There are moments in life that are definitive and decisions that can never be revoked, altered, or forgotten. These are the precious seconds in which one life dies and another is born out of that death so that very little can even be salvaged from who you were before. Sometimes this is a blessing, as in a redemption or a realization. And sometimes it is terrible and a devastation that never fully heals. It is the second of these that I would like to address now.

First, an aside which will make more sense in a moment.

I began working on a story this past summer based in part on the experience of a dear friend of mine who found herself struggling with the Road Not Taken. In the case of my friend, the Road was a potential love interest that had never come to fruitition due to a variety of missed opportunities and things left unsaid. Of course, though, truth will out. And when she was confronted with the reality of what might have been possible had it not been missed only by a hair’s breadth, of course it grieved her. But she decided to go forward with her life as it was instead of being caught in eternal longing for what was not.

I emphasize “decided” because it’s imperative in the art of Moving On. In part because you can’t wait for yourself to feel better before you start healing and in part because it seems impossible to heal unless you decide to work determinedly towards it. It doesn’t just happen. Or at least not for me. I assume that’s generalizable, which may or may not be a real word.

At any rate, the reason I wanted to write this story is because . . . no matter what choice you make, you have to live with it. No matter what you would have done differently if you’d only been a little wiser or more aware or less traumatized, your life is what it is. And your choices will be what sleep with you at night, wrapping you up like a blanket, caressing you like a lover. If they were good choices, you’ll be warm and satisfied. If they were bad, you’ll feel that kind of cold and lonely in a way that gets in your bones and won’t be coaxed away.

But you have to live with it.

The ease with which some people seem to sail through life means nothing to me. The ease with which it seems all sorts of Good Things flood into their hands is passe. What do I care about what happens for them? What in the world could it possibly have to do with me?

Are there moments when I feel like whoever was doing the ladling out must have had a weighted spoon? Are there moments when I feel like I must be being treated unfairly? Sure, I guess. It’s unfortunate. But when I come to my senses, worrying about the distribution of whatever kind of wealth you want to measure is pretty useless. Because whatever someone else has or doesn’t have doesn’t make me have more or less. So what good is a comparison?

The truth of the matter is that God watches over me. And He doesn’t give me more temptation than I can withstand or responsibility than I can handle. His plan for and with me is different than his plan for or with anyone else, so the tools I need are different. And he provides for my needs, so much more generously than with the sparrow. He has a plan for me, and it is between he and I. I’m reminded of a passage in John 21.

¹⁸“Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to gird yourself and walk wherever you wished; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will gird you, and bring you where you do not wish to go.” ¹⁹Now this He said, signifying by what kind of death [Peter] would glorify God And when He had spoken this, He said to him, “Follow Me!” ²⁰Peter, turning around, saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them; the one who also had leaned back on His bosom at the supper and said, “Lord, who is the one who betrays You?” 21 So Peter seeing him said to Jesus, “Lord, and what about this man?” ²²Jesus said to him, “If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me!”

When one envies, one buys into the world’s valuation, and God’s rate of exchange is rarely the same as that. The truth is that whether I have ten dollars to put back at the end of the month, or ten thousand, the one who takes care of me is God. Whether I live in a one room efficiency apartment, or a twenty five bedroom estate, the one who takes care of me is God. Whether I am single, or have a spouse and five beautiful children, the one who takes care of me is God. None of those circumstances limit the work that I can do for my Lord, although the most likely to interfere with my willingness to do so are the things that the world prizes. If I have affluence and social markers that set me up above someone else, I am more apt to believe that I have achieved these things by my own merits instead of God’s grace, just as the more comfortable I am, the more likely I am to be lulled to sleep. There is great value in being uncomfortable.

So at the end of all this, what I recognize is that . . . God can use all things for his glory, and that is what should give me pleasure. Not seeking the things of the world and pouting when I don’t find them. Or worse still, complaining that someone else has them. God works all things together for good for them that love him and are called according to his purpose. And I will be satisfied.

I recieved an email from my ex-fiance today to the effect of how he spent his holidays. Oh, to be sure, loves,  that information was sought and not offered. Regardless, apparently he spent his Christmas and New Year in Uganda on a mission trip. Also he mentioned a few months ago he has plans to shave his head for Bible money.

My first instinct is an eye roll, followed by some pretty lameass bitterness. Because he’s doing it, the mission work, the tough stuff of bringing hope to people he’d have never known otherwise but through this purpose. But moreso, because he’s doing it and telling about it. Because he’s always telling about it and it seems sometime that it’s about the work he’s doing and not the work He’s doing. But I have to check myself, because the point of the matter is that he is doing  it, and God’s work deserves to be done no matter who it is, right?  Genesis 50:20, right? “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive.” (Obviously, I don’t think Simon is intending the gospel as evil, but you get the idea.) (I think.) And so I have to fall on the mercy of God and ask Him to forgive me for being such a jerk (AGAIN) and thank Him for the glory He is using Simon to bring to Himself.

