Dear Dearest Dahling,

There are some things you should know.  I'm waiting, and I don't like it.  I like it in the sense that I'm in Australia and can travel around and do fun things without worrying about what you're eating for dinners and whether you're feeding the dog we don't have because I haven't met you yet.  I dislike it in the sense that every time I see a couple, watch a movie, read a sonnet, I think "well, wouldn't a dearest dahling be nice to have right about now..."

Also, I'm very picky, so if you made it through the wringer, the gauntlet and the harrowing interviews of all of my loved ones, pat yourself on the back... that or I got tired of being single and ran off to Vegas with the dashing fireman who rescued the cat I don't have from the apartment window I don't own yet.  I don't really mind dirty socks on the floor, but I do hope that you chew with your mouth closed.  I've been praying for you for an awfully long time.  Lately the prayers have tended to sound like this... Dear God, please most of all give him a heart that looks like Yours, but please make him good looking... and athletic and musical and like to dance and... well, You know the rest, amen.

I grew up with two brothers, so you'll be glad to know that I don't plan on flying into any rages or salting your tea if you forget anniversaries and birthdays.  If I say "I don't care", that means I'm releasing you from liability of me not liking the decision you make.  Just because I say I don't care doesn't always mean I really don't care, but I take responsibility for that irrationality.

There are few things I won't try.  If you want to teach me to shoot, drive a tractor, and play golf, I'm game.  But I won't interrupt boys' poker night or flounce off if you tell me I look good in an apron.  There are rules, and I'm not about to ask you if I can tag along on hunting weekend.  I'll try not to interrupt during the game on Monday night, but it'd be great if you could mute the commercials in case I need to get a word in edgewise.

If you want me to quit talking, just read to me.  I like old books, like Psalms and Joshua and A Tale of Two Cities.  Can we please have dramatic readings sometimes?

If you ever send me flowers, (and if we're married, it means you did,) but I can't stand alstroemeria.  I just don't like them.  I don't need roses, tulips are fine, and I'd be perfectly happy with a pot of basil.  Oh, and will you kiss me under the mistletoe sometime?  It's on my bucket list.

I love you best of all, better than apples, chocolate, and even fields in the spring,

Little future Mrs. Sunshine

The Unveiling

Well, here's the tentative redesign, friends.  After looking at probably hundreds, trying on a few for size, finding that I just don't look good in sleeveless except in particular occasions, I've decided this is the one for me.  I don't know how long it will stay, but it's here for a while, as the process takes too long to repeat often.

Little Miss Sunshine

And then there was the time I thought I knew something about leadership...

I was ready.  I had done my homework.  I was armed with my thoughtful insights and open-ended discussion questions.  The topic of the day was Moses at the burning bush.  I was ready to connect it to God's character, the Abrahamic covenant, our daily lives, the whole bit.  Moses is reluctant to follow God's directive and although he is physically listening to the voice of God, doubts God's power in carrying out His plan.  Moses is engrossed in the details.  He'd fled Egypt on charges of murder, he'd been raised under the roof of the Egyptian royalty, he wasn't a gifted public speaker... In his estimation, things were not looking favorable to a successful career as a religious and political leader.  His faith was limited to his human perception of the circumstances and his natural abilities.

The moral of that story is God literally talked Moses into trusting Him.  The moral of my story is I still have a lot to learn about faith and leadership.  There was one teenager, and she wasn't able to stay for the discussion.  So I joined the little kids, coloring, word-searching, fill in the blank-ing.  Needless to say, I was disappointed. Here I was, ready to make these kids think, wrestle and really get the text.  Maybe I studied the text for my own benefit.  God knew I struggle with seeing the human circumstances and discounting the value of faith in what God will do if given a little space.

Maybe leadership isn't just having the best ideas and the loudest voice.  Maybe leadership is more than having the right answers and the willingness to work.  Maybe leadership is something I don't have yet.

Sometimes I feel like I'm running on a hamster wheel.  I get frustrated because things here are rolling, but not very fast, and sometimes it feels like we're rolling in an ox cart, not a Honda.  The people here are willing and eager to upgrade, but where do I even start?  It's not like I'm a big experienced church administrator with several programs under my belt of experience.  It's more like I just graduated from university and have dabbled in various areas of ministry.  I see things that need some work... like maybe doing a few newer songs, or using an acoustic instead of an electric for accompaniment, or doing some kind of men's Bible study.  This church is filled with wonderful women, but sometimes I feel like they run the church a little.  Some would say that's just a more modern take on things.  I'd say it's a bit of outdated feminism gone churchy.

So maybe this will take longer than I thought.  Maybe it will be even more difficult than I imagined.  Probably I will want to quit at some point and pack up my bags and catch the first plane out of town.  Probably people will disagree with me.  But most sure and definite are two things.  1. God is faithful to work and use those who are humble and willing.  2. Neals don't quit.  Obviously, the first is most true and important, but the second is not something to be sneezed at.

Tomorrow brings another day to learn to walk with Jesus,

The Little one, known as Miss Sunshine

Things Are Looking Up (Part II of Children Are a Wonder)

Yesterday I left you in quite a heap of dank, ugly unapologetic truth about the current state of things in everyday people.  I'm sorry I had to leave you, but sometimes it gives time for truth to sink in.  And before I left you out in the cold, I told you it was always most miserable just when you'd given up hope that the sun would ever rise again.

So, as a summary for yesterday, there is in each of us at once something dark and evil and also something noble and beautiful.  How could the same species paint things like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and take the lives of thousands?  We are at once magnificent and broken.  We write masterpieces of literature but have a difficult time writing "I'm sorry, please forgive me."

The only good, the magnificent moments are traces of former days, days before the great separation.  In the Garden, we were perfect.  We left the Garden having broken hearts, both ours and the heart of God Himself. We could not undo the damage.  We could not pay the debt we had incurred by breaking a relationship with our God.  We were helpless and hopeless.  Things looked like this, in fact...

