I'm Not Anorexic or a Zealot

I believe that fasting is one of many ways to draw closer to God. I have found that when I break down and just do it, I get to a place where I feel more in tune with Him.

But it seems that every time I decide on a day to do it, that's the day that kids show up at your classroom door shoving cookie cake into your face because it was such and such's birthday. It's the day they have a Teacher's Appreciation Luncheon replete with chicken salad on croissants.

I try to be discrete about it, really, I do. The Bible says that we shouldn't broadcast it. Usually on days that I skip lunch at school, I find a quiet spot to read my Bible. I was trying to think of a way to avoid having to go in the teacher's lounge area to avoid people trying to encourage me to partake of the Teacher's Appreciation Lunch, so I went ahead and brought my Bible inside with me so I wouldn't have to make a show of walking out to my car to get it at the start of my lunch break, passing by people on their way to the teacher's lounge in the process. My Bible is not a huge Thompson Chain Reference Bible, so I didn't think it would garner that much attention amongst all of the other teacherly papers, and folders that I haul around with me. But as soon as my kids saw me put my stuff down, they were all abuzz about my Bible. "Why did you bring your Bible?"

"Um, because I'm going to read it later during my lunch break."

One kid even gave me a high-five saying, "Cool! Señora Smith is religious, that's awesome!" Okaayy. At the start of lunch, I tried to slip outside to one of the quad benches outside through one of the side doors, but not before I ran into a teacher with a plate full of chicken salad croissants and other goodies.

"You know they're providing lunch today! Go on and get you some!"

"Oh, yeah . . . that's right. Thanks." As soon as she passed by, I slipped outside. Once I found a discreet place under a tree to read, another teacher saw me and I waved. She asked if I'd eaten yet, and when I told her no, ma'am, she said, "Well, you know they've provided lunch today." Why are people so concerned about my eating habits today? "Oh, I know. Thanks!" She looked a little weird and shrugged and then walked on. When the bell rang for the next period, I put my Bible back in my car and was going to put my water bottle back in the teacher's lounge refrigerator, thinking they'd all be back to their classrooms by then, but upon entering, I was cornered by the PTO mom who'd put it all together.

"Hey, aren't you going to get something?"

"Oh, I don't have time now, the bell just rang. But thanks for all you do for the teachers. We really appreciate it."

"But didn't you have time to eat earlier?" What in the world?!

"Um, yes, but . . . well, I really do like what you have out here . . . maybe there'll be some leftovers and I'll get some tomorrow. Just not today."

I have a feeling the teacher who saw me out there reading my Bible went in and told whoever else was in the lounge that I was sitting outside reading instead of eating. They might have even guessed that why I didn't eat was for a somewhat religious reason and wondered if I was a part of some weird ultra-religious cult. Or maybe they may have suggested I might be anorexic and became concerned--either one could possibly explain why the PTO mom semi-grilled me when I walked in.

I was trying to be discreet, but ended up calling attention to myself. Grrr. But I just didn't feel like I should have broadcast to everyone why I wasn't eating. Oh, well. I hope my co-workers don't think I'm either a younger version of Carrie's mom or a closet anorexic now.

Jena 6

I normally don't go all current events on my blog, but this Slate article articulated exactly how I feel about the Jena 6 situation; therefore, I was compelled to share. Click here to read it.

Hey Leonardo

Someone will be able to sing this song about me someday . . . maybe. I know the video's really dorky, but this song came out in 1999 (so the pop culture references are a tad dated), my junior year in high school, and it reminds me of funny, happy times. Enjoy!



PS-I love the part where he gets slapped. LOL!

Faith and Reason

My priest class buddy (I call him "Padre," Spanish for 'Father') brought up an awesome point in class today.

We were talking about how one of the themes of the novel we're reading is the contrast between faith and reason. Padre brought up the point that people usually associate reason as being man-made and faith as something God-given, when it's really the complete opposite. Reason is actually God's gift to man--it's our God-given reason that separates humanity from animals and other living things; while faith is actually derived from man. In a way, faith is man's gift to God; having faith is a way to humbly accept the circumstances that reason can't explain.

I know there is a scripture that says that God has given every man a measure of faith (Romans 12:3). He gives us the ability to be confident in what we can't prove, but we're the ones who have to put it into action.

Faith fills in the gaps reason can't account for.

Gooey (Single) Girlyness

I know I've been leaning towards more girly stuff as of late. Ordinarily I would apologize for waxing all girly and hormonal, and talking about the whole single girl thing. But I won't this time.

