Shauna Niequist kicking my butt.

This post I copied off of Donald Miller's Blog www.donaldmillerwords.com, and the writer of this post is Shauna Niequist.  It slammed me.  I had to include it in this space, because I think these words are so, so important.  I have noticed I have become a half listener...half typing while acting like I hear what my husband says, half "yes'ing" while on the cellphone and in the grocery store aisle.  I don't like it when someone else does it to me, why would I want to do that to someone else?  I am shouting to myself, "PUT IT DOWN!!!!"  "TAKE A SEAT!!!"  "LISTEN!!!"  So put it down, take a seat, listen. (I am not sure if there are some copyright laws in place for me placing these words on my blog, and if there are and I'm arrested, I'm sure it will be worth it;-).)

I introduce Shauna Niequist--

"I realized recently that I had a refrain of jealousy that was cropping up when I spent time with friends who had what I perceived to be a relatively large amount of leisure or rest time. People who took the time to, say, take care of themselves or work out or rest when they were tired. People who asked for help and took time for themselves. I had a nasty, withering “must be nice!” little twitch that became so common I had to admit it was about me and not about anyone else.

Our jealousy teaches us so much, if we let it. I wasn’t envious of anyone else’s marriage or home or car or even their writing success or speaking opportunities. What I wanted was other people’s ability to care for themselves. I wanted their space and freedom and rest. And so my envy guided me to my own deep need to slow down and care for myself well, instead of pushing so hard and constantly getting frustrated with the people around me who had the audacity to care for themselves instead of wringing themselves out like I had been doing for so long.

And regret is another great teacher. When I look back over the last couple years at the things I missed, there are very few things that I actually missed — didn’t attend, didn’t do, didn’t taste. But there were too many trips and meals and conversations and experiences that I was too busy and too overwhelmed to really experience and appreciate. That’s what I regret: the days when I was there but not fully there, the conversations with people I love during which I gave them half my mind and a sliver of my heart because I’d spent it all already, because I was empty and fragmented from the sheer amount of things I was trying to experience.

There was a particularly intense season from May to November of last year, and when I click through my memories of that time, I don’t like the person I was. I loved the experiences—time with the boys, time with friends, trips and adventures. But I don’t like the person I brought to those moments: self-absorbed, erratic, impatient, greedy, a person without margin, a person who wasn’t present in meaningful ways, a person who lost track of the bigger picture.

Things that were supposed to be fun weren’t fun. I was at the end of my rope, as they say, too quickly and too often. My ability to weather things was shot, and I was on my last nerve all the time.

As I’ve made difficult but important changes, I’ve found that the slower I go, the richer life feels. The more often I admit I need help, the calmer I feel. When I rest, when I say no, when I let the house stay messy while I play with the kids, I feel better about the life I’m choosing than I did last year.

It’s not without bumps, certainly. I’m finding I’m more sensitive — I feel more when I slow down. Obviously, that’s why I keep myself so busy so often, so that I don’t have to feel things that scare me or worry me. I’m a lot more indecisive these days, and more tender. I think about my kids more – maybe I even worry more about them, one of the consequences of feeling more of everything.

At the same time, though, I feel less afraid about the future, because I feel very sure that this way of living will instruct me along the way toward that future. I plan in rest time and margin time, and instead of looking for how to cram more of everything into every moment — can I get another load of laundry done? Can I stop at one more store? — I’m asking the opposite questions: can I stay home tonight and go to the store tomorrow? Can I let that go, say no to that, find a simpler way to get that done?

I’m making these changes so imperfectly, with so much fumbling and relearning, but this is what I know: this is changing my life."

My apologies to those who teach English.

So I was at Harris Teeter, our local grocery store here in the South, and I was at the check out.  I had my hands full, plus I was carrying a basket.  The cashier, a young man of in his early 20's, says, "Here let me help you" and he grabs a few things out of my hands.  I respond with a "Thank you very much."  About a minute into our customer/employee interaction of checking out, he says to me, "Are you an English teacher?" And then he kinda quietly begins to say, "Because you know, it's kinda of fun to figure out what people do for a living by the way they speak and look..." and he trails off.  I smile, tell him I am not, but I have lots of respect for those that are.  In my head, I am thinking, "I don't have make up on, I am wearing my glasses,  I haven't brushed my hair, I am wearing all black."  Eghads!!  God help the English teachers this kid has had!  I think our exchange is over, but about 30 seconds after I respond, he says, "Well, I just gotta know...what is it that you do?"  I laugh (boy, this is getting strange:-)) and tell him I work as a home health aide to those who are disabled.  He's blushing, and says, "That is kinda similar to an English teacher."  And he trails off again saying something about teaching/instructing students is like teaching and instructing those with disabilities.  And again, I think, "Now, this is funny...he's equating disabled people with students and vise-versa:-)."  I'm sure there are some English teachers or teachers in general who have felt the same way at times.

