A Moveable Feast

Sometimes I think that I've managed to retain my love of books but lost my love of reading.

Then, I accidentally spend an entire evening turning the leaves of a novel from start to finish, without moving from my position for even an instant.

Some find reading a pleasant amusement. As though if one is reading, then one could just as easily be cleaning a bathroom. Therefore, a task list must be set for the reader.

I, however, am under the firm impression that reading is soul-making.

A book, however deep or shallow, however well or poorly written, however many commas I MUST put in, is inherently good. Let me rephrase. Reading a book, etc, etc.

To merely look at a book is to merely look at a beautiful woman or man. It is objectification, leaving no room for the development of character, nor the appreciation of such a character, literal or figurative.

To read a book means to allow yourself to leave your own mind and care, for the length of the pages, to care about the people who the author seems to care so much about.

In that span of time, you are a made into a better person simply because you are taken outside of yourself. For me, reading is essential to my nature not only because I crave anything that feeds my creative, imaginative self or, more "prudently" my intellectual self, but because I am selfish and think about myself and my little problems a lot.

Books get me outside of my own head and give me perspective, remind me that there is a whole lot more out there than my horseblinders of self allow me to see.

When I don't read, you can tell. When I don't write, you can tell. When I don't hang out with Jesus, you can tell. And for me, all three of those are intertwined.

I think and speak and act more sanely and more humanely when my stomach for good words has been fed.

The Awkward Phase

I spend a lot of time talking with other humans.
This is natural, considering I am a human.

I have also served as camp counselor, mentor, and friend to those younger than me.

I have heard several times, from those with whom I speak, that I couldn't possibly understand what they are going through because I don't have any idea what it's like to be so awkward/socially outcasted/weird/friendless/overwhelmed. That I am perfect and have everything put together.

Generally, I laugh at their response.
I have, during the vast majority of my life, been all of those things.

Only in college did I start making sense to other people socially, and even then, I am often considered to be "one strange bird."

When I think back through my years of life and schooling, it is easy for me to get irritated and depressed by how truly desolate I was. How much of the time I used to spend in tears, how much time I used to spend alone, how people's strongest impression of me is one of a low ponytail matched with glasses and hidden in the corner with a book, during recess.

If I'm to be honest, though, I was never truly alone. Granted, to consider me popular or well-liked is a hilarious joke. However, God always provided for me. Even in the loneliest corners of my life, He always sent me at least one friend, often an unexpected person.

And while those friends often shifted, I always had someone who cared about my existence.

I also had my family. They don't count, however, as adolescents consider their family to be an irritation at best and a veritable dagger in their kidneys at worst.

Those friends taught me the value of patience, of remembering birthdays, of writing little notes of encouragement, of remembering to send even a text invitation to the party "everybody" knows about, of standing by the snack table and talking during a party.

Without those friends, I would only have an idea what it's like to be socially awkward and outcasted;  because of them, though, I understand how dynamic it is to be extended the hand of grace, accept it, and learn how to extend mine as well to others.

Fish Outta Water!

If you read any part of the book I compiled last year, you would know that I teach swimming.

The child I currently teach, I did not ask for nor want, but his family is so sweet and so dang persistent that I couldn't say no.

And it's all good and fine except that this is my second summer with him and we're at the same place we were last summer.

No growth.

No change in abilities. In fact, there is actually a deprecation (I don't even care if I'm misusing that word actually) in his abilities and level of cooperation from last summer.

Every single thing we do, he starts in with the endless, "ButwhyIdontwannuuuuuuu!!!!" and "areyougonnaleave?!" and "butthatstoofarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" and "butidon'tlikeunderwaterrrrrrr!"

It frazzles me.

And every week, we go over and over the fact that I have not ever once left him or let him go underwater on accident or been so far away that I wouldn't catch him when he jumps off the side.

It was yesterday, as I finally had to sit him on the side of the pool for 3 minutes as a time-out for just absolutely refusing to cooperate (pool time-outs worked on me always as a child), I realized, once again, just how much swim lessons are like learning to be a follower of Jesus.

He has never pushed me past what He ultimately knew I would be able to handle (through Him), and He has never left me even once. Do I still absolutely flip out? Yes. And I probably ask obnoxious questions in a whiny voice, too.

And sometimes, just like Kees, when I'm put in time-out, I'm very content to stay there and not go back in the water. [yeah! That's what happened! He wouldn't get back in! I should have made him stay in the water for a punnishment. pfft!].

When I'm in life timeout, which to a certain extent I am currently, it's hard to want to go back.  Or forward, rather.

Tulsa is a waiting place for me. It often has served as such. I'm in purgatory. Not Heaven, not Hell. Just...here. Biding my time between my life as a college student and my life as a postgraduate student.

