The Real Lesson of Buddy Ball

I think I'm far too honest and transparent with my emotions to deal with power-happy buddy ball coaches and attend my son's games. Thankfully, my son's coach is patient and knowledgable and really seems to care about the kids. I'm grateful for that. But not all coaches are like that. 

I had my first "experience" that I've heard about for so long. That experience I refer to is the one when I witnessed grown men behave as though buddy ball was the friggin World Series. Now if you are offended by language in the least, stop reading now. I don't want anyone's ears to bleed. You were warned.

Seems to me that we adults would understand that buddy ball is a time for little boys (7-year-olds) to learn how to play baseball. It's their first opportunity to have pitches thrown to them and to hit the ball. It's a time when you learn important life lessons about team work and being able to count on other people and they on you. It's a time to learn that you wait you turn, follows the rules, and learn the reward of the hard work of practicing. It is a time to learn the MANY rules that are involved in a baseball game. (You don't realize how many rules and nuances there actually are until you start explaining them to a 7-year-old. And yes. I know baseball as well as I know theatre. I even know a balk when I see it.) It is a time for the kids to develop a love for the game. 

But here's the thing... I had an epiphany. What if the REAL lesson to be learned in little kid buddy ball is how NOT to be an asshole. I'm not kidding. It is a lesson in attitude. What happens when some idiot coach starts hatefully screaming at a little kid because he turned his head to see where the ball is instead of running hard to the plate? I'll tell you what. It teaches that it's ok to be an asshole. What happens when the little 7-year-old pitcher who thinks the play is over (I mean, since he has the ball and he's standing on the mound and all... Why wouldn't he think that?) tosses the ball to the other team's coach for him to pitch to the next kid in the lineup, and the coach jumps out of the way of the ball and screams for his players to keep running?! It teaches it's ok to be an asshole. What about the ump? What if he accepts that sort of behavior and doesn't teach the coach and the crowd and the kids that that's not ok? There is something called common sense that must be used when you are dealing with little kids. I'm for following the rules, but come on. This was an underhanded loophole of a move. This didn't mean winning or losing the game. This was just a guy being an asshole. What if this coach stands on the pitcher's mound and starts yelling at the opposing team's coach when he questions this ridiculous play, "YOU DON'T WANT TO START WITH ME!" Again...  Asininity. 

And you know what? I think baseball can be taught sans that kind of attitude. I don't care if my son ever wins a game. I want him to learn the game, have a great time doing it, and learn those life lessons that will make him a better adult. But there is one thing I won't and can't tolerate and that is being a jerk to a kid and teaching kids who look up to you that being an asshole is the way to be. 

In related news, I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize for my anger and words last night at the ballgame after I witnessed such behavior. I am a passionate person. I don't really recall exactly what I said (pretty sure I used the word "kill" a lot), but rest assured it was honest. And let's be thankful there was a fence between me and the field, and I'm thankful everyone knows who I am now, and I'll just leave it at that. ;)

Getting Off the Train

 

  There are things in life that are hard. Life is hard. Let's face it. Glennon Melton, the author of the fabulous book Carry On Warrior says that life is beautiful and life is brutal. Life is "brutiful." And the weird thing about life's brutality is that it's brutal in different ways. We all have different weaknesses and different pains and different trials.

 

For instance, I have a family member who doesn't understand overeating. He doesn't understand how someone can overeat to the point of morbid obesity. He has actually said, "Just don't eat so much," as if that is such a common sense, simple solution. Or on the opposite side of that, someone may not understand an anorexic person. Just eat, right? Absolutely any vice could be substituted. Sometimes "Just do the right thing" is not "just" do it, as if it's simple. I suppose you do have the choice. You can take control over your eating. But it's not easy. It's a struggle. And your body will fight against it with all its might. There is no "just" do it. It's more like Take control of your life. Tell your body that it is not in charge of you. Live with whatever fit your body wants to throw. Lean on God and your friends and family. Have respect for yourself and the creation God made. And DO IT. There is no "just." 

 

