My last blog, Bathroom Meditation, contained what my friend Bill calls "hu-mor". Several people have read it and, as a result, laughed. I even aquired my first official reader - that is, someone who has read (and commented) on two of my blogs in a row, who isn't family, friend or otherwise an aquiantence. Thanks Glo, nice to have you here!
This is all quite pleasing to me, but it does create a small problem - NOW I HAVE TO DO IT AGAIN.
Well, at least that's how I've been feeling. But the idea that I have to perform is exactly what I do not want my blogs to be about. So instead of putting off writing, thinking that I need to have another story, I figured I'd just get the next blog out of the way. Release the pressure valve. I will even go so far as to fill it with complete nonsense.
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH OOOOOOOOOGA OOOOOOOOOOOOGA CHA CHA CHA TANGO BANGO ON A SHANGO! WHAT'S A SHANGO? I DON'T KNOW! DA DA DA DOOBIE DOOBIE SHOOBA DOBBA DOO DOO FOO GOO TOO.
With that aside, I will hopefully be able to relax and let things happen naturally. I'll be writing again soon.
Questions to think about: In what areas of your life do you feel the need to perform? How can performing be positive? How can it be negative? How does pressure affect your performance?
Monday, October 31, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Bathroom Meditation
Here’s a little known fact about me – I almost always wait until the last moment to use the restroom, especially at work! I don't know why I do this. It's something I don't notice at first, but I will reposition myself in my seat, wiggle and squirm until finally I reach the point where it becomes questionable whether I will make it to the restroom in time. Then I rush to the drawer where we keep our bathroom key, scurry down the hall, through three heavy fire-safe doors, and shove my key into the bathroom lock.
Now there are three stalls in our bathroom:
1) The handicapped accessible stall with the door that must be locked by pulling it closed from the bottom with one hand while turning the lock with the other.
2) The middle stall that I avoid entirely because it always has tissue remaining in the toilet. I like to live in a delusion where I am the only one to use a stall, and tissue is evidence of previous occupants.
3) The stall with the door that naturally hangs in the closed position.
Normally I would use the handicap stall. After all, a closed stall door usually means there is a person or, worse, a “present” inside. And we have already gone over why the middle stall is not an option. This would leave the handicap restroom, but if there is anywhere it is completely rude to use a wheelchair accessible stall when I do not utilize a wheelchair, it is at my work (right up there with the special Olympics). Being inconsiderate of people with disabilities – talk about a good way to get a bad name around our office.
This is because I work for a non-profit agency that helps people with all kinds of disabilities. In the back of our building is a huge room where a “Day Program” is held for people who are severely handicapped – many needing assistance with every daily function imaginable.
While many of the Day Program consumers (yes, we call them “consumers”… I don’t know why, but people find that odd) require changing in a private area in the back, some are able to use our facility’s rest room. On several occasions I have watched a mobility aid hoist a woman out from a wheelchair to a bathroom stall, and then wait patiently until it is time to help her back in. There are also consumers who share our rest room that are not incredibly disabled physically, but have mental impairments.
The department I work in is down a long hall, three fire-safe doors away. Although I do not visit the back room often, I do walk down this hallway in order to use the restroom. Of course I never take this distance into consideration while I’m doing “the pee-pee dance” around my office. So when it’s time to go, I go – quickly.
I walk into the bathroom and switch on the lights. With two of the three stalls being off limits, I am left with no other choice but to chance it with the closed stall. I rush, my bladder threatening to let go with each step. Yet as I walk across the dingy tile floor there is a moment of hesitation, and a strange worry always pops into my head:
What if someone forgot one of our consumers in the bathroom…?
I love to analyze things – it’s what makes me a difficult girlfriend but a halfway decent writer – so as I sit there, “doing my business”, I create a little scenario in my mind that, I believe, explains how such a situation could possibly occur.
