There's a first time for everything.

The other night my mom told me that I was a diva. She might or might not have been justified in such name-calling, but we'll get to that in a minute. I would argue against the title because would a diva go to Target in her Southern hometown on a Saturday afternoon without a trace of make-up on her face? Doubtful. Speaking of, I really need to stop such antics before there's unnecessary chatter and speculation that I'm down with some sort of terminal illness. Unless practicality over not wasting a day's worth of make-up for a 15 minute trip to the Target pharmacy constitutes terminal illness. While I'm on the subject of the Target pharmacy, I just got a phone call from them informing me that the insurance company refuses to pay for my Differin gel because I'm over the age of 30. Really? Is this what health care reform is going to look like? Because I can promise no one wants to look like the un-medicated version of my jaw line. [Good thing I'm building my mother's case in my own very weak argument against it.]

Anywho, for those of you who accidentally stumbled upon this post while searching for "Target Black Friday deals" or something equally as important, I'm temporarily back in my mother's house until I figure out what zip code I want for my next one. Quick review:

• I haven't lived in my mother's house since 1997.
• I haven't shared living space with anyone for more than a couple of weeks at a time since 2003.

So maybe some of you are wondering how all of this is going. My dog loves it:

The cat hates it:

 

I plead the 5th.

 

Is it ideal? Absolutely not, but good heavens, what an easy problem to have, in the grand scheme of problems. I have a roof over my head and a mother who would open her door for any of her children no matter what. Yes, I had better check myself before I wreck myself.

 

My mother can only get away with calling me a diva because she's a saint. I once said so in a Mother's Day post here and 4 years later, it's still true. We absolutely have our differences, but that's probably why in the long run this whole little phase will be more manageable than it could have been. So why did she call me that in the first place? Because my 14 year old brother refused to use his own bathroom and took over mine. When all I wanted to do was slather on some acne cream and take out my contacts and go to bed like any other hip and happening early-30-something bunking at her mom's house. Good. Lord.

 

While I'm on the topic of moving back home, I'll note a few other observations for the sake of posterity because one day this will all be a fuzzy memory and I'll be whining about why I didn't take advantage of this time while I had it.

 

The city has made me soft. Target is now a 40 minute venture round trip. I have to drive somewhere to go running. I miss local restaurants. I miss living less than 5 minutes from a Starbucks no matter which direction I go. I miss my hip and trendy mega-church right beside my little apartment.

 

To be fair, rural living has its own charm. What's not charming about coyotes howling in the distance or random shotgun fire while out walking the dog either late at night [coyotes] or just after sunrise [shotguns - it's gun season, you know]? Word to the wise: Never watch The Walking Dead at 9:00 and then walk the dog when living in the middle of nowhere. Never. Ever. The leaves are much more colorful and pretty. The Blue Ridge mountains stretch along the horizon. I can easily pick out the constellations because the stars are brighter. The air is probably a little clearer. But I think I've decided it's this kind of stuff that long weekends are for. At least at this stage in the game for me. Mama asked me the other day if I would raise kids in the city. To which I blithely responded, 'why not?' But where I'm going to raise my unborn babies is the last thing on my mind these days. I'm much more concerned about finding my stone loaf pans before Thanksgiving at this particular moment. Besides something makes me think that I don't have to worry about raising babies anytime soon as long as my living arrangements match those of Howard Wolowitz.

Girl Should Not Live On Cookies Alone.

When I'm stressed out I do one of the following: run, bake, and write.
Saturday, I ran 8.5 miles and wrote some notes. Sunday, I baked 4 dozen cookies. Monday, I ran 3.5 miles. Today, I'm blogging. And I just offered to bake pumpkin bread for a pal to take to a breakfast tomorrow.
It's nice to know that my coping mechanisms are fully functional.