³For we ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another. ⁴But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, ⁵he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy... ⁷so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.     Titus 3


That was the sunrise we had dreamed of and longed for.  Still, sometimes we think it's too good to be true.  Unconditional love doesn't happen in real life, so surely all of this dreamed up religion stuff is a social construct to make us feel better and to explain moral standards.  What about Michaelangelo and Shakespeare and Beethoven?  What about an empty tomb on an Easter morning and a full inn at Christmas?  What about a sweet small one who crawls up into your lap and says I love you?  Sistine Chapels and concertos and grief and love and friendship don't evolve from simple cells.  They are gifts from a God who loves.  


I think but is one of the most amazing words in the Bible.  Things were looking dark, but Jesus stepped in and became our debt's payment.  We still mess up a lot but love covers a multitude of sins.  Sometimes we just want to give up but He who began a good work in you will see it to completion.  Yes, life is hard, but we serve the great comforter.  Evil can seem so strong and unbeatable but we serve a just king who has already overcome death itself.


I'm reading What's So Amazing about Grace right now.  You should probably read it too.  We have a lot to learn about the business of grace.  




Much love,


Little Miss Sunshine

Children Are a Wonder

Quick update before I launch into this blog post... the redesign is not going well because I found a background I like but I can't get it to work... blah.  Also, I LOVE A Tale of Two Cities and I think you should read it.  It's not stuffy, it's great writing and the story is paced well so far.  I'm making progress in becoming a dog person, thanks to the endearing little dogs we helped take care of until their owners got home.  I still like big dogs better, but I think my relationship with the canine world is getting better.  Australia is beautiful and we're still enjoying ourselves.  Sometimes I still can't believe I'm here.

Now, back to the topic of the day...

Children are a wonder, both in the way you think I mean it and in the way that won't immediately enter your imaginings.  I don't have to tell you that children are precious.  You naturally clamor to snap candids of your 3 year old niece, Gloria River Anne Wellington instead of her father, Uncle Joe.  News is instantly more tragic when it includes the injury of loss of a child.  They see life in a way so untainted; they stop us in our tracks with keen perceptions of the people around them.  There's a reason Jesus says "whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it." *  They know things deeply that we have since forgotten.
   
Right about now, you should be reflecting on magical Christmases gone by, the way you felt when summer vacation started and the grand enigma that soapy wands produced multicolored bubbles that slowly floated on the wind before an untimely demise in prickly green summer grass.  Kindly put those memories back in your dusty cardboard box so we can return to our regularly scheduled program.

We've just explored the first things you think of when I say that children are a wonder.  You may not like the next words that register on your retina.  That's OK.  The second way that children are a wonder is the depth of undisguised, unadulterated evil they possess.  I submit to you that all that clean slate view of childhood morality is a bunch of wishful thinking poppycock.  We're not talking about the influence of role models, we'll cover that another day.  You've seen this evil at work.  Because I work with kids, I see it all the time.

A three year old girl on the fast track to high maintenance female throws an Academy Award-winning fit because her mom won't dote on her properly.  This is not her heartfelt cry birthed from a human desire for love.  She is not saying,"Mom, I need your love and support of my person-hood if I'm ever going to be an emotionally healthy four year old."  What she is saying is, "I don't care that you're holding my infant brother, in fact, I don't really care about anything but myself and educating the world about my imminent reign as Queen of the Universe."  She would probably throw in some choice four letter combinations if she knew them.  Two toddlers are playing with toy cars.  Blank Moral Slate #1 takes Blank Moral Slate #2's car and BMS #1 slugs BMS #2 straight in the face.  Blank moral slate nothing.

It's not that children are more evil than any other type of human, they just haven't learned our own crafty trade yet.  Instead of throwing an outright tantrum announcing our ascension to the throne, we just sigh and shake our heads as we discuss the woes of our planners.  We can just barely squeeze in yoga between reading to the Blind Alaskan Fisherman Club and being treasurer for the Concerned Citizens for the Preservation of Siberian Parakeets Association.  Upon a friendly suggestion of scaling back, we smile sadly and explain that they just couldn't do without us and we really love being able to do our part.  Those poor Siberian Parakeets would have no advocate, and the fishermen wouldn't have suffered through heard the entire Nicholas Sparks collection without us.  Instead of wresting our co-worker's iPad2 away from them and receiving a blow to the nose, we just snub people who don't please us and share information given in confidence when it's to our advantage.

Yes, you and I are just as wicked as the 18 month old who holds a fistful of mashed potatoes, smiles beguilingly and then drops it on your newly mopped floor.  We've just lived this way so long that we've cunningly developed ways of making it seem OK, or ignoring it altogether.  Our evil is a much more civilized deception.  We don't give people our honest opinions but hold a grudge against them for not being able to read our minds.  (He should have known I wanted Mexican food tonight.)  We formulate our responses or our one-up stories as we half-listen to a friend tell about their vacation.  We constantly compare ourselves to others in an effort to find someone "inferior" to give ourselves worth.

So the world is evil.  Great, Little Miss Sunshine, just made my day.  Thanks.  It was great to accompany my morning coffee with your cheery little blog.

Oh, dear friend, when is the night its coldest and darkest?  It's just before a hesitant grey herald precedes the sun marching triumphantly and the darkness can't stand up to its laughter and warmth.

But since I try not to be so very long winded as I could be, just be assured that the sun will come out tomorrow, or as soon as I get a little time.


