Affirmation Service

I've not wanted to go to any part of Lay Ministry Weekend.  Even after a good time last night and this morning, I was reticent to go this evening.  Christina would say that is spiritual warfare, and probably she is right.  I have renewed my dislike for spiritual warfare, because it's stupid.  Why not want to go to something I have consistently enjoyed?  Stupid.

In another case of stupid (and a little hypocrisy), this afternoon's session was an Affirmation Service.  I didn't know what they meant until someone passed out a flyer about encouraging people.  I sat in my pew and saw that there were two chairs and a microphone at the front of the sanctuary.  Oh crap, I thought.  We're going to affirm people?  Publicly?  Like right now??  I wondered if I could somehow sneak past Lindsay without her realizing I was disappearing.

Some of you might remember that I talk about the importance of honesty in the church, and how integral I think community should be among believers.  Internet Me would say an affirmation service is the kickingest idea around, but Real Me is terrified of vulnerability and public speaking.  But unwilling to succumb to hypocrisy (in this instance), I stayed.

Mark got up and said, "I thought if I could get the shyest person to start us off, everyone would realize it was no big deal."  My panic restarted.  Did he know I was the shyest person in the congregation?  Was he going to call on me?

No.  He was making a funny, because Susan went up to start us off.  She told a little story, then said, "I'd like to ask Tricia McGarrah to come up here."  What the what?  Of course that would happen.  And let me say right now that it was wonderful and encouraging.  Having someone I respect tell my church family that she thinks I'm cool is pretty awesome.  But GUH.

When that was over, I sat in my seat, safe in obscurity.  But then I realized that being affirmed is incredibly easy, and basically all for me.  If I really believed that we needed to work on church unity and encouragement, then...didn't that mean I needed to work on church unity and encouragement?  Crap, I thought again, because I knew what I had to do. 

I grabbed Rose and took her to the front.  I sat beside her, because having someone affirm you from behind where you can't see them was awkward.  And also I didn't want to stand in front of people.  But I told her how I appreciated her relentless admonishment for me to be patient.  I think I've actually learned that lesson for now.

The rest of the affirmation service went awesomely.  There was some awkward pauses, because everyone was so unused to the idea.  But I learned about some people's service that I never knew, and I saw the love that has been created between some really unexpected church members, which was entirely cool.  I hope we can make this a semi-regular thing, because despite my panic attacks, I really think that public affirmation is a valuable thing for the church to support and make time for.

Lay Ministry Results

I always either have nothing in my thought box or EVERYTHING.  Right now it's the latter, but I'll try to stick to one topic, which is the Lay Ministry Weekend.

It's all about discovering your gifts and figuring out how you can minister in the church and outside the church.  But ironically, what I've decided after tonight's sessions is that I will be giving up a ministry.  I over-committed when I returned to Woodland, and this year I have steadily lost fire and drive and passion.  So I'm going to tell Mark that if someone else wants to teach the college Bible study on Sunday nights, I'm out.  I won't just quit and abandon them while they are a fledgling group, but if someone else feels led to teach (and I think someone does), then I'm out.

And that sucks.  I love eating with the people in GASS--all my friends are either in high school, college, or teach GASS.  I love studying the minor prophets with a group of people who mostly contribute and start meaningful conversations about theology and life and God.

But what giving up a ministry really means is this:  I want to commit more fully to being the junior high girl's Sunday School teacher.  I want to do more outside of class with them, and I want to be more available to talk to them and minister to them.  I would rather give 100% of my energy to them rather than divide it in half to two groups. 

I was also reminded that counseling is something I need to keep in my brain.  I feel like I'm good at learning, and I'm learning to be good at teaching, and I've always been very non-judgmental.  Combining that with my interest in orphanages (and especially working with victims of sexual slavery), um, there's kind of a huge need for counseling.  So while I'm not jumping to go back to school right now, this was a little nudge to help me remember that ability.

I Want It All

Stephanie has been sending me tons of Darren Criss interviews, and obviously he is adorable.  I tried to think why he is so fantastic, and at first I stopped at, "well duh, he's crazy talented."  But there are many people who are equally, if not more, talented, and they do not make me squee.  What Darren Criss has is confidence, humor, and joie de virve.

