If you are reading this, congratulations. Nobody was meant to find this, but I guess you were, because you did. You've found an easter-egg post. Yay you!
I was walking down the hall at work the other day and noticed my reflection in a window as I passed a dimly-lit room. As I don't normally see myself walking, and it was from profile view, I noticed something I had never noticed before. In a fleeting moment, I saw what my butt looks like when I walk.
It was an interesting thing, I must say. Now, I don't pay much attention to anyone's butt, but I couldn't help but think about them for awhile after seeing mine. A few different thoughts went through my head, primarily the following:
Butts are interesting things.
Almost beings in themselves.
The way the wiggle and jiggle
And giggle as they follow along.
They go to-and-fro
When we walk slow
And bounce up-and-down
At a brisk pace;
Not quite with the rest of the body
Kind of just in their own way
As if having a mind of their own
Shown in their refusal
To conform to our movements.
Yes, there you have it, something of a poem about butts. That's right, you've never really seen it all.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Our Story: Overcoming Guilt with Grace
Four years ago, when my relationship was new, I drove my man around because I had a car and he did not yet have his license. It's no secret that I am older than him, and that used to be hard for me, but he got his license a few months later, then graduated high school and grew up and the age difference has made less of a difference each passing year.
Anyway, when the relationship was new and we didn't know everything about each other, I struggled to let him see the real me. I didn't want to scare him away, but I didn't think it was fair to try to hide things about myself that were so much a part of me. One thing I certainly could not try to hide any longer was my standing with God.
"God hates me and I'm going to hell, anyway." I would say, too often.
See, I grew up in a Missouri Synod Lutheran church. Nothing against the Lutherans, they're Christians, too, but my church growing up preached forgiveness, but with a heavy emphasis on works. It always seemed to me that we were only forgiven if we just didn't sin. So, to my seventeen year-old mind, since I was a sinner, I must not be saved.
Driving Garth home from school one day, I said again, "well, I'm going to hell anyway." Garth just looked at me and asked, "Do you love God? Do you believe in Jesus? And that He died on the cross to forgive your sins?"
To which my reply was, "Yes."
"Well then, you're forgiven. If you love God, that means God loves you, which means Jesus died for you, which means you are forgiven, and you will go to heaven!"
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly, everything made so much sense! I felt so much relief, so much comfort in those words. His words changed my life.
It wasn't until about a month after that discussion that I really learned true forgiveness, however. As we said our goodbyes in the car one night, we leaned in for a kiss, and I stopped. I suddenly felt overwhelmed with the pieces of me he didn't know yet; not physically, but the deep down, dark past side of me. I knew right then and there that I had to tell him. I started, "There's something I need to tell you..." but the words just wouldn't come. Instead, there were tears. Swelling up in my eyes, trying to breach the dam, but I held them back, which only made it harder to talk.
"Would it help if I went first?" he asked.
I nodded, then he proceeded to tell me the biggest shames he had in his past. The past he was trying to get away from. The old him he didn't want to be anymore.
What a relief those words were to me -- and at a moment when I didn't even suspect that he knew where this conversation was going. I understood this person who was speaking to me, and felt closer to him than ever at that moment.
I finally opened up and told him the sins I had committed, the biggest shames of my past. The old me I was trying to run away from.
"Bre," he said, calmly, taking my hand, "I forgive you."
"I forgive you, too" I replied.
We held each other, prayed together, and said goodnight.
On my drive home, I thought about the things that were said. How righteous we could think we were, or other people were, when really everyone has something they may be trying to hide. The biggest realization, the best comfort to me that night, was that if Garth could forgive me so quickly and freely because of his little, new, unprofessed love for me, then how much more quickly and freely did my heavenly Father with a great big, lifelong love for me forgive?
So much more! He forgave and loved so much more! And still does today. May you know that in your life, too.
Anyway, when the relationship was new and we didn't know everything about each other, I struggled to let him see the real me. I didn't want to scare him away, but I didn't think it was fair to try to hide things about myself that were so much a part of me. One thing I certainly could not try to hide any longer was my standing with God.
"God hates me and I'm going to hell, anyway." I would say, too often.