I had a dream last night that sparked this line of thought. Queen of Anxiety Dreams, I am. This was a doozy. I'm on a train. It's like the train that they ride in the Harry Potter films. (My kids have been watching a lot of that lately.) I'm in my little compartment, minding my own business, but I have a really uneasy feeling. Something's just not right. I have a sick feeling in my stomach. So I get up and open the door to my closed off section and peer down the line of other little train "rooms," and I see that everyone's door is open, and it appears that they are all waiting in the doorway, ready to depart the train. Everyone has bags in hand and coats and hats on. My friend is in the next room over and can see and hear me and says, "It's time to get off the train. You're not ready." So I just panic. I grab all my stuff and throw it in the bag. I'm sure I've left something behind and that makes me panic. I grab my coat  and try to get it on, but the bottoms of the sleeve are too tight, and I can't get my hands through. I start crying because I hear the train coming to a stop, and I know I have to get off. My friend comes over and holds down the sleeves of my coat so I can push my hands through. I grab my bags, after being reminded to do so, and head for the exit. Everyone just seems to be getting off the train in calm fashion. The exit of the train looks like the end of an 18-wheeler trailer. There is a ramp. But a small ramp. I get to the ramp, and I notice that you have to go underneath a sort of cover to get out. It looked almost like a shallow hole you had to go down and then back out to get off the train. Everyone was doing it as if it were no big deal. My heart starts racing. I have claustrophobia. And I'm in a heavy coat. And there is NO WAY I can do this. The people behind me are getting impatient. I look out and on the other side of the ramp are what looks like flight attendants but for a train. Train attendants. I'm thinking that they will help me. I'm calling out to them to help me because I can't go through this hole to get out. I will die. Or so I think. But the attendants just look at me. They say nothing. I'm not even sure that they can hear me. I am absolutely panicked. My friend behind me calmly says, "You can do it. I'll help you."

 

So I do it. There was no simple "just do it." There was crying. There was a full blown panic attack. I get my upper body through the hole and water starts pouring in. So now I'm literally drowning. Suddenly I feel a push from behind me. It's my friend pushing me through so that my head can get out of the hole. I crawl out and go down the ramp. I'm crying. I'm throwing up. I'm soaking wet. I look around and the train attendants are looking at me as if I'm crazy- as if I caused the sudden flood of water into the hole. Everyone continues to effortlessly exit the train. I'm still reeling from what I just did, wondering where I can put some dry clothes on. I'm also wondering if I should see a doctor. I can't quit throwing up. My heart won't quit racing. 

 

My friend walks by me as I'm hurling and crying and doesn't even acknowledge that I'm a mess. I'm confused why no one else had any trouble getting off the train. I'm confused why no one seems to get that I almost died. And that it was HARD. Yes. I did it. But it was HARD. And it nearly killed me. And then my friend spoke while passing me, never stopping. "You did it. I helped you."  

 

Now I'm no amazing-technicolor-dreamcoat-wearing-Joseph, but I think that dream is pretty easy to interpret. And I'm not sure if the "friend" in my dream represented God or a real friend or just the strength that you can muster when you find yourself helpless and out of control, but I like to think the friend was all three. 

 

I woke up in full blown panic attack mode. Drenched wet in sweat. Heart racing. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I just replayed the dream in my head. And it made me think about people in helpless situations or in situations that have gotten so out of control that they can't "just" do what needs to be done by themselves. "Just do it" sounds simple. But life isn't simple. There is no "just don't eat so much" to someone with a food addiction. There is no "just stop smoking" to someone addicted to cigarettes. There is no "just get over it" to someone who is so truly hurting. There is no "just do the right thing" to someone who is dependent on the wrong thing. The truth is that you can do it. You can do what you need to do. But it's hard. And you might feel as if you are drowning. And someone may have to help push you through. And God may have to constantly give you strength and courage. Know it's not easy. Know there is no "just" about it. It might be painful. You may need help. You may fail repeatedly. But God promises he won't leave you. “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8.

 

God is there to help us get our heads above water. He'll push us through the hole when the train attendants who are supposed to be the passengers' helpers just ignore our cries for help and don't understand what's so hard about our task. He sends us people who help us get our coat sleeves on without commenting on our ineptitude when we can't do it ourselves. And He gives us the courage and strength to make the choice to get off the train in the first place.

