Myers-Briggs

I am, sadly, an INFJ through and through.

For some reason late last night (we're talking 1:45am, people!) I decided to read up on some articles about my personality type. The articles were so accurate my head was reeling. It was as if someone had followed me around, studying each and every move, thought or decision I'd made... all my life!

There is some comfort in reading that Jesus was believed to be an INFJ (as were Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr.), but I am still crestfallen to realize (yet again) I will most likely (allow myself to) be taken advantage of a lot because of the fact that I thrive when helping people. I "live to serve" as one article puts it. I put others before myself and give... to the point where I am left aching and drained. Parched.

--------

A friend and I had a conversation the other day about, what else, guys and relationships and how neither of us knows how to approach/find/receive healthy ones (and normal, stable guys for that matter).

She'd divulged some insight into the mysterious creature that is man-guy, wisdom she'd gleaned from a close guy friend. Apparently, everything about me turns guys off: I am too "helpful"; too eager to dole out concern/care/advice; too available; too "religious" for most of the general population of men.

So, my options are to:
1. not be me and intentionally do everything counter to what is natural, what is me
2. join an abbey/nunnery
3. become a recluse living high up in the mountains where I would end up talking to squirrels and painting pictures with wild berry "paint" and scat
4. sign up for a stint on that Russian space station [Anyone have a million dollars you can loan me? I promise I'll pay it back! *wink*]
5. engulf myself in Jane Austen novels and pray that Mr. Darcy is really out there... somewhere
6. close up shop for good and become crazy cat-lady who schleps around in house slippers, hair nets and moomoos [FYI: I'm not too fond of cats]
7. be happy and content in who I am and trust that somehow, some way God will bring about a man who is the bees knees in every which way imaginable [There I go being "religious" again!]





Right now, options 2 and 5 are looking mighty appealing...

Pwned

While playing a game of Hangman with the boys I'm watching tonight, one of them popped out a word I'd never heard...

I am deflated.

*shrug of shoulders*

Never [Being] Kissed

General Musing du Jour:



Sometimes I wonder if this is why I'm still checking off the "single" box?

Out With the Old...

I read this quote on a friend's profile:

in life we have two plans we can follow...the culture plan or GOD's plan. culture plan says to find your groove, settle & establish, earn & save, consolidate & maintain speed, & die...or you can choose to run towards GOD's plan...which is, 'follow me with abandon at every age with an eager expectation that I will use your life for MY purpose in the world. risk always. never completely settle, always look toward heaven for answers. be MINE. be different. die GLORIOUSLY!' - louie giglio

I am, I'll admit it, scared to no end these days. The things and places God is leading me towards have no clear set steps to follow. I just know I must go...

... even though the economy makes it very likely that finding a "good" job will be difficult.
... even though I know I will (and AM!) scared out of my mind at the possibility of failing.
... even if I am found crying and wounded in "failure."
... even if the little I've saved so far will slip through my fingers when push comes to shove.

I must go away from here. This place that has been home and familiar for all my congizant days. This place that has been the backdrop of who I was (am) becoming (thus far).

People tell me repeatedly to take that leap of faith, but fear and panic leaden my feet.

To move away from this city to another farther away - to go there with no place to live and no bread to win - is foolish and rash to those who are rational. [I know this because I was once one of them.] But given the option of pursuing my heart's desire (and His, hopefully!) or wasting away where I am... I would hope I'd run after the first and heed God's call to Gideon: "Be strong and courageous."

When Waking Up is the Hardest Part

I am coming to terms with the fact that I've not been chosen. Again.

I am limping and wounded, riding waves of self-deprecation, confusion, embarrassment, bitterness and numbness. (I rather like the numb moments lately)

I'm feeling my heart close up again. The brain is pouring grout on the cracks of my heart. Sealing it up. Shellacking it.

I so just want to shut down right now... And all my friends can say is, let it out.

Let it out. It's good for you. It hurts like hell, but it's good.

But I don't want to. The pain hurts too much.

I'd rather do without, thank you, if it's all the same to you.

Senses Fail

I cried last night. A lot. The deep, heaving kind. The kind that rushes over you without warning like a sudden storm over tranquil seas. It was a perfect storm as they say and it knocked my off my feet.

At the advice of Rebs, I took a long, hot shower, hoping it would wash him out. Praying the streams would dissolve these aches and wounds he'd caused. They didn't.


Today I am numb. I don't want to think or feel. Anything.

The songs I play to pass the time here at my desk are just noise. Empty. Without meaning. Without tune.

I don't want to eat, but I am, because I refuse to be that girl - the one who is lovesick and achey and wasting away. Sadly, though, when I eat, food has little taste. I eat to live even when I want parts of me to die.

My heart has short-circuited the rest of me.

My senses fail.

I am a walking ghost.

History in the Making (aka The Only Political Post You Will EVER See Here)

[I've been editing this while at work. Work has been BADDDD... Needless to say this blog will no doubt be choppy, confusing and hard to follow. Sorry!]


Tonight, we, as a united, free people, elected our next president. It was (and will remain) a pivotal moment in history.

I was encouraged by both candidates tonight: Senator McCain bowed out gracefully and encouraged his supporters to do the same. The hope and pure elation, the joyful disbelief and satisfaction on the faces of millions the world over, was emotional to say the least.

As the celebrations continued through the night and as many chanted "Yes, we did!"... an uneasy feeling settled in my heart. One that woke me in the middle of the night.

I could not help, but wonder if, in the midst of all the celebrations, we (God's people, Christ followers) had forgotten about His role here. To those who cheered "Yes, we did!" I wanted to remind them that we had done nothing in comparison to what He has done. And, I worry about the countless radicals out there in our land. I fear their reaction, but hope we all will learn to be open-minded and respect each other.

As excited as I am to have my choice for president in office (come January), and as amazing as it is to live in a time when we have proven to the world and our ancestors that anything is possible, I'm holding onto the hope that lies deep within me - the hope that relies on the sovereinty and wisdom of my Creator God. Without Him, our president will fail... no matter how motivated and talented in leadership he may be.

Republican. Democrat. Moderate. Conservative. LIberal. Left. Right. What does it matter in God's eyes? I'm looking to my God to grant our new leader the wisdom, strength, discernment, courage and sound mind he'll need to run a country in desperate need of change.

To My Mother on Her 52nd(?) Birthday

Dear Mom,

Today as the nation heads to the voting boothes and as the world waits in anticipation to witness history in the making, I look to you in thanks.

Thank you for the years of sacrifice. For the strength you've shown over the years - enduring a loveless marriage, single-parenting, second jobs to put us through school, for pushing aside your physical/emotional pains for our sake. You drive me crazy and make me want to run screaming in the opposite direction, but thank you for the (odd) way you love me (us).

Today, I pray for a good year. I know that you're worried and scared about the future, especially with the financial uncertainty you've faced this past year, but I beg you to remember that you are still under the watchful eye of a loving, faithful God. He has sustained and provided for you in the past and will do so now and in the years to come. Just hold onto Him. Trust Him. Lift your cares and worries to Him instead carrying this burden alone. It's not yours to bear. You are loved by your Jehovah Jirah, your gentle Shepherd, a loving Father.

I pray He grows you this year. That He'll stretch your faith. Whether or not you want to face it, your children are grown now. We will both be leaving soon (me sooner than you're prepared for). I pray the Lord continues to mold in you a strength and dependence on Him, and not me anymore. You are stronger, wiser and more capable than you think. And when you are not, He is, so don't worry.

I know you're still not physically as strong as you once were, and you probably won't be once the doctors give you the green light, but that's OK. Seek His strength when you are weak. Seek His hand when you've no strength to stand alone. Remember Christ suffers and bears this pain with you.

You are not alone, mom. You never will be.

I don't say this as much as I should, but... I love you. You drive me insane, but I love you.

Happy birthday, umma!


Your daughter,

Annie

Annie Queries

The fear that I could have something is almost as scary as the not having it at all.

Is this normal? Do you ever get this way? Or am I the lone passenger in this streetcar named Desire?

As Is

That's me in a nutshell. "AS IS."

Broken.
Scared.
Wanting.
Hoping.
Caring too much.
Heart on Sleeve.
Way too tapped into her emotions.
Weepy.
Angry.
Confused.
Heartbroken.

I'm just sitting in the Clearance Aisle.
A little busted up, but so wanting to be chosen.

EDIT: "If You're Not First, You're Last"

So says Ricky Bobby. And in a way, I think this sentiment holds true in my life.

I want everyone (all of you) to be happy... even at my expense. And in doing so - in wanting everyone to be fulfilled - I'm often left wanting. Waiting. Hoping. Crying. Alone. As much as I believe and long for all of you to find your heart's desires, I can't seem to find a way to mine.

