I'm a girl.
I've recently been informed that because of this, I act out of emotion.
While I will never deny that girls have a tendency to act more emotional at times, and to show more emotion, I resent the idea that because I am a girl, that means any argument I have is basically worthless, because I am speaking out of emotion when I argue.
I can't speak for myself, as that is far too biased, but I happen to think that in the overly emotional spectrum, I'm not that high up on the scale. I really don't like drama. I get frustrated when I spend too much time with other girls, because I can't handle all the junk they create for themselves, or that they seem to attract like magnets. My closest friends in college were guys, and the group of people I tend to hang around with now are primarily guys.
So, to be accused of being overly emotional was not something I took well, especially from the guy who was the accuser, considering the fact that the thing that led to the argument was him trying to draw information out of a mutual friend of ours because she seemed down in the dumps. Turns out, it had more to do with the fact that he was concerned she was mad at him and he wanted to know why (oh, and by the way, he's married with kids, not just some post college single guy , in case you thought this was just a case of college-style drama). Sounds like something girls freak out about, actually.
The argument led to me being accosted because I had told him to leave her alone after the fifth or sixth time he had asked her what was wrong, and I told him just to drop it, that regardless of whether there was something wrong or not, he was not helping the situation. He told me I had jumped all over him, and more or less that I wasn't being a very good friend because I didn't get to the heart of what was going on. He then told me a story about a couple they knew, and how the wife had gotten mad at the husband because she was upset about something, and the husband asked the wife what was wrong, and she said nothing, so he dropped it. She wanted him to pursue the issue, and was mad when he didn't keep asking what was wrong. First of all, this is ridiculous. Men (and women for that matter), cannot read minds. And, if she wanted to be asked about what was wrong, she shouldn't have lied in the first place. Finally, my friend is not my other friend's wife.
The underlying problem in this situation, when it really comes to it, is that my guy friend thinks my other friend is a closer friend than she really is. Truthfully, while she would still call him a friend, to her, he's not the caliber friend that she would go to with problems or to just chat about things. She doesn't have to tell him anything. And while I know she does, at times, have a tendency to bottle things up, I am certain that she's not facing things completely alone. I talk to her, she has a wonderful boyfriend who I am sure she can go to with difficult stuff, and other friends as well. But you can't tell him that. It'd be difficult to tell anyone that.
So, I came out the bad guy. I ended the "argument" as it were, after being harassed by both him and his wife for my emotionally charged side of the argument, very angry, and convinced that I'd probably said something that I shouldn't have, because they both seemed to think I was out of line. I stewed for the night, praying neither of them would bring it up again, because I didn't think I'd be able to handle it as well the second time around.
I guess that's a final piece of the story - I can have arguments with people, even fairly heated ones, without that argument ever affecting the way the friendship/relationship is in the first place. The wife seems to operate under the impression that if you are arguing with someone, the very fabric of the relationship is at stake depending on the outcome. For me, I need to have the argument, I need to say what I feel needs to be said, and when it's all over, it's over. That's it.
So, I tiptoed around the next day, hoping it wasn't going to get brought up again, and had the chance to talk over the situation with my boyfriend, who was there during the argument, and his family, who heard the story recounted by the two of us. He didn't think I'd said anything out of line, either in telling him to stop badgering my friend, or in the argument that followed. So, I finally let it go - and it hasn't been brought up since.
Sigh...oh, if there's a teenager reading this...don't get your hopes up too high. Drama doesn't go away after high school. Or college. Or...well, ever, for that matter. So you better get good at handling it. :)
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
One Word - - -
More than once, I have told youth of mine (I work with teenagers in a church, for those of you that don't know), that doing God's work is as simple as smiling at someone or doing a good deed like opening a door. I do believe that's true, and I tell them because it's non threatening, but I think sometimes, it seems too simple, seems too generic and it's really just a knee jerk comment. But today, I was reminded of why it's so important.
