Dork and all.

Sexy and mysterious. Two words with which I am not acquainted. I manage to emanate about as much mystery as a peanut butter sandwich. You’re probably wondering what is mysterious about a peanut butter sandwich, nothing...its bread and peanut butter (unless you’re one of those weirdos who has butter and peanut butter, it’s peanut butter people, peanut butter.). Oh, and went it comes to sexy, I’ve got no idea. I can’t flick my hair without leaving others wondering if I’ve had a spasm and if I attempt a suggestive pout, I end up looking fibre deprived. 

I think this may be why I’ve never been an ambassador of the ‘flirt to convert’ idiom. If I was interested in someone who wasn’t into Jesus, I’d sure as heck have to rely on God’s mysterious ways to woo them into relationship with him and not on my feminine mystique. Flirting remains a foreign concept and after successfully managing to go 25 years without dating (at least, knowingly), it’s probably a good reflection that I’m not a flirter, or at least not a good one. 

One thing that I do know I’m good at is being myself, irrespective of the social situation. This doesn’t mean I am arrogant or inconsiderate. While I lack flirtelligence, I do have a healthy level of emotional intelligence (and a compulsive need to create hybrid words) and can judge the appropriate behaviour for an encounter. What I mean to say is that the Zara you meet at a party, at church or at the pub is the same, consistent. Consistently dorky, yes, but consistent nevertheless. 

Up until very recently I felt that maybe I needed to learn to flirt (and when I say learn, I mean an extensive google search) and modify the way I interact with men.    However, I’d rather stick at the area I excel in, which is being the woman the Lord created, unencumbered. I would prefer a man to be frightened away by my ever growing bunch of eccentricities than my creepy attempt at sexy and mysterious. 

At least that way, we avoid that awkward day in the future when my husband walks into our loungeroom and finds me interpretive dancing in my elmo pyjamas to Queen while vaccuming and eating peanut butter sandwiches. Instead of being confounded and wondering what happened to his sexy and mysterious wife, he’ll be glad that when we met, I was myself, dork and all. 

.dreams.

Dreams should be written with pen and paper,
not typed and confined to a computer screen.
Scrawled by the dreamer, the words must be freed,
frantic script, long languid strokes.
Penned by the hand,
the brain that brought them to being.

.time.

I like that time does not discriminate, that the hands of the clock continue to turn despite human-kinds best efforts. Time is integrous, it does not change, it is dependable and reliable. It does not bend, does not give in...it continues on its unwavering path. I resolve to be more like time and relish in it’s steadfastness. 

Yet, I plead with time to pause, rewind and fast-forward to accommodate my whims and my fancies. It is here that I do not like time, that time is arrogant, ticking away, oblivious to those constrained by its hands. 

During these periods of constraint, when I desire to hold onto time, to revert back or leap forward, I look at times integrity with contempt. How dare my life be dictated by its relentlessness. I did not choose to be bound by time, by seconds, minutes and hours.

It appears I am at odds with time. I crave its stability, yet abhor it simultaneously. With my own understanding I cannot reconcile with time, for it escapes the bounds of my comprehension. 

God is not bound by time, yet he works within time and while there is so much I do not and cannot comprehend about God, I can fathom his love for me and that he makes everything beautiful in its time (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:

    a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot, 

    a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

    a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance,

    a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

    a time to search and a time to give up,

    a time to keep and a time to throw away,

    a time to tear and a time to mend,

    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

    a time to love and a time to hate,

    a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:2-8

.knotted mess.

It trips me out that each person has a story. A story with joy and sadness, love and loss, calm and storms. A story that has led them to where they are now, to their current level of mess. We all have mess, we’re all screwed up, we just all have different levels of screwed-up-ness and mess surrounding us.

Being screwed up isn’t wrong, it isn’t bad, it just is and we all are. 

We can look at our own screwd-up-ness and the screwed-up-ness of others and wonder how we’ll all ever get out of this mess. Or we can look at the mess with hope and know it can be made beautiful. We can embrace ourselves, with all the twists, gnarls and knots. We can let God embrace us, with all the ugliness that each of us hold, let go and learn that he loves. 