I was listening to "I Want It All" on my way to work this morning, rocking out like I do.  And suddenly I burst out grinning and said, "I DO want it all."  And that is true.  I want the whole life experience.  I want love, and I want adventure, and I want friendships, and I want life, and I want death, and I want pain, and I want joy.  I want it all.

Right now I'm in one part of the All.  I've had other parts before, and I'll have more in the future.  I intend to completely enjoy every bit of it All.

Media

Scott forewarned me during TeamKids that the handout said vampire/witch media is bad bad bad!  We laughed about this, as we are similarly in love with magic type media, but he clung to the fact that the example given was a girl who watched those things and also pretended to cast spells.

I cannot cling to that, because I have dressed up as a witch (hello, I AM Hermione) and also I have bought wand aps for my friends with iPhones.

But anyway, it got me thinking about how we're indoctrinating a new generation of kids with crazy cray ideas.  Vampires?  Metaphor for eternal life, and also, yes, sex.  (But who's to say that sex is not something to be creatively analyzed and explored....within reason and with appropriate age levels blah blah, I'm getting off topic.)  Witches?  Okay, they're just awesome.  No, but really, through witches and magic, we can explore all kinds of issues of power and control.

Supernatural stories are fantastic when they bring light to the natural.  And they are just plain fun when they throw stuff around and say, "Wouldn't it be so cool if there was a clock that pointed out where every family member was?  Or if there were people who could run super crazy fast?"  Etc.  That's the imagination, and it is awesome.

There will always be people who take something good and twist it to something bad.  But I very firmly believe that that is not a reason to give up the good thing altogether.  Be smart about media choices, know your weaknesses and your temptations, sure.  But to indiscriminately paint a whole genre as evil just pisses me off.

I would argue that chick flicks are far more damaging than supernatural stories (though they tend to cross and blend quite often, it is true).  Romance stories of "true love" can kill a person's self-esteem, give false ideas of love, and promote the idea that the love a boy is where true and lasting happiness lies.  I have a friend who refuses to watch chick flicks because she knows all they do is make her discontented with her life.  I completely admire this friend, and I wish I had her strength.

But in the spirit of seeing past the label, I will also point out that chick flicks show how the humiliating things in life can turn out to be pretty hilarious.  And they can show that your first impression of a person is often incorrect.   And also love is a good thing to celebrate, even if it is a rare and candy-coated version.

So I wish TeamKid had gone deeper, and looked at what makes media good or bad, healthy or unhealthy.  I'll admit that some of the stuff I watch/read/listen to might not be awesomesauce all the time.  But I can promise that the problem goes deeper than any genre label.

Family Times

This was a weird weekend of family that probably covered every emotion possible.

Roy and Cat flew in Friday night, so we did the requisite staying up, catching up on life thing that night.  Cat asked to look at my clothes to maybe borrow something the next day, which was nicely sisteresque.  And then it really was the next day, and it was grandpa's funeral.  Ugh.  Funerals are weird, because we could stand around joking about how cousin Chris was going to be Judas to uncle Larry's Jesus the next day, then cry at pictures, then laugh about nicknaming Grandma Stark "Geranium", then cry at seeing Grandpa laid out awfully in a casket, then laugh at Grandpa Stark asking if he could call Cat "Kitten."

I was never close to Grandpa McGarrah, but he was a cool guy.  I learned more about him this past week than ever before.  I wish I'd known him when he was younger, able to drive around and be awesome.

I hate burials.  It seems super disgusting to me, being prepared for burial, then laid to rest in one uncomfortable position until I decompose in a solitary vault.  I happened to read a poem by Billy Collins earlier this week in which he says he wants to be buried in pajamas, curled into himself like the world's oldest fetus.  I like that idea, of death as rest after a lifetime of stress.

After we got back from Canton, we got out a bunch of Grandpa McGarrah's rocks and admired them for like, hours.  I wasn't into it at first, but the more I watched Roy and Cat and Mom fawn over them, I started to realize how awesome they are.  Too little too late, I wished I'd appreciated my grandpa's hobby when he was still around to share it with me.

Then in a total change of emotion, Sunday was Easter.  Church was good, and Roy and Cat came to second service.  We headed to Bloomington for Easter dinner with our Stark cousins.  The older we get, the less intimidated I am by their awesomeness.  I chatted with Tom's husband George about Vampire Diaries (finally someone outside the interwebs who watches it!), watched Epic Rap Battles with Steve, and fawned over Darren Criss with Chelsea.

