BIG NEWS!

So, I figured it was appropriate to write a quick post about the fact that Matt proposed to me this past Saturday.

I knew it was coming sometime...I had no idea it would be then, though!

We had gotten back from Raleigh, after a long day, and it was (for all intents and purposes) sleeting in Greensboro. It was also a) freezing cold, b) nearly midnight and c) did I mention it was cold? Well, it was.

Matt asked me if I wanted to go downtown (remember, people, it's quarter 'til twelve) and see the big 50-foot Christmas tree in Center City Park.

"Nah, it's too cold."
"C'mon. It'll be fun. I want to go see it."

"It'll be there for a few more weeks."
"I want to go tonight."

"We've already driven by it twice."
"Yeah, but I want to get out and go up to it."

"No thank you."

"Please?"

"Fine." (I'm exasberated. And by this point most people are wondering why I was so dense as to not have a clue...)

We get there and he parks the car. I tell him I'll wait in the car. (Man, I'm a terrible girlfriend!) He insists and finally coaxes me out into the wet, freezing mess. We make it to the tree, with me shivering and whining most of the way.

We walk around the tree, marveling at the beauty of this magnificent tree.

After we have circled the entire tree and discussed the possibility of climbing it, I look at him, about to ask if I can go. He takes a step away from me, looks at the ground, and gets down on one knee.

I can't breathe.

My heart is racing.

"Lindsay Caroline Widenhouse, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?"

I just continue to gasp for air. (Although I'd like to say that I responded eloquently in the affirmative).

Eventually, I say yes, and he slides the ring onto my finger.

WE DID IT!!!!

Allow me a moment.

Matt and I trained for and ran an 8k. It was my first 8k, and his too. It was also our first race together. We drove up to the Outer Banks on Friday and ran the race on Saturday morning. The course was an out-and-back course (which, if you're a runner, you probably abhorr), and that means you run out half the distance, and then turn around and run back. It's discouraging because you a) know how long you have left to go; and b) because the faster runners are passing you on their way back. Oh well. All in all, it was an amazing and really fulfilling experience. It definitely won't be our last race.

Here we are before the race.

When we got within sight of the finish line, I looked at Matt and said: "Race ya!" Of course, he won the sprint to the end, but I held my own!

Haha

Today, a RESTRICTED number called my cell phone. I answered. The following ensued:

"Hello?"
"Hi. Can I speak with Roosevelt?"
"Teddy or Franklin?"
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. No one here goes by that name."
"uh...okay. I must have the wrong number."

Sigh. Okay, so that's not really how the conversation went. I left out the funny quip about which Roosevelt they wanted to speak to. But it did take all of my self-control not to say that.

The Longing Conundrum

Do you ever long for something? I feel like one word sums up how I've been feeling for a few months now: longing. But I'm perplexed because I don't know quite what I'm longing for.

I'm at once longing for the future and the past. I'm longing for the comfortable and the uncomfortable; for the old and the new. And sometimes, I'm longing for the in-between spaces.

I've always, no matter what stage I am at in life or what I'm going through, able to relate to Sara Groves' song "Painting Pictures of Egypt"

I've been painting pictures of Egypt
And leaving out what it lacks
The future feels so hard
And I want to go back

But the places that used to fit me
Cannot hold the things I've learned
And those roads were closed off to me
While my back was turned...

At one point in the song, she sings: "I am caught between the promised and the things I know." I am altogether frustrated and exhausted and excited and confused as I try to figure out what this stage is exactly in my life. I feel like I am in the in-between, where I have out grown many things but am not quite to the next phase in my life yet.

I don't want to leave too quickly, nor do I want to hestitate too long. But I don't know what exactly I'm supposed to be doing, or where I'm supposed to be headed.

I don't know much of anything right now, it seems.

Team Day at Chic-Fil-A

It was Team Day at Chic-Fil-A, and if you wore a shirt with your favorite team on it, you got a free sandwich.

Tarheels + Chic-Fil-A =Good day!

Neither one of us likes pickles, though, as exhibited in the third picture. :)

Ummm...???

My professor wants me to write a lesson plan. This would be fine if:

-I knew the components of a lesson plan
-I had ever seen a lesson plan
-I even planned to be a teacher in the future


Sigh. I want to be a social worker, people. You know, I want to talk to kids about their problems. I'm not going to give lectures or do state-mandated curriculum lessons with them.


I'll figure it out. I always do.

Blogging Hiatus

I feel like so much has happened since I last posted. My black lab mix, Riley, moved into my apartment-- my attempt to feel "safe" again. I started back to school (classes include: English, Criminal Justice, The Institution of Education, and Sociological Perspectives on Gender). Matt and I attended two weddings and have started training for an 8k.

My most recent list:

Really, really hate:
NC humidity

Really hate:

Ignorance

Hate:
Lazy punctuation

Indifferent:

Dinner choices

Like:
Taking Riley for evening walks

Really like:

Having Matt spend time with my family

Really, really like:

...I need more time on this one...