Crisis: Silliness Lost

Something about helping others during a crisis, big or small, seems to make me feel better about my own problems, especially when the person I'm helping is one of my kids. My 6-year-old is in the first grade, and he has been in love with a little girl since kindergarten. Let's call her "Sally." Sally has been the center of my son's attention for over a year now. Last Christmas, he came to me and told me he wanted to give her a Christmas present. I asked him what she liked, and he said, "Well, she wears bows in her hair." Done. We got her the most adorable Christmas bow. The kids aren't really supposed to exchange gifts, so on the day of the Christmas party at school, I took the little box over to Sally's mother and explained that it was important to my son that he give this little gift to her, and that was that. But he beamed with happiness. This year in school, when he found out that Sally was in his class, he was elated. Since the start of school, he's been telling me how he's finally going to speak to Sally and tell her that he likes her. I know what you're thinking.... Probably the same thing I was thinking.... He's six. How can he already "like" a girl?  Because he's my son. That's why. He's a feeler. I'm not saying he's not a fighter, but he most definitely is a lover. Heart of gold. Loves things fiercely. Emotional and empathetic. He's gonna make a great daddy one day. He's also silly. He loves to be loud and "uck-nah-shuss" (that would be obnoxious). He loves to dance and make people laugh. He likes pretending he's a rock star and puts on concerts for grandparents. He's also crazy smart. The boy just started first grade, and he can read. I don't mean his reading level is high. I mean he can read. Anything. Chapter books, road signs, store advertisements, magazines... He's wicked smart. But back to Sally... My son got in the car today. This is what followed: He says, "Mama, I need to tell you a story, and it's bad." My ears immediately perk. "What happened, buddy?" His head tilts downward, and he says, "Sally broke up with me." Ok. If I'm being honest, I want to immediately jump out of the car and beat up a little 30 pound first grader. But I contain my anger and try to calm my racing heart. He continues telling me the long story about what happended on the playground. As he tries really hard to steady his quivering lip, he says, "Mama. I've made a decision. I giving up my silliness. I lost it." Heart. Breaking. My heart is breaking again just remembering his words. I know what he means. We all do. Something bad happens - something that hurts us and makes us second guess who we are and how we are made. He's 6-years-old, and he gets this. He was sad. He felt rejected. His silliness is a big part of him - a big part of him that brings him happiness and happiness to others, so he thought. And he just didn't want that today. He thought he didn't want it ever, but I think he probably just felt that way today. He was sad. How can you be sad and still have your happiness (his silliness)? To him, it had to be given up. It is this point sitting in my car with him that I wished I had read all those parenting books I had meant to read. By now, my 5th grade daughter has made it to the car and has heard the tale end of his story and is consoling him by rubbing his little back. All I'm thinking is Here is your chance to show kindness to your son, Jessica! This is a teaching moment! Don't screw it up like you screw everything up! That's a lot of pressure. He is just right on the verge of crying. His head is resting on its side on the car window. This seems like a big deal to him. No. This is a big deal to him. "Hey, buddy? Do you know that I love you and Sissy loves you? And do you know that God made you exactly like He wanted you? He gave you your silliness. And do you know what your silliness is? It's your joy. Never let anybody take your joy because it's a gift from God. And when we're sad or feel lonely or when someone hurts our feelings, we don't feel like using our joy. We want to "give it up," as you said. Your joy comes from your heart, and your heart is hurting. But you know what? Use it anyway. Sometimes you just have to refuse to give it up and remind your heart about that joy." He just keeps staring out his window. I ask my daughter, "What's his favorite song right now?" "Moves Like Jagger," she says. Done. I crank "Moves Like Jagger" up so loud that I'm sure the other people in the parking lot can hear it blaring from my car. The magic happens slowly, but it happens. That little fella looked at me, his little body starting swaying, that little smile crept back to his lips, and pretty soon, he was full out laughing and doing the "sprinker" dance. We all were, with everyone in the parking lot watching. We reminded that little broken heart that our joy is here to stay. Giving it up is not an option. Not in my house. I'd love to say that I taught my son a great lesson in that car. Truth be told, sometimes you learn lessons best when you have to teach them to others. I learned the lesson today. As I heard the words I spoke to my son come out of my mouth, I felt so convicted. I let people take my joy all the time. It's easy to throw your hands up and give it up and just stare at a computer screen or lie in the bed with the covers over your head. I have many joys. The older I get, the more joys I discover God has given me. Next time my heart is hurt, I'm remembering this precious time I had in the car with my kids. I'm digging deep to find my joy. It may be playing the piano or writing or reading or singing or acting or knitting or cooking or playing with my kids or running. Or it might be sitting in a car doing the "sprinkler."

Facebook: We love it. We hate it.

Facebook: We love it. We hate it.

Face it (pun intended), most people in today's world have a facebook account. And it's a good idea. You can keep in touch with people you would never be able to otherwise. You get to see pictures of your old friends' kids and grandkids. You get to keep up with former teachers and mentors and family. It's a place to post things that make people laugh or inspire people. It's a news venue. A place for group discussions. A classified ads venue. An advice column. A birthday boy or girl's joy. A calendar. A place to promote great events or to solicit help for people in need. There are some great things about facebook. Great idea. Why didn't I think of it?

But I have concerns about facebook. It is not all roses. I find myself more often than not distressed in some way after visiting facebook.

It's addictive. You feel good about yourself when you see that red notification symbol. Never mind it's normally just someone inviting you to something you'd rather not even know about. But you start really liking that symbol. And you find yourself constantly checking in to see what people are saying and posting and, for goodness sake, of course for that red symbol. And then there are the facebook addicted "gamers" who are doing nothing but constantly posting Bejeweled scores and Farmville invitations and Mafia Wars pleas. "Kill em, family!!!" I remember the first time I saw that post in somebody's status update. What the hell!? Kill WHO? And why?! Do they know everybody can see this and it's no private message?! These people are intense. And addicted. And it makes you worry. You literally squint your eyes and tilt your head.

