According to this blog about blogs that I read, I have to provide value to people if I expect them to read it. Makes sense. How's this for value? In today's entry, I am going to teach you HOW TO BE RICH. I'm not exactly qualified to do this, because I'm not rich, BUT... I'm on my way. ;-) And "rich" and "poor" aren't income brackets, they are a set of practices and a state of mind. I know people who make 6 figures, are in debt, and have nothing left at the end of the month. They are poorer than me, at least in my opinion. Anyway, onto the lesson.
STEP #1... Okay, before I even give you step number one, I need to make sure that you're going to read it. Because it seems like it's "not about money," but I guarantee if you follow all of the other steps, EXCEPT step one, you'll still be poor. Okay, ready?
STEP #1 - Appreciate all of the things you have
I live in a really small house. It's about 750 square feet and cost us less than $55,000. But it's pretty nice, I love the neighborhood, and the payments are insanely reasonable. Everything works (most of the time), I can afford to heat it and cool it, it has an extra bedroom for when the baby comes and a nice yard. I could go on and on. OR I could have stop with the first two sentences. Beyond the things you have that cost money, appreciate all of the blessings you have that money can't buy you. A loving family, a job you like, a relationship with Jesus... Appreciate those things, and you'll immediately feel richer, which is a quick win. This step always includes a point where you stop whining about what you don't have. No one cares that you wish you had hair extensions or a PS3. Those are luxuries. On the other hand, people might not care about even your basic needs, like food or shelter, if you spent all your money on hair extensions or a PS3. Which brings us to...
STEP #2 - Realize that you "need" very little
We all buy crap we don't need. Even me. You run to the gas station, fill up your car, and grab a soda. You just wasted a $1.50. I think sometimes people don't realize how little you truly need to survive. You need food and water, shelter, clothing, air to breathe... ya... that's by definition kind of it. If you're confused about this, please let me clarify...
YOU DON'T NEED YOUR NAILS OR HAIR DONE, A PS3, AN XBOX 360, AN IPHONE/IPAD/IPOD, A BIG HOUSE, A NICE CAR, DESIGNER ANYTHING, A MEAL OUT ONCE A WEEK, A FASHIONABLE WARDROBE, NICE FURNITURE, OR ANY OF THE OTHER CRAP YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT "NEEDING"!
Okay, great. That's out of my system, and we should now be on the same page. I will freely admit that I am all about treating yourself to any and all of these items... once you can afford it. Which brings us to...
STEP #3 - If you're on a payment plan, you can't afford it (exception - mortgage)
When Nate and I were newly, newly weds I bought a new laptop. Mine wasn't working well, I had just got a new job that paid well, and so I bought it and paid for it upfront. That's most people's definition of "affording it." But here's the ugly side of that - the money I had used for the laptop, we really needed for other things (groceries, bills, etc.), so some of that stuff had to go on the credit card. So, yes, I could pay for the laptop... but I couldn't afford it. My little sister's Christmas gift that year was that stinkin' laptop for a ridiculously good price, so I could cut some of my losses.
Credit card lenders, car salespeople, the dude at Best Buy, your mortgage lender... they are not your friends. Not even a little bit. You need to realize this RIGHT NOW. While I'm on this topic... If you're getting a loan, for anything (I just told you not to, if you're directly disobeying me...) NEVER TELL SOMEONE HOW MUCH YOU CAN AFFORD A MONTH. Ever. Don't do it. These people aren't your buddies or helping you out. They are making money off you. More money, if you're stupid.
I think this is enough for part one... Hope you've enjoyed this section of "How to Be Rich." Stay tuned for more advice on How to Be Rich. ;-)
Monday, April 30, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
The Good, The Bad, The Rockstar
I know some of you have been checking out my blog for a while now, but a lot of you are new to the haphazard/comical/inspiring madness that is Proverbs 31 Rockstar. So I did a brief Q&A to answer some of your most-asked questions!*
*Both the Questions and Answers are from me. Maybe a few more likes and someone would actually want to interview me. ;-)
Question: Why is your blog called Proverbs 31 Rockstar?
Answer: When I first got married, I started to panic. Good Christian wives cook, bake, clean, iron, do laundry, look pretty (in a long denim skirt - impossible), and produce offspring in mass quantities, and I was pretty much failing in all of those areas. I tried to "fake it" but I spent more time leaning on my washer and dryer, vacuum, and stove crying than I spent actually using them for their intended purposes. When I revisited Proverbs 31 in the Bible, it opened my eyes to what it really means to be a good wife and Christian woman, apart from apple pies and organ-playing. I want my blog to empower women (or men or anyone) to be a Proverbs 31 woman without letting go of who God made them to be... a rockstar!
Question: Why should I read your blog/like your fan page/follow you on Twitter/re-post the nonsense you write.
Answer: First of all, how dare you call my writing nonsense. Secondly, I have outlined the top three reasons you should do all of the above.
1.) You need me.
This may not be entirely true. But like maybe a little bit. I can definitely provide humor to your life. Maybe a little inspiration. If nothing else, maybe you'll be thankful that you're not as crazy as me. See, those are three really positive values that I can bring to your life. But basically, I write honestly, openly, and about things I really care about... money, faith, relationships, and other things that affect everyone. So even if you don't like or agree with every entry, I'd love to hear your opinion, and I'd love you to keep reading.
2.) I need you.
This is probably actually more true than the first reason. Last night, I (quite on accident) found out that people actually like to read my blog. While trying to sign in and write a new entry, I stumbled on the analytics for my page and saw that my blog had 599 page views. You like me, you really like me! But when I chuckled about it in disbelief to my husband, he was really amazingly positive and encouraged me to do more. Which means a lot. Because he's the kind of guy when I prompt him with "Do you think I look nice today?" he actually carefully inspects me and answers honestly. So he's not one for flattery. But honestly, I am considering attempting to get some of my work published. To get a non-fiction piece published, most publishers would want to see that you've had a successful presence in social media already, so in the least creepy way I can manage... PLEASE, PLEASE LIKE ME AND GET OTHER PEOPLE TO LIKE ME!
