Another character introduction.

Actually, this is less about her, and more what she means to me. To understand this, you need to already know: I am kind of a screw-up.

When I think about it, there has not been one area of my life that has been free from failure.

I carry this around. Sometimes, it feels as though I am trying to put on a good face over it, hoping no one will notice. I am hopeless at pretending. I would say that I am the WYSIWYG of all women, except that God made women so incredibly layered and complicated that I am pretty sure you could be married to one for ten years and still not know all of her. So, there are too many layers for me to be showing all of them at the same time, but there are only about two shades I can offer that are not entirely true, and even then they are just a diversion, not a decent cover. With a limited time to work with, I usually shrug and figure that I will not have time to offer anything but the truth.

Most of the time, it doesn't bother me. The places where I failed exist, just like the places where I like to hang around with kids, and relax by playing the piano, and come home from a run and eat peanut butter by the spoonful. And all of that comes together and shows up at different points.

It always feels as though there are two kinds of moms that I meet. Or that moms have two different responses to me. My girlfriend's moms all seem to be thinking that I am not quite good enough to be friends with their daughter, but I am bright and cheerful and helpful, so they will accept my presence in their house for a few hours. I have friends who are of a mom-age, but they usually have no daughters my age. The only time I am friends with both a mom and a daughter is when I met one or both of them at Camp. I think this is because Camp is family.

This is another matter with the guys' moms. They all seem to see me as a potential girlfriend for their son, but the split is over whether they are happy about this idea. Half of the guys I know have absolutely terrible taste in women, and their moms are always evaluating me in comparison to the last relationship disaster. These moms like me, and hope that the son in question will soon express a romantic interest in me.

The other moms are rather guarded. They are kind and polite and pretending. Or so it feels. They seem to be in a club with the moms to my girlfriends. If these guys' moms and my girlfriends' moms all got together, the first thing that they would have in common would be finding that they all know me, and try to pinpoint what it is about me that sets them off. And then they would all make matches between their offspring.

One day I met a different mom. We'll call her Bonnie, because someday I will slip and mention her real name here and then you will all know why I think that she is the most beautiful mom I've ever met.

I was giving a friend a ride home. One of the quirks of our culture is that when you say goodbye, it has to take about half an hour. I hypothesize that this is because of how cold our weather can be - it's warm in the house, and you are with friends who love you, and you do not want to go out just yet. Outside, it is cold, and windy, and dark, and the snow is blowing, and you are suddenly alone. Your friends will not want you to leave and be cold and alone either. Minnesota.

So we are standing on the driveway, talking of all the things that you say when you know you have to go but you do not want to just yet, and he remembered that there was a book that he was planning to lend me, just as his dad came out to help carry some stuff in and give me a hug. My friend's dad is a very solid guy with a great sense of humor, and teaches me about God when we talk. I have incredible respect for him, and he likes me. So, at the mention of the book, he said to come in.

As soon as I came in, his mom assumed that I was staying for dinner. This was a surprise to me, because usually parents are kind of relieved when I finally appear to be leaving. I think I shake things up a little with the things I say, to be honest. I kind of wish I knew why. But at a moment when the rest of the offspring were scattered elsewhere, I went and asked her if she was sure it was okay if I stayed, because I hadn't been planning on it, and was this an imposition. That sort of thing.

She took my hands in hers, and made the most direct eye contact I have ever gotten from a friend's parent, and assured me that it was good, that they did want me here. This amazed me. Still amazes me. I am accustomed to people being nice and forgiving the intrusion I make on their lives, and possibly even being entertained by the intrusion.

I am very big on touch. Physical contact speaks to me on a deeper level than anything else. I sometimes think that this is why I have trouble wrestling with God - He can give the other four love languages, but I can't physically feel Him hug me. This might be why I crave it so much in the relationships with people I love. I love God so much, and want to be so close to Him, and I can't physically feel His arms around me or Him stroking my hair, so I look for it from other people.