I was at the gas station this morning grabbing some juice and breakfast on my way to work, which was something I waffled about for a while in the first place. Did I really need to hit up the store? Surely I'd be fine with something small at work, anyway. But, my whim won out, and I stopped. I grabbed my purchases and went to the counter to pay, where I was asked by the cashier how I was doing. I smiled and said 'good,' and he stopped, looked at me with a smile of his own, and said, 'Wow, that's nice to hear! So many folks this morning just grumble about what's wrong...you just made my day!' He finished ringing me up, thanked me again by name (I'd paid with a card), and wished me well.
All I did was smile and say one word. That simple thing changed my morning for the better, and may even change the mornings of the next few people he talks to as well. So, for those of you who are wondering if those little gestures really do matter, here's proof that they do. :)
I was at the gas station this morning grabbing some juice and breakfast on my way to work, which was something I waffled about for a while in the first place. Did I really need to hit up the store? Surely I'd be fine with something small at work, anyway. But, my whim won out, and I stopped. I grabbed my purchases and went to the counter to pay, where I was asked by the cashier how I was doing. I smiled and said 'good,' and he stopped, looked at me with a smile of his own, and said, 'Wow, that's nice to hear! So many folks this morning just grumble about what's wrong...you just made my day!' He finished ringing me up, thanked me again by name (I'd paid with a card), and wished me well.
All I did was smile and say one word. That simple thing changed my morning for the better, and may even change the mornings of the next few people he talks to as well. So, for those of you who are wondering if those little gestures really do matter, here's proof that they do. :)
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
My Multiple Personalities - - -
No, don't worry, I haven't come down with some sort of psychological disorder. I am still mentally intact, although, depending on the day, I guess there are probably some friends of mine that might argue otherwise. :)
I got a phone call yesterday from the guy who used to work as the janitor/building manager in the same place that I work, totally out of the blue, just to wish me a Merry Christmas. It surprised me to see his name pop up on my cell phone screen, and it was wonderful to talk to him for a few moments and get to wish him a Merry Christmas as well. I went back to work for the afternoon, and as I was driving home, was thinking about the fact that, though I have great working relationships with the folks that are my coworkers, I don't feel like I know them quite as well as the ones who came before them.
You see, within the last year, roughly two thirds of our staff has turned over for one reason or another. Before the turnover, staff relations among the whole group were strained at best - there was too much under the surface between this person or that person, and group conversations or activities were almost impossible because of that. I'd always gotten along fine with everyone, but when you put the whole group in a room together, silence seemed to prevail...no one really had anything to say to anyone else. Not the best work environment ever. That was the case for the better part of two and a half years.
Then, things started to change. Some people left, new folks were hired...and the staff dynamics changed. Slowly. We went out for lunch together one day after two new folks came on - - and were actually talking together, laughing together, telling stories...which shouldn't be a big deal...but for this group, it was.
As I said before though, I don't feel like I have the same type of relationships with the new folks as I did with the old ones...and maybe, just maybe, that's ok. Maybe work is best left at work, and friendships are best made with those outside of the workplace...who knows?
I got a phone call yesterday from the guy who used to work as the janitor/building manager in the same place that I work, totally out of the blue, just to wish me a Merry Christmas. It surprised me to see his name pop up on my cell phone screen, and it was wonderful to talk to him for a few moments and get to wish him a Merry Christmas as well. I went back to work for the afternoon, and as I was driving home, was thinking about the fact that, though I have great working relationships with the folks that are my coworkers, I don't feel like I know them quite as well as the ones who came before them.
You see, within the last year, roughly two thirds of our staff has turned over for one reason or another. Before the turnover, staff relations among the whole group were strained at best - there was too much under the surface between this person or that person, and group conversations or activities were almost impossible because of that. I'd always gotten along fine with everyone, but when you put the whole group in a room together, silence seemed to prevail...no one really had anything to say to anyone else. Not the best work environment ever. That was the case for the better part of two and a half years.
Then, things started to change. Some people left, new folks were hired...and the staff dynamics changed. Slowly. We went out for lunch together one day after two new folks came on - - and were actually talking together, laughing together, telling stories...which shouldn't be a big deal...but for this group, it was.
