.cubicles.

In my experience, one of the most frustrating aspects of being a woman is queuing up to use the ladies room. On the rare occasion I enter a public restroom where there is no line, I am tempted to do a little celebratory jig, but refrain for the fear that a pack of women will enter the ladies room and usurp my position.

I don’t understand why the line to the bathroom is that much longer for the feminie species. Sure, there are particular reasons why the process is speedier for men, its basic biology…but this isn’t really the forum to go into detail. Biology aside, I see no quantifiable reason for the line to be as long as it is…I guess a lot of us spend time primping and preening in front of the mirror – however this ritual should not impact the turn around time of each individual cubicle. Get in, do your business & get out.

Further to my above frustration; crawling traffic, dawdling shop assistants and slow walkers get on my nerves. Patience is not strength of mine....apart from the card variety, I didn’t have many friends as a kid, so I’m ace. Apparently it is a virtue, but I don’t believe that many people would be virtuous when confronted with a bursting bladder and a line as long as the Great Wall of China to get to the loo.

Cultivating patience in ones life is not a pleasant experience. Currently, I feel like I am in transit….but not moving forward, sitting idle. I know where I want to go and what I want to happen; ready to slam my foot on the accelerator. Yet discernment is telling me to slow down and not race into anything. So here I sit, idle, waiting patiently.

Good things come to those who wait and I feel as if I have been waiting for a lifetime. Ironically, I’m afraid that after all the waiting, God will answer my prayers and I will mess it up. Trepidation is my best worst enemy…it’s kept me from experiencing so much, but it has also protected me from much more. I guess when you are invested entirely in something, you have much more to lose and from what I’ve learnt, the best way to live is when you are entirely engrossed, abandoning yourself, relinquishing every hesitation.

I want to live a life where I am not afraid to fail, a life where I don’t hold onto something so dearly that I am afraid the picture I have in my mind will crush if I say or do the wrong thing. Patience is an amazing quality that I believe God can grant in immeasurable quantities and in unbelievable circumstances, but I don’t want to be tricked into thinking I am waiting patiently, when really, what I am being ‘patient’ for is an idol, distracting me from being truly engrossed in what and whom I should be: Jesus.

Trust in the LORD and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Take delight in the LORD,
and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD;
trust in him and he will do this:
He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,
your vindication like the noonday sun.
Be still before the LORD
and wait patiently for him
Psalm 37:3-7a

.multitasking.

Women are meant to be fantastic multitaskers. I do not believe myself to be one of these women. Yes, I can eat a sandwich, listen to music and facebook, but none of these activities require actual skills. Legitimate multitasking involves numerous actions where real skills are utilised. Chewing, typing and using your ears are not particularly skilful actions.

My inability to tenpin bowl would be an example of my incapability to multitask. Walking towards the lane, focusing my aim, lunging to bowl the ball, releasing and then actually bowling in straight line seems beyond me. One might say that tenpin bowling is not a multitasking action, that rather, it is one fluid motion....I beg to differ.

I am very much in awe of people who are multitaskers. Specifically, I am in awe of musicians. Earlier in the week I went and saw some live music and was blown away by the support act who was able to sing, play guitar, the harmonica and still manage to look trendy. I do not look trendy when I try to tenpin bowl.

I live in a share house and one of my flatmates has instruments around the lounge room (namely an acoustic guitar, a bass, a djambe and a tambourine). About a week ago I had a few friends over for dinner and as the majority of them are musically inclined a jam session was unavoidable. While they were all being cool cats, singing and strumming, I sat there being my usual dorky self, wishing I had learned an instrument instead of the nunchucks. My nunchuck skills are off the hook….whenever you see me, I am nunchucking. I’m so first-rate that you can’t see my hands or the nunchucks moving.

Nunchuck skills aside; musicians are amazing (it’s no wonder every girl I know wants a boyfriend with a guitar in tow) and I do wish I had the potential to be some crazy talented musical lass who wows crowds with her stellar voice and ability to play fifteen instruments at once. But, I am not that woman.

Truthfully, I am still trying to figure out who the heck I am. Small pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together, but it feels as if there are so many wrong pieces I try to jam into my puzzle. Often, I don’t realise that I’m trying to be someone or something I am not. That’s why I am so thankful to God for slowly but surely revealing to me the women he desires me to be.

.wired.

Intellgence.

Uh-oh.

I decide to write a blog about intelligence and I don’t even spell it correctly the first time…perhaps I didn’t strike the ‘I’ key with enough gusto….yes…gusto…..that is the story I am going to stick to.

Some people are ridiculously smart. I can’t comprehend how scientists and mathematicians even solve the most basic of problems. Their brains are just wired so differently to mine. My brains wiring is an array of colours, with a plethora of swirls and twirls, flourishes and embellishments. But there is a method to the creative madness of my brain. It is also organised; there is uniformity to the chaotic rainbow of wiring in my head, each part having its place and purpose.