Very much love,

Little Miss Sunshine  


*Mark 10:15b, ESV

Data referral and other comments

Dear Readers,
You may not remember, but I'm in Australia.  This is my fault (you not remembering) as I have sorely neglected the information-rich updates some of you might be wanting (mom and Mrs. Y).  Sure, SG and I are still having adventures and meeting people, but I'm posting about running and miscellaneous sundries.  So, for the sake of our relationship, I thought I should refer you to my wonderful compadrina, the one and only SG, who blogs about things that happen to us instead of commentary on isolated incidents with the occasional factual update.  I owe it to you... http://sarahlovesmarshmallows.blogspot.com/

In other news, WE ATE KANGAROO TACOS!  Please take a moment and bask in the culinary wonder of it all.  Yes, kan-ga-roo.  You knew my concerns about being able to find good Mexican food here in dear little Australia, but you also are well aware of my eagerness to try new food.  Enter Mrs. H, the wonderful cook and our hostess for dinner last night.  Don't worry, Mom, I'm loyal to the end to your tacos.  But we were so excited to have Mexican food!  She also whipped up these crazy desserts that sounded like "Pavlova" or something, looked like stuffed beehives and tasted like heaven.  They were meringue towers stuffed with mousse and fruit and topped with a blueberry sauce.

My Australian vocabulary is slowly expanding.  Let me give you a little recap of what I've gathered so far...


Australian/American
dummy/pacifier
tea/dinner
kip/nap
nappie/diaper
biscuit or bickie/cookie
goodonya/way to go
how're you going/how's it going
capsicum/ bell pepper
pram / baby stroller
mince / ground meat

It's a beautiful place.  There are Magnolia liliiflora everywhere, along with azaleas, daisies and the lush and lovely Agapanthus.  The birds, on the other hand, make me wish someone would mail me a pellet gun to Australia.  They're interesting in that they make life sound like you're living in a jungle, but they've developed what many a thespian struggles with - projection.  Land sakes alive, I think these birds could have brought Lazarus back from the dead and saved Jesus the trouble.  I haven't met an unkind Australian yet.  I don't agree with all of them, but they're so nice I don't let it keep me from liking them.  I think that will be a future post topic.

Much love,

LMS

Also, I'm considering a blog redesign.  It might take a while, but it's in the planning stages!      

THE BRITISH ARE COMING THE BRITISH ARE COMING!

Today, if you had been standing on a certain street in a particular town in the south of Australia, you would have seen a sweat-shirted girl with ponytail flying like a flag from the northwestern region of her head, doubled over, all out of breath.  That girl was me.  I wasn't being hotly pursued by the Redcoats ( although I wouldn't mind being hotly pursued by a Brit, provided he loved Jesus and had good teeth) but there was an equatable level of relief when I reached my destination as a colonist who had narrowly escaped. 

This sort of relief goes above and beyond the "as;kdjfa;wueha;kjfd, so glad that run is over."  You see, dear reader, during one of my summer adventures, I slipped off of a rock.  This rock happened to be beside a stream, whose temperatures were probably below fifty.  Across this stream happened to be laying a large log, stripped of bark and foliage but riddled with evil poky parts.  I slipped off of the rock, into the stream with the water so cold, and landed on the tree... I think.  That's what they tell me.  All I remember is slipping, gasping at the cold, and swimming so I could perch myself on the log and not be swept down the waterfall.  

Somewhere in the slipping, falling, landing there was a stabbing.  Something, probably an evil poky, had the audacity to invade my epidermis and stir it into a fleshy mess.  I venture to say the only time I've lost more blood is when I've given it voluntarily.  Anyway, climbed out of the stream, jumped off the waterfalls that followed (about 6 or 7).  Got back to the condo and Shaney McShanerson cleaned up the mess for me.  

Fast forward a few weeks, I've been home a while, the antibiotic for the streaking hot redness down my leg has been taken, the lovely purple scar has replaced the scab, etc.  So I run, as is my habit, and I last a minute.  A MINUTE.  This is not an exaggeration in the negative.  The old joint just wouldn't have it.  Fast forward to this morning.  It was only 11 minutes, but the knee was fine.  The scar's still ugly, and the other knee's still a little bruised, but we're up and running again.  Thank you, Jesus for legs that can run, whether from fear of Redcoats or just the fear of gaining 15 pounds while on working holiday in Australia.

Today SG and I are off to explore Main Street.  Last night we weathered our first rugby match, and I do mean weathered - to the tune of a long sleeved shirt, two sweatshirts and a puffy vest.  Tonight we have our first dinner engagement, and tomorrow we have our first full Sunday at the church.  We have met so many wonderful people, including John the Irishman who we went to the rugby match with last night.  Wow.  I thought I wanted to marry a Texan, then an Australian, but now I'm thinking Irishman.  Between watching Leap Year and listening to John (who's old and married with kids, put those inquisitive eyebrows down) use the English language (sort of), Irish is in the lead. 

So continue the adventures of Little Miss Sunshine in the Land Down Undah.

 

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

Thursday was an icky day.  We'd had oodles of dreariness.  Clouds.  Rain.  Wind.  Icky, cold wintery coast weather.  (As my name implies, I don't do so well with lots of this kind of weather...)  The people around here keep apologizing for the weather.  I just tell them I'm excited for spring.  Back to Thursday.  I was just feeling evil and defeated.  You know that list of prayers that you should probably never pray like "God, please give me patience"?  Well, "Lord, please show me my sin" was the one I've been working through, and the answer wasn't pretty.  

SG and I had a good talk about some logistics of living together, which was good, but frustrating on my end.  I am continually reminded that the number of words I use in a day and the efficacy of my communication are not usually at equal levels.  Bah.  Then I start wondering if I'll ever be able to communicate with people well, and that's just a downer. 

So I betook myself to the sea, great expanse and muse of poets.  

Chacos in hand, I walked on the beach and listened to a sermon podcast from the Village Church.  It was about Moses leading the people toward the Promised Land.  He told God point blank, that if He wasn't going, neither were the children of Israel.  The sermon focused on relying on God to go before us every day.  I came back from that beachy stroll much encouraged that the God who began this good work is the same one who is not giving up on it.  

