Tuesday, April 17, 2012
A Rocking Chair Named Worry
Did you know that we spend 40% of our time consumed by the anxiety of improbable circumstances? An additional 30% of our time is wasted on worrying over things already experienced—situational hiccups that come and go before we know they’re gone. The anxieties that are indeed justifiable plague our thoughts only about 8% of the time. So much for the phrase, “Just don’t worry about it!”
Now let me ask you this: did you know that worrying is a sin? Little consideration was given regarding this insight. That is, until I came to the unsettling realization of the root which cultivates stress and anxiety—the small seed of doubt.
Eeek! Yes, doubt, my friends, is a back-handed slap across our Father’s face. I question how long my faith has been so feeble. Without even realizing it, I have spent over three-fourths of my time in sin when alone with my thoughts. That’s not counting the other innumerable offenses I pray and ask forgiveness for each day. I figured worrying was just a part of getting your ducks in a row, trying to figure out the next bridge to cross and/or step to take. The illumination of this information just goes to show you’re never too old to learn something new.
So how do we feel when we’re doubted by those who love us? Being the control freak that I am, (yea, I know it’s true!) I frequently catch myself uttering the words, “Just trust me!” as I coolly instruct my friends to let me assist with the issue at hand. When I’m given a heavy sigh followed by an eye-roll and a shrug, I can’t help but feel resentment encroaching and, yeah, a little hurt.
Needless to say, it’s difficult to even imagine how God must feel daily when we untiringly consume ourselves with insignificant problems and worries. Such the obstinate message that we send to the Lord, “Hey, I love you, but I don’t trust you!”
I’m beyond guilty of letting fret control me instead of allowing Jesus to be the bottom line. Every morning He lovingly wipes our slates clean from sin and worry, only for us to wake up, click on the brain and instantly dump our doubt upon Him again. Let’s face it; we’re ill-equipped to handle anything in this life!
But before you allow yourself to WORRY about that, here’s another thing I've quickly come to learn and adore—Jesus doesn't mind carrying our load and burdens of sin; it’s already a done deal, folks! He knows we need Him just as He knows us more deeply and intimately than we even know ourselves. The first passage in Jeremiah states,
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”
That’s deep, can you handle it? I just remember that He is the Blessed Controller of all things. I rejoice in His grace and goodness!!! For I once read, “Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do but it gets you nowhere.”
Therefore, I say to you (and to myself), “Let go and let God!” When I find myself troubled about my future, I stop and repeat that simple yet powerful phrase. It’s a constant reminder of God playfully patting my head and saying, “I got you, MC…No worries.”
Monday, December 19, 2011
What do you mean, "he's a fake??!"
Yes, I remember it happening, but no, I can’t pin-point at what age it occurred. You know what I’m talking about…That almost instantaneous shift from the excitable and magical seven-year-old’s Christmas to that of an adult’s depiction of the holidays. An irreversible transition from chocolate coins, Reece’s Cups candy-canes and the game of Uno spilling over my home-made stocking to laughable white elephant gifts poking and prodding from Rudolph’s re-sown seams (23 years and the stocking Mrs. Reba made is still kicking).
It’s like it happened over-night. One year, the anticipation wasn’t nearly as overwhelming at 12:00 am on December 25. I could easily fall asleep on Christmas Eve, yet I battled waking up to my cousin's 30 presents and my, um well, not 30. Christmas wish-lists were always addressed to my parents anyway so there went the thrill of guessing the presents underneath the tree. I didn’t even bother with trying to sneak a peek at the back of Betsey’s closet. I was more concerned about forgetting what I had written down in hopes of possibly being surprised on Christmas morning. Talk about fun-sucker.
The impossible task of keeping the secret of St. Nick’s “existence” from my fellow friends and baby cousin Mathyn was a sure-fire failure. Needless to say, I may have inadvertently squashed some Christmas spirit for the Shouse’s and possibly a few other families on my block in the early 90’s. I kind of HAVE to blame my parents for my big mouth blabbing the truth about Santy Clause. They neglected to tell me that although he is in fact imaginary, we were the only kids in the neighborhood, or possibly in Griffin for that matter, that knew this Christmas bombshell.
Speaking of revelations, it just occurred to me. Because I was never given the opportunity to “believe” in Santa Clause, the curse of my pragmatism may stem from this very issue (albeit, genetics may play a small role, too). Don’t get me wrong, I’d choose being a realist over someone who is perhaps surrealistic any day that ends in y. The real head-scratcher, however, is my innate disposition on love, being in love and relationships. It’s like all of my pragmatic thinking is thrown out right behind the ambrosia when it comes to romance.
Now, speaking of romance! In all of my many, many years of dating, this will be my first Christmas in a healthy, happy and, might I add, loving relationship. That gift is more than enough for me!! No more broken hearts sobbing in the back of the Town and Country on the annual Christmas Eve drive to Statesboro. No more shocking discoveries of your first love’s unfaithful deeds at the holiday shindig you were so conveniently uninvited to. No more texts to the one guy you only half-way tolerate because you deleted every other chum’s number when they stopped making eye contact with you at the bar.. at the gym..in passing (yea, these kinds of things you don’t forget).
And finally, no more tear-stained pillows from a genuine prayer asking the Lord, “Please, Father. Ready my heart for my better half.”
God is good all of the time. He’s taught by example that it’s always better to give than to receive, and there’s no better time of year in which to embody His works. In 2012, I hope to give more of my time to my community, more time to my friends, more appreciation, respect and consideration for my family, and more personal challenges for myself. And while Christmas will always be the most romantic time of year to me, and I’m finally able to spend it with the apple of my eye, the man of my dreams, my sweetheart, I will always keep in focus the Reason for the Season—His unyielding love through Jesus Christ.