While I'm on the subject of stress, let's just go ahead and get a few things straight. Sure, I'm twirling my hair and wondering how in the world I'm ever going to get every single thing on my to-do list accomplished. [A good start would be to get off of the silly internet.] Yes, that's stressful. BUT, it's not "your dad has a 10% chance of living through the night" stressful. I've experienced both types, and I've learned that when one is in a really critical, stress-inducing situation, one does not have time to document miles ran and cookies baked on a blog. In other words, I'm not complaining. I believe the term for this they teach the youngsters in Health Psychology class is "eustress". I suspect that the term which best describes me right now is "frazzled" or "Liz Lemon". Because it's normal to unknowingly drop your keys when walking the dog in the morning only to return back to your locked door before realizing something is missing, right? And then you get to retrace your steps completely while on the hunt for said keys. In the rain. Or refer to a male coworker as "Ms." in a printed document for a little event that I'm responsible for planning at work. Hello, Monday. You really should come around more often.

My Monday continued when I returned my defective running shoes that I had previously ordered online to the local sporting goods store in my future town. If you are my FB friend, you've already seen the bang up job the postman did of hiding them upon delivery:

I still giggle when I think about his decision to put the doormat over a gigantic box as a cover. While at the store, I learned that they have been discontinued and it was that pair or nothing. I might have grieved the loss by swearing off running for good and drowning my sorrows in a Five Guys cheeseburger. I'm super stoked to start the hunt for a new favorite running shoe because I have about as much success in that area as I do in finding an intelligent and charming man who appreciates my sardonic wit and humor. Hmmm, maybe one works at the shoe store. Two birds, one stone. Oh how I love efficiency.

For dinner last night I had some of the cookies that I baked on Sunday. They really complemented that burger from lunch. That is one thing that I don't mind about being a little bit stressed because my metabolism responds by morphing into that of a 14 year-old boy's. I can eat and eat and eat and not gain an ounce. It's deee-light-ful. The other day I took the baby brother to lunch and ate more than he did. He's 19 and looks like this:

Tall and skinny [and incredibly adorably cute but I'm a big sister so of course I could be biased]. I am particularly fond of this picture because it was taken recently and he's wearing a shirt of mine from when I was in the 9th grade. In fact that's really the only reason why I'm including the picture. What? Didn't every girl from Georgia go through a future-lumberjack stage and wear flannels from American Eagle? It was only a phase, people. I'm a total girly girl. I've always admired Ethan for his ahem, sense of style. Down to the black crew socks with shorts and Sperry's. Lord bless the middle child. Anywho, back to my metabolism. I try not to take it or my good health for granted and abuse it so I must check myself before I wreck myself and abstain from eating cookies for dinner 3 nights in a row. Starting tomorrow. I'll probably run out of cookies between now and then anyway.

Insane Courage.

So, remember my last post about Stone Paths? I wrote it as a reminder to myself. Actually many of my posts serve that purpose because if I put it here instead of in a journal there's a little bit more accountability to actually walk the talk I'm so good at talking.

Here's the deal: I am dug in with both heels on my current stone. I wrote that post late Friday night when I should have been sleeping [or packing boxes]. In fact, I should be packing boxes right now or at least chipping away at something on my to-do list that is so complex it closely resembles an org chart of the soon-to-be consolidated institution I know and love dearly. There is nothing about me that wants to leave Athens. I'll write about that irony another day.

On Sunday I went to church and I'm a little surprised the bulletin didn't say "Dear Heather, listen closely 'cause this one's for you." because hello, relevant. Now, if you happen to be reading this and the word "church" makes you break out into hives, stay with me. Please. I promise not to preach. Thank you.

Have you guys ever seen "We Bought a Zoo"? I haven't either. However the current series at church is titled "20 Seconds of Courage" inspired by a part in this movie. Here's the hyperlink if you want to catch the under a minute snippet. The point is that Matt Damon's character is talking to his son [I think] and tells him "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."

When I'm really honest with myself, I know that there are times and situations when I'm driven more by fear than courage. It's nothing that I'm exactly proud to shout from the rooftop but it's me...HP. Now I'm not talking about conspiracy theory bury all of your money in coffee cans in the backyard type of fear. I'm talking about the fear of being told no or rejected therefore I just choose not to try. Sure, it may be great that I am hardly ever told no, but I have significantly limited my potential for "yes". I get that the person I'm hurting more than anyone is myself but good heavens, who all am I not helping as a result of this mindset? It's quite ridiculous when I actually type out the words.

