just inching by…

I really don’t want to give you the impression that worms are a part of my everyday life, but I do have another funny worm story to share.

The youth group I work with used to go to a week long high school summer camp every year in Athol, Idaho called Great Escape. It was an impressive set up. Basically we took over a large, dry field in northern Idaho and set up a tent city (actually we took down, not set up, but that’s another story). The only actual building was the small bathroom structure. So for a week, over 200 people lived out of tents, cooked and ate under awnings and lived up close and personal with the great outdoors.

This particular year was my second year at Great Escape and I was a girl’s ‘cabin’ counselor. The routine is fairly basic: get up, eat, have quiet time and small group time, eat, go to the lake, come back to camp, eat, listen to the speaker, have big group time, play a night game, and have a snack.

The story begins sometime toward the end of the week, after the night game. The snack that night was an assortment of random unhealthy things: red licorice, tootsie pops, graham crackers with frosting…you get the idea.

I was wandering around chatting with people when someone walked by and asked if anyone wanted their licorice – they didn’t like it. A couple of us all reached over and each took a piece. Unwittingly, I got the ‘special’ one.

I popped one end of the licorice into my mouth and took a bite. I started chewing. It didn’t take more than a few chews for me to realize that there was something wrong with the licorice.

As I ran to the garbage to spit it out, I notice the group of students watching me and giggling.

They eventually approached me as I was rinsing my mouth out with water at the hose. I asked the only obvious question at such a moment, “What did you guys put in that?”

But they didn’t tell me; instead asking what I thought was in it.

The taste isn’t easy to describe and yet distinct enough that I can still taste it. Imagine that you’re walking in the woods chewing a piece of strawberry gum and you are suddenly whacked with a tree limb, getting pine needles into the gum…and lets say you just keep chewing. That’s kind of what it was like.

I just told them pine needles. This only made them laugh harder. At this point, I was losing my cool. I asked again, what was in it; only to be told, “Let’s just say that something that was once living isn’t any more.”

It’s a statement that I’ll never forget.

I am carnivorous by nature and I’ve eaten my fair share of strange things, but when someone tells you that you just ate a living creature, while it was still living…well your stomach does a double take.

At this point one of the students started to tell me how they found a little inchworm while playing the night game and tried to explain just how hard it was to get that inchworm into the licorice…an inchworm!!

I’d like to say that I stayed completely calm and just laughed it off, but being the flawed girl that I am and was… I turned the hose on them. I ate a bug; they were wet; it seemed a reasonable revenge. And all of us learned a good lesson: Never except candy from strangers…or anyone else and never tell someone holding a hose that you just fed them a live bug…at least not when you’re in close range.

And the lesson for all of you? Keep your mouth closed when chewing strawberry gum in a forest. Just trust me.

the yellow box

I do really stupid things.

It may not be the revelation to everyone else that it is to me, but every time that I do something stupid, really stupid, it shocks me.

My latest and greatest example? Here it goes…

................

I knew going into it that it wasn’t going to be my average Wednesday. It started out normal. Getting up, getting ready for work – nothing out of the ordinary. Work itself wasn’t much different either. I did, however, work thru lunch so that I could leave early. I tell you this only to point out that I did not eat much during the day and therefore everything that follows could be the result of low blood sugar. Really, it could have been. And did I mention that it was a bright, sunny, warm day? ‘Cause low blood sugar and warm weather can be a heady mix.

Anyway, skipping ahead, I arrive at the church. It was the last official youth group of the school year and we took the students to Bullwinkle’s (“a family fun center”). There are all sorts of things to do there – the free ones for us on this specific day being: miniature golf, bumper boats, go-carts and the batting cages.

I don’t do the whole baseball thing or the softball thing, for that matter. I do have some coordination (I did letter in tennis in high school) and it should run in the genes (my dad was a minor league pitcher), but somehow the idea of a bat hitting a ball never really clicked with me. So why I ever stepped into that cage, I’m just not sure.

My friend, Bill, was leaving the cage as I entered and, as a fairly cautious man, he handed me a helmet warning me of head lice and reassuring me that if there were any, they weren’t from him. As softballs are shooting towards us at an alarming speed, lice from some unknown kid had been the last thing on my mind. Now though, not only am I apprehensive about not being able to hit the ball or being hit by the ball, I’m worried about what was in the helmet before my head was.

I pick up a bat and slowly approach the yellow box. I’m sure that the yellow outline on the ground near the pretend home plate has some name that any baseball aficionado would know…but we, just for the sake of simplicity, will call it the yellow box. I step into the yellow box and hold the bat up above my shoulder, like I’ve seen them do on TV.