Love is redeeming, Gods love bring us out of darkness into light. Some of the twists are gone and a few of the knots are loosening, but I’m standing in a mess and still have my own special way of being screwed up. Difference is, I’m no longer fumbling around in the dark. The knots are being made beautiful, for no other reason than to glorify him, the one redeeming the mess. 

.mad.

At work, I sit next to a loud typer. Any given time, her keystrokes can be heard across the office, so my close proximity to the click clacking rattles my eardrums. Violent typing is said colleagues only vice and if it wasn't for her emphatic hen pecking, she'd be perfect. 

I type loudly when I'm angry, if someone or something has gotten up my nose, they can expect a strongly worded, yet exceptionally polite e-mail (a skill I learnt from my darling mother). In 2012, I have been tempted to leap into a violent typing frenzy, because

I 

HAVE 

BEEN 

MAD.

Mad is not a word I use often and is an emotion that I rarely let take a hold. Seldom do I see the merit in getting angry, as we usually get mad for mundane reasons...reasons that are beyond our control such as traffic jams & burnt toast (there should be an international toasting regulation standard where the settings on each toaster manufactured are consistent, to guarantee golden brown toast everytime). Or, we're vexed by others because somewhere (even if we don't realise it) a raw nerve is touched by their actions/words and we retaliate. 

From my observations, anger or frustration in reaction to most situations stems from our own brokenness and not the situation we are immediately facing. You get to the point where turbulent behaviour and vicious words seem like the only release. Then, upon reflection spitting acerbic words and slamming inanimate objects seems childish, hurtful (to others and yourself) and unnecessary. 

During the times I've been angry this year and wanted to rant incessantly on various social media platforms, I have come to realise that a rant will not help the situation. I can't change those around me whose actions and attitudes frustrate me, I can only try to put my finger on the raw nerve being hit and make changes in my own life so I react in a manner that is not damaging to myself, others and our relationships. 

I've also thought about what actually is worth getting mad about. Oppression and injustice make me irate. Hunger, poverty, abuse, segregation, discrimination, falseness, greed. Each of these issues anger me, yet I don't know what I can do to tangibly make a difference. 

I am at odds.....and that makes me mad. 

.eleven lessons from twenty eleven.

If my January 2012 self met my January 2011 self, this is what I would tell....myself.

Eleven reminders of eleven lessons I learnt, re-learnt or continued to learn in twenty eleven.

1. Stay up late on a school night. It’s worth being tired at work the next day. 
2. Don’t stand for injustice. The choices you make each day have the power to change another persons world. 
3. Heed caution when it comes to your caffeine intake. Your usual daily caffeine intake doesn't exceed one latte, so think twice about drinking a latte, a double shot latte, a bottle of coke and another latte on one day. Your friends will disown you and fellow passengers on public transport will give you weirder looks than usual.
4. Don’t try and do everything in your own strength. There are others available to help and there is strength to call on greater than your own. 
5. Cars & mobile phones are a recipe for disaster. You might not hit a person, but you can still get hit with a $243.50 fine from a not so fine police officer riding a push bike (who you initially thought was just some delinquent tapping on your car window). 
6. Value friendships. Especially those who are consistent in keeping in touch - they are worth their weight in gold. 
7. Occasionally, try not to be so responsible. It makes life much more interesting (however, keep lessons three & five in mind).
8. Do try a radical new haircut. You might be surprised with the results.
9. Feelings are fickle. Know what you believe and stick to it, regardless of what your emotions are saying.
10. Don’t wear a red and white striped shirt to work. Even though you are clearly going for the parisian look, all day your colleagues will refer to you as Wally, a pirate or if Christmas is around the corner....a candy cane.
11. Be yourself. You don’t realise how much just being you has the power to bless those around you.

Crimson
Covenant
Foundation
Magnificent colours
Intricate patterns
Built on foundation
Found in covenant
Liberty
Contentment
Peace