A new thought

Hello friends!

I should be working hard on my homework, but it's not happening tonight. Instead, I'm going to talk to you.

I've decided to stop being afraid of people. It's crazy, I know, but I've been doing alot of thinking and that's what I have decided. See, I am not an intimidating personage (at least, I don't think I am- I'm certainly not intimidated by me.) As Piglet says, "It's hard to be brave when your such a small animal." I've generally viewed strangers, and even some acquaintances, as dangerous and, as a sort of defense, given them a wide berth and generally tiptoed around them, avoiding eye contact if possible. But now I think that was a silly plan. Sooner or later, even the smallest creatures get noticed, and it's the scared and lonely ones at the edge of the pack who get eaten first anyway. Plus (and this is a major plus) every time a person encounters another person, it is an opportunity for that person to be treated like a decent human being (whether they feel like a member of the human race or not). How ridiculous would I be if I kept waiting around to be called to some far off mission field when all this time God has been bringing the mission field to me in the form of that punk kid on the skateboard at Wal-Mart whose baggy clothes and black eyeliner are just daring me to treat him like the leper he thinks he is? Should I pass up the opportunity to treat him like he's a valuable person with a future? Heck no! If everyone just treats the kid like he's a menace, sooner or later he's going to act like one (if he hasn't already), but if I can with a simple smile and friendly greeting plant a little seed of doubt in his 'nobody gives a ___ about me, so ___ you all' persona, maybe he'll begin to see things just a little bit differently.

Besides, what is the good of saying I believe in an omnipotent God who loves me, who is the ultimate definition of love, if I'm not going to act like it? If all that is true, and God's Holy Spirit really does live in me, then every place that belongs to me belongs to Him, and everywhere I step is a part of His domain, and in His domain I am priceless...and so is everybody else.

Don't worry, I'm not going to go passing my phone number out to every ne'er-do-well that crosses my path. Being kind to people does not mean being careless, it means seeing (or trying to see) them the way God sees them, and acting accordingly.

Well, sorry if that got a little preachy. It wanted to come, so I let it (which is, according to Pooh Bear, the best way to write).

Someday, I won't be spending my Saturdays by myself. As fun as it may sound, doing whatever you want whenever you want to is not all it's cracked up to be. Someday, I will be surrounded by people-- husband, kids, the works. Probably I will be very busy arranging things, providing things, disciplining when necessary, enjoying and being enjoyed. And in the midst of all that action and interaction, I hope that I remember what it was like to be alone. I hope that I can appreciate this season that I'm in right now so that when things are different this time will not have been wasted. Because you can really only live one moment at a time, and when I am living this future life that I hope for, I won't be enjoying my own uninterrupted thoughts in my secret room in Mount Vernon where everything I want is within arm's reach and the dishes are done in two minutes.

It has taken me a while to realize that just because things aren't what I planned them to be, it is not a sign of cosmic failure. It just means that, apparently, my plans weren't big enough.

Guess where I am right now!

Give up?

I'm in my new digs, my secret room in that big ole house up on the hill in Mount Vernon, listening to Paul Simon, sipping a caramel macchiato (sp?) and siphoning off my downstairs neighbor's internets while it rains like the end of the world outside. I heave a great sigh of contentment. (Seriously, I really did just sigh. I'm that pleased!)

For those of you not in the know, I recently moved. Actually, my family helped me move (an adventure worthy of its own post. Sometime when I'm not so relaxed I shall relate the harrowing affair in its entirety. It involves a ton of junk that Sarah hasn't the heart to get rid of, a "one-wheel drive" U-haul, a hotel room, and lots and lots of snow.)

I just had one of those Christmas breaks that are so good for the soul that they leave you feeling ready to take on the world. My mom and dad and brother and I basically got snowed in at my grandpa's house in Port Angeles (the promised land--flowing with creamy soups and prime rib). We consumed a scandalous amount of food (four Costco pumpkin pies!), slid down the hill on giant garbage bags (snow in the face, but still delicious fun!), played card games, figured out the chord changes for a couple of Christmas Carols, watched movies, and snoozed. But the best part, the very best part of it all, was the time we spent just sitting around and talking. It was sweet and rich like expensive dark chocolate. And, to top it off, I got to hold the long awaited Barley* (a.k.a. Greta) on two separate pilgrimages to Walterland!

Well, that's about all I can write right now. Mr. Simon has fallen silent, my frothy caramel-flavored coffee has been sipped to its whipped cream and syrup dregs, and laundry beckons.

"Farewell, old friend[s]...until our next meeting."
(Who says that line, Adrienne? Mine is an evil laugh...)

* 'The Barley' is an affectionate family nickname for my cousin's new baby. Her real name is Greta Cherie Walter. She was just born two and a half weeks ago.