See, I grew up in a Missouri Synod Lutheran church. Nothing against the Lutherans, they're Christians, too, but my church growing up preached forgiveness, but with a heavy emphasis on works. It always seemed to me that we were only forgiven if we just didn't sin. So, to my seventeen year-old mind, since I was a sinner, I must not be saved.
Driving Garth home from school one day, I said again, "well, I'm going to hell anyway." Garth just looked at me and asked, "Do you love God? Do you believe in Jesus? And that He died on the cross to forgive your sins?"
To which my reply was, "Yes."
"Well then, you're forgiven. If you love God, that means God loves you, which means Jesus died for you, which means you are forgiven, and you will go to heaven!"
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly, everything made so much sense! I felt so much relief, so much comfort in those words. His words changed my life.
It wasn't until about a month after that discussion that I really learned true forgiveness, however. As we said our goodbyes in the car one night, we leaned in for a kiss, and I stopped. I suddenly felt overwhelmed with the pieces of me he didn't know yet; not physically, but the deep down, dark past side of me. I knew right then and there that I had to tell him. I started, "There's something I need to tell you..." but the words just wouldn't come. Instead, there were tears. Swelling up in my eyes, trying to breach the dam, but I held them back, which only made it harder to talk.
"Would it help if I went first?" he asked.
I nodded, then he proceeded to tell me the biggest shames he had in his past. The past he was trying to get away from. The old him he didn't want to be anymore.
What a relief those words were to me -- and at a moment when I didn't even suspect that he knew where this conversation was going. I understood this person who was speaking to me, and felt closer to him than ever at that moment.
I finally opened up and told him the sins I had committed, the biggest shames of my past. The old me I was trying to run away from.
"Bre," he said, calmly, taking my hand, "I forgive you."
"I forgive you, too" I replied.
We held each other, prayed together, and said goodnight.
On my drive home, I thought about the things that were said. How righteous we could think we were, or other people were, when really everyone has something they may be trying to hide. The biggest realization, the best comfort to me that night, was that if Garth could forgive me so quickly and freely because of his little, new, unprofessed love for me, then how much more quickly and freely did my heavenly Father with a great big, lifelong love for me forgive?
So much more! He forgave and loved so much more! And still does today. May you know that in your life, too.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The Fruits of Meaningful Motivation
For weeks I have come to my computer drained and mentally exhausted. The last thing on my mind has been writing in any form other than comments on facebook statuses. I don't even know when I last updated my own status.
Today, however, my mind is buzzing with thoughts and ideas. Things to write, things to do. I sat down and took apart a seam on a dress that is a tad too big for me with plans to take out the original elastic and replace it with a smaller size.
Early last week I set up my formerly exiled sewing machine and resolved to figure out how to use it over the weekend. So today I sat down the with the owner's manual and fiddled around for a few hours and tried a few test stitches, and will hopefully be ready to stitch my dress back up in the next two days. I plan to be able to make a skirt on my own by the end of the summer. Then on to a bean-bag chair. And I'm not kidding. If the bean-bag chair works out, I promise promise promise to post pictures for once in the history of this blog.
I think my energy today is partially from the sunshine and warm weather that has been so impatiently awaited all week. I was cranky about the weather on the way to church because of the cold, cloudy morning, but as we were in the service, the sky transformed from a gray sheet of gloom to a beautiful, open sky of gladness and possibility. It made me happy. It made me rejoice. It made me think of what today means, this day we call "Palm Sunday."
As Jesus entered Jerusalem humbly on a colt, this happened:
"As he was drawing near - already on the way down the Mount of Olives - the whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.""
(Luke 19:37-40)
The book of Mark tells us that the people were tearing leaves off the palm trees and waving them before Jesus as they praised Him, thus the name Palm Sunday. But read that last thing Jesus says in the passage from Luke, his answer to the Pharisees. If we did not praise Him, the rocks would cry out! I felt so much this morning, as the clouds cleared and revealed a great blue sky that God was opening His arms and receiving our praise. The skies themselves were in worship this morning.
I know what I stand for, and I stand for it without fear of rejection or persecution. Even if I am silenced, there are still so many more proclaiming the name of our holy God. The work of God cannot be silenced. He will receive glory. The world can try to silence us, and when the last Christian on earth is put to rest, the earth itself would proclaim the name of God. Imagine the spectacle that would be!