As I said before though, I don't feel like I have the same type of relationships with the new folks as I did with the old ones...and maybe, just maybe, that's ok. Maybe work is best left at work, and friendships are best made with those outside of the workplace...who knows?
Friday, November 6, 2009
When I grow up, I'm going to be an influence on others...
...good or bad, I guess others can decide.
I'm sitting in my office right now...watching out the window in the parking lot as another person test drives a vehicle from the Ford dealership down the block. It's become a regular occurrence. Every now and again, I glance out the window and see someone doing figure eights in the larger part of the lot, stopping and starting the vehicle, testing its maneuverability. It's important, after all...to know how something that will be your means of transportation will respond to your direction.
I was thinking back to my days in junior high, thinking back to two teachers that might possibly have been my reasons for making it through the junior high mentally intact. You see, though I forget how or why now, one of them asked me if I'd like to be a teacher's assistant for them. I'd sit in their office each day, doing whatever it was they needed done, and playing free cell on the computer when they didn't need anything done.
I wrote a poem when I was in 8th or 9th grade, I think the latter, after hearing a presentation about I don't remember what, one of those drinking and driving presentations I think, at any rate, one of those presentations that they show you while you are in school that is designed to scare you enough to not do whatever thing caused the tragedy in the first place. So, I guess for one reason or another, I responded in words. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
I showed the poem to those teachers, one of whom was a health teacher, and also to one of the leaders at the local Youth for Christ place in town. I think I remember getting a phone call later because they thought the poem was about me, and that I had lost someone tragically or something, and I assured them that was not the case, that I had just written the poem to write it. The teachers, on the other hand, read it and told me that they thought it was good, and that I was a good writer. Now, I don't remember exactly what the poem was about, or whether or not it was good. But they said it was, and I liked how that felt. So, I wrote some more. I wrote a bunch of random poems in those high school years, and I remember going back and sharing them with those teachers.
Fast forward several years, and now I am that person, the one who has the ability to encourage others and to reach out to them. One thing I have learned, is that we have this remarkable ability to either make someone believe in themselves, or make someone doubt that they have any ability at all. I have learned that there is a time and a place for embellishment, and that even if someone might not be great at something, being encouraged has the ability to make them keep on trying, to make them want to be better.
I think people have this messed up idea that someone has to be born with at least some natural talent in an area for them to one day be really good or even great at something. A guitar virtuoso, a wonderful cook, a composer or a writer. But I'm not sure that's true anymore. I think, that given a sufficient amount of time, just the right amount of constructive criticism, and enough room to mess up, if someone has an honest desire to do something, they can become great at it.
It's tough though, as the encourager, to know exactly which way to proceed in those situations. Sometimes the beginning, the 'getting of the ground' for the person who wants to become 'great', is a very messy, very awkward process. And not everyone is going to eventually become great, either.
I'm sitting in my office right now...watching out the window in the parking lot as another person test drives a vehicle from the Ford dealership down the block. It's become a regular occurrence. Every now and again, I glance out the window and see someone doing figure eights in the larger part of the lot, stopping and starting the vehicle, testing its maneuverability. It's important, after all...to know how something that will be your means of transportation will respond to your direction.
I was thinking back to my days in junior high, thinking back to two teachers that might possibly have been my reasons for making it through the junior high mentally intact. You see, though I forget how or why now, one of them asked me if I'd like to be a teacher's assistant for them. I'd sit in their office each day, doing whatever it was they needed done, and playing free cell on the computer when they didn't need anything done.
I wrote a poem when I was in 8th or 9th grade, I think the latter, after hearing a presentation about I don't remember what, one of those drinking and driving presentations I think, at any rate, one of those presentations that they show you while you are in school that is designed to scare you enough to not do whatever thing caused the tragedy in the first place. So, I guess for one reason or another, I responded in words. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
I showed the poem to those teachers, one of whom was a health teacher, and also to one of the leaders at the local Youth for Christ place in town. I think I remember getting a phone call later because they thought the poem was about me, and that I had lost someone tragically or something, and I assured them that was not the case, that I had just written the poem to write it. The teachers, on the other hand, read it and told me that they thought it was good, and that I was a good writer. Now, I don't remember exactly what the poem was about, or whether or not it was good. But they said it was, and I liked how that felt. So, I wrote some more. I wrote a bunch of random poems in those high school years, and I remember going back and sharing them with those teachers.