3.) I'm (kind of) super qualified.
This one is probably the least true. But, from the writing perspective, I have a Bachelor's in English, work as a marketing copywriter, and have written several pieces for local magazines. From the Christian perspective, I struggle daily but passionately attempt to follow God - and write about it whether I succeed or fail. Oh, and I like to write about money and budgets. I have more budgets than money... but making progress on that every day too. And I write about my husband who is way nicer and funnier than me. If he ever picked up a pen, I'd be in trouble. So ya, that pretty much rounds out my qualifications.
Question: I'm not a wife. Or a woman. Or even a Christian.
Answer: That's not a question... that's a statement. But I'll "answer" it anyway. You don't need to be a wife or a woman or a Christian to appreciate this blog. I definitely have several readers who are none of the above. I write about many aspects of life. So really, if you're living, I think you'd be a great reader for my blog! ;-)
So in conclusion... Read my blog. Share my blog. Promote it, so I can stop this creepy self-promotion thing I'm on right now.
My Facebook Fan Page
My Twitter Page
*Both the Questions and Answers are from me. Maybe a few more likes and someone would actually want to interview me. ;-)
Question: Why is your blog called Proverbs 31 Rockstar?
Answer: When I first got married, I started to panic. Good Christian wives cook, bake, clean, iron, do laundry, look pretty (in a long denim skirt - impossible), and produce offspring in mass quantities, and I was pretty much failing in all of those areas. I tried to "fake it" but I spent more time leaning on my washer and dryer, vacuum, and stove crying than I spent actually using them for their intended purposes. When I revisited Proverbs 31 in the Bible, it opened my eyes to what it really means to be a good wife and Christian woman, apart from apple pies and organ-playing. I want my blog to empower women (or men or anyone) to be a Proverbs 31 woman without letting go of who God made them to be... a rockstar!
Question: Why should I read your blog/like your fan page/follow you on Twitter/re-post the nonsense you write.
Answer: First of all, how dare you call my writing nonsense. Secondly, I have outlined the top three reasons you should do all of the above.
1.) You need me.
This may not be entirely true. But like maybe a little bit. I can definitely provide humor to your life. Maybe a little inspiration. If nothing else, maybe you'll be thankful that you're not as crazy as me. See, those are three really positive values that I can bring to your life. But basically, I write honestly, openly, and about things I really care about... money, faith, relationships, and other things that affect everyone. So even if you don't like or agree with every entry, I'd love to hear your opinion, and I'd love you to keep reading.
2.) I need you.
This is probably actually more true than the first reason. Last night, I (quite on accident) found out that people actually like to read my blog. While trying to sign in and write a new entry, I stumbled on the analytics for my page and saw that my blog had 599 page views. You like me, you really like me! But when I chuckled about it in disbelief to my husband, he was really amazingly positive and encouraged me to do more. Which means a lot. Because he's the kind of guy when I prompt him with "Do you think I look nice today?" he actually carefully inspects me and answers honestly. So he's not one for flattery. But honestly, I am considering attempting to get some of my work published. To get a non-fiction piece published, most publishers would want to see that you've had a successful presence in social media already, so in the least creepy way I can manage... PLEASE, PLEASE LIKE ME AND GET OTHER PEOPLE TO LIKE ME!
3.) I'm (kind of) super qualified.
This one is probably the least true. But, from the writing perspective, I have a Bachelor's in English, work as a marketing copywriter, and have written several pieces for local magazines. From the Christian perspective, I struggle daily but passionately attempt to follow God - and write about it whether I succeed or fail. Oh, and I like to write about money and budgets. I have more budgets than money... but making progress on that every day too. And I write about my husband who is way nicer and funnier than me. If he ever picked up a pen, I'd be in trouble. So ya, that pretty much rounds out my qualifications.
Question: I'm not a wife. Or a woman. Or even a Christian.
Answer: That's not a question... that's a statement. But I'll "answer" it anyway. You don't need to be a wife or a woman or a Christian to appreciate this blog. I definitely have several readers who are none of the above. I write about many aspects of life. So really, if you're living, I think you'd be a great reader for my blog! ;-)
So in conclusion... Read my blog. Share my blog. Promote it, so I can stop this creepy self-promotion thing I'm on right now.
My Facebook Fan Page
My Twitter Page
Sunday, April 15, 2012
The 5% - Double-dunked
The church has this big, fancy word called sanctification, which is different from salvation. In layman's terms, salvation is the point where you accept Jesus as your savior, decide to follow him, and repent of your sins.
Sanctification is giving Jesus the dreaded last 5%. That 5% you cling to, that Dale gave an awesome message on yesterday at Assembly. In the words of a song by Meatloaf, "You would do anything for love... but you wouldn't do that." Sanctification is praying for those people that are the hardest for you to pray for - the ones you get a little nauseated after you pray for them (is that just me?). Sanctification is accepting that you'll never be comfortable again because God will use you, work through you, and generally not let you settle into comfortable stagnation.
I am a pretty awesome 95% Christian. I give weekly to the church, I volunteer for student ministry and other outreaches, I live fiscally responsible, I don't drink... I'm pretty sure Jesus is somewhere in heaven gagging right now at that statement. But when it comes to being a 100% Christian though, I struggle. Jesus, I want to serve you, but there's no way you can expect me to do that without a solid 401K and health insurance. And I want to stay in the Peoria area. And I only eat the green M&Ms. The next few blog entries I write are going to be the story of giving up the 5%... beginning with the double-dunk baptism of 2005.