Today, however, my mind is buzzing with thoughts and ideas. Things to write, things to do. I sat down and took apart a seam on a dress that is a tad too big for me with plans to take out the original elastic and replace it with a smaller size.
Early last week I set up my formerly exiled sewing machine and resolved to figure out how to use it over the weekend. So today I sat down the with the owner's manual and fiddled around for a few hours and tried a few test stitches, and will hopefully be ready to stitch my dress back up in the next two days. I plan to be able to make a skirt on my own by the end of the summer. Then on to a bean-bag chair. And I'm not kidding. If the bean-bag chair works out, I promise promise promise to post pictures for once in the history of this blog.
I think my energy today is partially from the sunshine and warm weather that has been so impatiently awaited all week. I was cranky about the weather on the way to church because of the cold, cloudy morning, but as we were in the service, the sky transformed from a gray sheet of gloom to a beautiful, open sky of gladness and possibility. It made me happy. It made me rejoice. It made me think of what today means, this day we call "Palm Sunday."
As Jesus entered Jerusalem humbly on a colt, this happened:
"As he was drawing near - already on the way down the Mount of Olives - the whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.""
(Luke 19:37-40)
The book of Mark tells us that the people were tearing leaves off the palm trees and waving them before Jesus as they praised Him, thus the name Palm Sunday. But read that last thing Jesus says in the passage from Luke, his answer to the Pharisees. If we did not praise Him, the rocks would cry out! I felt so much this morning, as the clouds cleared and revealed a great blue sky that God was opening His arms and receiving our praise. The skies themselves were in worship this morning.
I know what I stand for, and I stand for it without fear of rejection or persecution. Even if I am silenced, there are still so many more proclaiming the name of our holy God. The work of God cannot be silenced. He will receive glory. The world can try to silence us, and when the last Christian on earth is put to rest, the earth itself would proclaim the name of God. Imagine the spectacle that would be!
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Our Story: Becoming "Official"
During spring break in 2008, when Garth and I were still not quite a couple, Garth's family was going to Hawaii with his grandparents. I was a little sad knowing I wouldn't get to see him for over a week, especially a week when we had no school, but I was going to stay with a friend while her parents were out of town so I wasn't too heartbroken. Besides, I was still trying to convince myself not to get attached to the boy.
At youth group a few days before they were heading on their trip to the Warm Lands, Garth's mom asked me what I wanted them to bring back for me. I told her I really didn't want anything, that they didn't have to get a gift for me, but she wouldn't have it. Gifting is not my love language. In fact, they tend to make me a little uncomfortable, and being Garth's not-girlfriend made gifts extremely uncomfortable for me.
When I dropped him off after youth group that night, we had one of our nice talks that we always had, as he insisted he wanted to listen to the radio, and would never leave my car. When he finally did leave, I looked through the open door before he closed it and said, "What? No hug?" He smiled and leaned in across the seat, and what I got was not a hug.
Nope, he laughed nervously, leaned in, and gave me a very nice kiss. I was still smiling when I went to rehearsal for chamber orchestra the next morning. My obvious grin that led my friends to see right through to the happenings of the night before was fairly humiliating; but it was such a good feeling.
That weekend I went over to his house one last time before he went thousands of miles away for ten days. We were sitting on the couch talking, picking on each other as we always seemed to do, and he asked me if I would call him my boyfriend. He wanted to know before he went away. I thought for a few moments, and responded that I would call him my boyfriend if I missed him while he was gone. Yes, I am aware that I was mean, but remember that I was "morally opposed" to becoming attached to him.
After all, I didn't want to ruin whatever possibilities he may have had with the island girls. If only I had known he just wasn't that type.
He left for a family vacation, and I moved into my friend's house for a week and pretended to be a grown-up for awhile. Three days went by, and I did not hear from Garth.