Fast forward several years, and now I am that person, the one who has the ability to encourage others and to reach out to them. One thing I have learned, is that we have this remarkable ability to either make someone believe in themselves, or make someone doubt that they have any ability at all. I have learned that there is a time and a place for embellishment, and that even if someone might not be great at something, being encouraged has the ability to make them keep on trying, to make them want to be better.
I think people have this messed up idea that someone has to be born with at least some natural talent in an area for them to one day be really good or even great at something. A guitar virtuoso, a wonderful cook, a composer or a writer. But I'm not sure that's true anymore. I think, that given a sufficient amount of time, just the right amount of constructive criticism, and enough room to mess up, if someone has an honest desire to do something, they can become great at it.
It's tough though, as the encourager, to know exactly which way to proceed in those situations. Sometimes the beginning, the 'getting of the ground' for the person who wants to become 'great', is a very messy, very awkward process. And not everyone is going to eventually become great, either.
Monday, October 26, 2009
You were...
You were right.
All along.
But I guess, somewhere, if only subconsciously, no girl want to say that to a guy. At least that would make sense. Or be a good excuse.
Because you were right, when you typed those words for the first time, said you liked me, and thought I liked you too. Yeah. I did. After all, anyone who can laugh at Monty Python with me and appreciate that kind of stupid humor is worth it in my eyes.
But then, who knows. As I said, perhaps it's just an ingrained desire to have the upper hand - I don't know and probably never will. But, it's for that reason that I came to understand even more the appreciation I have for second chances. And third chances. And even fourth ones.
Because I love you. I knew there was something there...but didn't know what. I'd gotten so used to being on the other side of that question, being the one to take the step into unknown territory, and find that you'd read the map wrong, that this place wasn't really what you thought it was. So, I guess maybe I'd forgotten when I said no, forgotten what it felt like to hear that word myself.
Thank God for obnoxious friends, ones who ask you if you've talked to him yet. Wait, did you have a conversation? Hey, come out with us, we can do a double date. And oh yeah, by the way, we'll already be in the area, so could you guys come up on your own? Then, shoot, well, I guess you were right all along, did I lose my chance? I did...dang...well, if that is the case, I'll just get my closure and be done. Oh. Well. Um. So, remember how we said we should play guitar together? Um, yeah. Let's do that.
All along.
But I guess, somewhere, if only subconsciously, no girl want to say that to a guy. At least that would make sense. Or be a good excuse.
Because you were right, when you typed those words for the first time, said you liked me, and thought I liked you too. Yeah. I did. After all, anyone who can laugh at Monty Python with me and appreciate that kind of stupid humor is worth it in my eyes.
But then, who knows. As I said, perhaps it's just an ingrained desire to have the upper hand - I don't know and probably never will. But, it's for that reason that I came to understand even more the appreciation I have for second chances. And third chances. And even fourth ones.
Because I love you. I knew there was something there...but didn't know what. I'd gotten so used to being on the other side of that question, being the one to take the step into unknown territory, and find that you'd read the map wrong, that this place wasn't really what you thought it was. So, I guess maybe I'd forgotten when I said no, forgotten what it felt like to hear that word myself.
Thank God for obnoxious friends, ones who ask you if you've talked to him yet. Wait, did you have a conversation? Hey, come out with us, we can do a double date. And oh yeah, by the way, we'll already be in the area, so could you guys come up on your own? Then, shoot, well, I guess you were right all along, did I lose my chance? I did...dang...well, if that is the case, I'll just get my closure and be done. Oh. Well. Um. So, remember how we said we should play guitar together? Um, yeah. Let's do that.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Giving Up Who I Thought I Was
I am a child of God. That is my true identity.
It's not that we don't believe that is true.
We just have a hard time taking the hand that is held out to us.
***
Be honest enough to ask the right questions, yes, the ones that make you squirm.
