Post Secret reflection

I just finished reading "The Shack" and I *still* have to blog about the Willow Creek arts conference...but I found something Sunday that I have to briefly blog about before all of that.

You should know by now that I love Post Secret.

I was looking at Sunday's newest secrets and just *had* to save this one:

If you're having a hard time reading it, it says "I got my birthmark removed because I thought it was UGLY. But the only change it made was making ME LESS ME. I regret having the surgery everyday."

I think this Post Secret the kind of thing that most people will read and not understand. 

When I was 14 I agreed to undergo surgeries number 3 and 4 to remove and change all kinds of nonsense on my face. Something about taking muscle gristle from my leg and putting it in my face, lifting my right eye, removing some junk from my cheek...just all kinds of fun stuff.

I remember being at home in my bedroom after the first surgery, staring at my swollen and bruised face and feeling very...unsettled...realizing that I wasn't going to look the same as when I'd gone in. Even when all the swelling went down and the fifty bajillion stitches from one ear to the other fell out of the top of my head, I wouldn't look exactly the same as I'd looked before.

I still have that feeling in a small way every time I look at a baby picture or even a preteen picture of myself. 

I definitely don't *regret* any of my surgeries...I just think deep down inside there's something in me that wishes the solution wouldn't be something that makes me less me.

Sunday Digest (about two days too late...)

1. I was spectacularly, ridiculously late for worship team practice. I mean, I woke up five minutes after I'm usually at church. My alarm went off at its normal time, and I turned it completely off...then rolled over for "five more minutes" that ended up being an hour. 

2. I scraped off several layers skin on BOTH knees and an elbow while throwing myself at the pastor's office door, because some of us were joking around and pretending it was the Holy of Holies. I was wearing white capris, so I required some work and two bandages from the Church on the Boulder* First Aid Team, because I didn't want the ooze to stain my pants. Out of the group of us, I (of course) was the only one who went to such lengths in the game and was the only one who required medical attention. 

3.  Someone called me their "thorn in the flesh." I can believe it. That's basically spiritual-talk for what my dad used to call me:  Pain in the...well...you know...

4. The Home of Grace men's choir helped lead worship. This was great, because the choir has some hotties, for real. In fact, I think God is calling me to serve over at the men's home in a way that involves me having to live on campus and have lots of contact with the men and such... ;O)

5. So our greeters were having people fill out cards asking them "What would you do differently if you knew this was your last day on earth?" or something similar. I filled mine out with something sassy, and it was one of the cards that got read in front of the whole church. I was kind of assuming my sass would have gotten filtered out.

* Not actual name of church

My Michael Jackson memory

Warning:  This blog mentions the word "sex" and acknowledges that I know what sex is and is not. It also briefly mentions childhood shenanigans involving me and the neighbor boy at age 8 that initially sound A LOT worse than they are...until you read what we did, and then it usually just makes people roll their eyes. It doesn't describe sex at all, but I wanted to give you a heads up in case you're squeamish, but half of you probably already know this story, because I tell it a lot. And don't laugh because the first words right after this warning about sex are "Michael Jackson." I noticed that already.

Michael Jackson will always be a part of one of my defining childhood memories.

In 1993 I was 9 years old. I had a baby brother, an ugly permed hairstyle and a neighbor named Stephen. He was 9, too. 

The movie Free Willy had come out that year, and I had it on VHS, which is how people watched videos before DVDs. I went over to Stephen's house one day and we watched it together. 

Now, Stephen and I...we had a history of *ahem* exploration together. In particular, one day we made a deal that if I peed once and let him watch that he would pee and let me watch. (For the record, I had a baby brother and I'd read several of those medical books people keep around their houses, so I already knew what to expect, more or less, but I still agreed.) 

We ended up going through with the deal outside, on the side of my house where the AC unit whirred constantly in the summer time.

On the day we watched Free Willy, we decided to pretend to have sex. I don't know whose idea it was. I remember thinking that it was somehow wrong, but I wanted to do it anyway.

So, as the credits rolled and the movie's theme song--Michael Jackson's "Will You Be There"--played, Stephen and I held hands and walked to his mom's bedroom...where we lay on our backs, my head on one pillow and his head on another pillow, and held hands and shook our bodies like we were being electrocuted. The only parts of our bodies that touched were my right hand and his very sweaty left hand.

