It’s a Great Time to Be a Jane Austen Fan

Is it me or does Jane Austen seem to be blowing up lately?  It’s not that she ever really disappeared, but with the 200^th anniversary of “Pride and Prejudice”, it seems as though Austen has re-emerged, making a triumphant comeback into the popular world. And I say hurrah!

I mean, starting in 2017 she will oust Charles Darwin for the coveted (?) spot on the British 10 pound note.  Perhaps the most disturbing show of Jane Austen (or Colin Firth) love emerged in the 12-foot sculpture, which was recently constructed in England.  I realize that this popularity is mainly fueled by the anniversary (and to be sure a PR campaign put on by the UK), but I always welcome more Jane Austen into my life. 

I, like many others, was introduced to Austen’s most popular work, “Pride and Prejudice”, through the 1995 BBC mini-series.  To this day, my sick day tradition is to sit in bed and watch the entire 6 hours (Note: I was sick the first time I saw it when it first aired on A&E).  I almost don’t mind being sick when it involves hour after hour of the sparkling dialogue and spectacular performances.  Eventually, I read the book and continue to pick it up about once a year.  I loved her fiercely strong characters, especially given the context of a culture that did not appreciate outspoken women.  Her wit and heart mingle beautifully together. I’ve read Austen’s other books, and while not every book is a favorite, I just enjoy her witty style of writing.  I may not be a full-blown “Janeite” (coined in the 1890’s to distinguish Austen fans), but I have had my moments.  These include:

• Annual Reading: I read the book “Pride and Prejudice” every year.  I don’t go out of my way to do so, but it just ends up happening.  Once while reading it, God convicted me of some sin my life.  I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. 

•  Jane Austen Center: When I lived in Bristol one of my treks involved visiting the Jane Austen Center in Bath.  While Austen did spend much time there, it’s recorded that she couldn’t stand the city.  To be honest, the center felt a bit disappointing, but I’m still glad I went.  Travels in England also allowed me to see original copies of early manuscripts (via the British Library) and the famed portrait done by her sister (at the National Portrait Gallery).

•    Paraphernalia: It’s true, I own various Austen products, including notecards, a “Pride and Prejudice” pencil bag, and the Bollywood version of P&P, complete with soundtrack. 

 

• Zombified: Yes, I have not one, but two “Pride and Prejudice” meets zombies books. 

This alone could qualify me for Janeite status:

•  Song: Yes, it’s true.  I wrote a song based on “Pride and Prejudice.”  I’ve played it multiple times.  In public.  Sometimes by request.  One of my favorite lyrics from the song:

You took me out for chai tea, made me laugh until I had to wee.  I know that you like me, but will you read “Pride and Prejudice” for me.

It is a truth universally acknowledged…

That I am a fan of Jane Austen.  So, here’s to 200 years of enduring recognition for a truly wonderful piece of literature!

First Date

This is a post from a couple of years ago (although I’ve expanded it for this post). I’m reminded of it as a couple of friends are going on first dates…

I have a friend going on a first date this Friday. It's been fun walking through this process with her, evaluating her date's comments, witnessing the anxiety. And of course, the best part, picking an outfit to wear. It's so much more relaxing when you're not the datee. I can sit back, relax and express my inner fashion guru. "Wedge heels are a must!" "And you should tie something in your hair." However, the big question was, where he was going to take her. Tonight our question was answered, a gastro pub. We both agreed it was a good choice. Casual, but fun. Comfort food and a good beer selection. What more could a girl ask for? As a side note, my friend mentioned she was glad he didn't ask her to Red Lobster. Well, that got me thinking about the worst restaurants for first dates. Here's the list we started, with a few additional gems:

-Red Lobster: I don’t remember why this was on the list, but as I’m not a fan of fish it’s definitely a no-go.

-McDonalds: And pretty much any other fast food place, except In-N-Out. I'd let them cater my wedding. 

-Hometown Buffet: What, is your date 70?  Are you eating dinner at 4pm?  As a rule, I’m anti-buffet when it comes to restaurants.  Not just for first dates, but for any eating experience.  I’ve been disappointed way too many times. 

-Norms: I went to eat there once, but saw a rat run out of the kitchen as I was parking my car.  So, unless you’re into rat burgers, don’t go there.

-Sizzler: Funny thing.  When I was a kid I loved Sizzler.  I went there for numerous birthday dinners, where I would eat plateful after plateful of nachos and finish them off with a soft serve sundae.  Now the thought of the restaurant nauseates me. 

-Long John Silver: Fast food fish definitely deserves its own mention. 

-Medieval Times: Unless you both are into Renaissance Faires.  Then, this gets a pass.  Otherwise, I’m pretty sure no woman wants to cheer for fast food knights while eating greasy chicken with her hands. 

-The Waffle House (for my friends in the South): Any place that has jokes about it referencing your server not having teeth while smoking, is probably not the most romantic spot out there. 

