James and a Giant Pickle

"Don't go making mountains out of molehills," was a common expression in my household as I was budding into the teenage angst of the early 2000’s. Needless to say, there was a good basis behind the frequency in which I would hear this cliché.

Melodramatic became an identifier that I abhorred. Maybe because I felt every teenager was classified as “over-the-top,” being that the array of uncultivated adolescent hormones were practically spewing from our orifices every chance they had between the back-talking, smarting off and/or grumbling profanities. I didn’t want to be like every other teenager (though I was). In my mind, I was different and more mature, if you will. That’s laughable. I never listened to anyone but myself, because, didn’t you know? I was always right.

Well, in retrospect, I may have had a molecular amount of maturity when it came to certain situations. After all, I was granted the genetics of logic and realism from Betsey, and the compassion for people from ole’ Dave. Through their spiritual guidance, dusty advice (synonymous with knowledgeable, worldly, erudite, cultured, etc. for those wondering) and somewhat strict laws of the land, my beliefs were shaped by a profound mental and spiritual soundness. Albeit, all of this wonderfully eclectic information and advice came at an early age, I obstinately decided not to utilize most of it until I was around 22 years old.

Before someone decides to jump ahead of me (Aunt Julie), let me just state this: I was a handful; a handful of mixed emotions with a deplorable temper, unpredictable disposition and raw wit. At times, living with me could be equivalent to eating bloody cows hid topped with the rotting flesh of a bed-stricken obese man. I was a rolling ball of chaos from the ages of 12 to 21. Yet, it was almost overnight when I came to the realization concerning the true fundamentals of life, gaining an abundance of clarity and a nice helping of maturity, as well! (Let me skip around, but I’ll come back to this.)

I was once asked to define the word wisdom by Abbie Brown, my cabin leader at church camp. At age fourteen, I find my answer, still to this day, as a direct response from the Lord. “What is wisdom? Godly knowledge.” It didn’t register until recently how philosophical my response had been.

Wisdom isn’t something given, but attained. As God is all-knowing and has our best interests at heart, we too should strive to be wise. Whether it be making wise choices financially; putting our money where our mouth is; using not only our words but our actions to walk the walk and talk the talk; being silent if we have nothing pleasant to say at all. "Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger;" James 1:19 ESV.

While the phrase “you’re hearing me but you’re not listening to me” can be examined in a psychological sense as to how human’s ‘hear’ and ‘listen’, to me it is an over-used yet unappreciated expression that hits close to home. In fact, it can be heard bellowing through homes across the world in various vernaculars and translations by parents aching to hit the hearts of their children. But what about our heavenly Father who is saying the same thing to His children?

When I hear something, I’m not forced to act. If I’m listening, I’m expected to react. Shouldn’t this be how we treat the Lord’s words and messages to us? I want to listen to the wisdom He has for me, not just hear about it. Now I realize it’s no longer about me and being right (I hardly ever am anyways, just ask Matt Cheij). What’s important in my life has been made so lucid—His plan, not my own; His wisdom, not my know-how. I find strength in dissonance because I know there’s a reason behind the friction. I’m at peace when distressed because I’m reassured by His hands over me.

So I challenge myself, my friends and strangers alike, "But prove yourselves doers of the word, and not merely hearers who delude themselves." James 1:22.

This is what I’ve learned to be fundamental. Listening to Christ Jesus, whose power and presence is bigger than any problem or person in my way. Utilizing this scripture to be the solid foundation for your life and God’s work is wisdom… this is Godly knowledge.

Love,
MaryClaire

A clean pair of eyes

I have a type A personality (big shocker there), which fashions this efficiently organized, time-conscious monster who is a list-maker and rule-breaker by nature, all conveniently and masterfully crammed into a 5 foot frame. It would go against every thread in my being to not be one of those people who plans to make plans; therefore, it should go without saying that I am a planner (but not a plotter).



