Worthy

Today, I’m going to tell myself something over and over and over again.

“You are worth it. You are worthy of good things in life. You are worthy of being pursued. You are a treasure.”

I don’t know about any of y’all, but I have a great and expansive history of selling myself short. It’s not only exhausting to myself, but to others around me, I am sure. *Cough*Especially Libby*Cough* I know what I wrote above is SUPER cheesy, and it’s all I can do to not go back up there and hit “backspace” a hundred times, but it’s true.

It’s not just true for ME though.

We are all worthy of good things. We’re worthy of love. We’re worthy of healthy relationships. Yes, we all have bad days, but we don’t have to STAY there. (And deciding not to stay there is the HARD part!)

My friends, I love you. You are worthy.

Start acting like it.

(And that goes for me, too.)

How Embarrassing

Yesterday, I was a very bad girl. I threw a mind-blowing temper tantrum.

Over what?

I don’t really know.

I just needed to be ANGRY and I succeeded.

I chucked my phone all the way across my basement. (Otterboxes really ARE the way to go, folks.) I cried. I yelled at my dog. I stomped around. I even yelled at God “You know, I KNOW you love me, but I sure do not FEEL it right now.”

Then I quoted Luke 11:11-13 at Him, like He doesn’t remember it.
“You fathers—if your children ask for a fish, do you give them a snake instead? Or if they ask for an egg, do you give them a scorpion? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him.”

“You know, I have been asking for things for a while now and I feel like I am being given GLASS to chew on!! If You were here, I would pound my fists into Your chest and tell you how mean You are!!! I know that this is not very nice, but I am sorry. I am just so MAD!! UGH!! I JUST NEED SOMEONE TO HOLD ME RIGHT NOW!!” (Fun fact: When I am really and TRULY angry, I don’t use contractions.)

I know. I’m not proud. Yelling at God and quoting scripture at Him like I’m so smart. (Don’t worry, I apologized profusely this morning.)

And the whole time I was yelling, I KNEW in my heart that everything was going to be ok, it just didn’t LOOK like it was going to be ok.

Just because I lack faith, it doesn’t mean it’s God’s fault. Just because I’m impatient, it doesn’t mean He’s making me be that way.

Some people will probably get mad at me for being “sacrilegious” and being “mad at God”, but I don’t subscribe to a religion. I have a RELATIONSHIP with God and just like any relationship you and I will ever have, it has its GREAT times and it has its bad times. He doesn’t get mad at us for questioning or yelling. He’s bigger than that. The important thing is that we don’t STAY mad. And we can admit when we’ve been out of line. We can apologize, and move on.

Let's Talk About...

Libby.

Let’s talk about how she’s going to be weirded out and possibly annoyed that I’m devoting an entire blog to her, but how I’m going to do it anyway.

I first met Libby online, which is how all good and non serial-killer relationships should begin. At first, she was just a girl who posted on my friend Nickie’s statuses and made me laugh. REALLY HARD. I was all “This girl. This girl is a treasure.”

(Example of this treasure: I just sent her a text that said “What are we? ‘Sex and the City’?” and her reply involved not only the need for better footwear, but also more ladylike drinks instead of the beer and whiskey we both adore so much. WINNER.)

The first time I saw her, she was working at Walmart and talking to Nickie. We were introduced. We were shy. (We’re both that way sometimes.) That eventually led to a LEGITIMATE Facebook friendship. (Yes folks, it’s 2012. Facebook is a LEGITIMATE friendship tool.)

Now, to hear her tell this story, she was the one who thought I was awesome. It was a mutual feeling of awesome and ooeygooeyness. I assure you.

After being friends on the FB, we (Libby, Ryan, Justin, and I) decided to actually hang out face to face on Sunday and our lives have never been the same. For the better. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I hadn’t met them.

There’s a hilarious story about our friendship last summer, but I don’t have clearance or the words to properly convey it. Let’s just say if put in a position like she was last year, any lesser person would’ve stabbed me in the eyes, set me on fire, scooped my ashes into a trash bag and disposed of them in a ditch somewhere. You think I’m exaggerating? I’m not. That. Girl. Has. Grace.

Having a bad day? Libby brings chocolates.
Having a pity party? Libby keeps it real. In love, of course, but she doesn’t let you get away with anything.
Having a REAL party? Libby will bake something delicious.
Having a freak out crisis time? Libby will make you feel better but not in an annoying way.
Having a boy confusion? Libby reminds you that we’re just all people, regardless of our genders.
Thinking about causing real, bodily harm to someone? Libby will talk you out of it, but support your reasoning 85-100%.
Need a truthful opinion that won’t scar you for life? Libby’s got one.

I just love her.

If I could have as much kindness, wisdom, grace, and awesomeness as her left pinky finger, I’d be doing good.

That is all. <(O_o)>

Never Underestimate the Power of Neon Bendy Straws

For reasons that I cannot divulge in this public arena, this has been THE longest week OF MY WHOLE LIFE.

It’s Thursday, and I feel like repeatedly banging my head against a hard surface. Or running around tearing my clothes. Or ripping my hair out. Or inventing my own language to express my unhappiness at the slow passage of time.

Work has even been slow this week. I’m sorry, but I can only read yesterday’s Sentinel so many times before I start to go mad.

