Doing this should be easier . . . but it's not

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, 

with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. - Philippians 4:6

One of the main reasons I worked so hard on losing weight was for my health. I didn't (still don't!) want to develop Type II diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease, or a host of other ailments that come with lugging around extra pounds. After a lifetime of being overweight, it's probably too late for my joints, but according to my doctor my cardiovascular system is now in tiptop shape.

The rest of me, on the other hand, is a different story. All that effort to "get healthy" and my health decided to take a nosedive shortly afterward. Since May of this year I've been diagnosed with kidney stones, renal tubular acidosis (a blood condition that leads to recurring stones), osteoporosis (most likely caused by the RTA), Vitamin D deficiency, and in just the last couple of days what I thought was another stone has turned out to be a likely ovarian cyst.

Despite my sarcasm and dry sense of humor, I have a naturally optimistic personality. I like being happy. I like looking on the bright side. I don't see anything wrong with being slightly Pollyanna-ish about life. Occasionally, I'm downright idealistic. It's easy for me to obey the Scripture from Philippians: "What, me worry? I'm not worried!"

Well, duh. Of course I'm not worried. There's nothing to worry about when things are going well.

What I've learned - and am still learning, to be honest - from all of this health stuff is that my lack of worry says more about my control issues than it does about any great amount of faith I have. If anything, it's shown me how weak my faith is. Sitting in a doctor's exam room, waiting for test results, is a scary moment that reveals a lot about where my trust is. Is it in CT scans, bloodwork, and outpatient surgeries (which are all amazing, life-saving tools, by the way)? Or is it in the knowledge that God knows what's wrong with me and, no matter what, has promised that I will never be abandoned?

There is no neat and tidy ending to this blog post. I haven't figured out how not to be anxious. But maybe constant, necessary reminders of how faithful and loving God is will help me AND you.

"You're a mean one . . . "

Why did Max stay with the Grinch? It's a mystery for the ages.

Yesterday was the last day of classes for the term (can I get a hallelujah?). Students have 4 weeks off from classes and have slowly been trickling away, taking flights back home to see their families, rest, and probably forget most of the English they've learned this semester. Sigh.

I knew that my last class - a listening and speaking class for high beginning students - was going to be VERY sparsely attended and that those who did come weren't going to be too excited to conquer another chapter in their textbooks, no matter how interesting I made the material on "Verbs for Daily Living." So I thought it through and decided that an educational, instructional movie was what was needed. The good thing about ESL? It's all educational and instructional. :) (Of course you have to prepare good materials, yadda yadda yadda . . . I'm just saying that authentic language is everywhere.)

In the spirit of the season, we watched a classic. No, not "A Christmas Story" - too advanced for these students, and I really don't think they would have understood the humor of "a major award." Instead, we watched "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." The original cartoon version, of course, none of this Jim Carrey nonsense. We went over some vocabulary first, and I presented the characters and a basic plot outline. We made predictions and summarized and paraphrased - all the necessary teacher stuff that makes students hate books and movies shown in class. But, despite me trying to take all of the joy out of it, my class loved it.

They laughed when the Grinch put antlers on Max and he tipped forward. They ooh-ed and aah-ed over the beautiful decorations in Who-ville. I gave them the lyrics to the songs beforehand, and they spontaneously began seeing "Fahoo foray, dahoo doray, welcome Christmas come this way," with all of the Whos in Who-ville every time it came up. Seriously. Three grown men from different countries, un-ironically singing along with a cartoon. Reason #23871 I love my job.

I've seen the Grinch so many times I could quote whole stanzas, but seeing it with people who had never seen it before and didn't know the story was so fun. It helped me see things I had forgotten (or never realized). For example, the Whos absolutely love Christmas, right? They sing odes to it, for Pete's sake. But even the Whos don't decorate until Christmas Eve. No crazy three month run-up to Christmas for them. Also, I realized how vile the Grinch himself actually is. He's not some cartoon villain - he steals food! He lies to toddlers! He abuses animals! I really wouldn't touch him with a 39 and a half foot pole.

Watch a Christmas classic with someone who hasn't seen it before this holiday season. It's a guaranteed good time. I have some students I can lend you, if you need someone. :)

Have a great day!