What I'm growing out of:
Feeling like a University student

My obsession with facebook

What I'm growing into:

My need to be included in seemingly "adult" things

Funny The Way It Is...

I got home from work yesterday at about 5:30pm. On the way home, I mentally planned the rest of my evening: watch the rest of Gilmore Girls, shower and change clothes, grab a quick dinner of left-overs, have a game night with David and Katie, then house-sit for the rest of the night. Awesome.

I got to my apartment building, unlocked the breezeway door, and found my apartment door ajar, barely cracked open. When was I here last? I thought. Yesterday, with Matt, right before the benefit concert at church, exactly 23 hours ago. Cautiously, I stepped into my apartment. "Hello?" I half-yelled. I'm notoriously anal about locking my door. I knew that someone else had been inside. And that's when I saw my TV missing. My heart stopped.

My other valuables were left untouched. I looked over to the window, that's in the dining room adjacent to the living room. The vase that was previously on the window sill was lying on the floor. Dialing 9-11 in one hand, I went back outside and saw what I had previously overlooked: the screen on the window had been cut. The pieces were beginning to fit together. Someone had broken into the apartment through the window, unplugged and stolen the TV, which was my Christmas gift this past year, and walked out through my front door.

For the second time in my life, I spoke with a 9-11 operator. Actually, the only other time I called 9-11 happened the first night I moved into this apartment. The reality of the situation began to sink in as I told the 9-11 operator what had happened. "Is there anyone still inside?" I glanced around the apartment, two of the bedroom doors (in the 3-bedroom where I currently live alone for the summer) were closed. "I-I-I don't know." "Then I'm going to have to ask you to leave the residence immediately."

I waited outside for the police. Laura Jo came over just so I wasn't alone. We waited another 2 1/2 hours for the CSI people, who dusted for fingerprints and told me it was probably someone I knew. Riiiiight. Not.

I don't care about the TV. It, like everything else, is replaceable. I am safe/okay, but I don't feel that way. I miss feeling like my apartment was a safe, secure place as long as I kept the entry points locked. Sigh.

Dave Matthews has a song called "Funny the way it is." It basically says that it's funny how one person is going hungry while another's eating out; how someone's house is burning down while I spend a day at the park with my family.

Funny the way it is, I was probably playing Apples to Apples and eating pizza with Matt, Laura Jo and Nick when my apartment got broken into. Or maybe I was at work, earning money to buy nice things, instead of stealing them. Funny the way it is...

THIS...

...is what my life consists of-- at least when I'm at work. Yep, that's right, folks. I'm the bumper boat operator at a local park. :)

Ten Things Bumper Boats Taught Me About Life:

10. Batteries need a full night to re-charge, a lot like people need sleep.
9. If you put one foot into the boat, you better follow qiuckly with the other (or you'll end up in the pool).
8. Don't squirt other people with water if you're not willing to be squirted too.
7. Color-coding helps people understand better.
6. Waiting in line makes the end goal that much more enjoyable.
5. All good things must come to an end (sometimes after 3 1/2 minutes!)
4. If you have to jump in the water, fully-clothed, to catch a runaway boat, you'll probably dry off within 30 minutes in the NC heat.
3. People only obey the rules they deem important.
2. Wear sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.
1. It's okay to act a little wild and enjoy yourself, no matter how old you are.

My Sister's Keeper

I went to see the movie

 version of Jodi Picoult's book My Sister's Keeper. I'm pretty sure everyone in the crammed theater cried at some point. 

Although I was initially emotionally stirred, it wasn't until Anna and Kate began calling each other "Sissy," that I cried. I cried because that hit home. My sister, who I envy in so many ways, and used to resent for so many reasons, was also the younger sister who I called "sissy" all through my childhood. She's the one I comforted at daycare when she fell and broke her arm. She's the one that learned to rollerblade first and taught me. She's the one who saw me off to prom on multiple occasions, only to find that I was away at college when it was her turn. She's vouched for me, encouraged me, stood up for me, and loved me in a way no one else on earth could. We've snuggled, and cried, and played, and yelled, and argued, and traveled, and danced, and dreamed. She's the one that I used to design "dream homes" with, dream homes that were big enough for our families (her with her "future husband" and "future only child" and me with my "future husband" and future "eight children.") She's the one who listened when I vented. She's the one who picked out pets' names with me, who held my hand on roller coasters, who sleeps in my room because there was a spider in hers sometime in the distant past. She's creative and talented and amazing in so many ways. Sure, my sister and I have our moments where we think we're polar opposites, but the truth is, I would do anything, anything at all, for her. 

