Surprised by Selfishness

This has been the worst week ever because....
I need money
I miss my boyfriend
I don't like my job
I am arguing with my boss
I have to move..
I need...
I want...
I can't stand it when..
I never get to.......
I........


That was the beginning of many many conversations people had with Andy this week, one of the most difficult weeks of ministry for him in the past 10 years.
I was angry and frustrated with the selfishness of others until I took a minute to examine my own ugly heart.


I care deeply about my friends and family; I usually try to look for the best in people, and in the past few years God has done a lot in my heart in the area of loving my enemies and doing good to those who hate me. (this has been a rough lesson for me, by the way)

Here's something I don't do.

Philippians 2:3
Don’t be selfish; don’t live to make a good impression on others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourself.
NLT translation

Instead of being motivated by selfish ambition or vanity, each of you should, in humility, be moved to treat one another as more important than yourself.
NET translation

Think of others as better than yourself??
Treat one another as more important than yourself!?!

Earlier this week, Andy was having horrible stomach pains. While I was taking care of him I kept thinking..
"I really can't get this, I have way too much to do this week"
"I wonder if he touched anything else I need to disinfect"
and "ugh, it takes me so long to get over being sick, if I get this ..."

I have been surprised and mortified by my own selfishness this week, and this is just one example. Since I am worried about making a good impression (contrary to the above scripture verse) I will spare you more examples.

I'm left with two questions...

What does it look like to live a life where you consider others better than yourself?
Is it possible to accomplish this without others constantly taking advantage of you?

Strangest Plane Ride Ever

I don't enjoy airplanes in general. The air is funky, the space is claustrophobia inducing, and the noise either droning or deafening. However, these are not any of the reasons my plane ride to Alaska was remarkably ridiculous.

1. I had to sit in the middle of the plane, between two strangers.. not a big deal to most.. but if you know me... you know that would freak me out. Also, if I were to describe the odor of the gentleman in front of me as pleasant..it would be the biggest lie of my life.

2. The woman squashed on my left was a narcoleptic Jehovah's Witness. No, I'm not making this up.... She opened conversation with a watchtower. It turns out she was on disability for narcolepsy, and using all her time and government cheese to travel to Jehovah Witness conference after conference.
Here's the kicker, her narcolepsy did not prevent her from driving, just from working. Yep!

3. The woman squashed on my left was slowly taking small chunks of her turkey sandwich and shoving them one at a time into her carry-on bag that was stuffed between the seats in front of her. Each subsequent stuffing was followed by a nervous and awkward laugh. Again, I am not making this up.
It wasn't until hours later at the very end of the flight I found out she had a half-drugged dog inside her carry-on....

The Brady Principle

The Brady Principle

I have a friend who appears comfortable in basically every situation known to man. I imagine him to be as comfortable in a conversation with a with a homeless man as he would be with the Queen of Scotland or perhaps with the most notorious criminal in North America. You basically can't rattle him. If that's not impressive enough..the Bradoman can wrangle his way into any venue without paying and get backstage without authorization at virtually any show. How does he do it? It's simple. He has an uncanny way of acting like he belongs and therefore.....he belongs.
Why am I telling you about Brado? I'm telling you because the Brady principle works. If you should find yourself in an uncomfortable or challenging situation, simply act like you are not uncomfortable. Act like it's natural and imagine that you belong... and you will.

Horrifying and lasting impressions..

From watching commercials (think freecreditreport.com) you might be led to believe that the dangers of bad credit are directly related with donning some sort of humiliating costume.

Think about it, because of delinquent credit, the poor schmoes are either pirates serving fast food fish, or minstrels languishing at some Renaissance fair. The association is so strong for me that I now connect bad credit with humiliating dress up. (I suppose if you happen to be a huge fan of Halloween masquerades or civil war reenactment, you may not need to concern yourself about credit in the least.)

It's interesting how a commercial can so easily cause me to relate two very unrelated things. People are that way to me too. I may may see someone and suddenly think of peanut butter, or spring, or toilet paper, depending on my strongest memories with them..

I wonder what people think of when they see me.....or when they see you.. I hope to live my life in a way that causes people to associate me with something real and something meaningful....

I think for that to happen I'm going to need to tone down the sarcasm a bit.

My "Laundry List" on laundry.

1. There's a lot of lint that gets collected in the little trap. Really, a lot, lot, lot. I'm considering making a pillow out of all of it. Otherwise, what a waste.
2. I seriously don't get the two socks in, one sock out principle.
3. Laundry involves way too many decisions; water level, one rinse or two, gentle or perma-press, temperature choices, which detergent, liquid or powder, etc...
4. In my laundry "cove" it constantly drips water on my head. Infuriating!
5. Laundry rooms are creepy. Think about it, a whole little room dedicated to your soiled garments. Yuck.