Don't get confused

I heard an important truth the other day, and thought I would pass it along:

Simple does not mean easy.

Because I'm a teacher, I'll illustrate this with some examples:
- It's simple to wake up when my alarm goes off at 5:30 (but not easy).
- It's simple to run 2-4 miles (but I'm NEVER going to call that easy).
- It's simple to avoid overeating dessert (but not easy, especially if you happen to be near my mama's amazing Magic Cookie Bars).
- It's simple to keep in touch with old and dear friends (but not easy, and getting harder for me the older I get and the more spread out we all are).
- It's simple to do things that will lead to spiritual growth - prayer, Scripture reading and meditation, study and thoughtful discussion (but not easy when I allow myself to become busy and burdened).
- It's simple to turn off the TV and do something more productive instead (but not easy to break out of old habits).

I'm sure you get the point.

When I get these two things confused, it becomes so easy to get discouraged at the first sign of trouble. Because I expected my simple problem to be solved easily, I have no reservoir of  perseverance when hard times come. And come they do, sooner or later.

What's your simple problem that won't be solved easily?

Physics and me

This is a funny joke. Trust me.

Let's be honest, I don't remember much about high school science; I was much more of a music/history/English nerd. I remember Mr. Adams allowing us to use a 3x5 index card of formulas on physics tests and his endless stories about the boat he was restoring. I remember my graphing calculator coming in handy on the AP Chemistry exam and Mrs. Dyer going through tons of overhead acetates as she calculated molarities (but heck if I remember what molarity is!).

I do remember the second law of thermodynamics because I'm pretty sure it describes life perfectly.

What? You never had a second law of thermodynamics epiphany and need me to recap? OK, but just this once. Pay attention please.*

I'm really only talking about an aspect of thermodynamics here, something called entropy. Entropy has to do with energy and heat and complex physics-type thingies, but (at the risk of over-simplifying) what it all boils down to is that, unless acted upon by an outside force, the universe tends toward chaos.

Finally, an explanation for my bedroom! And my car, and my desk at work, and my, um, life.

I tend toward chaos. We tend toward chaos. Jokes about messiness aside (although, since that's the title and theme of my blog/life, I'm not so sure it's a joke) I see this "law" at work in my relationships, my teaching, my health and fitness, my spiritual life . . . if I don't live with intentionality and purpose, I'm going to slowly drift into laziness and stagnation and end up further from my goals than when I started.

People (me, too!) like to believe that wonderful things will happen to us magically. We call it coincidence, fate, destiny, serendipity, luck, or a thousand other names. But we're really saying is that we don't want to have to work for what we want - one day, we'll just wake up speaking Chinese fluently, or weighing 50 pounds less, or able to run a marathon, or creating an effective and interesting writing curriculum. We (me, too!) are lying to ourselves.

It's a harsh but realistic truth: We rarely just stumble into something good. Growth - be it personal, spiritual, emotional - takes work. Work is hard. Work sometimes sucks. It takes time and effort and can be a long and arduous process. It forces us to acknowledge our weaknesses and confront them and then make intentional decisions about what to do to overcome them. We can't cop out when we live this way - we have to face truths about ourselves that we would prefer to avoid.

I hope no one thinks I'm talking about legalism or earning grace or seeking perfection. As I've said before, we don't have to be good at everything. But I do think we are called to live lives of purpose and focus and make the best of what we've been given. Churchy types call this good stewardship, and non-churchy types might just call this being a "good person," but the goal - not to waste what we've been entrusted with - deserves our attention. We shouldn't let our raw material go to waste.

Are you waiting for the good news? I think this is the good news. :) I think God's empowered us to make decisions and take responsibility for ourselves. I think that's a pretty amazing (and perhaps intimidating) opportunity.

Those are my post-Thanksgiving ponderings. I would love to hear some of your thoughts as you chow down on leftover turkey and never-stuffing-always-cornbread-dressing.

Have a great weekend!

*I am not a scientist. I do, however, watch the Big Bang Theory on a semi-regular basis, and am therefore more than qualified to explain complicated scientific concepts. Plus I googled it.

Can't wait!

No deep thoughts today, friends. Just me saying that I'm antsy to finish up class, get on the road, and be with my family for Thanksgiving.