But mostly I hung out with Jay's kids.  For someone who desperately clings to the idea that I don't like kids, I sure do default to them fairly often.  Braxton and I played baseball until my cousins joined us and turned it into an actual sport with fast moving baseballs.  I opted to find Ethan, who is possibly the most adorable 2-year-old in existence.  He has never once said a word to me, and I desperately wanted him to.  (I think this is at the root of my bad-boy affection...wanting someone aloof to change their ways and love me.)

AND IT WORKED.  Grandpa was showing him some rocks and fossils in the back porch, and of course Ethan loved him because everyone loves Grandpa, so I sat nearby and Ethan passed them on to me.  And then he told me that one was the color pink, so BAM, that is language.  And when we left, I asked if I could have a hug, and he totally complied.  I'm overly pleased.

Monday morning I went to Grandma and Grandpa's with Roy and Cat.  Grandma gave Cat and me some free clothes and coffee, which is always excellent.  Roy had such a good time he told Cat they would have to visit Peoria again soon.  That would be nice, since I was at work when they got on their plane to go back to Washington.

I hope Roy buys a tiny house and drives it to Peoria next time.

Past the Pain

It is Rebekah's second month living in South Africa, and I wrote to her that around that marker, I was going through the lowest of my Senegalese culture shock.  Her monthly announcements are always very cheerful, so maybe that doesn't matter to her.  But I think missionaries sometimes feel burdened to always be optimistic and happy, because people are supporting and praying for them, so how can they let them down by feeling bad?

Remembering my low point made me think of Liz's goodbye letter.  It was epic, because in addition to calling Spike the sexiest man in all existence, she said one of her favorite memories was riding home on the moto when I remarked, "You know, I'm going to miss this place."  She wrote that she was so happy Fatick had won me over.

When I went back in November, I was really pissed that the Woodland women were calling Fatick dirty and depressing.  That was my home they were insulting!  But then I remembered that I had felt the same way for a good two months.  Fatick got inside me, changed my attitude, and became my home.  It won me over.

I've been feeling kind of terrified about living overseas.  Even though I'm not deliriously happy in Peoria, I have a lot of good things going for me.  The thought of leaving it all can cause me to panic.  But remembering the pain of living in Senegal, and then the joy of slowly coming to love this new and completely different place...it makes me excited for the next time I'll experience it.  Life is pain, and life is overcoming pain, and life is finding joy and meaning in the pain. 

If it takes a couple months of culture shock to discover a new world with a deeper understanding of God, then I'll take the pain of separation and confusion and nostalgia.  It was worth it before, and I think it will be worth it again.

Individualism

I was told that my father writes extremely well, and that perhaps I got my writing ability from him.

At first, my internal brainscape looked something like this:  YAAARGH!  I am a unique and beautiful snowflake!  How dare someone suggest my talents are the result of something as mundane as genetics!!"

Then I realized that it's kind of sweet to share something with my dad.  And where did I think I got my writing ability anyway?  But to assure myself that I was still an individual, I came up with a surefire fact that forever separates my father from me:

When I discovered icanhascheezburger, I wasted hours laughing my butt off at the hilariously captioned pictures of cats.  When Dad found it, he couldn't get past the bad grammar.

Postsecret

AHHHHH!  This terrifies me!  HOW DO YOU KNOW!?  What do you do if this happens!?

Done.  I'm never getting married.

Until I read something romantic and want it again.

I'M SO FICKLE I SHOULD NEVER GET MARRIED.

Thoughts on Death

When I was in middle school, I was intellectually suicidal.  I wanted to die, I thought it would be better to die than be alive, but I never seriously thought of going through with it.  There wasn't even anything weird or bad going on in my life.  I was just intrigued by death, and as a Christian, I fully believed that it would be a better place, so I would pray that God would kill me.

Death is still interesting to me.  Personally, it sucks, but intellectually, the process, both of dying and of bereavement, is fascinating.  For example, death really shows you who your friends are.  I won't lie.  I have totally divided my "friends" into good or bad whether or not they hugged me/said something comforting to me or if they did nothing.  If I'm not sure they know about my grandpa, they go into a dubious "to be decided" category.  Some people I assumed would be there for me were not, and some people I did not expect went out of their way to say something to me.  That means a lot.

