The Sexiest Man Alive

You're probably thinking, "oh man, she's going to blog about her husband." Fortunately for you (and probably him too), I'm not - even though I think he is.

When standing in line at the grocery too long, I am prone to those spontaneous purchases that leave me wondering a few hours later why I spent 5 good dollars on 'fill in your favorite frivolous thing'. This week it was the Sexiest Man Alive issue of People magazine. I held my emotional purchase in check until I turned to the page that cast Mayhem as the Sexiest GPS Alive.

You know, Mayhem. The Allstate Insurance spokesman. The one that impersonates a raccoon, a blind spot and now the Sexiest GPS Alive. Yes, I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Not because I think he is the sexiest GPS ever (I'm still holding out for one that sounds like Sean Connery), but because I was drawn in by what our society considers sexy - great hair, piercing eyes, good grooming habits, lover of animals/the opposite sex/their mom.

Very little is mentioned of honor, integrity, honesty or a deep love of people. Not that the sexiest guys selected by People don't possess those qualities. They just aren't the qualities that make for stable editorial jobs. The whole notion of sexy is succiently summarized on the two-page spread that announces what sexy looks like at every age - from Tyler Posey (age 20) to Liam Neeson (age 59) and a face for every year in between.

And I'm left wondering if we really believe Mayhem's ad copy:
"He might not know where he's going. But we still want to ask for directions. Recalculating? Yes, please!"

Personally, I'd like to get directions from the one who knows the way.

Pack Light, Move Fast, Go In A Familiar Direction

I'm one of those people who remembers her dreams. You know, like my starring role in Arctic Alligators where mutant alligators have migrated to the snowy Canadian mountaintops sliding down the hills beneath the snow like Jaws skimming the ocean until the fateful moment that even the best skiers can't escape. That's normal, right? I mean the remembering my dreams part.

Anyway, when I'm struggling with something I often get insights from my dreams. I know volumes have been written on dream interpretation and I'm certainly no expert in the matter. In fact, other than figuring out what it means to dream about my teeth falling out (because that really did freak me out), I don't formally study the matter. Instead, I let my dreams speak into my intuition. I'd say call me crazy, but if you read the first paragraph, you'd already know that I am.

Since most of my dreams are crazy abstractions, the occasional realistic one really makes me take notice. So the other night, when I drempt I was in an abusive relationship it was startling. I never saw my abuser and I didn't have any visible marks. All I had was this internal drive to get away. And as I moved through my nocturnal environment, three things kept playing over and over in my mind: pack light, move fast and go in a familiar direction. It was the last part that felt like the answer I'd been waiting for.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to escape an abusive relationship. But I have felt very stuck in one area of my life for quite some time. And  I'm not necessarily following my dream's advice on any point. Yet. But there is freedom in giving myself permission to pack light and move fast. And it was a permission thing because I'm loyal to a fault, can be overly optimistic and bounce back with a vengance when people express doubt with my abilities. That by packing light, I don't have to carry burdens that aren't my own. And by moving fast, I'm not letting people down by not having a well thought-out plan that takes care of everyone else.

But the twist is to go in a familiar direction. When contemplating a life change, I am gripped with the fear of the unkown. And how unknown the unknown seemed. But it hadn't crossed my mind that I didn't have to go somewhere wholly unknown. I can go somewhere that is familiar but different. Wow. From a dream. Huh.

What's in Your Bag?

I've played softball since before I could walk. Okay, probably not that long. But when you're playing a championship softball game at midnight on a 'school' night and realize that some of the folks you've played with off and on for years are, in fact, 47 years old then you've played softball for a LONG time.

And when you've played that long, you grow very accustomed to your equipment - glove, batters glove, bat, etc. But for me, once I left the world of competitive fast pitch softball the one piece of equipment I've never grown accustomed to is my bat - or bats. I've carried two bats around in my bag for years, but was convinced that they weren't as good as my teammates' bats. So, for years I've used other people's bats leaving my sad-excuse-for-a-hitting-implement tucked safely away in my bag. I must have had a good reason for not using the bats that I own - like they don't hit well :) - but I can't remember.

Because of the amount of rain outs early this season, our champship games ended up being played in July, so a few of our bats were on vacation. As our team piled in the dugout, it became obvious that the beautiful, dirty orange bat that I usually use out of the office with no access to email. In fact, several of our bats decided to take a leave that week. I was faced with a choice. Roll the dice with a new, unknown bat or dig my two sluggers out of my bag.

Determined to use my own bat to make a stronger case for buying a new $300 powerhouse, I hung both my little, fast pitch bat and big, slugging slow pitch bat on the fence. Upon seeing my bats, one of my teammates literally commented on their vintage. Yeah, I know.

But you know what, I hit better that night with my big, slugging slow pitch bat than I usually hit with any other bat. Call it coincidence? Maybe. But the thing that crossed my mind is how often I long for and try to use other people's stuff instead of celebrating and using my own. I mean, how many times have I wanted 'her job' or 'his intelligence' or 'her creativity'. And really, I'm a masterpiece in my own right. Uniquely made by the Creator of the universe. With my own set of mad skills and talents. As we each are. So I challenge you (and me) today to celebrate yourself and ask God to show you you. How He made you. What He called you to do. What He has gifted and blessed you with already. What's in your bag?

