Jo always used to ask me if I had the keys before we walked out the door together. (We live in an apartment complex that requires a remote key for every 10 to 15 yards you travel. Jaykay, just outside doors.)  In the past several months the, "Do you have keys?" question was asked more frequently because we scored an adorable demon Wookie puppy who we walked together and then, of course, the Pokemon Go apocalypse had occurred.

"ZOMGAH!  Something that I'm pretty sure is on top of all the gyms just spawned nearby and I need 350 XP to get to the next level.  Grab Goose and the vodka!  DO YOU HAVE KEYS?!"

"UGH!  YAS, I have keys (this time) and I am an adult who remembers these things most of the time (and that includes that ONE time I got stuck in the disgusting trash room with Cully and was forced to wake you with a phone call screaming, "SHUT DOWN ALL THE GARBAGE COMPACTORS ON THE DETENTION LEVEL!"

But srsly, this ritualistic question really began to grate on me!  So, like any hopeless passive aggressive in her 30s does I decided I could get her to STOP asking by ensuring that I always had keys before leaving. THEN she'd notice my consistency and discontinue feeling the need to ask.  

Problem solved.  

Regards,  

I.  R.  Genius.

Guess what? She stopped asking!  HA!!!

She didn't stop asking. Are you as shocked as I? No? Figures.

Guess how I got her to stop asking... NO, GUESS! 

I started saying, "I have the keys" before she asked.

Today I learned, 

If you want someone to stop doing something, ask them to do so.

If you want to experiment with your methods of mind control to get someone to stop doing something then the force be with you.

Lean In

       Alicia and I were perusing a mall in rural Wisconsin; The people plain, the area simple and the shops as few as they were ordinary.  As we made our way to the exit we came upon one of those large contraptions in which you could deploy a coin intended to race on its side along a funnel that leads down into a holding tank.  As someone with three coins in my pocket, I certainly couldn’t allow myself to walk by without allowing my brain to be mesmerized by the simplistic beauty of watching a coin roll round and round until eventually disappearing from site into the crux of the funnel.  I gave one coin to Alicia and allotted one to myself.  There were two deployment slots that we could utilize.  We let ‘em roll.   

       When we’d both watched until our coins disappeared from sight a brother and sister joined us at the device.  It seemed as if the brother had a coin.  The sister sidled alongside me seemed that she was without change, as she longingly gazed on as and awaited the launch.  I reached into my pocket for my third coin, extricated it and held down to her in the palm of my hand.  She looked up at me, rolled up her jacket sleeve and took the coin.  It was a wordless exchange absolutely perfect in its simplistic beauty.

Though she may never recall that moment I know I always will.  A reminder that God is always encouraging me to lean in.

Humble Pie

One day at work I got caught in the crossfire because I was a member of the same team.  Because one of my co-workers did not perform his duties, another co-worker and the leader of his own team, was let down and subsequently angered by my team member's lack of integrity.  Okay, there are a myriad of ways in which this situation could be handled and the ways that I always seem to envision are the pinnacles of my greatest expectations.  This is a mistake.  I make many.  Shall we move on?

Problem Solving the "Right/My Way:

-  Team member is approached by an authority figure in a private setting to be held accountable in ways which management deems appropriate.
-  Team member earnestly apologizes to team and team-leader for inconsideration and promises to perform 400% more effectively.  (These are MY expectations people and I will place them where like...  firmly in the "Unattainable")
-  Team member is forgiven, hands are shaken.
(I should explain that I'm a hugger, but only because an injury to my right ring finger has made it rather painful to shake hands.  It's actually quite inconvenient because I get caught in this limbo of attempting to decipher whether this person and situation could handle a hug, if they wouldn't be offended by a left hand interception shake, or perhaps, if we're in a casual enough setting, a fist bump would be appropriate.  The fist bump I really try to stay away from because I'm a girl and that usually comes across as "bro-ish". Though hugs can be equally as misleading, becoming "bros" often leads to over sharing of thoughts and me being asked uncomfortably inappropriate questions. Honestly, I usually just right shake and wince and obsess about whether the shakee noticed and what they decided about it.  I'm going to become more efficient with this process the older I become.  In my old age I imagine that I'm just going to end up punching people to avoid the physical pain and/or the mental pain of trying to figure out which course of action to take.  Cause let's face it, if I'm this grumpy and achy now, by the time I'm in my 70's I'm going to be downright belligerent and if you're gonna make me hurt myself by shaking my hand I'm gonna make sure you feel it too...) <---- about="" all="" felt="" i="" just="" know.="" p="" should="" sorry="" that="" you="">
-  No grudges are held and we all move on to fulfill our daily duties with renewed vigor and hope for a more efficient and pleasant work day.