It’s like it happened over-night. One year, the anticipation wasn’t nearly as overwhelming at 12:00 am on December 25. I could easily fall asleep on Christmas Eve, yet I battled waking up to my cousin's 30 presents and my, um well, not 30. Christmas wish-lists were always addressed to my parents anyway so there went the thrill of guessing the presents underneath the tree. I didn’t even bother with trying to sneak a peek at the back of Betsey’s closet. I was more concerned about forgetting what I had written down in hopes of possibly being surprised on Christmas morning. Talk about fun-sucker.
The impossible task of keeping the secret of St. Nick’s “existence” from my fellow friends and baby cousin Mathyn was a sure-fire failure. Needless to say, I may have inadvertently squashed some Christmas spirit for the Shouse’s and possibly a few other families on my block in the early 90’s. I kind of HAVE to blame my parents for my big mouth blabbing the truth about Santy Clause. They neglected to tell me that although he is in fact imaginary, we were the only kids in the neighborhood, or possibly in Griffin for that matter, that knew this Christmas bombshell.
Speaking of revelations, it just occurred to me. Because I was never given the opportunity to “believe” in Santa Clause, the curse of my pragmatism may stem from this very issue (albeit, genetics may play a small role, too). Don’t get me wrong, I’d choose being a realist over someone who is perhaps surrealistic any day that ends in y. The real head-scratcher, however, is my innate disposition on love, being in love and relationships. It’s like all of my pragmatic thinking is thrown out right behind the ambrosia when it comes to romance.
Now, speaking of romance! In all of my many, many years of dating, this will be my first Christmas in a healthy, happy and, might I add, loving relationship. That gift is more than enough for me!! No more broken hearts sobbing in the back of the Town and Country on the annual Christmas Eve drive to Statesboro. No more shocking discoveries of your first love’s unfaithful deeds at the holiday shindig you were so conveniently uninvited to. No more texts to the one guy you only half-way tolerate because you deleted every other chum’s number when they stopped making eye contact with you at the bar.. at the gym..in passing (yea, these kinds of things you don’t forget).
And finally, no more tear-stained pillows from a genuine prayer asking the Lord, “Please, Father. Ready my heart for my better half.”
God is good all of the time. He’s taught by example that it’s always better to give than to receive, and there’s no better time of year in which to embody His works. In 2012, I hope to give more of my time to my community, more time to my friends, more appreciation, respect and consideration for my family, and more personal challenges for myself. And while Christmas will always be the most romantic time of year to me, and I’m finally able to spend it with the apple of my eye, the man of my dreams, my sweetheart, I will always keep in focus the Reason for the Season—His unyielding love through Jesus Christ.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
A Wireless Drug.
I have yurt on the brain (that’s not a term for expired yogurt, people). Matt and I are going camping at Fort Yargo and staying in one of these bad boys for two nights…
The only snag of this excursion? It’s literally a poop-fling away from my work (not really a get-a-way).
Regardless of the location, we couldn’t be more excited for this trip (it’s much needed). So much that our last four conversations (plus an email) have been going over a checklist of essential items to bring (we’re both list people, which is a plus to have someone to compare notes with).
Learning from our last camping trip, we’ve expanded the list to include: scrabble (the board game), my laptop (the 5 Season collection of Dexter, originally for me, has now become a fixation for Matt), playing cards, functioning fishing poles, I-pod dock and tail-gate chairs. Yeah, we kind of winged the last trip, which was in June (I think?). It was probably one of my favorite trips we’ve taken together so far. We hiked, played with the wife-beater-wearing mountain children (and one unfortunately left out little porker named Harmon), fished (sort of) and made up our own game with our neighbor's Dollar General toy set. It was a very memorable, hot, slightly stank trip, but we’re in love so that trumps the B.O and lack of fundamental camping necessities.
Although my I-phone is on its merry way, it’s times like these when I so badly wish to gank a smart phone from the next sticky-palmed-6-year-old I see so it can actually be used for work/social purposes. Let me just say this—Any parent that entrusts their child with a $300 cell phone with unsupervised access to the world wide web needs to be given a 30 second Indian sunburn to the neck from Huge Hand Hank (among other forms of frivolous torture—pardon the oxymoron).
It blows my mind that parents these days hand over expensive electronics with glee to hush or preoccupy their out-of-control children. Maybe a little attention rather than supplementation would be much appreciated and welcomed (and by both parties).
Sure, I’ll let my (future) kids play a game or two on my cell phone while on a long trip or maybe when in line at the bank. But why else would an otherwise irresponsible youngster need their own cell phone?
For educational purposes? That’s laughable. My generation and the ones prior did just fine on learning from GPB, books or from actual people.
It’s true, existing and future generations are now given endless opportunities to succeed from the amount of knowledge the internet has to offer. Of course, you've got security or parental controls set, but don't be
surprised if your child downloads a way to get around your block--yup, there's an app for that! Are we not stealing a part of their innocence if we’re continuing to expose them to infinite streams of information? Along with the good, there comes evil. In most cases, especially involving children, innocence is bliss. I still value that cliché at age 23.
The excuse, “we both work and need to be able to get in touch with our kid,” just doesn’t cut the cake for me. What, you need to contact them at daycare? School? Their friend’s house? (Each place mentioned having either a land-line or an adult with access to a phone). If it’s that vital they need to be contacted, send your oh-so-important message over the morning announcements (It is the unspoken rule of parents to embarrass your kids, right? Not take away precious minutes from their learning time through texting?)
I get it, I’m no mother. I can’t yet understand how much time and energy goes into being a parent. That may be so. However, I do know my children will not suffer from childhood obesity because I gave them a cell phone as a means of entertainment instead of sending them outside to nurture their mental, physical and emotional needs.