Someone has been on my heart for some time. I have prayed for him and prayed over him. Prayed that God would draw him closer to Himself. That God would pour His mercy and grace upon him so that he would breathe in the freedom of trusting and loving his Savior. Prayed that God would do these things with/out regard for my heart or how it feels, but, for his sake above anything else.

Tears have been shed as I've tried to rationalize all of this. I had hoped that I could somehow spare myself the pain of not being chosen. Again. Hoped that my brain and reason would best my heart and its whirlwind of emotions.

Mission: FAILED









Last night my city, Philadelphia, had its first taste of victory in decades. The entire city erupted with joy. For years people held on with hope and for years were left heartbroken. And as the people crowded the streets breathing in victory, a small, pea-sized hope grew in me. A hope that maybe this time love would find me at last.

Today, however, I am confused and scared once again. The edges of my heart are fraying and hardening again. The cocoon is being built up again around the soft parts. And my heart is preparing to be let down again. To be discarded and turned down again.

I don't like this. The ambiguity and possible (probable) delusions of grandeur have me dizzy, crying and itching for answers. I want to know, but I don't.




Times like these, I wish we all could win.

Hi. My name is Annie and I'm an...

Yesterday, I cried and pleaded with God.

I was so drunk with thought, I became nauseous. My brain was spiky and the light hurt my bloodshot eyes. The world was spinning and I was shivering, suffering a hangover of sorts.

I'm in dire need of AA for the Heart.

I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself...

The heart - correction: my heart - is irrational.

I am, for the most part a person of reason and thought. I like to prepare for what's ahead and plan out the best course of action after mulling over the pros and cons. I'm a "just in case" kind of gal.

But when my heart is involved... even just a little bit? Fogettaboudit. It's all fogs and chaos and questions and roads that lead to Nowheresville.

*sigh* I don't know what to do. The brain rattles with thoughts. The heart aches for answers. And I am drifting as I try to find God's cool waters and rest.

These Photographs and the Mirror Has Two Faces

My mom tore up most of the photos of my dad after the divorce. I guess it was her way of forgetting about him and the pain he'd caused our "family."

A few years back while leafing through old photos, I came across one she'd missed. An old photograph of the two of us, daddy and me; of a tiny baby Annie, naked - save for my diaper - and laughing as I sat on my dad's lap. I took that photo and hid it. Partly to remember the dad I now mourn so... the one that disappeared years ago, and partly for my future children so they would at least know what their grandfather looked like... even if they would never meet him.





I am my father's daughter. I have his puffy, baggy eyes and his full-lipped smile. His round cheeks, short neck and stocky, muscular build. I have his chubby hands and feet that aren't graceful or lithe like a woman's hands should be, but strong and decisive and heavy. I am the female version of him. A clone in ways.

There are days when I can't bear to look in the mirror or at old elementary school pictures. Looking at my young face, I see his and it breaks my heart. And sometimes, I wonder if my mom has ever felt the same way as she looked at me. Wondered if she saw him, the man who had tore her heart to pieces, in me.

I see him, even when I don't.

There Goes My Hero...

A few days ago a friend and I had a LONG discussion on matters at the forefront of both our hearts. He shared his anger and frustration at the social injustices he witnessed all around: at work, on the streets, everywhere. It enraged him to see the poor slighted and dismissed, uncared for and forgotten. The growing chasm between the those in the upper echelons of the financial caste system and the poor breaks his heart. And yet... He was heartbroken and ashamed to say that he does nothing to help reconcile the situation. Another victim in a growing trend of self-preservation.

Where is God's justice?

If you have kept up with the news lately - in between the latest democratic-republican brawl for the white house - you may have learned that former American Idol contestant, Jennifer Hudson's mother and brother were murdered. (I've learned that police believe her young nephew was also believed to have been killed as well). Police believe an estranged and recently paroled family member may be the culprit. The reason for this killing spree? A car. A crappy, piece of metal and chrome.



Times like these I, too, wonder where God is and when He will bring about His righteous justice. Especially when His calling us to patience and trust results in so many people suffering. I just don't know.



Yesterday one of our assistant pastors , Jared, challenged us to believe and trust in the sovereignty of God. When things are grand and life is good. But, especially when times are rough and confusing and pain echoes in the faces of the people around us. Seek the greatness of God in these times.

Trust in His wisdom, not yours.
Trust that He will make right all that has gone so terribly wrong.
Trust His heart breaks, too.
Trust that He's coming, running, racing towards us (all of us) with grace and mercy in His hands.

He, the Great Judge, will set things right.

Just hold tight and wait... Hope is coming and redemption is in the air.

Avril Lavigne Has Me Down...

Why is it that I'm drawn to complicated things when all I want to do is to take the high and easy road?

Why do I have to go and make things so complicated?

Project: Runaway

I once asked a friend how she ended up in Philly. Having been raised here for most of my life, it was hard to believe why anyone would willingly come here of all places. She told me she needed a change of scenery.

Later on, however, she admitted she had come to Philly to run away from her hometown and from the skeletons that lurked about as constant reminders of issues and problems she wasn't quite ready to face.

Lately, I've had this need to run away myself. Not so much from problems, but towards something. To my detriment, I was (am) always sensible and reliable. The girl with the good head on her shoulders. The one who'll take care of her mom.

I don't want to be that anymore. I suffocate under these burdens. I thrash and recoil. I want to run for my life, but feel this unseen familial tether ground me.

On Friday (the most depressed I've ever been), I sat with my mom in the kitchen eating dinner. I ate in silence, forcing the food to go down, eyes studying my bowl of rice cake soup. And I wondered if this was my lot: to be at my mom's side.; her constant companion and the sponge to soak up all her concerns and distresses. I almost cried.

A few days ago, as I was exiting a nearby mall, I saw a woman in her late 50s pushing her elderly mother around in her wheelchair. It was obvious to me that theirs was a co-dependent relationship.

I watched them as the daughter wheeled her mother to their car. Listened as she spoke. Observed my current situation plus 25 years traverse across the parking lot and drive away to an all-too-familiar life.

I watched and felt my heart sink deep into the waters of hopelessness. Lord, surely THIS isn't the life you are calling me to? I can't. I need to be free from this, Lord, as selfish as it is, I want my own life. To be happy and loved. To do things at my leisure. To live.

I cannot walk any longer in these filial daughter shoes that my heritage seems to have bound my feet in. I cannot. Will not. And come hell or high waters or the scorn of my family, I will escape from this. For my mom's sake and for my own.

The Sound of Silence

Me: Hello blog. How are you today?
ANNIBELLE: ...
Me: Hello? Is anyone there? I have so much I need to talk to you about! Please respond!
A: ...
Me: Please?
A: ...
Me: Fine. Whatever. Hmph. [Storms out]
A: ?

[end scene]

All in the Family

I just skimmed through an article on MSN today about how birth order effects one's success.

After reading the articles findings on First-Borns, I'm beginning to wonder if I have older siblings out in the world somewhere or if I'm adopted because nothing could be farther from the truth. I'm more akin to the personality-type of the youngest sibling (minus the "wanting to be the center of a attention" thing).

[You can read more on the article here]

Dumb

For days now I have needed some outlet for what's in here (points to heart and head), this low, barely audible, almost subliminal droning and moaning I can feel agitatingly pulsing within.

Sitting at my piano and tickling the ivory keys left me unfulfilled. And, strumming my guitar made me wish I knew more chords since the song that needs to be released in me is in minor and flats [Unfortunately, I know mainly bright, happy major chords.] My fingers betray their duty.

I want to draw or paint, but cannot: Hesitation and a lack of inspiration cripples me. I think the only things that will result are sad stick figures, barren trees and homeless puppies.

I write and nothing makes sense and sounds just sooooooo melodramatic and depressing, I want to delete/cross-out/tear into little itty-bitty pieces/trash EVERYTHING.

I guess this is what people call a funk, eh?

I Wanna Hold Your Ha-a-and

[Like many previous posts, the following makes absolutely no sense. At all. You have been forewarned. Continue reading at your own discretion]

Most days I forget that I'm a woman.

Let me clarify for those of you who are perplexed: I forget the "womanly" parts and needs within.

Lately I've stared at my hands. Studied them. Wondered if someone will ever hold them or if they'll be as empty as they are now for all my days.

This sense of longing and wanting I just can't describe pulses through my entire being. These feelings invade and corrupt every part of me like foreigners in a land whose inhabitants and daily goings-on I'd known and expected.

Yet these hands, my hands are the most sorry casualties of this emptiness I feel lately. They feel hollow. Unwanted. Without a home.