I found this phrase in a book I love, The Valley of Vision.  It's a book of prayers by old dead wise men and I love it.  One wrote:

     

        He is mine and I am his,

       Given to me as well as for me;

        I am never so much mine as when I am his

So yes, slowly, slowly I will become a better speaker of truth with love.  Slowly I will learn to run in a straight line.  Slowly I will look more and more like Jesus, and by extention, more and more like the self I was intended to be.

LMS

   

Shaking hands and kissing babies

Since SG and I have been over here, it seems like we've been doing a whole heck of a lot of shaking hands and kissing babies.  Mostly this is one particular baby, Mr. S, who is one of the cutest babies I've ever seen in my life. 

In the days before we departed for foreign shores, the friends kept asking me if I was nervous.  You'll find as you get to know me that it may seem as though I have no fears.  This is an illusion.  It's not that I have none, just that they are not readily seen.  I wasn't nervous about the travel - we'd only be going through English speaking countries.  I wasn't nervous about customs - I'd just done that adventure in June.  I wasn't nervous about being thousands of miles from home - I did that for college. 

I was nervous about being liked.  (Great fear of LMS's.)  Youth leaders have to be liked to be successful, right?  They have to have cool hair, great jewelry, just the right amount of pointed questions without being nosy.  I'VE NEVER BEEN A YOUTH LEADER!  So I don't have practice in knowing when to rock the trucker hat and when to leave it next to my sticker-studded guitar case (that I don't have).  What if they think I'm weird?  What if they think I'm bad at putting eyeliner on my upper eyelid?  What if they think my shoes are outdated?  Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear.  

Truth is, I could what if all day long, and you could all tell me wonderful, affirming things about my shoes and eyeliner application tactics.  In the end, the important thing is how I'm pressing on toward the goal.  Am I speaking truth in a way that is accessible to youth in this culture?  Am I living truth in a way that they can see and apply?  Am I doing the best with what I've been given to do what I've been called to do?  Sure, we're doing a lot of shaking hands and trying to make good first impressions.  That's fine.  It's just a part of going to a new place and meeting new people.  

In the end, though, the important thing is not how did students see me.  The important thing is, how did students see Jesus Christ because of me.  

Chase truth, relentlessly, patiently, hopefully.

Little Miss Sunshine 

In other news, an old man from Liverpool called me "pet" today.  Definitely a highlight.  

We made it! We made it!

Once upon a time I was sitting in disbelief that I would ever make it to that foreign land, Australia.  Oh yeah, that day was yesterday and a half.  I'd say yesterday, but I don't think Saturday existed in my life because of the weird Twilight Zone-like things that happen to you when you are being chased by the sun and flying around the world. 

The flight was long, but we slept a happily drugged sleep for a big part of that.  The strange fellow I sat next to kept laughing while watching his movie or TV show.  He had crazy hair. 

Customs went smoothly, and we exited the final set of doors to the outside world, to see Mrs. H standing their with our names on signs!  It was just like the movies, except I was the girl they were looking for, not some movie star!  We drove about an hour and a half straight to church where we were announced and introduced and nodded some hellos.  A song and a prayer more and we were instructed to post ourselves at the door with Pastor H.  And yes, we shook every hand that walked out those doors. 

In this congregation, there are two young families.  Only one of them was there today.  Everyone else is old, and charming, and wonderful.  You haven't seen precious until you've been welcomed by a bright eyed old Aussie grandpa with his Aussie accent and grandma at his side telling you they've been praying for you and are so glad you're here.  

The young couple took us to the house where we'll be house sitting for a couple weeks.  Friends, there are FLOWERS, and you can see the water from our front window.  It's wonderful.  SG and I went for a walk this afternoon and did a little exploring.  THEY HAVE A TARGET.  Weird.  We also found kangaroo shish kabobs in the grocery!  We've decided that we're going to keep a log of what we've learned about the area - shop prices, restaurant reviews, etc.  The dogs are not big and lanky, but they are quite endearing little things. 

Oh the wonder of it all!  I don't know what I'll be doing, who I'll be meeting, or even what ideas will succeed and fail during my time here in Australia.  I do know that God has us in His hand and we are here on His business.  It has been smooth sailing so far, but I know we will be challenged by new tasks and situations.  My prayer is that these would increase our faith and accomplish kingdom work.  

Much love and more to come,

Sunshine of the Miss and Little variety  

Post the First - as transcribed from an entry Friday night.

Leg one of this two legged rollicking, frolicking adventure is complete.  Check.  The flight to LAX was a pleasant one, as I sat next to a woman from Texas who was the sort you want to talk to.  She didn't ask too many questions and she didn't give too many answers.  I even got to talk with her about what makes a good job candidate.  She does a lot of interviews for different positions in the company she works for and she said that problem solving skills are key, as is the ability to recount situations in which you've been successful or unsuccessful efforts that you were able to learn from and use to improve later performance.  Maybe I'll start making a list of situations because I manage to forget all of them during interviews.

I feel like I'm at the Gate of Top Secret Destinations.  The thing is so remote!  I took two buses and one long, serpentine hallway to get here.  I sure hope I'm at the right place!  I have a couple more hours to wait.

As Lance, my summer boss would tell the students every week, the best way to fail at something is to not tell anyone you're going to try.  If there's no accountability, there's no pressure!  I love to succeed, so I thought I'd declare some of my lofty goals to you,dear reader.

