Monday, February 28, 2005
Jesus Videos
Okay, I've been a little down the past couple of days so I thought I would post this to cheer myself and y'all up (or just make you laugh if you needed it). Steve showed us these videos in church last year and it was such a good time I had to dig them up again. Have fun....
Time to pray
There are a lot of things to pray for right now. Personally, our friend's dad...well...I just pray extra more than I already was. Joey and I were discussing the situation after church yesterday. Joey is usually the one who sets me straight when I fall off the path. I was a little surprised when he said, "What's the point?" I got scared for a minute. Did he mean the point of life? The point of believing? Following?
H: What do you mean?
J: What is the point of cancer?
H: (silent)
J: (silent)
H: Well....I guess...I don't know. I mean, right now, maybe it's about glorifying God. If Dan's dad and his family continue to glorify God through all of this, then it will...glorify God. You know, it will make the rest of us stronger. Or...maybe the best thing God can do right now is rescue his dad from all of this. I'm not making sense....
J: (silent)
H: This is where I start to question things. Why can't us followers have some sort of little shield around us? We have chosen to live our lives for him, why can't he offer us some sort of protection down here in the fallen, sinful world?
J: (silent)
H: (silent)
We went and ate breakfast with my parents and had a good time. Still, I think Joey and I both know the answers to our questions....we are fallen people, too in a fallen world. God will rescue us when the time is right. I believe we will be taken up to him to a place where we never have to suffer. I guess we were both just having a moment.
Another prayer goes to the family of Jessica Lunsford. My best friend, Kelly, is a Victim Resource Advocate for Citrus County in Florida. She has been working with the family and called me Friday morning to ask for prayers. She had been out all the night helping to look for this little girl. This is the first time in a long time that I have seen Kelly's job really effect her. Usually, I am amazed at how well she handles the stress. She has that "it's just my job" attitude but I don't think she realizes that so many of us couldn't handle it.
She e-mailed me this morning and said, "When I called you that morning I almost started crying. I was sitting at a traffic light when a procession of about 50 law enforcement unmarked cars went through the light, all with their strobe lights on, very slow and solemn. It gave me the chills. I've been with this family since Thursday night, minus about 3 hours for the Buffett concert (which we left early from). They are all so sweet. I can honestly say this is the first year I've gone to a Buffett concert and was not able to enjoy it. We left after the 2nd song after the intermission. Couldn't get into it one bit. The parking lot was kinda fun, more distracting than anything, but once you get inside and start listening to the music and relaxing it starts to hit you of what is going on back home."
"Yesterday Gene asked me how I could sit with the family for 12-14 hours a day and just "sit". He said it would be like a funeral visitation, just longer and with no body. I started thinking about that later, and it's about how it is...You would think that if she was going to be found alive someone, somewhere would have seen her. That's just it. We haven't had anyone, anywhere see her. Not in our county or any of the others. She has to be somewhere close, but we just can't pinpoint where. We've got the FBI, FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement), Team ADAM from America's Most Wanted, ATF, Child Abduction Response Team and many other detectives from other agencies but still come up short. The family just needs some closure."
And I sit at my desk and complain about making coupons.
I pray for the family, for the little girl, for her abductors that they have a heart(or if it is a family member, to come clean), and for Kelly along with everyone else who struggles to help us, rescue us, and put the pieces back together when it all falls down. Prayers to you, Kelly, for helping us when tragedy strikes.
H: What do you mean?
J: What is the point of cancer?
H: (silent)
J: (silent)
H: Well....I guess...I don't know. I mean, right now, maybe it's about glorifying God. If Dan's dad and his family continue to glorify God through all of this, then it will...glorify God. You know, it will make the rest of us stronger. Or...maybe the best thing God can do right now is rescue his dad from all of this. I'm not making sense....
J: (silent)
H: This is where I start to question things. Why can't us followers have some sort of little shield around us? We have chosen to live our lives for him, why can't he offer us some sort of protection down here in the fallen, sinful world?
J: (silent)
H: (silent)
We went and ate breakfast with my parents and had a good time. Still, I think Joey and I both know the answers to our questions....we are fallen people, too in a fallen world. God will rescue us when the time is right. I believe we will be taken up to him to a place where we never have to suffer. I guess we were both just having a moment.
Another prayer goes to the family of Jessica Lunsford. My best friend, Kelly, is a Victim Resource Advocate for Citrus County in Florida. She has been working with the family and called me Friday morning to ask for prayers. She had been out all the night helping to look for this little girl. This is the first time in a long time that I have seen Kelly's job really effect her. Usually, I am amazed at how well she handles the stress. She has that "it's just my job" attitude but I don't think she realizes that so many of us couldn't handle it.
She e-mailed me this morning and said, "When I called you that morning I almost started crying. I was sitting at a traffic light when a procession of about 50 law enforcement unmarked cars went through the light, all with their strobe lights on, very slow and solemn. It gave me the chills. I've been with this family since Thursday night, minus about 3 hours for the Buffett concert (which we left early from). They are all so sweet. I can honestly say this is the first year I've gone to a Buffett concert and was not able to enjoy it. We left after the 2nd song after the intermission. Couldn't get into it one bit. The parking lot was kinda fun, more distracting than anything, but once you get inside and start listening to the music and relaxing it starts to hit you of what is going on back home."
"Yesterday Gene asked me how I could sit with the family for 12-14 hours a day and just "sit". He said it would be like a funeral visitation, just longer and with no body. I started thinking about that later, and it's about how it is...You would think that if she was going to be found alive someone, somewhere would have seen her. That's just it. We haven't had anyone, anywhere see her. Not in our county or any of the others. She has to be somewhere close, but we just can't pinpoint where. We've got the FBI, FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement), Team ADAM from America's Most Wanted, ATF, Child Abduction Response Team and many other detectives from other agencies but still come up short. The family just needs some closure."
And I sit at my desk and complain about making coupons.
I pray for the family, for the little girl, for her abductors that they have a heart(or if it is a family member, to come clean), and for Kelly along with everyone else who struggles to help us, rescue us, and put the pieces back together when it all falls down. Prayers to you, Kelly, for helping us when tragedy strikes.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Excitement
Today, I saw God work on someone else. I saw the absolute thrill and rush of love that hit this person. It was so exciting.
I work with a woman who has been asking her husband to attend a church with her. I know this young couple is extremely close but of course there are hurdles in marriages. Jaime, another co-worker of ours, was talking to the woman about being a Christ Follower, about religions, and finding a church. I walked into the conversation and encouraged everything Jaime said. The conversation lasted for about 20 minutes before I had to rip myself away to finish work.
10 minutes later, the woman came rushing over to my desk.
"Holly, while we were talking...my husband e-mailed me...I had mentioned going to church with Jaime this weekend and....he e-mailed me while we were talking and...the e-mail said 'of course I will go with you this Sunday.' Can you believe it?! WHILE we were talking about it...."
"God put it in his heart," I told her. I also mentioned how cool God really is. She was beside herself in awe.
I am too, God.
I work with a woman who has been asking her husband to attend a church with her. I know this young couple is extremely close but of course there are hurdles in marriages. Jaime, another co-worker of ours, was talking to the woman about being a Christ Follower, about religions, and finding a church. I walked into the conversation and encouraged everything Jaime said. The conversation lasted for about 20 minutes before I had to rip myself away to finish work.
10 minutes later, the woman came rushing over to my desk.
"Holly, while we were talking...my husband e-mailed me...I had mentioned going to church with Jaime this weekend and....he e-mailed me while we were talking and...the e-mail said 'of course I will go with you this Sunday.' Can you believe it?! WHILE we were talking about it...."
"God put it in his heart," I told her. I also mentioned how cool God really is. She was beside herself in awe.
I am too, God.
Baptism Fo Shizzim
Sorry about the lame title.
The subject of baptism keeps finding its way into conversations. It began when I posted the picture of me getting "baptized." Kelly asked why I would do it again. I started thinking....
Here is the research I have done on baptism:
The subject of baptism keeps finding its way into conversations. It began when I posted the picture of me getting "baptized." Kelly asked why I would do it again. I started thinking....
Here is the research I have done on baptism:
- A water ritual used as a spiritual symbol
- A sign of repentance (turning away from sin)
- A sign of conversion (initiating people to the faith)
I also discovered something so obvious in the bible: Jesus was baptized as an adult. In fact, all of the people getting baptized were adults. Where did baby baptism get started?