-Hooters: Do I really have to explain this one?

-Chuck E. Cheese: If he also has a 1970’s era van and a mustache it might be time to call the authorities.

And possibly the winner:

-Costco food court (or too cheap and goes just for the samples inside): I don't know if this has ever happened, but man, wouldn't that be a great story?  And this is nothing against the Costco food court.  In fact, I’m a fan of the place…in its proper context. 

Best Ironic location:

-Ikea: Ok, so Ikea meatballs may be made of horses, but after seeing 500 Days of Summer it’s become oddly cute and original for a first date (in my mind).  Who doesn’t want to freely run through the Ikea showroom whilst simultaneously creeping out families? 

When There Isn't An Easy Answer

Some days I am confronted by the fact that there is not an easy answer.  Not surprisingly, this is not welcome news to me.  Or to anyone.  The reality is though, I live in a world that is overflowing with situations that cannot be explained with an easy answer.  My post the other day dealt with that exact reality.  When I realize this, the universe becomes…

Expansive.

Complex.

Unfathomable. 

And I feel miniscule. 

From what my parents tell me, I was an inquisitive child.  I was always asking “why”.  At some point, I stopped asking questions.  I ignored the unknown or tried to contain it into ill-fitting boxes.  I began to accept the easy answers.  I didn’t even question them.  My world felt safe and contained.  But life happened and it became increasingly challenging to ignore the utter chaos.  My easy answers were demolished.  I could only ignore that reality for so long before I had to give up on having all my questions answered. 

Strangely, giving up on the easy answers has been one of the best moves in my life.  I think when I looked for the easy answers, I ended up trusting the answer more than God.  I wanted to feel in control, rather than trusting that God is lovingly and capably holding the world.  At the same time, there is much that I see, which deeply saddens, and even horrifies me.  Now, I must ask why. 

One of the times when my easy answers were demolished was on 9-11.  I had lived such a peaceful, uneventful life in the U.S., and had never experienced an attack on our soil.  That night, I couldn’t sleep.  I remember lying there awake, deafened by the quiet of the night sky, no longer full of airplanes and helicopters.  I felt afraid and exposed, as if my safe world was crumbling around me.  I could not answer why.  Not in a way that would sufficiently answer the question.  I find myself repeatedly sitting with the question of why.  

Why is there war?  

Why is there injustice?  

Why has my life turned out this way? 

Last night, I was again reminded that I do not have an easy answer, specifically in regards to my singleness.  Yet, I so badly want to be able to explain or comprehend it.  I want to know why.  I want to know why right now.  I believe this lie that understanding my situation will lead to peace.  But knowledge alone will never provide that for me.  It is hard for me to trust God in these moments.  I believe he welcomes my questions and I had questions to ask last night.  I also know that his answers do not come in my timing.  So, I entered into the tension of unanswered questions.  As the tears came to my eyes, I remembered a song by Sufjan Stevens, “Oh God, Where Are You Now?”  I listened to it, and found that this song was my prayer for the moment.  I slumped on the ground, crying, and occasionally joining in singing:

Oh God, hold me now

Oh Lord, hold me now

There's no other man who could raise the dead

So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, where are you now?

Oh Lord, say somehow

The devil is hard on my face again

The world is a hundred to one again

Would the righteous still remain?

Would my body stay the same?

Oh God, hold me now

Oh God, touch me now

There's no other man who could save the dead

There's no other God to place our head

Would the righteous still remain?

Would my body stay the same?

There's no other man who could raise the dead

So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, hold me now

Oh Lord, touch me now

I am privileged.

Fresh tortilla chips at a Mexican restaurant are glorious!  I was enjoying a particularly lovely basket with my

brother and his girlfriend, when we noticed on the TV screen that the verdict had come in for the George Zimmerman trial.  Not guilty.  What has emerged in the days since is a cacophony of opinions, and somewhere in the midst of these varying thoughts, I find myself wondering where I stand.  Do I believe justice was done?  Was this racially charged?  Does my faith in Christ have anything to do with this case?

At the very least, this trial has grown my desire to enter into conversations, especially with those in the church, over ideas of race, justice, and privilege.  Yet, I’ve noticed within the church some resistance to engage in a talk on these issues.  Cases like this bring up an ugliness that I think we’re scared to examine.  It’s easy to see racism as a thing that we conquered in the 60’s and 70’s.  I mean, we even have an African American president.  Yet, I think we can use our own experiences, especially those coming from privilege, as a defense, a way to assuage the fear in our own hearts.  “I’ve never experienced or done this to another, thus it must not be happening.” 