Lets say a mobility aid is helping a consumer make the transition from her chair to “the chair”. Another consumer with, perhaps, a seizure disorder is in the stall with the perpetually shut door. There is some difficulty with the consumer in the wheelchair accessible stall that requires the mobility aid’s full attention, and temporarily the other consumer is forgotten. Normally the woman in the third stall, being physically capable of using the facilities on her own, would come out from the stall, wash her hands, and exit with no assistance. However, this time she has a seizure, but does not fall from her seat. The mobility aid, being focused on the situation with the consumer in the wheelchair, forgets temporarily about the other woman. As the mobility aid helps return the consumer to her seat and then out the rest room door, she assumes the other consumer (who is helplessly stuck in the third stall, and unable to communicate) has already left. The aid shuts off the light and closes the door behind her. The consumer is now sitting alone in the dark. I walk in minutes/hours later, flip on the lights, open up the stall door, and discover the consumer sitting on the toilet, unconscious.
As I’m pondering on this hypothetical situation, my first reaction is, “Wow, that would be freaky. But at least they would be discovered, and helped.”
But then I start thinking about it more. Here comes me, rushing into the bathroom with an overfilled bladder. I open the door, ready to dash inside, and instead find an unconscious consumer with her pants down. What is the likelihood, at this point, that I would NOT urinate all over myself?
At this realization, the next thought to instantly pop into my mind is a silly solution: Instead of walking directly to the third stall, from now on I should quickly use a different stall first, then check for the consumer afterwards (of course at this point in my analysis the idea of ever leaving the bathroom without checking the closed stall for comatose consumers is no longer an option).
I am surprised by this response. If I were to put off a potentially serious situation in order to avoid embarrassment, it would be incredibly selfish of me. I spent the rest of my ladies’ room experience and my walk back to the office taking an inventory of my values and priorities. I could possibly rationalize with something like, “It was just a pretend scenario that you made up,” or, “Even if it really did happen like that, another minute wouldn’t hurt them.”
But I don’t want even a small part of me to think it’s okay to let someone suffer for one minute, particularly someone who I have promised as part of my work to look after the best interests of, just because I want to save face (and my pants).
So now when I enter the rest room, whether in a hurry or in leisurely fashion, I always open the door
cautiously and prepare myself (particularly my bladder) to be startled. Will I be urinating today, or saving someone’s life (or both)? All I know is that I’d feel a lot better about myself with wet pants then with clean ones, if it meant that I had helped someone in a scary situation.
Questions to think about: Are there people or situations you avoid in order to avoid embarrassment? What does your vanity cost you? What does it cost others?
Now there are three stalls in our bathroom:
1) The handicapped accessible stall with the door that must be locked by pulling it closed from the bottom with one hand while turning the lock with the other.
2) The middle stall that I avoid entirely because it always has tissue remaining in the toilet. I like to live in a delusion where I am the only one to use a stall, and tissue is evidence of previous occupants.
3) The stall with the door that naturally hangs in the closed position.
Normally I would use the handicap stall. After all, a closed stall door usually means there is a person or, worse, a “present” inside. And we have already gone over why the middle stall is not an option. This would leave the handicap restroom, but if there is anywhere it is completely rude to use a wheelchair accessible stall when I do not utilize a wheelchair, it is at my work (right up there with the special Olympics). Being inconsiderate of people with disabilities – talk about a good way to get a bad name around our office.
This is because I work for a non-profit agency that helps people with all kinds of disabilities. In the back of our building is a huge room where a “Day Program” is held for people who are severely handicapped – many needing assistance with every daily function imaginable.
While many of the Day Program consumers (yes, we call them “consumers”… I don’t know why, but people find that odd) require changing in a private area in the back, some are able to use our facility’s rest room. On several occasions I have watched a mobility aid hoist a woman out from a wheelchair to a bathroom stall, and then wait patiently until it is time to help her back in. There are also consumers who share our rest room that are not incredibly disabled physically, but have mental impairments.
The department I work in is down a long hall, three fire-safe doors away. Although I do not visit the back room often, I do walk down this hallway in order to use the restroom. Of course I never take this distance into consideration while I’m doing “the pee-pee dance” around my office. So when it’s time to go, I go – quickly.