Or it could just be a family thing. Joe speculates that this is the part of the Navy that will actually kill me. It won't be the lack of privacy, because I've learned how to thrive in that from Camp. It won't be the intense physical training, because I've gone through Camp, Track, Cross-Country, and a brief stint of cheerleading (they train harder than the football team). It won't be the loneliness, because I moved out to Sheridan and didn't know a single person. It won't be the lack of control over my life, because I gave that up a long time ago. It will be that no one touches each other in the military. And that will be what makes me break.

I don't have an answer for him. I think he might be right.

Bonnie is happy, and welcoming, and always glad to see me. If I was living in the area for the next year, I would have dinner with them every week. Last week, I sat between her and my friend, and after dinner we played a card game, and she would regularly have a hand on my shoulder.

Touch just says something to me. It could be translated as, "I love you," or, "You make me happy," but I think the simplest interpretation in my mind is an affirmation; "I'm glad you're here."

Because I know how many times I have failed. I know how many ways I fall short of what I should be. And I cheerfully deal with the idea that wherever I go, most people just kind of put up with me and my weirdness (if it's not for the failures, it's for the fact that I have a backwards approach to a lot of Christianity). The idea that someone actually wants me is like dropping water on a cactus. Carefully, cautiously, disbelievingly, start to open up a little. Cactus survives just fine and dandy, hale and hearty, but this...this is something bigger.

So, Bonnie's the most beautiful mom I know.

Golden Pond

Not surprisingly, my Dad's in another show.

To those who don't know my Dad so well, he ended up getting tremendously typecast all through high school for his splendid portrayal of "Doc" in West Side Story. By nature, Dad's pretty much a blending of George Bailey and Elwood P. Dowd (both portrayed by Jimmy Stewart). But he cranks out a good villain, and generally has fun with every role.

Now, he's playing Norman in Golden Pond. Norman is, simply, a curmudgeon, who bounces gaily between being insulting, morbid, and playful. He's verbally offensive, and his racist comments would get him shot today.

Me: "I'm trying to figure out how YOU got cast for this."

Dad: "I wanted it!"

Me: "..."

Unfortunately, the production doesn't open until February, so I'll miss it.

The fact that God says, "Do this!" is not a promise that He'll remove all obstacles from that path.

Said task will remain possible. But, sooner or later, you might realize that it's only possible if you're doing it with Him.

Bit of a crazy backstory. This entry will be a long one. Fall before last, I moved to Wyoming. God spent the next eight months or so teaching me about a rather-overlooked command; "Do not worry." Matthew 6. Great chapter, love the chat about giving in secret, and especially the whole "Seek first the Kingdom" segment. I've read it so many times that, by now, I should be able to recite it with an accompanying dance number. Fascinating year, it was. Through a pile of wacky life experiences, "Do not worry."

Let us note that if you're being stubborn and not getting what God's telling you, He will make life much more interesting in order to get through to you. Turns out that the only way to practice this absence of worry is for life to suddenly offer a lot of circumstances that you could worry over.

Saw this in action when a certain little almost-brother of mine took a swan dive off a fence post and gave himself a concussion. His mom's taken "Do not worry," to heart. She'd lived the lifestyle that we get fed as "the good Christian girl." The idea behind it seems to be, "If you do all of this right, you will marry a good Christian husband, and life will be good for you and happy for your children."

Note: The "Prosperity Gospel" is bunk. Deeply opinionated on that, but that's a subject for another time.

Anyway, she'd followed instructions, as they were, and had indeed married a solid Christian husband. And then, four kids later, he decided that church wasn't really his thing, and to add injury to insult, divorced her. She tells us that that was when she stopped worrying. Not stopped caring, because she cares for all of us girls like a second Mom. But she stopped worrying when stuff happened, just trusting God when He told her not to worry. So, when her firstborn had just regained consciousness, she packed him and his sister (who was freaking out) into their minivan, and drove to the hospital, sans freaking.

Seeing her, calm, capable, and solidly doing what needed to be done just grabbed me (and now that I phrase it that way, reminds me of a Ski Patroller I once knew). God took almost a year to teach me this idea, and then showed me someone who lived it. Wow.

