Sinking in an Ocean of Grace

What a crazy life this is.

The 'shuffle' option on ones' IPOD is ideal for mirroring thoughts about the complexities and diversities of life. Mine, for instance, will roll from Ray Lamontange to the Beatles, from Fiest to Nelly, from musical soundtracks to worship music, from Weezer to Justin Timberlake. Inside my IPOD, all of these genres, musicians, and bands, not only peacefully coexist, but enjoy rich friendship with each other.

Such is life. Life flows forward with its own temperamental moodiness, such that it seems to have little definitive direction or purpose. Sometimes its easy to feel that your life is just a mixed jumble of choppy rapids and stagnant pools. Day to day, even hour to hour, every minute is full of so much. The BIGNESS of life is shocking. Opportunities are endless. And still, the smallness of my life can be discouraging. How is it possible to be struck with both the grandiosity and insignificance of your life? Who knows. When I was younger, I had this idea that as I got older, the questions would get easier to answer. Not only do they get harder, but there are more of them. And still they keep coming forward, voicing their dissension, upsetting the status quo, until one feels like they may drown under their weight. What to do, what to do? How do we love one another? How do we fight for justice? How do we surrender the fight for our own interests? What does a life truly lived by Christ's commandments really look like? Which issues are the most pressing? Do politics even fit in? What to do, what to do? Where is the line between acceptance of a person and condoning things that you disagree with? What the hell is humility and how do I get ahold of it?! What does love look like? Why do we reserve it for a few, and withhold it from the rest? How do we pour out our lives? Where do we pour? What to do, what to do?

I wonder why we're so confused and crippled. And then I open up the New York Times and see articles about starvation, violence, disease, death, oppression, and war next to ads that tell me to spend more money, be more beautiful, have more stuff. There, it's impossible to hear about injustice without hearing about excess. Talk about disconnect. As my dear friend Mona would say, "What a freakin' nightmare!"

Questions, Questions, Questions. Failure, Failure, Failure. Oh, how I fail. Everyday. Everyday I choose my own needs over others; my own rights and justice for myself before sacrifice and humility; I choose who I'm going to love and affirm, and who I'm going to scorn and slight. I want to be filled with love abundant, but still I'm full of bitterness and selfishness and vanity. Drowning, Drowning, Drowning. In grace. This journey over rocks and deep pools, rushing, rushing, rushing; around trees, sharp bends running, running, running. Jesus, my Jesus, I'm sinking, sinking, sinking in your grace. Your overwhelming grace. Your grace and mercy that you sacrificed so much for me to use and abuse. Your grace that covers my failings, my miserable failings. Jesus, my Jesus, I'm sinking, sinking, sinking in your grace.

"If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking..."
-John Mark McMillian

The Upside-Down Kingdom

Life is so big.

So full of choices. Decisions. People. Feelings. Words.

And each one is an opportunity for catastrophic failure.

Failure to love; to be patient; to be silent; to be faithful.

I'm an utter failure.

And there is my success.

Forgiveness.
If I boast in anything, let me boast in the cross of Christ.

Writer's Block.

And this is what I'm afflicted with.

This disease has spread to all areas of my life that require written words: email correspondence, journaling, letter-writing, and applying for jobs. The sad thing is that there is probably more going on in my head than there ever has been before. Lately, I am equally amazed with and oppressed by the realization that my whole life is open before me. No more checkpoints or required to-dos (such as high school, then college graduation). Certainly there are plenty of "that could happen's" but nothing that I am planning for or working for. I'm not even working for a career yet-as evidenced by the fact that I am blissfully passing my days with caffeinated beverages, trendy music, and a sea of khaki, black, and green.

I suppose that I should explain that shortly after the last post, things with the spa fizzled completely, and I no longer work there. I should be grateful to them, I guess, as it was through them that I discovered some of my more endearing personality traits such as utter dislike, compulsive complaining, bitterness, and outright malice. What can I say? I'm a charming lady.