I walk into the bathroom and switch on the lights. With two of the three stalls being off limits, I am left with no other choice but to chance it with the closed stall. I rush, my bladder threatening to let go with each step. Yet as I walk across the dingy tile floor there is a moment of hesitation, and a strange worry always pops into my head:
What if someone forgot one of our consumers in the bathroom…?
I love to analyze things – it’s what makes me a difficult girlfriend but a halfway decent writer – so as I sit there, “doing my business”, I create a little scenario in my mind that, I believe, explains how such a situation could possibly occur.
Lets say a mobility aid is helping a consumer make the transition from her chair to “the chair”. Another consumer with, perhaps, a seizure disorder is in the stall with the perpetually shut door. There is some difficulty with the consumer in the wheelchair accessible stall that requires the mobility aid’s full attention, and temporarily the other consumer is forgotten. Normally the woman in the third stall, being physically capable of using the facilities on her own, would come out from the stall, wash her hands, and exit with no assistance. However, this time she has a seizure, but does not fall from her seat. The mobility aid, being focused on the situation with the consumer in the wheelchair, forgets temporarily about the other woman. As the mobility aid helps return the consumer to her seat and then out the rest room door, she assumes the other consumer (who is helplessly stuck in the third stall, and unable to communicate) has already left. The aid shuts off the light and closes the door behind her. The consumer is now sitting alone in the dark. I walk in minutes/hours later, flip on the lights, open up the stall door, and discover the consumer sitting on the toilet, unconscious.
As I’m pondering on this hypothetical situation, my first reaction is, “Wow, that would be freaky. But at least they would be discovered, and helped.”
But then I start thinking about it more. Here comes me, rushing into the bathroom with an overfilled bladder. I open the door, ready to dash inside, and instead find an unconscious consumer with her pants down. What is the likelihood, at this point, that I would NOT urinate all over myself?
At this realization, the next thought to instantly pop into my mind is a silly solution: Instead of walking directly to the third stall, from now on I should quickly use a different stall first, then check for the consumer afterwards (of course at this point in my analysis the idea of ever leaving the bathroom without checking the closed stall for comatose consumers is no longer an option).
I am surprised by this response. If I were to put off a potentially serious situation in order to avoid embarrassment, it would be incredibly selfish of me. I spent the rest of my ladies’ room experience and my walk back to the office taking an inventory of my values and priorities. I could possibly rationalize with something like, “It was just a pretend scenario that you made up,” or, “Even if it really did happen like that, another minute wouldn’t hurt them.”
But I don’t want even a small part of me to think it’s okay to let someone suffer for one minute, particularly someone who I have promised as part of my work to look after the best interests of, just because I want to save face (and my pants).
So now when I enter the rest room, whether in a hurry or in leisurely fashion, I always open the door
cautiously and prepare myself (particularly my bladder) to be startled. Will I be urinating today, or saving someone’s life (or both)? All I know is that I’d feel a lot better about myself with wet pants then with clean ones, if it meant that I had helped someone in a scary situation.Questions to think about: Are there people or situations you avoid in order to avoid embarrassment? What does your vanity cost you? What does it cost others?
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Exploring Disappointment
I was at work today, catching up on filing that should have been done months ago. I was looking at the large amount of work in front of me and I was disappointed in myself for letting things pile up like that. I started thinking about disappointment - is it a useful, or not-so-useful feeling? Then I started to question the experience all together. Why did I feel disappointed? The answer is that the expectations that I have for myself (and perhaps others have for me) are not currently being met.
My roomates have a daughter who is one. She has many toys, and they are everywhere. If at the end of the day her toys are not arranged neatly in her toy basket no one is disappointed in her. Why? They had no expectation that she would do so.
I told my roomate this evening that if someone were to call me tomorrow and tell me I had not won the world series, I would not be disappointed. I am not a baseball player - far from it. When I play baseball I usually just swing, hit the ball 2 feet, and a pre-selected runner dashes for first base in my place. So why would I be disappointed?