Now, I'd known the basic idea of sex since kindergarten, and I knew we weren't even close to the actual thing, but I was content with lots of hand-holding and shaking. I knew I couldn't get in *too* much trouble for hand-holding and shaking.

So now every time I think of Michael Jackson or Free Willy, I think of pretending to have sex with Stephen.

Really?

Today's unnecessary usage of the word "really," taken from my life about 3:30 p.m. on Friday, June 26 in my workplace parking lot as I was trying to leave.

Old Lady: Do you work for the paper?

Me: Yes, Ma'am.

Old Lady: Oh, honey, what did you do to your face?

Me: I was born that way...

Old Lady: Really?

Me: Yes...really. 

(You know, like that should be so hard to believe...)

Sunday Digest

1. OK, so today (and forever after) we spread out the worship team on stage, and I occupy the awesome extreme right side of the stage. The only problem I'm finding so far is that I tend to walk forward a lot and get right up to the edge of the steps to walk off the stage. Apparently I like to occupy my space. So after each song ended I kinda had to stealthily move back to the starting point. One day I'm going to accidentally take one step too many and faceplant. And it will be caught on a television camera...and then uploaded on YouTube...and my life will be over.

2. The sermon was mostly for parents and "young people," which is great, because I'm tired of being convicted of all the things *I* do wrong. It's time for the young people and parents to feel bad. I'm getting my tubes tied, so I don't even listen to the advice for parents and pretend like I'm going to use it one day.

3.  I wore an outfit that made me look like a pastel rainbow threw up all over me.

4. We sang "Mighty To Save" AND "Our God Reigns"! It was like worship dessert and MORE dessert!

5.  The fried chicken from Jerry Lee's was only mediocre today. And they were out of fried okra. Double sadness.

6. I tried to call my dad, but he's at work this week. But my mom called and we mostly talked about how it's hot. My mom loves to default to weather conversation.

7. In honor of Father's Day, I told someone at church today that he's "like the cool grandpa I never had." I'm so full of great compliments. It's so nice of me to remind old people that they're old.

8. I remembered to tithe! I'm so spiritual.

9. I realized, once again, that church ranks No. 3 in "places where I often pee," after my apartment (No. 1) and work (No. 2).

I'm such a dork.

This story ends much happier than it starts. I promise.

So tonight I was on the precipice of a mini-freakout session, kinda like this one I wrote about before, but a lot smaller. I was kinda irrational and thinking, of all things, that I would drive to Lafayette because, for some reason, I really, really wanted to see my mom. (I have no idea why. I don't even tell my mom about my boring old grownup problems when we talk on the phone. I don't see why all of a sudden I'd want to see her in person about them.)

Keep in mind this was at 10 o'clock at night, and it takes about 3.5 hours to get to Lafayette. (I did it once in three hours, but I have yet to re-create that magic.) So basically I was prepared to drive until 1:30 a.m. without anyone even knowing I was coming. I was even penning an e-mail to the worship pastor at Church on the Boulder in Pascagoula* saying, "I'm sorry, I won't be there tomorrow. I can't explain right now." But, luckily, I didn't get to send it because I was also packing a duffel bag and eating a candy bar at the same time, which is how I do most things as a multi-tasking woman.

So then all of a sudden I'm like, "Woah! Stop! Wait a second! What's going on here?"

I decided to give a crazy idea a chance. What if, instead of freaking out like a crazy person, I just chose to worship God instead? What if I gave that a try for 30 minutes before I decided to pack up and leave because I couldn't face my problems?

(Aside: Now, I realize that if we're keeping score, I *technically* probably screwed up about at the point where I worked myself up in enough of a tizzy to even convince myself that randomly driving to Lafayette would be a good idea, but at least I figured out a good idea before I got to Slidell, right? Let's focus on what I did right, people!)

In this particular instance, I went with song instead of prayer or writing or reading scripture out loud. (I know. That last one is particularly nerdy.)

So, anyway, I just wanted to post my worship playlist in YouTube format. That's actually the whole reason I shared that story. I actually own most of these songs and only used YouTube to listen to the first and last songs. But it's more fun to share entire videos than just song titles! :OP

I started with "Hosanna" as sung by Hillsong United

Then I went with a something from my college days, yo...