Marianne quoted W.H. Auden, and made me realize why poets are so crazy awesome.  He said, "Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic."

Grandpa McGarrah was 96.  Even though he was healthy, we obviously knew he wouldn't live much longer.  But still, we went about our picnicking, ignoring the distant rumbling.  And then the storm hit and killed the fun.  I don't think anyone can ever truly be prepared for death, theirs or someone else's.  It is always a shock.

All this makes me wonder if I am a good friend.  Do I call people or leave them messages when someone in their family dies?  Am I liberal with my hugs?  Do I live life boldly even with thunder echoing in the background?  Do I make sure people know I love them, so that they will not die unsure?

Yay!

Holy crap!  I thought my grandpa had eaten through most of his savings at the nursing home, but that is very much not the case.  As one of his two grandchildren, I have just come into a sizable chunk of money.  I'll put most into savings/IRA/whatever.  But now I can easily go to Slovenia next spring, and upgrading that trip to an around the world epic adventure is now the obvious choice.

And it seems kind of fitting that the main thing I had in common with my grandfather--traveling--is how I will happily spend the money he left to me.

Bruce McGarrah

My Grandpa McGarrah died this morning.  He was 96, and he had trouble breathing last night, so it wasn't totally unexpected.  Honestly, I am surprised how much this is affecting me, a mix of missing him and regretting all the ways I should have been a better granddaughter.

He lived with us for ten years, then moved into a nursing home when we couldn't take care of him because of his frequent falls.  He lived just two miles from our house for the next four or five years, but I only visited with family on big occasions.

I'm glad we visited him last Sunday to celebrate his 96th birthday.  It was nice outside, so we took him around the sidewalks in his wheelchair.  He loved being outside, and I held his hand the entire time.  He was a lot more affectionate in recent years than ever before, and on Sunday I started thinking that we should visit him more frequently and take him outside since it's turning into spring.

I never knew him very well.  He was old before I was born.

Roy called today, and it was the first time I really understood what it means to be siblings.  Roy lived through everything I've lived through.  He has my memories, and he understands how I am, because the same life experiences created us both.  And we're together, for as long as we live, in a way.  He is the one who I will talk to on days like this.  Someday our parents will die, and it will be the two of us planning and continuing on together.

The McGarrah line is crazy small.  There are now only three people with our family blood--Dad, Roy, and me.  I guess Roy will have to procreate like crazy.  Though we're on our way to continuing the McGarrah tradition by not having kids until we're in our thirties.

One thing I didn't know about Grandpa McGarrah until recently is that he loved to travel.  When I told him I was going to Senegal, he jokingly asked if he could go with me.  He went on a lot of trips that I never heard about until this past December.

It's kind of cool that Roy and I both inherited wanderlust without even realizing it's in our blood.  It is nice to think that there's a part of Grandpa McGarrah in me.

Soulmates

You know when you're listening to someone, and they say something profound, and you think, "Whoa.  I didn't realize you were deep.  That is...just how I feel."  And you listen to them more carefully from then on, and they consistently make you either deliriously happy or pull on your heart like only someone special can do.

I call that finding a soulmate.

And I have found mine.  Adele, you are my new Mumford and Sons (yeah, I was totally talking about music).  Also I'm lying, because no one has yet replaced Mumford and Sons as my musical soulmate.  But Adele has definitely taken Ingrid Michaelson's place.

What I love about Adele is her reaction to breakup and heartache.  In nearly all the songs on her 21 album, she mentions "remember me" or "don't you remember"...and that's just exactly it.  When friendships or crushes die, what I wonder most is, "But don't you remember this event or that conversation?  Wasn't that important?"  And then I think, "I hope for the rest of your life, you'll look back and think of me.  You'll remember that I was a person in your life, that knowing me made a difference."

Maybe Adele and I are narcissistic (which is a very viable possibility).  But I love hearing someone sing my emotions.

Favorite song:  "Someone Like You."  After describing the pain of seeing the person she loved loving someone else and being happy, she says:

"I hate to turn up out of the blue univited
But I couldn't stay away, couldn't fight it
I had hoped you'd see my face, and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over.