If I heard that someone had won the lottery, I would be a little disappointed. I do not buy lottery tickets, but I do have a small expectation that, if I should purchase a ticket, there is a greater chance I should win than if I do not purchase one. It is a small disappointment, because I am able to rationalize with such things as: "There is SUCH a slim slim slim slim chance of me winning that it is not worth my dollar". But still, I would feel a tiny swinge of disappointment.
This lead me to think about dreams that people make for their lives - how they expect things to turn out. I started thinking about people who live for nothing. People who say they believe there is no God, no reason for existence except to exist for a short time. Or people who waste their lives, and say things like "This is just how it is".
I hear their disappointment, their hopelessness. But if these things are true, why would they feel so horrible? Where does our desire, our expectation for a life of meaning and purpose come from? If we were not made to feel that way, why are we disappointed? Why aren't we like my roomate's daughter, off to bed as carefree as when we first woke up?
I think it's because God created in us a desire to really live our lives to the fullest - to not settle for a humdrum life.
With that said, I should now quit my job, and start hitchhiking accross the U.S. with a suitcase and a new camera. Think I can find an AC adapter for my C-Pap?
Questions to think about: Is there anything in your life you are currently disappointed about? How is disappointment a positive feeling? How is it negative? Why do you think we experience it?
My roomates have a daughter who is one. She has many toys, and they are everywhere. If at the end of the day her toys are not arranged neatly in her toy basket no one is disappointed in her. Why? They had no expectation that she would do so.
I told my roomate this evening that if someone were to call me tomorrow and tell me I had not won the world series, I would not be disappointed. I am not a baseball player - far from it. When I play baseball I usually just swing, hit the ball 2 feet, and a pre-selected runner dashes for first base in my place. So why would I be disappointed?
If I heard that someone had won the lottery, I would be a little disappointed. I do not buy lottery tickets, but I do have a small expectation that, if I should purchase a ticket, there is a greater chance I should win than if I do not purchase one. It is a small disappointment, because I am able to rationalize with such things as: "There is SUCH a slim slim slim slim chance of me winning that it is not worth my dollar". But still, I would feel a tiny swinge of disappointment.
This lead me to think about dreams that people make for their lives - how they expect things to turn out. I started thinking about people who live for nothing. People who say they believe there is no God, no reason for existence except to exist for a short time. Or people who waste their lives, and say things like "This is just how it is".
I hear their disappointment, their hopelessness. But if these things are true, why would they feel so horrible? Where does our desire, our expectation for a life of meaning and purpose come from? If we were not made to feel that way, why are we disappointed? Why aren't we like my roomate's daughter, off to bed as carefree as when we first woke up?
I think it's because God created in us a desire to really live our lives to the fullest - to not settle for a humdrum life.
With that said, I should now quit my job, and start hitchhiking accross the U.S. with a suitcase and a new camera. Think I can find an AC adapter for my C-Pap?
Questions to think about: Is there anything in your life you are currently disappointed about? How is disappointment a positive feeling? How is it negative? Why do you think we experience it?
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
New Road
I was alternating between the living room and my bedroom this evening, trying to find some activity of value that 1. Did not require any brain power and 2. was reasonably entertaining. I ventured into the den to see what my roomates were doing, hoping for some inspiration, and found Bill lacing up his shoes. He was on his way to have coffee with a mutual friend of ours. I invited myself along, being too bored to have manners. I did ask if he minded, and wasn't sure if his "Yeah, it's fine" was genuine, but nevertheless I tagged along.
We were sitting drinking our overpriced Starbucks beverages when I decided to step away for a few moments. Afterall, I had invited myself so I thought it would be polite to let them have a some time to talk without me there. So I walked around the building and onto a sidewalk that runs between it and busy Pacific Avenue. It was dark, except the lights from the Starbucks and cars wissing by in both directions. As they passed I could feel the weight of the air tip my balance slightly. It's a little exhilirating, standing right next to a busy road. Not sky diving exhilirating, but still, the feeling that a large moving object is zooming by so closely that its proximity makes you blink, and question your balance for a moment, is an interesting one.
