Soapboxes

Once upon a time I had a roommate who pointed out during one of our countless conversations that I was very even keel when it came to matters. I rarely get worked up about much. It's true. I don't. That's the primary personality trait I inherited from my completely laid-back mother I believe. But every once in awhile I have soapbox moments. Take for instance ringback tones on cell phones. I loathe them. Don't get me wrong...I'm all about T.I.'s newest single but it's the last thing I want to hear when I'm returning phone calls at work. Primarily because I feel the need to bust out in random dance moves while on the job and I'm pretty sure that doesn't fit anywhere into the definition of professionalism. While I'm on the topic of music, I need to have a little chat with the person who deemed it appropriate to begin playing Christmas music on the radio the day after Halloween. To everything there is a season and Christmas music season officially begins on Thanksgiving Day in my world. Recently I've gotten up on my soapbox a couple of times about the feral cats in my apartment complex. Nobody likes feral cats except my dog. And he doesn't really like the cats per say, but he sure loves to "clean up" after them if you know what I mean. The first person who can give me a clear explanation as to exactly why dogs do that will be awarded a prize, by the way.

Over the past few days one of my favorite gal pals and I have been exchanging a series of emails regarding another topic that really gets me on a soapbox: incredibly intelligent women who live with completely unrealistic expectations about how life should be or is going to be once ____________ happens (a multitude of scenarios can fill in the blank, but in my observations most revolve around relationships). It frustrates me beyond measure and makes me sad for them all at the same time. Yesterday I spent much of the day thinking about this very subject (when I wasn't complaining to my co-worker, Erin, about how badly the stupid Crest Whitestrips that I had decided to try were making my teeth hurt), and then another gal pal and I got into a lengthy phone conversation about the same topic last night. Because you know, essentially the 3 of us have the world completely figured out and everyone should look to us as models of perfect decision makers. If there was ever a time that I needed you 4 readers out there to pick up on my sarcasm, it's here and now in that last sentence. Of course after hanging up the phone I had one of those moments. You know, the really convicting kind where the whole lesson about glass houses and throwing stones suddenly comes to mind. Who am I to determine what is "wise" or "unwise" regarding the decisions that other people make? And was I helping matters any by getting on my soapbox? Nope. Not in the least. Shouldn't I focus more on being a good example instead? Isn't that what we are called to do? I think so. All that to say that now I feel led to share a part of my story that you won't read much about here in the blogosphere. (Word to the wise: don't ever pray for transparency unless you have this burning desire to be very uncomfortable at times.) It has to do with matters of the heart, more specifically my heart, and oddly enough how The Shack has been instrumental in reassuring this little heart of mine and reaffirming my belief that God always works to the good of those who love Him. However this story is going to have to wait for a day or so because I'm tired and I feel like I need to bring my a-game for this one. So stay tuned, but not so tuned in that you forget to do things like eat and brush your teeth and go to work for the love of pete. It's really not exciting at all, but maybe just maybe someone will be a teensy bit encouraged by it. Hey, what's a girl got if she doesn't have hope?