This is Reality:

-  Team leader storms into common area yelling for my team.

-  I assume that this tirade does not pertain to me as I, the responsibly diligent worker, performed my requested duties and was dismissed by a co-leader.

-  I quickly learn that my assumption was incorrect as team-leader is yelling not only at the slacker, but also me.  I am confused.

-  I am also silent, as Team Leader and Slacker are not screaming at each other in Spanish.  I do not know Spanish.  Double the confusion.

-  Back to English, I am now being yelled at to explain why I did not fulfill my duties.  I am logically relaying that I did perform my duties.  I am being asked the same the same question over and over because my answer is not being heard or accepted.  Most likely heard, as I am attempting to explain while an intermittent Spanish argument is taking place and I'm almost certain it's difficult to cohesively switch between the two.

-  I walk away from the situation as I am still convinced that this anger is being misdirected and should land on its rightful owner.

-  Supervisor steps in (finally).  I am relieved.

-  I am appalled.

-  I am being questioned, yet again, as to why I did not fulfill my duties.  I am being asked to step into his office.  I am being persecuted for Slacker's slackerness!

-  I am certain that I am explaining accurately, in English, that I am not to blame for the team failure.   No matter how many times I say the words, "I am not the poor worker, I was doing my job, the anger has been misdirected and I was caught in the crossfire," and no matter how true the words are they are not being heard by my supervisor and I am reprimanded.

-  I am dismissed.

WHAT THE #&!@#*?!?!?!?!?!

I am livid.  I allow anger to take over.  I recount my side of the story to anyone who will listen, I force them into agreeing with me and allow that to fuel anger even more.  One co-worker actually suggests that I apologize to try to make amends.  I become even angrier with the prideful notion that I didn't do anything wrong and therefore will not be putting myself in position that paints me as anything but the martyr.  I take the anger with me to lunch, I treat it to a bitch session with one of my friends on the phone and it becomes even angrier.  I take the happily fed anger back to work with me and carry it on my shoulders as I stalk in.  I allow anger to give that idiot team-leader and slacker death stares every time I see them.  I leave work with anger on my shoulders and bring it into my house.  I plop it down on the couch next to me and feed it some more with a bitch session to my Fiancé.

Anger has now become very big, very strong and very destructive.  I have allowed anger to get so large that it has swallowed me whole.

I am tainted by the way I have been mistreated and labeled.  I become paranoid, I feel slighted and unmotivated to perform at my usual level of productivity because I have adopted a "well I'm going to get in trouble for doing the right things anyway, might as well just slack off..."  I have developed a false sense of pride.  I will not approach anyone.  They will come to me and apologize.  I didn't do anything wrong.

I am an asshole at work for almost the entire rest of the week.  I hate everyone.  Everyone sucks.

Then, suddenly, as I'm sitting with anger minding my own business reading The Huffington Post, the bitch ass team-leader has the nerve to begin small-talking with me.

Ugh, I am not an overtly rude person.  I am a "Wrong me and I will retract and obsess about whether what you did to me merits a situation in which I have to go through the painful process of informing you that I am upset and that you are the one who has upset me" kind of person.  I am the definition of avoidance.  I am the one who uses the white elephant to break eye-contact, I am the polar opposite magnet to your face... Unless, apparently, I am reading The Huffington Post.  Dammit.

At this point my body has begun internal warfare.  Pride and Anger are now in unpreparedly defending themselves against the Guerrilla tactics of my manners, good-naturedness and God.  Double dammit.

Turns out this dude is kinda funny.

Turns out this dude is really funny.

Turns out this dude is having a Fourth of July BBQ at this house with his family and invites my Fiancé and I.

Turns out this guy is nice, has a pretty big heart, a beautiful family.

Turns out this guy is human, basically.  He has bad days, stressful moments, he makes mistakes, he makes amends.  Turns out this guy is the bigger person.  Triple dammit.