Goal #1.  Read A Tale of Two Cities in its entirety.  I've never done a complete dickens, and I fell like that's an ingredient to being a well-rounded, well-read human.  I started it a couple weeks ago and made it through the first chapter.  I was slow going, as I haven't read anything that old in a while and it takes me a chapter or two to get back in the rhythm of reading words that aren't in common use anymore... like blunderbuss, sinister, and turnkey.  Zanna gave this book her personal endorsement, so that coupled with a 14 hour flight lend themselves to some motivation.  I'll keep you updated.  Right now, a man in a stagecoach has received a message and sent one back.  I know, gripping.  With Dickens, though, you can taste the mud flying up in the messenger's face and feel the wet of the British fog.

Goal #2.  Become a "dog person".  I know, I know, it's like saying I don't like hot chocolate (which I don't - except Spence's homemade stuff), or apple pie or baseball.  I was raised with dogs and have a friendly toleration for them.  There is, however, a distinct difference between someone who will pet dogs when socially appropriate and someone who often finds themselves rolling on the floor playing with a dog, making time in the schedule to play catch with a dog, and knows the price of dog bones at the grocery store.

I will have an opportunity to practice becoming a dog person because the family who we are house-sitting for when we first arrive in Australia has a dog.  now, I am allowing room for the discovery that one can't "become" a dog person.  I should re-articulate the goal like this: figure out if i have the ability to become a dog person, and if I do, become one.  I come from a long line of "dog people" and I do like the idea of a dog.  Maybe that will help.  Some long-developing, pre-birth kinship with man's best friend will suddenly come to fruition and I'll be puppy shopping when I get back to the States.  (Dane or Dalmatian or something else big and lanky, I'm not into purse dogs.)

Side note, guys with puppies - super cute, just like guys playing with kids.  Sub-sidenote, guys with puppies who are using aforementioned puppies to get attention from girls - low, despicable (though smart), tools.  Yes, this happened to me this week.  Vitamin store guy, if you are reading this, you were a lot cuter with the puppy than when you rang up my vitamins, until I realized that any guy who would bring his puppy to work is probably irresponsible and immature. 

I just keep grinning like a goof thinking that I'm about to step on a huge mechanical bird, and when I get off, I will be in Australia, of all places.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Is this a real thing?

So...
I'm going to Australia.  I know I've mentioned this, but I think it bears repeating... and probably some dancing.  This isn't really for your sake, but for mine.

I'm going to Australia. I'm going to Australia.  I'm still not convinced.  Yes, my bags are packed, visa is processed, itinerary is printed, but does that make it a real thing?  No.  Jesus will probably come back before it actually happens.  It's kind of like going to a water park.  You climb that big set of stairs dripping with chlorinated and otherwise questionable water.  On the way up you think about how terrifying flinging yourself down this large piece of plastic will be, but the adrenaline/fear/love hasn't reached the four corners of your brain yet.  You have an idea of what it's going to be like, but you can't really taste it until you let out a very long scream and launch yourself onto that water slide.

Water parks, Australia, same thing.  I can know what an Australian accent sounds like, I can read all kinds of articles about culture, fashion, economics and geography in Australia, but not until next week will I be walking down the street taking stock of the coffee shops, the grocery stores, and the winter fashions of Australians.  I keep texting my traveling buddy, SG, things like "are we realllly doing this?!" and "um... is this a real thing??"  There's no backing out for me.  I'm not doubting that I'm committed, I'm just doubting my consciousness.

So if, dear reader, Australia is a real place, and if I survive long enough to get there, and if Jesus doesn't come back in the meantime, I will soon be writing from Australia.  AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  Whoa.  Weird.

Packing is going astonishingly well.  I'm underweight with both of my bags, which I hear is good because somehow, you always come back with more than you left with.

Today is going to be friend day.  I talked with my dear friend Red this morning, my best friend Zanna just returned from Malawi last night so we're having a foursome mother daughter lunch, and tonight I get to meet Princess Punkin's love interest, who's visiting this weekend.  That starts at noon, so really, I should probably get presentable.  My hair's in that not wet but not dry phase and I only got as far as eyeliner this morning because we shipped my brother (who's blog is hilarious, though seldom active) back to college and there was plenty of hubbub.

Oh what a day it will be,

Miss Sunshine of the Little Sort    

Mrs. June Cleaver Calling

I can hear it now... Barbara Billingsley, Hugh Beaumont, Tony Dow, aaaaand Jerry Mathers as the Beaver.  Now that I think of it, what parent calls their kid Beaver?  When I was ten, it never crossed my mind that "Theodore" and Beaver have nothing in common.

I know that Mrs. Cleaver gets a little bit of a bad rap for being outmoded or prudishly conservative, but I like her.  In fact, my outfit today is totally June Cleaver.  It's a little modified because I'm not middle-aged with two kids, and this isn't the 50s.  I've got my mid-calf chocolate brown dress on with the waistline at the true waist, sash and all.  I've even got a little French twist action going on with my hair.  Naturally, I'm feeling domestic today.  I even paused halfway through this paragraph to, yes, go fold the laundry.

There's a classic kind of charm in milk and cookies on the counter after school and dresses with skirts that twirl and vacuuming in pumps and pearls.  Sometimes in my apartment at school, I'd cook in my pearls and pumps and apron.  I felt domestic in the, "Of course the roast is in the oven, the children are playing, and the dishes are done and I never broke a sweat or a nail" sort of way.  The word "domesticity" can give off a stolen independence, forfeited career sort of air, but I think there's a lot of power in it.  If you can make home a place where peace reigns, people feel welcome and taken care of and Christ is honored, that's a pretty valuable pursuit.

Now, let me say this... I did not just tell you to go be a world class chef, give your pad a "Better Homes and Gardens" makeover, and always be a happy little sister/daughter/wife whatever you are.  June Cleaver is charming because of her values, not her valuables.  She values her family.  She tries her best to take good care of Ward and the boys by giving them safe, supportive space to be themselves and grow.  She values hospitality, so somewhere before the screenplay starts, she decided learning to cook would be of practical value.  She values beauty and excellence, so she doesn't go slobbing around the house in her topknot and pjs, at least before the cameras get there...