Okay, I’m ready. The first ball comes and I swing. I actually make contact with the ball. The ball doesn’t go far, in fact it may have just dropped straight down from the bat, but I still managed to hit it.

I’m feeling pretty good now. I’ve hit a ball and Bill, who was in the cage with me, hasn’t made fun of me or told me to correct something I’m doing…I’m thinking this baseball thing may not be so bad.

Bill decides to take some photos. I mean it is a perfect photo op, right? Here I am in an awkward fitting baseball helmet that is infested with lice (did I mention that it had a very flattering face guard on it?), pretending that I know what I’m doing, and concentrating very hard on hitting or at least not being hit by the baseball. Perfect.

He takes a couple of photos of me and then decides to take some of Brock in the cage next to me. He goes to the other side of my cage and asks me not to swing for a few balls. I’m assuming he doesn’t want me to knock him on the head with the bat. But, really, I’m almost as good as a professional batter at this point and know that I wouldn’t him.

Luckily, trusting this feeling is not the really stupid thing I did that day.

I’m standing there, watching the balls fly past. I’m letting my thoughts just drift as a stand there patiently waiting, when suddenly one of my drifting thoughts wonders if I could manage to stop one of the pitches with my foot. The foot that is clad in only a teva sandal.

Did I mention that I was obviously suffering from low blood sugar, if not starvation, by this point and maybe even heat stroke?

That drifting thought held quite a bit of power. Before the rest of the collective thoughts could rally enough nerve to stop it from happening, my right foot was lifted into the air. Like I said before, baseball should be in my blood, and apparently the only factor that was keeping me from going pro is that fact that they require you to use a bat instead of your foot to play the game.

I hit the ball.

Or, a bit more realistically, the ball hit me. Like any good player, I shook it off. The boys, thank goodness, didn’t seem to notice my feat of genius (no pun intended). So I stayed and hit a couple of more and then decided it was time for something else.

All in all the evening was still really fun. I have a really cool bruise to show off and a great excuse to wear comfortable sandals to work the next few days.

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What I just can’t get past is that one stray thought. Even as I was doing it, I knew what I was doing was stupid and that it would end up hurting me. And I still did it.

Lesson I learned? I should probably stick with kickball.

joyfully,
sugar3

delusions of adequacy

I’m an accountant. This is the point where your eyes get a little wider and you shake your head saying to me, “Wow, accounting…that’s not something I could ever do.” Its okay, I hear it all the time. Usually followed by some witty remark about a pocket protector, abacus, or beans. And almost always a question in regards to whether I’m good at math.

I figure I might as well debunk the misconception while I still have your attention.

Accounting is not math intensive.

My eight year old cousins could probably do it. I know, it’s a shock, isn’t it. Crazy how one sentence can change your perspective on everything you thought you knew. Anyway…

I received a promotion this year. With the promotion came the privilege of attending somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-seven meetings a day. Let me tell you about one particular meeting.

………

They called it leadership training. There was a facilitator there who was going to use some fancy ‘management tools’ to help us become better leaders while facing the changes that were taking place in the company. It was an all day meeting involving every manager in my region. I was not looking forward to it.

To my absolute surprise some of it was actually interesting and even better yet, helpful. There had been a lot of tension between a few people in my office and it was making the atmosphere muggy for everyone. This meeting cleared the air.

The facilitator had my co-workers bring to the table their frustrations and work out the issues while all of us sat there. There was some anger, some tears, but everything was talked out, the issues resolved. The meeting was coming to a close and the facilitator was making one last closing statement. I can’t remember the exact phrasing, but it was something close to:

“We just need to remember to approach one another in love.”

What! Did he really just say that? The man who had just finished using every leadership tool that ever existed in management textbooks, just told us to love one another? To approach, confront, rebuke one another in love?

I’m sure I held my composure, well, I hope I held my composure. But in my head, my jaw dropped, why eyes grew wide and the room spun around a bit. When things stopped spinning they looked a bit different.

It’s crazy how one sentence can change your perspective on everything you thought you knew.

I thought I knew who I was. And I was pretty sure I knew how I treated people. But, while in some circumstances I do approach folks with love and although I would have previously have told you that I approached everyone that way – at work, I certainly didn’t.

I thought I knew my coworkers. Looking around that conference table though, I saw familiar faces, but completely new people.

………

I remember when I first got hired.