But it brings up an issue that must be guarded against, and something that I must remind myself to be vigilant in. The reason I felt bitter about this mission trip is that . . . I think it can be tempting when working to bring glory to God, to want somehow to share in that glory . . . even to the point of halfsies. One can think to oneself, Look at all this great stuff I’m doing . . . and aren’t I wonderful to do it so selflessly? And for God, to boot!

And though the work done is a blessing to those who are ministered to, I wonder if the person being used as a vessel gets much benefit.Isn’t it my job to be moved by God and blessed in such a way that His work is made visible to all the world? Doesn’t this little light of mine need to be fanned, because God works through me and not because of me? Isn’t it my job to be blessed by growing in faith and by overcoming the obstacles of following my Lord, even if I don’t get credit? Especially when I don’t.

There’s another side to these missions to Far Far Away. It’s also the matter of . . . going to the ends of the Earth to serve people when there are plenty of people to serve wherever one finds themselves. It’s self-gratifying, and it’s the easy way out. My sister was kind enough and just in her admonishing of me about this very thing a couple of years ago. Thank God for her wisdom. Of course we should preach the gospel in all the world, and we should be willing to do it whenever and wherever we are called. We should be willing to go. But we who think it would be so wonderful to travel across the world to do some saving must be even more mindful that we do it in all humility, because the people we tell will try to convince us we are amazing for doing it, and we are not. We are vessels. We may be the ones God chose to send, but He could have sent anyone. And much moreso, the ailing neighbor, the discouraged stranger, the long standing enemy, these are people we are called to minister to as well.

So, Lord, let me not be in such a rush to go to halfway across the globe when I am planted where I am at this moment for a reason, and everywhere is where there’s work to be done.

I suppose a more accurate term is sleepy face, but I’m having no luck in making that a reality. The sleepiness I mean. Or the face too, I guess, really.

Ahh the joy of pointless words.

So I did in fact go to Europe, and I did also in fact return which I’m even more excited about. Or maybe not. How romantic it would be to be stranded somewhere on the Continent for the rest of all time . . . and yet, I think to myself, What would I do without Paintball Blast ice cream? But more on that later.

I can’t sleep. This is probably the worst time in the world to write a blog, but what else am I going to do? Erik’s upstairs sleeping it off in my room so there’s no way I can dance party myself out of my insomnia in there. I tried to be responsible and go to bed on time, especially considerate of the fact that I have to work all day tomorrow. But to no avail. I laid in the dark for a while, came down and talked to Bridget and Kris till even they gave up and went to bed, laid in the dark some more, accidentally woke up the previously mentioned sleepover friend, then came downstairs to try to occupy myself with computing. I checked out Facebook at three in the morning. Yes, this is what my life has become.

. . .

I’m sorry you wasted your time reading this.

I am surfing the web to surf some foreign couch via the freeloader’s delight website known as www.couchsurfing.com. A pretty cool gig actually, and the people that my roommie Bridget has had usurping her couch space have always been groovy to the max. Here’s the real problem, and it’s a mathmatical one so get your thinking caps on (you can also feel free to use a graphing calculator for those who are trying to get their money’s worth from Geometry class).  Here goes: I leave the first of October. It is now the twenty fifth of September.  I don’t at present have any confirmations for sleepovers in foreign cities. Therefore, I am .  . . ???

Yes, it’s a word problem but I will use the numerical equivalents if that will help.

1 Oct – 25 Sept = 5 days

5 days + 0 leads for accomodation = :(

I’ve sent out two emails.

I know it’s easy to get discouraged when nothing seems to be happening, and even moreso when you really haven’t put forth enough effort to deserve things going your way. I am a procrastinator, I won’t lie. But, in my (weak) defense, I will say that part of the reason that it’s taken me so long to get on the ball is that I’m pretty sure the people that I would want to stay with (i.e. quadroplegic investment bankers with locks on the door who have no reason to or ability to follow through with stabbing me in the middle of the night) are totally not the people that Kristen wants to stay with (as in, hip young cool kids that like to listen to live music and raise a few).  What to do, what to do . . .

At this point, the answer has become: get in wherever you can. Wish me luck. And perhaps if I’m fortunate on a more grand scale, all this impassioned desperation will make me more prolific in the future. (Sorry for being somewhat AWOL of late . . . )

Apparently Billy Childish is actually a somewhat famous-ish singer/poet or something like that. At least, I guess, famous enough to be on YouTube although I guess that doesn’t really leave out anyone with a digital cameral of some sort. I digress. At any rate, I didn’t know  who he was when I went to see him in Belfast in 2001. I’m pretty sure one of my friends got the idea. I wish I could remember where it was exactly, the name of the venue or street or something, but I do remember it was in this sort of dingy intimate little room that was somehow part of a cafe? Maybe? He had this intense British accent and said all his “th”s as “f”s. As in, “It skehed me neawly dah deaf,” when he introduced a song.