Parents, just a thought: Maybe it’s time to stop making excuses for why we’re allowing our children to become spoiled brats, giving into their every want as if it’s a need. Maybe it’s time to get back to the fundamentals and give them what’s truly important— a living role model from which to learn.
Looking back at my childhood, some of my favorite past times were simply playing and being a kid: building forts and trails in our woods with Jordan and Josh; sunday afternoon “band” practices with Cadence and Anna; playing cops and robbers on my bicycle with Christie; utilizing my very active imagination with Savannah (which was always an adventure); dressing up, swim team practices or making movies with Kara, Carley, LK and Ali; and spend the night parties and sneaking out to play pranks. The trampoline was our hot spot and no stinkin’ App could hold a candle to group dates at the movies.
This is all just an opinion, obviously. Everyone chooses different paths to take when it comes to raising their children, neither right nor wrong, or at least not for anyone to declare. And to that I say, “To each his own.” Perhaps it may be that I’m just a tad bit jealous/surprised when a five year old is teaching me how to use the newest I-phone or I-pad.
Regardless, all of this makes me a little weary about bringing a sweet baby into this exceedingly advanced, technological world. With the way things are looking in 2011, I guess I better get used to it...
The only snag of this excursion? It’s literally a poop-fling away from my work (not really a get-a-way).
Regardless of the location, we couldn’t be more excited for this trip (it’s much needed). So much that our last four conversations (plus an email) have been going over a checklist of essential items to bring (we’re both list people, which is a plus to have someone to compare notes with).
Learning from our last camping trip, we’ve expanded the list to include: scrabble (the board game), my laptop (the 5 Season collection of Dexter, originally for me, has now become a fixation for Matt), playing cards, functioning fishing poles, I-pod dock and tail-gate chairs. Yeah, we kind of winged the last trip, which was in June (I think?). It was probably one of my favorite trips we’ve taken together so far. We hiked, played with the wife-beater-wearing mountain children (and one unfortunately left out little porker named Harmon), fished (sort of) and made up our own game with our neighbor's Dollar General toy set. It was a very memorable, hot, slightly stank trip, but we’re in love so that trumps the B.O and lack of fundamental camping necessities.
Although my I-phone is on its merry way, it’s times like these when I so badly wish to gank a smart phone from the next sticky-palmed-6-year-old I see so it can actually be used for work/social purposes. Let me just say this—Any parent that entrusts their child with a $300 cell phone with unsupervised access to the world wide web needs to be given a 30 second Indian sunburn to the neck from Huge Hand Hank (among other forms of frivolous torture—pardon the oxymoron).
It blows my mind that parents these days hand over expensive electronics with glee to hush or preoccupy their out-of-control children. Maybe a little attention rather than supplementation would be much appreciated and welcomed (and by both parties).
Sure, I’ll let my (future) kids play a game or two on my cell phone while on a long trip or maybe when in line at the bank. But why else would an otherwise irresponsible youngster need their own cell phone?
It’s true, existing and future generations are now given endless opportunities to succeed from the amount of knowledge the internet has to offer. Of course, you've got security or parental controls set, but don't be
The excuse, “we both work and need to be able to get in touch with our kid,” just doesn’t cut the cake for me. What, you need to contact them at daycare? School? Their friend’s house? (Each place mentioned having either a land-line or an adult with access to a phone). If it’s that vital they need to be contacted, send your oh-so-important message over the morning announcements (It is the unspoken rule of parents to embarrass your kids, right? Not take away precious minutes from their learning time through texting?)
I get it, I’m no mother. I can’t yet understand how much time and energy goes into being a parent. That may be so. However, I do know my children will not suffer from childhood obesity because I gave them a cell phone as a means of entertainment instead of sending them outside to nurture their mental, physical and emotional needs.
Parents, just a thought: Maybe it’s time to stop making excuses for why we’re allowing our children to become spoiled brats, giving into their every want as if it’s a need. Maybe it’s time to get back to the fundamentals and give them what’s truly important— a living role model from which to learn.
Looking back at my childhood, some of my favorite past times were simply playing and being a kid: building forts and trails in our woods with Jordan and Josh; sunday afternoon “band” practices with Cadence and Anna; playing cops and robbers on my bicycle with Christie; utilizing my very active imagination with Savannah (which was always an adventure); dressing up, swim team practices or making movies with Kara, Carley, LK and Ali; and spend the night parties and sneaking out to play pranks. The trampoline was our hot spot and no stinkin’ App could hold a candle to group dates at the movies.
This is all just an opinion, obviously. Everyone chooses different paths to take when it comes to raising their children, neither right nor wrong, or at least not for anyone to declare. And to that I say, “To each his own.” Perhaps it may be that I’m just a tad bit jealous/surprised when a five year old is teaching me how to use the newest I-phone or I-pad.
Regardless, all of this makes me a little weary about bringing a sweet baby into this exceedingly advanced, technological world. With the way things are looking in 2011, I guess I better get used to it...
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Oh! Cheese and crust! He's lost his head!
I don’t dive too deep into the pool of the supernatural, even though I’ve been told (only a couple of hundred times) the spirit of Maurice Gibb must live in my throat. 
Gosh, if that were the case, and I was rocking the stylish wardrobe of the BeeGees’, I would go to every coffee house in Atlanta and show those damn “hipsters” how to truly rock a fedora…
I’m not even that superstitious! Wait, well. I have this theory that Max is actually the cat from 1993’s Hocus Pocus, and all of us humans should proceed with caution when in his presence. Why this theory, you ask?