I have been taught that a baby needs to be baptized soon after birth. Here are some reasons I have received from others this week as to why babies should be baptized: to take away original sin, to make sure the baby goes to heaven in case she or he dies, and to recognize the baby will be a follower of Christ. Great reasons...if they were true. The bible doesn't seem to support these reasons but I've only scratched the surface, I'm sure.
I spoke to Christian confidant at work. I asked her if she had been baptized as a baby. She said yes, but that she was officially baptized when she was in 6th grade. I asked her if she would have her baby baptized. She said no, that she would have a dedication but that the baby, when she or he grows, will decide if and when to be a follower of Christ. She said that baby baptism is done for comfort reasons. It makes everyone feel better. But again, say it with your mouth and believe it in your heart.
My friend Chuck has also helped me understand that my baby baptism may not have actually been a baptism. He sides with my mother, Joey, and my friend from work. Chuck also said you only need to be baptized once, unlike my comment stating that I could do it every year for the rest of my life. Chuck also said, "We become Christians when we personally accept the free gift that God offers us (ie. we stop trusting in our good works and ourselves to get to Heaven, and place our trust in Christ alone and what He has already done for us). It's D-O versus D-O-N-E." This I understand. I was also reminded of this: The Lord said, "You are My friends if you do what I command you." (John 15:14). Jesus commanded us to get baptized when we become Christ-followers.
When I think about getting baptized, I think about a story my friend told me awhile ago. I asked him when he had been baptized. It happened when he was attending First Christian Church in Lansing. The pastor asked for people to come up to the front if they wanted to be baptized. On his own free will, this friend felt convicted to go up to the front with other adults and become baptized. He was 12. His parents were shocked because no one had put any pressure on him or had discussed it with him. Joey just knew he wanted to do it. He said it with his mouth and believed it in his heart.
Therefore, I think I might do it. I don't know why I feel like I already have. I don't know why I feel like it might be a little redundant. I don't know. Maybe I'm not quite there. It's a little scary to think I've been hanging out in this world, struggling to be a Christ Follower and only been sprinkled when I was a babe. Geez, I'm still a babe so I guess I should go for it. Okay, sorry for the lame joke. I'm feeling rather lame tonight. I would like to ask, if you remember to, maybe say a little prayer. Something like, "God, I really pray that Holly would get her act together and let go of some of the traditions she was raised with, the ones that get in the way of truth. I pray that you convict her to keep moving forward and to not stop when she hits these little hang ups. I also pray that you give her the encouragement to face her peers and family when they do not support her new path." Wow. I just prayed for myself on a blog. I've hit a new low.
Full Circle
My mom decided to move to Holt because it was near her place of employment and also near my sister. I liked Holt. We lived down the street from an ice cream store, we were near all of the fast food chains, the mall was only a 10 minute drive and dad was nearby, too. I adapted pretty well, though I missed the country and Fawn.
I remember this time as being scary for my mom. She had nothing and was on her own for the first time ever. I had a lot of new freedom because mom worked a lot. I was too young to start abusing the freedom, though.
What is the first thing you do after moving into a new community? Right! Find a church. My mom attended a local Methodist parish and I remember her coming home disappointed. No one spoke to her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She contemplated checking out some other Methodist Churches in the area. I remember wondering what the big deal was. Methodist, Catholic, non-denominational….who cared? Why does God even care about all of these religions?
My sister got married in 1989. She married in a Presbyterian church in Dimondale. The church was beautiful and I felt comfortable there…except…behind the alter was a stained glass window…and in the center of the stained glass window…was an eyeball—the eye of God, or something. Again, a little creepy. My mom liked the church and decided to make a religion leap by checking out the First Presbyterian church in Holt. She went. She loved it. She asked me to come and I did. I hated it. The place looked like a barn and I was bored out of my mind. So I stayed home while my mom joined the church.
It was around this time, 8th or 9th grade, that I somehow decided I wanted to be Catholic again. All of my friends were Catholic and it seemed like a cool religion. Also, my step-mother had explained that Catholicism is the absolute true religion. Everything else just broke off from the Catholic church. I decided she might be right. I started telling people I was Catholic.
On Good Friday that year, I attended stations of the cross with her. Time for communion. She sat there. I finally asked: why?
“I’m not allowed to. I didn’t receive the sacrament of marriage in the church.” I remembered that they had been married in a Methodist church.
“Why didn’t you get married in your own church?”
“Because your father isn’t catholic.”
“So….he couldn’t get married in your church…because he’s not Catholic…”
“Not unless he annulled his first marriage,” she explained, “and by annulling his first marriage, he would have annulled you and your sister. The church would recognize him but not the two of you.” I felt so little when she told me all of this. Did God not love me because I wasn’t Catholic? How could a church ask someone to annul his kids? Is God full of these rules? Screw him, then.
I entered high school, had a lot of fun, went to church a couple times a year, still prayed, but never had a use for a personal relationship with God. Who really needed him unless you were scared, hurt or afraid? Besides, no one wanted to be a Jesus Freak. There is a time and place to be a Christian: Sunday. But as Jimmy Buffett stated, “There’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.” It was all idealist BS and boring. People would shove their beliefs down my throat. Bah. Didn’t want it or need it. At least, I didn’t think I needed it.
The details from one day in particular will never leave me. It was the summer before 10th grade. My mom and I had moved into a house earlier in the year. My sister came over to the house. I wasn’t sure why. She sat on the floor of my bedroom and started looking at my photo albums. She was wearing white bib shorts and a blue shirt. Her hair was short and curly. We didn’t talk much. She just looked at pictures. Then she got up and left. The next day, my mom was driving me to Mason so I could take my driver’s ed test. Somewhere along Cedar Street, these words fell out of her mouth—David left your sister.
I felt so violent. I wanted to kill this guy. He was supposed to be my brother. We were all supposed to trust him.
“And, Holly…your sister is going to have a baby…you’re going to be an aunt.”
Pure joy now came over me. I wanted to cry and did. In fact, you can see it in the picture that was taken of me that day, the picture that went on my first driver’s license. I was confused, angry, and ecstatic.
After my mom had a bedroom built for her, my sister moved into the basement. It was the first time the three of us had lived together since 1979…and it was 1991. My mom got her oldest daughter back. I got to experience life with my sister. There were actually meals served and the laundry smelled awesome. My sister had cool clothes…clothes she couldn’t fit into for awhile. Yes, the benefits were wonderful and yes, stressful. For the most part, everyone got along and the best part was that I got to watch the baby grow.
He was born in March, just after I turned 16. I remember not being able to wait one more day. We all wanted him to be born so badly. And we had already named him: Zachary Edward. We were there when he came into the world. We all held the squirmy, little, yelly thing. The next day, my mom and I went to visit him. We asked to see Zachary Edward Goodrich in the nursery. They looked at us confused. There was no ZEG. My mom and I raced to the hospital room. David was there feeding his boy. “Say hi to Bradley Victor,” he said. I wanted to slap him. How did he have any right to this baby? He had left them. I hated David.
Bradley came home to live with a house full of women. He entertained us and I took care of him during the summer months, taking him everywhere with me. He was baptized and my sister attended the same church as my mom.
Throughout all of this, I was learning about life. When to keep your mouth shut, when to open it, etc. I got myself into a lot of little messes, all part of the learning process. I also had some internal struggles, too. The peer pressure was so intense. Have sex, drink until you puke, have the coolest clothes...I'm surprised I made it out alive. I made some bad choices. Very bad choices. Yet, there was something instilled in me not to steal, not to take advantage of my mom, and to always eat breakfast.
My sister started dating again. In fact, she became engaged just after Bradley turned one. She and Jeff married in March 1994. Our little boy left home. It was sad but a few months later, my mom got remarried to a man she had met at Lyn’s first wedding. She and I moved to Laingsburg to live with Dean the week after I graduated from high school.
It felt like my life had come full circle: being separated from my sister and father, moving away from Laingsburg. Now, everything had been put back into place except that it was different. A whole new journey was about to begin: my life as a college student.
I remember this time as being scary for my mom. She had nothing and was on her own for the first time ever. I had a lot of new freedom because mom worked a lot. I was too young to start abusing the freedom, though.
What is the first thing you do after moving into a new community? Right! Find a church. My mom attended a local Methodist parish and I remember her coming home disappointed. No one spoke to her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She contemplated checking out some other Methodist Churches in the area. I remember wondering what the big deal was. Methodist, Catholic, non-denominational….who cared? Why does God even care about all of these religions?
My sister got married in 1989. She married in a Presbyterian church in Dimondale. The church was beautiful and I felt comfortable there…except…behind the alter was a stained glass window…and in the center of the stained glass window…was an eyeball—the eye of God, or something. Again, a little creepy. My mom liked the church and decided to make a religion leap by checking out the First Presbyterian church in Holt. She went. She loved it. She asked me to come and I did. I hated it. The place looked like a barn and I was bored out of my mind. So I stayed home while my mom joined the church.