At some point in the night, he recited this poem that I thought was truly mantra worthy. Something about being Billy Childish, the doer of something, the doer of other things. As you can tell, I’ve committed it impecably to memory. I did however write my own version of it: “I am Marianne, Writer of Prose, Drinker of Vodka, Kisser of Boys.” (It was . . . sort of true at the time.) But all this blathering on is really just a thinly veiled procrastination because what I really would like to say, which is: I still feel pretty childish.

I’m twenty nine years old, and I can barely make myself believe it. And it isn’t as though nothing has been happening in those years. There have been great joys and losses, hopes and acheivements-I mean, there have been acheivements, I’m almost certain. And yet . . . I wear a blonde wigs around for kicks sometimes. I collect glittery stickers, have lamps in the shapes of butterflies and daisies, and, I must admit, sometimes I can’t help but laugh at grown ups. I enjoy blazingly bright colors and purposefully refuse to get ones that match, expecially when it comes to home decor. Am I stunted or something? Is this how everyone feels in the days before they get married, start inching up the corporate ladder, produce offspring?

Is that what separates us from the adults? Is age something that you can measure by looking around and taking stock of the number of children you have or people you supervise? Is it something else?

I’ve embarrassed myself. And the worst part of it is that no one else agrees. It’s bad enough to do something stupid, or shameful, or stupidly shameful, without having to defend your idiotic and/or reprehensible action to everyone who finds out about it. Because then you feel crazy as well as disappointed in yourself.

Sigh.

I made a choice. I made a choice and it was a bad one but the reality is that it was a choice. This wasn’t the old Compulsion coming out again. Praise the Lord that He’s healed me from that.  And yet, apparently my flesh is enough of a salesman that it can get its way without it. I did it because I wanted to.

The Bible says to resist the devil and he will flee from you. But I haven’t been resisting him. I’ve been writing him love notes and keeping him steadily supplied with homebaked cookies. Uck.

I need to get my flesh in order. I will do it. I will, Lord help me.

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UPDATE:  Upon further reflection, I realized it was pretty lousy trick to try and get away with letting a Voki stand in my stead in bringing birthday salutations. So I’ll try this again. And this time, I’ll tell you how great Ron is!

Ron is a most delightful fake brother, and one who practically saved my life last year and at the very least my sanity. I treasure to the depth of my soul those walks we took downtown and doing the homeless ministry with him last summer.  He spent hours with me, night after night after Natalie was gone,  just listening and listening and listening to me trying to get myself straight with all the thoughts in my head. He witnessed my apologies, soothed my wounds, and gave me great godly counsel. I love that he’s allowed himself to be grafted into my family and consider it one of the best decisions I’ve ever made for him. I couldn’t ask for a better brother in Christ.  SO . . . Happy freaking Birthday! :)

So once again this ball of rock has ventured around this big blazing ball of gas to mark the twenty ninth year of my life. Way to go, cosmos. Everyone played their parts beautifully.

So what exactly does all this mean, eh? A year older, a year . . . dare I say it? Wiser? Certainly a year poorer but that’s probably another story. So what exactly has been so great about these past three hundred and sixty five days? What have I learned? What have I found? Shall I itemize?

I shall try. Here are my lessons:

1. God is sovereign, sustaining, and wonderous, and His plan is full of surprises.

2. Natalie is the beautifullest baby of all time.

3. My mother has provided for me, even when she isn’t here to see it.

4. YouTube isn’t actually just an amateur porn site and is a great place to find Doris Day clips.

5. People change. For better or worse, they do.

6. Sometimes it isn’t people who are changing-sometimes instead it’s me.

7. Back windows in my apartment not be left open.

8. National City bank is just doing it’s job, ma’am, just doing it’s job.

9. The world is a messed up and devouring kind of place, but when all seems hopeless, see Lesson #1.

10. Veganism is FUN!

And that’s all I can think of now because I have a delicious bath waiting for me in the next room. Thanks to Stephie for the Lush! :)

Not to go all “Papa Scott” on anyone, but I watched this video and felt pretty freaked out.

It’s the story of a boy! A girl! And a galaxy!!!

Wait . . .  that’s Star Wars.

What I meant to say is, “It’s the story of a tyrannical corporation that doesn’t care if it kills everyone in agony from horrible diseases-so long as it makes a buck!” I guess I wouldn’t be very good at PR.

The point of the matter? Is that this is super freaky. And that this information is some that you can probably get from a lot of sources. My recent documentary lust has brought up some of this already, a la The Corporation and The Future of Food. The way that we’re all being screwed with a smile is enough to turn my stomach and make me never want to eat again. What’s also super troubling is that unless you think to look for it, you wouldn’t know. And so a lot of this could sound like the mad ravings of, say, a comic book worshiping, software engineering, middle aged conspiracy theorist . And, honestly, who’s really down with spending a Friday night hooked up to informational films (Besides freaks like me.)?

(As an aside? If you are a freak like me? Hook me up with some good documentary titles!)

So I hope everyone is enjoying paying their exorbitent prices for organic foods. I know I am. Enjoy them while they last!!!

Below is another film about genetically modified crops. A little less information maybe but somewhat more user friendly to watch.