Having a Cat

Rory has been here for two weeks, and I've yet to talk about it!  Sad.  Here's the deal about owning a cat:

1)  My cleaning-that-can-wait tendencies are being stretched to the limit.  I've got a little cat nook in my room, which means litter, food, and water frequently escape their boundaries because Rory likes to fling things around.  I usually try to ignore it as long as possible, which is, I'm told, gross.

2)  The paranoia!  I live upstairs, and there's a ledge along the hallway from which you can overlook the wooden staircase.  Halfway along the stairs, up high, is a window.  One day I walked upstairs and saw that Rory had jumped from the ledge to the window.  When he saw me, he meowed piteously and moved foreward and backward, sometimes leaning toward jumping, sometimes a paw slipping.  I stood underneath on the stairs but couldn't reach him.  I leaned over the ledge toward the window but couldn't reach him.  I beckoned him to jump, then ran to my room to hide my face because what if he didn't make it and then he splattered on the stairs ten feet below him?  FINALLY he jumped, and I thought, thank God, now he's learned his lesson and we'll never have to suffer through that heart attack again.

Five minutes later he jumped up there AGAIN.  Well, that was it, because even if it didn't bother him, it bothered me.  I locked him in my room and looked up ways to keep him from perching there.  Aluminum foil, apparently, but we didn't have any, and it took two days for me to buy any.  Eventually I covered the ledge with the stuff and tentatively allowed Rory to experience life outside of my bedroom.  I went downstairs, and soon I heard him jump up, heard the crinkle of the foil, heard him jump down and race to my room.

He hasn't jumped up there since.  But also, now the ledge overlooking our staircase is covered in aluminum foil.

3)  He is one of three person-centered cats, and since I am home more than anyone, they all flock to my room.  I assumed this would be adorable, but since Rory is not entirely comfortable with either of them (more so Nash than Billie), it mostly means listening to cats hiss or dart around me.  Occasionally they will all be tired at the same time, at which point it is adorable, but most of the time I just kick out the other cats and ignore their whining at the door.

4)  I'm a user; I admit it.  I wanted Rory for his cuddles.  And he is so good at them.  Evening is when he is more playful and crazy, but as soon as I turn off all of the lights, he curls against my legs and goes to sleep.  Sometimes he crawls up to lay on my chest and purr in my face, which is my favorite.  Sometimes he curls up by my neck and I bury my face in his fluffy fur.  It's incredibly adorable.

5)  Rory is stupid smart.  In the mornings, he likes to lick my face.  Which, if you are familiar with cat tongues, is not exactly comfortable.  I saw online that it's a thing cats do if they really like you, if they think you are their cat friend who needs grooming.  But still, it hurts.  So whenever he starts licking my face, I push him away.  But now he knows that if he licks my face, my hands will come out from under the covers and he can turn my pushing into petting.

I have yet to solve this puzzle.  Beaten by a cat, how embarrassing.

Nickel

Dr. Jones told a story in class the other day that hit me hard. There was a little girl, he said, who begged her dad for a nickel so she could buy a gumball from a machine. When it wasn't working, she whined, “If you loved me, you would give me a nickel!” Her dad smiled, leaned down, and said, “I love you this much,” and handed her a twenty dollar bill. She looked at it for a minute, then threw it to the ground and cried, “But I wanted a nickel!”

It got me thinking about how lately I've been so hung up on wanting to date someone, wanting marriage to be on my horizon. I beg God and give God a list of fifty reasons why this would be a good idea. I sulk and I whine and I pretend like it's not bothering me to see if reverse psychology will work on Him. I'm stuck on this boy-shaped nickel, ignoring and even throwing away the costly gifts that He has already given me.

I am in a great school, studying something I love, debt free. I'm going to get a job in a profession that I am passionate about while so many people work whatever they can get just to pay the bills. I have so many friends in so many places who support me, love me, and listen to me. I live in a big city just like I always wanted, and I'm learning to love the small city from which I came. I have a wonderful brother who likes to hang out with me. I have three roommates who were previously strangers but we all get along. I have more books than I could ever read, more TV shows than I could ever watch, and people with whom I can discuss them. I found a church in Dallas who preaches grace and a small group who makes me feel welcome, loved, and necessary. I work for a wonderful family who treats me as one of their own, nannying two kids who could be my own, where going to work means fun and not stress. I'm healthy, which isn't fair, because I don't take care of myself. So much of my life is blessing—extravagant blessings, even. God has showered me in twenty dollar bills, and I'm still whining for that nickel.

It's a nice nickel, I've heard. And I do want to be married someday. But I want to appreciate the gifts that God has already given me, and trust that He gives gifts in His perfect timing, which sometimes means never. And that's okay, because He is good. I want to know that, deeply and continuously.