For starters, he’s black, has a British accent and his breath is atrociously close to that of an unwiped keister. I mean, the latter is probably due to the fact he’s on his like, what.. 7th, 8th life by now? I’m sure most of the dead are prone to having death-breath… hehe!! (look what I did there!!) Well, anyhow, the jigs up, you fugly little monster. I know your skecret!
Let me stroll back on topic. There have been some umm, well, “spooky” happenings in my apartment since October began (at least that’s what mom and dad are bellyaching about). I, for one, think my mother is off her wooden rocker and trying to scare the Lebanese out of my dad (not a hard task, by the way).
She insists it’s the contrary, but states she does get a good kick out of standing behind doors and jumping out to hear his girly scream and see his eyes pop out.
With all that said, I’ll fill you in since I know you’re just DYING to hear what happened (pun intended and delightfully provided by yours truly):
1. Last week, we’re all getting ready for bed— brushing teeth, combing each other’s hair, applying Carmex and licking the last wall that needed my stamp of approval. I had gotten in trouble the day before for turning up Dave FM too loud and disturbing the tubby pregnant lady above us (she’s a stomper and deserved a taste of her own medicine). My punishment was cleaning duty, all 1200 sq ft (whatever). I’m saying all of this because we went to bed, door closed and locked, to a clean and garden-fresh smelling home (spank you very much).
The next morning, we wake up to my dog bowls in the middle of the hall. Dad asks mom, “Did you put these here?” She had some smart-ass remark like, “Why, yes. Yes I did, Matthew,” followed by a disapproving/stank-face look. They immediately turn to me and assume because they’re mine that I must have woken up in the middle of the night, unlocked the door and strewn my plates in a fit of fat-boy rage! I told them I was nestled all night in between dad’s hambones. After all, being the light sleeper he is, he couldn’t deny that fact.
2. Last night, mom and I were doing our usual before bed routine-- all lights off, doors locked, sound machine on and meechums goodnight. We wake up at 7:30 this morning and mom walks out and gasps…. The hall lights were on. We both distinctly remember looking down the dark hall before closing the bedroom door last night…
It’s interesting now that I think of it, but I’m pretty sure the whole dog bowl incident happened a week ago from last night. Regardless, dad’s freaked out and what’s more! American Horror Story comes on tonight. I’m thinking of sneaking out the back window to play a nice little trick on the folks when they’re in the middle of tonight’s new episode…. Might wear a black mask? Might go to Starship and buy a leather one-piece? Might bang on the door and say, “I HATE TREES!” (that’s for those AHS fans)
MMM. Well this could get interesting. Gosh, I love October and not because I’ll be four in 13 days! If anyone else has any bright ideas on how to scare the Bejesus out of my rents, do tell. I’m all ears!
Love,
Angel Joe
Gosh, if that were the case, and I was rocking the stylish wardrobe of the BeeGees’, I would go to every coffee house in Atlanta and show those damn “hipsters” how to truly rock a fedora… 
I’m not even that superstitious! Wait, well. I have this theory that Max is actually the cat from 1993’s Hocus Pocus, and all of us humans should proceed with caution when in his presence. Why this theory, you ask?
For starters, he’s black, has a British accent and his breath is atrociously close to that of an unwiped keister. I mean, the latter is probably due to the fact he’s on his like, what.. 7th, 8th life by now? I’m sure most of the dead are prone to having death-breath… hehe!! (look what I did there!!) Well, anyhow, the jigs up, you fugly little monster. I know your skecret! Let me stroll back on topic. There have been some umm, well, “spooky” happenings in my apartment since October began (at least that’s what mom and dad are bellyaching about). I, for one, think my mother is off her wooden rocker and trying to scare the Lebanese out of my dad (not a hard task, by the way).
She insists it’s the contrary, but states she does get a good kick out of standing behind doors and jumping out to hear his girly scream and see his eyes pop out. With all that said, I’ll fill you in since I know you’re just DYING to hear what happened (pun intended and delightfully provided by yours truly):
1. Last week, we’re all getting ready for bed— brushing teeth, combing each other’s hair, applying Carmex and licking the last wall that needed my stamp of approval. I had gotten in trouble the day before for turning up Dave FM too loud and disturbing the tubby pregnant lady above us (she’s a stomper and deserved a taste of her own medicine). My punishment was cleaning duty, all 1200 sq ft (whatever). I’m saying all of this because we went to bed, door closed and locked, to a clean and garden-fresh smelling home (spank you very much).
The next morning, we wake up to my dog bowls in the middle of the hall. Dad asks mom, “Did you put these here?” She had some smart-ass remark like, “Why, yes. Yes I did, Matthew,” followed by a disapproving/stank-face look. They immediately turn to me and assume because they’re mine that I must have woken up in the middle of the night, unlocked the door and strewn my plates in a fit of fat-boy rage! I told them I was nestled all night in between dad’s hambones. After all, being the light sleeper he is, he couldn’t deny that fact.2. Last night, mom and I were doing our usual before bed routine-- all lights off, doors locked, sound machine on and meechums goodnight. We wake up at 7:30 this morning and mom walks out and gasps…. The hall lights were on. We both distinctly remember looking down the dark hall before closing the bedroom door last night…
It’s interesting now that I think of it, but I’m pretty sure the whole dog bowl incident happened a week ago from last night. Regardless, dad’s freaked out and what’s more! American Horror Story comes on tonight. I’m thinking of sneaking out the back window to play a nice little trick on the folks when they’re in the middle of tonight’s new episode…. Might wear a black mask? Might go to Starship and buy a leather one-piece? Might bang on the door and say, “I HATE TREES!” (that’s for those AHS fans)
MMM. Well this could get interesting. Gosh, I love October and not because I’ll be four in 13 days! If anyone else has any bright ideas on how to scare the Bejesus out of my rents, do tell. I’m all ears!