At some point in the sermon the pastor mentioned that today is the day of salvation and I honestly kind of stopped listening for a few minutes because I was busy writing the following in my journal:
Today is the day of confession.
Today is the day of surrender.
Today is the day of obedience.
Today is the day to choose faith over fear.
Today is the day of freedom.

I think it's fear that often prevents us from confession, surrender, and obedience which is turn prohibits us from living a life where we are free to live courageously. We're afraid someone may find out there actually is a heart under a tough as nails surface. We're afraid that if we stand up for what we believe in, we will be shunned by the people we want to like and respect us. We're afraid that if we stop trying to control circumstances then our lives will spin completely and totally out of control. We're afraid to let go of our own agenda to take hold of a better one. By "we", I mean "I'. I'm guilty of all of those things and it's quite exhausting to let fear lead.

Sure, having courage can generate a type of fear too, but it's typically pretty temporary when we experience the outcome of showing courage. I have much more regret over decisions made in fear than actions taken in courage. So, if we truly believed that showing just 20 seconds of insane courage would lead to something great, what would we accomplish? We can hold our breath for 20 seconds and live to tell about it. This means we can be courageous for 20 seconds and live to tell about it too. [Most of the time. Unless your definition of courage involves only actions taken by Evel Kneivel.]

What does 20 seconds of courage look like?
Saying yes to an unknown future filled with potential that is yet to be seen?
Saying no to instant gratification in exchange for something better a little further down the road? Calling a friend and saying "I'm sorry"?
Calling a loved one and saying "I forgive you"?
Asking her out for coffee?
Telling him you're just not that into him?
Texting "99999" to a disaster relief agency?
Committing to volunteer somewhere outside of your comfort zone?
Admitting you were wrong?
Recognizing and celebrating the accomplishment of someone in your circle?

The possibilities are quite limitless. I actually need a few minutes of courage to catch up on some things that I have been allowing to hold me back. It doesn't matter where I start, as long as I start. So um, please remind me of this, ok? Thanks.

Fill in the blank: Today is the day of _________________________. Go ahead. Go insane.

"This is my command - Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." -Joshua 1:9

Soundtrack: You Can Do This & You Will Do This Edition.

Y'all. I don't really like for my posts to sound like they are written by Debbie Downer, but my heart is heavy and burdened for so many precious folks in my life. Bodies are failing, marriages are falling apart, strongholds are getting stronger. The thing about hurt and pain is that it's not easily defined and what may be a struggle for one isn't for another. So it's times like these that while I really, really, really just want to fix it and make it better for the people in my circle whom I love and care for dearly, I have learned that sometimes the best response is being like Job's friends. And for you Bible scholars out there who know much more about the book of Job than I do, I'm specifically referring to their initial response when Job initially lost seemingly everything:

"When Job's three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was." Job 2:11-13

I love how they responded because they went to him, they grieved for him and along with him, and then they remained with him even when they knew that they could not change circumstances.

Andy Stanley has a fantastic message on the topic of Pain in a series called Twisted titled "Facing Forward". [It's Part 3, for those of you who may be inspired to follow the link and listen...which I highly recommend!] In his message he uses one of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes: "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world”. Please don't be mistaken and take this as God is shouting at us and He's using this pain as a message to try to 'get our attention' or 'make us pay'. I struggled with that way of thinking for a long, long time because I had [and sometimes still have] the tendency to believe that I was experiencing a painful event as punishment as a result of something that I had done. Of course, our decisions can lead us to experience painful situations, but once again, I was giving myself way too much credit for being able to control my life and my circumstances and figure out God's responses to my behavior. Besides, God is a God of grace, not in your face punishment. He loves us. [and because he loves us, he disciplines us, yes.] He grieves with us.

