.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.

.mutant.

For somebody who's not dating or in a relationship I seem to have a few men in my life at the moment. No, I have not signed up for eharmony, rsvp or the like. Although the '23 & still single' advertisements which reside on the right hand of my screen whenever I log into facebook cause me to consider that I must be a mutant, I've somehow withheld from completing a riveting online profile about my love for moonlight, pina coldas and hiking. At the ripe old age of 23 I am resigned to a life of spinsterhood, but back to these men.

The first man who recently came into my life was Gym. I resisted at first, only casually seeing him twice a week if I could muster up the energy. Then I had a bad douse of the dreaded Melbourne winter lurgy & all communication with Gym ceased. However, a few months later, with all his charm, Gym lured me back into his tight clutches. Now I see him two times on a bad week & four on a good one. We usually spend about 40 minutes together when I see him. I tend to do most of the giving & he does most of the taking. He doesn't talk much. And thats okay with me, because if the gym equipment started consoling me during a workout I'd have to question my sanity, or at the very least my kilojule intake for that day.

The other man, Myki, I hold hands with at least twice a day. This is a very fresh relationship as it was only last week we first became aquainted. Oh yes, I'd heard of him. He has regularly been in the media & there are advertisement of him plastered all over Melbourne, but once again I resisted. Why get involved with a man who seemed to be such bad news? It was inevitable, I had to get involved with Myki - otherwise I'd never get anywhere. Despite the fact that we've only just met, the first thing he did was steal my money! I rang a friend of his to find out what the gripe was & it turns out that Myki had a glitch in his system that week. His mate assured me that he'd have the money back to me by the end of the week. Alas! I feel the trust is broken but I don't really have a choice, Myki is here to stay & I'll never lay my eyes on a metcard again.

Even though these two men treat me badly (I feel as if I've been beaten up each time I visit Gym & Myki makes me poorer by the day), I make time for them. Primarily I guess it is because they are two essential elements to my daily lifestyle - exercise and transport.

But there is one man, the most vital man whom I do not make sufficient time for. This man has never treated me badly, he has only ever loved & adored me...he woos me with beautiful sunsets & blossoming flowers. He cares for my every need & tells me I am beautiful. He saved me, reedeemed me & has made me the women I am today. His name is Jesus. He's the guy for me & always will be. Even though I neglect him for things like working out & resolving my public transport woes, I know that his love remains faithful & true.

.microwaves.

The microwave is a precarious household appliance and I just can’t quite decide my feelings. Primarily my microwave oven sees left-overs and soup enter its magical heating cavity. Now and then, I’ll steam some veggies or defrost some meat. And on the odd occasion, if I’m craving a bacon sanga (I love love love bacon, if bacon was a man, I would marry him) I’ll nuke a few rashers within an inch of their death and team with some toast, cheese and bbq sauce.

Aside from the odd rasher of bacon sizzling away in the microwave (only in the direst of situations), I am opposed to the idea of cooking protein in said contraption. The idea of scrambling eggs, cooking a steak or ‘roasting’ a piece of flesh on that whizzing turntable makes me want to dry retch. Even more disgusting is when you are defrosting some meat and the edges of it begin to cook. Every time I decide to defrost meat in the microwave I take every precaution to avoid baking the edges, and every time I fail miserably. No matter how short the spurts of heat are between each other, the edges inevitably turn to rubber and I end up trying to preserve bits of flesh that haven’t been obliterated.

Another peril of microwaving is the creation of a hot milo. I’ve never understood people who make milo like a cup of tea, boiling the water, stirring in the milo and pouring in a smidgen of milk. Milo is best enjoyed with a cup full of milky goodness. Thus, when I brew a hot milo it involves heating the milk. Doing this on the stovetop is just too much work and consequently the microwave and its magical powers come into play. Getting the timing right is essential, too long and your milk froths up like a dog with rabies and spills over the turntable, not long enough and the milk is left lukewarm. The perfect hot milo is steaming hot all the way through, with a nice chocolaty crust on the top. This beauty is nigh impossible to achieve, but once you are triumphant you’ll be sipping on heaven in a cup.