I'm A Real Boy--er, Counselor!

I had my first Practicum class today.  Essentially it is twelve students and our professor, and we're going to practice counseling on each other, both authentically and as pretend clients.  Today was mostly paperwork stuff and forewarning of things to come.  Dr. Dickens reminded us that our Stage 2 Interviews would be happening this semester; after those the Biblical Counseling faculty meet and decide whether or not counseling is a good fit for each of us.  If they decide yes, we can finish the program.  He told us not to be worried about the interview and to be ourselves.  What kind of people do counselors like, he asked?

Real people.  Counselors like the messiness of people, seeing the doubts and journeys and failures.  If you put on a perfect face around a counselor, they will be both a) bored, and b) suspicious.

This more than anything confirmed that I have a counselor's heart.  I'm more interested in sanctification than justification.  I want to hear about people's doubts more than their faith.  I like to hear "well, life has been hard" rather than "oh, I'm fine."  When someone cusses or acts out inappropriately, where many people harden their faces and look down upon the person, my face lights up.  Not because I approve of everything someone does, but because then I think, "That is the real person.  They've let their facade slip and now we see who they are.  They're broken like I am broken, and now we can relate more deeply and understand each other more fully."

When church leaders turn out to be sex addicts, I'm saddened by the people who they've hurt, but I'm not going to carry a pitchfork.  Of course they're struggling with s***, they are human beings who, on top of normal human being struggles, are thrust into positions of "purity" and responsibility.  Why are we surprised by someone's failures?

I'm often surprised that people are not exactly like me, so my confusion of "wait, you don't like when people cuss, and you're uncomfortable with people admitting that they think maybe God doesn't exist or doesn't care?" was nicely cleared up by the fact that those people who are drawn to honesty and messiness are, in fact, counselors!  Glad to know my "skills" are going to help me land a job.

Teaching Kids About Feminism

I love the movement of educating young men not to abuse and rape women rather than the usual practice of educating women on how not to get raped (ex:  wear modest clothes, don't go out after dark, lace your keys through your fingers while walking through parking lots but do not talk on your phone, wear your hair in a bun not a ponytail, always check your backseat before getting in your car....see, I'm educated and terrified).  But I never quite knew what that looked like other than telling someone, "There will come a day when you will want something from a woman but she will not want to give it.  In that moment, please do not force her to give it to you.  That's very bad." 

But today an opportunity arose!  Anju screamed from upstairs, so I went to investigate.  She was crying, and when I asked what had happened, she said, "I tried to shut my door, but Ketan wouldn't let me, and I kept telling him to let me shut it, but he kept holding it open!" 

Not a huge deal, right?  But like I said, an opportunity!

Me:  Ketan, will you open your door, please?
Ketan:  What?
Me:  What just happened?
Ketan:  I didn't do anything!
Me:  Then why did Anju say something did?
Ketan:  I just wanted to tell her something!
Me:  Oh yeah?  What?
Ketan:  Just something.
Me:  Okay.  Look, here's the thing.  You're older than Anju and you're a boy.  You're stronger than her, and if you want to keep her door open, you can because you're stronger.  But if a girl ever tells you to stop doing something repeatedly, you have to stop.  That's your responsibility, okay?  You've got to learn self-control and start respecting girls when they tell you to stop.  Okay?
Ketan:  Okay.
Me:  I'm disappointed, but I'm not angry.  I know you're awesome and you'll remember not to use your strength to your advantage.
Ketan:  Okay.

He was super upset that I'd called him out on something I disapproved of.  These kids, so desperate for perfection.  I know nothing of that instinct, hah hah.

I was super excited to have had this conversation.  I'll turn Ketan into a feminist yet, especially since a few days ago we had this conversation...

Ketan:  What's J.K. Rowling's first name?
Me:  Joanne.
Ketan:  Why isn't it written Joanne Rowling?
Me:  Because she was told that she would make more money if she sold her books under a name that could be assumed she was a man.  Books authored by men make more money than women authors.  Now it doesn't matter because she's so famous, but in general women are seen as less successful at things.  The world often doesn't respect women.
Ketan:  I respect women.
Me:  I know.  That's one of the things I love most about you.

I Think This Is About Identity

I think most of life is paradoxical.  For instance, one of my deepest desires is to be known, but I freaking hate it when someone says they understand me.

So, me being me, I thought about why that might be.

What bugs me most is that no one really does know me.  Liz is probably closest, and she never says that she knows me, which probably just goes to show how well she really does.  But with pretty much everyone, I hide parts of myself.  Sometimes it's stupid, sometimes it's important.  Regardless, I am very aware of the fact that no one knows all the nooks and crannies of who I am.