So many times I have strived not to be that girl. You know the girl I'm talking about. The girl that's like always talking about girly stuff and finding the right one, etc. I always strived to be the girl who rolled her eyes at that other girl and said, "Please get a life, sweetheart! There's more to it than your romanticized, desperate pinings, hellooo?"

But then, I realized that part of me was pretending. If I could just pretend that I didn't really care about what that girl cared about, then I'd be cool. If I could just brush that girl's frivolous little worries off and be a real woman who wasn't bothered by that stupid little stuff, then I'd be straight.

Tonight, the topic preached was "What Lies Beneath." He talked about how we put up fronts and hide behind facades, even within the church, so that everyone would think that we're fine. We don't like other people to know that we have hurts and worries and problems and weaknesses, so we put up a good front. I don't want people to know that it bothers me that I don't have someone in my life right now. I don't want people to know that I ever feel lonely. So, I put up a smiling facade. Just the thought of admitting that to anyone other than God makes me cringe. It makes me feel sick. It makes me feel weak and desperate.

So, I went to the altar and cried. I didn't care. I do a lot of crying at church, anyway. It can be pretty cathartic. But I still didn't like, spill my guts to anyone. Then I sat down and kept crying. Then this wonderful grandmotherly lady with strong, grandma hands and a comforting grandma bosom sidled up to me, put her arms around me and said she had a word from the Lord for me. First she started naming outright all of the things that were going through my mind. Everything. I didn't have to spill my guts. She understood. She even said, "I feel what you feel right now." And then she started speaking encouragement to me. This was God's way of telling me that He knows. He's not blind. He knows where I am right now, and He is not ignoring me.

I don't like writing about this, just as I don't like people knowing how I really feel sometimes about where I am in my life right now. But as much as I hate being the object of pity, I also hate fakeness. Though I still don't plan on diving headlong into the gooey girlyness, (I know my few male readers are breathing a sigh of relief) I won't apologize for the times that the gooey girlyness oozes out, because the gooey girlyness is a part of me, and I'm trying to be more real.

PS--Yes, "girlyness" is a made up word. The proper word would be "girlishness," but I don't like how that word looks or sounds, so I made one up.

It's Rainy Today

I don't like the rain. I know we need it, but it's gloomy, gray, wet and melancholy. It just makes me feel like the world is sad, and then depressing old Coldplay songs start rolling though my head: "In my place, in my place/ were lines that I couldn't change / I was lost, oh, yeah." I don't need this.

I always try to look on the bright side, though. What is rain? In addition to nourishing vegetation and curtailing drought. A free car wash from God.

My Irrational Fear and the Search for Somethingness

This is so dumb. I mean, it's ridiculous, inane, unfounded, bordering on neurotic, fill in whatever adjective suits you to describe an irrational fear, and there you have it. But I can't help it.

My fear is that God is going to give me a hard pill to swallow. Example conversation:

God: Either you get with this guy I've chosen for you, or you will become a dried-up old maid and it will be no one's fault but your own.

Me: But God, look. I know You're God. And I know that if You've chosen someone for me to be with, then that's like, the best choice on the planet, but God, I don't like him. I'm not attracted to him. There's nothing about him that does it for me. I know he's got all the good, godly qualities. I know that he's a sincere guy that would take care of me and all of that, I know that he's educated, he's got his stuff together and everything, but I can't fathom allowing him to even touch me. There is nothing about him that draws me to him. God, why are You doing this?

God: You see, that is your problem. You are so picky that you won't even accept the choice that I, God Almighty, am offering to you! What is your deal? Is My choice not good enough?

Me: No, God, no. That's not it at all! You know I'm not picky. A simple glance at my pitiful track record is proof enough of that. I mean, come on, God. You're omniscient. Geez.

God: Watch your mouth, young lady! That's a euphemism for 'Jesus.' Takin' my name in vain like you crazy . . .

Me: Oops. Okay, but really. You know that I am not looking for a Boris Kodjoe, Jude Law or Antonio Banderas clone. I mean, if You wanted to bring one my way, I'd be down, but you know the looks thing has nothing to do with the apprehension I have over this God-chosen guy. It's just that he doesn't have that . . . somethingness I crave.

God: Somethingness?

Me: Don't act like You don't know what I'm talking about. You know what the somethingness is even if I can't explain it.

God: (chuckles)

Me: This is so frustrating.

There is no other way I can think of to describe this fear. That my choice will come down to marry this fantastic guy that I'm not attracted to, or become a dried-up old maid forever. Could it be that instead of having high standards, I'm really being stubborn and overly picky? I really don't think that I am, but sometimes I question myself because even though it seems that perhaps I may at times be put into situations where there are people who seemingly have the right stuff, I'm totally unmoved. I'm like, "YAWN." Or worse, "Ewww."