I was in China for Thanksgiving from '04-'07, and for the past three years that I've been home it's just been my parents and me since my sister goes to her husband's family. But this year we're all together (including my sister's MIL) which means that it's the FIRST family Thanksgiving all together since my nephews have been born. Hooray!

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. While the food is big part of that (I mean, let's be honest, the food is yummy) I've just always loved how relaxed and comfortable it is. We eat a lot, put on stretchy pants, nap, watch football, eat, nap, and watch more football. What's not to love about that? Christmas is great but that involves the stress of gift-giving and shopping and all the icky commercialism that seems to engulf the spirit of the day. Nope, give me Thanksgiving, a holiday where we can all be ourselves and remember the blessings we have.

I have class from 1:15 to 2:30, then I'm hitting the road for Louisville. Yippee! Wishing you all the best on your holiday weekend!

Austin Powers would be jealous of my mad driving skillz

Yep, it was pretty much exactly like this. 

My program doesn't have classes on Fridays (just because I don't teach on Fridays doesn't mean I'm not working!) but we do have a couple of Friday field trips every session. We've been to many interesting - and some not as interesting - places that Atlanta has to offer: the Atlanta History Center is a favorite, while the Southern Locomotive Museum was not as big a hit. Go figure.

Yesterday we went downtown to the High Museum which is currently hosting an exhibition of modern art on loan from MoMA. It was great: Picasso, Pollack, Matisse, Warhol. I'm not as much into Duchamp and Dadaism, but it was cool opportunity to see art that I wouldn't otherwise have a chance to.

I love these field trips. It's so fun to see our students interact with "regular" people. I love talking with them outside of class, when there's a lot less pressure to focus on instruction and more time to get to know them on a more personal level. I enjoy getting away from routine and seeing new things, or seeing old things with new eyes.

But it's not all a big love fest, people. Because there's something about field trip days that stresses me out: for field trips, I have to drive a 15 passenger van.

Some of you right now are laughing at me. Some of you are thinking, "Yadda, yadda, yadda, I was born driving a 15 passenger van." Whatever. I am not you.

Yesterday started off well. In fact, there was good news; some of the students who signed up for the field trip were no-shows, so I was downgraded to the 11 passenger. Hallelujah! We drove downtown with no problems, and once we arrived at the parking garage I was directed to a nice, easy spot that was conveniently marked "Oversized Vehicles." That's me! Oversized and proud!

So where was the problem? Well, let's just say that my exit from the garage wasn't as graceful as it possibly could have been. In my defense, the concrete wall came out of NOWHERE. (No vehicles or students were harmed in the making of this blog post.) At one point I had the parking attendant, three Saudi men, and my boss yelling out directions at me - "Cut it hard left!" "No, THIS way!" "Reverse!" - while the two Chinese women were covering their eyes in fear. I was tempted to join them.

Side mirrors were folded in and orange cones moved around. I eventually got out, embarrassed and chagrined. As I passed the parking attendant, I thanked her and told her my normal car was a Toyota.

The drive back to campus was uneventful, and on the trip I came to a realization: I don't have to be good at everything. I really, really don't. It's OK that I don't drive large vehicles with expert precision, since I have no plans to either become a commercial truck driver or give birth to 20 children a la the Duggar clan. I shouldn't feel like less of a person because I needed some help - OK, sure, it was a lot of help - backing out of a parking space. I don't need to be defensive about this. I'm secure in what I can do, and life is not a competition. It truly isn't, so I need to stop thinking that it is. I can be good at what I'm good at, and you can be good at what you're good at, and neither one of us needs to feel bad or be jealous or, worst of all, insult the other in order to make ourselves feel better.

It's not a zero sum game.

That's enough Saturday morning pontificating for me. I'm off to grade essays and run errands. Take delight in what you're good at today, and for the things that you struggle with, ask yourself if you need to be good at them anyway. You probably don't. I promise.

It's ALL Lifeboat Theory

Donald Miller is one of my favorite authors. I loved Blue Like Jazz when I first read it years ago, Through Painted Deserts is beautiful and poetic, and A Million Miles in a Thousand Years is filled with Miller's trademark humor. It's Searching for God Knows What, though, that has stuck with me the most in the years since I've read it.