Yet, I’ve come upon a realization recently that has rapt my systematic little life: those who don’t plan live an arbitrary existence; improvisational living may be the way to go. Randomness, typically in a profusion flowing from my chops and not resonating through my actions, isn’t my normalcy (I’ve accepted I’m not as cool as everyone else in this aspect. Whatever.). I have a bed time and I’m 22 (on the verge of 23). I live by order rather than chaos. I have a dog, a job, responsibilities, deadlines, bills and let’s not forget neighbors. It’s imperative I make to-do lists and pencil in scheduled visits with my boyfriend.

But (and it’s a big one), this year I’ve let go of this neurotic freaky-deeky mentality, and handed over the reins for others to fret about the details (especially for any type of outing). What a brilliant beyond brilliant concept! Not feeling the need to be the one in charge? Not having to divvy out who does what, when, and where? To just sit back and let life slow down around me, to really soak up my surroundings is sheer ingenuity.

I’ve had some very memorable, fun trips, but none compare to the ones I’ve had so far in 2011.

I’ll give you some examples:

1. The Hangout Festival- such a surreal experience. I literally drove there, got in the right state of mind, and listened to high-quality, crunchy tunes on the beach. I have to share some of my experience.
*This is Bassnectar doing what he does best…(making us all lose our
minds). Holy smokes… It was enthralling.



2. Camping in the Mountains with Matt—couldn’t have had a better time, just the two of us. He did all the work (he’s a planner, too. I’m not sure how two Type A’s can mesh, but we do, and brilliantly I must say). We fished, grilled a great dinner, went exploring and made up our own dart game (thanks to our neighbors!!) All-in-all, it was an exceptionally wonderful weekend with the beau.


3. Amy’s Lake House—that trip was awesome. I love meeting new people and coincidently met the love of my life on this trip. God is in everything that we do, and it was oh so apparent that weekend!



4. David Gray Concert—I accompanied John Newton, and we had a ball. The day of the concert wasn’t going too smoothly for either of us, but we got there, grabbed a drink (or 4) and let our inhibitions surrender to the sweet sounds of D.G. His voice is smoother than a Robin’s breast.





It’s almost July, the year’s only half-way through, and the trips, concerts and fun times have no end in sight (wait, am I writing for The West Georgian again?) I have a feeling that if I continue down this road of going along for the ride, I’ll find that carsickness will be a thing of the past….ironically enough, I have to sit in the front seat to not get carsick, which counteracts my metaphor, entirely…whatever. I'll leave you with another one of Julian's stitching's....

This is either a sea creature or his interpretation of Matt when he's in trouble...

So Says I...

The phrase "never say never" has never been more evidently true than in the here and now of my young adult life. Scratch that, adult life. I'm not referencing the Beib either..[(Asian face: -____-) <---for Trish.] Let me give a few examples:



Once a vegetarian, I vowed to never eat at or associate with McDonald's, and now ironically enough, I work as the Public Relation's Administrator for a McDonald's franchise. Those golden arches that I once detested are now keeping me clothed, warm and fed, rather than the manifestation of a bubbly gut of disgust.



At age 14, I swore up and down I'd never be anything like my mother when I grew up. Low and behold, I find myself frequently channeling Betsey's actions, thoughts and words, only to reiterate the phrase "I have become my mother." If only I always appreciated her as much as I do now... (If only the "if only's" could be vindicated).



In the aftermath of what I considered to be a life-sucking, heart-obliterating hopelessly unwarranted break-up , I wrote off relationships and told myself I'd never be in love again. Yet, through the powers that be (Amen, Hallelujah, Praise Jesus!), right here and right now, I'm in the most healthy, stable and loving relationship to date...and with my best friend.



So says I, such cliches stand at the forefront of how most of us decide to handle our problems. Thus, we react with resourceful, inspired yet unoriginal solutions, (taking from such examples as: you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.. or you can view the glass half full or half empty..or don't cut off your nose to spite your face..or there's two ways to skin a cat....etc.) I guess what I mean by that is, we utilize these figures of speech consciously and subconsciously in our behaviors and thoughts, until one day it clicks; the phrase becomes a motto in which we stand firmly behind.

So says I, I think it's time for me to grab a spork, warm up my words and dive in. I'll be the first to admit when I'm wrong (now-a-days), so here it is...I will never say never again.. especially since I'm usually the one with a mouthful.