Minor Dilemma

Yesterday Chris and I led worship at church. Well, Chris led, and I followed him in leading. He and our friend Dave played guitars/ piano (they both played both... switching here and there) leaving me feeling totally inadequate only being able to offer my vocal ability. I can't even do the egg- shaker thing... too much responsibility! So, it was really great, all except that I had a small break down during the rehearsal before the first service. And, it really wasn't a break down, but for all practical purposes, we'll call it that on the blog. It was just this song, it's so... me. Like I can totally relate, I think this song was written just for me. (You know what I'm saying?) So, it wasn't that I was fearful of singing a solo, or the notes, or the accompanist or anything like that- I can always press on- plow through with a vengeance, it was just the words.

Jesus, Lover of My Soul (this video is kinda lame- like poor screen-saver images that didn't make the final cut.... but it's the song, nonetheless)

"It's all about You, Jesus
and all this is for you
for Your glory and Your fame
It's not about me,
as if You should do things my way
You alone are God and I surrender, to Your way.

Jesus, Lover of My Soul
All consuming fire, is in Your gaze
Jesus, I want You to know
I will follow You, all my days
For no one else in history is like You,
History itself belongs to You
Alpha and Omega, You have loved me
And I will spend eternity with You."

To me, the "all this" in the "all this is for You" meant: this service, the church I'm in, this song, this coming together with other Christians, this sacrifice of praise that is a sweet sound in Your Ear. All this day in and day out. Family, tears, struggles, gardening, writing, dancing, quiet moments laying on a quilt with my husband outside on the grass- It's all for You. Not for me. All this. All this hoop-la Sunday in and Sunday out; if it's not for God, then what are we doing?

I stopped singing, bowed my head to the floor and put the microphone against my forehead and started crying. Chris freaked out a bit. Dave kept playing and singing harmony. The sound guy and producer lady are like, "What the heck... What's going on...?" (Again, during pre-service warm-up.) So, I tell Chris, "It's not the song, it's not the notes or my lack of ability here, it's just the words... It's something in me. I'll be okay. And if I cry, ya'll keep on trucking through.. God doesn't care. And neither should anyone else." He got it. Chris knows how to handle me by now. And I know, if I take a deep breathe and pray about it, I'll be okay. God can use me, even if I start to choke up. (FYI, I made it through both services just fine, to tears- Yay.)

Like the time when I was seventeen and sang, "How Great Thou Art" at my Nana's funeral. I just had to do it. I had to do it for my Grandaddy and I just couldn't think about it right then. I just had to get the song out and think later. So, that is what I did yesterday, I thought about how I just had to get the message out. Anyway, all this to say, I've been thinking about the "all this" alot. And how it's "not about me" like I usually live everyday. I want to live an outward life, a life that gives and doesn't receive so much. This summer I've learned the importance of humility and simpleness- they're not so bad. But, this whole living outward- it requires giving & also being around people, which isn't so bad either.

All this: autumn air, giggles over coffee, shoulder rubs, fall foliage, taking a friend to dinner, phone calls to family, digging in the soil, inviting someone to come sit on your couch with you, eat pizza, and watch a movie, sponsoring kids in far away places, creating scripts and websites and songs and recipes, forgiving and listening and loving and outstretched arms- It's all for You. Not Me.

Choices

Ambivalence is a state of having simultaneous, conflicting feelings toward a person or thing. Stated another way, ambivalence is the experience of having thoughts and emotions of both positive and negative valence toward someone or something. (wikipedia)

Today during my writing class I submitted an essay I'm in the process of writing called I Don't Do Kids. A classmate felt that the overarching theme of my paper was ambivalence, and I concur. Children vs. Freedom, Superficial Stef vs. Soulful Stef, The life/ lifestyle of my best friend vs. my current life/ lifestyle

Someone else told me that my writing was earthy, direct and poignant. This made me smile- earthy, Earthy- my momma would be proud. It made me happy that someone thought my writing was lyrical- alive; sustaining life, soul, pets and plants. I'm frank, real, vulnerable and write as a seeker. At least that's what they said.... But, I like to think that I write while I am seeking. Without writing it down, I don't feel like I'd ever arrive. I don't think that my writing will answer the questions, but perhaps help make sense of the crap I deal with.

So, yeah, it's a gray area for me; growing up- deciding where to embrace being 29 and where to say, "You know I'm sort of too old for Hello Kitty spirals." There are three choice

A: The conventional life,

B: The unconventional life, or

C: The life I make for myself.

But ultimately won't I choose A or B? There really is no C, I'm slowly learning. I only think there's a C; a way to live an unconventional life in a conventional world, taking a dab from here and a smear from there and making a recipe all unto myself. I'm afraid it won't work.

This is a random excerpt from that essay: (pre-editing....)

I don't have a problem getting to sleep. I slumber hard and heavy, curled up in the fetal position, my knees in Chris’s back.