And then, rather standard for things God teaches me, there turned out to be a "next level" to this idea. Right, "don't worry," I got it. Right, "seek the kingdom of God instead"...working on it, don't have it nailed, but at least I know that seeking's supposed to come in next. Okay.

Well...there's another command. All through the Bible. Turns up a LOT. And I'd misinterpreted it every time I'd seen it.

Rejoice. Praise God. That one. Turns up over and over - someone went through and counted how many times we're told to be glad in some way, and it comes up at over 900. And here's me, I read, "Praise God," and because of the cultural upbringings, see that as the Israelite synonym for, "Yay! Yahoo!" I'd missed that it was an imperative.

In all things, rejoice. In everything, rejoice. Always rejoice.

The same week that I was talking with Ethan about how it feels to wake up in the morning, and praise God as the very first thing you do (splendid), the same week that I randomly got asked out by a guy in the coffee shop, the same week that I promised a friend I'd be at church on Saturday (not Sunday), so I heard a different sermon (about joy), and we spent over an hour hanging out after the service laughing together - God started teaching me about joy in a new way.

You'd think, with where my name comes from, that I'd be the person to go to for joy. And yeah, I throw a lot of cheer around, and find the bits of light in a situation that seems dark, and love to laugh, and various other bit of sparkly goodness that nauseate every villainess my sister's portrayed. But I'm also remarkably selfish, vain, and mean-spirited when it comes to what I think I deserve. And, not surprisingly, this is when all the joy gets sucked out.

You can all think I'm insane for this - I'm used to it (although, if you do, you've gotta admit that I'm one of the more stable, down-to-earth, matter-of-fact lunatics you know). About a week ago, God told me to pray for something pretty specific. Unfortunately for all the information bandits out there (and yes, I'm one of them), I can't really say anything about it until someone else does something specific. Just because it has to be God leading on this. It's rather a big deal. And it requires something from a few different people.

But, the crazy thing about this - one of the key figures is going to be in the military for the next six years. And, to boot, the same person also received (yes, from God again; I'm a regular Joan of Arc) another assignment to follow those six years. So, it looks as though the earliest that anything solid might come from praying about this would be...2016. Likely early summer. So, I could pray that it'll happen then. Or I could pray that God will substitute somebody else for my role in this, so that it'll happen later (yes, I know that if it doesn't involve me, it's going to be very different, but depending on how far you back the picture up, it looks the same...who am I kidding. I know I'm supposed to be in this one). Or I could pray that it happens when the next assignment is over (could conceivably happen in the middle of that one - doesn't involve the U.S. Government owning my tail to jerk around to whatever continent they wish). Or I could just pray exactly what God told me. Every day. Until it happens.

Actually, even after it happens, because this isn't like a race you run and say, "Whew! We're done!" anymore than you say, "Whew! I'm finally in shape! Done!" As long as a few of the main people involved in this adventure are still in this world, this one's going to be going on.

But, there will be some parts that are particularly discouraging.

And there will be some events that hurt.

And there will be some parts that all seem to point the opposite direction, and indicate that it couldn't have been God telling me this, and surely there's someone much better suited to this.

There's a bit of a hint for the info-hounds. There are a few different things that I'm supposed to be doing shortly after the military. Two of them involve me moving out of state again - and yes, they're two very different states. And in the case of one, I know the location rather precisely, and I can tell you that I don't think I'm at all the best person for the job, and think that someone more local should do it. And then I get reminded, if God had a better person in mind, I wouldn't be hearing about it. I'm the person God's got in mind. Fine. Okay. Makes no sense, doesn't need to make sense. Can't see how this is going to work out, God says do it, okay.

Truthfully, you don't need to see how things are going to work out, when God says they're going to. You just have to listen, and remember that He's never lied to you, so logically, if He says it's going to happen, it's going to happen. How is up to Him. And don't even bother with "Why?" I'm pretty sure a lot of my life isn't going to make sense on the "why" scale until after I get the Heaven-view on it.

*headbonk* If God assigned me the other stuff, AND He assigned me this...why do I think that the other stuff is going to get in the way of this? For all I know, they appear to be different assignments and in fact weave together in a seriously cool fashion. Even if they don't, He's not going to tell me to do one thing that makes it impossible for the other things He's told me to do.