Especially online.

I have a pretty thoroughly-crafted online persona.  I reveal my weaknesses, but only the ones I'm comfortable revealing.  I create witty Facebook statuses, but if no one likes them, I delete them.  Sometimes I rewrite a stupid Facebook status three times before leaving it alone.  I have a self-deprecating sense of humor so that I laugh at myself before others can.  I write about things that I have an opinion upon because I want to look at least mildly informed and intelligent.

I'm aware of the fact that, if that is the person I present, then why get mad that people assume it's who am I?

Well, I'm human, obviously.  Even though I'm hijacking the system, I still want to be known.  And watching someone act like they know me when they are missing crucial parts of who I am is painful.  Even if I am the cause.

Liz has a theory that we stick people with labels whether they want it or not.  She's "the girl who gets coffee."  When I was in Peoria earlier, I learned that I've apparently been labeled "weird." 

Which, just, what?  I don't think I'm all that weird.  Sure, I've stepped away from a lot of my Baptist roots, but....fundamentally, I'm not weird.  I want the same things everyone wants.  I want a life of meaning, I want relationships but I'm scared of getting hurt, I seek pleasure in things that never fully satisfy, I doubt and I dream and I hope.  I'm a complex human being, and it's really annoying to be labeled with only part of who I am.

Peoria always does a number on me.  Hometowns are hard.  "Is it any wonder why we all leave home? / People say, "I knew you when you were six years old" / And you say, "But I've changed, I've changed, I've changed, I've changed."

But also sometimes, I haven't.  So.  No easy answers.

I'm just rambling now.  Yeesh, emotions.  Which reminds me of another post I want to write about how the stereotype of women being overly emotional might just be the result of culture not holding women responsible for becoming emotionally mature.  MINDBLOWING, so good, etc, ugh I'm tired but I don't want to go to sleep, and the Internet is not as endlessly entertaining as the adverts promised, so now I'm just stream-of-consciousnessing, eurgh.

Seeking the Impossible Ideal

My favorite hymn is "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" because of "Let Thy goodness, like a fetter, / Bind my wandering heart to Thee. / Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, / Prone to leave the God I love; / Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, / Seal it for Thy courts above."

My favorite Mumford & Sons song is "Hopeless Wanderer" because of "And hold me fast, Hold me fast / Cuz I'm a hopeless wanderer / And I will learn, I will learn / to love the skies I'm under."

I've been in ten countries in under ten years.  I've lived in five cities in the last seven years (though one was a repeat).   I cannot go a year without either leaving the country or going on multiple trips around the United States.  I've got wanderlust coursing through my blood, and I used to think it was an epic romantic thing.

A couple days ago, my friend asked if I wanted to move into a cute house in Austin with her.  I actually considered for a long while, trying to work out how feasibly I could finish DTS classes online.  It was only when I remembered my church and my job that I realized moving to Austin would be pointless.  Then she asked how I was feeling about Dallas, and I responded, "I feel...just kind of discontented in general?  Like no matter where I am I will not be totally happy, so I want to start over, but I know from experience that won't help for long."

Like whoa, guys.  I was texting things I didn't even understand.  That sentiment kept rolling through my brain, and I finally made a connection.  I used to scoff at girls who went from boyfriend to boyfriend, condescendingly telling them they needed to take some time being single to discover who they were instead of seeking happiness and fulfillment in a boy of all things.

I still think that.  But the condescension has evaporated, because holy crap, I do the same thing with moving.  "Maybe this place will make me happy!  Now that I've left the things that annoyed me about that place, I can start over, I can really settle into life and be awesome and everything will go great."

I am 100% confident that God has been with me everywhere I've moved.  Union, Senegal, Dallas.  God has taught me something everywhere I've lived, but I'm starting to realize that all of this might be more of a case of God using my brokenness for beauty rather than being beautiful in and of itself.

What I'm saying is maybe someday I'll settle down.  Maybe I'll invest in one place with one group of people.  Maybe I'll realize that no location is going to satisfy me, just like no man is going to satisfy the girls I used to look down upon.  Maybe I'll learn to love the brokenness of every city, to dig deep into uncomfortable relationships, and stick things out longer than a couple years.

Maybe not.  That still sounds scary.  And I do genuinely love traveling and seeing new places.  But I hope that one day, I'll stop using that as an excuse to run away from problems seeking an impossible ideal.

Friendship

One of the things I love about Liz is that she shares both my boy-craziness and my fear of committed relationships. 

Also because after two weeks of busyness and always being with people, hanging out with her felt like being alone.

One day soon I'm going to post about something she shared with me, but I'm not feeling it right now, so instead I'm just writing short paragraphs.