They suffer from the seven (plus 23) year itch, I suppose.

Please Clarify.

Over the past several weeks people have mentioned how I have a good head on my shoulders. I have no idea what that means.

Please clarify.

1000 [Moments] of Solitude

It's odd: all morning and afternoon I was in hyperdrive. Spinning like a top and bouncing off walls. I felt like I had the energy of 10 grown men and would have run around the block if I wasn't chained to my desk and the projects that piled up. Now, however, I am in a mellowed, semi-somber place. Beneath the still moon I sit, pangs of unknown longings filling the void. 

These feelings come and go more these days. And I am left at a loss for words. Words won't satiate what it is that I am feeling at this moment.

 

Tonight, I arrived to a dark and still house. With no one in sight, I sat at my out-of-tune piano and let my fingers wander across they keys, playing odd diddies, trying to find my heartsong.  When that wouldn't suffice, I gathered myself and reached for my guitar, playing chords, plucking my way through melancholy tunes. Unfilled and realizing  its dire need of restringing, I reluctantly put it down. Its dampened voice can't quite project what I need it to say anyhow. There seem to be no words for the longing I feel inside.

I am still, yet restless tonight.  I feel as if plunging into the depths of the ocean will release me from this, whatever it is that feels like a boulder resting on my heart. It is bittersweet in my mouth.  I want it to go away and leave me in peace, but it is familiar in it's ambiguity.

A long night awaits me, I guess.

 

Daft Drafts

I wonder how far, how "open", I'll make myself to you here on this blog. I write, but get scared/nervous/self-conscious... so, I save some posts as "drafts" like the hoarder I am.

Here in my posts they (these weepy-eyed things) are safe. Protected. Cared for and loved like baby birds who've lost their homes. Some may find themselves out and about with their big brother blogs, but some, the weepiest ones will have to come to terms with the fact that they may never see the light of day. They'll sit in their idle state, waiting for me to look back on them again or to forget about altogether.

Anywhere But Here

I have found myself hesitating to speak and write lately. To let you into my life, into this turmoil. I want to speak the truth, but right now, it ain't so pretty. More like a steamroller running off its tracks, careening into piles of rubble.

I cannot write... literally. I've never really thought of myself as a good writer, but at least my earlier posts were easy to follow (get through), "poignant" or witty. Lately, however, they seem to be a jumble of words - prickly and erratically pouring out like lumpy curds of rotten milk down the drain.

And oddly, the lack of comments on my posts leaves me wondering if people have tuned out because I've depressed them so. If they've found better places to go. Sites that make them laugh or take them on the Funship cruise of life.

This is my life, folks. I'm sorry if it bothers you or dampens your day, but here it is. It's not been pockets of posies, I'm afraid. Just coals. Fistfuls of coals that I'm hoping/praying/waiting to become diamonds in due time.

For now, this is it. Do with it(me/this blog) as you will.

Early Christmas Present?

I would be ever so grateful if someone would get me one of these for Christmas.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

In case you haven't noticed, I'm going through a pruning process.



It hurts. The wounds from the shears are still exposed. I feel stubbly and ugly and naked. A tree with no leaves. Deformed.

I don't like it one bit.

Where Do We Go From Here?

It's Sunday. I'm at home waiting for someone (Uncle?) to come and help me jump poor Dino.


Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an old note a friend had once written me a few years back. Realizing how so much has happened since he penned that note to me, I am at a loss for words now. Nostalgia sets in as I remember how close we once were, and how much things have changed. Once like siblings, we're like acquaintances now, just that far from being strangers.

This seems to be a pattern in my life: people coming and going. (Or maybe it's just me?)

Years have passed. Everyone busies themselves with "living." Slowly we tune each other out - draining the life out of our relationships 'til they (we) are unrecognizable to each other. Ships passing in the fog in our private little worlds. Physically near, but oceans apart. Alone even when we are together.



If I am sentimental about anything, it's about the times I spend with the people I (wish to) hold dear. No matter what those tests say, I express and receive love through spending time with each other. But, it's growing evermore difficult now since I left my old church. Though I never quite fit in there and no one really understood (or wanted to understand) me, and though I was often made to feel like the constant downer with my idealism, it was familiar.

I worry what will happen in the coming months. Will I have to file away most of these relationships when I move, only to pull them out like old photos on rainy days?

If I am brutally honest with myself (and with you), I want to matter. I need to matter. I need to know that there is some secured place in your heart for me, a space devoted solely to me (us).

Maybe it's self-centered/selfish of me to want to matter, to be missed and wanted? Maybe it's self-consciousness and fear of being left out? Maybe these fears have made me too cautious and apprehensive in being more available for/to you? With so many people coming and going, is it any wonder why I pull away? (Yes, I know... "That's no excuse, Annie!")

I have no idea.

All I know is that I miss you. All of you. I miss the sound of your voice. I miss the echo of your laughter.

I miss you.

And, sometimes, I just wish things were as we once knew them... Even if it was dysfunctional at best, it has to be better than silence and chance encounters, right?

Oy!

This is me today...I feel like my forehead will split in half and my tiny little brain will come oozing out from under my eyelids.

She Hulk and the Pretzel Gal

I feel like a pretzel again. The day was quiet for the most part 'til about 2 o' clock, when hell broke loose. Again. Having worked here for over a year and a half now, and watching all the moronic activity that goes on constantly, you'd think this crap wouldn't phase me anymore. But, it does.

I am so tired of this. This constant cycle of unproductivity that stems from an inability to learn from past mistakes. This thinking that "we" are above reproach and can smile and lie "our" way out of things. I'm pretty sure there's a proverb somewhere that says something like "a fool is one who refuses to learn from his mistakes."




Last night while enjoying dinner and a show with some liberti folk, my friend Arlene and I started to talk about life, particularly my work life. I shocked her with my mean-spiritedness, something I can't quite remember if I was born with or if it's grown on me, like putrid, rotting fungus this past year and a half working here. I laughed it off in hopes of buffering some of the shock I had instilled. But at the end of the day, I felt awkward. Ashamed. Uncomfortable. Unhinged (again).

I can be two-faced. The definition of polar opposites. None of you know this about me because I can hide it pretty well... most of the time. (I think?)

I can turn on a dime when provoked. And, if you watch close I bet you can see the change: I'll shut down, not speak a word, fold into myself and skulk about as if under a storm cloud, waiting hopelessly for the ugliness in me to pass. I'll be electrified with rage. A wall of ice and jagged rock will form and there is nothing that can be done, but stand back and wait for it to pass or watch for the train wreck that will undoubtedly take place. It's uncontrolable.

I wish I was more patient, more understanding, more compassionate, but I am not. I am none of those things.

If I've tarnished the image you had of me, of this funny, jovial, happy-go-lucky gal, please accept my apologies. You see, if you look really, really close you can see the ugly, monster within. All the cover-up and concealer in the world can't hide that.

I just hope and pray that the fires of Christ's redemptive work will destroy all of me, the "good" and the bad. It's just so obvious that without it, I'm a hopeless, raging mess.

Attention, K-Mart Shoppers!

Blue light special in Aisle 4: Somewhat nice and sorta funny girl is on the market. She's up for the taking. [Any takers?]



Over the past weekend I've been told twice how I'm such a good catch. First, on Saturday when one of my childhood friends told me I am the "girl guys marry" (this she said shortly after I inquired about the new relationship she's in). Then, just yesterday (Sunday), an older sister from the church I left told me that "all the guys are blind" and wondered why some nice boy had yet to snatch me up. Sometimes, I wonder, too.

It's odd, this phase of life. Slowly, but surely, I see my (often younger) friends coupled off, married and having kids. Then, I look at my life and sigh. I had thought by the age of 30 (almost... let's not talk about this quite yet... I'm still in denial), I'd be married and having my 2nd or 3rd child by now. Obviously, that's not the case.

Love and marriage are the topics of the moment in my circle of gal pals. There are so many beautiful, smart, loving, kind, generous, God-fearing-and-loving women I am blessed to know. So many. But, here we are...

Waiting.
Primping.
Flirting.
Praying.
Making ourselves available.
Being open and flexible.
Wanting and trying to be patient.
Living and embracing singleness.
Watching the clock tick and slowly steal our dreams with each second.

One older sister, shared that now, in her mid-40s, her dreams of having a family of her own are gone and that she's wrestling with the realization that she'll just have to learn to deal and re-form her dreams. And, I wonder if I'll find myself there.

In all honestly, I am really awkward. When around guys I'm remotely attracted to, I start to feel unhinged, uncomfortable in my body. It's like puberty all over again. [Fortunately, for me, I'm not currently eye-ing anyone.]

