Why you hate Christmas

                                                                                 All is calm,

All is bright.

I should say not.  Not in the slightest.  There's nothing about Christmas that is calm and bright.  Well, maybe bright in a few places, but most certainly not calm.  That's why secretly you don't like Christmas.  You think it's supposed to be all silent night and calm and bright and peace on earth and mercy mild.  No wonder you don't like it.  You eat more than you should.  You have to hang out with people you may or may not like.  You have to show up to work Christmas parties that have the potential to be awkward and boring.  You probably have to clean your house.  Traffic is crazy because everyone's Aunt Mathilda from Milwaukee is in town and lost on the freeway.  Your neighbor has better Christmas lights.  Your neighbor's kid is getting the Gismopieceofcrap 2500 and your kid is only getting the 2450.  You have to decide with your significant whoever whose family you're spending time with when, and who you'll offend if you don't. 

On top of all that, you've got all this Christmas music trying to convince you it's the most wonderful time of the year and that your life should be calm and bright, not to mention in order.  Everyone should be getting along and enjoy spending time together.  You should have a beautiful Christmas photo and letter that you send out to your 200 closest friends heralding all your accomplishments this year.  You should be holly and jolly - whatever that means. 

All this is about the Baby, right, the one born in a manger, which really wasn't a feed trough and laid on hay that was fresh and practically sterilized.  He was lulled to sleep by angels' songs, greeted by jolly, grandfathery shepherds and thrown a baby shower by wise men who were there the night he was born. 

Ha. 

Well, I have some good news, and some bad news.  The bad news is, if you celebrate that kind of Christmas, you will probably do your best to convince yourself it's not a miserable holiday, and you just might succeed.  You might do such a good job of tricking yourself that you just love the holiday stress  bustle and spending more money than you have gift giving that you just have yourself a miserable little Christmas every year.  That is bad news, indeed.

The good news is, the real Christmas is a great deal less calm, peaceful and most wonderful time of the yearish.  In fact, aside from the fact that the Messiah was coming, it was really quite a mess. 

Four hundred years of silence between God and His people. 

An oppressive Roman rule.

A (probably teenage) mom who wasn't married yet, but claimed that she hadn't slept with her fiancee, that the child was really the Son of God because an angel told her so.

The condemnation of a whole town, not just on her, but on all the people she loved (talk about starting off on the wrong foot with the inlaws). 

Lots of traffic on the roads because of the Roman decree to be registered.

All the inns are booked, sorry, there's a barn/cave/nasty hole out back, sleep in that.

Giving birth to a baby without sisters or a mother or probably even a midwife, just a carpenter husband and a donkey or two.

Dirty, smelly, redneck shepherds scared out of their socks by a "heavenly host" (a whole flipping lot of supernatural warrior dudes - not girly angels with folded hands and long, flowy hair) telling them to go to Bethlehem because after 400 agonizing years, God has literally broken the silence with the Word, Immanuel, God with us.

A bunch of redneck shepherds showing up to the delivery room/barn/cave/nasty hole asking a lot of questions and probably making a lot of ruckus, and adding to it by exuberantly shushing each other.

A bunch of some of the best storytellers scrambling through hill and dale to spread the greatest story ever told.

More questions than answers about how this tiny, hungry God/baby was supposed to be the Savior of the world.

That's the real Christmas.  God showing up to carry out a rescue that the best tactical operations team couldn't have dreamed up.  Instead of just speaking from heaven and commanding everyone's obedience, let's send someone in.  Not an angel, let's send Jesus.  No, We won't send Him on a flaming chariot coming in from the sky, we'll have Him start from scratch, as a baby.  Let's have Him be born to someone who isn't married yet so they don't think He's just a normal kid.  We'll arrange it so everyone's welcome.  There will be shepherds and kings (but they'll come later) and grownups and kids.  He won't be what they're expecting.  What they want is someone to save them from the Romans, someone to show up and lead a rebellion.  What I'm going to do is save them from their brokenness, save them from the inside out. 

Now that's a Merry Christmas.