It was around this time, 8th or 9th grade, that I somehow decided I wanted to be Catholic again. All of my friends were Catholic and it seemed like a cool religion. Also, my step-mother had explained that Catholicism is the absolute true religion. Everything else just broke off from the Catholic church. I decided she might be right. I started telling people I was Catholic.
On Good Friday that year, I attended stations of the cross with her. Time for communion. She sat there. I finally asked: why?
“I’m not allowed to. I didn’t receive the sacrament of marriage in the church.” I remembered that they had been married in a Methodist church.
“Why didn’t you get married in your own church?”
“Because your father isn’t catholic.”
“So….he couldn’t get married in your church…because he’s not Catholic…”
“Not unless he annulled his first marriage,” she explained, “and by annulling his first marriage, he would have annulled you and your sister. The church would recognize him but not the two of you.” I felt so little when she told me all of this. Did God not love me because I wasn’t Catholic? How could a church ask someone to annul his kids? Is God full of these rules? Screw him, then.
I entered high school, had a lot of fun, went to church a couple times a year, still prayed, but never had a use for a personal relationship with God. Who really needed him unless you were scared, hurt or afraid? Besides, no one wanted to be a Jesus Freak. There is a time and place to be a Christian: Sunday. But as Jimmy Buffett stated, “There’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.” It was all idealist BS and boring. People would shove their beliefs down my throat. Bah. Didn’t want it or need it. At least, I didn’t think I needed it.
The details from one day in particular will never leave me. It was the summer before 10th grade. My mom and I had moved into a house earlier in the year. My sister came over to the house. I wasn’t sure why. She sat on the floor of my bedroom and started looking at my photo albums. She was wearing white bib shorts and a blue shirt. Her hair was short and curly. We didn’t talk much. She just looked at pictures. Then she got up and left. The next day, my mom was driving me to Mason so I could take my driver’s ed test. Somewhere along Cedar Street, these words fell out of her mouth—David left your sister.
I felt so violent. I wanted to kill this guy. He was supposed to be my brother. We were all supposed to trust him.
“And, Holly…your sister is going to have a baby…you’re going to be an aunt.”
Pure joy now came over me. I wanted to cry and did. In fact, you can see it in the picture that was taken of me that day, the picture that went on my first driver’s license. I was confused, angry, and ecstatic.
After my mom had a bedroom built for her, my sister moved into the basement. It was the first time the three of us had lived together since 1979…and it was 1991. My mom got her oldest daughter back. I got to experience life with my sister. There were actually meals served and the laundry smelled awesome. My sister had cool clothes…clothes she couldn’t fit into for awhile. Yes, the benefits were wonderful and yes, stressful. For the most part, everyone got along and the best part was that I got to watch the baby grow.
He was born in March, just after I turned 16. I remember not being able to wait one more day. We all wanted him to be born so badly. And we had already named him: Zachary Edward. We were there when he came into the world. We all held the squirmy, little, yelly thing. The next day, my mom and I went to visit him. We asked to see Zachary Edward Goodrich in the nursery. They looked at us confused. There was no ZEG. My mom and I raced to the hospital room. David was there feeding his boy. “Say hi to Bradley Victor,” he said. I wanted to slap him. How did he have any right to this baby? He had left them. I hated David.
Bradley came home to live with a house full of women. He entertained us and I took care of him during the summer months, taking him everywhere with me. He was baptized and my sister attended the same church as my mom.
Throughout all of this, I was learning about life. When to keep your mouth shut, when to open it, etc. I got myself into a lot of little messes, all part of the learning process. I also had some internal struggles, too. The peer pressure was so intense. Have sex, drink until you puke, have the coolest clothes...I'm surprised I made it out alive. I made some bad choices. Very bad choices. Yet, there was something instilled in me not to steal, not to take advantage of my mom, and to always eat breakfast.
My sister started dating again. In fact, she became engaged just after Bradley turned one. She and Jeff married in March 1994. Our little boy left home. It was sad but a few months later, my mom got remarried to a man she had met at Lyn’s first wedding. She and I moved to Laingsburg to live with Dean the week after I graduated from high school.
It felt like my life had come full circle: being separated from my sister and father, moving away from Laingsburg. Now, everything had been put back into place except that it was different. A whole new journey was about to begin: my life as a college student.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Officially 29
I made it through my birthday and it was one of the best because it was so simple. Here are the highlights:
- Dinner with friends and family at Emil's on Saturday. Even though we didn't go roller skating, it was still fun. Joey and I saw a movie instead (Hotel Rwanda).
- I got the Karate Kid DVD set.
- My dad's best friend got me a necklace with a cross.
- Krissie gave me a Ray Charles CD and my favorite lotion.
- Came to work yesterday and my co-workers had decorated my cube in Mexico's national colors. They had signs that said "Pedro wishes Holly Feliz Cumpleanos! Vote for Pedro!" Then they also got a pinata and hung it up. My old team helped decorate, too.
- I was welcomed by a slew of e-mails from current friends and people I haven't spoken to in awhile, all wishing me a happy birthday. Very nice.
- Kim's dad, Howard, sent me pictures of his favorite flower--his way of sending me flowers on my birthday.
- Oh, and I did get flowers sent to me on my birthday. Very nice, indeed.
- My Saturn Dealer called to wish me a happy birthday.
- My co-workers scheduled a birthday lunch for me at a new restaurant. People just kept showing up so the staff had to add extra tables. About 20 people in all. I was amazed. Never before, in the history of...me...had so many people shown up. Dana and I decided it was because people needed to get out of the office. The food wasn't that great (I ate cheese) but they brought out a little cake as we were putting on our coats. Everyone grabbed a clean utensil and passed the cake around for one bite. "How does the flu get spread around?"
- My friend and co-worker Adrienne made me a special cake and I invited everyone to a piece. Very yummy.
- After work, I met up with Becky and my roommate at the Olive Garden for wine, salad and breadsticks with Alfredo sauce. We had a great time laughing and sharing.
As I drove home from Olive Garden, I counted myself lucky and blessed. 29 is alright so far.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Riv Kid
I worked at Riv Kids yesterday. After church was over, there was still one little person waiting for parents. Chaz walked in with a baby as the room was going to be used for child care during the Meet the Pastors pizza party. This little person wanted me to play basketball. What she really wanted was to try to get by me with the ball.
Kid: Okay, you be the mean person and I'll be the nice person. You try to get the ball from me but if I make it to the other side of the room, I win.
Me: Okay.
I let her go by a couple of times. Then she said...
Kid: Okay, you be the mean black guy and I'll be the nice white person.
Me: Come again?
Kid: You be the mean black guy....
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa....(Kid takes off running).
I looked at Chaz. We were both staring at each other in disbelief.
Me: Ummm...we have to handle this. What do we say?
Chaz: Isn't there some kind of question flow chart around here.
Me: Oh geez...I have to say something to her.
The child came running back to me. I told her we had to stop playing and talk. Somehow, I tried to explain that black people weren't mean. I said when she watches it on TV, everyone is just really intense and aggressive because they are playing a sport. I asked her to repeat back to me what she understood. She just said yes. I wasn't sure if I handled it well or not. If people didn't know, the only kid experience I really have is with my niece and nephew. Still, I prayed right before I said what I had to say...I guess it was the best answer I had at the time (on top of me being completely shocked). I think this whole Riv Kids experience is definitely making me stretch my understanding about the world around me.
Kid: Okay, you be the mean person and I'll be the nice person. You try to get the ball from me but if I make it to the other side of the room, I win.
Me: Okay.
I let her go by a couple of times. Then she said...
Kid: Okay, you be the mean black guy and I'll be the nice white person.
Me: Come again?
Kid: You be the mean black guy....
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa....(Kid takes off running).
I looked at Chaz. We were both staring at each other in disbelief.
Me: Ummm...we have to handle this. What do we say?
Chaz: Isn't there some kind of question flow chart around here.
Me: Oh geez...I have to say something to her.
The child came running back to me. I told her we had to stop playing and talk. Somehow, I tried to explain that black people weren't mean. I said when she watches it on TV, everyone is just really intense and aggressive because they are playing a sport. I asked her to repeat back to me what she understood. She just said yes. I wasn't sure if I handled it well or not. If people didn't know, the only kid experience I really have is with my niece and nephew. Still, I prayed right before I said what I had to say...I guess it was the best answer I had at the time (on top of me being completely shocked). I think this whole Riv Kids experience is definitely making me stretch my understanding about the world around me.