Sometimes I try the opposite approach.  I think... if I buy these clothes and have my room decorated just so, I will be able to value and appreciate beauty.  If I learn to be a great cook, then people will value me for my hospitality skills.  If try to make my home a place where people can be themselves and grow, then they will flourish and I will be so happy.

Jacked. Up.  Mrs. Cleaver's actions spring from what her heart values.  Because what she values is outside of herself, the goals she is driven to accomplish have others as their end.  Where my thoughts often start and end with I... I will be appreciated and loved, I will be successful, I will be a better person, hers begin with Ward, Wally and Beaver, and the P.T.A.

Who knew watching TVLand could be so inspiring?

Little Miss Sunshine        

The Nature of Sunshine, and a Little Shopping

So my name's Little Miss Sunshine.  Most people take that to mean that I'm happy, enthusiastic, warm, all those things they think of when they think sunshine.  I am most of those things most of the time.  On other occasions, I have to remind people that sunshine also causes sunburns and ant explosions under magnifying glasses.  Yesterday was one such day.  


Boy, was I mad!  I was frustrated about a situation between a friend and I that needs resolving, I was feeling pre-leaving blues, and we went bowling.  Nice little cocktail of anger, frustration, confusion and failure (bowling!).  Yeah, my scores were 52 and 41.  It always sounds like such a good idea to go bowling, but then I get there and remember that if I were told I had to get one strike in ten frames or be mauled by a rabid tortoise, I would be doomed.


Thankfully, with the help of sleep and a bike ride this morning, all that silly negative business is disposed of and I can check off "get un-mad" on my to do list for today.  


This morning, my brother and I helped out at a little community center/church plant close to our house that our church is involved with.  We just played with little kids and tried to practice our Spanish.  Most of them are bilingual, but there are a few who don't have much English.  We drew castles, sang songs and ate cookies.  Nothing like hanging out with kids to get your mind off yourself!


This afternoon, my mom and I went to Forever21.  The idea of going to this store always has safe, positive connotations for me because it's cheap, and I feel like if I shop there, I can't help but come out with something fashionable.  Ladies and gentlemen, the 80s have re-arrived.  Oh my.  I have never seen so many crazy prints in my life.  I tried on a geometric print sleeveless mini dress.  The patterns were super fun, but it was the sort of dress that says, "Don't let me interrupt you from checking out my backside to discuss theology or the meaning of life".  I did find some cute navy shorts with a narrow belt, and a dress the color of passionate pumpkins (you know, that orange that says the same things that the founding fathers did - endowed by their Creator with certain, unalienable rights, and among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.)


Everyone has their style tendencies, mine is dresses.  Formal - like the wine colored one shoulder short formal I was drooling over until I realized I wouldn't have anywhere to wear it in Australia, or casual - like the passionate pumpkin I ended up with.  They're comfortable and girly and can say all kinds of things like: 


I'm SO sassy
I'm totally out of your league
Yes, actually I AM the classiest girl at this party
The library is my happy place
My middle name is hippie
I have great legs


My other style flinch is solid colors.  I was bemoaning this fact while standing in a sea of 80s prints, loving them, but not knowing where to start.  Sadly, at the checkout, my mom pointed out that I ended up with two solid colored pieces!  AGHDSLFK:OWEFNS:KDJFB!  After all my well-intentioned store picking, I end up with two boring things!  They're cute, but they don't exactly scream "cutting edge fashion".  


I do love a challenge, and this shopping trip was not without a challenge.  Because my insightful mother knows I choose the things I buy so painstakingly (read - I'm a slow shopper), she gave me ten minutes to pick out three pairs of earrings.  I took the bait.  The first pair took up half of my time.  I almost went for the chandelier-gold-fringey-feathered ones that nearly reached my shoulder, but decided that maybe a youth intern didn't do that kind of thing?  The three winners were a gold braid hoop, white fabric flower studs, and some teal/salmon/cream/gold dinner plates.  


Now... to these new aquisitions in my suitcase...


Little Miss Sunshine

Mr. Walker's Breakfast

Mr. Walker noticed it at once.  This particular Wednesday morning was different from all the rest, and he liked it.  He swung his feet over the side of the bed, took his blue and khaki striped robe off the hook as he did every morning, and padded into the kitchen.  What usually met him was an empty kitchen, newspaper on the table.  His wife, Mrs. Walker, was a journalist for the local newspaper and worked from home.

As she had told him many a time, she worked best in the mornings when the house was quiet, before he started bumbling about the house getting ready for work.  Mr. Walker had long accepted his bumbling and was accustomed to managing breakfast for himself.  He would holler a good morning and goodbye down the hallway to the home office and receive the same before stepping out the door, coat under arm, keys in the left hand and briefcase in the right.    

On this particular morning, however, Mr. Walker padded into the kitchen and found the table set for two, coffee in the pot, and eggs and bacon in the skillet.  Most surprising of all was Mrs. Walker.  She was in the kitchen!  And she was smiling!  He was beginning to be quite concerned.  Was it his birthday?  Had he missed an anniversary?  Was it a holiday?

Mrs. Walker, who had been staring at him while he thought these thoughts, answered them as if they'd been spoken.  Why no, it wasn't any sort of special day, except that it was a day they woke up and just maybe it should be treated as some sort of special day and could he put the salt and pepper on the table?

Mr. Walker was still confused as to how his wife waking up meant that he should get his breakfast made  for him, but he put the salt and pepper on the table.  Mrs. Walker dished the eggs out of the pan and sat down across from Mr. Walker.  She turned to him, and the smile was gone.  In its place were two quivery lips and two tear-filled eyes.  She shook her head and swept a tear from her cheek.  She asked him if he had realized that she'd been unfaithful these past twelve years.  He paused, fork aloft, as first surprise, disbelief, then pain crossed his face.

