Sunday Digest (not much...)

1. First and most importantly, praise God I did not pray at the altar/front of the church today, even though I wrote a blog this week about the mysteries of praying at the altar/front of the church, which normally would have prompted God to *make me* do it.

2. Some worship pastors are totally irreverent, and their cell phones go off DURING COMMUNION.

3. God continues to stretch my hugging abilities. Today I received a super-long hug (seriously, about 10-Mississippi seconds long) from someone who had not hugged me in a few weeks and two hugs in a row from a lady who gave hugs that were so tight I thought my shoulder blades were going to touch each other.

4. Apparently a haircut is not just a haircut. I was even told today that it seems like I'm smiling more. I think it's just because people can actually see the smile now that the hair is out of the way. Apparently I also look more youthful, which makes me look about, what, 13 now compared to 17? 

Despite all the positive comments, sometimes I sill feel naked without my longer hair, though. 

5. I was pretty lazy all day. I was supposed to clean and finish newsletters stuff, but I just napped and snacked after church.

What I'm doing on Saturday night.

I'm about to settle down for a nice evening of watching DVDs of "The Office" and laying out a newsletter.

Life doesn't get much better than that. Well, actually, it can and does get a lot better than that, but it's not a half-bad way to spend an evening.

Went down to the altar to pray, studyin' about that good old way...

I have a healthy Southern Baptist fear of altar calls in churches.

The average Baptist church of my youth didn't allow anyone to take one step toward the front of the church during the invitation without talking to an eager pastor and filling out a card asking you everything from your birthday to the last time you picked your nose when nobody (except God) was looking.

The "altar," God forbid you actually got that far (because that meant bypassing the eager-to-pray-with-you-pastor, but you still had to fill out the card at the end), was reserved for prostitutes, drug addicts, or *sometimes* the more generic "rededication of life," as it was called on the card. In theory, it would have been a good place for homosexuals, too, if we'd let them in our churches.

So you can understand why I'm skeptical of the altar. I don't really understand it, because I haven't done much with it.

At this point, I'm going to point out that I've never attended a church with an altar other than that typical "This Do in Remembrance of Me" communion table...which I guess could be considered an altar? I dunno. But, anyway, I'm obviously speaking of it as a concept, not an actual thing. All the churches I've regularly attended in my life have used the carpeted stairs from the floor to the stage for the "altar call" area. 

I tried to Google "why pray at church altar," which got me nowhere. I tried Googling other similar things and found nothing more than a history of church altars and some essays against altar calls. 

The church I attend now uses the very catch-all invitation--Come pray for your salvation, come pray for your Dalmatian's stomach surgery. Whatever. And if you aren't quick enough in your prayer, or if you pick a spot toward the middle, a pastor eventually sneaks up behind you and lays hands somewhere on your back or shoulders and prays for you. But you don't have to fill out a card at the end.

I remember thinking after seeing this new-to-me format that it wasn't for me. "Good for others," I thought to myself. "Never, ever for me."

Of course, one of the lessons I've learned from life is never, ever say "never, ever." In my case, God takes that as a personal challenge to make sure it happens. ("I'll never, ever catch a billion dollars in a magical bag that floats down from the sky into my hands." Heard that one?)

Some people love a good invitation more than a birthday party, but, you see, the concept of the altar call violates several of my core principals in life. First and foremost, it involves some level of self-disclosure to a bunch of people, usually people you're trying to impress for one reason or another. Sure, you could be praying for your Dalmatian's stomach surgery, but it's more likely you're kneeling and crying because you realize you need to repent of being a racist, alcoholic, gay abortion doctor or something.  They don't know exactly what you're praying up there, but they can assume the worst.

Second, it's not that efficient. You can do the same thing from your seat, right? Why step over 13 people, dodge 5 cups of cold coffee and almost trip on that old lady's Bible just to pray up front? God's hearing doesn't improve the closer you get to the front of the church.

I don't know.

Really. I can't tell you. I've only done it a few times--I know, I talk about it like it's skydiving. Every time I have, I realize, in my mind, that it's technically not a requirement for God to hear my prayer, but I almost feel like it's not even my choice.

