Fitting Room and Scales

Apparently, for someone who hates puns, I use quite an awful lot of them. Question: if I flip-flop on my stance on puns, does that make me a bad person? Does that mean I can never run for office?

Well, there are a lot of reasons why I can't run for office. Flip-flopping on puns doesn't even round out the top 10.

Ok. I'm focused now.

This past weekend my family celebrated my grandma's 80th birthday. The extended family that do not live in Washington, planned a surprise party for my grandma and arrived without her knowing on Friday.

She cried when she finally registered that all of her kids were here to celebrate her. It was touching.

And I sat there, watching my family gather around for another reunion, I became more aware of how I really don't fit in.

I know my family loves me. And I have a lot of fun with them. But I get this sense that I am not really part of their ethos. For the life of me, I can't get over the idea that its because they don't think I'm beautiful.

They like beautiful things.

I mean, who doesn't?

It was odd, being ignored throughout this entire weekend and having nothing to contribute. I have enough of that with my church family. But this is blood relatives--shouldn't it feel different?

Their "rejection" of me isn't a shunning (I've been watching too much of the Office) but rather a tolerance of my being. I know they worry about my weight. How I look. My job. My seemingly forever single status.

I think they're afraid I'm going to die young, alone, and fat.

Sigh.

But in the end, they still love me, right?

And my aunt asked my mom if she was worried about my health and single status. I'm not sure what her reaction was. But knowing my mom, it was probably non-commital silence. I love you, Mom, but a little help from you couldn't hurt.

I know they're coming from a place of care and love. But I often feel if they thought I was beautiful, this would all be different.

It's all right. I just don't fit in here. I don't know why, and I don't think there is anything to change that. But I hope one day my family will see who I really am and come to realize that no matter how things appear...

...I'm not sure how I want to finish this sentence.

My grandfather made a speech last night (Saturday) about the four pillars of health. I don't mind these random speeches, and I used to hang on his every word. But this was uncomfortable. Everyone started comparing how many of the four they have. And when they looked at me, they seemed to already know what I lacked.

And it occurred to me that although flawed, this is what is most important to them. This is how they weigh priorities. I don't fit that scale at all. And I'm struggling to remember that in the end, that isn't what matters.

But it still hurts.

All beautiful you are, Darling, I see no flaw in you.
--the Lover, Song of Songs 4:7

Lessons from the Wizard...of Oz

First of all, I love the movie, The Wizard of Oz. Now that I'm a little older than when I first loved it, I find it to be such a smart and entertaining movie. I could probably devote a million blogs on this movie alone, but I will spare my two loyal readers. :-D

But for the moment, I will share only three observations. In lieu of my last marathon entry, I will keep this brief...er.

1. The Yellow Brick Road. It was the instruction Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, gave Dorothy when she began her journey home: follow the yellow brick road. It seemed simple enough, and Dorothy had to trust that it would not lead her astray.

But when Dorothy came to the fork in the road where she met the Scarecrow, she hesitated. Doubt plagued her...which road should she take? Was she lost? What happens if she went to the right or to the left?

Paralyzed by her fear of being lost, she neglected to notice that both roads were made of yellow bricks, and so forgot her only instruction: follow the yellow brick road. If Glinda was right, and all she had to do was follow the yellow brick road, she would find her way home...and either road would take her there...that is, if they were both yellow.

I often forget my instructions when faced with a hard decision. Paralyzed by fear and failure, I forget that no matter road I take, if I follow Jesus, I will get to where I am going.

2. The Wicked Witch of the West. When the Wicked Witch threatens Dorothy in Munchkinland, Glinda wraps a protective arm around Dorothy and says laughingly to the Wicked Witch:

"Rubbish! You have no power here! Begone!"

Wicked Witch, though quite a fearsome creature to behold, had no real power under real authority. How often I forget that Satan, though powerful enough, has no real power where God resides. And with a simple reminder under the full authority of God, he'll leave me alone, too.

3. Brains. One of my favorite quotes come in the scene where Dorothy meets the Scarecrow. He admits to her that he doesn't have a brain. She asks how he was able to talk if he didn't have a brain. His reply:

"But some people without brains do an awful lot of talking."

