Harry and Andrea

I walked into the gym one night this week and was greeted by the voice of a former student, “Hi Andrea.”  It took me about 5 minutes to recover and respond appropriately.  She then proceeded to comfortably call me by my first name about 3 times.  There are a few reasons why this bothers me.

1.  I didn’t give her permission to call me Andrea even though I know there’s no logical reason why an adult should call another adult “Mrs. Last Name.”

2.  I just don’t like going to the gym and seeing former students (or closest friends!).  I like to maintain a certain level of anonymity at the gym.  I want to walk in and be ignored (and pretend like I’m just as fit as anyone else in there!).

3.  As a teacher, I tried to maintain a distance between my person and professional life. This forces those two worlds to collide and I don’t know how to deal with it. (And I shouldn’t have to think that hard when I go to the gym!)

4.  It reminds me that a former student works at the gym where I’m a member, which means that she has access to my personal information and has some kind of authority over me (which is just weird!).

5.  It reminds me that she–somewhat effortlessly–has the body I–somehwat effortlessly–had when I was her age.  (And that is just not an encouraging thought when you’re trying to get in shape!)

So, today I had one of those mornings.  It started when I overslept–because cold mornings and a warm, cozy bed are a weakness of mine.  I finally dragged myself out of bed half-awake (or half-asleep, I guess, depending on your glass) and forgot to put the lid on the blender when I was making the smoothie.  Needless to say, I made a mess.  Everything was in slow motion and my stomach was acting a little unsettled.  So, I opted to wait awhile on breakfast and let it calm down–despite the fact that I am prone to grouchiness on an empty stomach.  When Harry left for work, I was hurriedly trying to wrap a birthday present to mail to a friend who’s turning 30 this weekend.  Of course I cut the paper too short and I didn’t have time to re-cut more.  Perfectionism reared it’s ugly head, but I pushed it back (albeit it to just below the surface to simmer) and let it be.  A few minutes later, I threw myself together, while forcing myself to adhere to a strict, self-inflicted schedule and therefore, growing anxious by the minute.  (Somehow, I actually did remember my mascara today and I think my clothes actually matched.)

I walked outside to get something out of the car that I needed to do before I could leave and realized that there was frost on the windshield.  I brilliantly decided to go ahead and start the car (that was already on E and desperate for gas) so that it would be warm and frost-free once I was ready to leave.  When I went back inside to print the maps I needed before I could start my work day, I got an error message from the printer:  out of ink.  I called my personal technology guru–my husband, of course–and realized that we have a stash of ink cartridges for just such a time as this!  The only one in there?  Cyan.  VERY different from LIGHT cyan, I guess.  After practically hanging up on Harry in my anxiety-driven-grouchy-empty-stomach-frustratingly-imperfect-self, I spent the next 30 minutes or so trying to figure out how to get my maps to print.  Clearly I didn’t need light cyan to print out directions from point A to point B.  But apparently, we have the kind of printer that refuses to print in grayscale even when it’s got plenty of black, but is out of light cyan.

About the time that I finally get all of the directions copied down by hand, breakfast downed and all my things together to walk out the door (about 20 minutes later than I wanted to be), I stop and think Why can’t I hear the car anymore? I say mean things to myself (because that’s what I do when I’m by myself and things don’t go the way I think they should go) and walk outside to discover that God has been merciful.  Miraculously ,the car-that-was-on-E-before-it-started-and-should-have-been-well-out-of-gas by now is still running after 30 minutes and had conserved enough gas to even make it to the nearest gas station.  I’m thinking that my luck has turned when the pump stops and I see one of the messages that frustrates me more than any other:  “Cashier has receipt.”   WHAT???  No, people, I don’t pay at the pump so that I can go inside the store and get my receipt.  I pay at the pump so that I can get on my way as quickly as possible.  And how does the gas pump, or the cashier, or the gas company always know when I’m late?  That’s the only time this happens!  I mean, I could have left without getting a receipt, but then I would never have remembered to record it and that would have sent me over the edge–you know because I’m clearly calm and collected now.