An unfortunate illustration of my struggle with the 5% was my baptism in 2005. I was so ready. I had prayerfully considered it, decided it was my next step, and was ready to go that day. The water was surprisingly warmer than I had hoped, and Dale was surprisingly nicer than I had hoped. ;-) Here's where the problem starts... I'm in the water, the words are said, Dale grabs my hand leans my head back... and with my nose, mouth, and forehead still slightly above water, I panicked and tensed my entire body and began to pull myself back up out of the water. Dale, being the compassionate Pastor he is, pushed me down for the "double-dunk" to make sure I was good and baptized. The video below is a dramatic representation of how the events unfolded.
I'm still not sure why I tensed up that day. I wasn't scared of water... or baptism... I didn't doubt that it was the right choice... or even that I'd come back up. I think I just wanted to keep my 5%. Over the next few blog entries, I'm going to talk about my journey to give up the last 5%...which unfortunately took a rather unprecedented six and a half years from that point.
Sanctification is giving Jesus the dreaded last 5%. That 5% you cling to, that Dale gave an awesome message on yesterday at Assembly. In the words of a song by Meatloaf, "You would do anything for love... but you wouldn't do that." Sanctification is praying for those people that are the hardest for you to pray for - the ones you get a little nauseated after you pray for them (is that just me?). Sanctification is accepting that you'll never be comfortable again because God will use you, work through you, and generally not let you settle into comfortable stagnation.
I am a pretty awesome 95% Christian. I give weekly to the church, I volunteer for student ministry and other outreaches, I live fiscally responsible, I don't drink... I'm pretty sure Jesus is somewhere in heaven gagging right now at that statement. But when it comes to being a 100% Christian though, I struggle. Jesus, I want to serve you, but there's no way you can expect me to do that without a solid 401K and health insurance. And I want to stay in the Peoria area. And I only eat the green M&Ms. The next few blog entries I write are going to be the story of giving up the 5%... beginning with the double-dunk baptism of 2005.
An unfortunate illustration of my struggle with the 5% was my baptism in 2005. I was so ready. I had prayerfully considered it, decided it was my next step, and was ready to go that day. The water was surprisingly warmer than I had hoped, and Dale was surprisingly nicer than I had hoped. ;-) Here's where the problem starts... I'm in the water, the words are said, Dale grabs my hand leans my head back... and with my nose, mouth, and forehead still slightly above water, I panicked and tensed my entire body and began to pull myself back up out of the water. Dale, being the compassionate Pastor he is, pushed me down for the "double-dunk" to make sure I was good and baptized. The video below is a dramatic representation of how the events unfolded.
I'm still not sure why I tensed up that day. I wasn't scared of water... or baptism... I didn't doubt that it was the right choice... or even that I'd come back up. I think I just wanted to keep my 5%. Over the next few blog entries, I'm going to talk about my journey to give up the last 5%...which unfortunately took a rather unprecedented six and a half years from that point.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Pray for the Mean Girls
I have a prayer request. It's one of those "do I have to?" prayer requests, like praying for your jerk of a boss, or praying for murderers or thieves... but this one is even harder. I would like everyone to take a moment to pray for the Mean Girls. Who are the Mean Girls? Really? If you have to ask, you'll never know. The Mean Girls were the girls who told you they loved your shirt, but then laughed about it behind your back. The Mean Girls were the ones who wanted you to know just what a complete and total LOSER you are. If you're a guy, the Mean Girls are the ones who rejected your date request in such as EPIC fashion, that you still wake up sweating and thinking about it sometimes. How do I know? I am an ex-Mean Girl.
I wasn't always a Mean Girl, and I definitely wasn't raised to be a Mean Girl. Fifth grade was kind of the worst year of my life. I had always been a part of a group of friends, who as the structure of friendships shifted into a hierarchy, found themselves as the popular girls. I don't know how or why or even when this shift usually happens, but it always does in school. You go from "we're all friends" to a tiered-level mini-society within a couple years. Well, I really wasn't prepared for what it meant to be a popular girl. I swear my friends all picked up on the mean thing really quick. And when I tried to stick up for the underdog, their targets pointed back at me. It was a miserable year. Especially at Christmas when one "friend" handed out gifts to our entire group of friends... EXCEPT me. Like, in an elaborate show. "HERE's a present for so-and-so... and HERE's a present for so-and-so..." Until I was the only one left. Without a gift. During that year, another not-so-nice friend began to grow in my spirit--Insecurity.
It doesn't take a lot of that for someone to break. And I broke hard the next year in junior high. And Insecurity's twin sister Mean Girl moved into my spirit, as well. I know that everyone says their school had cliques (because they do), but our class was NOTORIOUS. I know this, because when my sister came through a few years later, teachers were still talking about how awful we were to each other. Seriously. And in junior high, there weren't even cliques... you were popular, or you weren't. Last Wednesday Nate shared a story (I let him) about just how mean I really was.
In 7th grade, we had a cafeteria with those pull down lunch tables that seat ten to a side. Because our class was kind of crazy, the lunch monitors actually had to check and enforce the 10-to-a-side rule. For the most part, it worked out perfectly. We groomed the in-crowd to exactly 20 girls to sit at our table.
And then... it happened. Two or three girls who were very much NOT a part of our "friend group" sat at our table. Why... why would they do this? They either wanted to be friends with us... or they wanted to shake things up. But either way, we weren't having it.
As I looked at them at the end of the table, Insecurity spoke to me, "What if your friends DON'T make them move? What if they'd rather have you move?"... Then Mean Girl piped in. "You have to make them leave."
I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and pen out of my purse, making a bit of a spectacle. My friends looked at me and I said, "Don't worry... I'll make sure they won't sit here again."
The note I wrote was pretty simple. I remember that, but I don't remember the exact words. Basically, we don't want you to sit with us. The signature was the worst part though... I signed it... with a flourish...
The Popular Girlz
Yup. I did that. Even the "z"... Becauses "s" is too lame and mainstream. Some people are probably a bit shocked, and some people are probably thinking that at least my Mean Girl has mellowed a LITTLE.