For those of you who love music as much as I do, I have certain "go to" songs depending upon whether I'm experiencing good, bad, mediocre, or somewhere in between. I also have weird hang-ups about only listening to Alison Krauss during the fall months but that's another post for another psychotherapist to decipher. So here are some of my current favorite songs for when things in life are a little chaotic or full of hurt and confusion:

I Will Not Be Moved. Natalie Grant.
Overcome. Jeremy Camp.
Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You). Kelly Clarkson. [Confession: I do the dance that's in the video on a regular basis in my living room. And I look super awesome when I do.]
The Hurt and The Healer. MercyMe
Walk. Foo Fighters. [Not going to lie: There really aren't very many situations in life in which FF can't improve matters at least a little.]
Times Like These. Foo Fighters.
Lift High. Steve Fee. "Nothing brings him greater fame / When broken people call his name."
God's Not Dead. Newsboys.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge in this post that today would have been my daddy's 57th birthday. We miss him greatly and there are still some days when I catch myself thinking "Really? My dad isn't here and I can't just pick up the phone and call him if I want to?" It's not that I'm in denial, it's just that even after almost three years, the death of a loved one is still a bit surreal. It catches you off guard at the most unexpected times. In the beginning those moments were absolutely excruciating and I dreaded them. It was still too new and the pain was far too great. Eventually though those moments became welcome because they serve as nice reminders of sweet memories. [Even if the nice man sitting next to you on the airplane cannot for the life of him figure out why this girl just suddenly teared up for no apparent reason at all in mid-conversation.]

So, if you're out there reading this and you happen to be going through a painful period in life, not only can you get through it, you will get through it.

Irrational Fear.

irrational (adjective) - not in accordance with reason; utterly illogical
fear (noun) - something that causes feelings of dread or apprehension; something a person is afraid of
Source: Dictionary.com

Those of you who know me best know that I have a tendency to worry on occasion. By occasion, I might or might not mean 17 hours per day at least 6 days per week. Fortunately, my worry gene doesn't conflict with my love of sleep gene.

If you know me best, you also know that most of worries are absolutely ridiculous in the grand scheme of things. They are completely and totally irrational. I've even been known to call a fellow worrier once or a thousand times and say "Ok, I need to talk through my latest irrational fear." [Ugh, remind me to never, ever pray for transparency again. Ever.] Usually just verbalizing the fear diminishes much of the anxiety that accompanies it. Sometimes though I just internalize it. Usually a clear indicator that this is happening is that some hair on the right side of my head is a little curlier than the other curls because I twirl it like crazy when something is on my mind.

The source of inspiration for today's topic comes in light of my most recent trip to the dentist. Fact: I fear the dentist. Like, I fear the dentist so much that when I became a grown up with my own dental insurance and decision-making abilities, I decided to stop going. [Instead of judging me, thank me for being the person who contributes to low insurance premiums!!] And then my wisdom teeth started bothering me so I took care of that little detail and never went back once the post-surgery Percocet wore off. I'm embarrassed to admit how long ago that was. Then suddenly two weeks ago I chipped a tooth while flossing. The only thing scarier than going to the dentist is walking around a speed dating event with a snaggle tooth. Bahahahahaha, speed dating event. Talk about stirring up some irrational fear. Long story short, the tooth was repaired without major consequence but they weren't able to do a cleaning that day so I scheduled it for Monday, May 8 at 2:00. All sorts of time to mentally prepare for that little visit. Until yesterday morning when my phone rang and my friendly neighborhood dentist had a cancellation for that afternoon. Oh. My. Word. You would have thought that I was entering the Hunger Games arena. But guess what: It wasn't a terrible trip at all. My teeth are in tip-top shape AND the dentist didn't even have to hold my nose to get me to open my mouth so that he could fit me for a partial tooth. That childhood event might or might not be a contributing factor to my irrational fear of the dentist.

What are some other irrational fears of mine? Oh, I've got a laundry list, unfortunately.

Balloons. If I ever have children, they will never have balloons at their birthday parties. Or at the grocery store. Or at a restaurant. Or ever. I mean, there's nothing more disturbing than going to O'Charley's when all I want to do is load up on those hot rolls and a fried chicken salad smothered in cheese, honey mustard dressing and olive oil infused croutons and end up sitting directly behind a toothy toddler with a balloon tied to his high chair. Not only is it a choking hazard, it is a recipe for unanticipated loud noises and I don't like those one little bit. Which leads me to...