I run away. But blindly, like a bat in the light of day. I don't know what it means to "flirt"... unless that weird giggling-and-wanting-to-be-in-the-vicinity-of-my-target thing I do can be constituted as flirting. And, to top it all off, I am completely illiterate when it come to reading signals. I'm pretty much hopeless when it comes to this whole thing.

Despite all this, even as disarming and foreign it all is, I want to find my someone. To have someone wrap his arms around me when I'm cold or sad or scared. Someone to tell my deepest secrets and fears to, things I'm too afraid or self-conscious to say in public. Someone who makes me feel utterly at ease and confident, unafraid and unguarded. Someone to challenge me and push me to do the things I'm only strong enough think.

Ugh... It's all so confusing and unnerving and frustrating. Frustrating in the way the good guys are just too shy to make a move. Or too blinded by the bevy of smiley size-2 girls who daintily frolic about like doe-eyed deer when on a good day I feel like a turtle or an old tree-stump.

I just want to eat chocolate, stay in my pajamas and watch sappy dramas now.

*sigh*

The Namesake

All our lives we've been told to aim high. To take strides to be "who you want to be." Be free. Be your own man. "Live life" as American Eagle reminds us. Millions buy self-help books in hopes of unlocking some hidden treasure within - a thinner, prettier, more successful, balanced, Feng Shui version of the person they already are.

We strive. We work our fingers to the bone to get the corner office, the fancy cars, the 4-bedroom tudor in the best part of the suburbs, send our kids to the best schools so they can, in turn, get the corner office. And the fancy cars. And the 4-bedroom tudor in the best part of the city.

We want to be accepted. Popular. Included yet exclusive. Admired. Loved. Relied upon. Needed.



We want to make a name for ourselves. To leave a mark. Our mark.



Today Geoff gave a sermon based on the second chapter of Daniel. He challenged all of us (I HATE/LOVE when he does this, BTW) to re-consider ourselves. To check ourselves. Our motives. Our efforts. Our concepts of identity. To inspect the foundations we have built our lives upon.

Are you building the kingdom of self? A world without God?

We are all shaping, forming, creating. Daily. In the decisions we make, in the lives of those around us. In the day-to-day things that seem so mundane. They (the daily decisions/experiences of life) are the Legos and mortar of this temple (us).

These past few months as I've relished the thought of moving away from here, from this insanity I have learned to call "life", I've struggled and wrestled with my thoughts. A lot.

I have wondered if this desire to move to Nashville that I've been so longing to do for an eternity, is a part of God's plans or hashed out of my tired, little brain and dire circumstances. I wonder why I feel this pull, why I want to go. So badly.

And in light of Geoff's sermon this morning, I am left confused. Bewildered. Stuck.
I wonder if these decisions I make - the experiences, the wishing and hoping and praying for relief - are simply my idols of the day, or if there's something real. Are they made of holy matter refined in God's fires and formed by His hands? Or are they my poor clay and dirt creations? My kindergarten attempts at creating the art in me?

I know I don't belong here. At least, not for the moment. But, where? And when?

Bon Jovi-isms

Being in the Northeast, you'll come across many a Jon Bon Jovi fan. I, fortunately, am not one of them. [I'll elaborate on this later. Just hang tight for a moment.]

Over the past few weeks, perhaps months, I have heard a voice speaking from the depths. A whisper that I have tried to tune out with my constant ramblings. It's been sticking in my ears, clogging them like the pool water that lingers after a swim. And, I try desperately to push them out. Hopping around, hoping for the relief from the exodus of these unwelcome thoughts.

You're life is not your own.

I hear it everywhere.

At church in my pastor's weekly sermons. Messages that feel like a punch in the gut - completely out of the blue and knocking the wind out of me.

At work, while I'm trying (and failing) to find sanity. And wondering how life could have steered me so wrong, so far away from where and who I thought I'd be.

At our weekly Home Groups, where the discussion of the day is discipline for self to find ourselves in a deeper love and obedience to the Father.

At home as I read the Bible. [Refreshing, humbling, punch-in-the-gut moments in their own right. Moments I've missed for a lifetime.]

And daily as I come across life in general.

Your life is not your own, Annie.

YET...

The song that keeps playing in my head and in my heart of hearts is that all-too-familiar Bon Jovi "hit", the chorus of which is the battle cry of this generation.

[Here's where that Bon Jovi reference makes sense. Sorta]

It's my life

It's now or never

I ain't gonna live forever

I just want to live while I'm alive

(It's my life)

My heart is like an open highway

Like Frankie said

I did it my way

I just wanna live while I'm alive

It's my life

All my life I've been having a shout-out with God. Trying to see whose song would be louder, find more airplay, and for all my life I think I did a pretty good job of fooling myself.

But now (NOW)... Ugh.


With today's sermon still ripe in my memory, I find myself struggling. It's uncomfortable, this change. I'm going through some growing pains here, people. And, Annie no likey!

Just One of Them Days...

THIS is how I'm feeling today...

Interpret as you will.

Visine: Get the [Rage] Out

Today my eyes are bloodshot. Swollen. I have old turtle eyes, wrinkly and puffy and shiny from a night of crying on Sarah W's shoulder (figuratively) about the crap at work and how it is shaking my faith, racking me with guilt, weighing on my shoulders. Literally. Even now as I sit here typing, I feel as though someone is physically pressing down on my shoulders.

I have been hunched over for 3 days now. I have, at best, a vulture's posture.

I am (almost) at my wits end here. My patience, unlike my tummy, is thin. On a good day I am just agitated and bearing through the day. On a bad day, however? Stand back, as I'm most likely to be enraged, barely able to keep myself from throwing/punching/kicking something.

I have never felt this way in my life. Not even when my dad left and people (some family members included) looked down at our "broken, failure of a family".

And, I am lost. At a loss for words. With no viable direction or solution to follow. Stuck. Strangled. Gasping. Wondering how on earth I found myself here. Wondering why God could (would) allow me to "endure" this situation and why He won't come to my rescue. At least not in the ways I want Him to. Need Him to. Am pleading Him to.

I want Him to magically whisk me away. Bring His fiery chariots and carry me to some place better.

But, He won't. At least not in the ways I want Him to. Because He is God and I am not. And though life SUCKS right now, I have to somehow believe that He's still in control. Still redeeming the day/my life. Still watching over me closely, even when it feels like I'm so far beyond His watchful eye and protection.

And until He does come to the rescue. I'll have to engrave Psalm 55 on my heart.

Psalm 55

For the director of music. With stringed instruments. Amaskil of David. ^[a]

1 Listen to my prayer, O God,
do not ignore my plea;

2 hear me and answer me.
My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught

3 at the voice of the enemy,
at the stares of the wicked;
for they bring down suffering upon me
and revile me in their anger.

4 My heart is in anguish within me;
the terrors of death assail me.

5 Fear and trembling have beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me.

6 I said, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest-

7 I would flee far away
and stay in the desert;
Selah

8 I would hurry to my place of shelter,
far from the tempest and storm."

9 Confuse the wicked, O Lord, confound their speech,
for I see violence and strife in the city.

10 Day and night they prowl about on its walls;
malice and abuse are within it.

11 Destructive forces are at work in the city;
threats and lies never leave its streets.

12 If an enemy were insulting me,
I could endure it;
if a foe were raising himself against me,
I could hide from him.

13 But it is you, a man like myself,
my companion, my close friend,

14 with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship
as we walked with the throng at the house of God.

15 Let death take my enemies by surprise;
let them go down alive to the grave, ^[b]
for evil finds lodging among them.

16 But I call to God,
and the LORD saves me.

17 Evening, morning and noon
I cry out in distress,
and he hears my voice.

18 He ransoms me unharmed
from the battle waged against me,
even though many oppose me.

19 God, who is enthroned forever,
will hear them and afflict them—
Selah
men who never change their ways
and have no fear of God.

20 My companion attacks his friends;
he violates his covenant.

21 His speech is smooth as butter,
yet war is in his heart;
his words are more soothing than oil,
yet they are drawn swords.

22 Cast your cares on the LORD
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall.

23 But you, O God, will bring down the wicked
into the pit of corruption;
bloodthirsty and deceitful men
will not live out half their days.
But as for me, I trust in you.

Office Space

Today was horrible. I will not sugar-coat it for you at all.

Abusive words were directed towards me because of my crazy coworker, the she-clone of my insane boss, and her failure to check over her work (that I had to do).

This continued on throughout the day. More pressure for me to "cooperate" and "help the team" while she sat in her office doing who knows what, taking countless cigarette breaks and personal calls, grunting whenever more than one phone line rang and exclaiming her retarded "OH MY GOD!", yet doing absolutely nothing to help.