She outlined how it had begun.  The new job at the paper was requiring a lot of time and thought.  Her co-workers derived their satisfaction from writing top-notch articles and recounting weekend escapades.  They didn't pick up after husbands who left their socks on the floor, and they certainly didn't entertain any sort of medieval notions of making them breakfast.  She had begun to resent her implied role as housekeeper and cook.  She ceased to see him as the one who could make her laugh, fix anything and taught the boy down the street how to play catch.  He slowly became the outmoded, stodgy, ill-read husband her co-workers joked about at Christmas parties.

She looked him in the eyes, checking for understanding.  She continued.  They were wrong; she was wrong.  Swearing on an altar to be faithful to someone for the rest of your life doesn't just mean you live with them or maintain sexual fidelity.  She'd said "love, honor, and obey".  Sure, things like sickness and health, plenty and want happen, but what about the days in between?  Every morning she had just hollered good morning and goodbye, she had been unfaithful to that promise to the days in between.  It wasn't just breakfast, but that was part of it, and could he possibly forgive her for breaking her promise to be faithful to the task of making him all he could be?

Mr. Walker's mind was, understandably, reeling.  First an announcement of infidelity, then the discovery of this infidelity not being the conventional sort, but quite a bit more extensive, though less initially offensive.  All at once, Mr. Walker was glad to be thought of as worth a confession and apology, as he had begun to think he really was the outmoded, stodgy, ill-read husband her co-workers joked about.  He was troubled that his marriage could have fallen into such disarray under his watch.  And he was hopeful that this breakfast might be the first of many breakfasts with Mrs. Walker, enjoying her company and learning what it was meant by the phrase "happily married".     

That's SO last summer

Have you heard them?  I'm sure you have.  I don't know how you could miss them.  I'm not even sure who they are.  It could be that they're sociologists with advanced degrees and lots of experience in statistics, or they could be liberal journalists who love to shape society into "all it could be" *read, "all they want it to be" with the power of their pens, or iPads.

They throw around the word post in a pretty authoritative way.  There are suggestions of a post-marital society (thank you, New York Times 1).  There is talk of a post-evangelical society (2).  It's been around a while, but you also have the post-capitalist society idea (3).  Heck, they're even talking about a post-postal society!  (4)

Before you say, well, of course, all those things are SO last summer, let's take a look at what you're saying of course to.  Post-marital?  That means more kids with one parent or no parent homes to grow up in (we're at 40% right now 5), or more deaths by abortion.  I would be hard pressed to find an elementary school teacher who would support either of these arrangements for any of her students...  

How about a post-evangelical society?  After all, with as global as the world's becoming, we should be a little more open minded, accept each other's differences and embrace other people's perspectives on life.  That's what they would tell you, all right.  If you know me at all, I think that's a whole lot of ridiculous.  I'm all about learning about other people's ways of life and connecting with other cultures.  Trust me, I will have been on 4/7 continents in three months this summer.

The problem is when you start saying things like, "Well, I believe that God is a woman and a tree and a deer and making sacrifices of cranberry juice and vodka is the way to get to my version of heaven.  I know you think that Jesus is God's Son and He's the only way to get to heaven.  That's great for you, I'm really glad you found something that works."  That's like saying the grass is both pink and green, whatever works for you is great.  No.  Sorry, that doesn't work for me.  I'm not being judgmental or a bigot or any other hot-button buzzword.  I'm just using a little logic.  Something can't be one thing AND it's opposite.

Capitalism takes hits by all sorts of people, including Fred Magdoff, who [of course] loves to quote Frederick Engels.  He says of capitalism, "As a system of possessive individualism it necessarily promotes greed, individualism, competitiveness, selfishness, and an Après moi le déluge philosophy."  I'd like to translate Mr. Magdoff's sentiments for you, I think this was what he was getting at... "As a system of personal responsibility, it necessarily promotes desire for gains, market competition (you know, the stuff that drives down prices and increases quality), and a desire to benefit from hard work."  Of course, we are messed up people.  There are going to be people who take advantage of others and exercise their greed and hurt the environment.  Do those few people warrant the takeover of the economy, redistribution of wealth and constriction of creative business solutions?  I think not.  

I don't have many comments on the post-postal society, except that I like snail mail.  

Punch line------

Here's my point.  Before you or I start accepting what people tell us, we need to examine what they're really saying.  Sure they can throw out great sociological terms like "post-marital society" while they're sipping on their half-caf-sugar-free-caramel-two-shot-no-foam latte wearing their Soho-inspired cardi and slacks.  Just because they look like an intellectual and speak with authority doesn't mean they're right.  Think about the consequences of what they're saying before you start nodding in agreement to their politically charged sociospeak. 

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

The Packing Post

So I'm going to Australia.

...

I am telling you the wholesome, God-fearing truth.  I, Little Miss Sunshine, am picking up my possessions and moving to Austraaaalia for a year.  This is a year of the calendar variety, mind you, not the school variety.  Now, for those of you dear friends unfortunate enough to be acquainted with my packing habits, you know that I loathe packing.  It creates an enormous living, breathing creature of a mess in my room, as is evident right now.  The biggest open space in my room measures about two by eight feet.  The rest of the floor is littered with tubs from the garage where my "home from school but won't fit in the house" stuff has been living, as well as a giant suitcase full of vacuum bags of jackets, long sleeved shirts and gloves.

