I'm So Silly: A Short Story

To be young is to be silly. It cannot be avoided. To be silly, though, is to be empty and ready to learn, which is something that, as an adult, I wish I could practice more often. The following is a particular incident that sticks out in my mind. It helped be become a bit less silly and a bit less empty, for my own good and for the good of unsuspecting homeless people everywhere.

Jackie and I pulled off the interstate. We had spent the morning at church and had been inspired afresh to be loving and helpful to those in need. As we pulled up to the traffic light at the end of the off-ramp, we noticed a man on the median to our left. He was sitting on an overturned shopping cart and holding a cardboard sign. He wore layers of worn clothing, dirty tennis shoes and a navy blue winter hat that couldn't restrain the disheveled hair beneath it. Next to him on the ground was a large pack - the sort of thing that I imagine in my fantasies of backpacking through Europe. He was, I imagined, a man of many places. Though his face was rough and weathered, and his broken smile brought back childhood memories of the tooth fairy, I saw a certain carefree spirit in his eyes, which told me that he was not much older than us.

"Perfect." I thought. "A needy person! I can't even imagine how happy he'll be once we're through with him."

We pulled up next to him. Jackie rolled down her window.

"Hi!" we said, nervous, excited, and trying to appear cool.

"Hi," he responded. He seemed a bit suspicious, an appropriate response to the approach of teenage girls, but also intrigued and friendly.

"I'm Jackie, and this is Katie. What's up?"

"Well, I'm just trying to raise some money to get a little further south for the winter." The young man explained, humoring us - the same was written on the sign he was holding.

"Cool. Is there anything we could get for you? Food or something?" Jackie asked, gesturing toward the Walgreen's across the street.

Simply giving him money wasn't even close to the dramatic scene we were hoping for. We were going to do something great for him, something he would never forget, something he would tell his grand-kids about. I could hear the story-telling already: "I'll never forget those kind girls. They restored my faith in humanity and changed my life forever."

Before my fantasy was finished, he replied, "Nope. I'm fine. I actually just ate and I'm pretty stuffed."

"Was he serious?" I asked myself. "Does he know that he's homeless?" I looked at him and made a lengthy, mental list of all of the things he didn't know he needed.

We paused for a second, shocked and unsure of our next move. Of all of the possible outcomes, I had not anticipated this – that the needy would need nothing. Eventually, we decided that his refusal was probably insincere, and definitely unacceptable. We were going to give him the help he needed, whether he knew he needed it or not.

After some considerable pestering: "Are you sure? There must be something. Come on!" we finally abused the poor man into submitting to our charitable intentions.

“I guess a bottle of water would be nice,” he surrendered.

Finally.

The light turned green, we drove across the street and entered Walgreen’s on a mission. We knew that he needed more than water. He was sitting on a shopping cart, for crying out loud! It was nearing Christmas and our romantically tragic assumptions assured us that there would be no gifts for him and that only we could rescue the poor, delicate soul from a loveless Christmas. We filled a gaudy red sock with various items, purchased the lot and were quite please with ourselves. A Christmas stocking for homeless man - what a lovely gesture! Possibly the loveliest.

After parking the car on the side of the road close to the shopping cart, we walked to join our less fortunate friend on his median. It was a different experience - standing face to face, as opposed to conversing with raised voices through a car-window. I felt vulnerable.

I handed him the stocking. He seemed glad to have it – perhaps he did know he was homeless after all. He emptied the sock onto the ground beside him and carefully rifled through it's contents, which included a toothbrush, hand sanitizer and dental floss. Finally, he looked up.

"Do I look dirty?" he asked, looking amused. My feelings of vulnerability quickly gave way to acute embarrassment.

"Uh...no...we just thought..." I started with urgency, but trailed off. A smile and a shrug finished the thought that my words failed. He chuckled and returned to examining his gifts.

I’m sure our new friend appreciated his toothpaste and granola bars, but I certainly gained something more important from our interaction. A connection was made and an unintentional prejudice was shattered. Sure, he was a homeless man, but he was still a man. He had a sureness of self that we lacked, a sense of humor enough to laugh at two young girls offering baby wipes to a grown man on the side of the road, and grace enough to thank us anyway, though I would not have blamed him if he had been offended, rejected our gifts completely, and taken his shopping cart elsewhere.

Experiences like these, though embarrassing to recount, are what have nearly succeeded in growing me up. If I were smart, I would ask for more until the job is done, but I am not smart, at least not yet.