Puff

Puff is the name of my fabulous, fluffy, stained, light blue, tattered and torn American Eagle coat. Yes, you read correctly, I have a name for my coat. It almost has a personality of its own. If I can't easily locate the ratty garment you may hear me yell, "Wait, where's Puff?" or "Babe, have you seen Puff around anywhere?" If the temperature dips below 50, and in Northwestern PA it usually does, you can almost guarantee that you will not see me without my trusted companion, Puff.
I purchased Puff over 6 years ago, and she is surely showing her age. Sections of stitching are unraveling, the dingy fabric is faded and stained, and multiple holes sport flying down feathers, wrangling their way to the outside world.
Because Puff has a difficult fabric for patching and sewing, I chose to repair one of the larger holes with tape. Since then, countless well-wishers have approached me and removed the tape as a "favor." And if I had a nickle for each person who said, "Do you know you have tape on your coat?" I would easily be able to purchase three more Puffs.
What can we learn from Puff? One lesson is that things and people have value far beyond how they look or how much they would sell for on E-bay. This beloved coat is far too ratty to be sold and would even be pitched out by goodwill stores. Another lesson... people don't always want your help. Each time the tape is ripped off the wound of my precious Puff, the cut becomes larger and larger. Sometimes in life what we think is "helping" is actually quite hurtful.
Because of what Puff has taught me, I am going to try to look less at appearances, and I'm going to attempt to think a little more before I speak up too quickly and try to "fix " something.
One more thing, if you see me with Puff, please don't open the wound, just walk away from the tape....

Get thee to a gunnery?

I must admit, I am more than a bit flummoxed by the recent surge in gun runs. As a response to President Obama's proposed policies and the ever-plummeting economy, large quantities of conservatives are rushing out to buy handguns, shotguns and rifles. "Right" minded people are scurrying from store to store frantically searching for a stockpile of unlabeled bullets.
Sorry to pull a WWJD on you, but seriously, can you imagine Jesus frenetically stockpiling weapons and searching for ammo without serial numbers?

Personally, I am struggling with equating "Compassionate Conservatism" with stocking up on ammunition.

Any thoughts?

Awkward

The close talker
The Debbie downer
The giver of TMI (too much information)
The constant interrupter
The "Me Monster"
The overlaugher

All great ways to make potentially awkward situations even more awkward. I don't know about you, but when I witness the above behaviors I have strong feelings of what I like to call 3PE or third party embarrassment.
Unfortunately, I get lots of practice on first party embarrassment as I am the proud possessor of a distinct overlaugh. I don't intentionally pull it out, but sometimes it gets the best of me and has a mind of its own. When I accidentally release it, which happens all too often, I usually get one of three responses.
A. mild to extreme social awkwardness.
B. the ever so common eyebrow raise which denotes, "come on, Jen, take it down a notch, will ya?"
C. sometimes it breaks the ice and gets others laughing out loud for hours

I suppose, sometimes, an awkward situation can remind us to get over ourselves, to be who we are, and just be ok about it. And sometimes, it really is just toooooo awkward.

Does anyone out there have their own socially awkward intricacies, or do you have a good story of someone who does?

The Spin Doctor.

I hate spin. I see it in politics, churches, and even as a form of impression management between friends.

I crave authenticity. If things in your life are a hot mess, I would prefer you wail and shout to the heavens and own up to your pain, grief, questions, and failures. I would not prefer you to unemotionally declare something along the lines of, "the complexity of this situation will allow me unprecedented personal growth, and I welcome the process." Sure, in some ways it's just being positive, and I'm all about personal growth. But it just seems a bit (or a million bits) too inauthentic for my taste.

Are you with me?

I thought so!

But here's the problem.

I'm a hypocrite!
I am using this despicable spin, that I detest, on a fairly regular basis.
Spin has become a necessary evil in my life.

Here's an example of how I'm currently using spin in my day job.

Background:
The high-stakes PSSA testing is coming up, and it's sending teachers across the state into frenzied skill cramming and test-preparation mode.

Spin:
Here's the chant/mantra I wrote for the kiddos as a rev up to the test. Picture a call/response, a shouty pentecostal like vibe. The teacher says a line and they repeat it.



We've worked all year in reading and Math

We know that are brains are on the right path.

We're some of the smartest in the U S of A.

And we're gonna show the world on the PSSA!


Here's what I would do without the spin:

I drill you with skills for most of the day

Cause real learning isn't measured on the PSSA.

My job review is based on the scores of this class

So pick the right answers or I'll look like an a##!



I have become the spin doctor.

The Tyranny of 10,000 hours

Ten thousand hours. Apparently that is the amount of time it takes to master something. Think about it. If you do something 20 hours per week , it will take you ten years to rack up that mastery status. If you work at something diligently for 5 hours a week, you have to consider that you may be virtually obsolete by the time you have truly licked it. It wrecks me to consider all the time passed in my younger years not working toward anything. (To be fair, I do have a fairly cumbersome sticker collection to show for it, and a rather extensive in-brain catalogue of partially complete song lyrics.)
Ten thousand hours. After a particularly frustrating rehearsal yesterday, I had some thoughts. Part of me was tempted to take my trusty Taylor and whack out each and every frustration against some sort of brick wall, or on a concrete stage, or drop the perfectly crafted GC7 into a deep, dark well. I could float it out on some southern unfrozen ocean-type area and watch it slowly fade away in the distance. (Heck, I could sell it and buy who knows how many more stickers.)
Ten thousand hours. Instead, I took a deep breath (or thirty), threw away my tissues, and played. Well, some might not call it that yet. But it certainly kept Andy awake until past 2:00 in the morning.
I am the ultimate late bloomer.. so much passion, so little talent, so little time. But anyhow, knock two and a half more hours off my total.. 10 thousand watch out cause I'm coming for you.