Nevermind
I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
'Don't forget me,' I begged
'I'll remember,' you said
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead."

It's the "Nevermind, I'll find someone like you" that makes me want to bear hug Adele and commiserate together.  What else can you do when the "perfect" person doesn't want you?  You have to find someone else just like them, because they weren't the problem.  You were.

Thanks, Adele, my new girl angst soulmate!

Money and Spending

I have been very good about saving my money since moving to Peoria.  And then, BAM, I've been spending it like crazy lately.  I went to the eye doctor (hurray for new prescriptions after my lazy non-fuctioning eyeballs consistently regressed for two years!) and bought new lenses and contacts.  It was only after I wrote the check that I realized I could have held off on one or the other to use yearly insurance on each.  Oops.  Live and learn and all that.

And apparently you have to renew your license plate every year?  For $100?  Lame.

I can see that I am quickly having to pay for everything an adult pays for except for rent.  And car insurance.  And cell phone bills.

Okay okay, no more complaining.  I'm incredibly privileged.

But anyway, what it comes down to is a camera.  I've been thinking about getting a nice camera, since I sometimes get paid to take pictures, I feel underqualified showing up with a common digital camera.  The pictures are not super awesome.  And also I like to travel, obvs, and it would be cool to take totally awesome photographs of the places I visit.

One day I saw my TN brother was advertising on facebook that he wanted to sell his very nice fancy camera.  We talked and planned, and I said I'd buy it for $800.  I'll pick it up when I visit Jackson in May, but in the interim, I'm starting to freak out.

I have the money.  But.  I've been so good at saving, and not buying anything unless the previous thing dies/falls apart/is ruined.  This would be a fun thing.  Is that okay?  What if I buy this and then suddenly am overcome with the desire to buy more and more?  It this a materialistic purchase?  I'm an all-or-nothing sort of girl; I'm not sure how to deal in middle ground issues.

Let's See Where This Takes Us

I have no plans for what to write about.

I had K-1 LEGO club today, which means they were adorable and hilarious.  One boy told me that if Obama didn't beat the Germans, we would all get bloody.  I didn't know if he thought he was stating facts or not, but I didn't want to go into any kind of details about the war, so I just said, "Is that so?" and turned my attention to Boy With Glasses who, instead of making an animal, was making a machine that makes animals.

I need to cut my fingernails.

Why can girls have long fingernails but boys can't?

Why are so many of our gendered social constructs the way they are?  The kids in LEGO club said boys couldn't like pink, and that's stupid.  What does that have to do with anything?  So I said it was better for everyone to like all colors, and they just kind of nodded like they didn't care.

David says Alec Baldwin is useless now that he is fat, but I love him on 30 Rock.  Someone also said that 30 Rock was a racy show, and....is it?  I've watched (and loved) the first two seasons, and I haven't noticed anything obviously worse than normal.  Maybe I have a higher tolerance than most (okay, I know that is true), but I don't think its abnormal for TV.  And it's HILARIOUS.  Oh, Jack Donaghy and Liz Lemon.  Yours is a relationship for the ages--always platonic and respectful, if sometimes insulting.  So nice to have a healthy male/female relationship on a show that never veers into sexual tension just for the ratings.

They've now cast Katniss, Peeta, and Gale for Hunger Games.  I've decided not to freak out until I see pictures of them in character.  And I heard that the script is all kinds of awesome.  They even added something I really wanted!  They're going to cut between the games to people watching the games.  YAY!  I always thought that would be fascinating to see. 

However, I also heard they've messed with the flashback bread scene.  I don't know how or why, but that makes me nervous. 

I wish Peeta were my boyfriend. 

No One Movies Like the Monahans

I'm going to cheat and include yesterday in today, because the event that was awesome came after I fell asleep.  Next thing I know my phone is in my hand and Liz is saying, "OH MY GOSH GUESS WHAT!?"  I must have responded groggily, because she then asked, "Did I wake you up?

I rolled over to look at my alarm clock.  11:30.  I didn't remember falling asleep, and I didn't remember answering my phone.  "I...don't know!?"

"How can you not know?"