***
Unexpected adventure.
The turnoffs are there for evangelistic purposes...Roadside Redemption.
3)))Empower an evangelistic leader within your church. Mountain ministry. Ebb and flow. Pacific Northwest vs. the Rockies. Peer to the pastor. Accosted with the Gospel...a spiritual terrorist. Don't just put their name in the bulletin. Meet with them, pray, work with them and build them up so that they feel ready to move forward. 4)))Turn them loose on the congregation. 5)))Rally a team of specialists. 6)))Unleash a variety of outreach ministries and events. This is where it gets fun...but don't jump here too early. Maybe it's not your thing...but it might be someone else's. And, if those things aren't your thing, then what is your thing? 'Do you like that music?' 'No, but I like the people that like that music.'
We expect people to go out and share their faith, but we don't train them how first. You don't put on a pair of roller blades and get shoved out in the parking lot. Even pilots start in flight simulators before they have our bodies in a plane that they are responsible for.
We live in a culture that is militated against the things we are here to talk about.
It's not that we don't believe that is true.
We just have a hard time taking the hand that is held out to us.
***
Be honest enough to ask the right questions, yes, the ones that make you squirm.
***
Unexpected adventure.
The turnoffs are there for evangelistic purposes...Roadside Redemption.
3)))Empower an evangelistic leader within your church. Mountain ministry. Ebb and flow. Pacific Northwest vs. the Rockies. Peer to the pastor. Accosted with the Gospel...a spiritual terrorist. Don't just put their name in the bulletin. Meet with them, pray, work with them and build them up so that they feel ready to move forward. 4)))Turn them loose on the congregation. 5)))Rally a team of specialists. 6)))Unleash a variety of outreach ministries and events. This is where it gets fun...but don't jump here too early. Maybe it's not your thing...but it might be someone else's. And, if those things aren't your thing, then what is your thing? 'Do you like that music?' 'No, but I like the people that like that music.'
We expect people to go out and share their faith, but we don't train them how first. You don't put on a pair of roller blades and get shoved out in the parking lot. Even pilots start in flight simulators before they have our bodies in a plane that they are responsible for.
We live in a culture that is militated against the things we are here to talk about.
Music In the Missional Church
Meaningful musical experiences outside the church.
Climbing a mountain singing a song
Being in a band with friends
Writing a song with a friend
Looking into eyes that see words forming melodies of life eyes that see music forming. He sees so much more that what any of us do...He can't see us, but he understands us...he knows us. He tells stories and paints pictures. Goth makeup and black clothes that he's never seen. They were singing it like no one was watching. Like the last song they'd ever get to sing. He can't see the smiles, see the tears, see the standing ovation.
Hearing voices singing hymns from memory.
You hear the average anthem and the average praise song, you associate them with the "innoculations" that we've heard in the Bible...Lion King and the circle of life - we relate to this. We have to sing versus what we wish we were singing.
The idea of preaching at a wedding versus preaching at a funeral...hope versus celebration, that which we want to happen that might not, that which has happened, the story of a life lived...telling our stories versus telling someone else.
Side by side (we don't have a barrel of money)...walkin' along, singin' a song, The whole song is the gospel. It's about what we're looking for...we see what we're looking for. New languages to sing the gospel. 3000 church leaders understood it for the first time. Who are we talking to? We're so stuck in what we "should" be doing.
We have to have music in every conceivable musical language. Pipe organ and drums together...why do the two have to be mutually exclusive? Honoring the heritage but bravely using something new.
What would happen if when we sang one of the old great hymns, if we told a story about the hymn...what it meant to our Grandpa, Pairing music with story.
The girl that slept around and did drugs. Did alcohol. Led mom's sons astray. But then I went to a christian rock concert and heard a song. With drums. Grandma, will you listen to that song? with drums in church? will you let me share it with you?
I come to the garden alone. I hated that song. 1989... a pastor from China who was put in prison for his faith...my job is to shovel out the cesspool. I was there by myself. I can sing as loud as I want. I only know one christian song, I COME TO THE GARDEN ALONE...and the cesspool becomes my garden. I have to respond to the story. I don't have a choice. 5000 of us sing...and 5000 of us have tears in our eyes. We have to respond. We've heard the story.