I wrote this short story in college, and then I kind of edited/rewrote it today. Assuming you've read it (since you're now at the bottom of the page), if you feel so inclined, provide some feedback. I think it's fun, but as the author have very little by way of an unbiased perspective. If it turns out that others think it is fun as well, I might send submit it to some publication. If not, I'll leave it alone. The third option is conditional acceptance by my readers - ways I can change it to be worthy of wider readership. In any case, and let me know.

Thanks!!

for my birthday

i've said it before and i'll say it again now -

charity: water is a phenomenal organization.

for my 24th birthday (February, 11), i'm asking for people to donate. i have set up a campaign here: http://mycharitywater.org/katies24th

if every one of my facebook friends donated $10 (or one trip to the movies/out to dinner) then we would have raised $6250. it only takes $5000 to provide a well for 250 people for 20 years!

let's try. i set the goal for $1000 because i'm generally afraid of failure, but if we exceed that, you better believe that i'm changing it to $5000 pronto. pronto!

for more information about charity: water, go here: http://www.charitywater.org/whywater/

to donate click here: http://mycharitywater.org/katies24th

inspire hope. restore faith.

sold

The following is a gchat conversation. The name of my fellow conversant has been changed to protect the relatively innocent :)
me: sometimes i think i just want a more interesting job

other person: ME TOO.

me: hah

other person: thats why they call it work, and not play

blog on that

me: no. it's depressing

other person: exactly my point

something died in me when I got my first grown up job after college

for real

me: i feel like a sell out

i might blog about that

owning a house and working a 9-5

other person: yeah, but sell-outs pay their bills

you are what makes this country

hippie college kids walking around Alaska do nothing for the economy, society. they are takers not givers

so THERE. take that all you clove smoking hipsters

me: i used to like cloves

even though it is said that they make your lungs bleed

i don't really like them anymore

other person: selling out, one hip habit at a time

you're half way to a mini van

me: i don't think i'll have a mini van anytime soon

marriage is the one sell-out thing i'm pretty far from

so at least i have that :)

other person: yeah, you'll turn around twice and you'll have 2 kids and a jello in your DVD player.

i can't really decide whether or not i really have sold out. i often feel like i have, but i often feel many negative things about myself that may or may not be true. let's have some retrospect, so you can look at my life the way that i'm looking at it right now:


age 23 katie: why, hello, age 15 katie! would you mind telling me where you'll be in 10 years?


age 15 katie: not at all. wow, that's a really long time from now. surely, i will have graduated from high school and college. i will most definitely be married and maybe even have a baby. that will be so great. my husband will probably be a pastor and definitely a musician and will absolutely adore me. i might even have a great job at some non-profit organization, saving the world and they will, of course, give me a long maternity leave and then let me come back part time, if i want to.



enter age 20 katie



age 15 and age 23 katie: hi!


age 20 katie: listen, age 15 katie, i just want to tell you this now - we're still single.


age 15 katie: what?! you're such a bum!


age 20 katie: eh.



exit age 15 katie in a fit of rage



age 23 katie: sorry about that, age 20 katie. age 15 katie is a bit nuts.


age 20 katie: oh, i remember.


age 23 katie: great. would you mind telling me where you'll be in 5 years?


age 20 katie: certainly. well, i know i will have graduated from milligan. i'll probably be in grad school, or teaching at some wonderful little high school where they pay me in maple syrup. maybe i'll be in a relationship, maybe not. i'll definitely be doing something interesting and helpful for the world. hopefully i'll be playing a lot of music and writing. heck, i might even be a psalter.


i may or may not have gotten carried away in that hypothetical conversation between 3 different selves, but i'm done now and let us proceed.

now, it's clear that i've completely let down my 15 year old self, but that reminds me of a line in a song:

i know, we're not where i promised you we'd be by now,
but maybe it's a question of who'd want it anyhow?

that's not to say that if i, for some reason, was married and with child tomorrow, that i'd be devastated. i would embrace it. but, it's not something that i'm particularly longing for at this moment. i'm content in my life of parties and baking, sans diapers and where-will-we-spend-christmas? arguments.

it's the 20 year old self that i feel more upset about disappointing. i had such high hopes for myself - that i would do something different, unusual, radical, even. that i would live a life worth talking about. have i sold my dreams for a yellow kitchen and a steady paycheck? i understand that i'm only 23, but many people have done great things by the time they were my age, or at least working toward it. i have friends working in foreign countries, ministering in the church, teaching in the inner-city. i have an entry-level position and i wait tables. and i've started owning lots of things. i own a house and a couch and lovely dining room set. that bothers me - owning lots of things. it makes me feel heavier.