Constantly, my organised side and my creative side are at war. Organisation v Creativity. Organisation over in the left corner, Creativity over in the right. To compare the battle going on in my brain to one of my favourite childhood books – Matilda, Organisation looks like Miss Trunchbull. She’s all military, monobrowed and ready to push Creativity straight into the chokey. Creativity of course is Miss Honey, who is floral, full of finesse and ready to let Organisation know she’s not going to be oppressed any longer. In Matilda, Miss Honey and Matilda kick Miss Trunchbulls kahki’d butt. But when it comes to my brain, there is no winner. Creativity and organisation are as strong as each other and the battle rages.

I consider my brain and how it has been so masterfully put together (oh yes, it is full of glitches – but that’s part of the appeal) and marvel. I am amazed at how others brains are put together; how one person can perform magic by solving equations in their head, how another brings beauty into the world by arranging texture and colour.

Intelligence is subjective. No brand of cleverness is more significant or necessary than the other. Logic needs creativity and creativity needs logic. I’m so delighted that the world has been crafted in such a way. Gravity keeps our planet (and the all others) in orbit and at the same time the solar system manages to be one of the most exquisite sights one will ever view. God’s logic and creativity is working in perfect harmony in this world.

And bizarrely, God is bringing harmony to the war that is raging in my head.

.tripper.

Maintaining balance is not what you would call one of my strengths and while I'm not a complete klutz, I am prone to the occasional topple.

One such instance occurred about 3 weeks ago. I had just been to church and had to rush off to a family picnic, on the way, I stopped at local shopping centre to drop off some items to be dry cleaned and buy some batteries. By chance, I happened to run into my flatmate in Coles on my way to get some AA's. The line to the check out was unnecessarily long and in an effort to save some time, I embarked on a mission to find my flatmate and ask him to purchase on my behalf. This mission involved a dash through the fruit and vegetable section...who would have thought that a rouge grape would come across my path, rendering me flat on my butt in front of a stack of bananas (of the human and fruit variety). Needless to say, I was blushing like a tomato. I found my flatmate, gave him the batteries and fled!

To console myself, I grabbed a take away coffee and a slice of carrot cake. I toddled off to my car, opened the door, flung my handbag onto the passenger seat and felt something slip from my hand. My precious carrot cake had tumbled to an untimely death....much like myself a few moments earlier. Amazingly, the cake had remained in tact (as I had....well, physically...not so much emotionally). I stood there for a good ten seconds trying to decide if I should pick up the cake or not....


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I'm ashamed to admit it, but I snatched it up, plonked myself behind the wheel, drank my coffee and savoured every morsel of the gravel infested carrot cake.

In addition to my physical trips, I have noticed that I have been tripping in other ways recently. There have been no special brownies, or mystical mushroom pizzas, instead, my trips have been of a moral nature. Honestly, I haven’t been living out what I profess to believe and I’ve tripped in a multitude of ways.

I was reading Luke (7:40-50) the other day and was reminded of Gods amazing grace when I came across the following passages about Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman.

Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

“Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.

Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”

Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

I love how God forgives. That forgiveness is not impingent on what I do, but rather what he has done. I trip every day and I am so grateful that he catches me.

.onions + honesty.

Expressing myself verbally is not at strength of mine. Place me in a situation where I need to be articulate my feelings and I'll end up blubbering, spitting out some non-sensical string of words resembling a foreign language or I just won't say anything at all. I've decided that when I get married, instead of speaking my vows to communicate my love for my husband-to-be that I'll either put together a PowerPoint point presentation with cheesy photos of our dating days; send him a thoughtful text message or break into an whimsical interpretive dance to a cliché love song of my choosing.

I’ve been undertaking some self psycho-analysis (emphasis on the psycho, less on the analysis) and I cannot quite pin down why I find this so difficult. My parents have always told me how much I am loved and encourage me incessantly – there has rarely been a moment where I haven’t felt supported by my father and mother. Rather I almost felt over encouraged – surely no one can be the most intelligent and best-looking person in the universe?

So why, when I have always been showered with praise and confidence in my abilities do I find it so hard to let others know how I feel and what I think?

Partially, I assume it is because of my belief that encouragement and praise should be deserved. I’m not really one to compliment people without restraint; rather I prefer to give accolades when I wholeheartedly believe something. Praise, when given too frequently can seem insincere and I’d prefer that the words I speak to others are perceived as truthful, not artificial. This belief leads me to be sparse with my compliments.

Also, I think I just need to work on my ability to express what I feel. Although acclamations are not strictly associated with emotion, a true compliment is given wholeheartedly without pretence; you need to be vulnerable - thus bringing closer the link between praise and feeling.

Despite my lack of ability in expressing my feelings verbally, I have no problems putting my words on paper (or a screen!). It’s easier to write things down, you don’t have to look at the person; you can plan out what you are going to say and articulate yourself effectively. There are too many variables when you are speaking to somebody and pay them a heartfelt compliment; the biggest variable with me is that I’ll cry. I even cry when I write a nice card to somebody and watch him or her read it.

My endeavour this year is to not compliment more frequently or freely, but to continue to be sincere in my encouragements and not be concerned if I become emotional. As I mentioned, the best compliments are given sincerely and if my form of sincerity involves looking like I’ve diced a kilo of onions, then I suppose that’s not such a bad thing.