It's a heartwrenching movie about death, life, love and the bonds that hold us together. But I can relate on so many levels to Kate and Anna, from understanding the dynamics of sisterhood within the family unit, to wanting to give my sister everything so she could have the best possible life; to understanding that doing so to my detriment did neither of us any good; to wanting to give her the world; to knowing that I couldn't; to knowing that wherever we went in life, whatever came between us, we have always been and will always be remarkably close. And nothing could make me stop loving her, ever. 

Go see the movie. Really. But bring tissues. 

Fishing

Matt took me fishing this morning. This is the latest in our outings together. We've seen movies (in fact, we made an entire list of movies we want to see this summer and fall), gone to the zoo, hung out at the pool, played countless video and board games, had a cookout with friends and one with his extended family. But today, we went fishing. 

I fished some when I was little, but I was ill-prepared for today. I was all gutsy when we got to the bait shop to buy the bait, and acted like the knowledgeable girlfriend when Matt and I conversed about what type of bait to buy. And when we got to the lake, I hauled the tackle box and the pole (he carried the chairs) down to the dock. It was going well so far. 

And then he opened the container of worms-- two kinds of worms: earth worms (really, really long ones) and glow worms (no, not the toy you had when you were growing up!). I instantly became the squeamish girlfriend and backed away, telling him he could have the honor of putting the bait on my hook. He readily agreed, chuckling a little bit. And whenever I needed new bait, I would carry the container over to him, hand him my pole and offer my sweetest smile. It worked. Haha. 

We didn't catch a thing, but we had a wonderful time. It was sunny, albeit a little too warm and we got to see some heron and lots of turtles, as well as a lot of geese and ducks. 

Anyway, all of this was to say that today was a perfect example of our relationship. Matt doesn't  love me because I have a stomach of steel and can put up with gross things. He also doesn't love me because I'm the perfect girlfriend or a complete girly-girl. Nope, he loves me because I'm me. And I am really enjoying the freedom of not having to become someone else to please him. It's very freeing and it allows me to love him better, because I'm not doing it out of compulsion or fear, but because I just do. 

Update

I'll let the pictures be the update...

Pondering...

What color is a chameleon originally, when it's not trying to blend in? 

I hate the way people react...

...when I tell them I'm majoring in social work. You'd have thought I told them: "I expect to single-handedly alter the course of history." 

The conversation with any "adult" has become painfully predictable. 

"What are you majoring in?" They ask, hoping I'll say "education" or maybe "business," possibly even "political science." 

"Social work," I say with a smile. 

And then it starts. It always does. "Oh," they muse, trying to figure out where to direct the conversation next. "That certainly is a...unique...calling, isn't it?" Unique as in, different? Or bad? 

I smile politely, trying to bear with them. "Mmhmm." 

"You know, the burn-out rate is really high. Most people leave the profession within five years." 

Yes, you know, I've heard that from the thousand other people before you who inquired about my major. 

"I suppose," I venture. "But I think the burn-out rate in any job has the potential to be high. You have to find something you enjoy getting up for in the morning."

"But you can't possibly help everyone." 

Uhhh...DUH. And here is where I bite my tongue. Here is where I've learned not to argue. Not to point out that if we all believed we couldn't make a difference, we'd sit around idly all day wondering what to do with ourselves. It's where I would point out that a single smile, as cliche as it sounds, can bring someone back from the edge. It's where I would launch into my mantra about why I want to be a social worker, about the guy who was throwing star fish back into the ocean, one by one, on a beach with thousands if not hundreds of thousands of star fish. And another man came along and told him he couldn't possibly make a difference. 

And you know what the first man did? He picked up yet another stranded star fish that would suffocate if not thrown back into the ocean, smiled and said, "Made a difference to that one."

Everyone has a unique calling, just for them, a passion, of sorts. And you know what? If you pour your heart into what you do, it might be taxing. But I think that's more of a reflection of the passion of the person than the profession. 

Rapport

Okay, this is going to make me sound stupid and uneducated but I promise I'm not...at least not nearly as much as this blog post is going to make me sound...


Last night Alyssa and I were watching the Colbert Report, something I've heard of but never actually watched. I didn't realize he dropped the "t" on both his name and the word "report," making it sound like "rappor." I remarked to Alyssa how dumb this seemed to me, since obviously, I told her, that's not how you spell rapport.

And I went on, with the conviction of someone who's on fire and knows what she's talking about, to tell her that rapport was obviously spelled "r-e-p-o-i-r-e." You'd think I was spelling the word for the National Spelling Bee. Alyssa just looked at me and was like: No, that's not how you spell it.

I challenged her, saying that I was clearly right. She retorted: "Rapport is spelled R-A-P-P-O-R-T, here I'll google it." And she did. In fact, she googled (don't get me started on how "google" isn't a verb) the word I was spelling.

Urban Dictionary (the source of all knowledge, OBVIOUSLY) defines "repoire" as: the way stupid people spell "R-A-P-P-O-R-T."

Lovely.