Now, we all stalk. You're a liar if you say you don't. EVERYBODY facebook stalks people. You want to take a peek into someone else's life and see what they are up to? You facebook stalk. You can see what people say to other people, you can see the photos they post, you can see where they are and where they are going. And thanks to OTHER people's posts and photos, you even know what they are doing. It's nuts. And I'm SO thankful it was NOT around when I was in college. SO thankful.  I won't get into why. I just am. But I will be facebook stalking my kids, fo true.

And I don't know about you, but I don't really love being outright stalked. I mean, if you want to stalk me, at least sort of be cool about it. Be a "lurker" facebook user. You know the type - the "peeping Toms" of facebook. The ones who kind of see what's going on and like to know your business but never post anything themselves because they don't want you to know THEIR business.

It gets a little bit creepy when someone "likes" everything you post. And I mean everything. Every photo. Every status. Every comment. Every everything. Those are the unashamed stalkers, and frankly, I don't know whether to kudos their ballsiness or run from them.

But here's the dilemma... You are a frequent posting member of facebook. People know you work as a nude model for the local art school, right? They know everything because you tell them. But you see a friend of yours, who is also a facebook friend, and they don't know this. "Since when do you do THAT?!" "Well, since I posted it. Since my acting career fell through and I had no other skills. Haven't you been reading my facebook posts?!" You suddenly realize you just ASSUME people care and are stalking you. It messes with your head. You think "Maybe I DO want to be stalked." Or "I thought this person CARED!!" When, truth be told, they probably don't. And you realize you've been talking to the universe, and nobody's listening. And it causes another squint-eyed head tilt.

And then there are posts on facebook that make you want to punch the person in the throat. Let's call these people the "baby poop" posters. You know who I mean. For example, "My baby's poop is yellow and I thought it was supposed to be brown or orange. Look at this picture and tell me what to do!" Or "Hubs colonoscopy tomorrow! He's drunk all that jug from the pharmacist and he goes to the bathroom every 10 minutes. That bathroom will never smell the same." Or "Sally just threw up on my new rug. She told me she was ok. It's chunky and disgusting! Never believe a 2-year-old!"

And it's not just the bodily function posts. It's the hunting posts too. "Jim just killed his first deer! LOOK!" as we see a photo of a bloody deer with its eyes rolled back in its head. Or how about "So proud of my son skinning his first deer," complete with photo of a smiling child with a knife over a deer dripping with blood. You get me. Scenes from "The Walking Dead." Now these "baby poop" posters don't cause squint-eyed head tilts. They cause big frowns with furrowed brows and an upset stomach. STOP.

And then there is the promoter. You can tell when someone is selling something and wants you to buy it. I finally had to start hiding people who kept posting about that shake meal replacement stuff. I don't CARE how many pounds Alex lost using it. I don't want to buy it. And I don't care how much money it has made you selling it. I'm not selling it. And then you just get angry. I'm not even sure why. Just aggravating having something crammed down your throat when you don't want it. And these people are just too friggin positive for me.

And then there is the guy who doesn't know how to type or read or spell because his posts look something like this: "i  told you.It's the perferbial slipery slope"

Yeah. Raised brows on that one.

Or maybe it's the non-punctuating screamer: "POISON IS THE BEST BAND EVER I TOLD MY FRIENDS TO FIND A BETTER BAND"

And of course you have the "drama queens." The ones who complain and cry about everything. I'm not even giving examples of this one. I've always got enough drama of my own. I never need to get sucked into someone else's through facebook. Just call your friend, people. Or your therapist. Some things don't need to be splashed onto facebook's canvas.

At this point I'm thinking I need to get off facebook. It's bringing me down. But before you log off, you see those posts from the "obscurists" that drive you insane. They are your friends who are there for no other reason than to bait you for conversation. They want you to talk to them. So they post something obscure like "Only one more day." Or "I don't want to stop." Or "I knew it would happen." I've gotten to the point where I honestly want to comment on "I knew it would happen" with something like, "Yep. The sun rises," or "Menopause sucks," depending on my level of smartassness that day.

Just like everything in life, something like facebook gets out of hand. And I guess it is what it is. I can either enjoy talking to the universe and maybe a few friends and ignore all the stuff I hate, or I can leave the party. I do have that choice. I'm thinking I'll stick around for a while and feed my stalker streak.

And I feel the need to say I AM NOT a nude model for an art school. That was an illustation. I wouldn't want the "town crier/drama queen" facebook user to go buck wild with that rumor. I'm sure she'd LOVE that.