but at the same time, i will say that i still love my house and all of the things in it. i find them to be great tools of hospitality, and this i love. i also love having money with which to do nice things for people. for instance, i decided that i was going to make my brother a beautiful birthday cake from scratch. it cost $40 to get everything i needed! i like being able to do that, and to have parties to bring people together, and offer my house if anyone needs a roof or a family.

so, maybe working a 9-5 and owning a house isn't selling out after all. maybe "helping the world" doesn't necessarily mean doing that for a living. maybe that just means making life better for the people in your world. maybe i should just appreciate being blessed enough to bless others, and do it.

and perhaps, i'm really just taking myself far too seriously:
katie: i'm writing a blog and trying to decide whether or not i've sold out.
unnamed co-worker: i think you need to have gotten more before you're considered a sell out.
katie: great. i'm a sell out with nothing to show for it.


in order to help me feel better about my often-tiresome job, i'm going to try to get some short stories published, and hit up a few more open mics. i'll let you know how that goes. it's not a move to central america to live in a hut and rock orphan infants, but these are things that can happen now. perhaps i should try to steer away from escapist coping mechanisms for a bit and just try to make my life one that doesn't need them.

an ant farm

perspective is important. that is an understatement.

in my opinion, a person's perspective is at the very foundation of who they are - it controls how they think, and so how they speak and act. even as a young person, i know that a person's success hinges largely on whether or not, when given lemons, they choose to make lemonade or cry about it - whether they view themselves as one who overcomes or one who is overcome.

this is why i believe that theology is so fascinating - it provides us with countless little blocks from which we can pick and choose to build our perspective - how we view people, how we view ourselves, how we view God, how we view the earth - the list goes on. hopefully the picking and choosing has more to do with truth than convenience, but that's a topic for another time.

one day, long ago, i was sitting in a theology class, and we were discussing atonement theories (how, exactly, the whole "salvation" thing works). i was intrigued because not one had ever told me that there were varying theories. this came as good news, because the image that had evolved in my head was somewhat frightening:

i saw God as an old-fashioned judge, with the gray wig and everything, sitting at a high judge desk with a giant wooden gavel. i am a tiny little person, standing under the gavel on that little wooden circle on which judges bang gavels. God looks at me and says 'you have been judged and you have been found wanting.' as soon as he says it, he raises the gavel high in the air to squash me and then Jesus shoves me out of the way and gets squished himself. God then leaves me alone, being satisfied to have squashed someone, even if it wasn't me. now, no one ever told me that story, but it's the imagery that comes to mind when we sing words like 'the wrath of God is satisfied.' (absolutely no offense to that song - it's one of my favorites, apart from that line.)

when i was in this theology class and we were discussing atonement theories, my professor spoke about it in a different way. he proposed that, instead of being squashed by God, Jesus, in his death and resurrection, was defeating death. my professor made a fist and called it humanity, and then covered his fist with his other hand and called it death - death was something that eventually subdued every single human. but, when Jesus died and rose, the fist suddenly opened - throwing off the other hand - freeing humanity from bondage and making fear of death a thing of the past.

disclaimer - i'm not really trying to propose that this salvation idea is something different than you think it might be, i'm just trying to propose a different way of looking at it. perspective.

i've come up with my own analogy. an ant farm. i know i've never had an ant farm, and i may have never even seen an ant farm in real life, so if something about this analogy is inconsistent with known ant farm truths, you'll have to forgive me.

so, in this ant farm analogy, we are ants. God is the little kid watching us, overjoyed. now, the little kid feeds the ants by putting their food, let's say a delicious christmas cookie, on top of the dirt. at first, all is well - the ants walk around on top of the dirt, eating the cookie, looking up at the little kid with grateful, even teary, eyes because they love their christmas cookie so much. (i'm not an expert on ant nutrition, so let's just pretend that christmas cookies are very good for them.)

eventually, one of the ants finds its way into the dirt. all of the others follow, forgetting about christmas cookie. once the ants are underground, they can't find their own way out and they begin to starve. this is devastating to the little kid, who loved nothing more than to watch the ants enjoy his cookie. instead of giving up on his precious little pets, he sits and watches as the ants, who are mere centimeters away from what they need, run around with no way back to the top.

