Is it fun to read about another person's pet peeves, or does it just bring you down and make you grumpy? Let's find out. Here are mine.
1. When someone says, "I'm bad with names."
If you say this, shame on you. Have you ever noticed that EVERYONE says this? Did God place a genetic defect in 99 percent of the human race that makes people psychologically unable to remember a person's name? No. He didn't. People are bad with names because either they are not really listening when someone tells them their name, or they are not intentionally trying to remember the name. To anyone who claims this lame untruth, when someone tells you his name, say to yourself (silently of course), "His name is John. John is his name. People call him John." Notice something unique about John. Associate John with another John you know. You will be amazed that suddenly you are not so bad with names anymore.
2. When a friend has a blog or any new contact information, and they don't tell me.
How am I supposed to get ahold of this person? How am I supposed to read their thoughts and share in their virtual ponderings? When someone does this to me, I feel unloved. That's the bottom line.
3. Usage of the (not really a) word, "irregardless."
This is my number one pet peeve of all time. "Irregardless" is not a word. It does not appear in the dictionary. When I spell checked this blog entry, the spell checker highlighted all occurrences of it. The word is just "regardless." I had an English teacher who used this supposed word all the time. An English teacher! It was too disheartening for words. I judge anyone who utters this word.
But of course, kind reader, you do none of these things. Thank you for being so considerate.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
INTERFAITH HOSPITALITY
This week our church is hosting Interfaith Hospitality, which is a program that helps families that have lost their homes get back on their feet. Twelve different area churches of all denominations take turns hosting the families - preparing meals for them and providing them with a place to sleep for a week at a time. Volunteers from the church cook dinner and stay the night to be available for the families if anything comes up.
Interfaith is something Philip is incredibly passionate about. I am talking passionate. He was involved in the program long before he met me, and dating him meant helping out with him whenever it was our church's week to host, regardless of how uncomfortable it made me.
And it definitely made me uncomfortable. Interfaith was the first event at which I met friends of Philip's from his church. First, we had to cook dinner, which was something that I had no clue how to do back then. (I actually can cook now, which, for my college friends, may come as a major shock. But it's true. Come to Florida and I'll prove it.) So everyone was in the kitchen preparing food, and by "everyone," I mean all these people who I was meeting for the first time. I remember kind of hovering around nervously wondering what to do with myself, wishing that the kitchen was a place where I felt confident and capable, rather than awkward and retarded.
Then we had to meet and talk with the families. I was so terrified that I would say something horribly offensive or not be able to think of anything to say at all.
That night, the families didn't end up eating with us. They just kind of got their food and bolted. So the rest of us ended up having a lovely conversation over our spaghetti in which I became acquainted with a number of people who are now my good friends.
But it didn't stop there. Philip and I stayed the night in these rickety cots, and the classroom we slept in was F.R.I.G.I.D. I had never been so cold in my life. And I could hear all these noises outside, like sirens and cars speeding down the highway. I was jumpy as hell and don't think I had one hour of sound sleep that night. Then we had to get up at 6:30 in the morning to move the families out and load the cots up into the trailer. It was a lot of physical work, hauling bags and bags of belongings as well as around 25 beds downstairs, not to mention vacuuming, emptying the trash cans, and dividing up the linens for laundering.
It was all so uncomfortable and draining that I just balled when I got home. I was sure I couldn't do it, that I was the wrong woman for Philip, because he needed someone a lot braver and tougher. I both admired and resented Philip for being so tireless, for being so comfortable talking with the families, for being so capable.
Now, after two years, I can handle Interfaith. I can cook, I can interact with the families (to an extent; Philip is still way better at this), and I can sleep in the church without freaking out (though at times it's still a little spooky). I have the energy it takes to get the job done. I know the ropes. It just took a compassionate guide and a willingness on my part to keep trying, even though it was exhausting and intimidating.
As I left the church yesterday morning after volunteering for the night with my husband, I watched the families load up into the Interfaith van to go to their various destinations for the day. One mother had to walk to the bus station to get to her job so she'd be on time. And Philip and I left in our two separate cars. These families with three and four kids don't have one vehicle, and we have two. I drove in my car to our apartment, where there are two comfortable queen-size beds - one that never even gets used - while these families have zero beds.
So I just have to feel like, so what if I am uncomfortable and stretched for one or two nights out of a two-month period? So what?
Interfaith is something Philip is incredibly passionate about. I am talking passionate. He was involved in the program long before he met me, and dating him meant helping out with him whenever it was our church's week to host, regardless of how uncomfortable it made me.
And it definitely made me uncomfortable. Interfaith was the first event at which I met friends of Philip's from his church. First, we had to cook dinner, which was something that I had no clue how to do back then. (I actually can cook now, which, for my college friends, may come as a major shock. But it's true. Come to Florida and I'll prove it.) So everyone was in the kitchen preparing food, and by "everyone," I mean all these people who I was meeting for the first time. I remember kind of hovering around nervously wondering what to do with myself, wishing that the kitchen was a place where I felt confident and capable, rather than awkward and retarded.