Went back to Hillsong with "Mighty To Save." followed by "Oceans Will Part," both of which are neck-in-neck for "favorite song of the moment." This begins a Hillsong run in the repertoire.

But "Made Me Glad" will always be one of my favorites.

Then I went with a little Israel Houghton (It's 9 minutes of basically four lines...so, no, you aren't crazy. It doesn't change.)

* Not actual name of church

Pet Peeve No. 549

So I hate it when you're walking somewhere with your friends and someone approaches you asking for money for food or a bus ticket or whatever, and you decide to give him a couple of bucks, and then you and your friends are walking on their way, probably talking about how sad it is that people are homeless or whether or not each person in the group gives money to random homeless people, and then somewhere in the conversation some loudmouth, know-it-all guy* says "You know, it's best to give them gift cards or take them to buy a meal, so they can't use the money to buy booze or drugs."

1) Shut up! For real? Homeless people drink and do drugs? No way!

2) Your unique insight into the plight of the homeless is truly inspiring. I've NEVER heard anyone suggest that novel gift-giving idea before.

3) Have you ever really physically taken a homeless person to buy a meal or bought one a meal, Mr. Smarty Pants?

4) Half the time this comment comes after someone gives a guy, like, two bucks. For real. None of my circle of friends are handing out $20 bills. So are you going to carry around $2 gift cards to hand out to homeless people? Are you going to take that $2 and the guy to McDonalds and let him pick two things off the dollar menu? (And hope he has some change for the tax?) No? Then shut up. 

5) I don't think unknowingly contributing to the delinquency of a homeless man is going to get me in trouble when I get to heaven. I don't think it's going down like this when I see God:

God: Amber! After 4,39,776 years of judging your sins, we've finally made it to year 25! Thou gavest a man in the park $2.

Amber: Um...yes, Lord?

God: That man went out and boughteth a Keystone Light with thine $2, which thou gavest him!

Amber: He told me he was trying to get a bus ticket to Atlanta...yea, verily?

God: That doth not matter to me! Thou obviously forgot to readeth the mind-reading chapter in thine King James Bible-eth! Twas following the book of Revelation but before the index of common phrases that thou often useth because thou wert kinda slow in remembering thine verse references about love!

Amber: Dang! How did I misseth that one?

6) Seriously. It was $2. Let it go. I understand you've got to be smart if you're a church or a ministry or a nonprofit and actually hand out the serious dough, but individual contributions are usually not worth that much scrutiny. Oh, sure, if we all pool our resources we can buy a homeless guy a balloon of heroin, but that's his decision. That's not my decision.   

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not down at all on people who don't give money to random strangers. It's not like I do every time. I just hate that particular line. I just explained why. That's all.

* It's ALWAYS a guy. Always.

Conundrum...HELP!!!

I've lived here for 2.5 years now. I feel like I have so much invested here.

...but in the last month, I've had a recent not-so-good conversation with my bosses that seem to possibly imply that they don't want me around anymore and that it's only a matter of time. I can't tell for sure, but it's a possibility.

...and today an old friend from Lafayette told me about a management opportunity at her newspaper that would be a nearly sure thing...a chance to start over with a company that doesn't seem to want to get rid of me. It probably wouldn't be much of a pay raise, if any, because it's a very small daily paper, but apparently they're in desperate need of someone...but it would be in Lafayette.

...but I don't feel like I've done everything here I want to do here. I don't feel like I'm finished.

...but if I get fired from my job here, there's not much opportunity anywhere in the newspaper business, since the whole industry started collapsing upon itself last year. I've looked at job opportunities in *anything* around here. There's not much available I'm immediately qualified for, besides cashiering. I'd be screwed. It's not like I'm married or live five blocks from my parents. I can't just easily move into my parents' house (not that I would *want* to anyway, for the record). I *have* to work if I want to live in this area.

...so what if I decide to pass up the opportunity in Lafayette and end up without a job here? Then I'm the idiot who couldn't make it and passed up a chance to save her butt from the unemployment line. 

...but what if I leave, even though I don't want to, and would have never lost my job if I'd stayed? 

...so I'm going to go throw up now. Then I guess I'll start praying. I need an answer by the end of this week, so I guess I'd better get a jump on things. Anyone with insight feel free to drop a line.