The Perfect Progressive Dinner Experience

I have always loved the idea of a progressive dinner. To go to the best restaurants for their best dish and spend an entire evening of deliciousness sounds pretty fun to me. But I'm a food girl. And I know a fair amount about Jackson, MS restaurants and what they do best. And I'm pretty up on the happy hours and early bird dinner entrees. I decided to make a suggestion for a night of absolute culinary bliss. And I'm watching the pocket book in the process. I'd also like to admit that I can't possibly include all my favorite places in this scenario. So there are many stellar restaurants, like Babalu and Bravo, that I have left out. My apologies to them. Babalu's burger creeps into my most wonderful dreams. But it deserves a night of its own. I digress...

First, let me tell you, you'll need to start early on a weekday. You can get the most for your money. And also, you'll need a driver. If money is no object, get a cab or even limo to escort you and your friends all over town for hours. Money is an object for me, so I'd just take a teetotaler with me. I have lots of great ones in my life.

First stop: Anjou. http://anjourestaurant.net/
You'll need to get there at 4:00. Sit outside or in the bar. Happy hour starts then. You and your friends can share a cheese plate. It's not discounted, but you can share it. Loaded with cheeses like brie, white cheddar, drunken goat, etc. It varies. And if there's one you don't like, they'll double up on another. (Anjou, if this blog gets to you, please take that nasty bleu cheese off that plate forever.) It has some grapes and jelly stuff and bread to go with it. It's fantastic and just enough to taste. DON'T fill up on your first stop. Even if you're hungry. You'll ruin the experience if you do this. If you're not a cheese plate kind of person, order a little cup of their French onion soup from the early bird menu. Best I've ever tasted. And it's just a few dollars. And for your drink, order the Sacre Coeur cocktail. It's half off during happy hour. Fresh squeezed oj, amaretto, and vodka served straight up in a martini glass. Just get one. It's kinda strong. You'll leave having spent about $10 and an hour or so in one of the most beautiful spacious bars or outdoor patio areas in town. Excellent.

Second stop: Table 100. http://tableonehundred.com/
You'll probably arrive around 5:30. This is perfect. Early bird dinner is until 6:00. Sit in the bar. This is important. Table 100 has live piano music (not keyboard music!) in the bar. So relaxing and lovely. As far as ordering a drink... I'm not a big fan of their cocktails. The ones I've tried are too sweet, and I'm not a sweet drink girl. I know... Everybody thinks that all girls like "girly" sweet drinks just because we're girls, but that's a lie. If you ARE a sweet drink fan, then you'll like the cocktails. The pear martini is good, I hear. And I obviously haven't tried them all. Their "Old School New Orleans" cocktails may not be so sweet. I need to give one of those a try. Or a glass of wine. So... ok... that's what I'd do. But the food!! Order off the early bird menu. It's all good. But what I've had and what I would do is order the Shrimp and Grits. It's $9. And amazing. And I'd share it because, like I said, you do NOT want to fill up. Sit and enjoy the piano and atmosphere and your food and drink and when you're ready to leave, off to stop number three.

Parlor Market. http://parlormarket.com/
Now Parlor Market is expensive. They are proud of their food and drinks. But, y'all, they SHOULD be. And since you're not all that hungry by this point, you can manage the bill here. It should be around 7:00 by now. This restaurant is beautiful. Sit down and take in all the swankiness that surrounds you and feel important for a while. You're paying for that experience. Enjoy it. Your waiter will ask you what you want to drink. These people here are as serious about their cocktails as they are about their food. They are unique. Like nothing else in the Jackson area. So take a minute to look over the mindblowing list, but after you've done so, order the Green Thai-Saac Special. Trust me here. You will not be disappointed. I loved it so much, I went to great length to find the recipe and the odd ingredients myself and make it at home.

They will bring you some little muffins with butter. Normally I would recommend on this journey that you forego the bread. It will fill you up, and it's not usually that great anyway. But EAT THIS. They are mouth watering. And then when it's time to order, order the Pigs & Corn. (I THINK that's what it's called. It's not currently listed on their menu. Their menu changes often. But I had it recently, so I'm sure it's still on there. It may be called Hogs & Corn, but you get the drift.) It's a small plate. So you could probably eat all of it. I'd probably still be sharing though. It is a little tiny iron skillet of cornbread with the most delicious pork and juicy stuff on top. Don't you love that description? It's really hard to describe, but it's divine. If you order that and the drink, it still won't break the bank. Probably around $35, including tip.

Last stop for dessert: Bon Ami. http://bonamijackson.com/
Beautiful little restaurant in Jackson. And one of the best desserts in the world. Now, you can bring your own alcohol to Bon Ami, so if you want, stop by McDade's wine store in the same shopping strip and you'll get 10% off your purchase there if you are taking it to Bon Ami. I'd probably stick with coffee at this point. But you could get a tawny port to have with what you're going to order at Bon Ami. Or even champagne. Or brandy or whatever. Doesn't matter. What matters is the decadence you are going to experience when you eat their caramel brownie. It's been described as rich and sinful. Meh.... Yeah, I'd agree. Share it and split the sin. The brownie is warm and the scoop of coffee ice cream on top is not, and the when the two converge in your mouth, you will close your eyes and wonder WHY IN THE WORLD you are 35 years old (or whatever) and have never experienced this. You will be back to make up for the years you've been without it.