Granted, I have never used the word repoire in my writing, but I have seen it written in internships and in things I've read online and otherwise, so I'd like to think that the ignorance and stupidity of others has clouded my ability to know the truth. But alas, I admit that I simply didn't know the proper spelling for the word.

Sigh. (This is why when I tutor kids in reading and spelling, I can't explain to them the English language. I mean really? "Wicked" and "licked" don't rhyme, but they should. And rapport should NOT be spelled like that. Oh well.)

Fear

Ten years ago, tragedy and evil struck at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. I was 11 years old that April and in fifth grade. Although I remember the sadness of the adults around me after the Oklahoma City bombing, I do not remember the tragedy or news coverage of the event specifically. But I do remember Columbine.

I remember the news footage of students running from the building. I remember tearful parents clinging to their children. I remember ghastly images of things that should never have happened at that high school. I remember nation-wide revelation that "our kids" might not be safe, even at the sanctuary that is the schoolhouse. The point is, I remember.

It was the first time in my life that I understood danger and evil as something other than "bad guys." There were pictures and a specific event that marked my new understanding. I remember lectures from the principal about telling an adult if someone is threatening violence. I remember "safety drills," where we had to hide from view of the classroom door. Maybe most terrifying of my memories is when we had to actually use the drill for real at my elementary school one day.

Ten years is a long time. My understanding of safety and evil has very much grown, matured and changed from what is was as a fifth grader behind a desk. But Columbine shaped how I saw evil and a huge part of that view still remains with me.

A lot of times, I am overcome by the fear that comes with the realization that malls, schools, colleges, workplaces, nursing homes, gas stations, private homes, and modes of transportation are far from safe. But like everyone else, if I allow that fear to cripple me I will never live. In the wake of every tragedy the survivors and the public at large find strength to go on, to live. We have to. There isn't another option, really.

Lives of Quiet Desperation

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation." -Henry David Thoreau, Walden

As a college student, I am living under the assumption that once I graduate I can make my life mean something. Make an impact. Affect change. You know, the naiive belief that I am more than just a vapor.

But if that is true, if my life is just a fleeting mist, then how am I supposed to not lead a life of quiet desperation? If I resign myself to the fact that I can have no lasting impact, then what keeps me from living the kind of life Thoreau observed and wrote about?

I'm not saying that nothing matters; I'm just wondering what the balance is between the humility of knowing that I am just a fragile piece of the great human race, one miniscule drop in an infinite ocean, one second of eternity, and living a life of purpose.

More to learn

Apparently I have more to learn to be a true Tar Heel fan:

1. Duke is spelled Dook.
2. Tar heel is two words.
3. ACC = Another Carolina Championship
4. (yes, as asked in the last post) UNC = University of National Champions (as demonstrated last week.)


I know the song, but that comes from six years in youth group at CHBC...it was pretty much Tar Heel-owned. :)

Predictions

About two months ago, I saw the "error of my ways" and stopped pulling for Duke in the basketball world. I became a die-hard, paint-my-toenails-the-day-of-the-game, t-shirt-wearing Carolina fan. And so, Monday's game was a big deal in a couple of ways. :-)

Alyssa, her mom and I made predictions about the final score for the NCAA Championship game. Here they are:

Alyssa: Carolina 91 --- Michigan State 79

Her mom: Carolina 85 --- Michigan State 68

Me: Carolina 87 --- Michigan State 71

FINAL SCORE 

Carolina 89 --- Michigan State 72

There'll be pictures later.

Okay, but one thing: Is it really necessary to call UNC the University of National Champions? I'm all for being happy, ecstatic and celebratory at a second NCAA Championship in five years and it's kind of cute but...really?

To This End

lead

-verb, used with object

1. To go before or with to show the way;
2. To guide in direction, course, action, opinion, etc.


And so, as I think about the definiton of the word "lead," (the root of the word "leadership), I realize why I feel so confused about leadership with Intervarsity. I was recently asked to become the President of UNCG's Intervarsity Chapter for the 2009-2010 school year. I'm excited but until I looked up the definition of leadership and looked at Colossians, I didn't understand what was missing.

In Colossians 1:29, Paul writes: "To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me."

The phrase "to this end," and the definitions of "to lead," seem to indicate that when you're leading, you ought to have a direction and/or a destination in mind. And so, as members of leadership with Intervarsity, we should be leading people somewhere. But where?

The obvious answer is closer to God. But I think the true answer is so much more detailed and in-depth than just that.

Apple Not-So Strange

This makes Gwyneth Paltrow giving her daughter the name "Apple" seem almost normal.

Seriously. Check out this kid's name.

Seriously?

Read this.

It's cute and all that he wanted to proprose on the Brooklyn Bridge, but shouldn't there have been safety precautions taken? Like...I don't know, a string attached to the ring or something.

It makes me even more fearful that when I have the wedding bands for Laura Jo's wedding, I might accidently drop them in the infinite abyss that is the ocean shore. Oh horror!