Whoever the poor soul may be, he must have somethingness. God knows what it is. Even if He acts like He doesn't.

Another Miracle

Have you ever craved breakfast at dinner? I did tonight and I had the bright idea that I was going to make an omelet.

Now, to normal, cooking-enabled people, big whoop. But to me, this was a grand undertaking. I am so serious. I have never been able to make an omelet that didn't end up as sick-looking scrambled eggs. The flipping/folding thing always escaped me. Either that or I wouldn't let the egg set long enough and that makes a grade A mess, too.

But tonight . . . ::kisses fingertips like an Italian chef::

Here's an aerial view:

Ham, turkey, cheese, onions and a little bit of fresh parsley. It was nearly perfect. A teeny tear and a little wrinkle, but hey, it's worlds apart from sickly scrambled eggs. I think the devil may have just bought his first fur coat.

Okay, Mr. Wonderful, you can emerge now. I can make omelets, for Pete's sake! What else do I have to be able to do? Shear sheep, make yarn out of the wool and weave tapestries for my household?

Betty Crockerdom and Getting Snuggly

Who thought it would ever come to this? My writing about pseudo-housewifery (since I have neither house nor husband) and snuggly things?

Betty Crockerdom

I produced my official second meal yesterday. (For a recap on the first, click here.) See, I was in the checkout line at Winn Dixie and I saw this magazine-like cookbook called "30-minute Meals: 145 Delicious Recipes for Busy Families," put out by Better Homes and Gardens and it was only $9.95, so I was sold. It had a cute little recipe in it called "Individual Sicilian Meat Loaves." I'm not really a meatloaf type of gal, but see, this one has a twist. They're mini-meat loaves filled with chunks of prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella and served over fettucini. It looked good and didn't seem to difficult to pull off, so I went for it. The result:

Okay, maybe I should've taken the picture before I slathered on all of that tomato sauce, but you get the idea. It definitely turned out better than expected. Well, my mom thought it was good (yeah, she was the guinea pig):

My mom is a pretty awesome cook, so if she says it's good, I'll take her word for it. (Not that she'd be biased or anything.)

I'm taking slow and measured steps toward Betty Crockerdom.

Getting Snuggly

I believe that I may have mentioned earlier that I love snuggly things. Remember, I won Jewel's contest in celebration of her 10,000th blog hit. I requested a lavender afghan. Well, it came in the mail yesterday:

It's soooo snuggly.

Thanks, Sis. Jewel!

Mt. Rushmore: A Somewhat Summary

All I can really say is that I am SO glad I was able to go. At first I was a tad regretful about buying the ticket, but now, I'm thankful my impulsive side won out--for the better this time.

I got to spend time with one of my best friends in the world and her singles group from North Dakota (affectionately known as NoDak). They drove, but I flew in and met them in Rapid City, South Dakota. Honestly, I was thinking that Rapid City was going to be a podunk, backwoods place and that the only highlight of the trip was seeing Mt. Rushmore. I was wrong.

The land was just . . . unlike anything I'm used to. It was simply lush and beautiful. Animals that my mind usually relegates to the zoo, I saw roaming around in their natural habitats. I ate a buffalo burger. I bought a stick of elk jerky. (I haven't been able to bring myself to eat it.) I went rock climbing in a skirt. We hiked trails and took scenic routes. We grilled hotdogs and bratwurst (oh, so Midwestern) and skipped rocks in the pond after we had a devotion.

I'm not normally a patriotic person at all. Seriously, like I've never been one to get all red, white and blue on the 4th of July. I don't go around singing "I'm Proud to Be an American" with gusto. I know that I'm blessed to have been born in a prosperous country like the US, but I'm not all that wild about "God bless America" rhetoric. But when I saw the iconic monument of Mount Rushmore arise around the bend in the distance on our way there, I was . . . I dunno, stirred. It was weird. Just beholding those "old dead white men's" stone faces was more impressive than I ever would have imagined. Postcard pictures really don't do it justice.

But apart from the animals, scenery and monuments was the fellowship. I don't mean to get all woe-is-me, but I feel the lack of not being able to hang out on a regular basis with people I click with. Very often, I feel like a girl inside of a box. But here was a rare opportunity to spend time with people I love dearly and get to know some other people that I would probably never have gotten the chance to know otherwise. It was great. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. And the pens and the keychains and the refrigerator magnets . . . ahem.

Look below for slideshows to get a picture (pun intended) of my trip!

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part I

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part II

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part III

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part IV

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part V