This is only one of a nearly infinite number of Mean Girl stories I have. And honestly, a lot of them are at least a little bit funny... a little bit. But as I heard Nate tell that story last Wednesday night, all of a sudden, it wasn't even a little bit funny. I looked around as he told it. I looked at the girls in the youth group and thought, "What if I had written that note to them?" And then I watched the faces turn from furrowed brows as Nate told the story to looks of shock and horror when Nate explained the signature.
So this is my hope for you. That tonight, you'll pray for the Mean Girl. That girl who made high school hell for you. That girl who turned you down publicly for a dance. Because not all Mean Girls repent, and not all Mean Girls end up with a nice guy and faith in a forgiving God like me. In fact, lots of Mean Girls raise more mean girls. I think a lot of my classmates moms loved the drama more than they did. But I can tell you what the mean girls DO all have in common - those evil sisters in their spirit that go everywhere together - Insecurity and Mean Girl. And they're hard to kill off.
I wasn't always a Mean Girl, and I definitely wasn't raised to be a Mean Girl. Fifth grade was kind of the worst year of my life. I had always been a part of a group of friends, who as the structure of friendships shifted into a hierarchy, found themselves as the popular girls. I don't know how or why or even when this shift usually happens, but it always does in school. You go from "we're all friends" to a tiered-level mini-society within a couple years. Well, I really wasn't prepared for what it meant to be a popular girl. I swear my friends all picked up on the mean thing really quick. And when I tried to stick up for the underdog, their targets pointed back at me. It was a miserable year. Especially at Christmas when one "friend" handed out gifts to our entire group of friends... EXCEPT me. Like, in an elaborate show. "HERE's a present for so-and-so... and HERE's a present for so-and-so..." Until I was the only one left. Without a gift. During that year, another not-so-nice friend began to grow in my spirit--Insecurity.
It doesn't take a lot of that for someone to break. And I broke hard the next year in junior high. And Insecurity's twin sister Mean Girl moved into my spirit, as well. I know that everyone says their school had cliques (because they do), but our class was NOTORIOUS. I know this, because when my sister came through a few years later, teachers were still talking about how awful we were to each other. Seriously. And in junior high, there weren't even cliques... you were popular, or you weren't. Last Wednesday Nate shared a story (I let him) about just how mean I really was.
In 7th grade, we had a cafeteria with those pull down lunch tables that seat ten to a side. Because our class was kind of crazy, the lunch monitors actually had to check and enforce the 10-to-a-side rule. For the most part, it worked out perfectly. We groomed the in-crowd to exactly 20 girls to sit at our table.
And then... it happened. Two or three girls who were very much NOT a part of our "friend group" sat at our table. Why... why would they do this? They either wanted to be friends with us... or they wanted to shake things up. But either way, we weren't having it.
As I looked at them at the end of the table, Insecurity spoke to me, "What if your friends DON'T make them move? What if they'd rather have you move?"... Then Mean Girl piped in. "You have to make them leave."
I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and pen out of my purse, making a bit of a spectacle. My friends looked at me and I said, "Don't worry... I'll make sure they won't sit here again."
The note I wrote was pretty simple. I remember that, but I don't remember the exact words. Basically, we don't want you to sit with us. The signature was the worst part though... I signed it... with a flourish...
The Popular Girlz
Yup. I did that. Even the "z"... Becauses "s" is too lame and mainstream. Some people are probably a bit shocked, and some people are probably thinking that at least my Mean Girl has mellowed a LITTLE.
This is only one of a nearly infinite number of Mean Girl stories I have. And honestly, a lot of them are at least a little bit funny... a little bit. But as I heard Nate tell that story last Wednesday night, all of a sudden, it wasn't even a little bit funny. I looked around as he told it. I looked at the girls in the youth group and thought, "What if I had written that note to them?" And then I watched the faces turn from furrowed brows as Nate told the story to looks of shock and horror when Nate explained the signature.
So this is my hope for you. That tonight, you'll pray for the Mean Girl. That girl who made high school hell for you. That girl who turned you down publicly for a dance. Because not all Mean Girls repent, and not all Mean Girls end up with a nice guy and faith in a forgiving God like me. In fact, lots of Mean Girls raise more mean girls. I think a lot of my classmates moms loved the drama more than they did. But I can tell you what the mean girls DO all have in common - those evil sisters in their spirit that go everywhere together - Insecurity and Mean Girl. And they're hard to kill off.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Stupidest. Advice. Ever.
My friend and "life fellow" from work, Sarah, found this blog, and shared it with me. We both found it pretty disturbing. Not all of it. Just a lot of it. Sarah and I are both relatively young, Christian women, but we're pretty different. So I appreciated that she also thought that parts of this "advice" article were bad news, as well. The numbered items in bold are the advice from the other blog, and my responses are below.
Aw, this blogger is anti-fat/ugly AND anti-men. I'm pretty sure this is just a set-up for number nine.
Um, beer or any other type of alcohol, from a bottle, a shot glass, or in true college fashion, a solo cup can have the above effects if you aren't responsible. Find friends who are fun without drinking. The friends who need alcohol to party start to look way sad on the backside of college. Don't be afraid to go to a big campus party or four or five, sober. The party won't be any fun, you'll end up taking care of people, but you will definitely have clearer memories of all of the stupid stuff other people did... and maybe some pictures. Some people call that blackmail, but I call it leverage.
If you're in high school, just don't drink. It's illegal, and ya, you know, you're kind of right that everyone's doing it. At least the in-crowd. But here's a fun secret... The "in-crowd" will still be drinking and throwing parties in their parents' basement for years to come. The numbers will dwindle, and the level of pathetic will rise. Get out now. Don't be the girl at 47 whose in the prom queen's parents basement, reliving the pep rally from Junior year.