Today, I made it known - in less subtle ways that before - that... I DO NOT LIKE HER.

• I don't like how she strolls into the office at 10:30 or 11 with her stupid excuses.
• I do not like how she lies and tries poorly to cover them up.
• I HATE that she NEVER listens, nor gives anyone the time or respect to LET THEM FINISH TALKING before she rambles.
• I do not like the obnoxious way she chews. So audibly. It's like listening to a cow chewing gum and cud at the same time.
• I do not like how she eavesdrops and gets into things that have NOTHING to do with her.
• I do not like how she checks up on me, stares AT ME as she's walking by, thinks that anything on my desk is up for grabs for her reading/reviewing.
• I do not like how she makes promises to her clients without consulting me, the "graphics design department", if I: a) am able to do it; or b) that I have the time to do it.
• I do not like how she can't focus, spending no more than 10min at her desk doing her work.
• And, I hate that she gets commission for the work that I do, simply because she's in "sales" and I'm a lowly administrative assistant.
  

My conflict with SheClone has been ongoing. Pretty much since the day she started working at the office. It was barely bearable to work under my insane boss, BUT to have 2 of them? Impossible. It's like hell on earth sometimes with their ridiculous shenanigans.

I have struggled with the guilt of not being Christlike in patience or compassion. (Sometimes I still do). I am angry and short-fused. A lot. I have had violent thoughts race through my mind. Thoughts of inflicting physical harm.

I don't like this me.

Over these past months, almost every friend (real and imaginary) has advised me, PLEADED with me, to please find another job.

But, I am scared of the unknown. Afraid to struggle. Terrified of being turned down for positions. Especially with the economy and the job market as shaky as they are.

So, my dear, beloved friends: I ask for your help. For prayers (LOTS of prayer!). For advice. For encouragement and pearls of wisdom. For help in finding another job and interviewing (again). Help me push this door closed and lock it so I can see the windows God is opening (hopefully) along the periphery.

Oh, the Places (I wish to ) Go.

Some places on my radar:

1. Africa *sigh*

The Pope St. Victor has divulged over FB chat that he's going on a trip to Africa for work. Some countries on his itinerary: Uganda and Rwanda.

If you know what God has been laying on my heart these past few months/years, you know how jealous I am. As Rachel Zoe puts it, "Omigosh, I could DIEEEEEE!"



2. Saint Naum Church, Macedonia


I need to go here. See it. Experience it. Breathe in the ancient things. Ponder the great thoughts, speeches, sermons given. Touch the weathered stone. Inhale the remnants of incense from generations ago.


More to come later...

Urine Trouble, Mister

So, I just got back a short while ago from the gym. Ran a wee bit til my knee started making it's voodoo signs that it was time to stop torturing it. Did some ab/tricep/back work and headed down to the pool to finish up the remainder of my workout.

I swam next to a guy. He was in the other lane. I'm pretty sure he peed in the pool towards the end of his set because I swam into very warm waters. But, I continued to swim, pushing that disgusting thought to the lower parts of my conscious, hoping they'd get lost in the abyss, trying my best not to gag.

After my set of laps, I went into the whirlpool where I'd hope the hot water and jets would blast off any remnant of pool water.

I really want to rinse my mouth out with Clorox right now and have an urge to talk to the front desk people there about who they're letting into the gym. In the course of 3 days I've had my towel stolen, only to be found hanging in the men's shower room, and, I've been made to swim in suspect waters.

Maybe I'll look into scuba gear for my next trip. That or a hazard suit.

*gag*

Fast Food

Today (Thursday, September 11th) my entire church is fasting. We're asking God to rebuild this city and use us, His bride.

The thing is: I work for a catering company. The kitchen is on site. The perfume of spices, the fragrance of meats grilling and caramelizing fill the air. I am growing faint/crazy with hunger. In an hour or so, I'm pretty sure I'll be lurking around like some rabid dog, a look of crazed delerium on my face, a blank, googly-eye look in my eyes.

*sigh*

It's going to be a long day. Literally. I've been called to rep for MOCHA tonight and probably won't be home till about 11:30pm or so. [Lord, help me!]

I just hope my brain and the synapses between it, my mouth and conscious remain intact long enough, so that I'm not some driveling idiot tonight.

Today, coffee will be my drug of choice. Lots and lots of coffee.

Oh, Lord, help me... It's going to be a very. long. day.

EDIT: I survived an entire day of fasting... Thank you, Lord. Thank you for coffee and water and Kombucha's mysterious entities that rev-ed up the ol' system and saw me through to the end of the show last night.

I bought food on my way home. I will not divulge from where to spare my thighs and tummy the guilt. Suffice it to say, the "golden arches" were involved. Waited til past midnight like the good, little Cinderella that I am, and ate. It was not as satisfying as I thought it would be (at 12:15am).

Today, I am bloated and unfocused.

And, I want a cookie.

A-Has and Dohs!

Lately my pastor, Geoff, has been giving some hard-hitting sermons. I don't like it. I mean, I do. I love that the Word is opening up new worlds and unlocking pieces of my heart that I didn't know existed. It's just, well... I could do without them. I'm much too comfortable where I am, you see. And life just always seem to be a bit easier when you're only looking out for number one after all.

This past Sunday we concluded our sermon series on Acts (the first church). The sermon ripped at every part of my carefully constructed bubble. It bore through the layers I'd let build around me. Layers of selfishness, pride, ignorance and delusions of grandeur that I am at the center of my life, that I am the main character in this story called "Me."

Obedience is giving up your independence.

[Doh!]

And once again I'm left to face the mirror of truth - to see the ugliness within and ask for the forever redeeming showers of grace to wash over me and flood my senses. Let my eyes of my heart focus on you, the world at large (broken and redeemed souls alike). Let its reaches extend past this flesh and out. To you. To her. To him. To them.

TGIF (Thank God It's Friday!!!)

I am groggy. Tired.

My brain hurts.

Last night I passed out shortly after 3am, while in the midst of meditating/praying over Proverbs 4. An hour or so later I awoke, dazed and confused and fumbling towards the door to turn off the light switch. I stumbled towards my bed to crash for the night, only to be stirred awake by a strange rattling and banging and closing of an old and heavy car door. Dizzy, I peered out my bedroom window to find to men in the back alley, packing up an old pick-up truck, making no attempts at courtesy to an entire city block of sleeping people. I glared at them, cursing them with my dizzy, fuzzy thought and followed them as they packed themselves into the truck and drove away.

It's now 10:30am. There is a slow, numbing throbbing in my head and down the side of my neck. I feel especially heavy and rusted - like an engine in dire need of a tune-up. [Reminder to self: Dino needs an oil change and tire rotation. AND, you're out of toothpaste.]

Thank God it's Friday!

On Death and Dying - Part Deux (or Trois?)

The OM at work, a very superstitious woman, told me one day that bad things come in threes.

I have no idea or wish to trust in that. I believe in a loving God who offers new days and new glories. He keeps no records of wrongs or bads. Fortune or misfortune aren't handed out like that free cup of coffee you get after you've accrued 10 punches on your coffee card. I'm pretty sure of that.

Even still, bad things happen. And sometimes they happen to good people. And sometimes there's just no rhyme or reason to the way God works out his plans and glories in our lives.

This past weekend, while on my way up to PA farm country for our church's intra-congregational picnic and mini Olympics, I randomly received a call from an old friend. She never calls me, so I found it odd and assumed it was about carpooling/details for another friend's birthday celebrations this week.

Later on, while reviewing my voicemails, I learned that her aunt, an old family friend and the wife of our old pastor from my childhood, had passed away suddenly. The message was drawn out. I could hear in this sister's voice the shock and disillusionment one only hears when misfortune knocks the wind out of you. It sounded as if she didn't really believe what she was saying. Her voice resonated the thoughts running through my mind and heart.

How could this have happened?
Why?
I just don't understand.

Tomorrow we will celebrate this beautiful woman's life at a memorial service. And, we who remain, will remember her and praise our Heavenly Father for blessing us all with a model of humility, self-sacrifice, love, wisdom, service and strength.

City of Brotherly Love

A couple days ago, while briefly talking with my brother, I learned about a Korean woman who had asked for money while on his usual route for work. In so many words he told me she looked run down and strung out. The telltale signs of an addict written all over her person, on her ragged face, in her stringy hair and cracked nails.

In my ignorance, I exclaimed my shock at hearing she was Korean. Being surrounded by hard-working and often work-addicted, successful, studious and often Christian Korean-Americans, to hear of "one of our own" as a drug addict ripped a hole in my perception. I was saddened and confused. And while I processed the day he (my brother) had had, about smelling the stench of death in the air in some of the neighborhoods he traveled through, I thought about the Korean woman who'd come to my mom, aunt, her employee and myself a lifetime ago.