The Voiceless Break Into Song

I came across this passage (Isaiah 35) and I decided to post The Message version, because I like the use of "redress," with its double meaning. I also like the title of this section: "The Voiceless Break Into Song."

Tell fearful souls, "Courage! Take heart!
God is here. Right here,
On His way to put things right
And redress all wrongs.
He is on His way. He'll save you!

Often times the hurt and brokeness in our lives causes shame, much like the shame that Adam and Even experienced in the Garden when they realized they were naked. And how comforting it is to think that part of God's redemption process is to "re-dress" us, to clothe us and to bring about closure and healing that removes our shame and fear. And of course, the dictionary definition of redress is "to explain." And for anyone who's experienced hurt or pain, there's a longing for explanation-- why it happened, and what the future will look like in light of it.

A New Attitude

I was stopped at a stoplight the other day when the left turn light turned green, and the lane to my left should have started moving through the intersection. But the first car didn't go. The driver wasn't paying attention.

So when the car behind her honked, it didn't surprise me. He had waited a fair amount of time before urging her on. But the lady who got honked at surprised me. She raised her hand to wave at the man who honked at her-- the way we expect people to wave when they thank us for letting them out or something.

And it shocked me and I sat there for a moment thinking how much more pleasant life would be if everyone's attitude toward gentle correction or advice was to thank them, not get frustrated or angry.

Busyness

"The new materialism of America is busyness."

-Chip Ingram

One of those days

When I was six, I had one of those days. By the time the evening hit, I was worn slam out. My sister got in the front of the bathtub (a right that I attributed only to myself, since the youngest always got to go first in board games), and I went to pieces.

"This has been the worst day ever. First, the letter came that Ms. Shiels (my beloved Kindergarten teacher) isn't coming back next year. Then Reid (a neighborhood kid) hit me in the head with a ball. And now, Sherby got in the front of the bathtub."

Everything piled on top, it felt overwhelming. It was just too much. That's kind of how I feel a lot these days: like one thing after another gets piled on and I'm stuck trying not to get buried beneath the rubble.

But when it feels like too much, I remember that there are plenty of good days up ahead. And somehow no matter how much good stuff gets piled together, it never feels like too much. :-)

"Late Fragment"

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

-RAYMOND CARVER, "LATE FRAGMENT"

My Favorite 2-year-old

Let me tell you about my favorite 2-year-old. Actually, I guess she's 2 1/2. Anyways, I got to have dinner with her the other night. And it reminded me how much I dislike being so far away from her and missing out on watching her grow up.

We took a walk while we were waiting for our food. Hand-in-hand, she pointed out the flowers blooming, the buds on the trees, the Green volkswagen beatle. I asked her what she did at daycare that day.

"I did work."
"Really? What kind of work?"
"I built a tower that the princess lived in."
"Wow. That's hard work."
"Yeah." She sighs. "It was very hard work."

She cracks me up constantly. She's very flirtatious and told everyone around us, the waitstaff included, about the turtles on her shirt. Apparently, when her mom asked her if she had to go potty a month or so ago, she said, "That's not a priority right now."

I'm always impressed at her ability to carry on conversations and was not the least bit dismayed that she was already cheering on an ACC team, even if it wasn't the one I typically cheer for. It was too adorable not to love. She can spell her name and when she sings the "BINGO" song, she can switch it up and insert her (conveniently 5-letter) name into the song instead.

I know that none of you can appreciate this simply from reading this post but no matter what is going on in my life, this little girl has an uncanny ability to make my day (though sometimes she has to make my month, depending on when I'll get to see her again!)

Call Me Judgmental...

I remember when I was about 7 years old, I saw the wreaths that the governor of N.C. had placed on the gates on the premises surrounding the mansion where the first family of the state traditionally lives. The wreaths were probably 10-15 feet in diameter and made almost entirely of fruit. At seven, this made no sense to me. I engaged my mom in a discussion about the ways that fruit could be put to better use, rather than just rotting as a decoration. It could feed hungry people, I'd told her. She didn't argue with me, but it's been an image-- one of confusion and disbelief-- that's stayed with me since.

And so, when I saw an article today on Yahoo detailing the big multi-billion (yes, billion NOT million) dollar mansions that people around the world own, my heart hurt. People really think they need a gold-plated pool, don't they? They really believe that a cinema inside is a necessity, don't they? They really find security in having a garage big enough for 20 cars, don't they?

So, I could digress here and talk about how we all place the weight of our souls on various things throughout our lives, how we are always saying: "If I can just have/get ________, then I will be happy. Then I will be satisfied." And we are, for a few minutes or a couple days, and then we long for the next distraction.

But that's not what disturbed me. What disturbed me was that while reading this article and growing nauseous over the things that these people poured money into, my mind went back to a missions trip I went on to Los Angeles and to the week I spent serving the urban poor here in Greensboro. How people lived underneath overpasses, all their worldly possessions around them on the bare earth. How tents and sleeping bags lined the sidewalks. How a meal or a conversation meant so much. How I finally understood what it meant to be blessed and simluataneously found that it had an entirely new meaning.