I partly remember losing my altar virginity. I don't remember any quotes from the sermon, although I remember the overall area of conviction. I was sitting on the edge of the aisle. Without even thinking, I kinda stepped a little out into the aisle, but then I stopped, realizing that I was going against my very nature as a person. I slyly looked around to make sure no one had noticed my gaffe. Of course, the lady sitting right next to me did. She looked at me. She knew what I had done. Dang. Now I had no choice but to participate in the public repentance.

So I'm praying in, like, the smallest space I could take up in the farthest corner. And I'm telling God what an idiot I've been, and I'm making a commitment to do something He was telling me to do, and then all of a sudden THERE'S A PASTOR PRAYING FOR ME AAAAACK WHAT DO I DO???!!!???!  WHAT IF GOD IMPARTS SECRETS TO HIM BECAUSE HE'S TOUCHING ME ON THE SHOULDERS AND PRAYING!!!???!!

And when I returned to my seat, the lady said, "I knew you wanted to go up there! I saw you start to walk up there!" 

The second time I was compelled forward, I slid my body underneath this easel thing and thought I would be able to slide back out without knocking it over, until it actually came time to get up. Then I realized I was kinda trapped, but then someone kindly moved it for me. Also, I learned that being under an easel doesn't make you invisible to the ninja praying pastor.

The few other times I've prayed on those church steps, it's never really been my decision. It violates all the aspects of my personality that make church easy--the need to be secret and alone, the need to delay action, the need to be more put-together than you are.

Maybe God leads me there to build a monument or a memory. Maybe it's His way of telling me, "This is serious." Maybe He knows that, deep down inside, I like the imagery of laying something down and walking away from it. Or maybe God knows that the people who aren't praying during the invitation need something to look at. 

I don't know what it is. Yes, I wrote all this just to proclaim that I don't have an answer. Doesn't that irk you?

I also realize I risk ending up at the altar Sunday morning because I wrote this. God should not take this as a challenge.

So much to say...

I've been thinking a lot lately about things unsaid. Actually, a more accurate way of putting it is that I'm beginning to feel the weight of so many things left unsaid in my life, whether good or bad, happy or sad, to friends or family or people I only met once in my entire life.  

You never call me.

I'm too afraid to call you.

I wish you'd just let me go.

I wish I could stop thinking about you.

I thought I'd never get over you, but now all the time we spent together feels like a lifetime ago.

I feel like we can't be friends anymore now that you're married.

Your marriage makes me want to stay single forever.

You're not the guy for me, but I keep leading you on because I might settle for you, if you let me.

I want to date outside of my race just to make you mad.

I know you don't like that I've cut my hair.

I resent you for using your anger to scare me for so many years.

I'm disappointed in you for not standing up for yourself.

You gave me a messed up view of who God is.

I'm afraid we don't have much time left to get it right.

I pretended that I was having fun watching that 3-D movie just so we could spend those two hours together.

I have nightmares about your funeral, because I don't know what I'll say if I have to give the eulogy.

You taught me that words have the power to kill.

I'll never forget when you told me I was too ugly to have such an adorable voice.

I hurt you because I was afraid you'd hurt me first.

I wish you'd never talked to me that night.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I wasn't what you'd hoped for.

I'm sorry for all those hurtful words I said.

I'm sorry you're not alive to hear me say I'm sorry that I didn't try to save you.

I'm sorry I told you the details of where babies come from when you were just 5 years old. 

I'm sorry I ruined Santa Claus for you just two years later.

I'm not sorry that my life has changed since I left.

I don't know where you were when I needed you.

I forgive you.

I forgive you for not believing me.

I forgive you for not believing *in* me.

I forgive you for pulling me into a situation that ended up wounding both of us.

I forgive you for hurting me in the process of hurting yourself.

I used to cope by doing things that would make you cry if I told you about them. 

I should have called you last week when I felt like I was in the middle of a crisis.

I have a problem in my life I can't tell you about because I'm afraid you'd overreact.

You gave me so much hope.

You made me afraid of taking risks.

You inspire me to follow my dreams.

I have your outlook on life, and I have to fight against it every day.

You told me I was beautiful when the rest of the world told me I was a monster.

I wish I had learned the lessons you tried to teach me without having to learn the hard way.