One of the last nights of spring break, halfway through Garth's vacation, my friend and I threw a party. We had promised her parents that we wouldn't have anyone over, but we just couldn't go a whole week without breaking that rule. We went out and got some pop, and picked up the guys so that there wouldn't be any cars sitting outside the house, lest the neighbors be watchful. As we entered the neighborhood, we had everyone duck down in my friend's mom's Nissan Murano (nice big car for transporting a number of teenagers). We had rented some movies, and ordered a pizza. I remember us making fun of ourselves for throwing a party while her parents were out of town, and our drinking consisted only of caffeinated beverages. It was a fun night though, and I don't know if her parents ever did find out, but I'm sure they wouldn't have cared if they knew.
As our party was in full swing, my phone rang. I thought perhaps it was my parents, they hadn't heard from me all week, after all. I was surprised, and very excited, to see Garth's name light up on my phone. I took the call and ran upstairs, and the boy who claimed to not do well talking on the phone kept me retained for an hour.
Yup, he played it well. Gave me time to miss him, then called to show he cared. Smart guy, there. And I didn't suspect a thing.
When he came back the next week I ran over to see him during lunch. He was so excited to see me that he lifted me off the floor when we hugged. I felt like I was living a fairytale for the first time in my life. To my high school child self, this was the way it was supposed to be. The guy had me hooked.
That weekend, I went to his house to "finally" hang out with him, and hear tales of island life from his family. When I got there, his mom sent him away and they all acted suspiciously. Garth went to his room and came back with his arms clasped behind his back. He was acting nervous. He gave me a hug and put a tiny bag in my hand.
I opened my hand to find a string of pearls. I had mentioned once, offhandedly, that I loved pearls, and I couldn't believe he remembered. Maybe he didn't, and just had good taste, but either way he had me.
A week later I told him that I did miss him while he was gone, and that I would like to call him my boyfriend. It was official.
At youth group a few days before they were heading on their trip to the Warm Lands, Garth's mom asked me what I wanted them to bring back for me. I told her I really didn't want anything, that they didn't have to get a gift for me, but she wouldn't have it. Gifting is not my love language. In fact, they tend to make me a little uncomfortable, and being Garth's not-girlfriend made gifts extremely uncomfortable for me.
When I dropped him off after youth group that night, we had one of our nice talks that we always had, as he insisted he wanted to listen to the radio, and would never leave my car. When he finally did leave, I looked through the open door before he closed it and said, "What? No hug?" He smiled and leaned in across the seat, and what I got was not a hug.
Nope, he laughed nervously, leaned in, and gave me a very nice kiss. I was still smiling when I went to rehearsal for chamber orchestra the next morning. My obvious grin that led my friends to see right through to the happenings of the night before was fairly humiliating; but it was such a good feeling.
That weekend I went over to his house one last time before he went thousands of miles away for ten days. We were sitting on the couch talking, picking on each other as we always seemed to do, and he asked me if I would call him my boyfriend. He wanted to know before he went away. I thought for a few moments, and responded that I would call him my boyfriend if I missed him while he was gone. Yes, I am aware that I was mean, but remember that I was "morally opposed" to becoming attached to him.
After all, I didn't want to ruin whatever possibilities he may have had with the island girls. If only I had known he just wasn't that type.
He left for a family vacation, and I moved into my friend's house for a week and pretended to be a grown-up for awhile. Three days went by, and I did not hear from Garth.
One of the last nights of spring break, halfway through Garth's vacation, my friend and I threw a party. We had promised her parents that we wouldn't have anyone over, but we just couldn't go a whole week without breaking that rule. We went out and got some pop, and picked up the guys so that there wouldn't be any cars sitting outside the house, lest the neighbors be watchful. As we entered the neighborhood, we had everyone duck down in my friend's mom's Nissan Murano (nice big car for transporting a number of teenagers). We had rented some movies, and ordered a pizza. I remember us making fun of ourselves for throwing a party while her parents were out of town, and our drinking consisted only of caffeinated beverages. It was a fun night though, and I don't know if her parents ever did find out, but I'm sure they wouldn't have cared if they knew.
As our party was in full swing, my phone rang. I thought perhaps it was my parents, they hadn't heard from me all week, after all. I was surprised, and very excited, to see Garth's name light up on my phone. I took the call and ran upstairs, and the boy who claimed to not do well talking on the phone kept me retained for an hour.