Showers
Lyndsay: I have to take a shower before the birthday party.
Me: Okay
L: Will you help me?
M: Yes
L: Please turn off the radio first.
M: I'll turn it down but I would like it on.
L: You shouldn't have electricity near water.
M: The radio is too far away and too high up.
L: Still...
M: That radio has been in this room for 10 years. Every time I am here, I listen to it in the shower. Seriously, 10 years. Nothing has happened. You're safe.
L: Okay, you have to make sure the temperature is just right.
M: How is this?
L: Too hot.
M: This?
L: Still too hot.
M: Now?
L: Too cold.
M: Lyndsay....
L: Okay, now its good.
Hops in shower. I put on my make-up.
L: Um...Aunt Holly?
M: Yes?
L: It's still a little too hot for my feet.
M: How is it now?
L: Good! Thanks!
Return to the mirror.
L: Um...Aunt Holly?
M: Yes Lyndsay.
L: It isn't about the temperature.
M: Okay...
L: Could you please get a little hand towel next to the shower in case I get soap in my....oh no! Ow! Ow! Soap's in my eyes.
M: Here, here, here. Wipe. Try to get a little water in there, too.
L: That's better. Thank you.
I return to the mirror. I hear Lyndsay singing.
M: What are you singing, Lyndsay?
L: I'm not.
M: I thought I heard you.
L: Oh, I was saying all the names I know from video games and TV.
M: Oh, okay.
Me: Okay
L: Will you help me?
M: Yes
L: Please turn off the radio first.
M: I'll turn it down but I would like it on.
L: You shouldn't have electricity near water.
M: The radio is too far away and too high up.
L: Still...
M: That radio has been in this room for 10 years. Every time I am here, I listen to it in the shower. Seriously, 10 years. Nothing has happened. You're safe.
L: Okay, you have to make sure the temperature is just right.
M: How is this?
L: Too hot.
M: This?
L: Still too hot.
M: Now?
L: Too cold.
M: Lyndsay....
L: Okay, now its good.
Hops in shower. I put on my make-up.
L: Um...Aunt Holly?
M: Yes?
L: It's still a little too hot for my feet.
M: How is it now?
L: Good! Thanks!
Return to the mirror.
L: Um...Aunt Holly?
M: Yes Lyndsay.
L: It isn't about the temperature.
M: Okay...
L: Could you please get a little hand towel next to the shower in case I get soap in my....oh no! Ow! Ow! Soap's in my eyes.
M: Here, here, here. Wipe. Try to get a little water in there, too.
L: That's better. Thank you.
I return to the mirror. I hear Lyndsay singing.
M: What are you singing, Lyndsay?
L: I'm not.
M: I thought I heard you.
L: Oh, I was saying all the names I know from video games and TV.
M: Oh, okay.
I thought I would throw this one on, too: me getting baptised. I've been thinking about doing it again. My mom said she would support that because this day was more of a confirmation and promise on her part to raise me as a Christian. I said, "But remember that big party you had afterward and everyone got me all those gifts?" She said, "We'll just have another party." I laughed and said...okay. Of course, I'm kidding.
Me at 19. Take note of what is happening in this picture. It paints the perfect picture of who I was: a freshman in college away from home on my first Spring Break trip (South Padre, TX). The cup in my hand is probably an alcoholic beverage. Behind me, a drinking game is taking place called Circle of Death. The girl in the doorway was my future roommate. The boys were friends at the time. My shirt was a souvenir. It said all of these wonderful things about being a woman and hateful things about how men oppress our gender. I was kind of a spitfire.
Since it is my birthday, thought I would share some great pictures. Yes, this is a human baby. At least my mom thinks I was cute. You have to cut me a little slack because I came out with a broken collar bone. I had also asked the nurse to fix my hair before she took the picture but she didn't. I wasn't pleased.
Friday, February 18, 2005
I'm Getting Older
I fell down the stairs last night. It was only a few but enough to do damage. Scraped up arm, banged up knee, bruised lower back...yes, I'm getting older. When I hit the bottom, something like a cross between laughter and crying came out of my mouth. Falling down the stairs made me feel foolish so I was laughing at myself but it also hurt pretty bad so I was crying out in pain. 40 years from now I might not live through a fall like this which makes me feel young, but I see how my body has definitely been changing since I was 19.
*I swear I'm getting arthritis in my knees. They ache. They hurt. I'm screwed.
*My teeth hurt. I have to wait for my cereal to soften in the milk before I eat it.
*My skin is okay but I see some of the sun damage. Oh, and that whole Jimmy Buffett line, "Wrinkles only go where the smiles have been"...I think I might be smiling too much.
*I'm actually the same weight I've been since...well, not high school and not college either...I'm actually okay in this area and am fine with my weight.
*I can't touch my toes but I never could. I was reading in a magazine that everyone should be able to do this and it will help with flexibility and arthritis. Drat.
I guess I know I won't be a spring chicken forever. The body will give out even if your spirit and mind don't. It must be so frustrating. It seems so unfair. Then, there is the whole other spectrum...you know...the clock thing. I don't necessarily feel it ticking but I really want to have kids. I want three or four of them. Time might not let me do that. The other morning I was driving into work. A commercial came on the radio. The woman was talking about a seminar for women who wanted to freeze their eggs. I almost started crying. Freeze my eggs! Ahhhhh!!!! I came into work and told my co-workers I was going to have a bake sale to raise money to freeze my eggs. They laughed. I didn't. They stopped. "Holly, stop worrying!"
I know...I worry too much...worry less, pray more.
Last night, I was watching the news. A 29-year-old murder case had been reopened because of new evidence. The case had been titled, Oakland County Child Killings. Apparently, four children were abducted and murdered within a one year period. All of these murders took place in cities I frequent and have lived recently: Ferndale, Royal Oak, Berkley, Birmingham. All of these murders took place in 1976-1977. The first to be killed was a little girl. They found her in February 1976, the same month I was born. While I was busy trying to come to earth, she was leaving in a horrific way. This puts all of my aches and pains into perspective. She never got the chance to get older.
So, it does suck and its going to get worse but I get to go through it because that's what us humans do. Yay.
*I swear I'm getting arthritis in my knees. They ache. They hurt. I'm screwed.
*My teeth hurt. I have to wait for my cereal to soften in the milk before I eat it.
*My skin is okay but I see some of the sun damage. Oh, and that whole Jimmy Buffett line, "Wrinkles only go where the smiles have been"...I think I might be smiling too much.
*I'm actually the same weight I've been since...well, not high school and not college either...I'm actually okay in this area and am fine with my weight.
*I can't touch my toes but I never could. I was reading in a magazine that everyone should be able to do this and it will help with flexibility and arthritis. Drat.
I guess I know I won't be a spring chicken forever. The body will give out even if your spirit and mind don't. It must be so frustrating. It seems so unfair. Then, there is the whole other spectrum...you know...the clock thing. I don't necessarily feel it ticking but I really want to have kids. I want three or four of them. Time might not let me do that. The other morning I was driving into work. A commercial came on the radio. The woman was talking about a seminar for women who wanted to freeze their eggs. I almost started crying. Freeze my eggs! Ahhhhh!!!! I came into work and told my co-workers I was going to have a bake sale to raise money to freeze my eggs. They laughed. I didn't. They stopped. "Holly, stop worrying!"
I know...I worry too much...worry less, pray more.
Last night, I was watching the news. A 29-year-old murder case had been reopened because of new evidence. The case had been titled, Oakland County Child Killings. Apparently, four children were abducted and murdered within a one year period. All of these murders took place in cities I frequent and have lived recently: Ferndale, Royal Oak, Berkley, Birmingham. All of these murders took place in 1976-1977. The first to be killed was a little girl. They found her in February 1976, the same month I was born. While I was busy trying to come to earth, she was leaving in a horrific way. This puts all of my aches and pains into perspective. She never got the chance to get older.
So, it does suck and its going to get worse but I get to go through it because that's what us humans do. Yay.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
From Methodist, to Catholicism, to Pentecostal, to Methodist
Every other weekend, I would stay with my dad and step-mom. They married when I was five. Sis and I were in the wedding. I liked my step-mom but she scared me, too. I was afraid of doing something wrong, which was easy as there were four sets of rules to follow (my mom’s, my dad’s, Lee’s and Christine’s) and I didn’t want to follow any. The rules were all different, too. My parents were much more relaxed than the “steps.” Still, Christine was a great influence in my life. She built my pride in being a woman: she was a feminist, liberal and a catholic.