Then we had to meet and talk with the families. I was so terrified that I would say something horribly offensive or not be able to think of anything to say at all.
That night, the families didn't end up eating with us. They just kind of got their food and bolted. So the rest of us ended up having a lovely conversation over our spaghetti in which I became acquainted with a number of people who are now my good friends.
But it didn't stop there. Philip and I stayed the night in these rickety cots, and the classroom we slept in was F.R.I.G.I.D. I had never been so cold in my life. And I could hear all these noises outside, like sirens and cars speeding down the highway. I was jumpy as hell and don't think I had one hour of sound sleep that night. Then we had to get up at 6:30 in the morning to move the families out and load the cots up into the trailer. It was a lot of physical work, hauling bags and bags of belongings as well as around 25 beds downstairs, not to mention vacuuming, emptying the trash cans, and dividing up the linens for laundering.
It was all so uncomfortable and draining that I just balled when I got home. I was sure I couldn't do it, that I was the wrong woman for Philip, because he needed someone a lot braver and tougher. I both admired and resented Philip for being so tireless, for being so comfortable talking with the families, for being so capable.
Now, after two years, I can handle Interfaith. I can cook, I can interact with the families (to an extent; Philip is still way better at this), and I can sleep in the church without freaking out (though at times it's still a little spooky). I have the energy it takes to get the job done. I know the ropes. It just took a compassionate guide and a willingness on my part to keep trying, even though it was exhausting and intimidating.
As I left the church yesterday morning after volunteering for the night with my husband, I watched the families load up into the Interfaith van to go to their various destinations for the day. One mother had to walk to the bus station to get to her job so she'd be on time. And Philip and I left in our two separate cars. These families with three and four kids don't have one vehicle, and we have two. I drove in my car to our apartment, where there are two comfortable queen-size beds - one that never even gets used - while these families have zero beds.
So I just have to feel like, so what if I am uncomfortable and stretched for one or two nights out of a two-month period? So what?
Monday, October 31, 2005
KYLE LAKE
I got news this morning that a Relevant author passed away over the weekend. Kyle Lake was a young pastor at the University Baptist Church in Waco, Texas, with a wife and three young children. He wrote two books for Relevant, one of which I had the privilege of editing and writing a study guide for. He was electrocuted in the baptismal during yesterday's Sunday morning service.
This is news that comes like a punch in the stomach. It makes me want to throw up. It is too gruesome for words. It makes me wonder what kind of God allows a young, bright, beloved pastor and husband and father to be killed during a celebration of new life in Christ. The irony is sick.
Lately in our Bible study, we have been looking at Hebrew names for God that point to his majesty. This week's study is on "Adonai," which points to God as our master. As such, he provides for us, cares for us, defends us, and protects us. He protects us. From what? I am reeling with this question.
I am also tired of blaming God every time something bad happens. There is something so childish about it, and yet I still do it, every time. It seems to be much more helpful to just trust him and allow him to provide for me and others no matter what tragedy life throws at me or someone I know.
So I guess I just turn to God, because where else is there to go? I pray for God to be enough for Kyle's wife and kids and the other people who loved him, like his worship leader, David Crowder. I pray for God's protection on Philip as he flies to California for work this week, however faithless my prayer feels at the moment. And I pray for mercy, that Jesus will come back soon so this kind of shit will stop happening.
Links
Kyle's church
Sermons by Kyle available for download
CBS News article
Baptist Standard article
Brian McLaren remembers Kyle
Blogger Todd Rhoades' thoughts on this tragedy
Buy Kyle's books
This is news that comes like a punch in the stomach. It makes me want to throw up. It is too gruesome for words. It makes me wonder what kind of God allows a young, bright, beloved pastor and husband and father to be killed during a celebration of new life in Christ. The irony is sick.
Lately in our Bible study, we have been looking at Hebrew names for God that point to his majesty. This week's study is on "Adonai," which points to God as our master. As such, he provides for us, cares for us, defends us, and protects us. He protects us. From what? I am reeling with this question.
I am also tired of blaming God every time something bad happens. There is something so childish about it, and yet I still do it, every time. It seems to be much more helpful to just trust him and allow him to provide for me and others no matter what tragedy life throws at me or someone I know.
So I guess I just turn to God, because where else is there to go? I pray for God to be enough for Kyle's wife and kids and the other people who loved him, like his worship leader, David Crowder. I pray for God's protection on Philip as he flies to California for work this week, however faithless my prayer feels at the moment. And I pray for mercy, that Jesus will come back soon so this kind of shit will stop happening.