SFGKW (see how I made it an acronym? The interwebs are so cool!) is the book where Miller explains something called "Lifeboat Theory." He talks about being a kid and having to do that ubiquitous class activity - it's probably being done in a 7th grade classroom as I write this - where students imagine that they're on a lifeboat with limited supplies and too many people. Each student is given a persona (single mother, rich businessman, US president, etc.) and has to convince the others in the lifeboat that they should be allowed to stay.

Miller points out what should be painfully obvious - this is a TERRIBLE activity. It's not really about persuasive speaking or rational argument; it's about trying to decide who should die! Grim, even for the most angst-ridden middle schoolers. Then Miller goes on to explain that this activity is really a mirror for our lives. What's really happening is this: Everything we do, everything we say, and everyone we hang out with, is really just us trying desperately to justify our place in the lifeboat. Every day, we look to others to give us value.

Example. I'm a funny person. (Right? RIGHT?) I love it when people laugh at my jokes and my quick-witted comments. It makes me feel loved. When I was younger I was much more thoughtless with my humor than I am now, and sarcasm tended to be my weapon of choice. I pursued that feeling of love and acceptance at the expense of others who were probably hurt by an offhand, cutting remark. I could tell myself that they were  being oversensitive what did I care? I was just telling a joke!
 
We all want to associate with what's popular. No one wants to be seen as a "loser." Whether we're consciously aware of it or not, we make decisions based on how we think others will perceive us. Think about the clothes we refuse to wear because "I wouldn't be caught dead in hipster skinny jeans." (Just me?) Or think about the books we sheepishly admit to reading (*cough* Twilight *cough*) because we know that we'll be judged if we enter into an earnest discussion about the possibilities of vegetarian vampires having souls.

We're afraid of being judged by others because we're judging others. We're all clinging to our places in the lifeboat, hoping that if we look right, wear the right things, buy the right stuff, say the right words, people will love us and we get to stay. Meanwhile, we're actively pushing others out of the lifeboat for having a bad haircut, owning last year's cell phone, or watching dumb TV shows (Real Housewives? Into the Pacific with you!). 

My small group has talked before about being counter-cultural and what that would look like for Christians in the modern world. I don't think it can be anything less than refusing to play the Lifeboat game. We have to ask ourselves constantly about our motivations for what we're saying and doing: Why am I doing this? Am I trying to get recognition? Am I trying to look cool? Am I trying to get approval and love from others?

We're hanging on to the lifeboat, but what we really need to do is to jump out already.

Running: It's Not Just for Runners!

I used to have very mixed feelings about running. On one hand, it seemed pretty pointless - where are you running to? You run and run and run (and sweat and sweat and sweat) and  . . . end up where you started? That seems kind of dumb.

On other other hand, as unattractive actually running was, I've always thought that being a runner would be pretty cool. Runners embodied things that, for the majority of my life, seemed all but unattainable. Runners were lithe, strong, confident people who threw on a pair of shoes in the morning, headed out the door, and accomplished something while most people were still in bed. From the outside looking in, they sucked the marrow out of life (thank you, Thoreau via Dead Poets Society!).

I first tried to run during my last year living in China. I downloaded a highly recommended beginning running program from the internet, laced up my cheapie shoes, and headed out the door one early morning. I huffed and puffed my way around campus, being stared at more than usual ("Look, kids, not only is it a foreigner but she's running for no particular reason!") and then trudged my way back to my sixth-floor-no-elevator apartment. I did this approximately three times before I decided running was for idiots and went back to my trusty Turbo Jam DVDs. Love me some Chalene.

Of course, I was still fairly overweight back then, and - although I didn't learn this until later - I was running on the least forgiving surface I could find, concrete. I was also probably trying to go at too fast a pace (slower really is better for beginning runners). My joints were just not prepared for what I was doing to them.

Fast forward to early 2011. By this point I'd lost most of the weight I was planning to lose, mostly using Jillian DVDs as my workout method of choice. I was pretty happy with the DVDs, but in the back of my mind, running still held allure. One beautiful spring afternoon I was reading in a local park and got the urge just to jog around a bit, and I was amazed how different this attempt felt than my lumbering around in Lanzhou. I felt lighter (duh) and although I still tired out pretty quickly, the experience made me think that running was maybe, just maybe, do-able for me.


