for me? What if the unexpected which I pushed out of my life really pushed away what God's will was for me?
What if next time, I don't take the opportunity, and I miss out on relationship with Christ? Am I really that taken with myself that I think that my budget, my plan for my life is all that matters?
I am pretty sure that God has more than just a Hawaiian vacation in store for me if I devote myself to his plan instead of my own. Now I just need to figure out how to stop thinking of mine and start focusing on his.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Rearranging Furniture on the Titanic
Growing up, my mother frequently used the phrase "I'm just rearranging furniture on the Titanic". She always used it when she was expressing opinions on this or that thing we were doing that ultimately wouldn't really change the outcome of what was going to happen. Just now, I finally looked up the phrase and discovered that it is more commonly put as "rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic" but the essence of the phrase remains the same.
I have found that I have adopted a stance that frequently falls into the category of rearranging the furniture on the Titanic. I have been forming opinions about my life, the direction that I want it to go, the way I want it to work that ultimately will have no effect on what will be. After all, a few years from now, none of it will matter. Who cares whether I had a nice car or a home with five bedrooms or three cats and two dogs. The reality is, all of this is superfluous, all of it is rearranging a life that is figuratively doomed to sink.
So instead of arranging and rearranging my current life, shouldn't I be focused on what really matters? The end result? My relationship with Jesus which will affect so much more than simply what I will be here on earth - but ultimately what I will be forevermore?
For a while now, I have been praying a prayer that asks what God wants me to do with my life, where he wants me to go, what he wants my goals to be. I have come to a realization - not exactly the answers I was looking for - but a realization that should change my life. To an extent, God doesn't care. He just wants us to follow him, love his son, and love his people. All the rest - it's just rearranging furniture on the Titanic.
I have found that I have adopted a stance that frequently falls into the category of rearranging the furniture on the Titanic. I have been forming opinions about my life, the direction that I want it to go, the way I want it to work that ultimately will have no effect on what will be. After all, a few years from now, none of it will matter. Who cares whether I had a nice car or a home with five bedrooms or three cats and two dogs. The reality is, all of this is superfluous, all of it is rearranging a life that is figuratively doomed to sink.
So instead of arranging and rearranging my current life, shouldn't I be focused on what really matters? The end result? My relationship with Jesus which will affect so much more than simply what I will be here on earth - but ultimately what I will be forevermore?
For a while now, I have been praying a prayer that asks what God wants me to do with my life, where he wants me to go, what he wants my goals to be. I have come to a realization - not exactly the answers I was looking for - but a realization that should change my life. To an extent, God doesn't care. He just wants us to follow him, love his son, and love his people. All the rest - it's just rearranging furniture on the Titanic.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
A Lunch Walk
For my sister Annadele - although this doesn't quite resemble most of our walks, it might resemble one or two.
You were there. And I was there. I don't remember seeing anyone else. But you remember don't you? I remember walking down the street. It was one of those lunches, I had already tied my jacket around my waist and the sweat was starting to gather in the crevice of my spine. You had forgotten your sunglasses and my slacks were bunching at my ankles, right above the tongue of my newly put on tennis shoes. We were laughing at something you said, I think, maybe something I said (although I know I am not that funny). I felt it first, although you must have seen it not long after. It was like the feeling when you think you have a spider in your hair, the softest of touches. Except then your eyes got wide and you motioned for me to feel my head. I did, and then turned around.
Nothing was disturbed, the tree next to us was swaying slightly, but I didn't feel anything on my head and you were shaking yours like you couldn't believe what had just happened. It was then that I saw it. It moved. And I don't mean moved like shook a little in the wind or even like those stories from Disney where the trees creak and groan toward you in some sort of grotesque horror or nightmare scene. I mean full on Fangorn forest moved.
For a second, I didn't say anything. Then it was like three million words at once as you chimed in. 'Oh my gosh did you see that did that f'ing tree freaking move or was I just imagining oh my gosh its doing it again!'.