I was a crybaby today.

A man walked into the back of the sanctuary during communion. It was my friend's dad. She'd told me before service she was excited he would be there. Her dad had missed a few Sundays.

So I looked over to her. She looked back and beamed.

"That's my daddy."

After she said that, I felt that burning lump in my throat, and then there were the tears. I didn't hear what the communion mini-sermon was about, but I was hoping it was emotional enough so it looked like I at least had a reason for a few tears until I pulled it back together.

It's just that it's always someone else's daddy walking through the church doors. 

It's never my daddy.

One time about 10 years ago, my dad came to church to pick me up from a youth activity. He *never* picked me up from church. That was always my mom's job, but she couldn't do it that day for some reason. Some of my friends didn't even know I had a dad. Nobody recognized his truck when it pulled up in the parking lot. My family, apart from him, had been attending that church for three years, and he'd never been there before. Mom had to give him directions. 

He stood in the doorway, not walking inside the building.

"That's my dad," I told my friends nonchalantly. I played it cool, but I was secretly excited. My dad was at church! OK, well...kinda...it was as close as he'd ever come in recent years. 

Ever since then, I've been waiting for him to reappear in those doors or call me on the phone to tell me that he finally decided to follow Christ and everything would end happily ever after.

But he never does any of that. It's always someone else's daddy. 

P.S. Willow Creek posts to come this week.

Sunday Digest

I'm back from the Willow Creek worship conference, and I have so much to say about it, and maybe eventually I'll get to say everything about it. 

But, for now, the Sunday digest.

1. I broke the pattern of dress-wearing and wore capris instead. Sorry to disappoint you. 

2. I prayed at the altar (and you know how I feel about altar-praying), and I hope I've filled my yearly altar-praying quota. But I like to think today there was a divine purpose other than for my spiritual benefit.

After I was done praying and everything I needed to dab my adorable eyes with a tissue--not that I cried or anything. It's just that, once I bow, gravity takes over and my eyes leak water. That's all. It's not the same as crying. I don't cry, because I'm a man and real men don't cry. 

Anyway, so I reached into the beautiful tissue box next to me and pulled out, like, three *used* tissues, probably thanks to some snotty-nosed kid who needs to be slapped. Disgusting. I don't get it. When I was a kid I always knew to keep the Kleenex once I used it. 

This was at first service. I took the dirty tissues out before second service. I saw someone praying in that same exact spot in second service, and so she was able to get unused tissues. Amen. Glad to do my part. 

3. I had to speak to the whole congregation for a minute about my Willow Creek conference experience. Those of you who have heard my public speaking before know that I can be a dangerous loose canon, but I'm proud to report that I did not make any inappropriate jokes or accidentally say anything that would send me or anyone who heard it straight to hell. 

4. Speaking of being inappropriate, today it was suggested that I get baptized once a month, just because I really need it. I'm afraid I wouldn't make it back up out of the water, though, if you know what I mean.

5. After church, I accidentally stalked the pastor to the gas station AND to the grocery store. Or he stalked me on purpose, which is more likely, because I'm pretty cool and everyone wants to be around me.

Amber predicts what churches across the nation will be doing on Father's Day...

...probably something cheesy involving this song.

....which is only slightly better than THIS song. I loathe this song.

Sunday Digest

1. So I sang a "special" at church today, which is something I hadn't done for years. 

I was unable to bribe the guy from the local television station to have a "camera malfunction" during my song. I hate when people have integrity. It really messes things up. But it allowed the pastor, with a hint of glee in his voice, to point out to me while I'm walking off the stage after the song that it was all captured on the TV camera. I guess he doesn't mind sharing camera time with me. At least I won't be here Thursday to accidentally stumble upon it while flipping through stations.

2. Because of the aforementioned "special," I gave and was given a lot of hugs today. Among them were a super duper long side hug, a pastor/elder sandwich hug and a tricky maneuver hug that involved me, while standing, leaning over someone to hug the person sitting next to him. I truly have grown in my ability to hug and be hugged.