Well, I was in the car by myself a lot today.  So, I had a lot of time to think.  I remembered that I had been reading in Jonah and came across something that I wanted to process some more.  The word “provided.”  In one version I read, God “provided” a fish to swallow Jonah, a vine to give him shade, a worm to eat the vine and uncomfortable, hot weather conditions to make him miss the vine.  (In another version, the word is “appointed,” which is even cooler, in some ways.)  Ultimately, God provided opportunities for Jonah to acknowledge Him–to turn his attention from his own selfish desires and know Him.  I think this is a picture of God’s mercy as well as His discipline.

So, now when I look back on my morning (instead of feeling like nearly everything that could go wrong did), I realize that God provided an ink-less printer, an upset stomach, a nearly empty gas tank, and a slightly inconvenient gas station experience.  He provided it ultimately to take my eyes off of myself, to convict me of my idol of control and perfectionism, and to refocus my eyes on Him.  That’s merciful!  And that’s my God.

I’m in shock.  Someone pinch me please.

I don’t like to slow down.  I am independent and I’d like to stay that way.  I certainly don’t have time in my life for physical sickness and ailment, but sometimes even healthy 27-year-olds are forced to slow down.  Although why it always seems to happen around the same time that I start to feel really good about my exercise regimen, I can’t seem to figure out.

I have a sprain.  And what can you do for a sprain?  Be still.  Prop your foot up.  Put ice on it.  Can you go walking with a friend like you’d been planning to do?  Not so much.  Can you just run around the house taking care of every little detail before you go back to work?  Not so much. Can you paint the bathroom like you’d been planning to do?  Well, I’m going to try. It’s not like I’ll be painting with my feet!

Why is it so hard to get rid of things?  It could be anything—from a kitchen utensil that we’ve bought a replacement for, but we just might need a second one sometime…to a church bulletin from 1993 from the church I grew up in. I have boxes of church bulletins and cards and mementos from vacations and well-intended scrapbook plans. I have plenty of stuff that needs to be thrown away that I just can’t bring myself to throw away. I’ll try to throw it away and then think, but this was the first…, or this was the only…, or Aw, this reminds me of…

My mom recently gave me all of my birthday cards from like the first 5 years of my life.  She says because she thought I would like to see them, but it’s really because she doesn’t know how to get rid of them either!  So, I looked through them and noticed that my grandparents were always apologizing for being late.  I didn’t know that about them.  Then, I noticed that there were cards from other relatives who have already passed away and I appreciated that I could look at their handwriting.

I think I’m afraid that if I just throw them all away, I’ll be throwing my grandparents away too, along with all of my memories of them.  Is there a way to remember without hanging on too long?  Is there a way to remember and move on? Do I need to keep everything anyone ever gives me to honor that person?

Take the chair as another example.  A friend gave it to me when I moved into an apartment by myself and didn’t have any furniture.  It’s missing a leg and needs to be cleaned.  It’s a neutral color, but it’s really not anything to look at. I love this chair!  I love it because it reminds me of my friend.  It reminds me of a time when I didn’t really have much, but I was still able to create a home in which to bless people. I look at it and remember how it felt to move into my own place and to sit in a my own living room reading in the solitude. I like the way it feels when I sink into it with a good book.

The chair has been crammed into our guest room for almost two years now because I like the idea of a bedroom having a chair and because I don’t want to get rid of it, but it never really fit and I don’t think anyone really used it. Right now the chair is on its side in the middle of our living room while I try to decide what to do with it.  We’ll probably give it away, but we could keep it and use it upstairs when we finish remodeling until we can afford something we like.  We could cram it into another room and not use it for another two years.  There’s one voice saying, if we give it away, what will become of it? And another voice saying, why do I care? It’s just a chair.