I don't want to sound judgmental. Because in the eyes of the rest of the world, I live lavishly.

1. If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the people in the world.

2. If you can attend a church or synagogue meeting without fear of harassment, arrest, torture or death you are more blessed than three billion people in the world.

3. If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation, you are more blessed than five hundred million people in the world.

4. If you have money in the bank, in your wallet and spare change in a dish, you are among the top eight percent of the world's wealthy.

5. If you woke up this morning with more health than illness, you are more blessed than the million who will not survive this week.


With 80% of the world's population living on less than $1/day, it's hard to understand why George Lucas or anyone else needs a house with 50,000 sq. feet. I wish that we could "share the wealth," truly. So many problems stem originally from poverty and its affects. But that's for another post. I've ranted long enough.

The Motions

No regrets, not this time. I'm gonna let my heart defeat my mind.


-"The Motions," Matthew West

His

Intervarsity has been a huge part of my life since I entered college, and it became an even bigger part of my life when I applied to be on leadership at the end of my freshman year. Since then, it has been one of the hardest and best experiences of my life.

Now, as our chapter faces a tumultuous future in the next few months, I found myself trying to take on responsibility for everyone and everything. Somehow I thought I could hold everything together, make it all okay, and keep everything under control on my own. The worst wasn't that I thought I could-- it was that I thought I had to.

I felt this burden of responsibility to make sure the chapter kept breathing, kept going, kept...whatever...in the face of an uncertain few months. I thought that God had allowed the "worst case scenario" to come true and I thought it was up to me to fix everything.

I thought I could single-handedly (or maybe not single-handedly, but at least partially) carry our chapter through this. I realized that I had taken control from the God of the Universe. I thought that He couldn't or wouldn't see us through this. I thought that the Creator would allow our chapter to self-destruct. I thought the Healer would never restore our chapter. I thought the Almighty could fix other people's problems and attend to other people's needs, but that I would be the one to see Intervarsity through.

And God showed me something...(surprise surprise). If I am on leadership or not, Intervarsity is His. If I go to meetings or gatherings, Intervarsity is His. If I want to serve or not, Intervarsity is His. And in the midst of this trial, Intervarsity is His. He reminded me of His faithfulness. Of His goodness. Of His nearness. And of His love. And when I realized how sinful it was to think that I was so amazing that I had to take care of everything and everyone, He reminded me of His mercy and forgiveness.

The Chapter is His.
The University is His.
The world is His.
I am His.

And whether I have it together, whether I am hurting, whether I am leading, whether I am scared, whether I am ready, whether I understand, He is there. And He is in control.

My Heart Will Choose to Say...

"God is too wise to be mistaken. God is too good to be unkind. So when you dont understand, when you dont see His plan, When you cant trace His hand, trust His heart." ~Babbie Mason

I don't know what to say. I'm so frustrated with everything that's gone on. Drew and I broke up. I found out that my ovary isn't where it's supposed to be, meaning I'll have surgeries in the near future and may have a lot of trouble ever having children, if I can at all. Our Intervarsity Chapter is going through a very difficult and rough transition, and I feel like a huge burden is on me to carry us through because I will be on leadership all next year, and I have been serving the longest of anyone currently on leadership. And to boot, I have mono, so I am exhausted constantly and have not really processed anything emotionally because physically it's hard to just get through the day.

I don't know how to see the bigger picture and frankly, I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of asking why, of being frustrated, of the tears, of the heartache, and of the wondering when the next "blow" will be dealt.

I'm trying to trust, to have faith. But I'm really struggling.

"Who can hold the stars and my weary heart?
Who can see everything?
I've fallen so hard, sometimes I feel so far
But not beyond Your reach.
...Whatever's in front of me, help me to sing Hallelujah."

Remembering...

My professor for my social work class on diversity and vulernable populations sent me this cartoon. Read the entire thing carefully-- it's powerful.

Love

I've been told that being in a relationship with someone will teach you to love more selflessly.

It's also taught me how to let myself be loved.

And how to love myself.

Apple juice??

Last night I was babysitting for a family that I babysit for pretty regularly. There are three children: a girl, age 10; a boy age 8; and another boy age 2. We were hanging out in the living room, when the 8 year old noticed flashing blue lights outside the window. Well, of course, what ever game we were playing instantly became less interesting than the two police cars outside.

Apparently, the officers had pulled a car over, most likely for a speeding or seat-belt infraction. But the older children wondered aloud why there needed to be two police cars on the scene. The ten year old suggested that maybe the person in the car had been drinking.

The two year old, piped up immediately with: "Yeah! Yeah! Him drinking apple juice."