3. I wore a dress for the third Sunday in a row. I'm such a lady.

4. I ate my bacon, egg and cheese biscuit way too fast, but it was super yummy.

5. I'm going to get a snow cone today. I'm super excited. I love snow cones.

6. I will not be leading children in songs this summer, because the position kinda grew into a Wednesday and Sunday thing and a "eventually leading children in a choir long-term" thing, and I was all, "Uuuum...I can't do all that." But I will pray for someone else to fill that void. And the children of Church on the Boulder* in Pascagoula rejoiced.

* Not actual name

Morning reflections

I'm supposed to be at church this morning by 7:30 a.m. and, for the record, I don't think even Jesus has woken up yet.

:O)

I see stupid people (on Facebook)

I saw the following exchange on Facebook tonight. I'm Facebook friends with the first person. I don't know the other two people who gave replies. (For the uninitiated, Facebook allows you to leave a "status" that others can reply to.)

Friend 1: Good job obama. Your wonderful stimulus plan is working wonders. Unemployment is highest in 25 years. Congrats!

Reply 1: Ha!

Reply 2: Idiot...on bullet thats all it takes...:)

FoI'm assuming Reply 2 is supposed to read "one bullet," unless it's dyslexia-speak for "no," then it's actually a call for peace, but I doubt it. 

I bet he was one of those people who was outraged when Homeland Security's report warning of crazy gun-toting right-wing extremists was released in April.

Finally

I finally took out the trash. 

Things are looking up.

It is finished.

I am so ridiculously happy that tomorrow is my last day at work before a weeklong vacation.

Another in the series of ridiculously self-confessional blog entries that I might decide to delete when I come to my senses...

I had a panic attack tonight in the parking lot of a church about 15 minutes after hearing a sermon partly about how God is holy and is sovereign over all things and partly about how we as Christians need to "be still" and know that he is God.

I mean, just let the irony settle in for a minute. Will I even be able to explain myself this time?

First of all, I'm tired. I've been weary of life for the past few months. I know, I know, "Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice." I am, I am. It's just taking so much more effort these days. It feels like it's taking so much out of me just to wake up, go to work, go to church, do the most basic of household chores. Funny example:  I've needed to take out the trash for a week, but I just haven't. I've just stopped throwing things away. I'm not burned out from doing too many activities. I'm just...tired inside.

I sit down and try to write, but I've been stuck for three weeks at the same scene in a story. Probably because I'm trying to write about something that's more complex than a blog about hugging or the crazy people I meet at Jerry Lee's. I've even skipped meals because I couldn't make myself get up to fix them or even *imagine* going into Wal-Mart to buy anything more substantial than Goldfish crackers. (I'm not a starving African orphan or anything, so it's OK.)

God is good. I already know that. I'm not about to curse God and die. I have so many things I can point to in my life and say, "God is good." I'm just...dragging. I don't know. 

I had a pretty bad day today at work. One thing happened that ruined everything. Consider that this comes behind a string of days where I've felt either mostly dead inside or constantly worried, and I was unable to cope. So I spent the day angry and worried about what's around the corner. The whole day. 

So tonight I heard this sermon that was, in part, about how the creator of the universe is exponentially holier than we can even fathom, and his ways are higher than our ways, yet he cares for even the sparrow and no doubt cares for you and me. Well, I hope that's what it was about, because that's what I remember hearing.

I heard. I did. I just ignored it.

I drove away from my church's parking lot after the sermon, just intending to drive around. I was taking the long way home. I passed the grocery store, thought about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I was going to make myself when I got home. But my mind soon wandered from snacking to my day at work...the past month at work...the past few months...the dreams I want so badly to fulfill but can't even get off the ground...the people I thought I'd forgiven but really haven't...the things I want to change in my life but can't...

I hit a red light. I began breathing heavily, like I couldn't get air even though I really obviously wanted some. My heart was beating faster than the beat of a techno song. Somewhere in there the light turned green and I drove on in a relatively freaked-out state for about 10 seconds before pulling into the First Pentecostal Church of Pascagoula, despite the fact that I was not wearing a long skirt or Keds tennis shoes.

It was actually a relatively short panic moment. Felt like an eternity, but the car clock said otherwise. I remember after it was all over standing outside of my car for some of that humid June, pollutant-filled air thinking, "I hope nobody notices me standing out here like an idiot."

Then God spoke up.

"I notice."

Dang. He went there. And in first person, too. The implication was clear:  I was caught, and that's not how my heavenly father ever intended me to live my life. 