Every church has people that speak country, jazz, folk music...what happens if you read the pentecost story, preach a pentecost sermon, and you do the hymn of the day 'the answer my friend is blowing in the wind' and the old hippie who knew they were going to change the world hears that song and recounts stories about their time in jail...you have hooked them.
Trinity Sunday - the comforter who has come. One is the loneliest number...wow. Holy Crap. We're not alone. we need to be able to speak many musical languages. Music therapy.
I brought you this dinner because I believe that God wants us to love each other...goodnight. That was all.
The man who pounds on the strings of the piano...The keys are too limiting.
It's dangerous to have the services split. the traditional for the old folks, the contemporary for the families, a 20 something service, but we're tearing apart the fabric of the church. What would happen if you told your jazz musicians that they should do one piece, a blues piece, about being alone. Combine the things. the jazz musicians get to hear Handel singing the blues, and Handel gets to hear the jazz musicians singing the blues.
If I start praying with a song...maybe someone else will sing and pray along.
Climbing a mountain singing a song
Being in a band with friends
Writing a song with a friend
Looking into eyes that see words forming melodies of life eyes that see music forming. He sees so much more that what any of us do...He can't see us, but he understands us...he knows us. He tells stories and paints pictures. Goth makeup and black clothes that he's never seen. They were singing it like no one was watching. Like the last song they'd ever get to sing. He can't see the smiles, see the tears, see the standing ovation.
Hearing voices singing hymns from memory.
You hear the average anthem and the average praise song, you associate them with the "innoculations" that we've heard in the Bible...Lion King and the circle of life - we relate to this. We have to sing versus what we wish we were singing.
The idea of preaching at a wedding versus preaching at a funeral...hope versus celebration, that which we want to happen that might not, that which has happened, the story of a life lived...telling our stories versus telling someone else.
Side by side (we don't have a barrel of money)...walkin' along, singin' a song, The whole song is the gospel. It's about what we're looking for...we see what we're looking for. New languages to sing the gospel. 3000 church leaders understood it for the first time. Who are we talking to? We're so stuck in what we "should" be doing.
We have to have music in every conceivable musical language. Pipe organ and drums together...why do the two have to be mutually exclusive? Honoring the heritage but bravely using something new.
What would happen if when we sang one of the old great hymns, if we told a story about the hymn...what it meant to our Grandpa, Pairing music with story.
The girl that slept around and did drugs. Did alcohol. Led mom's sons astray. But then I went to a christian rock concert and heard a song. With drums. Grandma, will you listen to that song? with drums in church? will you let me share it with you?
I come to the garden alone. I hated that song. 1989... a pastor from China who was put in prison for his faith...my job is to shovel out the cesspool. I was there by myself. I can sing as loud as I want. I only know one christian song, I COME TO THE GARDEN ALONE...and the cesspool becomes my garden. I have to respond to the story. I don't have a choice. 5000 of us sing...and 5000 of us have tears in our eyes. We have to respond. We've heard the story.
Every church has people that speak country, jazz, folk music...what happens if you read the pentecost story, preach a pentecost sermon, and you do the hymn of the day 'the answer my friend is blowing in the wind' and the old hippie who knew they were going to change the world hears that song and recounts stories about their time in jail...you have hooked them.
Trinity Sunday - the comforter who has come. One is the loneliest number...wow. Holy Crap. We're not alone. we need to be able to speak many musical languages. Music therapy.
I brought you this dinner because I believe that God wants us to love each other...goodnight. That was all.
The man who pounds on the strings of the piano...The keys are too limiting.
It's dangerous to have the services split. the traditional for the old folks, the contemporary for the families, a 20 something service, but we're tearing apart the fabric of the church. What would happen if you told your jazz musicians that they should do one piece, a blues piece, about being alone. Combine the things. the jazz musicians get to hear Handel singing the blues, and Handel gets to hear the jazz musicians singing the blues.
If I start praying with a song...maybe someone else will sing and pray along.
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