I read your diary once.

We don't know each other anymore.

Sometimes after church, I almost feel brave enough to call you. 

You played a part in saving my life.

I owe you more than I have to give.

I love you.

I love you, but I'm afraid to tell you I love you, because you won't say it back.

I love you anyway.

This is going to make my Lafayette friends laugh...

Guess what I've volunteered to do this summer? You guys won't believe this, but I'll be leading children in songs every Sunday for the whole summer.

Yes, the whole summer (unless we all decide that I just really can't do it). Three songs per Sunday, the whole summer.

It's true. The one who has declared since the age of 14 that she's getting her tubes tied, who *picked up* extra shifts at SuperTarget to avoid volunteering with VBS one year*, who avoids standing in lines behind small children so they won't yell "MOMMY, LOOK AT HER EYE!!!" will lead a room full of children in songs...

It makes me laugh to think about it.

* - VBS 2004, if I remember correctly, at First Baptist Church of Scott. I'm sorry, guys. Some of you peeps are reading this. Don't tell Nanny!!!  She was so disappointed when I "couldn't help out" that year.

Sunday Diget

1. You know your hugging blog is a hit when your pastor names what kind of hug he gave you after he gives it to you. For the record, it was a hybrid between a side hug and a front hug.

2. I made a joke proclaiming that I'm going to preach one day...and then later I laughed and laughed and laughed, because in actuality, it would take a lot of money and a lot of alcohol to get me to preach.  Like, more tequila shots than it used to take to get me on the karaoke stage for my rendition of Shania Twain's "Any Man of Mine."

3. Someone slipped some kind of drug in my breathing space at church, because I agreed to volunteer with children in some capacity. I *obviously* was drugged, because "children" is one of those categories that I previously told myself (and lots of other people) I would never, ever, ever, ever get involved with at all, ever, period. (But it's only for the summer.)

4. I learned it takes twice as long to get from Point A to Point B the Sunday after you've gotten your first haircut in more than a year and, as a result, have lost about eight inches of hair. It's not like when regular people get a haircut, because everyone wants to know what made you decide to do it and how you feel.

5.  Second service was full, for real. I almost had to sit *right* up front to avoid crawling over, like, 52 people after the sermon had started to get to one of the available spots in the middle of an aisle. Luckily, someone had pity on me and let me sit next to him. I don't use my purse to save a spot for the second service, because I feel like an annoying jerk for doing that.

6. I almost wore a skirt...but then I wore brown baggy pants and a t-shirt with cereal and a spoon crying next to spilled milk instead. Well, I had good intentions, at least. 

The Porpoise-Driven Life!

How am I supposed to write a best-selling book if people keep using all the good ideas?

The universe proves me right

I used to think I was the only person who was bothered by the idea of giving a pastor a Bible as a gift, but tonight I stumbled upon this old post at Stuff Christians Like that totally validates my viewpoint in a most humorous fashion. (And while you're there, the best part is reading the comments underneath the blog, like this one: Because obviously the only art ministers like involves crosses, some sort of white Jesus with a halo, and/or a half sliced loaf of bread next to a golden goblet. It's nice to get a gift that says, "You're lame, but in a weird, holy way!"

I know it's hard to find the gift with the appropriate holiness factor for a pastor, especially if he actually *is* lame, but let's all admit to ourselves that giving a pastor a Bible  is like giving a doctor a stethoscope, a veteran businessman a briefcase or Bill Gates a laptop loaded with the latest version of Windows.

What's he supposed to say when you present him with his 32nd Bible that he now has to find a place for on his shelf of too many Bibles? 

"Thanks for buying me a copy of the core text that has allowed me to do my job for the past 20 years."

"Oh, wow, the words of Jesus are in *red*? That's nice..."

"Thanks for spelling my name right on the front this time..."

"Has anything changed lately in this thing?"

"So mine says 'Qaran' on the front, but that's the same thing, right?"

OK, and let me point out that I'm actually not a pastor, have never been a pastor, will never be a pastor and do not come from a family of pastors. So, in theory, I guess I could be full of crap, and pastors really do love receiving Bibles.  