May your days be full of real Christmas, and may all your Christmases be a color appropriate for the climate in which you live,

Little Miss Sunshine

Once Upon a Blind Date

Once upon a time, I had a job.  At that job, there was a student teacher intern.  That student teacher intern had a boyfriend.  Her boyfriend had a friend, and that friend was tired of being single.  (And the green grass grows all around, all around, and the green grass grows all around... Barney singalong, anyone?)  So this friend of the boyfriend if he knew anyone he could set him up with, and the boyfriend said, "Yes, her name is Little Miss Sunshine".

Spring turned into summer (but since summer in Phoenix doesn't end til October, it was still summer), and nothing had happened.  The boyfriend of the student teacher intern who worked at the school where I worked last year brought it up again at the end of the summer.  He had asked me about it in the spring, and I said "Sure, why not?".  He asked me again in the summer; and I said "Sure, why not?.  (It's how I get roped into most of my adventures.)  So he gave away my number...    

Fast forward a few days - he texted me.  I thought he was super funny and a little ridiculous.  We were scheduled to go on a double date with the friends next Wednesday, but he asked if I wanted to get coffee on the Friday before as kind of a pre-date.  I said, you guessed it, "Sure, why not?".

Well, we did get coffee, but I'll tell you right now, it wasn't love at first sight.  That sounds harsh and rude, but I say it as a sort of caution to those who would say that you should really "click" (whatever that means) on the first date.  (I used to be one of those people.)  

So we drank some coffee.  We talked about stuff.  It was fun.  Pretty general first date stuff.  (Side note: first dates are socially wacky between differing backgrounds/expectations and nerves and first impressions.)  Afterwards I was talking to my mom explaining my "on the fence" dilemma.  I mean, shouldn't I just be head over heels, love at first sight, walking on clouds, and all that other stuff people say?  Always, but especially at moments like these, I am thankful for a reasonable, level-headed, smart mother.  She told me straight away I was being ridiculous and that of course I should go on a second date, and probably a third and fourth before I even thought about making some kind of "decision".  

We already had the second date scheduled, so we went dancing on Wednesday.  If you know ANYTHING about me, you know dancing is right up there with breathing on the list of life essentials.  As it happens, the man could dance.  That was in his favor... a lot.  He asked me on a third date that night.  I said yes.  He kept that song on repeat.  He would ask me out, and I would say yes.  In fact, it's still happening.  And let me tell you, this guy is a good date planner.  

About date 7 he decided he was tired of just taking me on dates, so he asked me to be his girlfriend.  This time, it wasn't "Sure, why not?".  This required a yes.  And I gave it to him.  

I've lost count of what number date we're on.  What I haven't lost track of is how considerate and sweet he is, the way he loves adventure, or the priority he puts on prayer.  He likes to read, he can fix anything, and he's taller than me when I'm in heels.

It's ironic, in a way.  Ever since I was little, I've tried to plan out (read: control) my life.  I remember writing "life plans" that included living on a farm with my three best friends and raising all kinds of livestock and doing craft projects.  (I was a weird kid, ok?)  In high school, it was all about the SAT.  What score could I get?  What schools could I get into?  What major should I choose?  It's funny because at each lifestage, there are a different set of questions.  It's not as if you wake up one morning and think, "Gee, I'm all out of questions.".  In respect to guys, it's usually been the same way.  I pick one I like and then set to figuring out what I can do to get them to notice me.  Ha.

This one wasn't like that, and it kind of freaked me out.  We met on a blind date, so I already felt behind in the scoping out/mulling over/stalking process!  The funny thing is, it just happened.  Out of the blue, in from left field, the dark horse in the race - I didn't plan it, couldn't have written it, wasn't trying to make it work.  I don't know what's going to happen or where we'll be in five years.  And I think that's ok.  That's what I get for having Type A tendencies - a lesson in God's providence.

So... once upon a blind date, I met a guy, who knows a guy, who dates a girl who I worked with last year.  And the rest is history.



Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Ballerinas, bouquets and a Navy Seal named Grace

When I hear the word "grace", I think of little girls named Grace, pink tutus pirouetting around a stage, bouquets of feathery double camellias.  I think of being a grac(e)ious host, or of a graceful falcon turning effortlessly on the wind.  I think of Grace Kelly - a woman who truly fits her name.  Even the way the word sounds when we say it connotes a delicate beauty. 