Yup, he played it well. Gave me time to miss him, then called to show he cared. Smart guy, there. And I didn't suspect a thing.
When he came back the next week I ran over to see him during lunch. He was so excited to see me that he lifted me off the floor when we hugged. I felt like I was living a fairytale for the first time in my life. To my high school child self, this was the way it was supposed to be. The guy had me hooked.
That weekend, I went to his house to "finally" hang out with him, and hear tales of island life from his family. When I got there, his mom sent him away and they all acted suspiciously. Garth went to his room and came back with his arms clasped behind his back. He was acting nervous. He gave me a hug and put a tiny bag in my hand.
I opened my hand to find a string of pearls. I had mentioned once, offhandedly, that I loved pearls, and I couldn't believe he remembered. Maybe he didn't, and just had good taste, but either way he had me.
A week later I told him that I did miss him while he was gone, and that I would like to call him my boyfriend. It was official.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Our Story - The Beginning: Part 2
If you missed part one of Our Story, click here.
Around this time of year, nearing the end of February four years ago, my husband and I went on our first date. Neither of us bothered to keep track of the date, mostly because we didn't really expect to be together forever (well, I didn't, anyway).
The day after the Super Bowl party where my husband Garth and I first bonded, our school group found out that we would be staying at Luther College for an extra night, because school had been cancelled at home due to a snow storm, and the bus would not be coming to get us. Because of the unplanned night spent at the college, the girls had no place to sleep, as we had stayed in the study center. The girls, boys, and teacher all had to stay in the student lounge. Normally this would be a big no-no, but we were a small group of students, and our teacher woke up and patrolled a few times to make sure the boys and girls stayed separated and respectable. My man and I, however, who I called a man-boy at the time, were still awake at the 2:00 teacher patrol, and again at the 4:30 patrol. Why? Well, this beautiful blonde boy who was younger than me was reading his Bible right there in front of everyone. Just that he had brought the Bible with him threw me. I asked him about it, and he totally didn't think it was a big deal. It was just normal to him. I wanted to know more about this person, the type of person who was unashamed to read his Bible in front of his peers outside of church or youth group. The type of person I was not.
My questions started a discussion, which branched off into talking about previous relationships and crushes, family, and all the silliness in jokes and funny life stories that still make us laugh today. We stayed up all night, getting only one hour of sleep, then sat next to each other on the bus ride home and talked some more. Never in all of this time together did we think we would be more than friends; though I know both of us were hoping to be.
The week that followed consisted of he and I running into each other at lunch, as he passed my locker after school, all the places our paths had crossed before that we had never noticed. Then, on that Wednesday night, I finally accepted my best friend's invitation to her youth group, and found "that boy" once again. His mother was there that night, and remembered me as a little blonde girl from when her sons and I went to the same elementary school.
Garth and I found each other after the night's activities and spent the remainder of the night talking. He even begged his mom to let him stay until I left so that I could give him a ride home. When I pulled up to their house that night, I was a little taken aback at the large house they lived in, and asked what his dad did for a living.
"My dad's a doctor." He replied.
"Oh yeah. I think I knew that." I said, embarrassed.
I was invited over for dinner by his parents a few times (yes, not Garth, but his parents), and his brothers and sister took to me well, too. I started wondering if this would become more than just a friendship, but I didn't want to bring it up.
A guy friend of mine from school, who was also friends with Garth, was on to us before we even were. He kept asking us both if we liked each other, and we both always denied it. He kept asking if he could just ask Garth and I finally told him okay, but that I didn't want to know the answer. One day he told me he was finally going to ask, and that he would tell me the answer if I wanted to know. I told him to do with the information what he wished. The next day I received a text message that said, "he likes you!!!"
Of course, I didn't bring this up with Garth.
Two weeks later, on a Wednesday, as I drove him home from youth group, Garth asked me out.
As soon as I began to pull out of the parking lot, he started, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something, but I haven't wanted to do it after school."
"What is that?" I urged.
"Well, I'm wondering if you'll go out with me."
"What do you mean, 'go out with you'? Like, on a date? Or as your girlfriend?" I asked, nervously.
"Like, when people ask if I'm going out with Bre, I can say yes."