But I wouldn't. Unless it were signed by Jesus himself (red ink, black ink, purple ink...doesn't matter). Or maybe Moses. But don't bother if it's just one of those minor prophets.

P.S. How does one go about purchasing a hate mail mongoose, anyway? 

Sometimes ignorance is actually bliss.

Sometimes I feel silly because nobody ever told me when I was a kid that the Viewmaster was a toy for kids with stereo vision, and I played with one for years and years and years. 

For the record, I thought it was just supposed to tell a story with pictures. I didn't realize the pictures were supposed to look cool until I read that entry on Wikipedia earlier this year. 

I attract crazies like...bananas are attracted to brown spots. Or something.

I found out today that a kinda creepy guy has this crush on me. He was in the office to purchase an ad, not someone I see on a regular basis by any means. (For the record, I'm pretty sure he has some kind of mental disability.)

He tried to get me to let him bring me some episodes of this 1970s television show about reporters in space, or something weird like that, and I politely declined. So did my co-worker.

He called two of my co-workers, apologizing in case he had offended anyone with his aggressive hawking of this lame show and, added both times, that I am a "very lovely lady" and that "he doesn't know if I'm in a relationship," but that I'm the kind of girl he would be interested in seeing. I apparently reminded him of a woman he once knew who had a watermelon-shaped head. Not because I have a watermelon-shaped head, but because we are both kind people.

Vomit. In. My. Mouth.

I used to tell myself that the one good thing about being especially not attractive was that I never got unwanted attention from guys. As I get older, I realize that I get the attention...just from guys with serious mental problems.

I understand Jesus loves all people, but I don't want to show as much love to the creepy guys as they want me to show to them.

What I meant to say...

Tonight at church...

Friend:  Are you OK?

Me:  Yeah, I just don't feel that great...

Translation:  I'm afraid I might be the first person EVER to DIE OF CONSTIPATION, but I can't tell you that.

Changed my mind

I had this post up that explained that I had the crappiest day of all at work and that I went to church even though I wanted to go to a bar and get drunk or just go home and cry...but I went to church anyway (but I cried in the bathroom and didn't want to hug anyone, because I was afraid I'd cry in their arms).

Well, I didn't like the post about 5 minutes after I posted it, so I deleted it.

I can do that. I'm the queen of this blog.

Sunday Digest

Sermon title:  Something about moms going to hell. Not all of them. Just the ones who aren't Christians. (It obviously didn't apply to me, like all Mother's Day sermons, because my womb is still brand new, never-been-touched and I haven't signed any adoption papers. I heard him say "single person" one time, but I just tuned that out. )  

-- I thought about the phrase "tubal ligation" pretty much every time the pastor said "mom" or "mother." Most doctors won't give one to a 25-year-old with no kids, but maybe in 10 years...

-- Luke 17:34 (KJV), you're *so* naughty!!!

-- It makes me sad when people leave in droves during the invitation. Especially in the morning service. Where do you *have* to be at 10 a.m. that you can't wait five more minutes? It's not like you need to rush to beat the lunch buffet crowd. If I could preach, I'd preach a whole sermon on this. But I imagine I'd really, really suck at preaching, so I might just have to dedicate an entry to this topic one day.

-- It seems as if I will never live down this blog post about how being around those fantastic huggers at "Church on the Boulder in Pascagoula" has helped me to learn how to hug without freaking out.  I don't mind. I can't think of a better blog topic by which I could be defined. I enjoy sharing the journey with everyone. Oh, and the church name is fictitious, as to protect the innocent. Any similarities to an actual church name are purely coincidental...

-- Speaking of hugging, there wasn't as much going on today as usual, but I think everyone was trying to get out quickly to hit the Mother's Day buffet lines. I got two side hugs that I distinctly remember and maybe a couple of loose front hugs. Maybe I need to be more aggressive in my hugging, but I'm still learning how to receive. I don't know if I'm yet ready to give on a regular basis.

-- Afterthought:  For breakfast I ate some of those barely edible mini chocolate covered doughnuts you can buy in packs of six at gas stations. I really had a craving for the powdered sugar-coated ones, but I didn't want to get the sugar all over my purple dress.