Just What the Doctor Ordered

I'm waiting in a small town gas station for my husband to finish filling up the tank so I can pay. Unfortunately for both of us, he picked the pump that put out a tenth of a gallon a minute - fast enough for a small town filling station I suppose. And so I'm left standing aside the register watching people come and go - buying lottery tickets, gum and the like, making small talk with the sweet woman behind the counter.

Clearly there were regulars and the occasional out of town visitor, like me. But the person who captured my attention was a women who came in wearing a saggy grey sweatsuit and complaining about her sinus headache. She looked appropriately miserable for a person suffering the pounding rhythm of full sinuses and too little sleep. The sweet woman behind the counter rang up the purchases and asked the ailing woman if she wanted a bag. She said, "Goodness no. These are to help kick my sinus headache." And she walked out of the station with her cigarettes in her pocket, a Dr Pepper in one hand and a Reese's Peanut Butter Egg in the other.

And I wondered how many times I've walked around with a 'cure' in my pocket or a food pick-me-up in my hand. And I 'knew better'. But I still didn't 'choose better'. And I still don't always choose better but at least now I'm accounting for the principle that everything is permissible but not everything is beneficial. It's a good place to start when the chocolate cupcakes are calling my name after a long, hard day.

A Space And Time

On my way to work yesterday, I saw a car resting upside down on the rain-covered side street that leads to the gas station where I usually stop. The police were on the scene and, in fact, it looked like the worst was over. As I straightened my rubber-neck, I was left thinking that somebody had a really, really bad morning. And probably more than just one person - those in the car, their mom, their dad, their kids, their co-workers - the people in their life.

The Day After
Today as I drove by the accident scene it somehow bothered me that it was cleaned up. The car was gone. The incident wiped from the memory of the road. Thousands of people had probably passed by that intersection and had no idea that something terrible happened not 24 hours before. Now maybe other than an upside down car, nothing terrible really did happen. Maybe there was just a temporary scare and moments of gratitude.

How Many Others
Sitting at my desk later in the morning, however, I was reminded of a friend of mine who lost her 20-year-old son not too many years ago to a tragedy. A momentary bad choice. A family forever changed. And since that loss, the days of our lives go marching on without him in it. Yet his family and those of us who knew him, work to keep his memory alive. To celebrate his life while not dwelling on his death. As if that's possible.

Like the driver of the car I saw yesterday will always remember the day of that accident. My friend, and may others like her, remember the days of their losses even when the rest of the world keeps driving on by. I'm reminded that I don't know everyone's days of loss but we all have some. And we'd be wise to treat each other gently, listen warmly and remember to celebrate with each other the joys of the life that we have.

If A Tree Falls In The Woods

We are blessed to live in what I like to call an urban forest. We're surrounded by trees, but also live 5 minutes from the interstate. So it might surprise you to know that of the hundreds of trees on our property, I have one favorite tree. Just one. It's directly outside our dining room window. I don't even know what kind it is. But it is huge and beautiful and has a giant fork about a quarter of the way up. So it's actually like two huge trees conjoined at the knee.

Ever since we moved in, our arborist has suggested cutting the tree down because it's barely alive. But every year, I look at the very top of the tree and take the 20 leaves I see as life sufficient to spare a chainsaw massacre. I came home tonight, however, to a very large tree branch stretched out from base of my favorite tree and the sinking feeling that it might actually be dead. Despite the leaves.

Immovably shakeable. Unstably solid.
As I stood at feet of my tree, I was struck by the fact that I too am hanging on to things in my life that are very much dead. Like my huge tree, these things are deeply rooted and very much a part of my identity. In fact, at times, I may actually be the whole tree. Immovably shakeable. Unstably solid.

I am struck that I must just pay lip service at times to wanting God to shape me, prune me and give me life. I do, actually, want all of those things. And I do, usually, think that I'm being transformed. But there are times when I'm stopped dead in my tracks. Like looking at that downed tree branch and realizing that parts of my life need to be lopped off and put into a chipper or I might be in for a much greater disaster.

I'll be calling our arborist this spring and saying a tearful good-bye to my favorite tree. They'll leave a stump, though, because the extra few hundred dollars to remove it aren't worth it. And it will serve as a reminder to me of something I loved but that I'm safer without. Much like the branches that God has already pruned from me.

Establishing My Rule of Life

I met with my pastor yesterday and he shared this idea about a rule of life. As I understood it, it's not so much a single rule but rather a set of activities to create a spiritual rhythm. And so I've been asking myself what do I need to be doing daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly and annually to feed my soul - the eternal part of me that is inhabiting this physical body.

What or When?
A laundry list of 'what' can be done to feed my soul has been rolling through my head since that meeting, but what has struck me the most is the 'when'. Do I give my soul my best, most productive, most focused times or do I give when I can be most consistent? In the past, I have had grand plans to use my early mornings (when I'm freshest) for introspection, God, creative efforts and the things that feed me. But in reality, early mornings seem to be the only quiet time during the day that I can get a actual work done - writing proposals, business planning and answering emails. The rest of my days are spent leading teams, attending meetings, answering questions, meeting clients and the like. And so, when I arrive home in the evening, I'm spent and have yet to feed my soul for the day.

Is My Best Really Best?
I was taught early on in life that I was to give God my best. My best time, my best money, my best everything. I'm learning that it's more likely that I can consistently approach God's throne when I'm sliding in on my face at the end of a day, with an ache in my head and a weary heart. It's not my best time in the world's terms, but it may be the time when my soul is most open to be filled. And the beautiful part is that God will take me any way I come and He can work with anything.