The Life of a Bartending Seminarian

"I'm learning to surrender; I'm learning to forgive; I'm learning to recieve all the love; All the love You have for me." ~ Isa Couvertier

Monday, October 24, 2005

Pictures

I have finally found a website that can host all the gazillions of pictures I take and allow anyone to view them. They are even put in neat little albums. So, here's to sharing!

www.picturetrail.com/papilio588

Thursday, October 20, 2005

The Power of Words

"Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tounge of the wise brings healing." - Proverbs 12:18 (NIV)

When I was in college, there was book that became pretty popular in many Christian cirlces, including my own group of friends. Gary Chapman's The Five Love Languages made an impact on the way I viewed relationships - with my family, my friends, and I hoped one day with who ever I dated. I learned how to express love to others in the ways they best understood. Back then I would have said that my "love language" was quality time - and most people would have agreed. But as time has gone on, as I have grown and changed, I think it is time to re-evaluate my love language. I think that words of affirmation are what convey love to me the most now. And I have learned that, not through the postive, but through the negative. When someone says something negative towards me, even if they weren't thinking, it hits hard with me. I really pay attention to what others are saying, and always want to be thought and spoken well of.

A kind of trivial example of this happened last week at work. I work full time plus, and am in school. I can get pretty overwhelmed and worn-out, often without even noticing. One afternoon at work, we were in the middle of shift change, and coming off of the morning shift, I had already done most of dinner set up (not my job - just trying to get out of their early). Ben came in and started eating soup. I had a spatual in my hand, and I walked over to him and asked him to help clean the counter. He looked at me and said, "I'm already done, and the managers didn't tell me to do it, so I don't have to." To which I half-jokingly replied, "It is your job no matter who tells you. Now clean the counters so I can get out of here, or I'll smack you with this spatual." He said, "Geez. Fine Miss I'm always in a rooten mood." I was flabbergasted. I asked him, "I'm not always in a bad mood, am I?" He nodded his head. Matt came in and I asked him the same question. He said, "You, yeah you are." Elizabeth walked in, so I asked her. "You? While you are here? Yeah, pretty much." I was so upset. I work really hard at maintaining my patience at that place (an incredibly hard task to do!), and was visibly upset that people thought I was always in a bad mood. Maybe I was. I was worn out, and I know I can be bossy sometimes, so maybe they took that the wrong way. My manager saw how upset I was and pulled me aside to see if I was ok. I asked him the same question, to which he said, "Liz - don't you see what they were doing? They were just messing with you because they could tell you were concerned. You do your job with a smile on your face 9 times out of 10, and that one time you don't, it is more than warrented." Even though they were just trying to get a rise out of me, it really effected me and was cause for an attitude check.

There have been other times that words have effected me more seriously. In September of 2004, one of the cooks at work made the passing comment that he noticed I was gaining weight. It was a harmless comment made in a joking manner, but for me, it became real, something that I noticed. Since then, I have been watching my diet carefully, excersing more, and have sadly become more concious of how I look. I didn't want it to be that way - I have never really cared all that much. But now I pay so much more attention to my physical apparence than I ever have. The postive from that situation is that I am healthier, and have found a new hobby, running. But they are words that still ring in the back of my mind.

When I was a sophomore in high school, my aunt pulled me aside during a family Christmas gathering. She told me how proud of me she was, and how she loved me, but how sad it made her to watch me interact with my sister. Back then we fought like cats and dogs, much of which I initiated. She told me that all the family members had noticed it, and they didn't like how that one area just didn't match up with the rest of my character. So I made it a point to pray for patience first off, with my sister. When God granted that, I asked that He grow my love for her, that I could come to appreciate her as a person, not just a sister. It has been many years in the making, but now, my sister is one of the dearest people to my heart. She is usually one of the first people I call when anything exciting or upsetting happens.

I could call out so many more situations where words have had such a profound impact on me. Passing comments have sent me through mazes to try and change, comments made in jest or sarcasim hit harder than they were intended. I know that I shouldn't put as much merit into other's words as I do, but I can't help but doing so.

Last night, my roommate called me a hypocrite. And it nearly took my breath away. Why I am here, in ministry, in school, if I can't live in such a way that people can look through my whole closet and not find any skeletons. I'm not trying to be perfect, just honest. I want people to see my mistakes and how I've learned and grown from them. I believe that is a part of the true Christian walk. But apparently, some of my more recent actions meant for trying to adjust to another culture, have portrayed me as a hypocrite. Ok, something I need to work on.