I think what has opened my eyes, ever so slightly, has been reflecting on my experience of being a woman who feels called to work in full-time paid ministry.  There can be subtle snubs and assumptions that I experience regularly.  It has been and continues to be heartbreakingly painful.  Sometimes I feel like less than, because I am a woman.  Especially being a woman who has a heart to do more than administrative work.  I don’t have the privilege of being in on the conversation where decisions are made.  Men have discounted my experience of being overlooked or condescended upon.  I am not in a place of privilege in this context.  I realize that my experience in no way compares to that of many of my brothers and sisters who have daily experienced the impact of racism and bias.  I do think it has given me the tiniest glimpse of what it is to be in a place without privilege. 

It is easy for me to make assumptions based on my own experiences.  I have never been accused of trespassing.  I have never been pulled over because “I fit the description…”  I have my own narrative playing as I walk through life.  The older I get, the more that I realize others have a differing narrative.  This narrative was named by President Obama last Friday, as he shared pieces of his experience being African American in America:

“I think it's important to recognize that the African-American community is looking at this issue through a set of experiences and a history that — that doesn't go away.”

We’re so ready to judge another’s experience, to discount it.  But I wonder if these experiences bring up fears and insecurities in our own hearts.  It reveals our utter sin and depravation.  We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.  We have been quick to talk, but not quick to listen.  What would it look to for the church to engage in the conversations on race and privilege.  I can almost guarantee that it would be messy and even unwieldy.  Even within myself, there’s a fear in stepping into the messiness.  Do I want to enter into that conversation?  If I’m honest, I’m scared to join the conversation.  I’m afraid of what I might find inside me.  Do I believe that we need to step into this conversation?  Absolutely. 

The articles that have been the most helpful for me have been those that do not claim to have an answer.  I don’t think there is an easy answer.  The history of racism in our country runs deep.  It will not be fixed easily or quickly.  Yet, I do not believe that is an excuse to avoid the conversation.   Jesus met with and lived with some of the messiest people around.  He stepped into a politically charged environment, where a displaced people were ruled by an authoritative empire. 

I step into this conversation through this piece, but I must begin with the truth:

I am privileged.  

Risk in Writing

Lately, I’ve felt as though my writing ideas have begun to dry up.  Not only do I feel as though I’m scrambling for topics, I also have experienced a diminished desire to even write.  It has been good for me to continue on in the midst of waning interest, to learn the discipline of writing, even when I just want to veg out and watch another episode of 30 Rock (I’m re-watching the show). 

However, I discovered this morning that actually I did know what I wanted to write about.  In fact, there were two subjects that have been on my mind.  Fear has kept me from delving into these topics.  In my mind, these two topics are “controversial” and I am afraid of the response I will receive.  I fear the conclusions others will make about me.  As I was sitting here, amazed at the fear I suddenly found bubbling out of my heart, I knew what I had to do. 

This week I’m going to lean into the fears, and write these two pieces.  It will involve time, to really do justice to these topics.  It will involve risk, to share another layer of who I am.  It will involve trust, that somehow the Lord is leading me in this endeavor. 

Strangely enough, these next two posts may not be controversial for you who read this blog.  I suspect that this fear is mostly internal, meaning that I’m dealing with my own terror over how I am received, over who I am.

So, here goes…  

Transition and Grief

Hello Readers,

I wrote the blog below in the past year.  Last April it was posted on The Aurora Crossing blog, but I realized that I'd never posted it here.  

Enjoy (wait, can I encourage you to "enjoy" when it's a post about grief?)

……….

Here’s a little insight into how I operate.  I’m an avoider.  I don’t like going into my pain.  It scares me.  No. It is more accurate to say that it terrifies me.  I’ll do anything I can to numb out and ignore the big, sparkly pink elephant in the room (he also may or may not have flashing lights in an elaborate headdress).  That is, until the grief will no longer be contained.  As much as I hate, hate, hate when this happens, I’m also relieved.  Whatever pent up emotions I hold onto weren’t meant to stay put and the process of releasing them feels freeing.

I’ve begun to think that grief is a normal part of life.  Now, not every experience will elicit the same level of grief, but if I really think about it, I am saying goodbye to people, places, and things all the time.  Unfortunately, I live in a society that does not value grieving.  In America, we value moving forward.  Progress.  Pushing through adversity.  This can be a good value to have.  However, when the focus is purely on moving forward, saying goodbye is often seen as clinging to the past and even labeled as a weakness.  These beliefs can result in defining grief as acceptable or unacceptable.  You can grieve over the death of a family member, but don’t you dare grieve over the loss of a community due to moving.

Our grief in America is also privatized.  We emulate the Marlboro man, as we walk off alone into the sunset of our own sadness.  At the last Winter Olympics, an athlete from another country was killed in a luging accident.  I remember seeing video of the community grieving together.  The people were walking around and wailing for this person they didn’t know.  My initial response to this open display of sadness was “Why are they crying for this stranger?”  It struck me as so odd and foreign.  But then my next thought was, “This is a culture that values grieving.”