There a few key things every girl should know before she departs your home. Here are my top 15.
1. Scissors are to be used for opening bags of chips, not for your hair. Especially NOT your bangs. EVER.
Why, WHY would this be someone's first piece of advice to teen girls? Apparently a bad haircut will ruin the other areas of your life enough to put it above any of the advice below. Here's my thoughts... cut your own hair! If it's awful, wear a hat. If it's REALLY awful, post it on Facebook with a funny caption so that you initiate the laughter and not someone else.
2. Never use bleach and ammonia at the same time. It creates a toxic gas that will cause you to suffocate.
There's probably not anything to argue with on this...
3. Learn to use a fire extinguisher.
Sure, why not...
4. Do not ask a question you don’t want the answer to until you are emotionally ready to handle it. For example. “Do you love me?” or “Does this make me look fat?”
This is PROBABLY the second worst advice on the stupid blog that I found this advice on. I'll tell you a secret. I'm pretty sure that no one has EVER been "emotionally ready" to "handle" being told, "No" when asking, "Do you love me?" My advice is if your going to be in a relationship, you should KNOW that the person loves you because of the way they treat you. You should also KNOW that they don't care if you look fat because, again, they love you.
5. Good friends are the ones who tell you that your ass looks big in those jeans and that Suzy is sleeping with your boyfriend. Keep them forever.
I'm starting to think that the author of this blog has some major body issues. Why is everything about looking fat in your clothes? Few true friends will tell you that your ass looks big in the jeans your wearing, because if they like you, they really don't care. And if they don't like you, they might say that even if it's not true, because they're jealous. Pick some damn jeans out of your closet, put them on, wear them. Don't ask your friend's opinion, or your jerk significant other's opinion from #4. Oh, and why does your friend know that your boyfriend is cheating on you? He's a skeez. And if she's told anyone but you, she's a skeez too.
6. When you ask a man, “What are you thinking?” and he replies, “Nothing.” It’s true.
7. For every slice of pizza you eat you will need to run 30 minutes to burn it off. Two slices equals an hour. Three slices? An hour and a half. You get the idea. That doesn’t include the beer.
This is true... which is why pizza isn't an every day meal. But I'll tell you a secret... Binging on an entire pizza at home isn't any worse than avoiding a party because you know there will be pizza and cake there. Live your life in moderation. You're in control, not the food.
8. Learn to use jumper cables.
Probably a good idea.
9. Men look at other girl’s boobs. Don’t expect otherwise. It’s nothing personal. They can’t help it.
Stupidest. Advice. Ever. This makes me sad. Not because it's bad advice (it is), but because I know exactly who says this advice- women whose men look at other girl's boobs. It's not normal. Men aren't dogs. But when women have crappy significant others, they reassure other women that they'll never do better. This advice is like, "All men cheat." It's not right, and it's not true. Why would ANYONE think this is good advice for teen girls? I don't know if anyone has noticed, but teen girls are already settling in a big way for the douche-y upperclassman guy or whoever. I don't think I've ever heard, "Wow, that high school girl should really LOWER her expectations." I hate this, and I hate that people read it and used it as advice.
10. The only alcohol you should ever drink straight from a bottle is beer. Doing otherwise will likely land you in the hospital or even worse, a wooden box.
11. Budgeting is the key to happiness.
I do love me some budgets. But budgets aren't the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to happiness. But don't forget that NO budget line item can every make you happier than you already are or aren't.
12. The only thing you wash with white clothes? White clothes.
Maybe the best advice they've offered.
13. Every cigarette you smoke takes seven minutes off your life. A pack? Two hours and 20 minutes.
Don't smoke. It will kill you. You need a math equation for that?
14. No one knows what they are going to be when they grow up. Just get a damn degree.
I get that this person is saying that you may not end up doing what you get a degree in, but I really hate the idea of paper-chasing. A college degree is a piece of paper. Like a marriage license. Anybody can have a piece of paper. Make it great. Earn it. Learn in the process. Use it to it's full potential. Both degrees and marriage licenses.
15. Boys are the gravy, not the mashed potatoes.
They are not either. And I don't like the plurality "Boys." Someday, you'll meet a boy. ONE BOY. That is good enough to plan your life around. Because he'll plan his around you too.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Justice Utopia
So, I had never thought about it too much, but the other day, I was thinking about the fact that my parents raised me in a sort of perfectly just utopia. I was thinking about this because of my parents paying off the last portion of our car loan and writing a receipt that says, "For financial integrity and responsibility." That's pure awesome. Honestly, if it would have been a post-it note on a Ding-Dong that said "For financial integrity and responsibility," I would have been overjoyed as well. From my very first memories to today, my parents were incredibly fair, consistent, giving, and systematic.
In my opinion, as a parent, you kind of have two options: prepare your kids for how life should be OR prepare your kids for how life is. We've all seen the parents who prepare kids for how life is. The mom who puts the toy back on the shelf and says, "We don't have any money right now," and when the kid starts to get upset says, "Well I don't know what to tell you. Life's not fair." Or the Dad in line to check out at the grocery store who gets his kid to shut up by throwing a candy bar on the conveyor belt. It's bad behavior, but as adults, when we whine enough, we can usually get a candy bar (or something analogous in our adult situation).
Kids who are raised being prepared for how life is are... well, just that. Prepared to live within a broken society's broken standards. The good news is, they'll be just fine when they start school. They'll be used to life being unfair. Heck, they'll be the kid making sure it's unfair for everyone. Their hearts won't be broken every five minutes and they'll be tough enough for this life.