I could hear the smile in his voice. At first I was speechless, but when we pulled into the driveway I dug into every reason why he wouldn't want to go out with me, trying to convince him to change his mind. For forty-five minutes all he had to say to each of my reasons was that "that's what I like about you," or, "I don't mind."
So finally, we reached a compromise. I told him he can take me out on a date, and that after just dating and hanging out a little longer I would decide if I really wanted to call him my boyfriend, if he still wanted me to be his girlfriend.
So he asked if I'd like to go to a movie with him that weekend, and I agreed. We went to the theater, and he bought me pop. I can't remember if we got popcorn, or candy, but I remember that the awkwardness I expected was not present during our date. In fact, going on a date with him seemed perfectly natural.
We all know where this story ends. But I hope you'll join me as I tell the story of how we got there.
Around this time of year, nearing the end of February four years ago, my husband and I went on our first date. Neither of us bothered to keep track of the date, mostly because we didn't really expect to be together forever (well, I didn't, anyway).
The day after the Super Bowl party where my husband Garth and I first bonded, our school group found out that we would be staying at Luther College for an extra night, because school had been cancelled at home due to a snow storm, and the bus would not be coming to get us. Because of the unplanned night spent at the college, the girls had no place to sleep, as we had stayed in the study center. The girls, boys, and teacher all had to stay in the student lounge. Normally this would be a big no-no, but we were a small group of students, and our teacher woke up and patrolled a few times to make sure the boys and girls stayed separated and respectable. My man and I, however, who I called a man-boy at the time, were still awake at the 2:00 teacher patrol, and again at the 4:30 patrol. Why? Well, this beautiful blonde boy who was younger than me was reading his Bible right there in front of everyone. Just that he had brought the Bible with him threw me. I asked him about it, and he totally didn't think it was a big deal. It was just normal to him. I wanted to know more about this person, the type of person who was unashamed to read his Bible in front of his peers outside of church or youth group. The type of person I was not.
My questions started a discussion, which branched off into talking about previous relationships and crushes, family, and all the silliness in jokes and funny life stories that still make us laugh today. We stayed up all night, getting only one hour of sleep, then sat next to each other on the bus ride home and talked some more. Never in all of this time together did we think we would be more than friends; though I know both of us were hoping to be.
The week that followed consisted of he and I running into each other at lunch, as he passed my locker after school, all the places our paths had crossed before that we had never noticed. Then, on that Wednesday night, I finally accepted my best friend's invitation to her youth group, and found "that boy" once again. His mother was there that night, and remembered me as a little blonde girl from when her sons and I went to the same elementary school.
Garth and I found each other after the night's activities and spent the remainder of the night talking. He even begged his mom to let him stay until I left so that I could give him a ride home. When I pulled up to their house that night, I was a little taken aback at the large house they lived in, and asked what his dad did for a living.
"My dad's a doctor." He replied.
"Oh yeah. I think I knew that." I said, embarrassed.
I was invited over for dinner by his parents a few times (yes, not Garth, but his parents), and his brothers and sister took to me well, too. I started wondering if this would become more than just a friendship, but I didn't want to bring it up.
A guy friend of mine from school, who was also friends with Garth, was on to us before we even were. He kept asking us both if we liked each other, and we both always denied it. He kept asking if he could just ask Garth and I finally told him okay, but that I didn't want to know the answer. One day he told me he was finally going to ask, and that he would tell me the answer if I wanted to know. I told him to do with the information what he wished. The next day I received a text message that said, "he likes you!!!"
Of course, I didn't bring this up with Garth.
Two weeks later, on a Wednesday, as I drove him home from youth group, Garth asked me out.
As soon as I began to pull out of the parking lot, he started, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something, but I haven't wanted to do it after school."
"What is that?" I urged.
"Well, I'm wondering if you'll go out with me."
"What do you mean, 'go out with you'? Like, on a date? Or as your girlfriend?" I asked, nervously.
"Like, when people ask if I'm going out with Bre, I can say yes."
I could hear the smile in his voice. At first I was speechless, but when we pulled into the driveway I dug into every reason why he wouldn't want to go out with me, trying to convince him to change his mind. For forty-five minutes all he had to say to each of my reasons was that "that's what I like about you," or, "I don't mind."