What do you say to that? Is there an easy way to explain to God that you're so worried about the future, which is one of those things explicitly prohibited in Scripture, that you can't drive home without taking a pit stop to panic? Or maybe that's a good time to light up a cigarette and tell him that you've got everything under control?

Maybe not.

So, I took some Job 40:4 advice* and didn't say anything. I was still, and for the first time in awhile, I really knew he was God.

* This scripture was also referenced in tonight's sermon. I totally pay attention. I should get a cookie or something. 

Cry me a river.

I'm about all cried out for today. I cried at work, I cried at church, I cried on the way home from church.

He has turned my mourning into laughter...maybe that's why my apartment smelled like paint fumes when I finally got home tonight. It's the holy laughing gas?

What to do about smoking moms? Shut your face if they're at a public park.

Are they sitting on the jungle gym blowing smoke in your children's faces? No? Then don't worry.

Weenie dogs counteract seriousness!

Stampede of wiener dogs!!! That's what I want at my house one day...

Dead abortion doctor ramblings

So the murder of infamous abortion doctor George Tiller is all the rage today.

Can I be honest about something, even if it makes me possibly the worst Christian ever?

I struggle with the idea that abortion is wrong.

I didn't say I don't *believe* it's wrong. Yes, technically, if you light a fire under my butt and make me declare a side, I have to say abortion is a sin. I can't really find any Biblical way of saying otherwise.

I just don't *like* that it's a sin. And, not only that, I have to *remind myself* that it's a sin, and that makes me think that I'm going to get, like, the worst lecture ever when I meet God for real. 

The crux behind the whole anti-abortion movement is that abortion = murder of an actual life. I get tripped up right about there. When I think "abortion" I don't think "dead babies." I think of a fetus disposed in a Dumpster with a sigh and everyone shaking their heads but telling themselves that it's better off this way.

I know, I know. I've heard the scripture a billion times, seen the in-your-face pictures of aborted fetuses and even read testimony from 40-year-old women who say the abortion they had at 15 still haunts them 25 years later.

But sometimes I tell myself that maybe scripture doesn't explicitly say anything against abortion, and gross pictures of aborted fetuses shouldn't be the reason anyone makes a decision about anything, and I would be just fine if I got an abortion, because I'm not one of those weepy emotional women who get all attached to ideas about motherhood and babies.

I think deep down inside, I just want to save abortion in my mind for myself, in case I ever found myself in the position to want one. 

I hate the idea of being pregnant when I don't want to be pregnant. I'd get all the "joy" of watching my belly grow for 9 months...and then watching people try to figure out how I got knocked up. It just seems like it would wreck my life, at least for a good long while. It's not fair. It just seems like it would be easier for everyone involved to just...end it all. 

I mean, honestly, if you're a 25-year-old with no maternal instinct and no desire to have children, especially if it's the child of some rapist, what sounds better at first glance? A few hours at an abortion clinic or 9 months carrying a baby and the rest of your life either raising the child or knowing there's a little "you" out there in the world? (Easy vs. Right. Isn't that pretty much life?)

I'm guessing I'm going to be left hanging onto this tree branch with one finger...

So...right here I'm going to insert a YouTube video of adorable little girls singing a lullaby, just to prove I don't hate children. Plus, I went to get myself a snack in the middle of this blog, and I forgot my point. Don't worry. I'm not pregnant.

And, on a semi-related note that just came to me, aren't we all guilty of selfishly interpreting (or just plain ignoring) scripture and common sense sometimes?

I only throw things when my wife makes me mad. She needs to submit to me like the Bible says. It's not like I'm hitting her.

I don't need to go to church. They're a bunch of hypocrites, and we aren't saved by works, after all.

I don't hate black people, but I just don't like hanging out with them. I know Jesus loves them, but that doesn't mean we all have to be friends. You can't be friends with everybody. 

Memories

I stumbled upon this on YouTube and it brought back fond memories of BCM choir. Not very many memories, mind you, because the BCM only had a choir for, like, one semester. I can't hear this song, or "Light of that City" or even Hillsong's "Can't Stop Praising" without thinking of that time we sang at that one church that probably would have loved us more if we were a gospel quartet singing "Precious Memories."

Plus, that girl in the middle on the front row reminds me of myself. She looks a little rhythm-challenged herself.