A World of Newness

I feel like 2009 is going to be a year of "newness" for me.

I am learning what it looks like to have and sort of lose your best friend to marriage, and at the same time I am learning what it looks like to nurture that friendship all the more because it shouldn't fizzle out because she's getting married.

I am learning what it looks like to be in a relationship, the ups and downs, the apologies, the laughter, the adventure, and the beauty of it all.

I am learning what it means to be one of the oldest people in the IV Chapter, and how that affects my position, both as a leader and as a follower.

I am learning what it means to find happiness independently of others-- don't get me wrong, having friends and others in my life greatly contribute but I can be independently happy.

It's a new season, and this one is filled with lots of transition, growth, revelation and adventure. And I'm embracing it day by day.

Worth seeing

Drew loves movies. Seriously. And since he works almost 80 hours per week, the only consistent time we have together is Saturday from around 11am until 4pm, when he heads off to work again. That gives us enough time to wander around Barnes and Noble and then go see a movie.

The last two movies we've seen together were Taken and He's Just Not That Into You. I liked both of them, although they are very different movies. Taken is more action-oriented with a lot of violence and killing, but I have to say I teared up at the end. Drew loved the movie, and as we were walking out and discussing our takes on it, he said, "One thing, though." "What's that?" I asked. "No daughters." First of all, we're not nearly there in our relationship, but it cracked me up. I reminded him that biologically the man's genes decide the gender of the child, and then my curiosity got the best of me. "Why not?" I asked; I've always wanted a daughter (not that I don't want boys). "Because, I'd be too afraid to let them do anything for fear something would happen to them. I'm afraid I'd smother them being over-protective." Cute.

We went to see He's Just Not That Into You on Valentine's Day, although I protested seeing this movie as a couple at first. In the end though, this movie was really well-made. There are seven main characters and the ending isn't as predictable as you might think. It is a little over two hours, but it's the perfect movie to see if you're going to a movie by yourself, if you're going in a co-ed or all-girls' group (or even all guys), or to go see with your significant other. There were all different types of people there on Valentine's Day: single guys in groups and by themselves, single girls in groups and by themselves, couples of all ages, etc. And with a line-up of Jennifer Anniston, Scarlet Johansen and Ben Affleck, how can you go wrong??

Seeing Myself

Greg talked today at church about how much shame he recently realized he carries and how that shame and brokenness and ineptitude sometimes completely cripples him, that it's difficult for him to live in the reality that Christ loves him regardless.

C.S. Lewis wrote this: "[God] works on us in all sorts of ways. But above all, He works on us through each other. Men are mirrors, or "carriers" of Christ to other men."

The longer I am in "intimate" relationships with others, the more and more I am finding that I am a lot like Greg. There are things about myself that I've been able to hide from myself and certainly from others, that I carry a lot of guilt and shame and hurt from things that I should be free from. But it's also in that relationship that I am beginning to experience healing-- that I am finding that if a finite human can love me inspite of who I am and what I've been through and done, then how much more could a compassionate, good, loving God love me?

Our life is full of brokenness - broken relationships, broken promises, broken expectations. How can we live with that brokenness without becoming bitter and resentful except by returning again and again to God's faithful presence in our lives.

Henri Nouwen

So maybe, for me at least, the fallacy lies not in believing that I can't be loved for who I am, but believing that God (and others) couldn't possibly love me for who I am, in all my messiness. Maybe the error here is that deep down I question whether God is loving and good.

The smallest reflection of God, I'm discovering, can be found, like C.S. Lewis wrote, in others. That they demonstrate finite pieces of an infinite God.

I Don't Understand

I've been at UNCG for almost three years now and yet some things don't change. Whenever there is a traveling preacher who gets on his imaginary or literal soap box to yell at students, my heart breaks. I creep as close as I can bear to the crowd and listen in horror as someone who purports to be a Christian yells insults, mis-construed and out-of-context Bible verses at students. Some students pass by; some intentionally provoke the man; some generally want to engage him because they think they can prove him wrong.

I watch as girls are called sluts and whores because they wear shorts. I watch as young men are told they are going to hell because they sin. I watch as students are told that they have to be PERFECT to get to Heaven. I could go in to the theology of why I believe all of those statements are wrong or out-of-context, but it's not necessary. Not for this post.

The point is that I walk away every single time with tears stinging my eyes, knowing that people are being hurt by a religion whose Savior taught that the greatest commandments were to LOVE God and LOVE others, a religion that teaches that we are not qualified to judge, that even in our messiness, our sin and our brokenness, the God of the universe loves us. I'm angry and sad and frustrated and exhausted all at once.

Pause!

Please, can we just pause for a minute to talk about Grey's Anatomy!? Seriously. If you haven't watched last week's episode, go do that now, and then you can come back and read this blog (and agree with everything I say).