Ownership?

I pulled into my neighborhood today after grocery shopping and I noticed that I was driving in the center of the road and I heard in my memory one of my parents say rather snippedly, "Get over!  You don't own the road" because that's what they'd always say when someone was too close to the line, or over it:-).
    I don't own the road.  That made me think, "What do I really own anyway?"

    My husband and I have purchased a few items lately, pretty big items for us.  A truck.  A TV stand.  A chair.  All of these items are used.  All of them with some marks of usage.  None of it, by any means, perfect.  Sometimes I get frustrated because nothing we have purchased in a good long while has come directly out of the box.  We do not get to tear open the plastic and remove the styrofoam:-).  Most times, I'm okay with not doing that, but sometimes the smell of NEW taunts me.  As I was getting out of our truck today, I made note of the small stains left from the previous owner on the drivers seat, and then I thought of this story...I think Madeleine L'Engle tells it...about how she knows a family (or perhaps it was her own family) that whenever they purchased a new car, they would bring it home, get a hammer, and put a ding in the bumper, because they knew it was going to happen anyway and it was going to be okay:-).
   Our TV stand--a few pieces of chipped wood.  The chair--fabric worn.  The truck--tiny bruises.  It's going to be okay.

   I can't say I always operate with this in mind, but I do like to (as often as I can remember) shove my thoughts on over to the idea that I do not. own. a thing.  And it's not so I can shirk responsibility (although at one time that might have suit me fine).  Nope, instead I pull down from the shelf a good old-fashioned "stewardship".  I supervise, I am responsible for, I act in administration, I attend, I look after. I am the "charge" of my life.  It's not the, "Well, it's my life and I'll do with it what I please."  It's the "Not even this is really mine.  It is a gift I have for such little time, so how am I treating it?  What does it look like to you, Lord?"  This goes for my marriage, my work, my friendships, my jewelry, my jackets, my home, my heart, and maybe even my writing:-).
  I do want to take good care of the things we have-shiny or thread-bare, abstract or literal, new or used and everything in between.  But I also hold  these gifts with a light hand, because it is in their nature (our nature) to get bumped around and/or create our own damage--minor dings or totaled. 
It might best be called a temporary, but honorable, stewardship mixed with a whole lotta grace kind of life:-).
 

Stranger Danger.

So, Ess Gee gets a wild hair and says he and I should go check out the campus of Dorothea Dix to see if it could potentially be a good place to clock some miles running (or in my case, walking).  Dorothea Dix is a state operated health care facility with tons and tons of rolling acres, literally called at one time in 1851, "Insane Hospital of North Carolina".  It has come a long way from those days with changes in law and language, but in the dark, with the campus winding roads, huge old oak trees, brick-made stately two story buildings and old homes, one's imagination could get the best of you.  [And I might add that this area is directly across from Raleigh's Central Prison.]  We get in the truck around 8:45 pm and head on over.  As we are driving onto the grounds, we see off into the distance of a dirt parking lot and a soccer field, someone's car parked facing the road with their brake lights glowing.  As we slowly drive by, the car's brake lights stop glowing and it becomes complete black.  No street light, no light of the moon, nothing.  I tell Ess Gee that it's probably some teenagers up to something and we should go check it out.  So we pull into the dirt parking lot, Ess Gee is driving slow as a snail, and we are inching our way into the area.  His truck lights finally get close enough for us to see the reflection of the car's front lights, we are about the distance of two cars lengths away and all of a sudden, the BRIGHTEST LIGHT IN THE UNIVERSE pierces us from the parked car.  It's so bright that Ess Gee is having a hard time driving.  Seriously like Armaggedon light:-).  It just keeps GLARING at us, creating such a force that it feels like we are living in slow motion.  Ess Gee gets the truck cranked around, and by this time my insides are shaking.  This person MOST DEFINITIVELY DID NOT WANT US to be there.  Freaky!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  We both drive away positively stunned.  Me, more than Ess Gee...he still wants to find out how many miles we could get out of the area for a workout:-).
  We do wind up calling the police for the suspicious-looking activity.  Turns out, the 911 operator thought that is might have been a cop (which Ess Gee thought, too) who just wanted a little privacy.  Ess Gee thought the cop just wanted to be a punk.  And me, I just wanted out of there.  The moral of the story:  only go to Dorothea Dix in the daylight.  Aaaaaah:-).