Love,
Angel Joe
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
You Tell Me I'm Too Abstruse
It’s a travesty. What’s the point of a blog if I can’t accurately express my inner-most thoughts/feelings/concerns/desires? It’s absurd to think I could actually pinpoint what’s troubling me via online blogspot, unless of course I want to revoke my rights to privacy and privy that type of delicate and prospectively incriminating information to the very few people who read what’s on my mind. But you know, it’s not really what’s at the forefront my brain, no. It’s just verbose blurbs of randomness that I deem appropriate to release into cyberspace…
(Side note: Betsey monitored me from an early age and discussed at painstakingly long detail what is appropriate and inappropriate to post on online forums—so thank you to a mom who cared(s) about her daughter’s reputation, even if in the moments of my angry pubescent youth, I did not.)
I could never thoroughly vent. No. I could never give a true depiction of what I’m feeling because naturally, it would end up twisted and perverse underneath the gaze of the wrong person—essentially, the person who decides my financial fate or emotional state, whether presently or potentially. Ah, the bitter cycle of the pecking order.
So, with that said, I’ll just make the topic as broad as a linebacker and ask the question: am I settling? It seems I’ve always “settled” in life. I have yet to perceive this as a negative implication, at least not until now, I suppose. Or is it? For instance, it was never a goal of mine to be at the top of my class seeing as how I knew from the beginning there were kids that were naturally smarter than myself. It wasn’t unrealistic for me to achieve straight A’s, I just rather substituted the extra studying for social experiences and the development of people skills. If my assignments were turned in on time, there wasn’t a sizeable need to stress about “going the extra mile.” While I certainly comprehend the fact that nothing in this world of flesh and sin is perfect and it’s unattainable to be, do or think perfectly, I do believe in striving for excellence; I just suppose the areas in which I strive for excellence differ from the norm. But now here I am questioning if my lack of enthusiasm to excel academically in my youth has hindered me from being where I want to be in the present? Am I too little too late?
If the saying “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” holds any considerable truth in our failing economy, than I shouldn’t be as apprehensive about the extra-credit assignments I turned a blind-eye to in school. Because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's meeting and reading people. However, I suppose my idea of what was important then was a tad skewed in reference to future engagements. I wasn’t trying to see the bigger picture at 16, I was just trying to see if the hot eleventh grader with slight acne and no braces noticed I had actually brushed my hair and attempted to look presentable that day….know what I mean? That was a big feat for me... (the getting ready part, that is).
Because I was more focused on socializing and rallying for a good cause, I may have bypassed excellent resume boosters or extra-curricular activities to give me the edge above the competition. But I didn’t seem to harp on those missed opportunities, nor did my parents, who were probably still puzzled over why I had started an argument out of thin air the night before. However, they’ve continuously mentioned over the years how proud they are of my accomplishments, and I assume they’re referring to the social ones that allowed me to hone my leadership abilities more so than the satisfactory marks I received on my report card.
When I say “settling” I suppose I’m more focused on the aspect of its equivalent “contentment." I am content in life, but do I say that to mean that I should be happy, not just content? Or if one is content, does that mean they are happy because they’re OK with the hand they were dealt? Could this school of thought be considered a paradigm?
I want to be all of the above: happy because I’m content, content with being happy and happy about the hand I’m dealt. Now if I could just get to that place of being “settled down”….eh, we’ll give that notion a few more laps around the sun.
Adios.
(Side note: Betsey monitored me from an early age and discussed at painstakingly long detail what is appropriate and inappropriate to post on online forums—so thank you to a mom who cared(s) about her daughter’s reputation, even if in the moments of my angry pubescent youth, I did not.)
I could never thoroughly vent. No. I could never give a true depiction of what I’m feeling because naturally, it would end up twisted and perverse underneath the gaze of the wrong person—essentially, the person who decides my financial fate or emotional state, whether presently or potentially. Ah, the bitter cycle of the pecking order.
So, with that said, I’ll just make the topic as broad as a linebacker and ask the question: am I settling? It seems I’ve always “settled” in life. I have yet to perceive this as a negative implication, at least not until now, I suppose. Or is it? For instance, it was never a goal of mine to be at the top of my class seeing as how I knew from the beginning there were kids that were naturally smarter than myself. It wasn’t unrealistic for me to achieve straight A’s, I just rather substituted the extra studying for social experiences and the development of people skills. If my assignments were turned in on time, there wasn’t a sizeable need to stress about “going the extra mile.” While I certainly comprehend the fact that nothing in this world of flesh and sin is perfect and it’s unattainable to be, do or think perfectly, I do believe in striving for excellence; I just suppose the areas in which I strive for excellence differ from the norm. But now here I am questioning if my lack of enthusiasm to excel academically in my youth has hindered me from being where I want to be in the present? Am I too little too late?
If the saying “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” holds any considerable truth in our failing economy, than I shouldn’t be as apprehensive about the extra-credit assignments I turned a blind-eye to in school. Because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's meeting and reading people. However, I suppose my idea of what was important then was a tad skewed in reference to future engagements. I wasn’t trying to see the bigger picture at 16, I was just trying to see if the hot eleventh grader with slight acne and no braces noticed I had actually brushed my hair and attempted to look presentable that day….know what I mean? That was a big feat for me... (the getting ready part, that is).
Because I was more focused on socializing and rallying for a good cause, I may have bypassed excellent resume boosters or extra-curricular activities to give me the edge above the competition. But I didn’t seem to harp on those missed opportunities, nor did my parents, who were probably still puzzled over why I had started an argument out of thin air the night before. However, they’ve continuously mentioned over the years how proud they are of my accomplishments, and I assume they’re referring to the social ones that allowed me to hone my leadership abilities more so than the satisfactory marks I received on my report card.