Tuesday, being bored, I decided to clean the re-usable straw from my plastic travel cup. There are no words to describe the overwhelming disgustingness. Have you ever cleaned a straw? It’s not an easy task, I assure you.

We have those extra long Q-Tips at work. The ones that are about five inches long or so and they’re made of wood with a very little cotton at the end. You have to stick one end into the straw, get what you can, pull it out, then attack from the other end. I realize that that entire description has the potential to be misconstrued as VERY dirty, but I have neither the time nor the desire to fix it.

The problem is that the cotton on the swabs is VERY LITTLE cotton. SO, I had to take Kleenex, tear it into little strips, wrap it around the end, and then go at it again. (Wrap it up, kids. WRAP IT UP.) It’s really gross because you get SOME of the stuff out of it, but then you have to attack from the rear again, and so you feel like you’re just pushing rot up and down the straw. (As I write this, I’m asking myself “WHAT IS MY LIFE?!!?!”)

Whatever.

What I was able to dig out of the straw was the most disgusting stuff I’d ever seen. Who knew that a STRAW used for DRINKING WATER could get so DISGUSTING? Not this girl. Noooooot thiiiiissss giiiiiiirrrrllll.

And that’s when I swore off drinking water and switched to ONLY drinking Margaritas and shots of Jack for the rest of my life.

The End.

Not really, but I was terribly disgusted. I immediately felt weak and feverish. I started sweating bullets. I turned white as a sheet. I knew that as a result of my tainted straw, I would surely die and that death would be swift. Probably within the next half hour. As soon as I started writing my last will and testament, a customer came up to my window and I had to postpone the plans for my imminent demise.

This morning, I came back to work after my day off, forgetting about my cup incident on Tuesday. I noticed that my cup had been cleaned and set aside. Without even thinking, I filled it up and started sipping my water.

BLEEEECCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I went back to my desk and rummaged through my purse to find my wallet. I ran to the paper towel/ paper plates/plastic cutlery/ red solo cup aisle and scanned for some straws.

AND THERE THEY WERE.

The NEON BENDY straws, just like I had used for the first time when I was six years old and on vacation in Florida. The special straws that made me feel like a special kid. They were calling to me. And they were $.98.

Isn’t it amazing how sometimes the smallest things can trigger the fondest memories and push unpleasant thoughts of expiration away? I thought I was going to curl up in bed and die like a Dickens character, very poor, very cold, and with my feet wrapped in strips of cloth for no reason other than dramatic effect. Instead, I was instantly transported to a sunny day on a beach and I was learning to swim.

Who knew that a box of neon bendy straws could serve as a time machine?

I still might die, though. Stay tuned.

Kind Eyes

I am well aware that I am violating the first rule of blogging today. (For those unfamiliar with blogs and their prohibitive stance on messy things, that rule is “Never blog when you’re emotional”.) When I started this blog, I started it with the express purpose OF being messy. That being said, it’s your choice to read on or not.

I just told my friend Adam via text “All I need is Jesus and Jack [Daniels].”

Ummm…

I don’t have any idea what is going on. This year has been a great year, full of lots of new experiences and growing friendships with new people. My heart’s been crushed only a little bit and the walls around it are continuing to slowly fall down. I’m becoming more open minded and learning more things about God than I ever dreamed I could. Yet, I still feel the need to completely numb myself sometimes.

“Don’t be so open minded that Jesus falls out.” My Mom said to me.

I don’t think He’ll ever fall out. He’s always there, but I will admit quite candidly that I have NO CLUE what He’s doing right about now. I’m thinking that He keeps taking lunch breaks or something. He feels REALLY close, and then I’ll turn around and go “Wait. Where are you?” It’s like a game of hide and seek that the Bible never prepared me for.

I think that “Bad Mind” (as Anne Lamott calls it) is getting to me.

“You’re not pretty” so I stopped washing my hair and wearing makeup every day.
“You say stupid things” so I started being quiet.
“He’ll never like you” so I stopped being likable.

Bad Mind sounds a lot like the devil. That pesky guy. Seriously.

As Justin so kindly sang Florence and the Machine to me on The Patio Monday night, “It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake him off. WAAOOOHHHHH!”

Libby and I had a conversation last week about trying to be more like Jesus. Trying to be kind to people and view them through kind eyes like He did. By the end of day one, we were sucking at it pretty badly. But hey, at least we TRIED, right? This week I’ve done well viewing OTHER people through Jesus’ eyes, but I can’t seem to view MYSELF through them. I keep beating myself, and beating myself, and beating myself up over my past (and my present.) I want help, but I always seem to want help from everywhere but where I actually could get it.

On this Thursday before Good Friday, having done plenty of crying myself this week, it is boggling my mind to think of what Jesus went through in the garden. I’m sure He cried and pleaded and didn’t understand and wondered where God was, too. Yes, my “problems” seem really silly and little and dumb compared to dying on a cross for a bunch of really rude, ungrateful people. But Jesus was able to look past His present situation and see what really mattered and what was going to come of everything. And what was coming was GOOD.

Things to do:
Stop listening to Bad Mind and just shake it off already. (Patio dance performance tonight, I’m sure, if anyone’s interested.)
See myself through Jesus’ eyes. He died for me, the least I can do is acknowledge that and be kind to myself.
Be THANKFUL, dammit. (Sorry, Mom.)
Wait patiently, lovingly, and expect GOOD things, not bad.