It feels good to be free. I haven't been free long, but I'm already starting to feel the benefits of this new freedom. But I will say that overall, I have no idea what to do with all of my free time. Free time has long been one of those fantasies that people talk about experiencing but don't really experience. You know like Hollywood romance, a good night's sleep, and a diet food that tastes just as good as the full-fat version. So then what do with this business now that I discover that it isn't just a fantasy? I'm utterly unaware of how to not be "doing" something all the time. I always find "somethings" to do. And by "somethings" I mean "nothings." So then, I've been really trying to make a concerted effort to do real "somethings." Since moving to KC, for instance, I haven't re-embraced my crime drama habit; and that in and of itself opens up LOADS of time. I'm trying to entertain myself less, and exert myself more. Reading, art, music, creating, being, stuff and things of that nature. And it's HARD, folks. REALLY HARD. It's exponentially harder in this new place, because all this time for thinking allows all sorts of detrimental thoughts to seep in. My least favorite is a daily evil whisper, "I'm ready to go home, now." And then I have to remind myself that I am home.

Home. Home? Where is this place and why are we so desperate to find it, to make it, and then inevitably, to leave it? Anyways. I am home now. At home in the hood of Kansas city. And I LOVE living in the city. I love driving under downtown on the way home. I love not being able to ignore the hurting around me. I love the old house that I live in (except for the fact that I'm convinced that my walls are actually just holographic aborations, and don't really exist due to the amount of cold air that they allow through.) (It also should be noted that I am typing this buried under blankets, and with gloves on. Nice.)

But I digress. The point, dear friends, is that I am learning. Learning to rest. Learning to relax. Learning to listen. Learning to forgive. Learning to pray. Learning to heal. Learning to wait. And as always, learning to love. Have patience with me: I'm destined to fail.

Doormats, Dinosaurs, and Commitment-Phobia

Let me begin by saying that I can't even take it anymore.

If any of you have had a conversation with me recently, you've probably heard me talk (ie-rant) about my crazy employment situations. And when I say crazy, I mean like effin' crazy (see blog title). And I just can't take it anymore. I've spent everyday this week dreaming about ways to phrase my two weeks notice, and let's just say that several of the fantasies are more non-verbal communication. But, now that I'm an "adult" I don't want to needlessly burn any bridges, so I will try to be polite and articulate and get the hell out as fast as is reasonably possible.

Allow me to shoulder a part of the blame in the situation. It's not like I've had an outstanding attitude. But, as the vicious circle rolls, this is probably due to the fact that I work for inarticulate, passive-aggressive, unreasonable Loonies. That right, Loonies. The latest of the Loonies' larks seems to be driving their employees away. I'm an easy sell though, I'll leave gladly, you wouldn't even have to ask me nicely. But, feeling nicely I suppose, I have stuck it out for almost three months. No longer, friends. The camel's back has broken, and I'm about to make like a tree. I always told my friend that if she decided to leave, I'd be out after her before the door closed behind her. Yep, I am about to be out like trout. And I imagine that it may feel like the freedom of the ocean to a fish that has spent his life in an aquarium. (I'm never melodramatic. And I never exaggerate. Ever. Or spout sarcasm.)

I wish I could paint the colorful picture of the lunacy that I have lived with here for you, but it would be impossible. I'm not even sure that you would be able to understand if you could have seen the looks on my face whenever shady business went down right in front of my desk. These people have vaguely alluded that myself and fellow receptionists are unprofessional. My response would be a) what specifically {to which they never responded} and b) that "That's whack, fool!". I would have to say that this is the most unprofessional place I have ever worked, and that is compared to a place where the full time employee wore sweats to work every single day. Honest truth, friends. I couldn't make this crap up if I wanted to. Say what you will about Sweat-Pants-Sue and Pervy Pete, but they never once yelled at a customer in front of other customers.

Ah, well, so back to the grind of the job search. If any of you have connections with non-profits, event planners, cupcakeries, or the Travel Channel, let me know, I have a resume that's itchin' to see the world.