Then tonight, as Nathan was leaving for work, I stopped him on his way out the door to let him known I was staying with a friend in Wilmore tonight. To which he replied "Thank God!" I couldn't believe it. Here was someone that I love, someone that I have been trying to hard to show kindness to in a variety of ways, and he was so frustrated with me, that he couldn't even stand the thought of being around me anymore. I say this with all humbleness: I believe that my spiritual gift is Kindness. I have an unusal gift of being kind to others, usually when they don't deserve it. I love to try to make people happy, through notes, little gifts, food, pretty much anything I can do to make your life easier, I'm all over it. Here recently I have been trying to lavish the kindness on Nathan, because he has had such a rough time with other things in his life. I want home to be a place that he feels loved and cared for. I feel this is part of my mission with him. There is always homemade cake or brownies in the kitchen. I do the dirty work of cleaning up after the puppy in training. This week at the beach, I drove there and back so he could sleep. Last night I bought some fairly expensive tickets to a concert so that he could sit front row for his all-time favorite band. And it is returned with him being fed up with me. I am sure that he is just tired, and after spending an entire weekend with me just needs some time alone. That's fine - I can fully understand that. What I don't understand is why he felt the need to express that in words that literally brought tears. I try so hard to guard my tounge, to use words that will edify. And when someone so close to me purpously uses words to hurt me, I just don't understand.

James 3:2-6 reads, "We all make mistakes, but those who control their tounges can also control themselves in every other way. We can make a large horse turn around and go wherever way we want by means of a small bit in its mouth. And a tiny rudder makes a huge ship turn wherever the pilot wants it to go, even though the winds are strong. So also, the tongue is a small thing, but what enormous damage it can do. A tiny spark can set a great forest on fire. And the tongue is a flame of fire. It is full of wickedness that can ruin your whole life. It can turn the entire course of your life into a blazing flame of destruction, for it is set on fire by hell itself."

Words have a powerful effect on my heart. They are a great motivater, a harsh reality, and a pure expression of love. So please be careful with the words you chose - guard you tongues. The same sarcastic remarks that bring a laugh from others, cuts the very one you may love the most.

Monday, October 17, 2005

The Music of My Life

Can I preface this like everyone else? There is no way I can possibly capture the impact music has had on my life in these very contained categories. That being said, here is a sample:

Amount of music on your computer:
I personally have 3 hours short of two days worth. Nathan has his own folder of stuff I don't touch...

Currently listening to:
"After the last tear falls" - Andrew Peterson

Five songs that mean a lot to you:

-the hymn "Here I am, Lord" - when I was 13 my dad played this song on his guitar as an offertory at church. I remember thinking how beautiful it was to hear this hymn, something that I had never paid attention to before, played on the guitar instead of the organ. It was at the moment that I began to pay attention to the words we sang in church and began to realize the impact they could have on my heart. Later, this song became very meaningful as it has been like the background music to my life's calling.

-"Landslide" - the Fleetwood Mac version (though a close second is the Dixie Chick version) - I can't really explain why, but I love this song. This is one of the few that, I don't care where I am or who I am with, I'll belt it out! (right Val?) =)

-"Table for Two" - Derek Webb - We all know that I go back and forth on my single journey. Sometimes it is great, other times not so much. Derek's words just hit the center of my heart - "Because I'm so scared of being alone, that I forget which house I live in. But its not my job, to wait by the phone, for her to call" (except I always sing "for him to call" of that line! hehe)

-"Sweet Lorraine" - Patty Griffin - If I had to pick one Patty song, which is entirely too difficult to do!, it would have to be this one. Her voice is so piercing, and the words seem to make my heart hurt. When I first listened to the lyrics of this song (coupled with Tony) it hit me that music was a venue for expressing all the crap that people go through! (duh! how did I miss that one all these years? Do you remember that conversation Stephanie?) It was through Patty's music that I was able to connect with others during a difficult time in Montgomery.

-"Hold Me Jesus" - Rich Mullins - I just love this song, plain and simple. These lyrics can make me cry every time.

Top Five Albums: (this is going to be hard)
Patty Griffin - "Impossible Dream"
Derek Webb - "She Must and Shall Go Free"
Caedmon's Call - "Share the Well"
Bebo Norman - "Ten Thousand Days"

*please note - with all of these, I love all of their music and had a hard time picking just one album!

Last Album bought:
Andrew Osenga - Photographs

Recent Discoveries:
Porcupine Tree - a little harder than what I would normally listen to (thanks to Nathan and Hippie) but mellow in a metal kind of way - and I love the lyrics.

Wow - done! There is so much missing here - I would have loved to include so much more (can you believe Bebo was only mentioned once?!) Ok, I have to do it (and no...I'm not sucking up!) I have to add one more to the top five favorite: "Freedom" by our own Days. This song came at a time when God brought freedom in just the right way to my heart after a very difficult semester. Whenever I hear this song now, and every time I heard the guys play it back then, it reminded me not only of God's powerful gift of freedom, but of the Grace through difficult times.

I don't know that there is anyone left to pass the baton to....Michelle? Any other takers?