I was stoked to be in the workforce. While I knew that I wasn’t going to have the chance to affect the lives of people like a social worker, teacher, or pastor might, I was still ready to affect the people around me. I headed out my first day of work knowing that I could shine like a star in the universe and offer life to my coworkers.

But as I looked at the people in that meeting with me, I knew that somewhere along the way my perception of them had changed. My eagerness to love them, to see their faults and their strengths and love them for both, had been lost.

I no longer shined like a star. I was stuck to at least my knees in nasty black mire that was holding me down and I didn’t even realize that I was still sinking. I was only managing to fool myself.

………

What is it about that gooey mud that is so appealing? Why is it so easy to stomp around in?

Maybe it’s just me that spends so much time living in comfortable misconceptions. I’m kind of hoping it’s not.

Fortunately, I’ve been told that I can shine.

joyfully,
sugar3

the labryinth

Despite what you're about read, I know that a blog is not an online diary. But about a month ago a group of friends and I set out on a pilgrimage and one of our stops was a labyrinth. Not the made of hedges, can you find your way out kind, but the inlaid wood, one way in and one way out kind. The experience was amazing. And seeing as my life is rather solo right now, I'm choosing to share it with all of you (all, of course, refering to the two who faithfully continue to check and see if I've bothered to post something. You guys rock...).

I approach with trepidation. What in the world am I going to think about, pray about, as I wind thru this stupid thing? I know, great attitude, huh? Okay, so one deep breath and I recite to myself (as I do when I’m nervous), “Be joyful always, pray continually, and give thanks in all circumstances…” I take my first step. Okay, maybe I can do this. One more deep breath and another step.

I’m scattered at first – random thoughts to God. I find myself analyzing the people around me. I’m I walking to fast, to slow? I’m I praying right, praying enough? Am I doing this wrong? I realize how silly I am. Another deep breath.
Soon though, I’m focused. One step in front of another, looking at nothing but the path of my next step. Hearing only the soft shuffle of footsteps and the birds outside. Prayers to God. Thanks and rejoices. Admitting struggles and asking forgiveness. Questions and pleas. I look up as I arrive at the center of it all. I’m reluctant to stay too long – it’s too easy to fall out of this glorious thing I’ve started and back into old habits. Back into the comfort of stillness and the known. I pause long enough to thank Him for all that He has revealed to me on my way in and ask Him to continue to surprise me on the way out too.

I step out of the center; step out for the journey home, expecting everything.

As I walk the path thoughts tumble thru me. I think of the men who built this labyrinth and how willing I am to believe that it is leading somewhere – that there is a destination. How can I not trust the maker of the world with my life in the same way?
And what about if I look up from the markings? I know even without trying that I’ll loose my way in the labyrinth. Why don’t I understand that my life is the same way? I’m constantly looking up from what God has laid before me and then I’m surprised at where I end up.
The design of the labyrinth leads you all over the place. One moment I’m near the center and the next back at the outside edge. When I see that I’m so close to the middle, to my goal, it takes all I have not to just take off on my own path. The one that looks to me like the right way, the shorter one, the easier, more comfortable way. And in the end, the one that would probably only lead me away again.
And the switch backs. I’m walking along straight as can be and then suddenly I switch back and walk along side the course where I’ve already been. Yea, that definitely reflects my life. I walk thru life, growing a little, learning a little something. And then I make a silly, selfish decision that forces me to turn around and walk the same path again, learning my lesson anew.

I think of all these things as I walk my path, thanking God for the insight into who I am and I realize that I’m nearing the exit. I pause on the path. I’m struck by all that I’ve learned and suddenly feel very worried about leaving behind what I’ve just found: Amongst all these people and their noise, in the middle of a very busy city, at the start of a eventful and nerve-racking retreat, I’ve finally accomplished the ‘pray continually’ that I always recite to myself. I don’t think that I can leave.

Did I really start out reluctant to enter?

Now I don’t think I’m ready to leave, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to loose this connection. I rejoice at the realization – sometimes I wonder at my own authenticity.

And then I panic.

I’m not supposed to loose this connection, I need to learn to let in continue in everything I do. It’s a scary prospect. I know the exact places that I’m not inviting Him into. Am I really ready to …no, am I really willing to let Him into them? Silly of course, as He already knows them, but still…I can’t help think it.
I stop. I offer it all. And I take my last step and exit the labyrinth.
I can do this. I know that I’ll stumble. Probably a lot. But, I can do this.