I tend not to be cynical when it comes to the Presidential Election, but a person can only take so much! Yes, there is a lot of talk out there. We tend to make stupid decisions, individually and as a group, but we are not stupid. We have the ability to make our own minds, and all we are asking is for the facts, not spin. Now, I can't say that people don't do stupid things (because many people do) but I am tired of a governmental leadership assuming that we cannot make an informed decision if we are given all of the facts.

Sadly, we can't fix the problem with a broken system. Talking heads are what we left with, and the Presidential Election will appear again in four years when, again, change is all we talk about.

I hope, with or without an Presidential election year, that we never stop talking about change. But I also hope that we do more than talk, that we would continue working toward a better world for our children and reaching those for the glory of God.

4. Puns. I hate puns. But this movie gets away with it. When Dorothy and the Scarecrow meet the Tin Man, he mumbles...

Dorothy: [to Scarecrow] He said oil can.
Scarecrow: Oil can what?

As a child, I didn't get it. Now that I do, I can't stop laughing.

Name Calling

Yes, it's another pun. Really, I do hate puns.

Since Pastor Jon's sermon on the beautiful struggle of Jacob/Israel with God, I went on this obsessive research on anything about this particular story in the Bible. (No, I don't obsess much). Some commentators talked about the blessings of the limp, the beauty of struggle. Others talked about Jacob's character, God's strengthening of a boy who was yet to become a man. And others talked about the significance of the changing of names.

I do have a fascination with names. What they mean, how they were chosen, if it fits the person it was given to. I bought a baby name book once--a $4.00 find at Target--and combed through it to find the etymology of numerous names. I used that book when I used to write stories. I don't write stories any longer, and I have no idea where that book is now. (I must have misplaced it along the many moves between houses, dorms, and apartments). Yet, names still fascinate me.

Although this may seem to be another reason for me to bring up Rob Bell, I do want to share something from his offering on the Jacob/Israel story. It isn't anything new, but worth pondering:

In the ancient Near East your name was more than just words. Name was identity. Your name was reflective of your character, your substance, I mean the very fiber that made you, you. Your name told you who you are.

--Rob Bell, "Name"

Names brought a calling to your life. Rob Bell contends that during Jacob/Israel's time, when someone asked you "What is your name?" they are essentially asking you, "Who are you?"

What I love about the Jacob/Israel story was that he was given a new name. He was no longer the "deceiver," but "he who strives with God." He is a conqueror. He has become more than the name he has been given. He was called to something greater than that.

Now, I happen to like what my name means (source of joy). I often don't believe I live up to it, but it's a comfort to know that I am not limited or defined by my name. I am called to something more.

And you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will give...

--Isaiah, about Jerusalem/Zion, Isaiah 62:3 (ESV)

Answering the question "What is your name?" is easier than providing an explanation of "Who are you?" However, I am learning to love this process of finding out the answer to that question. I've provided many answers to that question. Some answers I've liked, some I wish I never had been, some I have yet to become. Our answers can change because we change.

We are more than the names we have been called.

Happy Thanksgiving...

No pomp. A little circumstance...mainly because I don't know what "pomp" actually entails. For many, 2007 brought more pain and suffering than joy and dancing. I don't know if this year was exactly a banner year for me, but I'm content with a lot of things.

Here's the short list.

1. My job at World Vision. It is a blessing in so many ways and I thank my God for it.
2. My coffee shop. It has served (ha ha, I HATE puns!) as a sanctuary for me more than once.
3. My family. You keep me insane.
4. My church. I've caused you pain. You've caused me heartache. Which, makes us family. I love you all.
5. A chance to play piano again. I love it more than I thought I had. And its open so many other opportunities that I didn't know were available to me. Its good to feel like me again.
6. My Tuesday breakfast meetings with my friend Natalie. Its saved me more than once.
7. Accomplishing two out of my list of twenty-two things that I had wanted to do. Yeah!!

And of course...my Lord, my God. You make all things wonderful.

I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Eat turkey, look at your family and friends and just love on them. Sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

Another Cute Story About Grandpa

All right. I've been trying to relay this story for awhile now, so we'll see how I do! Sometimes the hardest stories for me to tell are the ones that are true!

Last Sunday, my sister and I visited my grandparents. We don't get to do that together (or at the same time) that often, so it was a treat to have dinner with them.