Okay, anyone who watches this show probably wants Derek and Meredith to be together. I mean, maybe they're not PERFECT for each other, but clearly the writers desperately want us to desperately want Dr. Shepherd and Dr. Grey to be together. After last season's stunning finale of Meredith creating a floor plan out of candles on Derek's land, it was clear they were meant to be, and looked like Meredith might be able to get past her emotional basket-caseness long enough to have something good.

So then we find out that Derek's mom gave him an engagement ring so he could propose to Meredith. And after a long saga last week about him trying to find the perfect way to do it, trying to keep it a secret from her, and trying to find out if she was ready, he finally got ready to propose.

And then... he's got the ENTIRETY of their bedroom covered in rose petals (yes, ladies the red ones) and candles and he and McSteamy are finishing it all up. And Derek goes, "She's gonna hate this. It's a cliche." And McSteamy, being the well-meaning, albeit skank of a best friend that he is, responds that cliches are cliches because they worked. So McSteamy says, "Congratulations," or something and leaves.

And we're all on the edge of our seats thinking Meredith is going to come home to Derek on one knee, and say YES. I mean, how could she not????

Then Derek's cell phone rings (and again, we're all thinking it's Meredith about to put a small kink in his plans, but hoping beyond hope that it will still work out). BUT it's not Meredith at all. Derek says into the receiver, "Addison, what's wrong?" (For non-Grey's followers, Addison is his ex-wife... and unless you watch Private Practice making you a cough*traitor*cough, you're supposed to not like her, minus her minimal redeeming qualities).

So the show ends with Meredith coming home to an EMPTY room; she flops down on the bed and her voice-over comes on, like it always does at the beginning and end of the show. And she is hugging the pillow beneath her chest and her facial expressions indicate she found something and...we're all hoping beyond hope that it's a ring and Derek is hiding the closet or something... BUT NO. Meredith pulls out a single rose petal, looks confused, and then the credits roll.

All I have to say is: Seriously? It better not be this difficult in real life.




AND THEN, come to find out today that the rumor is that Katherine Heigl and T.R. Knight are supposedly going to leave the show at the end of this season... which, for any Grey's fans out there, means the show may not go on.


Sigh.

Relationships

There have been things that have surprised me as Drew and I date. But quite possibly the biggest thing is that people are unwilling to be supportive. And what surprises me more is that not only are they unwilling to be supportive (and happy for me), but they won't tell me why they're not.

Here's the thing. Everyone has a very clear concept of what a relationship should look like... and it's funny to me that 9 times out of 10, their concept of how the relationship should start, look, progress, etc. looks far too similar to their own. This is ridiculous.

I am no expert. But neither are the people who can't just get over it and be supportive. There is no one right way to have a relationship-- there are "wrong" ways, but no one right way. So it seems ridiculous to me that people can't just be there for me.

There are three things I want:
1. Trust my judgment. I'm an adult and I'm making good decisions and the right decisions for ME.
2. If you have a problem with Drew or our relationship, feel free to sit down with me and have an honest conversation. But don't just not talk about him when we're hanging out or make snide comments.
3. Try your darndest to be happy for me, to look at me, know that I'm happy and content right now and be excited that I have this.

Okay, I'm done.

Names

Go to: http://www.howmanyofme.com/search/ and type in your first and last name. It's actually really interesting.

The top first names, according to this website are:

1. James
2. John
3. Robert
4. Michael
5. Mary
6. William
7. David
8. Richard
9. Charles
10. Joseph

"Lindsay" is the 536th most popular name in the U.S. And Widenhouse doesn't even make it onto the list, but it is estimated that fewer than 336 people have this last name. I think I know all of them.

"There are 1 or fewer people in the U.S. named Lindsay Widenhouse." I'm pretty sure there's at least 1.

Drew

We're working on getting him to smile...

What I Like About Drew...

So, as many of you are aware, I have started dating a guy named Drew. We're taking it slow, so don't freak out. And for those of you who want to be protective, he's so sweet and nice and treats me very well.

What I like about Drew:
-the way he wants to hold my hand in the car
-that he sends me a text message first thing when he wakes up
-that he is as obsessed with mushrooms as I am
-that he loves to read and learn and is genuinely curious
-that he is protective of me
-that he brought me medicine at work when I wasn't feeling well
-that he is okay spending his lunch hour having lunch with me
-that he's laid back enough to want to watch American Idol and have a picnic dinner on the living room floor, but classy enough to want to get dressed up and go out to dinner together
-that the first thing he would do if he won the lottery is pay off his mom's debt

After One Week...

I've been at my job for a little over a week. I'm enjoying it for the most part; I've only had a couple rough moments thus far.

I had a high bridal conversion, a really good first week of sales, and a decent overall PMP report.

The longer I'm there, the more I am beginning to "own" my job. I've started noticing when things are out of place; I'm getting better at finding a particular gown in rows of hundreds; I walk around the store and straighten the racks just because; I obsess about my paperwork and bridal registrations.

This is good.