It was about 10 years ago when she had first stepped into my aunt's grocery to panhandle. She was a timid woman, and the years on the streets had visibly broken her. She wore her pain and her addictions about her like a chain tethering her to an tangible despair. She would frequent my aunt's store and visit with my mother. They would buy her some staples from the local deli/butcher shop and talk with her trying to uncover her story, about how she, a once beautiful woman with cascading black hair, had become this torn, broken, lost soul now before them.

After some time, my mom somehow convinced her to come with them to a shelter downtown. She'd heard about it from a deacon at her church who volunteered there. It was an ordeal. She made excuses, lied, grew angry and defensive, cursed them out and all the while they (my mom, aunt and my aunt's employee) pleaded with her to get in the car. They feared for this fellow Korean sister. They feared for her life.

I'd all but forgotten about this woman until my brother had told me about the woman he'd met. Part of me grew sad, thinking it was the same woman who we'd driven to the shelter years ago. So, in curiosity, I asked my mom if she knew whatever had happened to the woman who'd stumbled onto her store block. With a nonchalant tone that masked a hint of sadness, she told me that the woman had died a few years ago. The deacon at her church had seen her at the shelter off and on throughout the following years, but heard rather recently that she'd died of what I can only assume was an overdose.




Living just outside the center of the action (so to speak) in Center City, I often forget (ignore) the brokenness that surrounds me. I turn a blind eye and heart to the suffering world around me, the world outside of my own that is wailing for relief, pleading for a savior.

Philly is a hard place to live. The contrast in classes, of the haves and the have-nots is evident for those who truly know this "city of brotherly love."

Blocks from the beautiful scenery that surrounds the rivers and the chic Rittenhouse Square area, live the suffering and the broken. Minutes from the gorgeous brownstones and cobblestone streets of Olde City, past the Liberty Bill and the National Constitution Center and a breath away from the up-and-coming areas of Fairmount, Graduate Hospital, Bella Vista, Queen's Village and Northern Liberties, lie the dying and the suffering.

I have heard of children giving into the sexual pressures I'd only witnessed in my teens and college years. Hundreds of child-mothers and the fatherless. Children having children. The blind leading the blind.

I have come across the strung out, the drunk, the lost and, instead of receiving them with Christ's love, I have pushed them away. Growing up in an urban city will do that to you, it'll cause you to grow a thick skin, to become callous. And I wrestle with that more and more these days. I hear Christ's challenge echoing a whisper in the deepest, most hidden parts of my heart, itching it's way to the surface:

Clothe them.
Feed them.
Love them as I have loved you.
Love them as you love Me.
Die for them your brothers.

And still my heart refuses, blinded by myself, crippled in fear, calloused by the status quo and what is considered "acceptable" behavior for the sophisticated urbanite.

As Annie Parson's has prayed, "Lord, distract me from myself."

Mmmm... I forget what I was going to post. Something about mothers and their "advice." I think I came up with a cool title, but I forgit.

More later... if I ever remember.

Arrivadercci!

Lazy Bug

So, I had planned on being productive today. Who knew it would require so much energy and preparation? I didn't.

Instead of prepping for the wedding I'm doing in a few months, I wrote a (long) list of possible flowers to use in the bride's "vintage garden" wedding. Instead of hitting the gym to do a few laps in the pool (knee and ankle are currently messed up), I... slept. And, instead of watching Henry Poole is Here, I watched Sliding Doors on the tellie. Again. For the umpteenth time.

Howevah...

I was able to venture out to watch the Olympics tonight with Denise, which was nice. We both think Shawn and Nastia were robbed and that the Russian pole vaulter is hilarious.

Ode to Amishland

I've just returned from a beautiful day with my dear Rebs.

We drove with the top down on her jeep, sun smiling on us and the wind in our hair. Nothing but blue skies and the road ahead. We drove all over Lancaster County - through towns with odd names like "Bird in Hand" and "Intercourse", past endless green pastures laden with dairy cows and young colts grazing alongside their mothers, over hills and valleys, and alongside cornfields that perfumed the air with their earthiness. We came across horse-drawn buggies carrying Lancaster County's most popular citizens, the Amish and Mennonite community. We came across oddities only found in Lancaster: a Mennonite woman riding her bicycle, clothed in an ankle-length dress and talking on her cellphone; and many a young Amish man riding about town on retro-scooters.

To conclude the official Rebs' tour of Lancaster, we popped into the downtown area where we shared a PB&J doughnut (soooooo good!), bought biscuits and chocolate at the local English/Irish/Scottish store and had lunch at Prince St. Cafe.

Afterwards, we watched Brideshead Revisited and admired the beautiful Matthew Goode. We sighed. We blushed. We giggled like school girls.

It was a glorious day. I am refreshed and as perky as a sunflower in the midday sun. Happy sleep and dreams are certain tonight.

Thanks, Rebs! Love, love, LOVE you and your beautiful soul!

Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker's Man

They say there are 2 kinds of people: Bakers and Cooks. Bakers are meticulous perfectionists who weigh and level their ingredients. They need formulas and recipes to follow. Cooks, on the otherhand, feel their way through their masterpieces. They use their senses and impulses and occasionally use recipes a a vague map to their destination.

I am a cook. Ironically, though I would call myself a perfectionist, I hate measuring and leveling off ingredients. I'm a "pinch here, sprinkle there" type of person.

All this to say that I'm going to a picnic this Sunday after church. The details are still pretty vague, but I can tell you there will be sangria, cheese(?), croquet and maybe a birthday cake for Priscilla... if I can figure out how to do that.

I want to make a banana cake with salted caramel filling and a ganache frosting. In my head it'll look and taste spectacular - gooey caramel and fragrant bananas, luscious silky layers of chocolate dripping like liquid satin down the edges.

Thing is:

• I've never made a cake that didn't come out or a little red or blue box. My closest attempts were a banana nut bread that was surprisingly deleeshush, and red velvet cupcakes from a recipe from Paula Deen, the Butter Queen. (I think I've JUST come off the sugar rush of that one)
• I don't know the first thing about caramels or ganaches.
• I lack any patience to let things rest or cool, which would explain all the flat, bloblike, runny frosting cakes I used to produce for school bake sales.

I may have to consult my pastry chef friend (and maybe the baker here at the office) to give me a few pointers.

Big Fish In a Little Pond

I've always loved the water, but, as someone living in an urban city, swimming was a treat saved for holidays and church BBQs at one of the deacons' homes. The best my brother, friends and I could do was to "swim" in our wading pool, a glorified tub constructed of plastic and vinyl, the bottom of which would often tear when we drug it across our concrete porch.

We would splash and see how long each of us could hold our breaths under the water. And, when my brother would run off with his friends, my best friend and I would lounge in the pool, pretending to be lost mermaids stranded on some desert island, or scuba divers in search of lost treasure.

When I was about 13, my mom signed us (my brother and I) up for swimming lessons at the Y. It was her first attempt at assimilating her children into normal "American" extracurricular activities. My brother fit right in with all the other little kids, I, however, was keenly aware of the fact that I was a big fish in a little pond. Literally.

I swam my way up the food chain from Guppy to Minnow to Fish, eventually reaching the pinnacle of the YMCA chain, Dolphin, when I had to take a week off for summer camp. When I returned my previous instructor, a strong woman who resembled Martina Navratilova, had been replaced by a strapping young man. I was in like with him.

It wasn't until he'd come into the picture that I'd become conscious of my body. I always knew I was a little chubby because my family was sure to remind me of that fact on an almost constant basis. But I had never been so self-conscious of the way I appeared in my swimsuit until he came along in all his handsomeness. It was the first time I worried about my thighs being too big or my tummy a little paunchy, of my legs and armpits being freshly shaven or my hair in a perfect ponytail instead of the usual wet mop of octopus-like tendrils. I wanted so badly to impress him, but a week's absence and my nervousness of being underwater and face-up in the pool (I had almost drowned like that the year prior) prevented me from doing so. Instead, while the other (much smaller) kids dove and did their pretend water rescues, ring recoveries, flipturns and butterflies, I clung to the edge of the pool, holding on for dear life. I was traumatized and feeling inferior.

Swimming has lost a bit of its appeal since then. I lost a lot of my stamina (a lot!), and the self-confidence of my youth has been replaced by the self-consciousness that only comes with growing into your own skin.

But, tonight, inspired by Michael Phelps and Dara Torres, I will brave the waters once more. That is, after I buy myself a new pair of goggles and possibly some black spray paint to cover the fishbowl windows that overlook the pool at the gym.