When I looked into the blur of lights I was transported back to another roadside I had once stood at, staring into the same speeding sight. I was 15, and very depressed about my lack of control in this world. I have always had a strong sense of responsibility for the care of my friends, and at that time I was so frustrated with not being able to save them from their problems. My friends were on drugs, drinking, cutting, sleeping around. I did what I could - I stood up for them, I listened to them, I took them in whenever they needed it. But there came a point where I realized that they were not going to stop. Some of them still haven't.
Then there were the friends who were being beaten, raped, taken advantage of. Once again I did what I could - I reported to counselors, to CPS. Still none of their situations changed.
This was also the year that we were instensly learning about the Holocaust. The books we read, the pictures we saw, the movies we watched - they affected me deeply. We even had a survivor come and tell her story to us. Afterwards I just sat in my chair as everyone else left. I wanted to talk to her, and did briefly. This subject was overloading me, and I was almost pulled out of my class for the remaining weeks.
The issues with my friends and these horrific stories all lead to my overall feeling of hopelessness about the world. Finally I was pushed over the edge.
I had a friend named Sean who was very special to me. He was an awesome person - the type that people were drawn to because he was so accepting and kind. He was also emotionally tormented and harmful to himself. One day he was in class and started screaming that the walls were closing in on him. In his panic he tied himself to his chair and hid under it. He had to be forcefully removed. When I heard about this it terrified me.
What could I do?? This wasn't external. This wasn't a little drugs, or even a lot of drugs. This was my good friend flipping out. Whether it was for attention or not for attention - either way he had gone to a new level. I didn't know what to do. Nothing made any sense.
That night my fairly new friend at the time, Caleb, dragged me to youth group at church, and man I hated it. I just sat there listening to "Don't do drugs. Don't have sex." I couldn't take it anymore, so I walked outside. I walked around the building to where there was a little bit of grass. There was a fence, and on the other side there was a brown dog.
The church building was right next to a busy street. I walked towards the street and stood next to it. There was no sidewalk, the road just ran right into the dirt ground. I stared into the blur of speeding cars. What was the point? Why even live if you can't make a difference in this world? If you listen, and you love, and you protect, and you lecture, and you try everything else that you're your young mind can imagine, and still no changes?
Hopeless.
I started crying and walking back toward the church. But the closer I got the more I kept crying, until finally I stopped moving. I turned around and faced the road. "I should run right into that street," I thought, "Just jump right in." So I started running. I could feel the adrenaline kick in and my anxiety level rising. I got closer and closer. I reached the dirt edge and was about to step onto the gravel when suddenly I heard, "bark bark!" from the dog on the other side of the fence. I stopped immediately.
There have been several times in my life where I wanted to kill myself. My friend Matt once told me that once you consider suicide an option in a crisis then the option will present itself during every trial you go through after that. Matt was a wise guy. But the truth is, I have never actually wanted to kill myself. Sure, I have thought "I want to die!" but I don't think I have ever meant it. Not even close. I was not rushing toward traffic to die, I was rushing toward an end. I wanted my pain to be over. I wanted my friends' pains to be gone. But I didn't want to die - it was merely the only guaranteed end to my struggles that I could see at that moment. Besides, if I had really been set on death, wouldn't it take more then barking to stop me?
And it did stop me. I cried. I cried hard. Everytime I opened my eyes and saw the road I began to cry again. Then I turned to look at the church, and cried harder. Finally I wiped the tears from my face and caught my breath. I walked back towards the church, not wanting to go back to that trivial meeting. I saw the adult meeting in progress, and sat down on a seat in the back. It did me a lot of good to hear adult conversation.
I can't remember exactly how it happened, but I ended up speaking one-on-one with the youth pastor in his office. His name was Roger. I started crying again, and told him that I didn't understand why bad things happen to good people. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I got was the first practical explanation that I had ever heard.
A man is driving down the street, when another car pulls alongside him on the left. The car on the left decides to drive off the cliff that is to the right of the highway, and abruptly veers accross the other lanes, hitting the first car and two others along the way. Free will. Guy on the left makes a choice, which God allows him to do. His choice affects other people.