My parents chose the "Road Less Parented" though. They raised my sister and me in a Justice Utopia. It wasn't like we got everything we wanted and were totally happy all of the time. BUT we were learning how to live life how it SHOULD BE. There were expectations. Oh... so many expectations. By two and four, MacKenzie and I were better behaved and more accountable than most adults. Sometimes when I check out at the grocery store, I still get excited neck prickles when I see candy I want. When we were kids, we were never allowed to ask for candy, toys, etc. or it was just known that we wouldn't get any. I'm not even talking fit throwing. I'm saying that we weren't allowed to say, "Oh father dearest, may I please have a candy bar?" Except when the neck prickles got the best of me. I'd hold my breath to keep them at bay, but when they took over I'd gasp, "Caaaandy bar?" Dad would just frown softly and shake his head no. But oh the glorious days when I could keep the neck prickles at bay, and Dad would look into eyes and smile and say, "Would you like a piece of candy?" Oh what a glorious day. That's how life should work.
But it doesn't.
I remember some of my first glimpses on the other side of Justice Utopia. One of my first memories outside Justice Utopia was an McLaughlin Farm Park summer camp. And that particular year... when I was about four... they had... wait for it... BABY KITTENS! And my summer camp class got to hold them and pet them! Except, all of the little a-holes in my summer camp class pushed ahead of me, grabbing the kittens, and cutting in line. My first reaction was for my eyes to tear up a bit, but then I said NO. I knew how I would react to this. So I stepped back, and let the other kids play with them. Surely I would be handsomely rewarded for my kindness and patience. After a few minutes the counselor said, "Ok, I'm putting the kittens away."
Whoa, what?
I marched up to her to file my grievance. "Um, hi," I said. "There has been a mistake. The other kids pushed me out of the way, and I never got to pet or hold the kittens."
This is the point where my parents would have said, "Good job waiting your turn, Ali" and I would have gotten some awesome one-on-one baby kitten time that trumped anytime the greedy kids got. But do you know what that camp counselor said?
"Sorry. Maybe you should pushed to the front too."
What? That STILL ticks me off when I think about it. But that's life, right? The trouble with raising kids to live life how it SHOULD BE is that when they go into the real world (I'm talking Kindergarten, not the work force), their worlds will crumble a little. You'll have to give them talks entitled:
"Why not EVERYONE wants to hear you sing 'Meet in the Middle' by Diamond Rio."
"Why the kid on the bus stole your glove."
"Why Brittney Schoen won't share her colored pencils and pointed out that she has exactly four more lines in the 2nd grade play than you do."
Or, in my poor sister MacKenzie's case (she wanted to cling to Justice Utopia even more than me):
"Why you can't choke kids in your kindergarten class when they give you insincere apologies."
But when you raise kids in Justice Utopia, they want to propagate it. They want to reward hard work, root for the underdog, and defeat the bad guys. This world will make them cynical, but they'll always fight just a little bit harder than the rest of the world to spread the joy of Justice Utopia just a bit farther.
In honor of my parents, I'll always fight for Justice Utopia. I know that neck prickles, whether for a grocery check-out candy bar or an overpriced purse or electronic item are never worth giving into, and that God is smiling down at my self-control and he will offer me something even better. Because God parents to how life SHOULD BE too.
In my opinion, as a parent, you kind of have two options: prepare your kids for how life should be OR prepare your kids for how life is. We've all seen the parents who prepare kids for how life is. The mom who puts the toy back on the shelf and says, "We don't have any money right now," and when the kid starts to get upset says, "Well I don't know what to tell you. Life's not fair." Or the Dad in line to check out at the grocery store who gets his kid to shut up by throwing a candy bar on the conveyor belt. It's bad behavior, but as adults, when we whine enough, we can usually get a candy bar (or something analogous in our adult situation).
Kids who are raised being prepared for how life is are... well, just that. Prepared to live within a broken society's broken standards. The good news is, they'll be just fine when they start school. They'll be used to life being unfair. Heck, they'll be the kid making sure it's unfair for everyone. Their hearts won't be broken every five minutes and they'll be tough enough for this life.
My parents chose the "Road Less Parented" though. They raised my sister and me in a Justice Utopia. It wasn't like we got everything we wanted and were totally happy all of the time. BUT we were learning how to live life how it SHOULD BE. There were expectations. Oh... so many expectations. By two and four, MacKenzie and I were better behaved and more accountable than most adults. Sometimes when I check out at the grocery store, I still get excited neck prickles when I see candy I want. When we were kids, we were never allowed to ask for candy, toys, etc. or it was just known that we wouldn't get any. I'm not even talking fit throwing. I'm saying that we weren't allowed to say, "Oh father dearest, may I please have a candy bar?" Except when the neck prickles got the best of me. I'd hold my breath to keep them at bay, but when they took over I'd gasp, "Caaaandy bar?" Dad would just frown softly and shake his head no. But oh the glorious days when I could keep the neck prickles at bay, and Dad would look into eyes and smile and say, "Would you like a piece of candy?" Oh what a glorious day. That's how life should work.
But it doesn't.
I remember some of my first glimpses on the other side of Justice Utopia. One of my first memories outside Justice Utopia was an McLaughlin Farm Park summer camp. And that particular year... when I was about four... they had... wait for it... BABY KITTENS! And my summer camp class got to hold them and pet them! Except, all of the little a-holes in my summer camp class pushed ahead of me, grabbing the kittens, and cutting in line. My first reaction was for my eyes to tear up a bit, but then I said NO. I knew how I would react to this. So I stepped back, and let the other kids play with them. Surely I would be handsomely rewarded for my kindness and patience. After a few minutes the counselor said, "Ok, I'm putting the kittens away."
Whoa, what?
I marched up to her to file my grievance. "Um, hi," I said. "There has been a mistake. The other kids pushed me out of the way, and I never got to pet or hold the kittens."
This is the point where my parents would have said, "Good job waiting your turn, Ali" and I would have gotten some awesome one-on-one baby kitten time that trumped anytime the greedy kids got. But do you know what that camp counselor said?
"Sorry. Maybe you should pushed to the front too."