Olympic Trials (08.08.08)

While most of the world anticipates tomorrow night's opening of the 2008 Olympic Games, I lay here on my couch, sore and spent. I have been hand-painting champagne flutes with the Olympic rings and the "lucky" date of 08.08.08. Nearly 6 hours of repetitive circles of gold.

For a better part of the day I was an elfin slave locked away in the conference room, hunched over glass flutes THIS close to my face as I gilded them with rings of gold.

My shoulder is sore, as is my right wrist, which had to hyperextend itself so I could rest the lower part of my palm on the convex glass/stem. HOWEVUH, my eyes, to my surprise, have neither permanently crossed as I had feared nor fallen out of my head from straining so hard. Glory, glory!

I was intending on meeting up with an old friend and her sister at the "urban" Bally's by us after a very quick "breakfast for dindin", but, instead, fell asleep STANDING UP, my body bent to a perfect right angle as I lay across my mother's bed. When I woke up, my calves and hamstrings were burning and my head pounding.

So, there will be no running or ellipticalling or crunching or weight-training. Instead, I will probably continue to lay here for a spell, pop some Advil, watch some TV and continue reading my current book on queue, "Same Kind of Different As Me."

MobWars

In the course of a few days I, as my alter ego "Art DeckO" have...

• acquired more (virtual) money than I have all year working in Crazytown, USA (aka my office)... [but, alas... man cannot live on virtual bread alone!]
• bought a lot and built a stately villa upon it [too bad I can't decorate it]
• racketeered
• robbed many liquor stores
• mugged a whole lotta imaginary people

Ah... vive los Sopranos! (not really)

It's All Goode aka "Flitter-Flatter (Don't laugh)"

I thought it high time for some lightheartedness here. So, ladies and... ladies (I don't think any boys read this), may I present to you Mr. Matthew Goode:


I think this man is absolutely lovely! Dark hair. Grey eyes. Dimpled Smile. Tall. British.



Now, if only he could sing and play the guitar, he'd be a shoe-in. For sure.

[Don't laugh! I'm already doing enough of that for all of us!]

Speechless.

The OM just called a short while ago with some very sad news.  The husband of the woman I've continually had issues with since her start in April has passed.  He had a heart attack.  He leaves behind his 2 young children, his wife and his insurmountable debt.

I feel for her and her children.  I am numb with guilt as I've been so cold and un-Christianlike with her since the start.  It's been a struggle to understand her and show patience.  

But, now? ... all that remains here is guilt.

'You say, "Everything is different." '

And, all I want to do is hold on,

but days like this make it so difficult

So

so

difficult

Music and Laughter (is all that I'm after)

I'd hoped for a light, peaceful week. Unfortunately, my boss thought different. Per his usual nonsense, he continued driving everyone in the office nuts with his disorganization, lack of focus and thoughtfulness. He made my blood boil and my head ache and caused the OM's stomach to turn and knot.

Thankfully, a friend by what I can only attribute to providence, has planned an imprompt night of relaxation. Tonight we shall picnic and watch the fireworks and fireflies fly to the music of Tchaikovsky. It'll be brilliant.

Thank you, Lord!

Gravity (Music. Books)

This afternoon I made a somewhat impromptu visit out to a friend's bookstore, Gravity, about an hour away in Exeter, PA. While there he and I chatted briefly about music, new artists, my opinion of the layout, etc. Two hours later I left. $60 poorer, but 3 books, 1 gift and 1 CD richer.

I cracked open my newly purchased CD, and played the first disc, Jon Foreman's "Fall. Winter" on repeat the entire way home. I couldn't have found a more perfect companion on the long, windy, sunny drive home.

Last week was torture. This week, however, has the beginnings of of looking up.

Enter the Floodgates

My boss pulled me aside at the end of the day and "explained" the need for my shortened hours. Then, he asked me for my input on the matter. He shouldn't have...

As I started to tell about him about the financial problems facing my family, I could feel the burning of tears forming in my eyes. And, though I tried to fight them off, they came forth. They flooded my eyes, ears, throat, mouth, head and nose until I was this snotty mess of mucous.

They continued after our conversation had ended. Kept their route as I packed up my things and closed down my computer for the night. They lingered all the way home, through my "dinner" and now as I sit and type this. They keep coming forth like droplets falling from leaky faucets.

I don't know where they come from, these tears. It's as if my body has hoarded every tear on God's green earth and was waiting for the right moment to open the floodgates.

I am worn. Weathered. Though my eyes are wet with tears, my spirit is suffocatingly parched in this drought it finds itself in...

OK, I'm gonna retreat to the comfort of my bed and hide myself under the covers. Hopefully, it won't be a puffy-eyed, raspy creature that reemerges, but a renewed, refreshed being beaming with the light of hope.


Hopefully.

Sleepless in Philadelphia

I went to bed at my normal hour (2:15am). Unfortunately, I was startled awake a mere 3 hours later, jostled by a mind that had decidedly become aware of all the problems I'd thought I'd packed away for the night:

• Mom's financial woes - the reality that she may have to file for bankruptcy if business doesn't pick up.
• Mom's (failing) health, exacerbated by the above financial straints
• My unhappiness at work and in life
• My wanting (and needing) to move away, so I can finally breathe, but feeling chained here because of family obligation (refer to 1 and 2 of list)
• Guilt over the growing resentment that boils inside me at any given moment
• Wondering about what lies ahead and wishing for signs of life
• An odd sense of envy as I watch (from afar) as others find themselves on the other side of the rainbow while I sit in the gloom of rainstorms

I know there is Rest here, somewhere in the midst of all of this. I just wish someone would MapQuest it for me...

Don't It Make My Brown [Shoes Red]

I'm tired.

I cried for no reason, briefly (thankfully) on Saturday as I made my way home from a friend's 40th birthday party. Afterwards, as an attempt to self-medicate, I went shoe shopping, finding the pair of dark red, peep toe pumps I'd been looking for forever, only to realize later that night, while standing in line for some gelato, that they were BROWN.

Maybe that's what I'm to learn in this weird place I find myself... To re-evaluate the things I've been living for/in. Maybe in the light of His glory, they won't look like what I'd hoped for after all. Maybe they'll fail in comparison to what is to come if only I hold on a little longer and/or take a leap of faith.

And maybe, just maybe, a friend will come along to offer a word of encouragement and call these brown shoes "Indian Red" to make me/you feel just a little bit better...

As the AllState commercials say: "I'm there."

Sigh...

I've been in a bad place lately. I want to blame hormones or the humidity or even the possible minor ear infection I had last week. There is a burden on my shoulders. An invisible stranglehold on what I had hoped was this thing called "living" that had only just reached it's infancy.

Somewhere in the back of my mind and the deepest parts of my heart I wonder if this is where Faith meets us. Not in the moments of sunshine and laughter, but in those few moments when troubles sweep over and we find ourselves in its eclipse. This is where I find myself today. Stuck where I don't want to be. Knowing that better awaits. Running in circles as I try to live and yet be the good, dutiful, sacrificial daughter that my heritage demands of me.

No Lo Comprendo

The OM just pulled me aside. This is what she had to tell me:

Listen. Peter meant to tell you this in 30 seconds. He appreciates you. We all do, but since things are so slow here, you're only going to come in 2 or 3 days a week. OK? It's only until September when this get crazy again. And Peter said he would help you with unemployment, so you should look into that. OK?

Awesome.


Does anyone know of any normal jobs/working environments? My patience is wearing thin here. THIN.

Oopsie Daze-y

Yesterday after church - and a quick lunch with Sarah, Sonja and Robert - I headed off to work to help prepare for a wedding reception my company was hired to cater. I arrived home around 11:45pm supremely exhausted, covered in a film of sweat, sugar and wine and in dire need of a shower.

HOWEVER, instead of taking a shower and going to bed at a somewhat normal hour, I lay there in my bed. Unable to move. Drained yet unable to sleep. So, I did what any normal person would do - watched some disturbing fact-based psychodrama called "An American Crime" starring Ellen Page.

I fell asleep sometime around 3:30am.

I'm at the office, but am pretty sure the brain has gone fishing...

Lord, help me...

Pho Real

Tonight was an interesting one. One full of laughs and tears.

I shared my "story" with SW over bowls of Pho (Vietnamese noodles). I shared a lot. More than I thought I would. But it was good to get it out, even if it meant inviting someone into the mess that is my life at times.

We unhinged the closet door and let the skeletons out. I placed each one neatly across the table for her to see. And, where I expected judgement and "advice", I found acceptance, empathy and love.