-- This was the first time this year that I have worn a dress to church. I broke out a skirt last week, but it was a very casual skirt. This dress, likewise, is pretty casual, but it's a dress, and that counts for something.

Announcement

It's 1:18 a.m. on Sunday morning, and I just want to say that I feel like life is pulling me apart at the seams.

PostSecret love

I love PostSecret.

I love, love, love, love PostSecret. If you don't know what PostSecret is, get informed here.

I always save my favorite secrets to my computer, so I can look at them again and again. Anyway, I just randomly decided I wanted to share some of my favorite PostSecrets, but I didn't feel like posting them all as images. It was so much easier to throw them all into a slideshow.

I put music to the slideshow, only because it's kind of long and awkward without music. I wasn't trying to match the music with certain pictures or anything.

So all of these are sad. My few absolute favorite, favorite ones are actually more optimistic and didn't fit with the theme of the slideshow. I tend to gravitate toward common themes, but I don't necessarily "identify" with all the cards or pick favorites based on whether I identify with them or not. 

BTW, my absolute favorite PostSecret (currently) is this one, if I had to choose just one:

Love y'all. Be good!

Riding on the time machine

Today I found this hilariously stupid thing I wrote when I was a freshman or sophomore in high school, about 10 years ago. Even more funny is that I wrote it during some kind of activity at Sunday School, and I read it to the entire class because I had to. My Sunday School teacher had this very uncomfortable look on her face...for a good reason. (To this day, I don't feel that bad for her, though. She acted like nobody on the van could hear her that one day she and the van driver made a bunch of racist jokes and comments about black people and Mexicans while we were on our way back from some Christian event.)

The assignment back then was to write about how I envisioned my life ten years from "now." I was 15 or 16 then. Now I'm 25.

I'll probably be living alone, because I hate people.  I'll probably be living in some rat-trap, because I won't be making enough money to live in a decent apartment.  I'll probably have annoying neighbors, because I'm never lucky enough to sit next to decent people in class.  What makes me think that I'll have acceptable neighbors?  I'll probably spend my free time reading books at the public library or Barnes and Noble, not buying anything--just reading and mooching off that which is free.  Why?  Because it's free.  I already do this.  My living space will be dirty, not only because it will be a rat-trap, but also because I don't exactly like cleaning up my room, so why would I clean up my apartment?  I'll be eating off of durable (perhaps rewashable?) plastic dinnerware because I'll be too cheap to go out and buy fancy silverware for my rat-trap kitchen.  Not to mention trying to get everything to MATCH.  I'll probably praying for a big miracle so I can have enough money to fix the crummy, barely-running car that I'll have and to pay for my tugal ligation that my crappy insurance policy will not cover.  I'll be lucky if my insurance policy covers diseases that actually exist.  My coverage will probably consist 100% of falsified diseases and conditions like "Spontaneous Dwarfism" and "Mutilation by Rabid Flying Beavers from Mars."    Yet, I will be stupid enough to pay these people to cover me from nonexistant threats to my health, instead of using the money to move out of my rat-trap apartment which will be the biggest threat to my health in the first place.

But then again, even if I wanted to move out of my rat-trap apartment, my car wouldn't run.  So where would I move?  To another rat-trap room in the same rat-trap apartment building?  Or maybe I could just move into the homeless shelter, except that I would be deemed too rich to live in a homeless shelter, which would *actually* increase my standard of living.  Yet, I would be too poor to buy an apartment that wasn't infested by scary, giant rats with long fang-like teeth. 

So, in the end, I wouldn't even be alone, which would make me even more miserable than I would be if I lived ALONE in the rat-trap apartment without a car or money or sufficient health coverage, because I also hate most animals more than I hate most humans. 

My life is going to suck.  I just know it.

For the record, my apartment isn't the Taj Mahal, but it's not a Turkish prison either. It's definitely not infested with anything. And my car runs nicely, and I have sufficient dinnerware. I do have a few annoying neighbors, though. I'm pretty sure my insurance covers actual diseases. But I don't clean my apartment nearly as often as I should.

My life doesn't suck, and I don't hate most humans, although I do live alone. 

GAH!!!

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

- Romans 7:15 (NIV...just this once)

Suffice to say, I gave into temptation tonight. Dang! I was on a roll, too...