Christine attended St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. It was completely different from the Methodist church in Charlotte. An enormous room with a ceiling that felt a mile high made the church an intimidating yet beautiful place. It hosted 1,000 people weekly. Their minister was called a priest but he had a small posse following him around as if he were Jesus. Beautiful robes, beautiful stained glass windows, beautiful pews…and right in the center, was a giant, dead Jesus, hanging from a cross, staring at all of us.
Did I mention this church was intimidating?
The Catholics did all sorts of cool things like kneeling, crossing themselves, dipping their fingers in holy water, and communion. For some reason, however, my step-mom never went up to receive communion. I didn’t ask why and knew I wasn’t allowed to receive it, either. After all, this wasn’t my church. I wasn’t a member. These people were too good for me. I worshipped and talked to God in my heart but I felt surrounded by something I could never have. I could never be good enough because I wasn’t born Catholic. I was a lowly Methodist.
The second church I attended had yet to explain why Jesus died for us. The connection wasn’t made. But there he was. Hanging dead from the cross. Staring at me. I knew to feel guilt. Feel it deeply.
Home life in Charlotte was good. I loved and detested Chad and Fawn as if they were my own brother and sister. Fawn and I shared a bedroom from the beginning. We had bunk beds and would pray every night. It was weird because God and Jesus were important but they were such distant beings. Our nightly prayers thanked him for this and that, asked him for so-and-so.
When I was still fairly young, my mom found us a new baby-sitter (we had several). This family lived in downtown Charlotte and, oh joy, they had two little boys our age. We had no choice but to go. Their boys were hellions and actually got us little angels into trouble. One time, Fawn and the younger brother were caught eating cat food. The dad picked out a nice piece of wood and began to carve it into a giant hand. Fawn knew she was safe but the other kid was hysterical. We got the real hand when we were bad. This poor kid was being tortured with a thick, wood board. Yikes. Wednesday nights, when our parents worked late, we had to attend church with the family. It didn’t make sense that they attended church during the middle of the week. It was all a little strange. Their church was outside of town and looked nothing like ours. Everyone sat in chairs and instead of a pastor, the members would get up and speak. This family didn’t watch us for long, though. But now, I equate Witnesses to this: a large, carved wooden hand ready to smack my butt if I stepped out of line.
My sister graduated from high school and moved to Lansing. She started dating a pastor at this small church called Mt. Hope. I started going to church with her. This was a church unlike any I had ever been to. People were yelling, screaming, rushing to the alter, babbling…I think I wanted to cry in fear. I saw the effect it had on my sister, though. She loved it. She had a personal relationship with Jesus and with all these people. I liked the people, too. They were fun and young. I would hang out with everyone after church. No one really pushed Jesus on me, but I felt this weirdness. I wanted to fit in, though, so I started throwing my hands in the air and pretended to “feel God”. The church was growing immensly. They were building a new facility and it was immense. It was about this time when my sister gave me a necklace with a peace dove hanging from the chain. She told me this necklace would give me faith and keep my faith. I wore that necklace everyday for a year until the day it broke. A week or so later, my friend Kim died. I was convinced it was because I wasn’t wearing the necklace. I tried to fix it and asked my sister for a new one. She laughed. “It was just a necklace,” she explained. Huh? I was now 12 and pretty confused. Look what I had been exposed to so far:
Jesus in the Methodist church—the guy who hung out with little kids and sheep; always seemed to be smiling; smelled kind of dusty; really boring
Jesus in the Catholic church—regal, dead…very dead, snobby, boring
Jesus in the Kingdom Hall—not there but at the home of the Lounds, he was going to spank my behind for thinking bad thoughts; boring
Jesus in the Pentecostal Church—really flippin weird
My sister’s engagement was broken and she left the church. Secretly, I was glad. The place freaked me out too much. I left Mt. Hope church at 12 and never went back. When I look back, the whole experience was strange. All I wanted was tradition, I wanted to be around familiarity.
A new pastor began leading the Methodist church and he really shook things up. People were excited and attendance rose. Pastor Bob also began a youth group. It consisted of seven kids, the only kids who attended the church. My mom volunteered us to join. We bellyached but went. Pastor Bob had us visit senior citizens homes, hold spaghetti suppers, and he tried to get us to talk about Jesus. I hated it. It creeped me out. I liked Jesus on my own terms but I was almost a teenager and I was starting to rebel against goodness. Pastor Bob was a music reviewer for Youth magazine. He asked Chad and I to help contribute. The two albums we had to critique: Bon Jovi’s New Jersey and Kylie Monogue’s Locomotion. I put my good, little, Christian girl hat on and ripped apart the Bon Jovi album. I told Pastor Bob what he wanted to hear. Secretly, I liked Bon Jovi.
Trying to be someone you aren’t gets tiring after awhile. Chad felt the same way. We rebelled against the pastor. He would ask us to do something and we would flat out say no. I remember this conversation well:
Bob: Alright, who’s going to volunteer to do the dishes after the pancake supper?
Chad: Like any of us are going to volunteer.
Bob: Okay, then, Chad can do them.
Chad: I’m not doing anything (leaves room).
Bob: Holly, you and Darrick will do the dishes.
Me: Okay, I’ll go get Darrick (disappears outside and finds Darrick hiding in the cemetery; ducks behind a nearby headstone).
We were jerks. Eventually, we quit going. I was talking to Chad recently about Pastor Bob. He hung his head and said, “I treated that guy so badly. I’m pretty ashamed of myself. All he ever wanted to do was help and teach us.” I never felt guilty about Bob before then. I feel a little guilty now.
The summer of 1989 approached. It was one of the best summers of my life. It was also my last summer living in Charlotte. My mom and I were finally leaving. After 9 years of being together, she and Lee were finally breaking it off. My mom found a place in Holt that she could afford and I was excited to move to the big city. I was also excited because my sister and her fiancé lived a few blocks away, the closest I had ever lived to my sis.
Christine attended St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. It was completely different from the Methodist church in Charlotte. An enormous room with a ceiling that felt a mile high made the church an intimidating yet beautiful place. It hosted 1,000 people weekly. Their minister was called a priest but he had a small posse following him around as if he were Jesus. Beautiful robes, beautiful stained glass windows, beautiful pews…and right in the center, was a giant, dead Jesus, hanging from a cross, staring at all of us.
Did I mention this church was intimidating?
The Catholics did all sorts of cool things like kneeling, crossing themselves, dipping their fingers in holy water, and communion. For some reason, however, my step-mom never went up to receive communion. I didn’t ask why and knew I wasn’t allowed to receive it, either. After all, this wasn’t my church. I wasn’t a member. These people were too good for me. I worshipped and talked to God in my heart but I felt surrounded by something I could never have. I could never be good enough because I wasn’t born Catholic. I was a lowly Methodist.
The second church I attended had yet to explain why Jesus died for us. The connection wasn’t made. But there he was. Hanging dead from the cross. Staring at me. I knew to feel guilt. Feel it deeply.
Home life in Charlotte was good. I loved and detested Chad and Fawn as if they were my own brother and sister. Fawn and I shared a bedroom from the beginning. We had bunk beds and would pray every night. It was weird because God and Jesus were important but they were such distant beings. Our nightly prayers thanked him for this and that, asked him for so-and-so.
When I was still fairly young, my mom found us a new baby-sitter (we had several). This family lived in downtown Charlotte and, oh joy, they had two little boys our age. We had no choice but to go. Their boys were hellions and actually got us little angels into trouble. One time, Fawn and the younger brother were caught eating cat food. The dad picked out a nice piece of wood and began to carve it into a giant hand. Fawn knew she was safe but the other kid was hysterical. We got the real hand when we were bad. This poor kid was being tortured with a thick, wood board. Yikes. Wednesday nights, when our parents worked late, we had to attend church with the family. It didn’t make sense that they attended church during the middle of the week. It was all a little strange. Their church was outside of town and looked nothing like ours. Everyone sat in chairs and instead of a pastor, the members would get up and speak. This family didn’t watch us for long, though. But now, I equate Witnesses to this: a large, carved wooden hand ready to smack my butt if I stepped out of line.