I truly had my fight or flight moment however, when that first tree stepped its root up onto the sidewalk. To your credit, your brain was like three tenths of a second faster than mine because when I turned to run, you were a couple of yards in front of me and moving quickly. I could hear the cement ripping up as that small little tree ripped huge roots through the middle of the road to swipe at my (hopefully) rapidly disappearing self. But I didn't want to turn around, so I'm not entirely sure what happened. All I know was that I was picturing roots shooting through my body and being devoured like an orc into the ground below the tree.
By this time you were so far in front of me that I was surprised you heard my shouting. Especially seeing as the breath was starting to stop coming in and out of my lungs due to the fact that I do not run. Really, never. You did turn though, your feet turning and quickly peddling past my rapidly slowing ones to follow my directions.
Chain.
Saw.
We needed one and I think you and I both knew where the likliest place was. Although, I had no idea what saying the words out loud would mean. Who would have thought that on a road lined with trees, one chasing after us as if it was hell bent on our destruction (at one point the radar above the speed limit sign actually read 13 mph - I am hoping that it was clocking me, but the truth is, I wasn't near big enough to catch its attention) that the words "chain" and "saw" when put together would produce the sheer disaster that was hundreds of trees ripping up their roots and coming after us?
Okay. So a chainsaw was out of the question. There was no way we were holding at bay a hundred or so trees with just a chainsaw. Or maybe two if the Kingston Yacht Club even had any to begin with. But I could see you were still running, and with purpose, so I kicked up my heels and tried to catch you (which of course I couldn't, but it was the effort that counted I suppose). You headed directly for the ferry dock.
Smart girl.
Except of course that there was no ferry docked.
But you didn't even hesitate, winding your way down to the pier where a few dozen yachts stood, ready for our salvation.
Do you know how to sail a yacht? Do I? These questions are irrelevant when being chased by a couple hundred killer trees. Did I mention hell bent on our destruction? I could even see a couple in the forest behind the neighborhood we were just in starting to move. What were we to do?
I quickly unwound the rope from the dock on the boat you had chosen. It was a fairly large vessel, but it was toward the end of the pier so I figured it would be easier to maneuver out of the actual dock itself. I ran up to where I could see a steering mechanism and sure enough, there was the ignition. No it didn't have keys, but you make it up when you are fleeing from trees and you had better believe it, I hot-wired that boat. Or you did, but regardless, we made it start and then I turned it methodically around and started to rev the engine, getting us out into deeper water.
What I didn't expect was that the trees would follow us. I mean really? What are they going to do?
Except we forgot one very important thing - trees float.
Plans formed without words and I turned our bow to the concrete salvation at hand. Seattle. Or at least where I thought Seattle should be. And maybe we didn't go exactly straight, what with me trying to navigate and you trying to fend off increasingly persistent branches being thrown towards us by some very angry trees. What did we even do? Finally however, we made it to Seattle and I saw no way for us to escape except to beach our boat. So we did, just up the beach from the sculpture park. There were trees in that park too, but apparently this forest did not have the same animosity towards us that the other forest did.
As the trees came up the beach towards us though we knew we needed to keep moving, so I took off after you and we raced towards the nearest skyscraper. Water didn't work, maybe air would.
We took the stairs two at a time, at least for a bit. I didn't know where the elevator was and for some reason we didn't think to ask or look. By the time we got to the roof and looked down, there was a veritable forest standing around us, and more trees were coming all the way across the sound, it was like a greenbelt - across the water.
And now, looking down at this forest that has sprung up around us, I am wondering how we will get home, or even if we will be able to get off this room. But you were there right? I wasn't just dreaming?
You were there. And I was there. I don't remember seeing anyone else. But you remember don't you? I remember walking down the street. It was one of those lunches, I had already tied my jacket around my waist and the sweat was starting to gather in the crevice of my spine. You had forgotten your sunglasses and my slacks were bunching at my ankles, right above the tongue of my newly put on tennis shoes. We were laughing at something you said, I think, maybe something I said (although I know I am not that funny). I felt it first, although you must have seen it not long after. It was like the feeling when you think you have a spider in your hair, the softest of touches. Except then your eyes got wide and you motioned for me to feel my head. I did, and then turned around.