However, as a child stomach cramps inflicted me after the house got quiet and still and everything was dark. I would tiptoe into my parent’s bedroom late at night and barely whisper, “Momma, my tummy hurts.”

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” she would ask.

“No.”

“Are you gonna throw-up?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?” This was a half-asleep, half-hearted response to what seemed like a very real problem to me.

“I don’t know, my tummy just doesn’t feel good,” I’d say.

“Go back to bed Stefani.” Sometimes she’d give me charcoal capsules just to appease me.

At night, I would let my mind run away with me, yank me firmly by the wrist and drag me through the most horrific episodes my eleven-year-old mind could imagine; most of them having to do with loosing my parents, or our house burning down, or robbers wearing full ski masks entering my bedroom. I’d worry whether or not the garage door was locked, if my sisters were still breathing, or if my dad was going to fall off the tractor and run over himself. (I’m pretty sure this had to do with the movie Man in the Moon.)

I would think of that verse in the Bible that says “the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night,” which scared the crap out of me. Lying there in my Miss Piggy sleep shirt I’d be so deeply bothered; troubled by something I couldn’t even verbalize.

This is where I found myself one night this month.

Winter Reserves

The long, lazy days of summer are drawing to a close and I have been storing up my Vitamin D on the sundeck. In no time at all I will be depleted again, longing for sunshine. I do love the Fall, it is my favorite time of year, but the summer has been exceptionally enjoyable this year. And lets, be honest, NY Fall's are much cooler than Texas Fall's. Today it is 68 degrees and it's still August.

I've been sweating out my impurities and stresses up on the sundeck most of the summer. This summer has been a time of reflection and I think I may have finally learned to chill-out a little. I look forward to routine again, but I am sort of dreading the routine as well. I don't want my life to be routine. To be full of "no surprises" and boring. Yes, even in NYC you can choose to live unto yourself, shelled up in a little cave of an apartment: one room, a mattress, a bookshelf, some canned corn, dirty clothes and a 2 liter of Diet Coke gone flat.

I think one thing I have learned this summer is that I need people, even when and maybe especially when, I don't think I do. I need my friend who is the Asst. Beauty Editor for a nationally recognized magazine. She takes me to movies and brunch and makes me get out. And sometimes she hooks me up with free beauty products. She's the kind of friend you don't have to have plans with. Sometimes we just go to Bed, Bath and Beyond together, or return stuff to Dwayne Reade. I need my foodie friends to introduce me to things like chocolate covered strawberry cupcakes, toasted marshmallow milkshakes and Frickles; my southern friends who miss Sonic and Hobby Lobby just as much as I do. People who know what Bluebell is and can clap on the "boom-chuck" correctly during Victory in Jesus. (People who know Victory in Jesus for that matter.)

I need my church girlfriends who, like me, may be childless and/or jobless. Girls with passion, who love this city some days and hate it on some days too. People who understand what it means to be called to a city- a place, even if it is for a season of their lives. Women who are nurses or actresses or writers or social workers or dancers or employees at The Container Store. Women from Texas and California and Connecticut and Massachusetts and North Carolina and Canada who are here now.

The girl who told me that my job does not define me. The girls who taught me that it's fine raking in a ton of dough as a receptionist, when you get your true enjoyment out of life from something else: producing, singing, acting, writing... whatever it may be. I love my ladies because they know the real me and love me nonetheless. They know I have weight issues and self-esteem debacles and sometimes loath the fact that my family lives far, far away. They know I don't want pets or kids (not in this 500 square foot studio anyway). They know I sometimes lose myself in being too much of a Wifey Wife. They know how badly I just want to be myself and feel comfortable there.

And my dear friend still in Texas who has both a dog (in the house) and a kid. I need her too. My friend who said, "You never have to apologize for being yourself" when I wondered if the e-mail I had sent her came across insensitive and inappropriate. I was being a little too snarky. Her comment made me cry. Only a best friend could say something like that. And my sisters, so far away. They are truly God's gift to me; a connection I cannot explain- and I could never image my life without them. Even though I'm the eldest, they've taught me volumes about growing up. And they love on our momma for me when I'm not there. My mom- the ultimate heroine in the women who have poured life into me. My far away encouragement: I feel their support possibly more than ever before.

Tomorrow is my first writing class of the season. I am looking forward to seeing everyone again. Somehow, after being in two writing classes together (20 weeks) you feel like you really know folks. Honestly, they know stuff about me even my momma don't know! It's therapeutic. Monday Chris heads back to school; kids don't start until Sept. 9th, so at least he has some buffer time with the other principal. I'm ready to fall into Fall, to go buy some Fine Point Sharpies, post-it-notes, and mail some more submissions.

"For none of us lives to himself, and no one dies to himself." Romans 14:7-8 (vs. 8)