My sister graduated from high school and moved to Lansing. She started dating a pastor at this small church called Mt. Hope. I started going to church with her. This was a church unlike any I had ever been to. People were yelling, screaming, rushing to the alter, babbling…I think I wanted to cry in fear. I saw the effect it had on my sister, though. She loved it. She had a personal relationship with Jesus and with all these people. I liked the people, too. They were fun and young. I would hang out with everyone after church. No one really pushed Jesus on me, but I felt this weirdness. I wanted to fit in, though, so I started throwing my hands in the air and pretended to “feel God”. The church was growing immensly. They were building a new facility and it was immense. It was about this time when my sister gave me a necklace with a peace dove hanging from the chain. She told me this necklace would give me faith and keep my faith. I wore that necklace everyday for a year until the day it broke. A week or so later, my friend Kim died. I was convinced it was because I wasn’t wearing the necklace. I tried to fix it and asked my sister for a new one. She laughed. “It was just a necklace,” she explained. Huh? I was now 12 and pretty confused. Look what I had been exposed to so far:
Jesus in the Methodist church—the guy who hung out with little kids and sheep; always seemed to be smiling; smelled kind of dusty; really boring
Jesus in the Catholic church—regal, dead…very dead, snobby, boring
Jesus in the Kingdom Hall—not there but at the home of the Lounds, he was going to spank my behind for thinking bad thoughts; boring
Jesus in the Pentecostal Church—really flippin weird
My sister’s engagement was broken and she left the church. Secretly, I was glad. The place freaked me out too much. I left Mt. Hope church at 12 and never went back. When I look back, the whole experience was strange. All I wanted was tradition, I wanted to be around familiarity.
A new pastor began leading the Methodist church and he really shook things up. People were excited and attendance rose. Pastor Bob also began a youth group. It consisted of seven kids, the only kids who attended the church. My mom volunteered us to join. We bellyached but went. Pastor Bob had us visit senior citizens homes, hold spaghetti suppers, and he tried to get us to talk about Jesus. I hated it. It creeped me out. I liked Jesus on my own terms but I was almost a teenager and I was starting to rebel against goodness. Pastor Bob was a music reviewer for Youth magazine. He asked Chad and I to help contribute. The two albums we had to critique: Bon Jovi’s New Jersey and Kylie Monogue’s Locomotion. I put my good, little, Christian girl hat on and ripped apart the Bon Jovi album. I told Pastor Bob what he wanted to hear. Secretly, I liked Bon Jovi.
Trying to be someone you aren’t gets tiring after awhile. Chad felt the same way. We rebelled against the pastor. He would ask us to do something and we would flat out say no. I remember this conversation well:
Bob: Alright, who’s going to volunteer to do the dishes after the pancake supper?
Chad: Like any of us are going to volunteer.
Bob: Okay, then, Chad can do them.
Chad: I’m not doing anything (leaves room).
Bob: Holly, you and Darrick will do the dishes.
Me: Okay, I’ll go get Darrick (disappears outside and finds Darrick hiding in the cemetery; ducks behind a nearby headstone).
We were jerks. Eventually, we quit going. I was talking to Chad recently about Pastor Bob. He hung his head and said, “I treated that guy so badly. I’m pretty ashamed of myself. All he ever wanted to do was help and teach us.” I never felt guilty about Bob before then. I feel a little guilty now.
The summer of 1989 approached. It was one of the best summers of my life. It was also my last summer living in Charlotte. My mom and I were finally leaving. After 9 years of being together, she and Lee were finally breaking it off. My mom found a place in Holt that she could afford and I was excited to move to the big city. I was also excited because my sister and her fiancé lived a few blocks away, the closest I had ever lived to my sis.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
2 Years
I'm sitting in Mr. Pita. It's raining but the sun is shining brightly on the cozy, little restaurant and all of us inside. I wonder if anyone else notices. As soon as I started blogging "In the beginning," the sun came out almost as if to offer encouragement.
Last night, I was reading about Jesus and John the Baptist. John wore the same clothing as Elijah. Then, I had to go back to figure out who Elijah was again. I have the worst time remembering this stuff. I never really had Sunday School. I only started paying attention two years ago. But all of that is getting better. I attend Sunday School every other week. People think I help out at Riv Kids to volunteer my time to the church. I really do it so I can finally go to Sunday School. Just kidding...kind of. I mean, I learn just as much in Riv Kids as I do in the service.
Right now, YMCA is playing. I smile, thinking about seeing them in concert last November and the story Noel told us about getting hit on by the Indian. Oh yeah...Noel, the pastor. The thing that really gets me about this whole two year anniversary is the fact that I was led to a church so full of misfit Christians like me. What I mean is that Riverview is like the land of misfit toys...strange people, funny people, people with all sorts of pasts, people who love God. The irony is that I used to tease Joey that he went to a church called "Riverdance."
Me: So what did you do today?
JC: Went to church.
Me (being a smartass): Oh, yeah...what is that place called again? Riverdance? What religion is that anyway?
JC (politely laughs): Christian...and its called Riverview.
Me: Whatever. I suppose its one of those places that plays really loud, modern music.
JC: Yeah, they do.
Me: Forget it. I could never go to a church like that. Someone starts playing the guitar and I'm gone. I want the tradition. I want to her my mom's voice above the others in a choir.
JC: Yeah, I like choirs to. My old church had one. My mom sang in it. My mom goes to Riverview now.
Me: She does?!
JC: Yeah.
Me: Hmmmmm....I suppose this is one of those places where everyone wears jeans.
JC: Yup.
Me: Figures. It's some kind of new wave church where everyone just loves Jesus so much it's gross...isn't it.
JC: Sure.
Me: So what did you learn at Riverdance today?
JC: Sex
Me: What?! Sex?! You can't talk about that in church.
JC: Well, we did! The pastor talked about good sex and bad sex. Want to know more?
Me: Maybe...
JC: Let me get my notes.
Me: Notes! You have to take notes! What kind of place is this?!
So, yeah, the topic got me through the front door...eventually. But I didn't like Riverview much the first time. I dressed up. I didn't like the relaxed look everyone else had. I couldn't stand the music. The pastor wasn't quite reaching me because there were so many layers to get through. I started dating Joey near the beginning of March. I asked him to come to the Presbyterian church in Holt because I felt like I needed the tradition. So, we went. Then, we went to Riverview.
I had relaxed a bit and just felt convicted to give it another try. I was blown away. Scenes from Signs, The Matrix, a story told with South Park characters and the best part was Johnny Cash's version of Hurt. I cried. The message talked about our Christian hope. Thankfully, I had a little of that left. After church, I knew there were changes I wanted to make. God was reaching out, almost like a last ditch effort by actually relating to my life.
It has been such a scary, weird journey since then. I have definitely had my moments and might tell you about one I had recently. There's still so much work to do...more miles to travel...
Last night, I was reading about Jesus and John the Baptist. John wore the same clothing as Elijah. Then, I had to go back to figure out who Elijah was again. I have the worst time remembering this stuff. I never really had Sunday School. I only started paying attention two years ago. But all of that is getting better. I attend Sunday School every other week. People think I help out at Riv Kids to volunteer my time to the church. I really do it so I can finally go to Sunday School. Just kidding...kind of. I mean, I learn just as much in Riv Kids as I do in the service.
Right now, YMCA is playing. I smile, thinking about seeing them in concert last November and the story Noel told us about getting hit on by the Indian. Oh yeah...Noel, the pastor. The thing that really gets me about this whole two year anniversary is the fact that I was led to a church so full of misfit Christians like me. What I mean is that Riverview is like the land of misfit toys...strange people, funny people, people with all sorts of pasts, people who love God. The irony is that I used to tease Joey that he went to a church called "Riverdance."
Me: So what did you do today?
JC: Went to church.
Me (being a smartass): Oh, yeah...what is that place called again? Riverdance? What religion is that anyway?
JC (politely laughs): Christian...and its called Riverview.
Me: Whatever. I suppose its one of those places that plays really loud, modern music.
JC: Yeah, they do.
Me: Forget it. I could never go to a church like that. Someone starts playing the guitar and I'm gone. I want the tradition. I want to her my mom's voice above the others in a choir.
JC: Yeah, I like choirs to. My old church had one. My mom sang in it. My mom goes to Riverview now.
Me: She does?!
JC: Yeah.
Me: Hmmmmm....I suppose this is one of those places where everyone wears jeans.
JC: Yup.
Me: Figures. It's some kind of new wave church where everyone just loves Jesus so much it's gross...isn't it.
JC: Sure.
Me: So what did you learn at Riverdance today?
JC: Sex
Me: What?! Sex?! You can't talk about that in church.
JC: Well, we did! The pastor talked about good sex and bad sex. Want to know more?
Me: Maybe...
JC: Let me get my notes.
Me: Notes! You have to take notes! What kind of place is this?!