Joyfully,
sugar3

a worm by any other name

Isn’t the rain great? I mean there are the obvious reasons to enjoy it, the ones all NW folk can spout off at the first mean remark about our weather: “But it give us our green grass and trees,” “But there is nothing like the euphoria of the first day it stops raining and the sun breaks thru,” and, of course, “You haven’t had a childhood if you haven’t been out puddle jumping.”
Most of the time I really love everything about rain. The way it will roll down your forehead and drip off your nose. The way it splats when it hits windows. The sprays that fly up when you drive thru puddles too fast. Hydroplaning. The sound of drops hitting tent canvas. The smell of rain before, during and after a storm. And the way the rain allures worms to come up to the surface.
Okay, so maybe that last one seems a little strange. But I’ve always had this weird affection for worms. In the summer I would rescue the ones that had made their way to the sizzling concrete. Sometimes my cousin I would race thru the rain to see who could collect the most worms the fastest. Don’t think me too weird, I’m not going to be joining PETW (People for the Ethical Treatment of Worms – I’m sure they’re out there somewhere), I don’t tap dance around them on the side walk, I certainly don’t brake for them, and I don’t spend my free time knitting them sweaters.
I’m off track – let me get back to the reason I bring any of this up. Just the other, very rainy day, I noticed that there were no worms to be found. Well, none to be found on any of the sidewalks near my apartment or work. None. I was rather disappointed - I have so many fun memories involving the little squiggly guys…

Okay to set the stage: I’m at my friend Beth’s* house. It’s a rainy day, her mom has left us home alone while she runs an errand, and we’re watching Beth’s little sister Sarah**. It’s probably about noon or a little after. And I’ve probably been over at her house since about the same time the day before. I imagine that we were getting a little snippy with each other, as adolescent girls tend to do, and to keep from attacking each other we decided on a common enemy. Enter poor Sarah.
I’m not sure what made us decide that worms should be our weapon of choice that day, but we collected a mason jar full of them and then started taunting Sarah. Okay, then we tried to taunt Sarah. She would have nothing to do with it! “Worms? Schworms.” her glance seemed to say.
We couldn’t stand it. This was not the fun we had hoped for. We can come up with something worse! We took our worms and retreated for the moment. We ran to the kitchen. With only one door leading into it from the rest of the house and a convenient sliding door to the back deck for quick escape – it was the perfect place to set up camp. We started brainstorming, but nothing we came up with sounded horrid enough.

We eventually decided to admit defeat.

Since we were in the kitchen anyway we decided to bake a cake. I know, a decidedly girly thing to do, but having been beaten at things more mischievous it was time to revert back to something a little more, well, known.

Okay, as a slight break in the story, I’d like to explain something real quick. As much as I would like to say that I was about eight in this story, I can’t. We were old enough to stay home alone for several hours, old enough to watch her little sister, old enough to use and reach everything in the kitchen. And somewhere in all that ‘old enough’, you would think that ‘to know better’ should show up…

We started digging thru the cupboards for a box of cake mix. I mean, come on now – we were woman of the 90’s, we only make things that come out of boxes or are cooked in the microwave (or easy bake ovens). Unfortunately, there were no boxed cake mixes. But, no worries, that wasn’t going to stop us. We both started grabbing anything that looked like a cake ingredient from the cupboards.
Flour…sugar…hmmm…what else goes in cake? Something to make it taste good of course! We decided that if we’re going to make it from scratch that it should be unique. Something you couldn’t make with just a boxed cake mix. We started throwing out ideas – anything that we saw around us. “Oranges!” “Apples!” Our ideas got stranger, “Licorice!” and grosser and we went, “Onions!” , “Worms!”

Worms!

That’s it! We both stared at the jar of worms still sitting on the counter. It’s brilliant! We did a happy dance around the kitchen and started to plot again.
We made our cake batter and threw some worms in. “Chocolate ripple cake,” decreed Beth. I pulled out the blender and threw some worms and powdered sugar in, “Chocolate chip frosting to top it,” I added. We started giggling. We started laughing so hard that we could hardly pick ourselves up off the floor. But we did manage to throw the cake in the oven.

The cake was done. It was time to start phase two of the plan.

We started loudly debating who would get the first piece of our extraordinary cake. It wasn’t long until Sarah heard the word cake and came running. Busting into the kitchen she joined the fight. Keeping as straight of faces as we could, Beth and I ended our aurgument, agreeing that if Sarah ate the first piece of cake that we'd have nothing to fight over. Grinning wickedly we cut her a piece. “It’s our own recipe Sarah, let us know what you think,” we tell her, “Can you guess our secret ingredient?”