In the Bible, we’re given glimpses of the grieving rituals in Israel.  At times, this included hiring a professional mourner.  Yes, that is a person hired to cry, wail,  and beat their breast when a person dies (but the real question is, does it have good medical benefits?).   Again, this is a culture that values grieving.  Jesus was no stranger to grief.  One of the most personally moving examples of Jesus’ grief is when his good friend Lazarus died.  What did Jesus do?  In one of the most succinct and powerful verses in the Bible, Jesus wept (John 11:35).  Then he rose Lazarus back to life.  But not before he grieved and acknowledged the deep sadness in death.

I think one of the challenges in grief is entering into the tension of feeling the sadness, anger, and guilt over what can no longer be, while still clinging to the belief that the story does not end here.  It’s not ignoring the pain, but it’s also not letting the pain be (ultimately) the tragic end.  Sometimes, I get lost in my grief, or I avoid it for fear of getting lost in it.  It is in those moments when I see that I was not made to walk this path alone.

Grief is to be journeyed with others.  It has been scary to let safe people into my grief.  I often have to start by just stating my experience and as I begin to trust those people, the emotions eventually come.  This has been a process for me and I still have a ways to go.  Just this week I had a good friend over for dinner.  I was talking about my experience of singleness lately and she mentioned how disconnected my facial expressions were from the clearly painful story I was telling.  I took a risk, and allowed myself to really feel my sadness with another.  These are messy places for us to go, but I truly believe that as communities, this is one of the most significant gifts we can offer to another: the gift of company.

Isaiah prophecies Christ, calling him a man of sorrow, acquainted with grief.  Even in the times when it feels like no earthly human can meet me in my grief, I am not alone.  Jesus, who experientially knows grief is there, with me, loving me.  In the midst of grief, he is our divine company.

Please Get Coffee with Me

Jerry Seinfeld has just started the second season of his show Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.  In case you’re curious, the title is not a metaphor.  It’s a fun show in which Seinfeld brings on such an interesting range of comedians, from legendary comic voices like Mel Brooks to more current voices such as Sarah Silverman (and everything in between).  And before I move on can I state that I have repeatedly misspelled the word “comedians”.  For some reason I want to stick in an extra “m”.  I digress.

Besides it being a hilarious and interesting show, I can’t help but reflect on what a cushy job Seinfeld has.  He gets to have coffee and good conversation with people whom he is interested in.  And no one is inaccessible to him.  Well, he might not be able to interview the Queen of England, but you get what I mean.  On top of that, all the coffee shots in the show make me drool (seriously, the transition shots show coffee being made). 

So the moral of this post is, it’s good to be Jerry Seinfeld.

No, it is not.

However, it poses an interesting question.  Who are the people that you’d like to have coffee with?  Even as I consider the question for myself, it quickly becomes a long list.  I’m limiting it to people who are alive (which sadly means that a few of my favorite authors who recently passed will not be on the list).

So, here’s a glimpse of the list:

Tina Fey

There are many reasons I’d want to have coffee with Tina.  I remember being impressed with her before even really knowing who she was.  Years ago my mom mentioned that Saturday Night Live had just hired its first female head writer of the show.  She talked about how the show was known for being such a boy’s club throughout the years.  I thought that was pretty cool at the time.  My real intro to Tina was through the film Mean Girls, which is still a favorite of mine today.  It’s funny, cleverly written, has positive messages for women, and Tina adapted it from a non-fiction book.  What the what! 

I was an early convert to 30 Rock and faithfully watched it to the end.  I even have a shirt from the show (in case you’re curious it says, “I want to go to there”).  While some of her movies since Mean Girls have been so-so (Admission I’m looking in your direction), her and Amy Poehler nailed the Golden Globes last year , and she wrote a goofy, yet lovable memoir, Bossypants.  In case you’re curious, her advice for being female in a male-dominated work environment is as follows: Some people say “Never let them see you cry.”  I say, if you’re so mad you could just cry, then cry.  It terrifies everyone.

And her prayer for her daughter is hilarious, yet still sweet (beware of what some may call “rough” language).

Basically, I want Tina to be my friend. The end.

Rachel Held Evans

I recently finished Rachel’s book A Year of Biblical Womanhood.  I was hesitant to read this book initially, because it seemed exploitive and gimmicky.  It’s a woman literally applying Biblical passages to her life, so she sits in a tent during her period, etc.  I was skeptical, but upon a few recommendations I decided to read it.  I’m glad that my skepticism was compromised, as this has been one of the more impacting books I’ve read as of late.  Rachel skillful uses hyperbole to shine light on the Biblical applications from the biblical manhood and womanhood movement.  She also does her research, meeting with women from a variety of walks of life and studying some of the more contested Biblical passages dealing with gender.  The book is uniquely balanced with her own experience, where she speaks honestly of her year with such real, true words.  It could have been a book devoted to griping, but instead provided a nuanced exploration of gender in the church.  As I finished the book, I felt relief knowing there were other women out there who felt similarly. She's regularly blogs and was an inspiration for my recent post on modestly.  The more I read of hers, the more I think "right on, right on."