What? That STILL ticks me off when I think about it. But that's life, right? The trouble with raising kids to live life how it SHOULD BE is that when they go into the real world (I'm talking Kindergarten, not the work force), their worlds will crumble a little. You'll have to give them talks entitled:
"Why not EVERYONE wants to hear you sing 'Meet in the Middle' by Diamond Rio."
"Why the kid on the bus stole your glove."
"Why Brittney Schoen won't share her colored pencils and pointed out that she has exactly four more lines in the 2nd grade play than you do."
Or, in my poor sister MacKenzie's case (she wanted to cling to Justice Utopia even more than me):
"Why you can't choke kids in your kindergarten class when they give you insincere apologies."
But when you raise kids in Justice Utopia, they want to propagate it. They want to reward hard work, root for the underdog, and defeat the bad guys. This world will make them cynical, but they'll always fight just a little bit harder than the rest of the world to spread the joy of Justice Utopia just a bit farther.
In honor of my parents, I'll always fight for Justice Utopia. I know that neck prickles, whether for a grocery check-out candy bar or an overpriced purse or electronic item are never worth giving into, and that God is smiling down at my self-control and he will offer me something even better. Because God parents to how life SHOULD BE too.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Three Reasons I Don't Want to Hear Your Salvation Story
Sorry if my title offended you...But look, here you are, still reading. Even if you are offended, you are apparently also intrigued. See? You're caught. Anyway, here are three reasons I don't want to hear about your coming to Jesus.
1.) I don't have a good one.
2.) They don't call us fishers of men for nothing.
3.) I'd rather hear about your trip than putting your key in the ignition.
I'll just go ahead and address these in order, beginning with the fact that I don't have a good salvation story. I'd say my salvation is upward trending. So like, if I made a chart of the strength of my relationship with God, time and strength would be positively correlated...It's always getting better...but it's definitely not a straight line. It's a line with many dips, dives and detours.
When I was little, I accepted Jesus into my heart as my savior with my parents help and guidance. My children's story Bible was by far my favorite book...Good strong start.
In fourth grade, I had my first church experience. I was invited to church with my friend from school, and I was really excited. I actually went to church a lot with her for the next couple years. I went to Sunday service, Sunday school and Wednesday night PRIME TIME, haha. I was a regular Bible thumper! Here's the thing though...I felt like they weren't talking about MY God. My friend's church was ultra legalistic and...well, I don't think a lot of the kids were very engaged. Several examples stand out to me. One night at Prime Time, one of the students raised their hand and said, "Will my dog be in heaven to greet me when I die?" Our stellar Christian leader...a middle aged man...said, "No, animals don't have souls, so they don't go to heaven." Cue terrified wailing from all the fourth graders and a silent agreement to boycott the Pearly Gates. I also remember our version of small group where we talked about school and such. Several of our kids went to school together, so we brought up the fat bully in our class and how he made recess a nightmare. "You're going to need to lift him up to God," the same teacher said. In one of my wittiest moments to date, I replied, "We're gonna need more people!" When he realized that I was making a fat joke and not calling for an outreach, I had to go sit in the corner. I also had to take a Sunday School test on Noah that included a multiple choice question about how many windows were on the ark. My God might have been there, but I couldn't feel him.
For a long time after that, God and I really flat-lined. There were a few blips...and I really never doubted he was there...I just preferred the Christian Atheist lifestyle. And there were just a lot of times when I was angry with God because I wanted him to be there more (whatever that means). When I was 16 or 17, God and I really started picking up momentum again...but there weren't any fireworks or anything. When my mom started going to Bridgeway, she would beg me every week to come. She'd try different tactics to get me to go, but none of them ever worked. I had been to Church, and God wasn't there...Not for me at least. Do you know when I started going? When she stopped asking. Well, that's only partly true. I started going when she stopped asking me to go and started asking God for me to go. She prayed, I went. I didn't know she was praying...I thought maybe she had Jedi mind powers. So ya, there's the worst salvation story ever - mine.
I'm honestly really jealous of people who have great salvation stories, but I think I'm not alone in having a lame one. At least I hope I'm not alone. But I know that sometimes it seems like everyone has an epic "moment" and I don't. Which brings us to reason two:
They don't call us fishers of men for nothing! When you think of epic, well-meaning, partially fabricated but overall for a good cause stories, what do you think of? I think of fishermen. Not like legit fishermen, but the weekend warriors who are constantly telling fishing stories. Fishermen don't stretch the truth to hurt anyone...they just want to share their "good news." Sound familiar?
And fishermen are like Christians in another way, in my experience. One fisherman (or one Christian) is usually more harmless than a group of them.
If fisherman A's fish was this big, fisherman B's fish was THIIIS big and he caught it without bait.
If Christian A felt God's presence speak within them, Christian B audibly heard God speaking. Maybe he saw God too or physically felt his touch. And they hung out for a while and played a game of billiards. And then Christian B prayed a prayer of forgiveness and his hair caught on fire and now it doesn't get so frizzy when it's humid out.
Of course I'm joking, but I think Christians put a lot of pressure into salvation stories. It's the "wedding day" of your relationship with God, if you will. It's a ceremonial marker, but it doesn't define the relationship. It just really doesn't. I Googled "Christian Salvation stories" to assure myself that I wasn't the only one with a lackluster story. Unfortunately, apparently I am. The Christianity page on about.com (that seems reputable, right?) has several salvation stories from Christians that seem unreal. Not unreal in the sense of awe-inspiring...Unreal in the sense that they aren't real. I shouldn't say that...I firmly believe that God connects with different people in different ways, so I won't doubt their stories. I just wonder how God picks who gets the miraculous recovery from a headshot salvation stories versus who gets stories like mine.
On to reason three: I'd rather hear about your trip than putting your key in the ignition. If I found out that you had road-tripped to California and asked you about it, you probably wouldn't spend 10 minutes discussing the preparation for the trip and getting in the car and then say, "And then we were in California!" But that's what a lot of people do with their salvation stories. "Then I found God... and here I am today!"