.reconcile.

Numbers are not my forte.

Give me a list of words and I’ll arrange it into a quirky line of prose. Hand me some fabric and I stitch up a dress. Supply me with ingredients and I’ll make a delicious meal. But place some numbers in front of me and I will be dumbfounded.

Oh, I have basic mathematics skills. Miraculously, I was awarded with the ‘vege’ maths award in Grade 11, but beyond addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, my arithmetic skills are lacking. I couldn’t complete a sodoku to save my life. At university, I only just scraped by in the ‘Introduction to Accounting’ unit. The combination of maths, profit and loss statements, balance sheets, depreciation, equity, blah blah blah and trying to make it all reconcile caused my head to spin.

The last two weeks, my head has been spinning more than ever. I’ve been confronted with a situation that has totally knocked me around. It has caused me to question myself, my values and who I thought I was. If you looked at my beliefs, my morals and checked them against my recent attitudes and actions, it definitely would not balance.

When you have been hurt by somebody, the automatic reaction is to hurt them back. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth (tangent: this adage makes the whole world blind and in need of a good dental plan). But Jesus had an interesting take on this saying in Matthew 5.

38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’39 But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. 40 And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. 41 If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. 42 Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

I ready Jesus’ words and am challenged. Instead of instigating revenge or spitting venomous words back at others, he instructs us to love and to pray for those persecute us.

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46 If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? 47 And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

I know that for the last few weeks that instead of loving, I have hated. I haven’t prayed for the person who has hurt me and asked God to help me love them, instead I’ve prayed that I would be vindicated.

For this, I am sorry.

Tomorrow, instead of responding in anger and hurt, I will try to respond in love. I will pray, because I realise I need Jesus to help me reconcile the gap between my beliefs and my actions. (And because my mathematical history proves that I'm no good at reconciliation!)

.treadmills.

If you’ve been reading my sporadically posted ramblings, you would note that last time I wrote about my recent love affair with the Gym. This love affair is still continuing, despite the fact Gym sees other women and leaves me exhausted and unable to walk down stairs (I did my first pump class a few weeks ago, rendering me incapable of descending down a flight of stairs without wincing after each step).

I attend an all female gym…this I mostly out of practicality (the gym is on the way to work), although I must admit the idea of doing a workout in a unisex gym unnerves me. I always end up looking like I’ve taken a bath in beetroot after I workout. I’m so red and sweaty that I’m afraid if I spot an attractive male, I’d be embarrassed, lose my cool (because I totally have it together all the time) and be catapulted off the treadmill.

While we are on the topic of the treadmill, am I the only person who is completely paranoid about stacking it on that confounded contraption? Being flung across the gym floor is in my top 5 greatest fears list. I have slow motion visions of me clumsily planting my foot, causing me to do the splits while I go head first into the hand rails, tumble down to the conveyor belt and manage to scrape my face off. Hopefully I don’t sound vain when I say this, but I like my face…. I’ve got a pretty good noggin and don’t want it to be mangled by a piece of machinery. Hence, I think it is perfectly rational for me to be hesitant to embrace the treadmill…. figuratively speaking.

Yes, I like my face….but generally speaking that’s where the liking of my ‘outer’ self ends and the loathing begins. Perhaps loathe isn’t the correct word….I don’t detest my body, because it really is a magnificent creation, capable of so much more than I understand. But there is a lot I would change about it, which is ridiculous – because it is fully functional without any serious issues (although I’ve realised my ‘upkeep’ hasn’t been so great, hence my foray with the gym), so why do I want to change it?

I don’t know one woman who wouldn’t change something about their body if they were given the opportunity…even people I know who look fantastic and would swap my body for in an instant (but I would like to keep my head!). Why are none of us happy with what we’ve been dealt? It’s completely unrealistic for me to think I will ever be a size 8…. I don’t believe I could ever be that size without looking completely emaciated. I have a solid/curvy build and (to a certain extent) I’ve accepted that.

Apparently, most surnames originate from the original family trade…. my surname loosely translated means ‘Cow Herder’…. what waif could herd cows around the Italian countryside? Genetically, I am made for hard labour and producing babies (courtesy of my child bearing hips). And while I am not currently pursuing either of these avenues, I intend to in the future (okay….maybe just the baby making).

I haven’t met one lady who wouldn’t change something about their body if they were given the opportunity. I see the same women at the gym every time I go, women who have amazing physiques and are running themselves into the ground. Yes, I do believe that taking care of your body is essential and I am realising this more and more…. but when exercise becomes an obsession it can be dangerous.

Negative body image, body dysmorphia and eating disorders are all serious issues. It is my opinion that while women are being given information to assist them in working through these issues, that media and society in general are still sending out conflicting messages. I don’t have the answers as to how we can repair this I anomaly….other than that each person (gender aside) needs to realise their value and not find that value in their appearance.

For me, I find my value in God. Knowing that he loves me regardless of my exterior and places worth on me, not because I look like a supermodel but merely because I am his child. This gives me comfort and hope in my moments of self-loathing and reminds me to focus on the eternal rather than the natural.