First of all, let me say this. Filipinos are not well known for their desserts. Luckily for us, my grandpa has a sweet tooth and keeps the chocolates and candies well stocked. This night's offering was a box of Aplets and Cotlets and a canister of Almond Roca. After dinner, my sister opted for the box of Aplets and Cotlets. She opened the box only to find six gold wrappers. We assumed they were Almond Rocas.

Grandpa laughed and said that our cousin, Olivia, must have done it. Still laughing, he went upstairs to retrieve more candy from his not-so-secret candy stash. (It's in the bottom right drawer of his desk.) When he returned, we opened the box again and found that the wrapper held not Almond Rocas, but...Aplets and Cotlets.

Bewildered, my sister and I wondered aloud why Olivia would do such a thing.

"She must have been bored," was the answer Grandpa offered.

My sister and I agreed. Since Olivia was expected to come later that night, we hid a real Almond Roca in the box and waited. We were not to be outdone by our young cousin.

When she finally arrived, she opened the box, pulled out a golden wrapped aplet and ate the treat as if it had always come wrapped. She also completely missed the real Almond Roca.

Bewildered for the second time that night, my sister and I burst into laughter. Olivia stood dumbfounded as her two older cousins were reduced to tears. When we finally composed ourselves, my sister related the story from earlier that evening. Olivia said she didn't do it. After she pleaded her case five more times, I remembered that she wasn't a criminal mastermind. I'm not saying she's not clever--for she very much is--it's that unlike most of us in the family, she doesn't use it for evil.

So...we rounded up the usual suspects. My Uncle Ned and my cousin JJ were on the top of the list, but they had not visited my grandparents in over a week. My Uncle Ronnie's tricks were mostly puns, not props. Other than my mother and I, the only person left was....

...my grandpa smiled, watching the scene unfold. And more than he had in months, laughed out loud. He enjoyed the prank completely. He told us that the trick was intended for Olivia. It was just a great bonus that he got my sister and I confused, too.

He laughed again and said that we should visit more often.

I love my grandpa.

Let Go My Ego

First of all, I hate puns. :-D

Ok. Moving on. Musicians have egos. To make matters more difficult, they have fragile egos.

And so when a band comes together, egos clash. And on a worship team, hearts often get in the way.

For a long time now, my ego had been bruised. So much to the point where what used to define me in high school was something I hid from.

I used to play the piano really well. I used to sing. I used to be able to do both at the same time.

The thing is, I still do. I just haven't done so in front of a group of people. Let alone my church family. I stopped because someone told me that I wasn't good enough.

Sigh. Musicians and their egos.

It has been a very interesting few months. My heart that loves to express itself in a creative life is aching to come out. It never occurred to me how much my heart was aching for music until I attended a choir concert at which one of my friends was performing. I sat in the middle of the concert, missing the musically dominated life I used to have. I wanted to race to the stage and sing along with them. Since then, I found myself still wanting to sing. To play. To live. To breathe.

A few years ago, during my seven year stint of not playing piano, I ran into my high school choir director. I was visiting my grandparents, and I dropped by a local Starbucks to gear myself up for another family event. My choir director and I have had an unusually close relationship. I won't go into detail, but I thought I was only important to him because of how I helped him during my Senior year. I knew what he thought of me as a person. I didn't know what he thought of me as a musician.

Giles: How have you been? Are you still playing piano?
Me: [sheepishly.] No.
Giles: [surprised and looking disappointed.] Really? Why not?
Me: I don't have the opportunity.
Giles: [more disappointed] That makes me sad. There's always an opportunity. You don't even play at church?
Me: No.
Giles: You should try. Really. You were amazing. I know I never told you, but you are a gifted musician. And I'm sad that you're not moving forward with it.
Me: Well, I...
Giles: No excuses. Get back into it. You can't stop. I won't let you. It's a part of you. You were really good.

With that we parted ways. And I wondered how in the world he would know if I still played.

That was two years ago. I don't play piano on my worship team because of Giles, but I do play because it isn't in me to stop. In the end, I hope to remember conversations that encourage me to keep going instead of the ones that tell me that what I have to offer isn't good enough. I'm not as good as I used to be, and I hope to be better.

But I know I can't get there if I don't let the ego go.