I had many other questions. Not only would he give me practical answers, but more importantly he'd show me scripture. I started visiting him regularly, when I was feeling lost, and I am very thankful for that time.
Standing beside Starbucks, remembering that evening, made me think about how much I have changed since then. Once I stood in front of a road, upset because I could not stand my circumstances and could not see any other choice. Tonight I struggled in front of a new road. But this time I stepped away from the curb with no desire for its answer. I now know that God has infinite answers to everything I am dealing with, both seen and unseen. I also know now that I do not have to be so over dramatic in my pain.
I turned around and returned to my friends, thankful for where I am right now. I may have a lot of things that I deal with, but I find comfort knowing that a brown dog can appear anywhere and at any time. Not only will it appear, but I can seek it out for myself. I do not need to go looking for pain, dwell in my pain - I can seek out scripture, or friends to talk to.
We were sitting drinking our overpriced Starbucks beverages when I decided to step away for a few moments. Afterall, I had invited myself so I thought it would be polite to let them have a some time to talk without me there. So I walked around the building and onto a sidewalk that runs between it and busy Pacific Avenue. It was dark, except the lights from the Starbucks and cars wissing by in both directions. As they passed I could feel the weight of the air tip my balance slightly. It's a little exhilirating, standing right next to a busy road. Not sky diving exhilirating, but still, the feeling that a large moving object is zooming by so closely that its proximity makes you blink, and question your balance for a moment, is an interesting one.
When I looked into the blur of lights I was transported back to another roadside I had once stood at, staring into the same speeding sight. I was 15, and very depressed about my lack of control in this world. I have always had a strong sense of responsibility for the care of my friends, and at that time I was so frustrated with not being able to save them from their problems. My friends were on drugs, drinking, cutting, sleeping around. I did what I could - I stood up for them, I listened to them, I took them in whenever they needed it. But there came a point where I realized that they were not going to stop. Some of them still haven't.
Then there were the friends who were being beaten, raped, taken advantage of. Once again I did what I could - I reported to counselors, to CPS. Still none of their situations changed.
This was also the year that we were instensly learning about the Holocaust. The books we read, the pictures we saw, the movies we watched - they affected me deeply. We even had a survivor come and tell her story to us. Afterwards I just sat in my chair as everyone else left. I wanted to talk to her, and did briefly. This subject was overloading me, and I was almost pulled out of my class for the remaining weeks.
The issues with my friends and these horrific stories all lead to my overall feeling of hopelessness about the world. Finally I was pushed over the edge.
I had a friend named Sean who was very special to me. He was an awesome person - the type that people were drawn to because he was so accepting and kind. He was also emotionally tormented and harmful to himself. One day he was in class and started screaming that the walls were closing in on him. In his panic he tied himself to his chair and hid under it. He had to be forcefully removed. When I heard about this it terrified me.
What could I do?? This wasn't external. This wasn't a little drugs, or even a lot of drugs. This was my good friend flipping out. Whether it was for attention or not for attention - either way he had gone to a new level. I didn't know what to do. Nothing made any sense.
That night my fairly new friend at the time, Caleb, dragged me to youth group at church, and man I hated it. I just sat there listening to "Don't do drugs. Don't have sex." I couldn't take it anymore, so I walked outside. I walked around the building to where there was a little bit of grass. There was a fence, and on the other side there was a brown dog.
The church building was right next to a busy street. I walked towards the street and stood next to it. There was no sidewalk, the road just ran right into the dirt ground. I stared into the blur of speeding cars. What was the point? Why even live if you can't make a difference in this world? If you listen, and you love, and you protect, and you lecture, and you try everything else that you're your young mind can imagine, and still no changes?
Hopeless.
I started crying and walking back toward the church. But the closer I got the more I kept crying, until finally I stopped moving. I turned around and faced the road. "I should run right into that street," I thought, "Just jump right in." So I started running. I could feel the adrenaline kick in and my anxiety level rising. I got closer and closer. I reached the dirt edge and was about to step onto the gravel when suddenly I heard, "bark bark!" from the dog on the other side of the fence. I stopped immediately.