But, there's something right now that suggested that one or two of the other Camp girls are supposed to be filling in where God told me to be. So, me being me, I of course get jealous and feel like they're threatening MY special thing.

Rationale kicks in awhile later.
They don't know about what's going on...
...and I don't know what kind of things God's assigned to them.
(This is a rough side of being a Christian. We're made to talk to each other, to confide in each other, and these are the Camp girls. There's a deeper element of trust. But just as we're all thinking, "I can't tell them that. I'm not nearly as good as they are," and, yes, we're all thinking it about everyone else, there's also, "I shouldn't tell them that. Maybe God didn't really tell me. Maybe I'm delusional, and they really know what His voice sounds like. Or maybe their assignment is more important than mine." Ethan's pointed out that Satan'll use a lot of tactics to keep us from confiding in each other, because we're a lot easier to cut down when we're riding solo.)
They're just being good. That's not a bad thing. Chill - they're being themselves - you don't even know they want this.
Also, this isn't MY thing. It's GOD'S thing. If they get this instead of me, that's God's call.
He's got something planned for each of us. There'll still be something cool that I get to do.

And then I need to go talk to the two girls (neither one goes to my church or school, so that'll take some effort), and while I don't think I can tell them about said assignment, I think I need to tell them about said jealousy and apologize, and find some way to build the relationship a little stronger. Jealousy wreaks havoc in relationships.

Because love can't live where there is no trust. Quoth Cupid.

"Somehow I'll Find My Way Home."

Took about forty minutes to get home from Stewie last night. Completely forgot that the friend whose house I'd left had asked that I call when I get home. So tired, struggling to make the last two miles awake. Crashed nearly the minute I got in.

Next morning, I remember, "Ooops. S'posed to call Ethan." Pick up my phone. Observe that I have no reception (not uncommon in this house), but that I do have...nine missed calls. Yep. From Ethan. Oops.

I'm really not used to having anyone worry about me. This has become apparent over the last semester. I groan when I have to break from what's expected because something came up, but unless it's work-related, I forget to let anyone know. The fact that people notice when I'm missing is so weird. I'm used to being the resident spook around the music department - if you can't find her, no big, you know she's around someplace.

I also suffer from a delusion that says that, as long as you go slowly enough, you can get through ANY snowstorm. Probably not an absolute white-out, but quarter-mile visibility? No problem! Admittedly, sometimes "going slowly enough" means that you're breaking a trail by foot instead of driving, but I still remain convinced that you should be able to cover the distance without property damage.

This would likely not be the case if I still lived among the Rockies. Here, everything is very close to level, unless you're near a river. If I took the back roads, yes, it would be a frightening experience. Highways, eh, there's some traffic, there's plows, we'll take it slow, no problem.

There WAS a problem with staying awake, but I made it home without banging into anything, so I'm not concerned about that, either. Filing it away for future reference, though.

My relatively cavalier attitude about awful weather reassures some people, and completely freaks out the rest. But, I live in the Midwest. Minnesotans, by stereotype, are very calm people, who keep their opinions under wraps. If you disagree with a person, you don't SAY that you disagree, you simply state your opinion once and move on to something else. So, the worriers go unnoticed.

Until you wake up and find nine missed calls on your cell phone in the morning.

Because WE'RE not morbid or anything...

Petroglyph.

Whatever I said I wanted done with my body before, still stands. But there raises the issue of the memorial.

I'm not all that keen on having a headstone that, 200 years from now, will take up space. I have come to accept the notion that I barely remember my great-grandfather, and haven't any idea what he did with his life, so my great-grandkids will probably have a similar view of me.

But, enough people have suggested that they'd like some solid spot to go to in order to have the traditional one-sided chat with me and discuss such deep and weighty matters as, "What's with all the rice?" So, let's go with the petroglyph. Doesn't need to have my name (especially if you know the sign for "Firefly" to go with it), just something fairly cool that I'd be doing.