At this point in the evening, it's late. You're full, but if you have heeded my advice, you are not too full. Or drunk. You are perfect. Your senses love you. I realize you haven't had much "healthy" stuff, but that Shrimp & Grits at Table 100 comes with a salad, and there are fruits and veggies in those drinks you've had. That counts. And you will have had a marvelous time with people you like. And if you didn't like them at the start of the afternoon, you might like them at the end of the evening. A meal experience like this would have a way of bringing people together. Bon appetit and cheers!

Fresh Produce and Kindness

I've been reading a book called "Carry On Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed" by Glennon Doyle Melton. The dedication page reads "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." - Rev. John Watson

And then right below that it read, "Including you." - Glennon

It has been an amazing journey to see how much forgiveness and kindness we need to give others. And to ourselves. How we should show kindness and patience to others. You read that all the time, right? You hear that all the time, from the time you are a small child. Be kind. Golden rule, right? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. It's one thing to say it and think you believe it, but it's another to see that it really does hold truth.

I am not a mean person by nature. I empathize easily. And I'm not snooty, but I am shy. Believe it or not. I am shy. And I care way too much about what people think about me. So in social settings, usually I will choose to be quiet or avoid interaction with strangers because I don't want to be judged by them. And I think "Why would they want to talk to me?" So sometimes my shyness is mistaken for snootiness. Also, there are times I have nothing to say. And I am not really into lots of superfluous chatter. If I have something to talk about, I'm a talker. If not, I'm quiet. I would be the worst Home Shopping Network host ever. There would just be so much I could say about a pillow case before I was DONE.

But one of my many faults is that of impatience. I hate slow drivers, idiot drivers, slow walkers, slow minds, people who don't get math or Microsoft Word, and people who don't know produce. That's right. Produce. People who can't detinguish between a radish and an onion. Or a garlic bulb and a mushroom. Or parsley and cilantro. Drives me insane. It's wrong. I should not get frustrated to the point of being impatient and mean because someone doesn't know what a shallot is. This book has me thinking now about others in a way I haven't before. I guess it's making me a little less selfish, and I'm so appreciative.

Here's my story: I'm at Walmart. I have lots of things in my cart. Produce. The lady starts ringing it up. She doesn't know what Italian flat leaf parsley is. So I tell her. She spends what seems like 5 minutes looking for it on her chart of produce given to her by the Walmart corporation. It's alphabetized, but she still can't find it. I feel myself getting frustrated. But as I'm standing there watching this nervous young lady look through the pictures on her chart, I find myself thinking. "This is my opportunity to tell me selfish, impatient self to not start huffing and be kind." So I think of something to say that is kind and not impatient. It's hard. But I ask her, "May I see it? Maybe I can find it." I do. But I was worried that came across not as kind as I'd hoped because the girl was still nervous. Her shoulders were tensed up and she looked frazzled. I mean, I WAS feeling impatient. I was just trying to beat it down and be nice despite my feeling. No point scored for me on that play.

Next item.. Garlic bulbs. She nervously handles the bag and asks, "Are these mushrooms?" Now, my impatient self wanted to say, "You work here. You ring this stuff up all the time. Do hillbillies here not buy garlic bulbs?!" If I'm being honest, that's what my insides were saying. But here again, I thought with great purpose, BE KIND. I say, "No. Those are garlic bulbs." She was so embarrassed. I could see it in her face and her body language. This had gone far enough. I smile and say, "You're gonna be an expert on all this produce by working here, huh? You're learning all kinds of yummy veggies. There are a lot of weird ones. You ever had an artichoke? That's what those are in the next bag. Yum."

She looks up at a me and looked a little shocked that I had engaged her in a sort of friendly conversation in the midst of her frazzled state. She stops, smiles, lets all the tension out of her body, and leans forward a little. She says, "Yeah, I guess. This is just my second week. I feel like I don't know anything." I laugh and say, "Well, you'll be impressing your friends in no time knowing all these fancy names. Just be patient." Irony there, n'est-ce pas? She continues ringing me up with a smile. She looks at me as I am about to leave and says, "Thank you for your patience with me."