"I just don't!  What time--?  Was I asleep??"  This was mentally straining, so I pretended it didn't matter.  She went on to tell me that a friend of hers had totally hiked Mount Hood with none other than Donald Miller and had then stayed the night at his house!  What what!

Also we talked about how funny it is that Holly wanted a boy and a family FIERCELY for two years, and now she has one.  We both admitted that we were jealous of her getting the desire of her heart, then laughed that obviously we didn't have our boys because the desires of our hearts are not singular and consistent.

Because really, how is God supposed to give me the desires of my heart when it goes something like, "I WANT A BOY!  No, I want freedom!  And traveling!  And meaning and purpose and adventure!  And a boy!  Ugh, no, boys just lead to heartache and struggle.  But they're worth it!  Nope, much easier to just be alone and happy!"

God probably rolls his eyes at me a lot.

Then today (by normal definitions of 'today'), I worked at the library with Marianne, who is my favorite desk partner.  We talked about Mongolia and materialism and bank accounts.   Good stuff.  Also I snagged Tangled when it came in, which I then took over to the Monahans.

Dunno if I talked about this the first time I watched Tangled, but that movie is mega awesome.  So cute, so funny!  Disney at its finest (after Lion King, of course).  And then Tangled turned into Holes which turned into Casino Royale.  I ended up spending over eight hours at their house instead of two, which is always a good time trade.  I even got to cuddle with Abby, punch David, and chat with Wendy to boot.

To boot.  What a weird phrase.

I hadn't made any official plans this weekend and it turned out lovely.  It's nice when that happens.

Eye Doctors and Social Awkwardness

If you know me, you know that I am...awkward around people.  Sure, sometimes I can be social, but those are the exceptions to the rule.  When left to my most basic personality, I am awkward.

Like today when I went to the eye doctor.  Let it be known that, from the safety of my home, I will say that the eye doctor is my favorite health service.  For some reason I never remember that getting my eyes checked is really a specialized form of mental torture.

A new guy took me in for pre-consultation tests.  I assume he was new because he said, "I don't normally do this, but since you're waiting..."  Not a good sign.  I was chatty and friendly until the table rotated and a machine was in front of me.  I knew it wasn't the machine of death, but as I put my chin in the indentation and leaned my forehead against the prongs, my heart rate spiked and sweat seeped from probably every pore.

I counted every second of freedom until the machine of death.  You know the one.  The one that shoots puffs of air into your eyeball.  I don't know why, but I am deathly afraid of that machine.  Which is unfortunate, because it measures eye pressure, which only increases when you're afraid.  So the numbers were high, which meant he had to do it again because they were abnormal!  Also he was new and slightly incompetent, so altogether I had to suffer through seven eye puffs.  That doesn't even account for the part that really drives me batty, which is staring into the light, waiting, and trying to keep my eyes wide, but unable to stop myself from blinking erratically, which only makes him unable to do the test, which makes me wait longer, which makes me MORE CRAZY.  Times seven.

That might not sound traumatizing, but my facade of cheer was completely gone.  He even asked, incredulously, "Are you nervous or something?" to which I stuttered, "I just...don't...I really hate this!  Something must have happened when I was a kid!  Doesn't everyone react this way?  Are you saying I'm stupid for being so afraid of an eye puff!?!"

And then that fear generalized to all the machines which necessitate putting your face against them, which I'll just let you know, is all of them.  

He was really nice about it all.  And that is when I saw my social awkwardness.  He was totally chill and friendly, telling me stories about rude ladies demanding glasses.  And I just sat there, nodding, and glancing away until he shut up and left.  Then I pulled out my book and made sure everyone knew I was busy so they wouldn't talk to me.  Another patient walked by and I glanced up to smile (so she knew I was friendly) but then completely negated that by staring at everything in the room but her.

I don't make eye contact.  I don't engage strangers in conversation.  I much prefer to be left alone.

"So why are you going to be a missionary?" you might ask.

I would respond by saying, "I don't know!  That's what I kept telling God when He told me to do it, but He didn't seem to think it was a big deal."

And then I read this post of Donald Miller's about the biblical characteristics of a disciple, and I felt so much better.  God doesn't want perfect people.  He wants to use the weak to shame the strong and the fools to shame the wise.  And y'all, I'm terrified of eye puffs and I can't interact with strangers like a social human being.  Guess that's why God has me on His list.