When I say “settling” I suppose I’m more focused on the aspect of its equivalent “contentment." I am content in life, but do I say that to mean that I should be happy, not just content? Or if one is content, does that mean they are happy because they’re OK with the hand they were dealt? Could this school of thought be considered a paradigm?
I want to be all of the above: happy because I’m content, content with being happy and happy about the hand I’m dealt. Now if I could just get to that place of being “settled down”….eh, we’ll give that notion a few more laps around the sun.
Adios.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
"If I had one wish.." Man, Ray J hit the nail on the head...
“People often say that motivation doesn't last. Well, neither does bathing - that's why we recommend it daily.”
We’re inspired by people, places and thing. The people who I am moved by the most are usually my best friends and my family. Here's the Skinny, one of my favorite blogs written by one of my favorite friends, Cadence Renice Oliver Peeples, has stirred me to write about my wants, needs, likes and dislikes; and I’m going to somewhat steal her “listing style”.. So thank you Cado for lending me some much needed blogging stimulation!
I need…:
-A Temper Pedic… the mattress above all mattresses’ that I covet the most… oh, if only I could wake up every day rejuvenated on my Cali King Temper, I probably wouldn’t pop every bone in my body as much, excluding my knees because I just like how that feels…oh, and my elbows, too!
-Money… isn’t that a top need for mostly everyone (even though I did put a mattress as number 1 above the loot).
-Julian’s sebaceous cyst to be popped… I’ve tried 3 times to squeeze that sucker out with no luck. Now it’s a nasty scab and what’s worse, an eye-soar. Sheesh.
-My move into the new apartment to go without a hitch, glitch or snag… Yes, yes. This is crucial for both mine and Matty’s sanity. Thank the Lord for that beautiful, beautiful man.
-A new phone… A really technological piece like the rest of the world has….I can only imagine the inspiration I’ll gather from such a hi-tech apparatus… my blogs would be amplified and enhanced 100 times over.
-To stop picking the massive blisters on my feet…As a result, I’m now suffering from hip tendinitis.
-To see my family…It’s been a long time, and I miss my Ma and Pa
I want…:
-A bicycle… I may want one, but would I use it all that much? Probably not…Let’s move on
-A new camera… You know that one girl at every party who takes like a million candids and then posts them on Facebook and everyone’s like, “Damnit M.C., I hate when you put candids up because they’re really awful of everyone…..”…. uhhh..oh…wait.
-A new wardrobe... I don’t have any particular articles of clothing as of yet, and I wouldn’t purchase any right now due to the fickleness of Georgia weather, but I do know I’m going to get some killer boots, man.
-a Bugmesh…. This looks legit…Period. But a little anecdote for you: When I was a kid, I use to wake up early every morning (like most children) just to watch infomercials. One time, my mom overheard me when I was taking a bath, and I was pretending to sale some soap or a washcloth or my brother’s G.I. Joes, and apparently I made sure the consumer knew, “Sorry. No COD’s.” I was telling Matt this story the other day, and we both were questioning COD’s… So Matt, I googled it, and it means “cash on delivery.” And now we know.
-a Topstyler… I don’t know why I think this product will work, but I have high hopes that it will. Yet, like most products on television I’ve purchased on impulse, they’ve failed miserably.
For instance, NADs hair removal gel concocted by those two Australian women with caterpillars for eyebrows (apparently, they stood by their product, they just didn’t use it personally). These women claimed NADs was edible (?)… so I tried it.
This green goo substance didn’t remove any of the thick jet black hair on my 10 year-old arms or legs, but it wasn’t bad on the taste buds. I’ll still consider this a fail. There was also another product I had seen on a 6 am infomercial that really snagged my attention: a self-tanner that promised to change my pale olive skin (thanks David) into a warm, tan glow. Mom thought it was worth a shot and so boop-didd-a-lee-doop, we bit the bait. Sadly, this product left me in my white cotton-under-roo’s in Betsey’s bathroom, with Betsey in plastic gloves carefully slapping on the doo-doo brown self-tanner that unfortunately stained not only the rug, but her hands and my entire body, as well. Again, another false promise…. Thanks a whole heap, A.S.O.T. land.
-To color my hair… Nothing crazy..just a nice shiny, solid all over color. No honey or caramel streaks. What is this? 2002? I should rant about this in my dislike column.
I like:
-Lemon water…So good for your skin.
-Facebook chat… A saver from even worse arthritis in the long run…
-Thinking of baby names… I’ve had this obsession with names and multiple births from a wee age. I hope I have twins with the coolest names ever… And I hope they’re not smelly, spoiled or too short either.
I dislike:
-Women who still put streaks of color in their hair…Whether bold or skinny, I’m sorry, it’s amateur and a bit skanky, if you will. I feel it can be a true representation of one’s love life. With that said, stick to one color.
-Bad drivers… HUGE pet peave. HUGE.
-Always being the responsible one. And that’s all I’m going to say about that..
Of course I could add more to any one of these budding lists, but I’ll keep it semi-short. Maybe I’ll start posting this list once a week… Who knows?
Thanks for stopping by.
MaryClaire
We’re inspired by people, places and thing. The people who I am moved by the most are usually my best friends and my family. Here's the Skinny, one of my favorite blogs written by one of my favorite friends, Cadence Renice Oliver Peeples, has stirred me to write about my wants, needs, likes and dislikes; and I’m going to somewhat steal her “listing style”.. So thank you Cado for lending me some much needed blogging stimulation!
I need…:
-A Temper Pedic… the mattress above all mattresses’ that I covet the most… oh, if only I could wake up every day rejuvenated on my Cali King Temper, I probably wouldn’t pop every bone in my body as much, excluding my knees because I just like how that feels…oh, and my elbows, too!
