square peg, round hole

So, hi.  Me again.  After quite the hiatus this past several several months, I think I need to be writing on a slightly more regular basis again.  I'm sure it won't be anywhere near the amount of words I used to produce, but this is probably all for the best.  My goal?  To purge my oft-overwrought little brain via typing at least once a week.

J and I were talking this morning, and he had this wonderful bit of insight: "I think you might be like me that way.  If you're not writing, you go to a dark place."

Justin will often say that he has a lot to learn about being a husband, but the truth is that when it comes to being a husband to me, he's got a whole lot more figured out that he realizes.  In many things, he knows what's best for me even when I haven't quite come around yet, and while this sometimes drives me crazy, I'm glad for it.  Then again, I have my ways of helping too, i.e., "Justin, I know there was an extra hamburger patty left on the Foreman, but we both know you're going to regret making that a triple-decker.  Eat that much beef, and I'm pretty sure you're going to be quite ill in about an hour."  (Justin meekly removes the third patty from his already-huge burger and sits down with me to watch Discovery Channel over dinner).

Ah, the glories of married life.

In this no writing = dark place thing, he's right.  We're doing awesome.  Seriously, truly, we're still living the wonder that is the honeymoon phase, which we hope to continue for, oh, I don't know, about seventy years.  I LOVE being married to this man.  But life has a way of trying to balance things out.  You know.  Not TOO much ridiculous happiness, or you'll seriously start to annoy pretty much every person within a five-mile radius of you.

I'm going through one of those I-don't-really-fit-well-anywhere seasons.  They aren't rare for me.  I can be friend-LY with just about anyone, and find a certain amount of enjoyment even in that.  But true friendship, real relationship, proves a bit elusive.  I'm an odd breed.  Fortunately, Justin is a similar kind of rare breed, so we get on very well.  I'm blessed in this regard.  I may be lonely for friendship at times, but I'm never in want of love and devotion from my husband, my closest of friends.

I had a gut feeling that building relationships with people was different when you're married, and I was right.  Friendships that I developed when I lived up here in Bellingham before -- our group of girls that hung out constantly -- well, we've all changed in the past few years.  Mainly, we've all gotten married and moved on.  "Getting together for coffee" is always somewhere on the horizon's agenda, but the truth is, we aren't really sure if we're all that interested in making it happen.  We're busy.  We're different.  It's a little awkward for reasons no one can pinpoint, truth be told.

Justin and I go to a small group from church with three other couples, and it's good, but I know it will be a fight for me to continue going until I'm comfortable.  I struggle not to be stand-offish sometimes, which doesn't exactly help me in my quest to make friends.  I never was very good at developing friendships with other girls, being far more comfortable as the token girl with a bunch of guy friends.  Either that, or the friends I did make were non-girly girls.  It's a little different when it's a group of married folks and we all split off by gender.  I'm a bit afraid that at any moment someone is going to suggest a scrapbooking party.  I know that there is potential for deeper connection, that we probably have more in common than simply being Mrs.'s, but I have a hard time letting my guard down.

This probably has more to do with the fact that it's a group of church people than anything.  My mentor/pastor, Dan, had a moment of clarity when were gabbing away at Hot Shots Coffee a while back.  He said that ever since everything happened with my internship and I spent time away from ministry-world, I prefer to stay just off the radar.... I like to submerge for a while and disappear when I'm feeling out of place.  

He's probably right.  I found out very quickly that I preferred to keep my guard up, rather than letting myself need all that approval again.

(I miss Daniel.  He understood Justin in general and me in particular in a way that few do, especially as regards our faith and our struggles to make it authentic.  I would kill for a coffee date, I really would).

The truth is that I'm just not sure how much I can truthfully share.  I am a messy Christian these days.  I admit it's not easy for me to be a part of Christian community.  I see who I used to be all over the place, and sometimes, I don't like what I see. 

Insider, "Christianese" language that I used to speak so freely now openly grates on my nerves.  I wonder if any of us even know what we mean anymore.  I'm quite sure that outsiders don't.  A month or so ago some folks sitting behind us in church were being extremely demonstrative and loudly displaying their speaking-in-tongues prowess during the musical worship time.  They may have been genuine, but I was so uncomfortable, I was fighting tears a good chunk of the service.  I was so irritated that I found myself unable to turn around and shake hands during the meet and greet.  I sat there, angry, arms crossed, shaken to find the world I've tried so hard to get away from sitting right behind me.  I also found myself shaken at how ungracious I can be toward people who love Jesus just like I do -- how judgmental and arrogant and self-righteous I can be in my own frustration.  It's amazing how things you used to say and do all the time can bother you so much.

Other than this incident, however, I've found the church a very safe place.  The pastor's messages are disarmingly authentic and personal, and we've very nearly found a home.  In a moment of courage or weakness, I'm not sure which, I met with the worship pastor about possibly being a part of their worship ministry there.  I didn't want there to be any surprises, so I told him what I basically wrote above, and he seemed very accepting of me where I'm at and not at all afraid of having a messy Christian involved with his ministry.  He encouraged me to "be curious about how God can use the messy parts of your life."  It was well put, and it has stuck with me ever since.

But, OH!  How I am going to struggle if I am going to stay with it.  In one arena, I was a part of a discussion about outreach, possibly in bars, and I wanted to flee the building. 