Humble Pie has a very distinct taste and I feel that you have to acclimate your tastebuds to fully enjoy each bite.  Unfortunately, I have had continued exposure and have therefore become somewhat of a connoisseur of Humble Pie.  I'd described it as delightfully bitter, with a pinch of crushed pride, an aroma of bruised ego, sweetened by forgiveness and served with a side of grace.

No matter how full of anger you become you always have room for a slice of Humble Pie.























  

Smile to a Frown

One's act of desire will never cease. It shouldn't and therefore you shouldn't hold yourself to the expecation that one day you will cease desiring harmful indulgences; it will only serve to stifle the natural abilities you posess to combat those harmful desires.  Begin indulging... searching... reach out...

Skip rocks, skip down the street, dance like no one's watching, jump into your loved ones arms, sit in someone's lap, run your hands or a stick along a fence, scream "THANK YOU!" to the Heavens, tell a stranger how beautiful they are, hug your boss (or maybe not), smile to a frown, say "yes" with your body language, sleep in, stay up all night, build a fort, have a pajama party, listen to music, listen to a symphony, make a snow angel, splash in puddles, lie in the grass, go for walk, sip your favorite drink with your eyes closed, lie in a hammock, smell your grandmother's perfume, hug your pillow; scream into it, fall in love for a day, fall in love for the rest of your life, smell the rain, listen for the crash of the waves, walk barefoot and wiggle your toes, search for nostalgia, eat something you've never tasted before, drive to a place you've never been, explore.

Explore every area of yourself that you've forced dorment in fear.  Fear of rejection, fear of reality, fear of what others may think, fear of the unknown.  Dare to be you, dare to be uncomfortable, free yourself from fear.  Pour light into each corner left in darkness.  Decide for yourself whether or not you like brussel sprouts, Metal, red wine, cats, dogs, badgers, iPhones, email, Democrats, leather, high heels, being barefoot, the smell of gasoline, or broke and balding older men.  Don't allow fear to make any choice.

Open your hands, arms and subsequently your heart follows.

Reach Out

Guaranteed salvation. Ever present comfort, everlasting faithfulness, zero limitations, unconditional love, serenity. All of these luxuries, promised to you in something so simple as a hand and an embrace never beyond reach.

Reach out. Stretch your fingers, face your palms upwards, extend your arms. This is outreach, this is prayer, this is the promise that you are loved and that you are never alone not in this moment, never in eternity.

The softest of touches that envelopes your fingers, slides over your palms and lightly follows your outstretched arms, finally reaches around to engulf you in an embrace that brings peace to your soul. Breathe. Rest. This is peace.

Not just offered to the weak, weary, angry and depleted. But also to those who are simply tired, frustrated and disappointed.

Reach out and and be comforted by outreach.

Proverbs 3:11-12

It’s been a damp, icy and uncomfortable walk- especially because the expectations of this journey were so high.  The scenery is droll and unpleasant.  The waves impossibly huge, which broke high upon the beach forcing me to plod across the rougher portion of the shore which was laden with sharp pieces of shell, rock and sea vegetation.  The wind, harsh and unyielding, blowing salty ocean spray and bits of sand into my face and mouth.  I met this journey with displeasure, rebellion, and resentment.  I looked to the sky for a reprieve, it was an oppressive gray, cloud low cloud coverage that seemed to begin and end with the horizon, leaving no escape from the gloom of the landscape.  I stared back at my unforgiving environment with a scornful twisted face; my eyes squinted and unkind.   I allowed the burden of my circumstances to settle heavily upon me and as my resentment grew so did the weight I carried disparagingly upon my shoulders. 

My steps were increasingly uncomfortable; I could feel each sharp small object as they embedded deeply into the sensitive meat of weak feet. My hope was diminishing.  I eventually ceased looking to the sky.  There is no light and that is why I was certain that it was not coming.

Suddenly, a small break in the clouds, a beaming ray of sunshine escapes and illumination a sliver of the scenery in my path.  The sea, suddenly an appropriately picturesque green that twinkled brilliantly, I began to take comfort in each step of sand warmed by the sun.  I gazed around, my shoulders no longer so incredibly hunched by such an oppressive load, I began to gaze about.  Ahead, I could make out sugar white sand dunes intertwined with beach grass..  I smiled, and felt the dried salt from the sea spray crackle on my face.  I smiled wider.