Things get a little fuzzy here. I can’t remember exactly how many bites of cake we let her eat before we revealed our secret ingredient. But I do remember the look on her face when we did! She ran from the room screaming and crying. Beth and I clapped our hands with glee and laughed ‘till our stomachs hurt.

After typing this all out, I’m almost ashamed of my behavior. I’d be really ashamed except nothing happened to Sarah, she didn’t even get sick. And we did have so much fun. It's not like we got off scot-free, either. Sarah told her mom what had happened and we had to clean the kitchen, clean Sarah’s room, and do enough yard work to raise money to buy Beth’s mom a new blender and cake pan. It was so totally worth it.

You always hear guys that grew up with brothers talk about how rough and tumble they were. How the youngest always got it the worst. You don’t hear many girls complaining about how horribly they were treated by their older sisters. My guess? They still live in fear.

* Name has not been changed. Please pretend that it was in order to protect the innocent. Should you run into a Beth, please do not bombard her with accusations about the ethical treatment of worms. Thank you.
** Name has not been changed, but has been misspelled to protect the innocent.

the snail that I was

Have you ever wondered at the saying about life speeding by? Now, it’s just my guess, but I’m pretty sure that time doesn’t really speed up…. so does that mean that we just slow down so much that everything looks to be quickly passing?

Like most average Joes, I’ve done a terrible job of continuing to post anything to my blog. My excuse was going to be that lately time has just been flying by – but I’m not sure that I’m ready to admit to everyone that I’ve really just been moving too slow :)
Anyway, either time has slowed down or I’ve picked my speed back up. And even being the snail that I was, great things have happened since my last post. I’m excited to share them with you and promise to do it soon.

‘Till then, may your time be of moderate pace and joyful!

with the enthusiasm of children

Think about the last time you got together with a good friend. At first you might exchange a polite hug, but maybe not, and then you just continue on the same vein. A nonchalant conversation, both of you perhaps distracted by the things around you… As they talk you’re too concerned about what you’re going to next to really absorb what’s being said.

Now compare this with the last interaction you had with a child. Okay, strike the image of the screaming kid on the airplane or the cranky kid at the grocery store – you’d be upset too if you were forced into one of those wretched shopping cart seats and wouldn’t you, at being on an airplane, scream if you knew you could get away with it? Anyway, here’s what brought this all on…

I babysat for some friends of mine last night. Cute kids, about 1 & 3 I think. To start with, they were anxiously waiting for me to arrive. And, when I walked in the door the little girl was jumping up and down and nothing but smiles. The older brother was very excited too and immediately pulled me around the house to show me the things he had done during the day and telling me all the things he was looking forward to doing while I was there.

What ever happened to this kind of enthusiasm? To letting yourself be so overwhelmed by excitement, happiness, joy - that you let it really show? When did we start taking things for granted?

Okay, so imagine getting together with that friend of yours again. Only this time they greet you like the kids greeted me. You walk in the door of Peet’s Coffee – yes, yes, I know you’d probably be meeting at Starbuck, but as long as we’re imagining things, let’s go little wild. :) Okay, so you walk in the door and they jump up from the table (they arrived early just incase you did and they could have a little more time with you) and grinning madly then rush over to you and give you the greatest bear hug. Then they excitedly pull you to the table and start telling you about everything that they can think of. When you have something to say, they intently listen, obviously valuing it and taking it to heart.

How differently would you react in one situation from the other. In one case you assume the feelings of your friend, while in the other you know that you’re loved and appreciated – you can see the joy on their face.

I’m not thinking that we should let all our emotions run amok – there are some that should definitely be kept in check: anger, lust, resentment…and unless we want to end up with our arms uncomfortably crossed over our chest and strapped to our backs, we might want to tone down our excitement a little. There are some things that only kids can get away with. But even just little changes could make such a difference. Greeting someone with a hug instead of just a hello, smiling and meaning it, not looking away when listening or thinking about anything other than what’s being said. Anyway…

…back to those kids. All I could think of last night was how we’ve been told to “change and become more like little children.” And after spending an evening with two, I realize that I’ve got a long ways to go. I want to be pleasing and bring joy to God the way those kids did to me. But when was the last time that I was excited to get out of bed early to read. Or that I wanted to get up extra early to just have a little more time with Him? I can’t even remember the last time I was focused enough to read without in the back of my mind deciding what to wear that day. Obviously something needs to be different.

And I think I need to start with a little enthusiasm.

So I’m excited. I’m already on the edge of my seat, waiting to see how see things end up as I try to remember to live a little more like a child.