-Money… isn’t that a top need for mostly everyone (even though I did put a mattress as number 1 above the loot).
-Julian’s sebaceous cyst to be popped… I’ve tried 3 times to squeeze that sucker out with no luck. Now it’s a nasty scab and what’s worse, an eye-soar. Sheesh.
-My move into the new apartment to go without a hitch, glitch or snag… Yes, yes. This is crucial for both mine and Matty’s sanity. Thank the Lord for that beautiful, beautiful man.
-A new phone… A really technological piece like the rest of the world has….I can only imagine the inspiration I’ll gather from such a hi-tech apparatus… my blogs would be amplified and enhanced 100 times over.
-To stop picking the massive blisters on my feet…As a result, I’m now suffering from hip tendinitis.
-To see my family…It’s been a long time, and I miss my Ma and Pa
I want…:
-A bicycle… I may want one, but would I use it all that much? Probably not…Let’s move on
-A new camera… You know that one girl at every party who takes like a million candids and then posts them on Facebook and everyone’s like, “Damnit M.C., I hate when you put candids up because they’re really awful of everyone…..”…. uhhh..oh…wait.
-A new wardrobe... I don’t have any particular articles of clothing as of yet, and I wouldn’t purchase any right now due to the fickleness of Georgia weather, but I do know I’m going to get some killer boots, man.
-a Bugmesh…. This looks legit…Period. But a little anecdote for you: When I was a kid, I use to wake up early every morning (like most children) just to watch infomercials. One time, my mom overheard me when I was taking a bath, and I was pretending to sale some soap or a washcloth or my brother’s G.I. Joes, and apparently I made sure the consumer knew, “Sorry. No COD’s.” I was telling Matt this story the other day, and we both were questioning COD’s… So Matt, I googled it, and it means “cash on delivery.” And now we know.
-a Topstyler… I don’t know why I think this product will work, but I have high hopes that it will. Yet, like most products on television I’ve purchased on impulse, they’ve failed miserably.
For instance, NADs hair removal gel concocted by those two Australian women with caterpillars for eyebrows (apparently, they stood by their product, they just didn’t use it personally). These women claimed NADs was edible (?)… so I tried it.
This green goo substance didn’t remove any of the thick jet black hair on my 10 year-old arms or legs, but it wasn’t bad on the taste buds. I’ll still consider this a fail. There was also another product I had seen on a 6 am infomercial that really snagged my attention: a self-tanner that promised to change my pale olive skin (thanks David) into a warm, tan glow. Mom thought it was worth a shot and so boop-didd-a-lee-doop, we bit the bait. Sadly, this product left me in my white cotton-under-roo’s in Betsey’s bathroom, with Betsey in plastic gloves carefully slapping on the doo-doo brown self-tanner that unfortunately stained not only the rug, but her hands and my entire body, as well. Again, another false promise…. Thanks a whole heap, A.S.O.T. land.
-To color my hair… Nothing crazy..just a nice shiny, solid all over color. No honey or caramel streaks. What is this? 2002? I should rant about this in my dislike column.
I like:
-Lemon water…So good for your skin.
-Facebook chat… A saver from
-Thinking of baby names… I’ve had this obsession with names and multiple births from a wee age. I hope I have twins with the coolest names ever… And I hope they’re not smelly, spoiled or too short either.
I dislike:
-Women who still put streaks of color in their hair…Whether bold or skinny, I’m sorry, it’s amateur and a bit skanky, if you will. I feel it can be a true representation of one’s love life. With that said, stick to one color.
-Bad drivers… HUGE pet peave. HUGE.
-Always being the responsible one. And that’s all I’m going to say about that..
Of course I could add more to any one of these budding lists, but I’ll keep it semi-short. Maybe I’ll start posting this list once a week… Who knows?
Thanks for stopping by.
MaryClaire
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Godspeed, My Love...
Here I go again on my own!!! It’s true. This gal is moving...in with herself. As excited as I truly am to live in this big city unaccompanied, almost virginally wide-eyed and vigilant, my heart will be heavy from missing nights in the den with Mauricio. An even sadder realization that those precious hours I get to spend with Anna during the week will be cut even shorter. We’re all on such different schedules; it’s hard to make family time. What little time we do get to spend together is treasured, just like my friendships with these two.
I will miss them, laughing with them, napping with them, feasting with them and shooting the shat with them; it’s going to be hard to go from walking into a house full of crazy to coming home to just Joe (and I worry about his loneliness, too). Yet, I’m so fortunate to know this entire move is in my Father’s hands, and it’s something in which we’ve all confirmed will be for the best…for all three of us.
It’s the little things in life we are told to appreciate. Interestingly enough, it was a little spat with the roomies that turned into an epiphany in which I had no alternative but to welcome. As mature adults, I’m honestly relieved there are no hard feelings regarding my moving out and on to conquer life in a one bedroom, one bath (I can't wait to find the place and get some pictures up on here for everyone!) The situation was trivial, really, but led my train of thought down a path in which I had not given much thought too—albeit it may have been a once distant dream.
Without knowing the entire situation from start to finish, it would be difficult for any outsider to view this move as anything other than selfish. My decision to leave is far from thoughtless, though. In fact, God allowed me to put my wants and needs in perspective while simultaneously considering my relationship with my roommates.