So, yeah, the topic got me through the front door...eventually. But I didn't like Riverview much the first time. I dressed up. I didn't like the relaxed look everyone else had. I couldn't stand the music. The pastor wasn't quite reaching me because there were so many layers to get through. I started dating Joey near the beginning of March. I asked him to come to the Presbyterian church in Holt because I felt like I needed the tradition. So, we went. Then, we went to Riverview.
I had relaxed a bit and just felt convicted to give it another try. I was blown away. Scenes from Signs, The Matrix, a story told with South Park characters and the best part was Johnny Cash's version of Hurt. I cried. The message talked about our Christian hope. Thankfully, I had a little of that left. After church, I knew there were changes I wanted to make. God was reaching out, almost like a last ditch effort by actually relating to my life.
It has been such a scary, weird journey since then. I have definitely had my moments and might tell you about one I had recently. There's still so much work to do...more miles to travel...
In the beginning....
Tomorrow marks my 2 year anniversary of the first time I went to Riverview. I wasn't dragged there. I wasn't expecting to be changed, either. I was hung over and sick. I was also searching, but used to it by now. For the past few years I had been intensely seeking for a place I fit in, a place to grow, a place to know God...a place I hadn't really ever had. I listened with skepticism as the pastor discussed being in a rut. I chuckled to myself. Yes, sir...my whole life.
My parents were high school sweethearts, married right out of high school with a little girl on the way. They lived in Laingsburg, MI sandwiched in-between my dad's family: grandpa and grandma on one side, aunt Helen's family on the other. My mother worked as a hair stylist to help put dad through Michigan State. After he graduated, he took a job as a bartender. Both had jobs which required communication skills and dealing with other people's issues but they were so tired of being young, struggling, supporting a family, the two caved under the pressures.
They separated in 1975 and my dad moving to Lansing.
The End.
Oh...wait...there must be more.
Mom did the best she could with an 8-year-old. They continued to go to the Laingsburg Methodist Church with the rest of my dad's family, who fully supported my mom's decisions. Dad came back to Laingsburg once a week to watch my sister on Wednesday nights. I guess its safe for all to guess that my parents still had some kind of love between them otherwise, I wouldn't be writing this :)
I don't know if I was supposed to save their marriage, if I was a "surprise" to them, or if they panicked when my mom got the results. Mom says she was happy but I wonder. The truth: my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer and asked my pops to move back home. I guess, in a way, the tragedy of my grandpa dying is why I might be here. God knew I was going to arrive on the scene but everyone else thought my sister was going to be an only child.
Mom and dad did get back together until I was about two and a half. My father finally confessed he was in love with someone else and they got divorced.
My mom had little options at the time. She met a man who was 10 years younger. His wife had left him with a four year old son and a one and a half year old daughter. We went to live with him in Charlotte but we had to leave behind the family, including my sister. She was 12 at the time and did not want to live with Lee. My mom's parents took her in so she grew up in Ellsworth, a small town next to Charlevoix, MI.
My mom stepped right in as a surrogate mother to Chad and Fawn. Fawn even called her mommy. She brought us three kids to a little country church around the corner from our house. This church resembled the church from Little House On The Prairie, complete with a Reverend Alden. Approximately 20-30 people attended, all of them were our neighbors. A large cross hung behind the minister over a red curtain backdrop. I always wanted to know what was behind the curtain. A picture of Jesus hung above the organ. I would stare at His image, wonder why this guy loved me so much. I saw pictures of Jesus playing with sheep and holding little kid's hands. It didn't make sense to me. But if we didn't love him, we were going to hell for sure. As far as I knew, hell meant no Barbies, Pound Puppies, big wheels, or family. Sure, I'll love Jesus. He did die for me after all...wait...I wasn't even alive. How did he die for me before I was even born? I just did as I was told. Believe him. Love him.
There is a memory that stands out. Nighttime. Candles flickered. Everyone was singing Christmas hymns. Lee was there which was unusual. The "Larder" children were asked to come to the front of the church and recite a poem. It was about a Christmas Tree. We had one little line each. One of us froze. Can't remember who. I was deathly afraid. It was probably me.
For the most part, us three kids went to church every other weekend when we were home. We dreaded it. Getting dressed up, putting on the tights, dress pants, uncomfortable shoes, curling the hair. My argument was that the guy in the pictures wore a robe and sandles. Why were we getting so pretty? It was ingrained into our minds: it is respectful to dress up when you enter the house of God.
Church was boring. We usually had to sit through the entire service because there wasn't much of a Sunday School program. My mom bribed us by promising McDonald's breakfast afterwards. The whole charade was over by the time we were 10. I'm sure it broke my mom's heart but we were relieved.
But there was something else going on behind the scenes. It was taking place every other weekend when I visited my father. It was confusing. It was a little scary. It was Catholicism.
My parents were high school sweethearts, married right out of high school with a little girl on the way. They lived in Laingsburg, MI sandwiched in-between my dad's family: grandpa and grandma on one side, aunt Helen's family on the other. My mother worked as a hair stylist to help put dad through Michigan State. After he graduated, he took a job as a bartender. Both had jobs which required communication skills and dealing with other people's issues but they were so tired of being young, struggling, supporting a family, the two caved under the pressures.
They separated in 1975 and my dad moving to Lansing.
The End.
Oh...wait...there must be more.
Mom did the best she could with an 8-year-old. They continued to go to the Laingsburg Methodist Church with the rest of my dad's family, who fully supported my mom's decisions. Dad came back to Laingsburg once a week to watch my sister on Wednesday nights. I guess its safe for all to guess that my parents still had some kind of love between them otherwise, I wouldn't be writing this :)
I don't know if I was supposed to save their marriage, if I was a "surprise" to them, or if they panicked when my mom got the results. Mom says she was happy but I wonder. The truth: my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer and asked my pops to move back home. I guess, in a way, the tragedy of my grandpa dying is why I might be here. God knew I was going to arrive on the scene but everyone else thought my sister was going to be an only child.
Mom and dad did get back together until I was about two and a half. My father finally confessed he was in love with someone else and they got divorced.
My mom had little options at the time. She met a man who was 10 years younger. His wife had left him with a four year old son and a one and a half year old daughter. We went to live with him in Charlotte but we had to leave behind the family, including my sister. She was 12 at the time and did not want to live with Lee. My mom's parents took her in so she grew up in Ellsworth, a small town next to Charlevoix, MI.
My mom stepped right in as a surrogate mother to Chad and Fawn. Fawn even called her mommy. She brought us three kids to a little country church around the corner from our house. This church resembled the church from Little House On The Prairie, complete with a Reverend Alden. Approximately 20-30 people attended, all of them were our neighbors. A large cross hung behind the minister over a red curtain backdrop. I always wanted to know what was behind the curtain. A picture of Jesus hung above the organ. I would stare at His image, wonder why this guy loved me so much. I saw pictures of Jesus playing with sheep and holding little kid's hands. It didn't make sense to me. But if we didn't love him, we were going to hell for sure. As far as I knew, hell meant no Barbies, Pound Puppies, big wheels, or family. Sure, I'll love Jesus. He did die for me after all...wait...I wasn't even alive. How did he die for me before I was even born? I just did as I was told. Believe him. Love him.
There is a memory that stands out. Nighttime. Candles flickered. Everyone was singing Christmas hymns. Lee was there which was unusual. The "Larder" children were asked to come to the front of the church and recite a poem. It was about a Christmas Tree. We had one little line each. One of us froze. Can't remember who. I was deathly afraid. It was probably me.
For the most part, us three kids went to church every other weekend when we were home. We dreaded it. Getting dressed up, putting on the tights, dress pants, uncomfortable shoes, curling the hair. My argument was that the guy in the pictures wore a robe and sandles. Why were we getting so pretty? It was ingrained into our minds: it is respectful to dress up when you enter the house of God.
Church was boring. We usually had to sit through the entire service because there wasn't much of a Sunday School program. My mom bribed us by promising McDonald's breakfast afterwards. The whole charade was over by the time we were 10. I'm sure it broke my mom's heart but we were relieved.
But there was something else going on behind the scenes. It was taking place every other weekend when I visited my father. It was confusing. It was a little scary. It was Catholicism.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Bad Day
I'm cleaning house a bit today on my blog and going through drafts I never posted. I wrote this on 2/14/05.
It is difficult to admit this happened...but it did. I had a rough day this weekend. I was challenged in a big way and I fell. I was quickly reminded about a line I have to draw. It is not a line regarding sexuality or drinking. It is a line of what I can expose myself to as a fairly new Christ Follower.
The wise know and understand the truth. Yes, they seek more wisdom but having a firm perspective and knowing the Bible makes them less susciptible to controvery. They walk into a fire, they leave unscathed because they hold on to what they've learned. Throw a new believer in the fire, chances are they will get burned unless someone brings them out of it.