I get quite frustrated when I microwave food and it come out lukewarm. My Nanna used to always say ‘I like my hot food, HOT’ and while her version of hot burns the tastebuds off your tongue, whenever my food I lukewarm I can’t help but agree with her.

Not that long ago I was reading the book of Revelation and came across the following passage:

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” Revelation 3:15-17

I’d like to say that each time I read this scripture that it overwhelmingly resonates with me and I cry like a baby. It probably should, but honestly, it doesn’t often have that effect on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love God and I try each day to live in a way that honours him but I do fail. I swear, I have one drink too much, I am jealous of others, I gossip and I am impatient (and more!).

Basically, I’m lukewarm.

It’s not because I don’t love God, because I do. Most likely, it’s because I don’t fully comprehend what Jesus achieved for me at Calvary. I know that he died for me – I’ve read the book, seen the movie and sung the songs. I hear stories about people who’ve been facing death and have had to trust God with their life, because without him they would have been cactus and I wonder what it would really be like to let go totally and have faith that God was going to pull through.

If I had to truly trust God for my life, I know I would be clinging onto the truths of the Bible and definitely would be ‘hot’ in my faith, because it’s the only thing able to sustain me. Currently, I live in a self-sustaining society, where there is no apparent need for God, making it so easy to cruise through my days and forget about how revolutionary the Gospel is.

In a world with microwaves, we might think we don’t need God. But on the days when I do read the Bible and it truly resonates with me, I can’t deny Gods existence and how he has sustained me through the darkest times in my life. It’s in these moments where I’m no longer lukewarm, but hot, hot, hot. I wish I was always hot and not lukewarm, but truthfully, I don’t think this is attainable until heaven. So until I’m sipping on piping hot milos with Jesus on a cumulus nimbus cloud, I’m going to look at my microwave remember what he did for me and stay as hot as I can.

.exclamation marks.

A large percentage of my work day is spent drafting, sending, deleting and filing e-mails. Microsoft Outlook (or MO as I fondly refer to it) and I are like two peas in a pod, its my cheese to my macaroni, the spaghetti to my meatball, (tangent - who implemented the use of food analogies to describe a perfect match??? Nevertheless, they work....the ipod to my head phones, the tissue to my nose & the wheel to my bicycle don't really have the same ring to them).

Call me ignorant, call me blind, call me what you will, but I love MO. It wasn't a love at first type scenario, I admit. I've always been a hotmail girl through and through (the embarrassing email addresses still haunt me.....eg zany_zarzy) & despite the fact that I primarily use my gmail account for personal emails, its diverted to my hotmail inbox.

But when I'm at work, I don't have hotmail on my mind...its MO which is on my mind. The ability to categorise emails in pretty colours, the meeting request options, sorting filters and alternate reading pane views leave me in a state of bliss every time I receive mail.

Yes, MO has its problems, its glitches - as does every e-mailing program, but I love MO despite its failings. Yet, there is still one button, one icon which perplexes me....the 'high importance' option. I have one colleague who adds that pesky red exclamation mark to every second email, thus making its importance redundant. Perhaps when the icon is clicked, a pop up box should appear...stating 'High Importance function only to be utilised in the following scenarios:

1. In the event of a threat of nuclear war
2. The cafe down the roads delivered a bomb instead of my usual wholegrain ham, salad and cheese sandwich & I need to know how to detonate it or you'll be cleaning my intestines off the wall or
3. There's no milk in the staff room fridge & if I don't have my 15th coffee for the day I might go all Brittany Spears on you and shave my head'

So I've decided that the high importance button is relative. What is of high importance to me, is probably not going to be of high importance to others. I've been going through a season of learning about what I value....I've learnt that above all I value relationships. I value my relationship with God, my family and my friends. People are the highest priority and I'm learning more and more how precious and valuable people are. I believe all people are worthy of love and grace, God is showing me this and while I don't always act in a way which testifies to that, I'm learning.