We don't have a family plot out here. There's probably a couple back on the East coast, but when my Dad got transferred and moved out here, we moved nearly a thousand miles away from ANYBODY that we're related to. I'd be rather irritated if my remains did get buried in one of those steel safes that we now use as coffins. Can you say overkill?

All right, I'll probably be too distracted at that point to care much what they do with my body. But, seriously, if it's too complicated to be biodegradable, you're doin' it wrong.

But yeah. Just for the sake of random. Find some hideously out-of-the-way spot on Camp property (you've got 200 acres to work with - I'm thinking something about six inches tall), draw something fun, cheerful, spirited, whatever, and as permanent as you like, let it be the Remembering Spot that everyone seems to want for this generation and possibly the next, and in later generations it'll be this random cool pic on a rock that kids find. And, no, I don't particularly care if they deface it, because that's what kids do.

Got a question today.

One of those quirky Internet questions, that you just answer so people can see your answer.

What's the Best and Worst thing about being single?

Best is easy. There've been all kinds of cool things that've happened in the past ten months. There's a crazy kind of freedom in being able to move anywhere, or tackle any kind of new adventure. It's also supercool to be on the new adventures together - I'm not arguing that at all. But I'm doing things now that practically depend on me being single, otherwise half my brain (not to mention my heart) would be back here.

Worst, you could say is being lonely.
But, actually, what really bites is when you're in a committed relationship, and you're lonely.

Worst, you could say is when all of your friends are dating. Actually, that's actually okay. It's when everyone starts getting married, and suddenly not only do you not fit so well because you're not married, you don't even have a shot at getting married in the next year. There are three girls from Camp that were my close friends - two are getting married this year, and the third moved to the other side of the country. Very happy for all three of them, hoping to go to both their weddings, but we'll just be such different places in life now, except we won't - it's just getting married, right? That shouldn't change anything between us.




But you know on some level it's going to. And that's the worst. It's not that being single is bad. It's just missing your friends, and trying to explain that you're happy for them while still wishing they were here. "Well, you can't want BOTH." Why not? I want both. I want them to be happy, and I want us all to be friends. What's so hard about that?

And I know *I* don't want to be married for a good while yet. Say, oh, thirty years. That might work.

This year, the notion of making any new resolutions seems amusing at best, and a little frightening at worst.

In less than a month, I'll be leaving, and my world's going to change. I can't resolve to be in better shape or show up on time more often, because I don't have a choice on either one. I want to be less critical and more joyful, and find the humor in far more situations, but I know that February's going to lead to quite the personality overhaul (I know it doesn't for everybody, but I also know it's going to here. Don't ask; I'm not being fatalistic, I'm being weird.)

Resolutions are another celebration of liberty, but a more sideways one. I can resolve to eat healthier, because I have a lot of variety in my choices. I can resolve to listen to my students more, because they actually want to talk to me. I can resolve to dress more (or less!) professionally, because, sheesh, I can actually afford more than three pairs of pants!

...there's a part of my brain that doesn't quite grasp why anyone needs more than three pairs of pants, but I'm working on kicking it under the table. "What? Two for work, two for school, one to kick around in in the woods!" "That's five." "Oh! I get it!"

So, if everything WASN'T changing a month from now, given events and information from the past few weeks...

1) I resolve to spend more time actually PLAYING with my sisters, and not just talking to them.
2) Also, listening to them more than I talk. But none of us play enough.
3) I resolve to quit shutting out the possibility of getting back in the dating saddle.
4) I resolve to quit being weird around the ex (or, more accurately, I wish)
5) I resolve to practice my sax daily, work through this piece that's been kicking my butt, join an ensemble and cease regarding this talent with regret
6) I resolve to spend more time with my friends than my computer
7) I resolve to chase after my wilder dreams, and quit telling people about all of them because they're starting to get that men-with-the-white-coats expression when they see me.
8) I resolve to laugh more, play more, and pursue the things that I'm really passionate about.
9) I will not only finish one of the books I'm in the process of writing, but also have the courage to actually let someone else read it
10) I will either stop being surprised when people think I'm twenty-five, or nineteen, or I will stop acting like it.

Standard stuff.