Ira Glass

I suppose Ira gets a direct mention, and not just listed, as his radio program This American Life just broadcast their 500^th episode.  I’ve been feeling reminiscent about the show, so there.  It’s a weekly show, which pools together stories on a specific theme.  Ira has described it as a program with stories that wouldn’t make it onto the regular news.  The show has left me breathless, as I’m rolling on the floor in laughter, and choked up, as I’m presented with the devastating experience of a human being.  I’ve only been listening for the last 5 years, but it was a favorite of mine almost immediately.  I’m drawn to this band of storytellers, who use creativity, sensitivity, and insightful questions to craft their episodes.  Ira has such a distinct voice and I feel a sense of calm as I hear him speak. 

However, I think what made me really respect him as a journalist was last year.  The program had aired a story in which a man named Mike Daisy talked about a trip he’d taken to China to visit the factories where iPhones are made.  It was a revealing episode and had one questioning the work practices of Apple.  A few months later, the program came back with a second episode.  It turns out that Mike had fabricated significant sections of the story.  The producers of the show had taken his word when he said that he couldn’t find his translator from his trip to China (who would have been used to verify Mike’s stories).  Upon discovering their mistakes, Ira dedicated a show to telling the real story.  He owned up to their error, while also conducting one of the most intense interviews with Mike.  Ira didn’t back down as Mike tried to evade the questions.  It is challenging to speak the truth, especially when you have to own up to your own mistakes.  Ira did so, and broadcast it for the world to hear.    

Others included on the ever growing list:

David Sedaris

Eugene Peterson

J.K. Rowling

Makoto Fujimura

Bobette Buster

Donald Miller

Aaron Sorkin

Emma Thompson

Just noticing that my list is devoid of musicians.  Hmm...Maybe Stevie Wonders needs to be added.

Dating Response Cards

I have this idea, which I’m convinced will completely alter the way we approach dating. 

The post-date response card

It even has a blank to fill-in the date of the call back

“What is this ‘post-date response card’ that you speak of?” you may be asking.  I’m glad you asked.  Have you ever been on a date which ended with the guy expressing an intention to call you up to do this again, and then he disappeared?  Actually, I’m assuming that most of you have experienced this at some point in your life.  Are you frustrated with the inauthentic line of “Let’s do this again”?  Well, I am.  And the solution came to me suddenly one night: the post-date response card.  At the beginning of the date, you hand the guy two cards.  You explain that there are two responses written on the cards.  One indicates interest, while the other gives a polite “thanks, but no thanks”.  At the end of the date, the guy hands you the card that most accurately represents his sentiments.  Then, you open the card later, once the date has ended. 

No Hard Feelings

OK, I admit that this idea is strange (at the very least).  And I realize that to actually do this would be completely awkward.  I will most likely never hand out these cards, but I wish that I could.  There are all these do’s and don’ts in dating and I’m always confused on how to show interest, yet still be elusive.  I often find myself wishing for clear communication:

“I like you.”

“I do not like you in that way.”

“Thanks for letting me know.  Peace to you.”

I long for these conversations instead of the waiting and wondering that is one of the most common side effects of dating (side effects may also include dry mouth and compulsive gambling, do not date while operating heavy machinery).  I mentioned these cards to a friend and she commented back that it was very un-relational.  I agreed, but expressed that I’d rather get the card, than not hear anything back.

 I hate the unknowing that comes with the dating territory.  The anxiety.  The growing disappointment.  Then, the final realization that he is not calling back.  It sends me into a questioning place, where I start to re-examine what I said, how I responded, even down to what I was wearing.  I walked through this very experience last winter.  I met with him for coffee after talking on the phone and texting a couple of weeks prior to our meeting.  It was one of the few dates that I emerged from thinking “this is what people mean when they say dating is fun”.  I was interested in him and surprisingly found myself flirty (Not one of my top 5 Strengths).  The date ended.  We hugged.  He said the fateful words “let’s do this again”. 

That was the last time I saw him. 

For the first couple of days, I felt secure in the fact that he would call me. I know there are rules as to when to call back (I hear anywhere between 2-4 days).  Then, as it went to 3, 4, 5 days and more, the insecurity set in.  Why isn’t he calling?  Then we hit a week and I knew I wasn’t going to be hearing back.  I was ready with all the excuses.

Maybe he met someone else.

He must not have been good for me.

He did seem like he was trouble.

But, that didn’t make the pain go away.  It just hurt.  I was confused, without the hope of an answer.  I also got angry.  How do you not let the other person know?  Unfortunately, this seems to be part of the dating experience. Blerg!

Somehow, in this place of powerlessness, the idea of these response cards feels like a solution.  If only these cards existed, then the no-call zone would never happen again. 

If only. 