So finally, we reached a compromise. I told him he can take me out on a date, and that after just dating and hanging out a little longer I would decide if I really wanted to call him my boyfriend, if he still wanted me to be his girlfriend.
So he asked if I'd like to go to a movie with him that weekend, and I agreed. We went to the theater, and he bought me pop. I can't remember if we got popcorn, or candy, but I remember that the awkwardness I expected was not present during our date. In fact, going on a date with him seemed perfectly natural.
We all know where this story ends. But I hope you'll join me as I tell the story of how we got there.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Real Conversations 2/26
Hey all! Though these tend to be a favorite feature on my blog, I haven't gotten around to writing down our silly conversations for awhile. Isn't it strange how when we try to get into a good habit it's hard to do it, but when we're trying to break a bad habit it's hard to break? If only it were the other way around.
Lately, I have been dealing with a lot of migraines. Most of the problem is caused by my inability to stay away from caffeine, but part of it is just because I'm a girl and my hormones are all wacked out all the time. Some nights my head just hurts so bad that I basically sit in the dark and can't bring myself to make dinner, so I have my man do the cooking. One night in particular, as we were eating a meal prepared by my dear sweet husband, we had a conversation that started out very normal, then escalated into ridiculousness, as they often do.
I said to him, "You didn't really seem to want to make dinner tonight."
He said, "Well, I'm tired, too."
I said, "But your head isn't pounding-" and he cut me off.
"Who said it isn't?"
Me: "... and your neck can still hold up your head. Mine hurts." I rubbed my neck.
Mr.: "My head could hurt."
Me: "Does your head hurt?"
Mr.: "No. But my... heart.... and my... lungs were pounding."
Me: "I'm no biology student, but I think that's like, how we survive."
Mr.: "Well, point is, my spleen has been under a lot of stress lately."
Me: "Your spleen had nothing to do with your original point."
Yes, we had a good laugh after his spleen statement. Who comes up with that kind of stuff, anyway? What a silly, silly man. But ah, I love him.
Enjoy your week, dear friends. I hope you find laughter in the obscure.
Lately, I have been dealing with a lot of migraines. Most of the problem is caused by my inability to stay away from caffeine, but part of it is just because I'm a girl and my hormones are all wacked out all the time. Some nights my head just hurts so bad that I basically sit in the dark and can't bring myself to make dinner, so I have my man do the cooking. One night in particular, as we were eating a meal prepared by my dear sweet husband, we had a conversation that started out very normal, then escalated into ridiculousness, as they often do.
I said to him, "You didn't really seem to want to make dinner tonight."
He said, "Well, I'm tired, too."
I said, "But your head isn't pounding-" and he cut me off.
"Who said it isn't?"
Me: "... and your neck can still hold up your head. Mine hurts." I rubbed my neck.
Mr.: "My head could hurt."
Me: "Does your head hurt?"
Mr.: "No. But my... heart.... and my... lungs were pounding."
Me: "I'm no biology student, but I think that's like, how we survive."
Mr.: "Well, point is, my spleen has been under a lot of stress lately."
Me: "Your spleen had nothing to do with your original point."
Yes, we had a good laugh after his spleen statement. Who comes up with that kind of stuff, anyway? What a silly, silly man. But ah, I love him.
Enjoy your week, dear friends. I hope you find laughter in the obscure.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Our Story - The Beginning
This week I have come down with a cold and just felt generally uninspired. Last night I had a drugged-up, groggy, cold-mind dream that I didn't like so much. Someone told me I was a horrible writer, and I then declared, with great conviction, that I would never write again. To me, that dream amounts to a nightmare. So here I am.
Last week, my father-in-law lost his job and is now scrambling for a new one, and we pray faithfully that he will find a good one that will suit him. We just keep reminding him that he's still a doctor, and God has a great plan for him. My husband is looking for a new job as well, and is feeling a bit discouraged. I feel for them both, I hate looking for a job, and in the months to come I will have to start looking for a new one as well, as teachers only get work during the school year.