Well, let me tell you - there's another side of grace that often goes unspoken.  I get it, we like ballerina-pink-rosy-nice grace.  We appreciate the warmth of a gracious host.  We hope to have grace extended to us when we miss a deadline or err in our calculations.  Heaven knows churches like to talk about the grace of God that covers our failures and mistakes (and even our "on purposes"), and we like how that feels.  That's all well and good, and I should say hosts ought to be gracious and ballerinas to be graceful and churches ought to talk about the grace of God. 

But.

What of the giver of grace?

Are we naïve enough to think that grace given freely comes at no cost to the giver?  That the gracious host hasn't been preparing dinner all afternoon, cleaned house and spent money on the candles that smell like October?  We just think all of that appeared and fell into place the moment we walked in the door?

From the time I was two or three until the time I was twelve, I took ballet.  (I blame this early encounter for my preoccupation with dance.) By took, I mean I went to class several hours a week and worked.  And worked.  And worked.  We jete - ed, we turned, we arabesque-ed.  Again and again and again.  We stretched, we planked, we took account for the angle and curve of every finger and toe.  We internalized every beat of music and turned it into movement.  Only after hours of drill did we turn to the choreography, to the dancing itself.  Only after months of choreography did we take to the stage for our end of year recital.  Only then were we graceful. 

The year I took pointe, I learned more about the difficulty of grace than ever before.  Wearing pointe shoes is like taking a wooden box, disguising it with pretty pink silk, stuffing the end with foam and then cramming your toes in and tying it on tightly.  Within a week, my feet were blistered, red and sore.  This was not effortless grace.  This was not the glamor and glory I'd seen on stage watching The Nutcracker at Christmas.  This was excruciating. 

Grace is excruciating.  Literally.  See that little second syllable there?  Cruc?  It means cross.  Excruciating.  What excruciating really means is pain so intense it feels like  you're being crucified.  Jesus was crucified for grace.  Suddenly, grace doesn't look so pink anymore.  Grace doesn't seem so soft anymore.  Grace seems more like a Navy Seal than a three year old with pigtails.   

This grace, which comes to us freely was not acquired for us freely. 

Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.  Go and learn what this means "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice." For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners. - Matthew 9:12-13

For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.  For one will scarcely die for a righteous person - though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die- but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. - Romans 5:6-8

And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience… and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind… for by grace you have been saved through faith.  And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.  - Ephesians 2:1-3, 8

Let's be honest, friends.  We were in pretty dire straits.  I mean, look at those words used to describe us - sick, sinners, weak, ungodly, children of wrath.  I don't know about you, but that's not usually how I answer the question, "What are 7 words you would use to describe yourself?". 

Not only were we in a mess, but we were incapable of getting out of it.  As a generalization, we aren't a people too used to feeling helpless.  We have resources, networks, insurance policies.  We are rarely without recourse, or so it seems.  But all those words?  There was no undoing them.  There was no "figure it out" or "do better next time".  The only ransom was the death of a perfect life.  I fear we become accustomed to Christianese - of course Jesus "died for our sins".  Of course, as if it were a simple thing. 

When's the last time you heard of someone dying for someone else?  Sure, it happens now and then.  When's the last time you heard of someone dying for someone that had never heard of them?  Well, that's kind of weird.  OK, when's the last time you heard of someone dying for someone who belonged to an enemy who didn't even acknowledge them?  That enemy was me and you.  And that someone was Jesus.  And that death he died?  It wasn't a "put down your old dog with a needle and some chemicals" kind of death.  It was as though the Son of God was an insect specimen ruthlessly tacked on a board with pins to die for the world to see.  Excruciating.  Cruc.  Cross. 

Jesus didn't come to die so we could color eggs at Easter.  Jesus didn't come so we could go window shopping and drive around looking at lights on Christmas Eve or eat monkey bread at Christmas breakfast.  Jesus came so that grace, like a Navy Seal, could accomplish the most extraordinary rescue mission the world has ever known.  He came to pay the ransom for a people held helplessly captive and set them free forever. 

Don't forget that grace has grit.