I’m fully willing to admit that these cards are my way of feeling in control.  I long to feel control when the reality is that I ultimately have none.  I cannot make someone call me back.  I cannot force another to communicate in the way I deem appropriate.  I cannot fully understand the male brain. 

But wouldn’t it be great if these cards worked?

Every Pot has its Lid

I have the joy of living with two single women.  Some of my favorite moments with them are when we commiserate about singleness and the woes of dating.  The other night one of my roomies shared a profile she’d come across on a dating site.  As she read this man’s profile it quickly became clear that his life revolved around turtles.  Yes, you heard/read me correctly.  Turtles.  He talked about them in his introduction.  He had pictures of them.  He even listed them as one of the six things he couldn’t live without.  Wow, what do you even say to that?

We had a good laugh.  My roommate mentioned a statement she’d read recently that “every pot has its lid.”  That got me thinking, who would be a good fit for our turtley friend?  I pulled out my chalk board and started writing down some unusual hobbies.  Then, my roommates and I entered into some deep hypothesizing and began to match up our fictional people based on their interests. 

How about a Civil War reenacter with a Renaissance Faire groupie? 

Or perhaps an anime lover with a fantasy writer? 

Maybe a Goth paired up with a Steam Punker?

These explorations are a bit of a hobby of mine.  Perhaps even an unusual one.  I find that the world of dating is a strange one.  The rules in normal life do not apply and I often feel woefully behind on how this all works.  Do I text after a date?  How do I act interested, but not too interested?  Does he really mean he’ll call back if he says he will?  In these moments, creating charts and graphs, or even just talking about how strange dating is, feels somewhat grounding.  For years I was scared to ask these questions.  Now, I’m starting to dip my toe in the stream.  I find that the more I ask these questions, whether with my friends, or here on the blog, the more I find that no one knows what they’re doing.  And that is comforting to me. 

Still.  Some days I get frustrated.  I feel hopeless about finding my lid...Or is it my pot?  The older I get, the more secure I feel in who I am and in my character, and this reality seems to complicate dating even more.  I mean, when I was in my early twenties, I was still figuring out myself.  I was a lot less picky than I am today.  I think it will take a miracle of God for me to get married (although, I think anyone getting together is some sort of miraculous act). 

I was at dinner with a friend last night and we were talking about how much easier it would be if God would just let us know if we’re going to be single for life or if we’re getting married.  Frustratingly, he hasn’t answered that question for either of us.  And part of me gets it.  There is something good about this process of growth that comes through unknowing.  I have to trust in God.  Not that he will undoubtedly provide a husband, but rather that whether it be a single or married life, it is good and offered in loving care to me. 

As I wait, I’m grateful for moments when I can laugh with friends over the oddness that is a dating life.  

Coffee as a Way of Life

What happens in Greece stays in Greece

As I’ve stepped into a regular rhythm of writing, I’ve discovered the surroundings that help me enter into this creative process.  First, I prefer to do my writing in the morning.  I’m not necessarily a morning person, but I’ve found that if I don’t start early on, the writing will inevitably get delayed.  Second, I like to write from the desk in my room.  I finally have a) space for a desk in my room, and b) a desk that I really like.  I’ve never been a great decorator, but I really enjoy the space I’ve created on and around my desk.  I can write from other places besides my desk, but I feel so homey and comfortable here that it has quickly become my preference.  Finally, there must be coffee when I write.  Again, I can write without, but my ritual has become my finding a quiet morning and sitting down with coffee as I type away.  But coffee is not just present when I write.  It is also a part of my daily rhythm in life.

If you were to ask a friend about my interests, my guess is that coffee would be mentioned fairly early on.  I receive coffee beans and gift certificates to some of my favorite local shops as gifts frequently.  When I travel, I usually research the area for unique coffee shops.  I spent close to four years working in a coffee shop.  In my ever changing life, coffee has been one of the few constants (Jesus would definitely be on that list, in the top position). 

Ironically, I hated coffee growing up.  I even hated it when I got hired to work at Starbucks.  Yes, true confession.  However, working for a coffee shop was my gateway into a coffee soaked lifestyle.  I moved up the spectrum, starting with Frappuccino’s, then flavored lattes, finally landing on brewed coffee and Americanos.  Ultimately, my interest progressed to the point that I stopped liking the coffee from Starbucks.   

I appreciate the caffeine boost that coffee provides, but what I really enjoy about it is the experience.  Holding the warm cup in hand, smelling the deep aromatic scent of a good coffee, and that first sip, so comforting and welcoming.  And I love when I have a slower morning and can really enjoy that cup of coffee.  I love having good conversations over coffee.  I love trying a new roast, or experimenting with different brewing methods.  I love pairing coffee with the perfect dessert, and that first bite that just melts away in your mouth. 

At times, coffee can feel like a warm blanket to my soul. It’s a welcome to the day, while also inviting me to pay attention to the complexities that surround me.  In a strange way, it’s not just about coffee.  It’s about an experience.  A comfort.  A rhythm of life. 