Patience. Wow. I was patient?! I was kind. And I made what was an embarrassing situation for her not so embarrassing. It's true. I have no idea what that lady was going through in her life. I have no idea if her only battle that morning was with the names of that produce or if there were other more serious battles she was fighing in her personal life. I suspect the produce was the least of them. But I'm not going to lie. I was beaming as I walked out of that Walmart. I felt as if I had been a blessing. And it wasn't even a big deal what I did. Kindness shouldn't be a big deal. But it was rewarding enough to make me want to keep being kind in those situations where I'd normally be impatient and potentially rude. People are fragile. And we need compassion. I am going to continue to work on killing this awful impatience and let God's light and love shine through me. I'm actually really excited about it. Can't wait to see what happens tomorrow. I don't know what people are going through. But I can bet they are going through something. And I want them to feel as if they have someone on their side.

Even if it's just in a battle with produce.

Wake Up

This little speech has been building for quite some time. And I think it's time for that dam to break and to just tell people how I see it. I'm not sure when it started exactly, but one glaring example happened about a year ago. Some friends of mine took some youth students to the Dominican Republic on a mission trip. This was during the time of that silly Harlem Shake business that was rampant on youtube. My friends did much work there, spreading the love of Christ, giving helping hands, and building relationships. They took a break from building houses or feeding people or whatever they were doing to help that community and made a great Harlem Shake video. www.youtube.com/watch?v=azNPrzNSpMc

Now most of the comments were positive. It's great that these kids could have fun with the other kids that they met. But one unnamed religious individual commented with one sentence. I'll never forget it. "Why do we Christians have to look like the world?" What?!? That was everyone's response. And rightfully so. I'm not going to delve into that particular instance any deeper because it is obviously so ridiculous to ridicule or to try to shame kids like these kids into thinking they were doing something that God would not approve of. And I felt sorry for this in particular "holy" individual. What must that feel like to live in such bondage? Spewing that kind of prideful statement about the innocent actions of good kids only puts this "holy" individual on a high horse. He is saying that this is wrong. And that he would never do something like this. The world? So, he can't go to the movies. (He actually probably doesn't.) He can't go to ballgames. The world does that. He can't listen to much music. He can't watch "Breaking Bad," because Lord knows the entire world does that. What I'm saying is that by saying something so asinine, he is calling himself perfect and these kids wrong.

Matthew 7:5 - "You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye." Yeah. That pride and Pharisee-like garbage is a log. Wake up. Nobody wants to join a club whose members are like that. I don't. I don't want some other flawed human constantly pointing what he or she thinks is not up to Pope-like standards. Can we not LOVE each other? Can we not be NORMAL? Can we not ENCOURAGE others in Christ? People like this actually think they are being warriors for Christ. All they are doing is causing people to run in the opposite direction. Another example... A friend of mine posted a photo on facebook.

Now this picture didn't really sit exactly right with me. Of course you shouldn't cuss people out on facebook. If I am trying to be the best person I can possibly be, I'm not going to do that. And I don't. There is nothing that can happen on facebook to make me totally lose my cool and fly off in some passionate rage. This note you're reading is about as passionate as I'm getting on facebook. But to say that you cannot possibly be a Christian if that happens is being judgmental and reading someone's heart. If someone does that, they screw up. Yes. But if they are quoting scripture, then they probably know that they aren't doing right anyway. Don't you think? Anyway, as an attempt at being funny. I posted a joke comment on the photo. This is what followed:

Me: "Well, sometimes I get pretty pissed off and lose my cool completely because I'm a flawed passionate stupid emotional human, but I still love Jesus, and I know He loves me too. :) :)"

Obviously my joke fell flat because some woman thought I was serious and responded:

Woman: "Jessica, maybe try waiting until you cool off before typing something on fb. Yes Jesus does love you, but it sure hurts him to hear you talk like that. Also gives the non-saved reason to call us hypocrites. :("

Ok, first of all, I wanted to say, "And you are....?" Now, everyone who knows me knows I am a Christian. I love Jesus. But they also know I'm not too much into being "religious." I pretty much run from it. And maybe I'm wrong, and maybe my view of Jesus is not "holy" enough, but I really really see him as my friend. A friend I couldn't do this life without. And maybe I'm just crazy but if I told a friend of mine who needed advice, "Listen, I love you and Christ loves you, but Satan doesn't and he's full of shit," I really don't believe Jesus would be hurt in any way. In fact, I envision a head shaking from Him, in total agreement. But here's what I actually said to this woman:

"I'm kidding. I don't cuss ppl out on fb. And there would be no way anyone could call me a hypocrite even if I did. I readily admit I am as screwed up as anyone. I'm a Christian bc of Jesus and His grace. Thank God for it. Makes me want to try harder every day. But when I do fail, I'm still His. I'm leaving it there."