Love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Marriage Matters

 

I was thinking this morning as I was cutting cantaloupe.  (I love cantaloupe.)  I was thinking about marriage.  When's the last time you heard a little kid playing on the playground holler that he wants to be a super duper awesome…. Husband?  Yeah, I've never heard that, and you know how much time I spend with kids.  Now, I haven't read Piper on marriage or Real Marriage by Driscoll or any of that.  Sheesh, I'm not even married, but it seems to me as an innocent bystander to the institution of marriage, IT'S PRETTY FLIPPING IMPORTANT.

Let's not even pull out the big guns yet.  Let's just talk about romance.  Choosing to stick with someone til death do you part, forsaking all others and toughing it out through sickness and health, feast and famine, laundry and dishes - now that's romantic.  Shakespeare didn't write Sonnet 116 because we're supposed to just date people forever.

it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken...

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Pasted from <http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/116.html>

Do we love fairytales because the prince rescues the princess from the dragon/villain/evil step-whoever/magic spell and takes her out to dinner?  NO!  We love it because they ride off into the sunset (however she manages that in her poofy princess dress), and they live happily ever after.  They don't live happily ever after because that was the last of the dragons or because the princess never burns the toast or because the prince never ever tracks mud into the palace.  They live happily ever after because they're together, they're committed, they're in for the long haul.

What about kids?  Think it's better if they have two married parents living at home?  Think it's better if they can enter adulthood without 12 suitcases of relational baggage from a divorce or a dysfunctional unmarried parents scenario?  Now, I get it.  Stuff happens.  People make the best out of the situations they have, but we're talking ideal situations here.  Practically speaking, it's just easier.  Coordinating who goes to whose house and who picks up whom when and for what holiday and who pays for gymnastics and baseball...  I had a student last year who switched houses EVERY DAY.  Let's just say she had a hard time keeping track of her homework. 

OK, big gun time.  Marriage is a picture of Christ and His Church.  God set it up as a sort of earthly analogy of the closeness we experience with Christ and the kind of sacrificial love that exists between Christ and His Church.  What do you think it says about the Church when our divorce rate is the same as everyone else's?  What are you saying about Christ with your marriage?  It's not just this thing that started out romantically, ended up with a few kids and a mortgage and is now this habit you'll probably maintain for a while. 

*brief hiatus for frustrated explosion*

MARRIAGE IS HARD.  I get it.  Life is easier if you just date people or cheat on people for other people or remain the eternal bachelor because you love drinking out of the milk jug.  Sometimes you lose sight of Ephesians 5 - "walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us… a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife… let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband."  That's HARD.  It's natural to love yourself the most and hand out your leftovers to whoever's standing closest.  Loving someone as yourself is a supernatural crazy kind of love.  It's easy to lose the vision of marriage somewhere between making dinner and golf with the guy.  You get busy choosing paint colors for the living room or buying socks for the kids or doing dishes or figuring out where you're going to spend Christmas. 

But what if, aside from you walking with Jesus, your marriage is the most important thing you ever do?  Oh sure, your career is important.  Making that quota is of real long term value.  *Here's a tissue for my sarcasm splatter.*  Being on that non-profit committee is so great.  You racking up hours at the gym is super duper self-discipline.  I get it, we need to do stuff with our lives.  Big stuff.  Little stuff.  Middle stuff.  But shouldn't looking like Jesus and loving like Jesus be our first and main thing?  I'm not saying you can't love Jesus and be Committee Chairperson Extraordinaire, but if you think that takes precedent over your marriage because it's obviously more charitable and philanthropic, you've lost the vision of marriage. 

Sure, I'm not married, so for me, looking like and loving like Jesus is not going to look like nurturing a marriage.  (Sometimes I get frustrated because I'm not sure how to properly affirm and uphold the institution of marriage while simultaneously affirming the role of single people in the Church.)  But good heavens, married people, your marriages are important - not just because it's cheaper to be married or because it means you have someone to go to the movies with.  They're important because you're the picture people see of Christ and the Church!  I almost feel like buying some pompoms and being your personal cheer squad.  In no other relationship will you have the opportunity to show off God's grace and patience quite like the way you do in marriage. 