Nothing was disturbed, the tree next to us was swaying slightly, but I didn't feel anything on my head and you were shaking yours like you couldn't believe what had just happened. It was then that I saw it. It moved. And I don't mean moved like shook a little in the wind or even like those stories from Disney where the trees creak and groan toward you in some sort of grotesque horror or nightmare scene. I mean full on Fangorn forest moved.
For a second, I didn't say anything. Then it was like three million words at once as you chimed in. 'Oh my gosh did you see that did that f'ing tree freaking move or was I just imagining oh my gosh its doing it again!'.
I truly had my fight or flight moment however, when that first tree stepped its root up onto the sidewalk. To your credit, your brain was like three tenths of a second faster than mine because when I turned to run, you were a couple of yards in front of me and moving quickly. I could hear the cement ripping up as that small little tree ripped huge roots through the middle of the road to swipe at my (hopefully) rapidly disappearing self. But I didn't want to turn around, so I'm not entirely sure what happened. All I know was that I was picturing roots shooting through my body and being devoured like an orc into the ground below the tree.
By this time you were so far in front of me that I was surprised you heard my shouting. Especially seeing as the breath was starting to stop coming in and out of my lungs due to the fact that I do not run. Really, never. You did turn though, your feet turning and quickly peddling past my rapidly slowing ones to follow my directions.
Chain.
Saw.
We needed one and I think you and I both knew where the likliest place was. Although, I had no idea what saying the words out loud would mean. Who would have thought that on a road lined with trees, one chasing after us as if it was hell bent on our destruction (at one point the radar above the speed limit sign actually read 13 mph - I am hoping that it was clocking me, but the truth is, I wasn't near big enough to catch its attention) that the words "chain" and "saw" when put together would produce the sheer disaster that was hundreds of trees ripping up their roots and coming after us?
Okay. So a chainsaw was out of the question. There was no way we were holding at bay a hundred or so trees with just a chainsaw. Or maybe two if the Kingston Yacht Club even had any to begin with. But I could see you were still running, and with purpose, so I kicked up my heels and tried to catch you (which of course I couldn't, but it was the effort that counted I suppose). You headed directly for the ferry dock.
Smart girl.
Except of course that there was no ferry docked.
But you didn't even hesitate, winding your way down to the pier where a few dozen yachts stood, ready for our salvation.
Do you know how to sail a yacht? Do I? These questions are irrelevant when being chased by a couple hundred killer trees. Did I mention hell bent on our destruction? I could even see a couple in the forest behind the neighborhood we were just in starting to move. What were we to do?
I quickly unwound the rope from the dock on the boat you had chosen. It was a fairly large vessel, but it was toward the end of the pier so I figured it would be easier to maneuver out of the actual dock itself. I ran up to where I could see a steering mechanism and sure enough, there was the ignition. No it didn't have keys, but you make it up when you are fleeing from trees and you had better believe it, I hot-wired that boat. Or you did, but regardless, we made it start and then I turned it methodically around and started to rev the engine, getting us out into deeper water.
What I didn't expect was that the trees would follow us. I mean really? What are they going to do?
Except we forgot one very important thing - trees float.
Plans formed without words and I turned our bow to the concrete salvation at hand. Seattle. Or at least where I thought Seattle should be. And maybe we didn't go exactly straight, what with me trying to navigate and you trying to fend off increasingly persistent branches being thrown towards us by some very angry trees. What did we even do? Finally however, we made it to Seattle and I saw no way for us to escape except to beach our boat. So we did, just up the beach from the sculpture park. There were trees in that park too, but apparently this forest did not have the same animosity towards us that the other forest did.
As the trees came up the beach towards us though we knew we needed to keep moving, so I took off after you and we raced towards the nearest skyscraper. Water didn't work, maybe air would.
We took the stairs two at a time, at least for a bit. I didn't know where the elevator was and for some reason we didn't think to ask or look. By the time we got to the roof and looked down, there was a veritable forest standing around us, and more trees were coming all the way across the sound, it was like a greenbelt - across the water.
And now, looking down at this forest that has sprung up around us, I am wondering how we will get home, or even if we will be able to get off this room. But you were there right? I wasn't just dreaming?
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