And then a dear friend of mine sent me a message telling me that she saw that exchange, and that's the very reason she doesn't go to church anymore. Made me sad. Why do we want everyone to think we are perfect as Christians? We don't SAY this. We don't DO this. We DO this. We SAY this. Why do we want to strive for some unattainable Jesus status? We are not Jesus. That whole WWJD campaign is FLAWED. It's not about what would Jesus do. It's about what he DID do. Good grief. He took our sins for us. HE was the perfect one. HE gave his life for the imperfect. I'm not going to pretend to be perfect. You can't connect to people on any level if you go around trying to make people believe you are. It's only when people see what being a Christian can do for your life- your messed up, problem-filled, chaos of a life, that they think, "Well, yeah. I need that freedom. I need someone to love me when I know I'm unlovable." If we'd stop all the asininity, and love people and step out of our little religious bubbles, people would see the Christ of the Bible.

I have been blessed to have read two great books lately. One is by Brene Brown called "The Gifts of Imperfection." Opened my eyes to so many things. Being imperfect is human. We all have imperfections. Finding a safe place to be vulnerable about them brings people together. It makes connections. Because we can't connect to perfect people. They don't exist.

The other book I am actually currently reading is "Carry On Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed" by Glennon Doyle Melton. Same principle. I'll quote a passage:

"One day I was at the playground with a new friend from church named Tess. I suspected that Tess was having trouble in her marriage. We hadn't talked about this, though, because we were too busy talking about more important things, like soccer practice and highlights. I felt frustrated that our conversation never went deeper. We seemed incapable of discussing the very things that were most important to discuss. Lost in frustration, I started thinking about all the time and effort I'd spent building protective layers between my broken heart and the broken world. I considered the ways I'd distanced myself from other people - people who might hurt me more than I was already hurting. People who might be disgusted if they saw the real me. My fear of really being seen had driven me to hide inside the bunker of addiction for decades. When I finally crawled out, I pulled on my secrets and shame like armor and carried my invulnerability like a weapon. Life, to me, had always seemed like a battle to survive.

But there at the playground, I realized that surviving wasn't enough anymore. Sitting there with Tess, I realized I wasn't really sitting there with Tess at all. There were so many layers of my armor and her armor between us that we couldn't touch each other. And even if we'd wanted to, we couldn't because we were shooting at each other with stories about our "perfect" lives. Suddenly this all seemed completely ridiculous. Sure, I was sober and out of hiding, but by denying my past to others, protecting myself with the shield of secrets and shame, I had isolated myself. I was lonely, and a bit bored. Life without touching other people is boring as hell. It hit me that maybe the battles of life are best fought without armor and without weapons. That maybe life gets real, good, and interesting when we remove all of the layers of protection we've built around our hearts and walk out onto the battlefield of life naked. I wondered, If I put down my guns, will Tess do the same? I decided it was a worthy experiment. I shed my armor and I waved my white flag. All of a sudden I heard myself saying the following to Tess:

Listen. I want you to know that I'm a recovering alcohol, drug, and food addict. I've been arrested because of those things. Craig and I got accidentally pregnant and married a year after we started dating. We love each other madly, but I'm secretly terrified that our issues with sex and anger will eventually screw things up. Sometimes I feel sad and worried when good things happen to other people. I snap at customer service people and my kids and husband regularly. I always have rage right beneath the surface. And right now I'm dealing with postpartum depression. I spend most of my day wishing my kids would just leave me alone. Chase brought me a note the other morning that said, "I hope Mommy is nice today." It's depressing and scary, because I keep wondering what will happen if that feeling never goes away. Maybe I can't handle this mommy thing. Anyway, I wanted to let you know.

Tess stared at me for so long that I wondered if she was going to call our minister or 911. Then I saw some tears dribble down her cheek. We sat there, and she told me everything. Things with her husband were bad, apparently. Really bad. Tess felt scared and alone. But at the playground that day, Tess decided she wanted help and love more than she wanted me to think she was perfect."

I needed to read that as much as anybody. Religious people so often have the reputation of being unloving. Sometimes that whole "Love the sinner/Hate the sin" thing doesn't really work. It translates as hating the sinner. And thinking that you are perfect... Which makes the sinner hate you and not want to be a part of anything that you are a part of because you are acting as if you're not one of the group. I love Jesus. And because I love Jesus, it makes me want to love people more than I do (I'm working on that daily), and help people, and be a better person, and do the next right thing. Not ridicule.

My prayer is for Christians, including myself, to desire to connect to people. To love people. To love Christ in such a way you wouldn't want to disappoint Him. To be open to people. Now obviously, I don't mean to air your dirty laundry all over town like a crazy person. But to connect to people in an honest way. Not to come across as some perfect "religious" example of what we should be. Just a normal flawed person who has problems like everybody else, who can only get through this life with her Savior and friend. And when we do screw up, the sun continues to rise and shine on us with each new day, just like God's love. And we start again, learning from the day before.

And having friends down here on this earth who love us for the screwed up people we are ain't bad either.