I saw the book sitting out and I read one page. It was a book which explains the Da Vinci Code. I thought it was the book which disproved the Da Vinci Code. Nope. One page was all it took to make my head spin. Immiediatly, I went to my Bible and tried to look for answers to some crazy theory I just read. I didn't find anything. Tired, I took a nap.
Upon waking an hour later, I felt so cold and alone. It was almost like I could feel my own mortality...the fact that I wouldn't always be alive. But the feeling of just complete lonliness pressed my heart.
"What in the hell was I doing? What was this religiousy crap I was buying into? And God? Give me a break. It's like Santa Claus and I'll never know because there is no God...there is no God? Is there a God? Have I been brainwashed? What is happening?"
I seriously panicked. Lost. Confused. Sick. Anger. Tears. Shame.
Every new Christian should have a sponser of some sort. So I called mine, JAC. But I was evil and spoke evil. All of this anger was just building inside of me. The sponsor picked me up and we started driving out to Charlotte to see some friends. We got as far as the high school when I got a call from my sister that my car was blocking her in. We turned around and went back. As we left for the second time, I said, "maybe we weren't supposed to go to Charlotte tonight. Let's go to 2 Feathers. I've never been."
So we went. And the Holt Wrestling Coaches were there. And they were so happy to see us. They invited us in and we ended up laughing a lot. And it was purely coincedence, right? I finally admitted why I was tripping out so bad. My sponsor listened paitently and said some things I took to heart.
I feel okay right now. It's almost like after a fight when you feel a little sensitive around the person who hurt you or who you hurt. God didn't hurt me but I still feel a little shaky. I suppose this happens to people without wisdom and knowledge. I'm quickly trying to gain some but it could take my whole life. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?
Listen to my own stupid advice. I mean, look at what I had written the day before about turning God on and off? How He is always there. It is so hard to follow advice whether it is your own or another humans. Anyhow, all is good now. I got back up but feel the limp a little. It will heal. Damn that satan, too. He's a tricky-you-know-what.
It is difficult to admit this happened...but it did. I had a rough day this weekend. I was challenged in a big way and I fell. I was quickly reminded about a line I have to draw. It is not a line regarding sexuality or drinking. It is a line of what I can expose myself to as a fairly new Christ Follower.
The wise know and understand the truth. Yes, they seek more wisdom but having a firm perspective and knowing the Bible makes them less susciptible to controvery. They walk into a fire, they leave unscathed because they hold on to what they've learned. Throw a new believer in the fire, chances are they will get burned unless someone brings them out of it.
I saw the book sitting out and I read one page. It was a book which explains the Da Vinci Code. I thought it was the book which disproved the Da Vinci Code. Nope. One page was all it took to make my head spin. Immiediatly, I went to my Bible and tried to look for answers to some crazy theory I just read. I didn't find anything. Tired, I took a nap.
Upon waking an hour later, I felt so cold and alone. It was almost like I could feel my own mortality...the fact that I wouldn't always be alive. But the feeling of just complete lonliness pressed my heart.
"What in the hell was I doing? What was this religiousy crap I was buying into? And God? Give me a break. It's like Santa Claus and I'll never know because there is no God...there is no God? Is there a God? Have I been brainwashed? What is happening?"
I seriously panicked. Lost. Confused. Sick. Anger. Tears. Shame.
Every new Christian should have a sponser of some sort. So I called mine, JAC. But I was evil and spoke evil. All of this anger was just building inside of me. The sponsor picked me up and we started driving out to Charlotte to see some friends. We got as far as the high school when I got a call from my sister that my car was blocking her in. We turned around and went back. As we left for the second time, I said, "maybe we weren't supposed to go to Charlotte tonight. Let's go to 2 Feathers. I've never been."
So we went. And the Holt Wrestling Coaches were there. And they were so happy to see us. They invited us in and we ended up laughing a lot. And it was purely coincedence, right? I finally admitted why I was tripping out so bad. My sponsor listened paitently and said some things I took to heart.
I feel okay right now. It's almost like after a fight when you feel a little sensitive around the person who hurt you or who you hurt. God didn't hurt me but I still feel a little shaky. I suppose this happens to people without wisdom and knowledge. I'm quickly trying to gain some but it could take my whole life. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?
Listen to my own stupid advice. I mean, look at what I had written the day before about turning God on and off? How He is always there. It is so hard to follow advice whether it is your own or another humans. Anyhow, all is good now. I got back up but feel the limp a little. It will heal. Damn that satan, too. He's a tricky-you-know-what.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Gone Fishing
I read an article today entitled “When God Seems Distant.” The first line is “God is real, no matter how you feel.” Conclusion: We can’t turn God on and off. We can turn ourselves on and off but God remains.
The author of this book brought up something striking for a new Christian: sometimes God shuts up. He doesn’t go away but it feels like there’s nothing there. “When you are a baby Christian, God gives you a lot of confirming emotions and often answers the most immature, self-centered prayers—so you’ll know He exists.” I can agree with this. God has been on my speed dial for two years and I can’t believe the things I’ve been blessed with just by asking. He does the craziest little things and makes me KNOW it is Him.
The author went on to say how God will wean us of this excessive dependency on feelings. He wants us to grow, live in faith, and trust Him. “The most common mistake Christians make in worship is seeking an experience rather than seeking God. But seeking a feeling, even a feeling of closeness to Christ, is not worship.”
This was tough for me to read let alone understand, but I see what the author is saying. We should not base our relationship with God on feelings alone—we need to base it on faith because the feelings will leave us. We will go through periods of “dryness” or a rut. “Yes, God wants you to sense his presence, but he’s more concerned that you trust him than that you feel him.”
The author gave tips on what to do when it feels like God's gone fishing, especially at the worst times in your life: "How do you keep your eyes on Jesus when they’re full of tears?”
*Tell Him how you feel, just as Job did. “God can handle your doubt, anger, fear, grief, confusion, and questions.” This author states that admitting your hopelessness can be a statement of faith.
*Focus on who God is:
Good, loving (I first thought this said good-looking), all-powerful, in control, knows everything about us, and will save us.
*Trust God to keep His promises, even if we don’t see the result for 50 years.
*Remember what He did for you.
Even if God never does anything for you again, remember that He gave us His son. “That alone is worthy of your continual thanks and praise. Never again should you wonder what you have to be thankful for.”
It is these times of absence when we mature, grow in our faith and learn to trust God when we don’t feel God. Is God with us right now? Yes. Do you feel Him? Do you need to? I like it when I can feel God, but I know that I won't always...and he'll still be there secretly urging me to grow to a new level.
I could also just be crazy.
The author of this book brought up something striking for a new Christian: sometimes God shuts up. He doesn’t go away but it feels like there’s nothing there. “When you are a baby Christian, God gives you a lot of confirming emotions and often answers the most immature, self-centered prayers—so you’ll know He exists.” I can agree with this. God has been on my speed dial for two years and I can’t believe the things I’ve been blessed with just by asking. He does the craziest little things and makes me KNOW it is Him.
The author went on to say how God will wean us of this excessive dependency on feelings. He wants us to grow, live in faith, and trust Him. “The most common mistake Christians make in worship is seeking an experience rather than seeking God. But seeking a feeling, even a feeling of closeness to Christ, is not worship.”
This was tough for me to read let alone understand, but I see what the author is saying. We should not base our relationship with God on feelings alone—we need to base it on faith because the feelings will leave us. We will go through periods of “dryness” or a rut. “Yes, God wants you to sense his presence, but he’s more concerned that you trust him than that you feel him.”
The author gave tips on what to do when it feels like God's gone fishing, especially at the worst times in your life: "How do you keep your eyes on Jesus when they’re full of tears?”
*Tell Him how you feel, just as Job did. “God can handle your doubt, anger, fear, grief, confusion, and questions.” This author states that admitting your hopelessness can be a statement of faith.
*Focus on who God is:
Good, loving (I first thought this said good-looking), all-powerful, in control, knows everything about us, and will save us.
*Trust God to keep His promises, even if we don’t see the result for 50 years.
*Remember what He did for you.
Even if God never does anything for you again, remember that He gave us His son. “That alone is worthy of your continual thanks and praise. Never again should you wonder what you have to be thankful for.”
It is these times of absence when we mature, grow in our faith and learn to trust God when we don’t feel God. Is God with us right now? Yes. Do you feel Him? Do you need to? I like it when I can feel God, but I know that I won't always...and he'll still be there secretly urging me to grow to a new level.
I could also just be crazy.
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