I downloaded the same run/walk beginning running program again, and got better advice on how to complete it (go slow even if you don't think you need to, repeat workouts as needed, and be patient). Again, I was pretty miserable at first. I wondered why I was trying this. Some days I psyched myself up with a little talking-to before I got on the treadmill, while other days I psyched myself up with Coke Zero. I finished the first few weeks of the program doing OK, then saw I had to run for 20 continuous minutes at the end of next week's workouts. WHAT THE HECK? I emailed running friends for encouragement. I fretted. I worried I wouldn't be able to make it through and the gym attendants would have to call 911. How embarrassing that would be!

And then I did it. I ran (a slow jog, really) for 20 minutes without stopping. Me. Jennifer.

That was awhile ago (April, I think) and I'm still running. As I completed the program 20 continuous minutes became 25, which became 30, then 35, and a long run for me now would be an hour or so - at that point, there are mental instead of  physical obstacles to going longer.

Here's the deal, though: I'm not the "runner" of my idealized thoughts. I don't run so much as I go down the street in a slightly-faster-than-walking pace. On the trail where I often run, I am regularly passed by gray-haired men and moms pushing strollers. I'm pretty sure my running form is kind of awful - somewhere in between "ridiculous" and "Phoebe Buffay running in Central Park."

To all of this I say, I don't care, because there is nothing that beats the feeling of a good run. (Oh my gosh, did I just write that sentence?!?! It's true, though.) Some runs are terrible and I agonize through every minute of them, and I've outright given up a couple of times, cursing myself that I run on an out-and-back trail and, no matter where I turn around, I'm only halfway done. Running in the Atlanta heat and humidity in the summer was possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done, and I did it a few times a week all summer.

But, when everything comes together right, when my mind and body and the weather are cooperating and no one on the trail is wearing cologne at 7 in the morning (seriously?), running IS amazing. I'm never going to look like that runner I always pictured, but what does it matter? I'm running. 

Dear 16-year-old Me

There's a PSA for melanoma awareness that someone re-posted on Facebook a few days ago. It is lovely and heartbreaking and you should really stop reading this blog immediately and watch it, because it's bound to be better than anything I can think of.

Back?

The PSA hooked me from the beginning line, "Dear 16-year-old me . . ." It made me wonder what I would tell myself  if I actually had that opportunity. Sixteen was NOT a stellar year for me: it was my first year living in Tampa after having lived in Louisville since I was 8; it was me dealing with a new school culture and figuring out where I fit in at school and church; it was me navigating the troubled waters of adolescence when I was pretty sure all I wanted to do was stay in my room all day with a good book and stash of Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies (partially hydrogenated oil never tasted so good!).

I thought about it for a little bit and here are some of my ideas:
- I could tell myself that brushing curly hair is never a good idea (still very bitter no one passed this on earlier!).
- I could tell myself that I don't really hate vegetables, just ones that have been boiled to within an inch of their lives.
- I could could tell myself that Dave Grohl's best work would come after Nirvana.
- I could tell myself that as far-fetched as it seems, Chinese, rather than Italian, would be a better language elective in college.

All those ideas got discarded in favor if this one, short and sweet:

Dear 16-year-old me, 
Stop caring so much about what other people think. 
Love, 
Me . . . You . . . Er, Us

One of the best things about getting older is that, with every passing year, I worry less and less about the opinions of others as they relate to me. Frankly, I don't have the energy to obsess over it anymore - I need all that energy to get my job done, spend time with friends and family, and maybe wash my face before I collapse into bed at 9:30 (sadly, not a joke). No time is left for thinking about if my outfit matched because if it didn't, at least I wasn't naked. WIN!

Adolescence is such a hyper-sensitive time and I wish it didn't have to be. I work on a university campus, and when I see students who are trying too hard to fit in (or stand out) I want to give them a hug and tell them that it does get better. If I had known that one day I was honestly not going to care, it would have gotten me through a lot of drama and angst and stress.

Of course, hugging strangers would get me arrested, and I'm honestly not sure if they'd listen to me anyway. After all, I'm not sure I would have listened to a letter from Future Me.

So, that my letter. What would your letter say?

Now vs. Later

Photo from mywebpower.com. All rights reserved.

I am a short-term thinker.