What would have to change for us to start hearing the veneration of marriage on the playground?  Married people, I think it starts with you.  You have to start believing your marriages matter, that the promise you made that day you walked down an aisle is STILL the most important promise you've ever made.  It's not just important to you.  It's important to culture, social norms, the Church, kids, single people, the economy.  We have to start talking about marriage like it's a good thing - not a rut, not a habit, not something to try when you hit 30 - but a good thing that's good for people.    

Do you get it yet?  Geez louise, I sure hope so.  Know that I'm on my knees for you and in your corner, but not even a fraction of the way Jesus is interceding for you. 

Go be awesome and married,

Little Miss Sunshine

If You Really Loved Me...

 

If you really loved me, you would let me eat that whole bag of cotton candy.  It starts simply enough when we're little.  We want the whole bag of cotton candy (I speak from personal experience).  We want to do what we want when we want.  The habit grows with us.  If our parents really loved us, they wouldn't give us a curfew, or make us stay home from certain parties.  We equate love with the other person doing what we want.  

As adults, we see straight through this faulty logic.  Love means doing what's best for the other person.  We never use conditional, leveraging in our  love.  We never say things like "if you really loved me, you wouldn't be such a slob" or "if you really loved me, you wouldn't mind watching what I want to watch".

 

It's bad enough that we do this with each other, holding affection hostage until we get what we want, or employing the cold shoulder, or whatever other weight we can throw around.  

I wish I could say that we just need to retrain our interpersonal habits and read some good books on the topic and everything would be fixed.  Just throw a little Five Love Languages or Dr. Phil on the problem, and it'll clear everything up. 

But it doesn't stop there.  I wish it did.  We not only do it with each other, we do it with God Himself.  We get uppity and entitled with the Alpha and Omega, the Word made flesh, the maker of butterfly wings and thunderstorms.  We want what we want when we want it.  Why? 

Well, for one, we deserve it.  We maintain long lists of why we deserve things from God.  He owes us because we do things for Him.  We led that Boyscout troop.  We fed the homeless that one time.  We go to church every Sunday, sometimes even when we're on vacation in Iowa.  We ____________.  Insert your own list of why God owes you stuff.

Let's not gloss over the fact that this God we barter and try to leverage with is the God who sent His Son.  To die.  To be spit on.  To be tried unfairly.  To be smacked and whipped within an inch of His life.  By us.  The people He wanted to show His love to.  Do we really have the gall to ask God to prove His love?  Can we really be audacious enough to ask for our own way when we were the ones being rescued at such great cost?

For another thing, God loves us, and love means the other person serving us and giving us what we want.  Forget all that stuff the Bible has to say about love being patient and kind and keeping no record of wrongs.  We prefer the version of love where we get to eat the whole dang bag of cotton candy. 

Warning: this is about to get up close and sticky.

God's version of love is a little different than ours.  It isn't tainted or marred or riddled with hidden motives.  His love never fails.  His love seeks our good.  That last sentence can be a little misleading.  Sometimes our version of "our good" can be different from God's version of "our good". 

God, if you really loved me, my parents wouldn't have gotten a divorce.

God, if you really loved me, I wouldn't have gotten laid off.

God, if you really loved me, I wouldn't feel so alone right now.

God, if you really loved me, my kids would be following You.

God, if you really loved me, my life would be easier.

Surely it can't be for our good that we lose jobs or people we love.  Surely it can't be for our good that sometimes we have to endure pain that seems like it doesn't have a stopping point.  Surely it can't be for our good that sometimes we go through seasons of being alone or waiting or heartrending struggle. 

It depends. 

Does this sound like a kind of love worth clinging to?

~ He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.  - Psalm 147

~ The Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.  The Lord is good to all, and his mercy is over all that he has made. - Psalm 145

~ He is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and he in whom I take refuge - Psalm 144

~ Behold, to the Lord your God belong heaven and heaven of heavens, the earth with all that is in it.  Yet the Lord set his heart in love on your fathers - Deuteronomy 10

~ fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.  - Isaiah 41

God never promises that life will be "fine" in following Him.  In fact, He pretty much guarantees it's going to suck sometimes.  I don't think He used those words, but He does talk about it a lot - Matthew 5, John 16, not to mention all that stuff He says about "taking up crosses".  What He does promise is His Spirit, His love and His sustaining presence. 