So, reader, what is the warm blanket to your soul? 

In case you’re curious, here’s what I’ve been drinking lately:

-          Morning coffee: Just finishing off a bag of Dapper blend from Handsome Coffee Roasters, brewed using my aero press.

-          Iced coffee: I have a few bags of coffee I was given for my birthday, so I’m trying to use them before they go bad.  I just made a batch of cold brew iced coffee using Ethiopia Yirgacheffe Chelbessa beans from Stumptown Coffee Roasters.  

Resignation or Risk?

Last Thursday I had my monthly meeting with my spiritual director.  I shared with her about the surprising experience of my birthday and how refreshing it was in light of this challenging year.  As we continued to explore this past year the word that came to mind for me was “resignation.”  So much of this year has felt like I’ve given up.  There are many reasons for this.  Changes, changes, and more changes.  I’ve moved work, home, and church.  All significant shifts of life.  What I’ve noticed is that so often when I’ve been hit with disappointment, instead of expressing my emotions to God, I’ve just accepted it and moved on.  Except inside, I am not at peace with the disappointment.  My acceptance has been a resignation, not a trust in God.  It is despair.  Not hope that he is working and weaving in the disappointment.  Doubting that he sees or even cares. 

At one point, my spiritual director asked me whether I would approach God differently today than I did this year.  As I sat with that question, I saw the ways I would approach him differently, but also saw shifts and decisions I made throughout the year that I wouldn’t change.  I want to approach him differently by leaning into honesty.  Even though I know about desolation and suffering, it does not mean that I am at the place yet where I always truly mean “your will be done.”  Yet, there were times when my feelings wouldn’t be contained and they exploded in prayer to him. 

That same night I started meeting with some women to go through a book on prayer.  It was one of those nights when the conversation eerily echoes all the things you’ve been wrestling through during the day.  I was hit with the reality that I have not been asking boldly from God lately.  I have not entered into the dangerous place of stating what I want. 

At one point in the evening I mentioned how we have these two pray-ers in us.  The nice, cleaned up Christian pray-er.  In my mind she wears pearls and vacuums wearing heels.  Her prayers are safe, concrete, and pristine.  I called this pray-er neutered.  (To be completely honest, I said that this pray-er’s junk had been cut off).  I then went on to say that we also have a true pray-er within us.  Her prayers are risky, all over the place, and messy.  I want to unleash that pray-er.  She is crying out the true prayers of my heart.  However, when I let that pray-er do her thing, I enter into the scary world of risk.  And it completely flies in the face of resignation. 

Risk terrifies me. 

Because when I risk, there is no guarantee.  I might be disappointed.  I might fall.  I might end up just where I started.  Risking feels like living life outside of my control.  Yet, I truly do not control my life.  Ultimately. 

To play devil’s advocate (to myself), risk also could mean a life different than I imagined.  I might be surprised.  I might soar.  I might end up on the other side of the world.  Risking opens me up to life beyond my control, into the hands of God, who’s vision and imagination is infinitely more expansive than mine will ever be.

As I sit with the possibility of this upcoming year I am hit with the decision of resignation or risk.  As I drove home last night, I chose risk.  I don’t know all that will hold for me.  I fear risk, but resignation doesn’t work.  I am over resigning. 

……….

How are you stepping into risk today with God?

Oops, I forgot Friday's Post

Well, that's partially true.  I slept in Friday morning and then remembered half way through the day that I had not posted.  I had a meandering thought that I would at some point during the day.  That did not happen.  Besides, it's a holiday weekend.  Who is reading blogs this weekend when there are BBQ's, fireworks and Back to the Future marathon's happening?




But do not worry, I'm back on track for this week's posts.  As a little teaser, you can (eagerly?) look forward to posts on resignation in life, matchmaking those with unusual hobbies, and a post on coffee.

Hoping you had a fun 4th of July weekend!

Jen

The Lost Art of the Thank You Note

When I was little, following every birthday and Christmas my mom would sit me down in front of a stack of stationary (her supply seemed endless) and have me write the dreaded thank you note.  As I got older, she wasn’t as demanding, but she would continue to check in on me until all notes were written and sent.  I always dreaded it and struggled to fill all the blank space on the inside of the card.  I mean, how many ways can you say thank you?*

Lately though, I’ve come to enjoy writing thank you notes.  I appreciate the opportunity to let a friend know how much they mean to me.  I also have noticed a decrease of hand written thank you notes in our continually evolving e-friendly culture. Really though, there has been a decrease in mailed letters in general.  I rarely send actual mail to my family and friends.  The only mail I typically send out is the occasional bill (with a system so antiquated that it does not have online payment as an option).  In light of these changes, there is something special about receiving actual mail from someone you actually know.  As I witness these changes, there is a part of me that wants to hold onto this tradition of mail and thank you notes.  If only my younger self could hear me now.  She undoubtedly would be shocked. 