Rather than talking about how to effectively connect with people, I heard all about the depravity of people who were constantly in bars, how dark, how meaningless, how misled, how sick it all is, etc. etc. etc.  If there's anything I struggle with, it's this I'm-saved-so-life-is-great/you're-unsaved-so-how-meaningless-and-pathetic-your-life-must-be comparison.  I have a hard time when the comparison is on the differences in our behavior, not the difference of what it means to have Jesus in your heart. 

To be human is to experience darkness, depravity, meaninglessness, and lostness.  Period.  Following Christ is no fix-all for what we experience as human beings.  We're still who we are, even as we're being made more like Christ.  We still struggle.  We still are broken people getting put back together.  The difference is not our perfection, but the grace we've received through Christ, the hope we have of God working even in our messed-up-ness.  So to distinguish ourselves from the "lost" in their lostness rather than identifying with them seems, well, off.  Not only off, but extremely ineffective since it's nearly impossible to strike up a meaningful conversation when you're being condescending. 

And, of course, when you're looking around to make sure no one sees you in a bar.  (I struggled with whether or not to tell them I spent St. Patrick's Day evening in one, having a beer with "the lost" as they downed car bombs.)

So... this is the knot of jumbled thought in my mind these days.  Is it worth the struggle to be a former-insider-who-thinks-and-feels-more-like-an-outsider-who-wants-to-be-a-part-but-doesn't-want-to-go-back-to-being-an-insider?  Most days, I think yes.  The last few days, it's been back and forth.  It may sound dumb to wrestle over this, but man, have I been wrestling. 

If you pray, please pray for me.  I know some of this is brought on by my own standoffishness and stubbornness, but I'm a bit lonely and could use the encouragement of a kindred spirit or two.  Or, lots of phone calls from far-away kindreds.

best year ever

So it's seven thirty p.m. or so on a Monday night, and I find myself with a few moments on my own, with the hubby at work.  (Blockbuster.  We find it's most fiscally responsible to work for those companies who supply our vices).

It's been a bit of a tough month.  Starbucks is a wonderful company and I have pretty much the coolest set of coworkers that one could ask for, but the truth is that I'm not sure I fit in the high-caffeine, high-speed, high-maintenance world that is the Siren's domain. 

(Another sad truth is that I'm fairly ready to strangle anyone who crosses my path when I'm still at work rather than in my bed at 11.30 p.m.).

I'm sticking with it, trying to give myself time to learn all 5,000 drink modifiers and trying to work on my inner attitude a bit.  We'll see.

I'm fairly sure that much of the frustration has to do less with mopping at 11 p.m. than it has to do with still not being sure what I want to be when I grow up.  Feeling stuck between knowing I want more than serving an excellent double-tall-three-pump-vanilla-soy-extra-hot-no-foam-latte -- but not knowing what that more consists of, and not having a good sense of how to search it out.  I mean, the glorious executive title of "Mom" is in there somewhere, God-willing, but, God-willing, we have several years before I jump into that role, and I find myself wondering what to do vocationally with the interim.

(By the way, we got a quick note from Justin's grandpa down in California, and we laughed out loud when we read the following: "How are you two doing.  Is Stacey PG yet?  Well sometimes it takes time.  Don't give up..."  I see a troubling genetic link with this twisted sense of humor...)

That's the hard part. 

But there's also a very sweet part to the season in which I find myself.  March 11th I'll have been married to my best friend for four months.  On March 18th it will have been exactly one year since the e-mail that started it all, with a simple, "I'm on your side and I'm cheering for you," and an oh-I-used-to-like-you-back-in-the-day.  I look at the past year of my life and I am amazed at what has transpired. 

One moment, I'm living in the Little Blue House, wondering if it'll ever happen for me, if I'll ever find my match.  (I moved out just in time too.  I hear the LBH has also become home to an otter right below its floors, and a urine odor has forced the poor new tenant to flee in horror and disgust.) 

The next, I'm living in the Little Grey House in Bellingham, a bit sleep deprived (I'm a light-sleeping sprawler married to a 6'5" cuddlebug who doesn't snore but whose annoying habit of simply breathing keeps me awake), but so blessed to wake up to an "I love you" and a "You're beautiful" each morning.  When truthfully, I am neither beautiful nor lovable when first I wake. 

Usually, I'm a little on the angry side, especially when working early morning shifts.

Given the choice between wondering what I want to be when I grow up, or wondering who I want to be with when I grow up, I'd pick the former any day.  It is a pretty special thing to be able to be frustrated, be searching, be a little lost, even -- and be held tight until the torrent of tired sobs and tears is soothed for the moment.  I always -- ALWAYS -- felt bad for my teary response to life's overwhelming and wearying moments.  No more.  Justin jumps right in there with me and is unafraid to let me fall apart for a while, knowing I'll be better for it once I've felt sorry for myself for about a half hour.  He's good.  He knows how to be there, how to love me when all I am is a bunch of I'm-sorry's for not having it more together. 

 It's not something I would have known how to search out in someone, not a personality trait that I'd have been able to see in him before I chose him, not even something I knew I needed, but it's there, and it is one of God's biggest displays of grace to me that I've yet seen.  And I get to live with it.  Laugh with it.  Struggle to fall asleep next to it. 

I wake up in its arms.

March 18th, 2006-March 17th, 2007 has been the best year ever, and we've only just begun.

Okay, off to bed with me.  It's 8.10, and I work at 4 a.m. tomorrow morning.  Early morning coffee drinkers, watch yourselves.  ;)