Sometimes we think we have God figured out.  We aren't the first people to make this mistake.  Ha, read the book of Job if you want evidence of that one.  We think He operates in a certain way, something formulaic, systematic.  Hello, have you ever seen a 2 year old?  Well, God created those.  He also created quantum physics and the Grand Canyon and light particles that don't behave like particles or waves so we had to imagine some kind of weird combo theory. 

Tame is not a word that is synonymous with God.  He is a grand God with a grand, intense love that pursues people in crazy ways.  Sometimes in my small view of who He is, I wish He would give me what I want when I want it.  Then I remember I didn't design Plutonium atoms.  God did.  Maybe He has this timing thing figured out.  Maybe even though I can't understand why all the time, I can trust the One who causes or allows all things and who always keeps His promises. 

Hang in there, kiddo.  You know who loves you.

Little Miss Sunshine

The Waiting Place

 

This summer at church, we've been doing a series in Psalms.  Usually when you hear the word "Psalms", you think about nice, non-controversial, happy Bible verses that people write in birthday cards or quote as their favorites.  Well, I feel like this summer series hasn't seen a whole lot of that.  Two weeks ago, we talked about how Psalms addresses life's big letdowns.  Last week at our at our young adults/college/career/inbetweenhighschoolandhavingkids gathering at church, we talked about the idea of waiting in Psalm 13.

David has been promised the crown of Israel, but Saul's still got his derrière parked on the throne.  David is waiting for his big promotion, and it takes longer than he expects.  Psalm 13 is not one of those cheery, soft, snuggly Psalms.  It's frustrated, languishing, maybe even a little mad.  Now, remember, a psalm is a song, so Psalm 13 starts out a little more punk/rock/emo than your typical hymn.  It's kind of funny because in the notes above the Psalm, it says "To the choirmaster.  A Psalm of David.".  The Jews used this song in church.  I'm not really sorry if that rocked your boat just a little. 

Waiting makes me think of a passage from Dr. Seuss's "Oh the Places You'll Go"  (the book you got 17 copies of after high school graduation).

You can get so confused

that you'll start in to race

down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace

and grind on for miles cross weirdish wild space,

headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come, or a plane to go

or the mail to come, or the rain to go

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow

or the waiting around for a Yes or No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite

or waiting for the wind to fly a kite

or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

or a pot to boil, or a Better Break

or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants

or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

NO!

That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape

all that waiting and staying

You'll find the bright places

where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,

once more you'll ride high!

Ready for anything under the sky.

Ready because you're that kind of a guy!

Pasted from <http://denuccio.net/ohplaces.html>

I think he's right about some things.  I don't have an Uncle Jake, so I can't wait for him, but sometimes, just sometimes, I do wait for my hair to grow.  The Waiting Place can be excruciating.  You feel like you've been there forever and an answer will never come, things will never change or the situation you're stuck in will go on forever.  It can be heavy, crushing, even, waiting for the call, waiting for the test results, waiting for the court's decision, waiting for that other person to say something.  It can be frustrating, feeling like you have no control over the situation, like there's nothing you can do to make it better. 

But. 

I think he's wrong when he calls it "a most useless place".  I think he's wrong when he assures you that waiting is "not for you", as if you can somehow earn a "Get out of waiting FREE" pass.  Waiting can be boring at best, or heartrending at worst, but what it doesn't have to be is wasted.  God doesn't waste our time.  He doesn't place us in situations where we must wait for no reason.  Waiting is not (usually) some kind of punishment.  Waiting is not a sign that God has momentarily forgotten you but will reopen your file over His cosmic lunch break.  God is always working in the middle of our waiting. 

Well that's peppy.  Waiting is for our best.  It isn't a wasted life experience.  It doesn't mean you've slipped through a crack and been forgotten.  Yayyyy waiting!  No way, José, or Kristen, or Nicholas or whatever your name happens to be.  I'm not trying to say that waiting should feel easy.  I'm not trying to say that it won't feel like you've got an anvil sitting on your heart.  I'm not trying to say that you won't go through a whole range of emotions.  But read the end of the Psalm.  David feels all these things acutely, but at the end of the song, he writes this,

But I have trusted in your steadfast love;

my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.