Links
Kyle's church
Sermons by Kyle available for download
CBS News article
Baptist Standard article
Brian McLaren remembers Kyle
Blogger Todd Rhoades' thoughts on this tragedy
Buy Kyle's books
Thursday, October 27, 2005
UNCOMMONLY GOOD WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Last night was an uncommonly good Wednesday night.
It began with an email I received from an editor letting me know how much I was going to be compensated for a simple music review I wrote. The amount was incredible for a review that would only appear on the web. I have three more review assignments for this publication, which is really encouraging. Lately I have really been despairing in my writing career...feeling like no amount of emails I send gets me anywhere, like no one cares to read the things I write, feeling alienated from other friends because i can't relate to them professionally...So this email was a big bright spot.
Then Philip and I drove out to his soccer game. After more than two years, I know most of the people on his team and can shoot the breeze with them, or shout out their names in encouragement from the bleachers. The team was playing at a different field for a while, which was farther away and full of many intimidating I-can-kick-your-ass soccer players. Now they're back at their old field, where there's a lot fewer people and just a more friendly atmosphere. Philip's team didn't win, but they are never sore losers. I really enjoyed sitting out in the chilly weather and pretending it was fall.
Philip and I decided to go out for Mexican after the game. We got a corner booth and basically stuffed our faces with tortilla chips while he shared with me about some aspects of his work. I really love it when Philip just opens up and talks. He's much more of a question asker. Pay attention the next time you talk one-on-one with him - he'll want to know all about you, but won't say much about himself. So I loved hearing all he had to say. I also soaked in the relaxed alone time. We've got a jam-packed weekend coming up, much to no one's surprise.
We finished out the night by having our friend Aaron over to watch what turned out to be the last game of the World Series. I hadn't seen Aaron in months, not since I was still Miss Larson. Aaron is just one of those people who understands exactly what you mean when you use only a couple words and a certain tone. That is a quality I really appreciate in a human being. Aaron was my friend before I had even met Philip, and now he is more Philip's friend. It's interesting how those boundaries and transitions work. I'd like to write a chapter about that whole topic in my memoir about bumbling my way through dating and engagement.
Anyway, at one point, I passed out on the couch while the boys talked, and then I woke up and we tried to find funny videos on Google Video but were unsuccessful, and then the Sox won, which, in my opinion, kicks ass. I am more of a Cubs fan actually, and Aaron said, "Aren't you supposed to hate the Sox more than the Yankees?" And I said, "No. Girls don't have to abide by those rules." He and Philip both admitted that that's true.
So Wednesday night. Good night. Uncommonly good.
It began with an email I received from an editor letting me know how much I was going to be compensated for a simple music review I wrote. The amount was incredible for a review that would only appear on the web. I have three more review assignments for this publication, which is really encouraging. Lately I have really been despairing in my writing career...feeling like no amount of emails I send gets me anywhere, like no one cares to read the things I write, feeling alienated from other friends because i can't relate to them professionally...So this email was a big bright spot.
Then Philip and I drove out to his soccer game. After more than two years, I know most of the people on his team and can shoot the breeze with them, or shout out their names in encouragement from the bleachers. The team was playing at a different field for a while, which was farther away and full of many intimidating I-can-kick-your-ass soccer players. Now they're back at their old field, where there's a lot fewer people and just a more friendly atmosphere. Philip's team didn't win, but they are never sore losers. I really enjoyed sitting out in the chilly weather and pretending it was fall.
Philip and I decided to go out for Mexican after the game. We got a corner booth and basically stuffed our faces with tortilla chips while he shared with me about some aspects of his work. I really love it when Philip just opens up and talks. He's much more of a question asker. Pay attention the next time you talk one-on-one with him - he'll want to know all about you, but won't say much about himself. So I loved hearing all he had to say. I also soaked in the relaxed alone time. We've got a jam-packed weekend coming up, much to no one's surprise.
We finished out the night by having our friend Aaron over to watch what turned out to be the last game of the World Series. I hadn't seen Aaron in months, not since I was still Miss Larson. Aaron is just one of those people who understands exactly what you mean when you use only a couple words and a certain tone. That is a quality I really appreciate in a human being. Aaron was my friend before I had even met Philip, and now he is more Philip's friend. It's interesting how those boundaries and transitions work. I'd like to write a chapter about that whole topic in my memoir about bumbling my way through dating and engagement.
Anyway, at one point, I passed out on the couch while the boys talked, and then I woke up and we tried to find funny videos on Google Video but were unsuccessful, and then the Sox won, which, in my opinion, kicks ass. I am more of a Cubs fan actually, and Aaron said, "Aren't you supposed to hate the Sox more than the Yankees?" And I said, "No. Girls don't have to abide by those rules." He and Philip both admitted that that's true.
So Wednesday night. Good night. Uncommonly good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)