If you're a meth addict and pray a prayer of salvation OF COURSE the salvation is instant, but it's not like God straps a sweater vest on you and teleports you to the nearest PTA meeting. A deep faith relationship takes work. It's a journey, not a destination... Especially not an instant destination.
So there's why I don't want to hear your salvation story. I always love hearing about about people's faith journeys, but much less into the holy "Goodness, Grace, and Great Balls of Fire" salvation stories (See what I did there?). You don't want the best day of your marriage to be your wedding day, and you don't want your best day of your faith to be your salvation day. It's okay to reminisce, but keep pushing forward. Growth is the name of the game!
1.) I don't have a good one.
2.) They don't call us fishers of men for nothing.
3.) I'd rather hear about your trip than putting your key in the ignition.
I'll just go ahead and address these in order, beginning with the fact that I don't have a good salvation story. I'd say my salvation is upward trending. So like, if I made a chart of the strength of my relationship with God, time and strength would be positively correlated...It's always getting better...but it's definitely not a straight line. It's a line with many dips, dives and detours.
When I was little, I accepted Jesus into my heart as my savior with my parents help and guidance. My children's story Bible was by far my favorite book...Good strong start.
In fourth grade, I had my first church experience. I was invited to church with my friend from school, and I was really excited. I actually went to church a lot with her for the next couple years. I went to Sunday service, Sunday school and Wednesday night PRIME TIME, haha. I was a regular Bible thumper! Here's the thing though...I felt like they weren't talking about MY God. My friend's church was ultra legalistic and...well, I don't think a lot of the kids were very engaged. Several examples stand out to me. One night at Prime Time, one of the students raised their hand and said, "Will my dog be in heaven to greet me when I die?" Our stellar Christian leader...a middle aged man...said, "No, animals don't have souls, so they don't go to heaven." Cue terrified wailing from all the fourth graders and a silent agreement to boycott the Pearly Gates. I also remember our version of small group where we talked about school and such. Several of our kids went to school together, so we brought up the fat bully in our class and how he made recess a nightmare. "You're going to need to lift him up to God," the same teacher said. In one of my wittiest moments to date, I replied, "We're gonna need more people!" When he realized that I was making a fat joke and not calling for an outreach, I had to go sit in the corner. I also had to take a Sunday School test on Noah that included a multiple choice question about how many windows were on the ark. My God might have been there, but I couldn't feel him.
For a long time after that, God and I really flat-lined. There were a few blips...and I really never doubted he was there...I just preferred the Christian Atheist lifestyle. And there were just a lot of times when I was angry with God because I wanted him to be there more (whatever that means). When I was 16 or 17, God and I really started picking up momentum again...but there weren't any fireworks or anything. When my mom started going to Bridgeway, she would beg me every week to come. She'd try different tactics to get me to go, but none of them ever worked. I had been to Church, and God wasn't there...Not for me at least. Do you know when I started going? When she stopped asking. Well, that's only partly true. I started going when she stopped asking me to go and started asking God for me to go. She prayed, I went. I didn't know she was praying...I thought maybe she had Jedi mind powers. So ya, there's the worst salvation story ever - mine.
I'm honestly really jealous of people who have great salvation stories, but I think I'm not alone in having a lame one. At least I hope I'm not alone. But I know that sometimes it seems like everyone has an epic "moment" and I don't. Which brings us to reason two:
They don't call us fishers of men for nothing! When you think of epic, well-meaning, partially fabricated but overall for a good cause stories, what do you think of? I think of fishermen. Not like legit fishermen, but the weekend warriors who are constantly telling fishing stories. Fishermen don't stretch the truth to hurt anyone...they just want to share their "good news." Sound familiar?
And fishermen are like Christians in another way, in my experience. One fisherman (or one Christian) is usually more harmless than a group of them.
If fisherman A's fish was this big, fisherman B's fish was THIIIS big and he caught it without bait.
If Christian A felt God's presence speak within them, Christian B audibly heard God speaking. Maybe he saw God too or physically felt his touch. And they hung out for a while and played a game of billiards. And then Christian B prayed a prayer of forgiveness and his hair caught on fire and now it doesn't get so frizzy when it's humid out.
Of course I'm joking, but I think Christians put a lot of pressure into salvation stories. It's the "wedding day" of your relationship with God, if you will. It's a ceremonial marker, but it doesn't define the relationship. It just really doesn't. I Googled "Christian Salvation stories" to assure myself that I wasn't the only one with a lackluster story. Unfortunately, apparently I am. The Christianity page on about.com (that seems reputable, right?) has several salvation stories from Christians that seem unreal. Not unreal in the sense of awe-inspiring...Unreal in the sense that they aren't real. I shouldn't say that...I firmly believe that God connects with different people in different ways, so I won't doubt their stories. I just wonder how God picks who gets the miraculous recovery from a headshot salvation stories versus who gets stories like mine.
On to reason three: I'd rather hear about your trip than putting your key in the ignition. If I found out that you had road-tripped to California and asked you about it, you probably wouldn't spend 10 minutes discussing the preparation for the trip and getting in the car and then say, "And then we were in California!" But that's what a lot of people do with their salvation stories. "Then I found God... and here I am today!"
If you're a meth addict and pray a prayer of salvation OF COURSE the salvation is instant, but it's not like God straps a sweater vest on you and teleports you to the nearest PTA meeting. A deep faith relationship takes work. It's a journey, not a destination... Especially not an instant destination.
So there's why I don't want to hear your salvation story. I always love hearing about about people's faith journeys, but much less into the holy "Goodness, Grace, and Great Balls of Fire" salvation stories (See what I did there?). You don't want the best day of your marriage to be your wedding day, and you don't want your best day of your faith to be your salvation day. It's okay to reminisce, but keep pushing forward. Growth is the name of the game!
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