Posts (page 2)
If you knew that sorrow could bring life to your soul;
that undisguised truth could tear you apart
and demand a response that requires your life;
that beauty in its greatest sense is only the result
of souls and nations laid bare before God;
that only by giving everything you have will you ever have enough;
if you knew all this, would you surrender?
Would you surrender to the God who demands everything and stops at nothing?
Would you surrender to the Love that demands your love cover over a multitude of sins?
Would you surrender to the life that is not now nor ever was your own?
Would you let God be God?
When the heart is touched by such sorrow as words cannot express,
from shattered misperceptions arises the hope of opportunity.
I took my high school girls to the beach on Wednesday. It was a great time, and I, white child that I am, got way freakin' sunburned. (Sunscreen is such a scam...that stuff never works...) Since I have absolutely no tolerance for pain, I went to Meijer that night to get some aloe and pain killers. I'm walking stick-figure style (i.e., very stiffly) in jeans, a cut-off wife-beater type t-shirt, my hair up and totally disheveled. Quite the vision of beauty, let me tell ya. So I'm shuffling toward the back of the store when I'm forced to stop because this person is standing in front of me and isn't moving. I look up and there's this guy just standing there. He cocks his head and says in what I think was supposed to be a seductive voice: "How ya doin', gorgeous?" I stare back at him and without missing a beat reply, "I am not gorgeous. I. Am. Sunburned!" and brush past him without another word.
Only I would do that. And only I would not think another thing of it until about 10 minutes later when my brain finally caught up with me and I started laughing at myself, wondering what the heck I was thinking.
My friends who have heard this story have all been very sympathetic. Josh informed me that it's okay, that was just the one perfect man I ever met in my life -- doubtlessly a guy who loves kids and politics and wants to work in war-stricken countries and never normally uses pick up lines at the grocery store. Moose informed me that she now knows why I'm not married...because I don't immediately fall for the guys in the frozen food section. All in all, very understanding comments. I love my friends.
I'm gonna go walk into a door now.
When I think of the greater Lansing area, one thing comes to mind: idiot drivers. No joke. Who teaches these people to drive?? Is there some county-wide "driving school to make sure you tick off every person who passes you" place that I don't know about?
Take the lady I was stuck behind at a red light yesterday. You know that not-so-well-kept secret about how you can turn right on red? Apparently she didn't know about it. Of course, the fact that I had tailed her all the way to the light (did she have to drive 15 mph in a 25 zone?) probably didn't help. Or the fact that I was making extremely over-sized hand motions indicating that she could turn the corner. (I was trying to encourage a little pro-active movement!)
Or take the group of commuters on Cedar Street who routinely drive from the south side of Lansing to downtown. Have they never figured out that if you just drive 50 instead of 35, you can actually make it through more than 2 lights?
Or the people who insist on jumping in the left lane to pass, all the while driving approximately 0.0002 miles an hour faster than their right-lane nemesis.
What is WRONG with these people?!?
Maybe it's the Ann Arborite in me. I'm told I tend towards aggressive driving (okay, succumb to it completely); that I speed too fast (honestly, I've tried to slow down, but don't you realize how much better 85 is?); that I probably shouldn't "encourage" other drivers (a.k.a. yell suggestions to them). But y'know, I fit right in on the east side of the state. And it's things like this that make me miss the road-rage-aholics of greater Detroit. Their driving style is so...comforting. Yes, I'm sick. But I'm okay with that.
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So there's this door at the office where I work. Crazy, I know. It's always been there. In order to walk through, you must turn the knob, push open the door, then proceed.
I know all this. Yet, somehow, I managed to completely body slam the dang thing while walking out for lunch yesterday. I'm not talking, sorta-run-into-it. I mean I full out walked headlong into the door. From the top of my head to my shoes, I completely slammed into the block of wood that has since left me with a pounding headache.
No, there's no good explanation for what happened. I guess I just forgot the door was there. My hand made no movement toward finding the knob and pushing it open. My feet didn't slow me down as I approached. All five feet six and a half inches of me propelled myself at the door like it didn't exist.
Except...it did. Which you would have known. And I should have.
And it makes me wonder: what is it about objects that can hurt that I just don't get?
I routinely walk into my cubicle wall. Happens at least once a week. Never changes locations, it's always in the exact same spot, and yet, every week, I walk into it and inevitably bounce back with a surprised look, like for some reason this time I thought it wouldn't be there. Can you imagine the damage I could do to myself if I had an actual office with walls?
But, in the attitude of all that makes 21st century America great, I have decided that none of this is my fault. I've decided that I suffer from a very serious ailment. Are you ready?
I suffer from a lack of depth perception.
Dead serious. How else can my ability to walk into walls, trip over my own feet, and stumble across massive stationary objects obviously in my line of walking be explained? Doesn't this sound like a serious handicap??
Stay tuned. I'm taking this places.
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There was a time when a group of people told me I had a very high IQ. Putting forth the evidence of the last several paragraphs, I resolutely disagree. The only chance that I have a high IQ is if one's IQ is directly, inversely proportional to the amount of common sense that same person possesses. If that's the case, then it's possible that this blonde head contains some coherent and life-benefiting ideas that could better society as we know it. The biggest challenge remains me not killing myself before any good can come of it.
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Here's another thing about Lansing drivers that causes intense frustration (to put it graciously): the need to completely stop before turning the corner. You know how you can touch your brakes just enough while rounding a curve to keep your car from flipping? Oh no, Lansing-ites (as I shall heretofore refer to them) are by some freak force of nature compelled to bring their vehicles to a complete stop before even beginning to change direction. Then, only after they start turning the steering wheel do they remember that they have to add a little gas in order to propel themselves forward. Inevitably, I am stuck behind them, voicing the annoyance of every driver behind me who thinks I've decided to bring traffic to a dead-stop for no reason. Ahhh, Lansing.
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I was in Barnes & Noble this afternoon, looking for a card for a friend of mine, when I found a card with the best tagline ever. I actually paid $2.50 for this card, with no intention of ever giving it to anyone. I bought it to remember the quote: Ever notice that "What the hell?" is always the best decision? Words of wisdom.
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That's all I got.