Thunder. You know how adults always say to kids during thunderstorms "oh, that's just God and the angels bowling up there." Gimme a break. I wholeheartedly believe that God has better things to do with his time than bowl a couple of games during the spring and summer months. Not that I'm not an avid supporter of leisurely pursuits, but really bowling? Might I recommend Angry Birds. He can mute the volume on his smart phone. I'm not sure why I'm afraid of thunder. My dear daddy used to always say that it's because I stayed with my grandmother during the day and she was terrified of thunder so I learned that fear from her because she would jump and say "gosh!" every.single.time. it thundered which totally interrupted my 5:00 viewing of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Chalk one up for nurture in the nature versus nurture battle.

Apartment Fire. I do not trust my neighbors. Why not? I excitedly posted this picture on April 3, 2010 to rejoice the departure of my least favorite pair in the hood:

They are STILL here. And they are not the most responsible smokers if you know what I mean. All is takes is one rogue still smoldering cigarette in the dry, dry pine straw during the summer months and well, I don't even like to think about it. Especially when my sweet, sweet puppy spends his days at home innocently watching day time television and dreaming of treeing cats.

Never getting married. Please, no eyerolls. Allow me to say what I have to say because this isn't so much a fear as it is a worry. It's not like I'm afraid of living by myself because I've been doing that a-ok for 10 years now. I just believe we were created to share life with someone and by someone, I do not mean a herd of cats or even a loyal canine companion. This, like the other ones I've listed it's completely and totally irrational.

So, let's discuss:

Dentists. If I'm going to be afraid, then shouldn't I be more concerned about the long-term negative health consequences that result from not going to the dentist than I am about the scrapy thing on my teeth or having to get a shot in the roof of my mouth and the needle hitting a nerve over and over again during said shot (that also happened in childhood)? Yes, yes, I should.

Balloons. If I'm going to be afraid, shouldn't I be more concerned about the choking-hazard that the balloon poses to the toddler who is happily chomping away on an inflated balloon instead of a loud noise disturbing my dinner as I'm happily chomping away on those hot rolls slathered in butter?

Thunder. If I'm going to be afraid, shouldn't I be more concerned about the lightening or tornadoes that typically accompanies thunder?

Apartment Fire. Ok, I still haven't actually come up with a ridiculous point for this one. Other than the fact that I apparently STILL haven't come to terms with the fact that I cannot control the universe. NomattherhowhardItry.

Never getting married. If I'm going to fear anything about this topic, shouldn't I be more concerned over marrying the wrong person? Because the only thing I want to do less than never get married is to get a divorce.

Here's what I've learned about fear and worry in this little life of mine, thus far. Typically when we have a real, substantial reason to worry, we don't have time to do so. The worry doesn't consume us because our bodies kick into some sort of weird survival-push through-I can do this mode. The only example/experience that immediately comes to my mind is when dad was sick in the hospital before he died. That time was so uncertain and full of unknowns but I was filled with a continuous peace throughout it all. In fact, this is what got me through much of that time:

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." -Philippians 4: 4-7

Maybe you're wondering how I can just read a passage and say "oh, that's all I needed to make it through a trying time." Well, that's not what I'm saying for a single second, but I absolutely believe these words because I did make it through that trying time with a sense of peace throughout it all. And I know my success is not my success at all. Without God and his grace, love and mercy, I would have been a floundering little fish in so many circumstances. Yes, my faith is much stronger in hindsight than it is in the midst of a storm. Just call me Thomas. Or Peter. Or well, actually call me Heather, please.

So, what does worrying accomplish? Not one single thing. I write about these ridiculous worries in jest, but also with a bit of seriousness because worry and fear are very real things to the person who experiences them. Even when there is nothing really to be afraid of or worried about. Our minds are incredible and we can drive that crazy train of doubt, fear, and worry until it derails or runs out of gas. My intent is that the next time the train pulls into the station, before I hop aboard, I will remember to stop and determine if there's reason for worry. Typically if I have to question it, I already know the answer. And when I cannot rely on myself alone (which I never, ever should), maybe I'll remember to turn here. Which is where I should start in the first place, but I've never claimed to always take the most direct route...she says 1,575 words later.

"Pray and let God Worry." -Martin Luther