I drew closer and through the dunes I spied a dilapidated boardwalk.  I could see that it zigzagged right, then left and right again until I was unable to determine where it lead.  I arrived at the entrance and I was shocked by the presence of a sign;  Worn and washed-out, almost unreadable if not for the sun illuminating the outlines of the faded letters.

Keep off the dunes and beach grass

Resentment arose, and I began to rationalize reasons as to why I was entitled to the privilege of walking along the comfortable sand and scenery of the lovely dunes. 

The sign was so decrepit that it clearly showed that the owner must not care enough for the threat trespassing on His property if He wasn’t diligent enough to care for the sign to make make his wishes known. I became even more appalled when I took a closer look at the entrance to the boardwalk, the wood weathered and splintered, rusted nails exposed along the expanse, the railings were completely missing in some sections and numerous boards along the walkway were warped, cracked or completely broken.  All this evidence to show that the owner didn’t care for His property at all! Not even enough to repair nor upkeep the walkway that kept intruders off of his “precious” dunes.  Who did this guy think He was, anyway?

It’s settled. No way was I walking that treacherous path in exchange for a comfortable jaunt through soft sand for someone who couldn’t even manage the upkeep of a simple sign, much less an entire boardwalk.

I hunched my shoulders, re-furrowed my brow and rebelliously began walking into the dunes.  A plodded along, defiantly stomping my feet into the sugary comfort of the unbeaten path.  Slowly, I began to realize that each step was becoming more and more difficult.  I had become so upset that I was defying some silly worn sign that the fact that my journey had become exponentially more comfortable was completely lost on my senses.  I stopped.  I prayed.  I am made to be obedient.  I exhaled, loudly, more a sigh of frustration. 

I looked to the sky.

“Thank you,” I said. 

I made an about-face, walked purposefully from the comfort of the dunes and back to the mouth of the boardwalk and stood directly in front of the sign.

Please Keep off the Dunes and Beach Grass

Thank you

I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t noticed that before.  I fixed my gaze back up to the boardwalk and considered the journey in front of me.  I observed that there weren’t quite that many missing boards, and if I were diligent enough, I could certainly avoid the nails and would I really even NEED the railing?  The actual path was wide enough to maintain my balance and if I did happen to fall I could easily climb back on. Surely the owner could excuse a few footprints if I were honestly trying my best to maintain on the walkway.

Determined, I straightened my shoulders.  I could feel the warmth of the sun on my back as I began my first steps.

I smiled. The realization washed over me; Obedience is key to my happiness.

"Grab your things I've come to take you home"

Dad,
Remember my green and white bike with the training wheels? You took those wheels off, raised the seat of that bike and decided it was time for me to learn. I think I must've protested. I was a hesitant kid, wasn't I? But we must've agreed at some point that it was, in fact time, for me to shed those worn out white plastic wheels that steadied my beloved little bike.

We walked up the driveway and into the street in front of our house. I mounted the bike with your firm grip on the back of my seat. You told me to pedal and ran with me down the street in front of our house. Your grip kept me from wobbling wildly for the first couple of runs. Patience.  You have more patience than anyone I know.  You reassured me you were still behind me, running to keep up while I pedalled on until suddenly, through my hesitance, you released your hold on my seat and called after me,

"Pedal, pedal, pedal!"

And I did, I pedalled valiantly until I abruptly collided with Mr. Ed's mailbox. Or was it ours? Some details escape me. I don't remember if I cried. Probably. I'm smiling at the memory. You probably laughed a little, I'm sure it was a pretty hysterical sight. You laugh inappropriately sometimes, like when you're nervous. Miranda does too and now we three share the habit.

I was a tangled wreck underneath the mailbox. You picked me up to my feet, reassured me that that was probably the last time I'd fall if I remembered to brake. I guess it was a lot to remember to steer, brake, and pedal all at once.

I can't recall if we lowered the seat to make me feel more at ease? I feel like you always seemed to raise my seat a little higher than I was comfortable with. Assuring me that the height was fine, where it needed to be. I remember whining that it was just a little too elevated for my comfort. I liked my feet flat on the ground and you explained the the proper riding stance was to be on your tip toes.

Is that a metaphor? Always raising the bar? Expectations? Urging me to stand on my toes, getting me away from my comfort zone?

Your hands that push to pedal on my own, the one on the back of my seat that steadies, and same that reach to pull me to my feet and into your arms.

Where would I be without you?

I love you, Bud.