Thankfully, my dear friends at the ole TSA have set a limit to how many of my earthly possessions I can drag over the ocean with me to Australia.  Two suitcases and two carry ons, said they, most steadfastly.  Two suitcases and two carry ons, that's puh-lenty of room, said I.  And so I set to packing.  Unfortunately, to reference my last post, my normometer affects my packing, too.  One of my first thoughts about what to pack was that absolutely, of course and obviously I should take one of my flower vases.  They have flowers in Australia, right?  And what's a girl to do if she picks a bunch or finds herself with a bouquet (of anything but alstroemeria, please) and no vase!?  After talking with two individuals who have functioning normometers, I have discovered that this is not something usually taken on a trip.  It's ok, I'm still taking one, but it'll be a Mason jar so it can double as a drinking glass.

But really, how does one prioritize?  Christmas lights?  Of course!  My entire set of C.S. Lewis books?  Of course!  My apron and recipe box?  Don't bother asking!  My superman blue tights?  Costume party ready!  Thus far, I've filled the large brown suitcase with clothes.  The next quarterback to sack will be a second suitcase, followed by my backpack.  The lineup for the second suitcase is looking like shoes, lots of books, office-y things, and the clothes that didn't fit in the brown suitcase.

Oh yes, you caught that right.  I'm going to have an OFFICE!  Does that mean pencil skirts and pumps every day?  Probably not.  But it does mean I should probably pack my favorite paper clips and green stapler with green staples.  Now I can try those office workouts I read about in magazines but have no office to do them in.  Maybe they'll even put me in charge of menial tasks like making coffee!  Oh, office life, get ready, here I come!

What in the blue as my superman blue tights blazes am I doing in Australia, you might ask.  Well.  I intend to introduce Australians to authentic Mexican food, see a kangaroo in person, and learn about Australian socioeconomical edurelational familialculturo... just kidding, except about the Mexican food.  I'm serious about Mexican food.  Nope, I'm going to be the youth intern at a little church that doesn't have any youth.  So, I won't really be working with the youth group, I'll be finding youth to group.  After I find some youth to group, I'm hoping it'll be pretty rigorous.  We'll be doing Bible studies on the important theological tenets of the faith, playing our hearts out in field days, and of course - eating Mexican food, and teaching them about Thanksgiving.

But before that, I've got to figure out how to appease my inner scholar and inner diva and get the stilettos and the mini library to fit in one suitcase...

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Adult-ery

Help!  This didn't come with instructions!  I'm 22, so that means I'm adult, according to merriam-webster.com, which also said that the word adult and the word adultery do not come from the same root word, oddly enough.  This title is somewhat of a double entendre.  I originally meant adult-ery, in a sort of British construction to mean the things that happen when you're an adult.  In a sense though, it is as if I've committed adultery against all things Neverland, Peter, Wendy, and the whole lot of Lost Boys.

I graduated in May.  During my final semester of college, they talked about polishing up resumes, what to wear to interviews, and even gave us a nice little booklet about finding places to live and life insurance.  It was an understood premise of this booklet that you were now an adult.  Did I miss something?  Where was the session we were supposed to have about actually BEING adults?  I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!  Oh sure, I know all about being responsible and prompt and paying your taxes and all manner of adult-ery.  Those are consequences of adulthood on daily life, but what about the consequences of adulthood on personhood?  For instance, this week I wore shorts and t-shirts, put my hair up in a top/side ponytail, and painted my fingernails the color of sparkly spinach.  Did I just break all the rules?  Was I completely out of line?  Was I a discredit to my new demographic?!

I feel at quite a disadvantage here.  For most of the young men and women I graduated with, this is not a problem, but I have a dysfunctional normometer!  Such a thing probably should probably be reserved for hushed tones over a cup of coffee.  "Did you hear about Miss Sunshine?  She has a... well... a... you know... a dysfunctional normometer."  I'll explain, just in case you've never heard of this abnormality.  Example A. When you get dressed in the morning, there's an internal impulse guide called the normometer that governs what you consider appropriate to wear.  You put on a pair of skinnys, a white v-neck and a cardigan.  When I get dressed in the morning, sometimes things go as they do for you, but sometimes, I just want to dress like a PIRATE, or see how many different bright colors I can wear in one outfit!  Example B.  When you are walking down a tree lined avenue in the fall, you smile and murmur comments about "the lovely weather this time of year" in a lofty, half-interested way.  When I walk down a tree lined avenue in the fall, I have the distinct feeling it would be appropriate to lope and skip through the cascade of falling leaves, leap onto railings and pretend they're imaginary tight-ropes, click my heels, twirl, and maybe even sing a little.

So you can see why I might be a little nervous about entering a demographic where the level of tomfoolery you can get away with is severely decreased from the level acceptable in college.  Add to this the new position of being a youth intern, and you've got one puzzled princess.  In my experience, youth leaders are "super fun", but they also have to be incredibly responsible and organized because they're not only dealing with the chaos of teenagers, but they have to answer to those teenagers' concerned parents and the church leadership.  So, for instance, I bought yellow nailpolish at Walmart yesterday because I thought it had "super fun" written all over it.  I still do think that, I just don't know if a woman of my advanced 22 years should be thinking more mauve-y thoughts.  I know what "responsible" decision making looks like, but again, what does this change about what sort of person I am?  Do I need to read a book about this, attend a support group, see a counselor?  Bother dysfunctional normometers...

Is there a way to be an adult without committing adult-ery against all that Peter Pan holds sacred?  Perhaps I'll apply for a double agent position, or some kind of liaison job between worlds.  Being a firstborn, I disdain shirking that adult responsibility entirely, but just maybe I could shoulder paying taxes while defending tree forts, mud pies and playing house.  Children are masters at playing house and wishing on stars, but are disarmed when it comes to defending these hallowed institutions.  Adults, on the other hand, become rather inept at engaging in doll tea parties and pirate raids, but are quite well equipped to defend their existence.  It is my hope that in my future classroom, home, backyard that forts are made, not bought, imaginary enemies are conquered, and Neverland becomes At-Least-for-a-Little-While-Land.

Staking a claim on behalf of children,
Little Miss Sunshine