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Brother

There is a lyric in one of Andrew Osenga's songs "The High School Band," that says, "Its good to hear young ones, playing the old songs, marching in the high school band." For some reason or another, that line has had me thinking about my grandmother. When I was growing up and learning to play the piano, she used to love to hear me play The Marines Hymn. My fingers would clumsily march out the tune on the keyboard and her eyes would water at the memories of her husband, so handsome in his uniform, and her brother, so brave. Her brother, Henry, but best known to us as simply Brother, was killed in the Battle of the Bulge. Even though no one in my family other than my grandmother remembers or knew him, we all grew up feeling like he was very much a part of the family. The stories she told about their childhood together were so real to us grandkids. His picture sat proudly on the piano in the family room, where he could be a part of Christmas mornings and lazy afternoons. I have dug back through my files and found something I wrote about Brother a couple of years ago. I gave this to my grandmother for Christmas, and in response, she gave me his Purple Heart. I now have a special place in my room where I display his pins, the Purple Heart, and his picture. I'd like to share here a little bit about the great-uncle I knew so well, but never met....


Brother
10-21-03
There is a picture that I keep beside my bed. In a clear plastic frame is the Army photo of my great-uncle Henry. The picture is faded from black and white and has browned. Every night before I go to bed I see a young man, sitting so straight and regal in uniform, staring back at me with clean, dark eyes. In that frame, a man I never knew, a man who was gone long before I even existed, sits on my bedside table.
I don’t claim to know much about him, though I want to. I want to know the stories about Henry Jones that can make my grandmother laugh with the voices of days gone by and cry over memories of a brother who is no longer here.
I know Brother, as my grandmother fondly refers to him, had red hair. That is probably the first thing I ever learned about my great-uncle. My grandmother wanted so much for that trait to carry on to one of her children, or grandchildren, and she now holds hope that one of her great grandchildren will one day have red hair just like Brother’s.
Most of the memories our family has of Brother come from the pictures that sat on the table in my grandmother’s den. In one picture, Brother is crouched down, one hand on a football, poised as if ready for a touchdown instead of a snapshot. He was a mighty fine football player, in high school, in Jr. College and at the University of Alabama. That is, before he went off to war. That is the second picture our family recalls of Brother. The same picture that sits on the table by my bed. A young man, proudly showing off his newly acquired Army uniform. His eyes thoughtful and innocent; not knowing, though surely not completely unaware, of what his future in the armed forces meant.
These are the pictures we bring to mind when we hear stories of Brother. What we fail to see is the Brother as Mammo remembers him. We only know of him through a couple of black and white photos in pretty frames and familiar stories. But she brings to mind the red-headed boy who teased her when they were younger; as the protective younger brother when she started dating; as the strong fellow who could hold her on his shoulders so she couple jump off into the lake; as the one she played on the farm with; the cousin in the family with the big heart and free spirit. She remembers more about him than just football and the War. She remembers how he fell in love with a girl and married her, keeping it a secret from his own mother so he could continue playing football. She remembers working together in their father’s store. She remembers summers playing outside and evenings spent gathered as a family.
She has other pictures; pictures of a boy in his Sunday best, hair slicked down, sitting between his sister and neighbor, holding a dark lab puppy. There is the picture of Brother with his wife, both smiling, standing side by side, love and secrets hidden in their eyes. There are other pictures that tell of their childhood together. Faded pictures that attempt to capture the memories that will never leave her. Only she can remember his smile now, only she can remember his voice and the strong arms that hugged his older sister.
There is one final picture. A young man is kneeling down behind a white cross, one of many, this one bearing Brother’s name, Henry E. Jones Jr., and his military ID number. This young man has place tulips on this simple grave, his eyes sorrowfully downcast. You can read the pain and loss on his face, the same pain and loss I see so often on my grandmother’s face when she remembers her brother. The expression on his face is nothing resembling the photo of his friend, my grandmother’s brother, my great-uncle - whose face was pure, young, playful, thoughtful, and loved.
There is a man whose picture sits beside my bed. Every night I see those eyes, that face, and know that there is so much more to him than the uniform and formal picture try to capture. Thank you Mammo for sharing Brother with us. Thank you for helping us to know the special man in the picture.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Overwhelmed

I know I need a new post (though not nearly as needed as our dear friend Valerie). But I am just so overwhelmed - with work, school, church, life....I keep sitting down to write, but nothing comes out. I want to be able to write as eloquently as Stephanie and Lane, or be witty like Nick and Valerie, but it just doesn't work. I have all these ideas in my head that I think would make great posts, but then, of what concern to others are they? Trival matters with catchy titles. I keep procrastinating the deep thoughts, knowing that if I'm not careful, I may push them to the back burner one day and they will just fall off the stove all together. I don't even know what the point of this post is except maybe to say that someone of worth is coming. (?)

Until then, I will just post another picture of my sweet puppy and let everyone comment on how cute he is. =)