I will sing to the LORD because He has dealt bountifully with me.

We can hang our hats on that word "but". 

This is painful and tiresome and frustrating and I have doubts and I have fears and and and… all these things.

But.

We are not forgotten or alone or unloved.  (Though it might feel like that sometimes.)  We cannot see the full scope of what God will do, but He can see it.  He has been gracious to us in rescuing us out of our mess and giving us a second (third, fourth, eighty-fifth) chance because of Christ. 

Hang in there, kiddo.  Your waiting is not wasted. 

Little Miss Sunshine

Dates of the Up Variety

No, this post is not about dates, but you knew that.  The summer has been a little slow on the blog because I haven't had the PCs to keep me supplied with laugh-attacking, heart breaking, pull my hair out-ing moments.  Shoot, what HAVE you been doing all summer, you ask?

Well, there was that month of weddings…

After that, I came home for a couple of weeks and unpacked/did laundry/post travel stuff.  Oh, and I slept.  A lot.  I remember Cami Jones always saying that she slept a week straight after coming home from college in the summers.  Since I'm going to be in school schedule for a while, I probably will be doing that for years.

At the end of June, I ditched the desert for the country in northern Colorado.  You probably don't know how much I love the country.  And cows.  And fields.  And the smell of hay and horse.  And banjo.  And most things country.  We went to the Greeley Stampede and watched the rodeo a few nights and listened to some country music.  On the 4th, we decked ourselves in red, white and blue and watched the parade.  (And hollered our lungs out.)  We set off fireworks too, thanks to Preston and Elliot who went on a mission to Wyoming to get them. 

Friday morning, Dora dropped me off in Denver for my family reunion. 

A word about our family reunions…

My mom's side of the family is loud, competitive, crazy, and loves being together.  The logical consequence of that is our family reunions are LOUD, competitive, and crazy happy fests.  Aunt P organized a Minute to Win It Family Tournament, and she and Mal coordinated the food department.  There were a jillion details I don't even know who to credit, but let's just say it was an all-star family reunion. 

Oh, somewhere in there, I got a job.  I guess I should mention that.  This year, I'll be teaching 3rd grade at a little charter school near my house.  I'm so thankful to be teaching 3rd again this year, and ecstatic to have the details of licensure behind me (for now). 

Of course, as is the case in my non-summer life, there has been plenty of spending time with my community group from church, playing volleyball, dancing, and things that can be categorized as "general adventuring" like a roadtrip to Sedona with Bethany and riding wave runners with Mike, Jared and Chelsey (I'm still sore from that one). 

This week, I'll be finishing up decorating my classroom, and school starts August 5.  Am I excited?  Duh.  Also, I'm shaking in my boots, but that's OK.  There will be a more substantial post about the new year of PCs coming soon. 

I don't think I've left too much out.  The littlest bro is going off to *gasp* college and the older younger bro is happily married (and I get to reap the benefits of having a sister!). 

There's my summer in a nutshell,

-Little Miss Sunshine

Getting the Girl - What you can learn from Bad Boys

And then Princess Buttercup ditched Prince Charming for Evil Villain and they rode off into the sunset on his Harley and lived happily ever after. 

Ok, I know that doesn't ever happen in the fairy tales, but sometimes it happens in real life.  The princess falls for the bad boy and misses out on the prince charming standing right beside her.  This is a phenomenon that has baffled good guys for ages.  Trust me, dudes, I don't completely understand it myself.  I mean, if that girl had half a brain in her head, she'd be falling for you - the sweet, upstanding gentleman who will take care of her instead of that goodfornothing snakeinthegrass lilylivered twofaced… you get the idea.  So where's the breakdown?  How in the world did she miss you standing right next to her?  Good girls want good guys!  They admire them and speak highly of them and aspire to marry them...

So why, oh why, oh why in the world do good girls go off with bad boys? 