Here we have Mauricio (God, I love this man), doing his damndest to make a living, while his entire family is in Costa Rica. He comes “home” to an old, raggedy futon, two dogs bickering worse than the old hags on The View, and estrogen, estrogen, estrogen city. Ok, let’s not kid ourselves; I forget we’re talking about me and Anna (we could probably just split one “estrogen” between the two of us and call it a day). But my point being, I can empathize with him not having a space to call his own. Having to live out of one closet in a sunroom with little to no privacy would be a challenge for anyone. My emotional state would be chaotically distressed, and trying to cover rent, utilities, a personal life, and two jobs would mentally drain a lesser man.
This epiphany to offer Mauricio some normalcy in his hectic schedule was just another nudge from ole’ J.C. allowing me to say, “Hey, since you and most of your stuff are already here, why don’t you sublet my room? It would be crazy not to jump on this faster than a hornet with ‘roid rage.” Luckily, he did!
As for me and Anna, our relationship only grows stronger the older we get. What a blessing. We’ve learned over many, many years of practicing our communication skills, we’re not always going to be on the same page, and hey, it’s going to take way more than that to break us. It’s amazing to know our friendship won’t fail because we disagree. Yes, we may have big fights or small trivial quarrels like any best friends, but bottom line (our choice phrase), we’re in love.
In this situation, we chose to remove any unnecessary baggage and contemplate what’s best for us in the long run. Stumble down a possible road of growing bitterness and resentment? Or make a mature decision to agree to disagree and close the gate to that road completely? We chose the latter and we did it together. I love Anna Claire for a multitude of reasons, and I’m honored to have her as a life-long friend and something more, a sister.
The Lord’s strategies and exit plans for our lives are difficult to navigate. When the ink runs out at the end of one chapter, for a split second, we may believe the tip of the feather won’t again be dipped. Let’s be honest: we couldn’t wrap our earthly minds around His plan if we tried. The book Stronger, written by Jim Daly, opened my eyes to many realizations. Yet, the point he drove home most was that it’s best to not let our hearts get to the breaking point of dismay. Allow God to be God. Give Him the opportunity to change our hearts, our minds and our actions to follow Him, and the rest of our wants and needs will follow suit.
Since finishing the book in February, I have chosen to leave the big, messy, and grizzly decisions , along with the small, and what may seem insignificant, decisions with He who knows best. He has yet to disappointment. Talk about being your solid rock!
Like I always say, everything happens for a reason. At the end of it all, I’d like to just keep being surprised…
For Anna:
I will miss them, laughing with them, napping with them, feasting with them and shooting the shat with them; it’s going to be hard to go from walking into a house full of crazy to coming home to just Joe (and I worry about his loneliness, too). Yet, I’m so fortunate to know this entire move is in my Father’s hands, and it’s something in which we’ve all confirmed will be for the best…for all three of us.
It’s the little things in life we are told to appreciate. Interestingly enough, it was a little spat with the roomies that turned into an epiphany in which I had no alternative but to welcome. As mature adults, I’m honestly relieved there are no hard feelings regarding my moving out and on to conquer life in a one bedroom, one bath (I can't wait to find the place and get some pictures up on here for everyone!) The situation was trivial, really, but led my train of thought down a path in which I had not given much thought too—albeit it may have been a once distant dream.
Without knowing the entire situation from start to finish, it would be difficult for any outsider to view this move as anything other than selfish. My decision to leave is far from thoughtless, though. In fact, God allowed me to put my wants and needs in perspective while simultaneously considering my relationship with my roommates.
Here we have Mauricio (God, I love this man), doing his damndest to make a living, while his entire family is in Costa Rica. He comes “home” to an old, raggedy futon, two dogs bickering worse than the old hags on The View, and estrogen, estrogen, estrogen city. Ok, let’s not kid ourselves; I forget we’re talking about me and Anna (we could probably just split one “estrogen” between the two of us and call it a day). But my point being, I can empathize with him not having a space to call his own. Having to live out of one closet in a sunroom with little to no privacy would be a challenge for anyone. My emotional state would be chaotically distressed, and trying to cover rent, utilities, a personal life, and two jobs would mentally drain a lesser man.
This epiphany to offer Mauricio some normalcy in his hectic schedule was just another nudge from ole’ J.C. allowing me to say, “Hey, since you and most of your stuff are already here, why don’t you sublet my room? It would be crazy not to jump on this faster than a hornet with ‘roid rage.” Luckily, he did!
As for me and Anna, our relationship only grows stronger the older we get. What a blessing. We’ve learned over many, many years of practicing our communication skills, we’re not always going to be on the same page, and hey, it’s going to take way more than that to break us. It’s amazing to know our friendship won’t fail because we disagree. Yes, we may have big fights or small trivial quarrels like any best friends, but bottom line (our choice phrase), we’re in love.
In this situation, we chose to remove any unnecessary baggage and contemplate what’s best for us in the long run. Stumble down a possible road of growing bitterness and resentment? Or make a mature decision to agree to disagree and close the gate to that road completely? We chose the latter and we did it together. I love Anna Claire for a multitude of reasons, and I’m honored to have her as a life-long friend and something more, a sister.
The Lord’s strategies and exit plans for our lives are difficult to navigate. When the ink runs out at the end of one chapter, for a split second, we may believe the tip of the feather won’t again be dipped. Let’s be honest: we couldn’t wrap our earthly minds around His plan if we tried. The book Stronger, written by Jim Daly, opened my eyes to many realizations. Yet, the point he drove home most was that it’s best to not let our hearts get to the breaking point of dismay. Allow God to be God. Give Him the opportunity to change our hearts, our minds and our actions to follow Him, and the rest of our wants and needs will follow suit.
Since finishing the book in February, I have chosen to leave the big, messy, and grizzly decisions , along with the small, and what may seem insignificant, decisions with He who knows best. He has yet to disappointment. Talk about being your solid rock!
Like I always say, everything happens for a reason. At the end of it all, I’d like to just keep being surprised…
For Anna:
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