I'm just a kid, and yet, I'm not a kid.

And I, like Kees, want, somewhere deep, deep, deep down to be an adult (or in his case, a swimmer), I just don't want to accept all the pieces that go along with it. Like letting go of my childhood home or my family or my position as "child" or the known of right now, even if it is purgatory. And he doesn't want to accept the having to go underwater part or the trusting the water part or the having to wear goggles part.

There is going to be collateral damage.

But if I don't embrace it, I'll be like that kid in floaties at the pool party sitting on the stairs.
I'll be the perpetual bridesmaid. I'll live with my parents. I'll never make forward motion.

If you aren't growing, if you aren't learning, then you're dying.
If I'm not ready to grow up, then I sure ain't ready to die.

Is that bad...?

My new boss' name is Troy.

Daddy calls him Troy-boy, and that's actually pretty accurate. Troy's mind is wicked sharp for figuring out the way things work and how to handle people, but he is absolutely a kid.

Yesterday, he described himself to me as a shotgun. Shotguns mean shrapnel, a hundred pieces flying in different directions. You should see his office if you don't believe me.

Well, yesterday I put him on a sticker chart. Yes, I put the co-founder of "the company" on the sticker chart challenge. He "pfft'ed" at me when I told him I was going to, but let me tell you what, he  loves it. I started him out on 7 different categories (one of which being "throw away mountain dew bottle"), and before the end of the day, he asked me for more.

People just don't appreciate the subtle beauty of a sticker chart. In "The Leadership Challenge," one of the foundations of leadership is "encourage the heart."

This can be done in a lot of different ways, but one of them is public acknowledgement of right-doing. That's why kids love to see their assignments and art projects up on the fridge or students love when professors use their paper as an example of "great!" or businesspeople love positive customer reviews.

These things are all free! They don't "technically" get you anywhere! But they say to the heart "You can do this! You're doing great! You have something important and special to offer!"

And that's how we get to sticker charts for ADD business owners. Validation for small steps accomplished. Don't knock it till you rock it.

"The Company"

IronCross Automotive: My new workhome

My daddy started working at this company several years ago.
Among other things, they produce those tube steps on the sides of trucks. If I were a man, I could probably explain better what all they make.

My role in this male-dominated ecosystem of ex-cons, illegals, and toothless white guys, is inventory girl.
I walk around with a can of spraypaint, a legal pad and pen, stencil numbers, and my phone/camera.

Step 1: Locate a machine.
Step 2: Search all over machine for any type of number or information and record it.
Step 3: Clear away the  grease from a spot on the machine and label it with a number.
Step 4: Take a picture of the machine.
Step 5: Upload pictures and information into spreadsheets.

All this must be done while avoiding forklifts, flying sparks, and pieces of machinery that look as if they're starving to rip off my fingers.

The men have different responses to me.
Some look at me suspiciously (Only woman. Woman with paint).
Some are helpful! (Make the welders cease their face-splattering fireworks and tell me the names of machines)
Some are both helpful and suspicious (Only help me because they're afraid I'm gonna mislabel their machine or cover it with spray paint. Entirely possible. Spray paint is a learned art).

It sure ain't waitressing. But, with backward baseball hat on head, server apron turned tool belt on waist, and okie accent fully on-cue, I am plunging into the world of automotives.

Oh, Oh, The Sweetest Thing

I've been wanting to post for a while about families with handicapped children.

On Father's Day, I had an enormous table of 16 all to myself. At first, I was a little overwhelmed, but they were absolutely wonderful to work with. Not only did my table have 3 birthdays, they also had a fiftieth wedding anniversary. And, to top it off, they had at least 4 mentally handicapped members. At least. This family had adopted in several handicapped members and the way they treated one another brought me to tears multiple occasions during the meal.

The same happened this past Sunday. Grandparents with their down syndrome granddaughter. They treated her like treasure. When they left, I saw the grandfather pull her into a hug and kiss her on the forehead.

I've seen all degrees of good and evil while working at this job, but it's people like them that drill into me that God is alive and well and at work.

It is on that note that I announce my resignation from my waitressing job. It was a difficult decision to make. I really love my job, my coworkers, my managers, and how much fun serving can be, but, even though hundreds of thousands of people have done it before me, I find that I cannot withstand the physical demand on my body, my heart, and my spiritual life.

It's time for me to realign my sleeping and eating habits with what could be considered something even close to normal as well as spend time in church and with my family.

If there were a perfect final shift, though, I had it. The Lord blessed me through every hour of it, and I left feeling loved and loving all of them.

On to the next adventure. Whatever that may be.