Let's start with the simplest option - she's an idiot.  Let's face it, sometimes girls just do dumb things.  It's entirely possible that she wasn't thinking straight and made the wrong decision.  I want to take that idea of "not thinking straight" and blow it up on the projector for further examination.  What do bad boys do that get girls' attention and help them along in the process of "not thinking straight"?  After all, if the bad guys are getting the good girls and you aren't, they're doing something you're not.  What is it?  And is it something worth adapting with some tweaking so you don't get your "good guy" card pulled?  I would like to suggest, yes. 

1. Bad boys are gutsy.

Think about it.  The typical bad boy rides a motorcycle or drives a fast car (or drives the car he has too fast), has no regard for authority, and acts like he owns the place.  He takes risks because his opinion of himself is a little inflated. 

Why girls like this: While being gutsy might really just translate to being stupid, often times it comes across as brave, independent, and confident.  It makes us think that he's got courage to do big things in life.

What it means for you: I'm not telling you to go drive your car really fast and be disrespectful to your parents.  In fact, I would highly advise otherwise.  Look at the principle - girls want a brave guy.  Where's the largest deposit of "havenofear-ite" in the world?  Yeah, the Bible.  It is Biblically sound for you to not be afraid.  It is Biblically sound for you to disregard the opinion of the world in preference for what God has to say about things.  It is Biblically sound for you to courageously oppose evil.  All those things are good for their own sake, but they're also good for catching Good Girl's eye.

2. Bad boys are forward.

Bad boys know what they want and how to get it.  They see a girl they like, and they get her number.  They call her.  They ask her out.  They give her compliments.  They impulsively hold her hand.  They ask her out again… and again, until she'll sleep with them.

Why girls like this: We like it when you're clear about how you feel about us.  If you ask for our number and ask us out, it communicates that you like us and aren't afraid to do something about it, and we like that.  It also reinforces #1. above.

What it means for you: DO NOT SLEEP WITH GIRLS UNLESS YOU'RE MARRIED TO THEM.  That aside, look at the principle - if you like a girl, do something about it.  Listen here, Good Conservative (possibly homeschooled) Well Read Gospel Grounded Guy, I know that you've been raised to "take it slow" and "be cautious" and "be the initiator" and "lead" and "be strong and courageous".  So, find a balance.  Don't be slow as Christmas or we'll think you don't know we're alive.  You don't need to rush either, just ask that Good Girl out.  Be clear.  If it's a date, call it a date and pay.  (I should NOT have to tell you that.)  If you never go out again, that's OK.  One date is not committing to lifelong relationship.  Just be one notch higher on the forward scale?

3. Bad boys care about their image.

Bad boys usually turn out to be self-indulgent, well, bad boys.  They care about how they come across.  Their hair needs to have the perfect dirty-don't-care-put-together amount of gel in it.  Their clothes need to say I'm-a-bad-boy-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it.  Their car is shiny.  They do pull ups and keep their abs looking washboard-y.

Why girls like this: We notice when guys are put together.  It means they put a little time into getting ready in the morning and hit the gym now and then to take care of themselves. 

What it means for you: Limit the oversized t-shirts with funny slogans to once a month.  Wear pants that fit.  Know what an "accessory" is (here's a clue: watches, sunglasses, and the occasional bowtie or man bag).  No more eating like you're in 7th grade - a whole pizza, a Mountain Dew and a box of Mike and Ikes.  I'm not saying you have to have the perfect model bod and suddenly be able to afford Buckle watches.  I AM saying you should take care of what you've got and learn how to dress more snappily than a t-shirt with an LOTR reference and khaki pants that are too short and show your white Adidas socks.  You know what's important, and fashion isn't really, but that doesn't mean you can't take 10 more minutes getting dressed in the morning.  Good Girl will sit up and notice the change. 

Granted, being gutsy is hard, not every girl you ask out will say yes, and you might hate me for suggesting you ditch the LOTR t-shirt.  Good girls don't want you to be bad, but they do want you to be brave, clear and put together.  I do hope that I unraveled the intellectual knot that is the bad boy and helped you come one step closer to becoming the Knight in Shining Armor (or should we say Amor?) you're meant to be.

Love you, Good Guys, and good luck winning your lady fair,

Little Miss Sunshine