And, there in the middle of that tiny restaurant on a hot summer night, slurping noodles and broth, watching as the rain swept through the city streets, we cried. It was a moment, a moment between two strangers-then-acquaintances-now-sisters.

Too Broke for Baroque...

I just saw this and drooled a bit:

Update

I've just sent in my resume for the aforementioned position.

Now, the waiting/praying/hoping/nail-biting begins...

Too Good to Be True? (Quite Possibly)

While doing my daily rounds through the ol' Craigslist job posts, I came across an awesome opportunity.  It blends my supreme analness and control-freakdom with my love of music and art.  And it quite possibly might finally bring me to "Music City" ...  Finally.

I'm scared and excited.  Relieved yet self-conscious.  What if I'm rejected?  What if I'm under-qualified like I'm pretty sure I am considering all the Music Business grads peeling through the gates of the job market race.  

I wonder if I'm good enough.  I fear I'll fail...  And yet, I can't believe the window God's opening before me...

Wish me luck.  I think I may need a galaxy's worth of prayers for this doozie! 

If You Happen to Be in Philly Tonight...

Please consider coming out and showing your support for this event. And, if you're just a little to far out to come, feel free to read up on organization to learn ways you might be able to help.

Ugh.

Today was murderously taxing. Didn't eat (save for a bowl of Cheerios this morning). Didn't drink more than a cup of coffee and about a glass's worth of milk (also with breakfast) all day. Witnessed my obnoxious boss demean people because of his constant lack of organization or priority.

And the only thing that cheered me up all day was this.  Enjoy!

Thunder. Lightning...

... The way You love me is frightening.

Last night we had a brief reprieve from the staunch heat while a thunderstorm blew through Philadelphia.

Last night I did something I hadn't done in years: Sat and watched the lightning pierce through the night sky.

Lightning and thunder have always amazed me. The unexpected power and ferocity in which they rush is so captivating. 

Oddly enough this stolen moment spent storm-gazing there at my windowsill, brought a rush of peace and stillness to my soul, which was much needed (and appreciated).

And for a second there, I had a "Are You there, God? It's me, [Annie]" moment.

Even in the harried craziness of life, be still, child... and know that I AM GOD.

The Heat is On...

I was just outside running an errand for work and all I have to say of the heat is:

UNGODLY!
SINFUL!
VICIOUS!
EEEEEVIL!

It's blazing out. I mean, my skin felt like it was going to singe or melt off my body. That's how hot it is outside.

I'm holding onto the hopes that heaven is a forever-Spring day.

WordPress-ing Matters

I've just linked my Blogger to WordPress.

[Muahaha... step 1 of 10238012830129381203 in my plans to take over the blogging world one reader at a time. Literally. ]

Liquified.

It's going to be hellishly hot the next 10 days or so here in Philly. For those of you who don't know Philly in heat... Yeah, it ain't pretty. Nosiree.

Part of me wants to continue this process of acclimating to the weather (e.g. wearing thicker, longer clothes to get used to the heat, so I'm not nearly naked or stuck in a freezer come July). But the sensible, impatient part of me is seriously considering wearing shorts and summer dresses... Even if the skeevy, weirdos that work in the back oggle me.

[Pause]

On second thought... maybe not.

What I Want RIIIIIIIGHT Now...

Driving In Circles

Ugh... I'm going through another rough patch.



So many things to process...

... finding my strength, hope, peace and identity in my God

... taking on the character of and personifying the "ezer" He created me to be

... feeling my way through this whole messed up thing with my non-existent father

... trying to hear God's voice and see His direction

... wondering where I'll be this time next year

... fearing I don't have the faith to make the big move

... wondering if everything I want is everything He wants or if I'm just being delusional and lusting after this elusive dream



I don't know.



I'm confused. Unsettled. Agitated. Itchy.



I need to find a new job. Need to. Gotta.



Ugh...





[P.S. Why does it seem like I'm always finding my way back to this same state of confusion and unrest?]

Lions and Tigers and Bears, O My! (Well, not so much lions)

There's so much to share from this past weekend's liberti women's retreat. So much that I still need to process and meditate over. So many things that I'm still trying to make sense of...

It'll have to wait for another time... I'll keep you posted.

Ramblings...

Work sucks, but life is good... most of the time.

That's been my sentiment for the last few months. It's sad, I know. But c'est la vivre, I guess.

Pessimism aside, I am so thankful for my home group. This random hodgepodge of of people who never cease to amaze me in their pure acceptance for each other and their hunger to learn deeper the heart of God. There are no scholars or profound speakers, but we dialogue, we study the word and ask questions of it and each other. No one presumes to know the "correct" answer. No one pretends to be perfect.

Sometimes I wish I'd have met these people sooner, and wonder at God's planning; wonder if I threw a wrench in His plans with my stubbornness and fear of change and kick myself in the butt for fighting God for as long as I did, even when I knew He wanted something different for me.

Sadly, our co-leaders are leaving soon. They're heading back to Nashville and starting a new chapter and vision for/in their lives. They've no idea if it's completely the "right" thing to do, but they trust in God's wisdom and His sovereign hand at work even in this blind leap of faith they take.

It's strange how I found myself here amongst this group and in this church. But, however long it took, I'm glad and thankful for the wisdom and sovereignty of my Father.

[Annie smiley]

Speechless

It's eery that I thought of Steven Curtis Chapman last night, especially since this happened to his family. I feel so badly for the them...

Please pray for God's comfort and provision.

Note to Self:

God is God and I am not. - Steven Curtis Chapman

Out of grace, God created us as limited beings, so our lives can point others to the One who truly [and completely] satisfies. - Sarah W's Friend (not verbatim)

That's all. No more elaboration required.

Pug Life

I have no idea what this is supposed to mean, but it's funny and cute. And, that, afterall, is all that really matters at the end of the day...

A Room With a View (not really, but it sure is purty!)

My perfect room. Kitschy. Simple. Modern. Vintage. Ecclectic. Black and white with pops of color.

Sigh. I just wish I had enough time/money/energy/power tools.

"It's SO You!"

I just came across this and thought it hilarious. For those of you who know me well enough, you know this is oh-so-appropriate and very Annie-esque.

I just thought I'd share. You know, in case you're trying to figure out what to get me for my un-birthday, or whatever...

Done... As of now

Here it is folks. I hope this new layout is easier on the eyes.

We'll see how long it holds up...

Under Construction

I'm thinking it's time to revamp the ol', faithful blog... I'm starting to see zig-zaggy lines everywhere after staring at the screen too long.

Like so many things this year, it's time for a change here as well.

Stay tuned...

Today, Today.

I am officially a member of liberti. Congratulate me.

Our pastor called all the new people "coming into covenant" to stand in front of the congregation. [Awkward] He then proceeded to introduce each of us, sharing from the questionnaire he'd sent us during the week.

He began with the first person. Told of which area of Philadelphia he was from, which Home Group he belonged to, an interesting tidbit and... his testimony.

I started to freak out, but tried my best not to show it.

I was told we'd probably not have to share our testimonies! What is this? I'm not ready!!! Please give an abridged version of my story and skip all the really personal stuff. Pleeeeaaaase!

I eyed the pile, knowing that my sheet was somewhere at the bottom. Kept reminding myself to breathe. Freaked out. Breathed. Fidgeted a lot. Tried my best to hide in the crowd of people standing before a crowd of people. Listened. Freaked out. Breathed. Fidgeted... a lot.

Soon it was my turn. He read from my page. I was self-conscious. The majority of the new members had given very brief, annotated versions of their story (as asked). But mine, mine was one of the longer ones.

I wasn't prepared to be this vulnerable yet... Not in front of a crowd of people I'd yet to be introduced to (or whose names I could remember for that matter!). But there it was. I was naked. Exposed. Wanting to hide and chasing back tears.

Afterwards, we were formally welcomed into the body. We stood in our receiving line. I felt like a bride greeting the countless guests her parents had invited to the wedding. And, I stood there, smiling, breathing heavily and chasing back tears. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to be there and happy to come into the fold, but, for an introvert like me, this was a nightmare!

I found some comfort oddly enough in these almost unbearable few minutes. There were hugs and handshakes, people thanking me for sharing and telling me they were inspired or could relate. Each smile and greeting was sincere... and God was slowly reminding me that this is the body - people who are vulnerable to one another and who welcome each other in love and acceptance. My heart was stilled when my pastor came and hugged me, whispering in my ear "I'm so glad God brought you to liberti." His wife shared the same sentiment later on and, fighting back tears, told me how she could totally relate to what I'd gone through. We both laughed and tried to stop the other from crying, failed and hugged each other in support. It was a sincere moment, two sisters standing around talking after service. It was real and very needed for the both of us.