As note writing has become more appealing, I’ve also found myself appreciating stationery.  I’ve even spent time at various stores coveting beautiful writing paper from Crane and Rifle (which are ridiculously expensive, but oh so cute).  There is something so beautiful and classic about writing paper.  It has a feeling of being from another time, when each person had their own stationery embossed with their name or initials, and would write letters beginning “Dearest Amelia”. 

I laugh as I consider my penchant for note writing.  I can’t help but think of the social trend of New Domesticity, which explores the re-emerging popularity of forgotten domestic practices.  I heard about this idea via one of my podcasts and was introduced to Emily Matchar, who coined the term and is researching this trend and the impacts it has on family life, the work place, and our communities.  Matchar describes New Domesticity as:

The fascination with reviving “lost” domestic arts like canning, bread-baking, knitting, chicken-raising, etc. Why are women of my generation, the daughters of post-Betty Friedan feminists, embracing the domestic tasks that our mothers and grandmothers so eagerly shrugged off? Why has the image of the blissfully domestic supermom overtaken the Sex & the City-style single urban careerist as the media’s feminine ideal? Where does this movement come from? What does it mean for women? For families? For society?   

It didn’t take long for me to think of various examples of New Domesticity.  There’s the DIY blogs, Etsy and the Queen of all New Domesticity: Pinterest.  Surely, this appreciation of note writing falls under this term. 

Now, I am not bringing up New Domesticity as a shaming point.  I mainly am fascinated by this trend, but also wonder for myself, how much of my penchant for thank you notes is influenced by this movement.  I tend to pride myself on being an individual (being the good American that I am) and dislike being boxed in.  I like to think that my ideas and likes come purely out of who I am.  However, I know this is not true.  There are definitely some interests that are just plain Jen, but some are influenced by culture, and others are a mixture of both.  It is a messy line between trends and my personality.  Ugh!

In the meantime, here is a thank you note to you, dear reader:

*As a side note, unacceptable thank you's, according to Mom, come in the form of thank you hands.  Or as Mom might say, "No thank you" hands.

Sorry Michael, we don't accept your gratitude

Overheard Dates

We've all been here - Awkward Town, USA

The other day I was sitting in a coffee house, doing some work.  As I sat down, I saw a man and woman one table over.  As I was not far from them I overheard bits of their conversation.  Soon I came to the conclusion that they were on a date and from the sounds of it, most likely a first date.  I was trying to explain to my roommate how I knew it was a date.  Basically, it was the tone of voice plus the content.  The tone of voice was more formal with a hint of anxiety.  There wasn’t that familiarity that comes when two people truly know each other.  Her responses were brief, seeming to feign interest in what he was saying.  The other hint was the content of their conversation.  He was explaining to her the latest Superman film.  Now, I talk to my friends about films all the time, but this felt more detached.  At one point, he was trying to remember all of the actors in the film and I was briefly tempted to interject with “Amy Adams”.  That most definitely would have been awkward, so I restrained myself.  Soon after they left and I continued working, while chuckling a bit to myself.  Then, I was treated to another first date about 5 minutes later.  Jackpot Kean coffee!  This couple was much younger and had never met.  They did the awkward, “are you so and so?” complete with formal handshake.  I didn’t hear much beyond that, but I delighted in the moment.

I think all my posts should include 100% more pie charts!

I suppose these observations may lead you to wonder why am I fascinated by this.  Or maybe you relate.  Basically, dating is weird.  There, I said it.  Especially first dates.  Even more so blind dates.  See pie chart for reference.  And there is something so enjoyable about witnessing weirdness.  I have mixed feelings as I witness dates.  One part of me empathizes.  I have been there before, engulfed in awkwardness and anxiety, and I want to pat the person on the shoulder and encourage them.  The other part is relieved that it is not me.  Internally I’m thinking, “Ha, ha sucker!”  Some people have fond memories of dating, but I am not one of them.  Maybe this is because my expertise is the first and second dates, the weirdest ones to have (see chart above).  I am sorely inexperienced when it comes to long term relationships.  And that is the stage that seems so fun!  When you stop trying to impress the person and can just sit at home watching Netflix.  You still go out, but you also don’t have the compulsion to do so all the time.  Basically, you’ve relaxed, stopped trying to suck in your stomach and can just be you.  A part of me would love to be able to start a relationship there.  To skip all the strangeness and questioning of first dates.  But alas, that is not how it works when getting to know someone. 

I realize that my vision for dating is not realistic.  I know I want to skip the uncomfortability of first dates.  I accept that this is not possible.  Or rather, it is not possible if I actually want to be in a relationship with someone.  So, here’s to continuing to open to the weirdness that is first dates. 

In the meantime, I’m entertaining myself by continuing to keep my eyes peeled for daters.