There have been several times in my life where I wanted to kill myself. My friend Matt once told me that once you consider suicide an option in a crisis then the option will present itself during every trial you go through after that. Matt was a wise guy. But the truth is, I have never actually wanted to kill myself. Sure, I have thought "I want to die!" but I don't think I have ever meant it. Not even close. I was not rushing toward traffic to die, I was rushing toward an end. I wanted my pain to be over. I wanted my friends' pains to be gone. But I didn't want to die - it was merely the only guaranteed end to my struggles that I could see at that moment. Besides, if I had really been set on death, wouldn't it take more then barking to stop me?
And it did stop me. I cried. I cried hard. Everytime I opened my eyes and saw the road I began to cry again. Then I turned to look at the church, and cried harder. Finally I wiped the tears from my face and caught my breath. I walked back towards the church, not wanting to go back to that trivial meeting. I saw the adult meeting in progress, and sat down on a seat in the back. It did me a lot of good to hear adult conversation.
I can't remember exactly how it happened, but I ended up speaking one-on-one with the youth pastor in his office. His name was Roger. I started crying again, and told him that I didn't understand why bad things happen to good people. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I got was the first practical explanation that I had ever heard.
A man is driving down the street, when another car pulls alongside him on the left. The car on the left decides to drive off the cliff that is to the right of the highway, and abruptly veers accross the other lanes, hitting the first car and two others along the way. Free will. Guy on the left makes a choice, which God allows him to do. His choice affects other people.
I had many other questions. Not only would he give me practical answers, but more importantly he'd show me scripture. I started visiting him regularly, when I was feeling lost, and I am very thankful for that time.
Standing beside Starbucks, remembering that evening, made me think about how much I have changed since then. Once I stood in front of a road, upset because I could not stand my circumstances and could not see any other choice. Tonight I struggled in front of a new road. But this time I stepped away from the curb with no desire for its answer. I now know that God has infinite answers to everything I am dealing with, both seen and unseen. I also know now that I do not have to be so over dramatic in my pain.
I turned around and returned to my friends, thankful for where I am right now. I may have a lot of things that I deal with, but I find comfort knowing that a brown dog can appear anywhere and at any time. Not only will it appear, but I can seek it out for myself. I do not need to go looking for pain, dwell in my pain - I can seek out scripture, or friends to talk to.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Same Old Sin
I wrote this today and will be sharing it with my friends tomorrow evening.
Same Old Sin
By Alicia Mellinger
Hello Lord, it’s your old friend
Another day, the same old sin
I know I said I’d never do it again
If they only knew how my day has been
And why I do the things I do
No one understands, but you
Save me, Lord
From my own skin
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
The part of me
That sometimes wins
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
Hello Lord, my only friend
Another year, the same old sin
I always say I’ll never do it again
If they only knew how my life has been
And why I do the things I do
No one understands, but you
Save me, Lord
From my own skin
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
The part of me
That sometimes wins
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Get beneath my skin
Make me clean, again
Make me clean, again
You are the Lord
You always win
But I do it again
I still do it again
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Same Old Sin
By Alicia Mellinger
Hello Lord, it’s your old friend
Another day, the same old sin
I know I said I’d never do it again
If they only knew how my day has been
And why I do the things I do
No one understands, but you
Save me, Lord
From my own skin
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
The part of me
That sometimes wins
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
Hello Lord, my only friend
Another year, the same old sin
I always say I’ll never do it again
If they only knew how my life has been
And why I do the things I do
No one understands, but you
Save me, Lord
From my own skin
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
The part of me
That sometimes wins
Won’t do it again
I won’t do it again
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Get beneath my skin
Make me clean, again
Make me clean, again
You are the Lord
You always win
But I do it again
I still do it again
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Save me, Lord
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Poem in Process
I meet myself on the street every day
Hear my voice from others' lips
At the store or on the subway
You may think I'm a stranger
No one you know or ever knew
But the more I learn about myself
The more that I know you
Hear my voice from others' lips
At the store or on the subway
You may think I'm a stranger
No one you know or ever knew
But the more I learn about myself
The more that I know you
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