I've come to this realization relatively recently (instead of calling me stupid, can we just say I lack self-awareness?) but after putting a name to it I see examples of my short-term thinking all the time:
-  reading the fun new book I got vs. grading the student essays that need to be returned tomorrow
-  a cookie right now vs. jeans that need to be buttoned later this week
-  a nap vs. the trip to the post office that needs to be made
-  watching Project Runway on DVR vs. balancing my checkbook (Just kidding with this one! Like anyone balances their checkbook anymore . . . except if my dad ever reads this, I totally do!)

In each of these cases, plus tons more that happen on a regular basis, my mind focuses on the now as opposed to the future. The now is concrete, promising instant gratification and immediate rewards. The future is nebulous and uncertain. Heck, we have all kinds of proverbs stating it might not even happen! Why in the world would I want to delay something definite now in exchange for the possibility of something in the future?

The problem with this, of course, is that this is an argument a toddler would make (if, of course, said toddler had my keen grasp of the English language). Like it or not, I'm a grown-up, and grown-ups make these hard choices every day. Grown-ups think through the consequences of their actions and make the choice that has the most long-term benefits, even if the short-term is unpleasant or difficult or maybe even seems impossible. Grown-ups learn from their mistakes and try really hard not to make the same ones over and over again. Grown-ups admit their failures and weaknesses, too, and ask for help when they need it.

Let's just say it: Being a grown-up kind of sucks. But it's better than being a 34-year-old whiny baby, because let me tell you, that junk is NOT cute. Please watch anything on the E! network if you don't believe me.

When I have one of these "short-term moments," first I try really hard to recognize that that's what's going on. Then I let my inner toddler whine and carry on and use her twisted-but-oh-so-attractive logic. Sometimes I'll ask myself, "What do you want to do?" then follow that question up with, "What would a real grown-up do?" Then I try to suck it up and do the second thing.

I'm far from perfect in this regard. This past week I've skipped many runs and eaten many cookies and just might need to find some elastic-waist slacks to wear to work next week (elastic-waist slacks being sister code for the Dark Side). I've avoided some school work I need to catch up on. And, in the spirit of irony, I started a blog instead of cleaning the bathroom. I'm obviously a work in progress, people.

I also want to say that, although I've focused on personal examples here, short-term thinking has huge effects and implications on society, the environment, and politics. I don't want to gloss over that, so feel free to comment on those aspects if you want to.


What does your short-term thinking look like? Have you conquered your inner three-year-old? Do you really want a cookie right now and if so, will you share? See you in the comments.

Why, hello again, blogosphere!

Er, hi?

Once upon a time I had a blog. The year was 2004 and I was too cool (and by "cool" I mean "confused") for MySpace, but then I moved to China and some people cared about what I was doing there and I wrestled with my narcissism and signed up for a Xanga account. People read it and commented and I told funny stories about my students and cultural faux pas and posted pictures of sheep on bicycles and other oddities of living on the other side of the world.

Ah, Xanga, may it RIP. A moment of silence, please, for the innocence of our pre-Facebook selves.

Fast forward to November 2011. It's been a long, long time since I signed on to Xanga. I communicate in pithy status updates and wall posts and the occasional "Note." I text with my family and friends, and I upload pictures from my iPhone. (I don't tweet, but you should really take that more as a result of my laziness rather than a stand against micro-blogging.) However, in all these ways that communication has become faster and more immediate, I have found that I miss taking my time over a blog post. I miss exploring an issue more thoroughly and getting feedback on that exploration. I dislike how everything on FB is so easily digestible and pre-packaged; it rarely requires thought or a reasoned opinion. Instead, you can just hit the "Like" button and go on your merry way.

There will be no "Like" buttons on this blog. :) There will be rambling - but hopefully not too much pontificating. I'll probably discuss God, family and friends, teaching, books, and maybe even a TV show or two. I want your input so feel free to chime in with your opinions and ideas.

What will not be on this blog? Hmmm . . . I think I'm going to leave politics off the table, if only because I need one part of my life where I don't have to deal with it. I won't ask you for money (aren't you glad?). And I'm going to try, as best I can, not to become the Blogspot grammar police. I make no promises, though.

So there's my first post of this new venture. Please, affirm me by clicking the "Like" button below!

Jen