There is still time, and willpower, to enjoy life, however. Last weekend I did not get nearly enough sleep, which probably kept my immune system from being able to bolster this cold that I'm sure I caught from a former roommate I visited on Saturday. She's a dear friend, though, and as I've gotten sufficient work this week, I don't mind taking a day or two off to get well. It was worth it.
On Sunday we had the E.L.'s over to watch the Super Bowl, and this was a special one for Mr. Wonderful and myself. I have developed an irrational superstition that the Giants winning the Super Bowl is somehow a good omen for me, but not completely without reason. See, it was four years ago at a Super Bowl party that my husband and I first spoke to each other and really got along for the first time (we were on an orchestra trip with the school, and spent the first part of the day avoiding each other since we had insulted one another earlier). It was the Giants vs Patriots that year as well, and I was rooting for the Giants. They became my team (though I will always be loyal to the Vikings).
At half-time that year, I had given up on watching the game. I never really did watch football, but attempted to watch it every now and then because my dad loved it so much. I went and found the group of students from my high school, and learned that they were about to play a game of charades. Our orchestra teacher, Mr. Berdine, asked me to "round up" the rest of the students and ask them if they'd like to play. We had one girl on the phone, so I bypassed her and looked for my next target.
And there he was.
Off in the middle of the room, on a couch, away from any other activity, was a blond-haired sophomore from my school who played viola (and quite well, might I add). He was sitting alone and sulking because his ex-almost-gf was there (which would be the girl on the phone I mentioned a moment ago). I invited him to play charades, and he said everyone should move over by him. I told him it's a lot easier to move one person than a whole group, and turned a chair to face the circle, telling him that it was his if he wanted it. I went off to talk another person into playing with us, and when I turned back to the circle, there he was. In the very chair I set aside for him.
We ended up on the same team and had a really good time. The two of us made an especially good team, and that helped us get along for a few hours. The next day, we were practically inseparable, and to our astonishment, we have pretty much been that way ever since.
Last week, my father-in-law lost his job and is now scrambling for a new one, and we pray faithfully that he will find a good one that will suit him. We just keep reminding him that he's still a doctor, and God has a great plan for him. My husband is looking for a new job as well, and is feeling a bit discouraged. I feel for them both, I hate looking for a job, and in the months to come I will have to start looking for a new one as well, as teachers only get work during the school year.
There is still time, and willpower, to enjoy life, however. Last weekend I did not get nearly enough sleep, which probably kept my immune system from being able to bolster this cold that I'm sure I caught from a former roommate I visited on Saturday. She's a dear friend, though, and as I've gotten sufficient work this week, I don't mind taking a day or two off to get well. It was worth it.
On Sunday we had the E.L.'s over to watch the Super Bowl, and this was a special one for Mr. Wonderful and myself. I have developed an irrational superstition that the Giants winning the Super Bowl is somehow a good omen for me, but not completely without reason. See, it was four years ago at a Super Bowl party that my husband and I first spoke to each other and really got along for the first time (we were on an orchestra trip with the school, and spent the first part of the day avoiding each other since we had insulted one another earlier). It was the Giants vs Patriots that year as well, and I was rooting for the Giants. They became my team (though I will always be loyal to the Vikings).
At half-time that year, I had given up on watching the game. I never really did watch football, but attempted to watch it every now and then because my dad loved it so much. I went and found the group of students from my high school, and learned that they were about to play a game of charades. Our orchestra teacher, Mr. Berdine, asked me to "round up" the rest of the students and ask them if they'd like to play. We had one girl on the phone, so I bypassed her and looked for my next target.
And there he was.
Off in the middle of the room, on a couch, away from any other activity, was a blond-haired sophomore from my school who played viola (and quite well, might I add). He was sitting alone and sulking because his ex-almost-gf was there (which would be the girl on the phone I mentioned a moment ago). I invited him to play charades, and he said everyone should move over by him. I told him it's a lot easier to move one person than a whole group, and turned a chair to face the circle, telling him that it was his if he wanted it. I went off to talk another person into playing with us, and when I turned back to the circle, there he was. In the very chair I set aside for him.
We ended up on the same team and had a really good time. The two of us made an especially good team, and that helped us get along for a few hours. The next day, we were practically inseparable, and to our astonishment, we have pretty much been that way ever since.
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