if i didn't lose you at the christmas cookie, i might lose you here:
the little kid then turns himself into an ant and follows the ants underground. he finds a few of the ants, gains their little ant trust and leads them back to the christmas cookie at the top. the journey wasn't easy, but he did have some extra insight, having seen the ant farm from the outside.

i'm going to stop the story right here, before we get into the last ant supper, methods of early ant execution, or the great insect commission, but i think you get the point, hopefully. and hopefully i get the point too.

no analogy is perfect - not the artist in my last post, not the gavel, not the fist, not the ants. but each of them can help us make sense of things. i just like to remind myself that i don't know everything. in fact, one could make the argument that i don't know anything. therefore, i certainly can't pretend that there is only one way of looking at something and i've found it, especially when it comes to important things, like christmas cookies.

paint me perfect

because we humans love our analogies, and because it's difficult to understand our relationship with God, the bible is full of helpful analogous descriptions of how we are regarded and how we, in turn, should regard God. our God is our shepherd, our rock, our foundation, our shelter, our strong tower, our provider, our groom. i could go on and on. interestingly, the parent-child (usually father-child) relationship is probably the most popular. i say this is interesting because, looking at the state of many parent-child relationships around us, i don't know that we, as a species, really have that one down. all of the others can be more easily understood. a provider, for instance, is, by definition, one who provides. a father, on the other hand and as sad as it is, is not necessarily one who fathers.

i have recently come to fancy a different analogy. God is my artist. if we think about it, the artist chooses everything about his or her creation (not the same can be said for parents and children). the colors, the shapes, the mediums - it's all intentional and meant to work together to accomplish something - the expression of the artist, the glorification of the artist, the connection between the artist and the spectator. i like this. i like to think of myself as a piece of art, crafted for a purpose - an expression of my creator, something to bring glory to my creator, something that can help others connect with my creator, who they might come to know as their creator.

i like this, too, because it helps me celebrate myself. parents are often trying to shape their children - curb things that may prove problematic and encourage things that will be helpful. artists are different. if there is something in art that appears to some to be errant, it is not. the artist put it there and it will serve a purpose at some point. i fear that some christians of a more legalistic persuasion miss out on this. if dancing brings joy to my soul, i can be confident that i was created that way - it's a gift, not a blemish. it is not something shameful, it is something put in me for my own good, at least, if not for something greater (in my case, it's probably just for me).

let me push the analogy to include the human condition and human error. i acknowledge that everything in me is not good. i do have a capacity for evil. perhaps that capacity is an imperfection in my canvass that the great artist manages to work into the piece. it is said that God does not waste pain and i believe that. i can think about some of the most painful things that have happened in my short life and not wish them away. they are so much a part of me that i can't imagine myself without them - without the things they taught le. how's that for efficiency? no waste. God is so green.

in light of all of this, let me say that as pieces of art, we have certain responsibilities.

• we cannot mute ourselves, or each other. imagine, if you painted two pictures and they came to life and decided that they were ashamed of and needed to hide the very pieces of themselves that you loved best - the parts that made them special (adam and eve?). i realize it's a weird hypothetical situation, but it would be rather heartbreaking.
• we cannot mar ourselves or others. same situation - if one of the paintings set itself on fire while the other attacked it with a knife. even a little weirder and definitely more heartbreaking.
• we must embrace ourselves and each other so much that we nearly explode. i don't really know what that would look like for our live-painting analogy, but you get where i'm going with this.

in short, you are beautiful people, and i'm not so bad either, so we should act like it.

embarrassing

i don't even know what to write. it's all embarrassing. i missed the unc english graduate program application deadline. it was today and my application was 90% complete the minute the red text appeared that said "application deadline past" in the exact place where the "submit" button once was. obviously, i should have seen it coming - the deadline now, technically, being yesterday.

i was recently advised against applying to the MTS program at duke because it's competitive and i have no plan.

the only other graduate school option i have considered is a program in london. how can i possibly afford to go to graduate school in london? i don't know either.

basically, i'm tired of my wonderful, better-than-average-but-still-entry-level job, but i don't know what else to do.

now, i completely understand that i may write next week about how i want to grow old and retire at this job, but for the time being, i'm frustrated with it. i know that i'm really very blessed to have a job that i enjoy in such a precarious economic climate (two, even!), but does that mean that i need to be satisfied as i head into a second year of working two jobs, neither of which do i believe are really developing me as a person, or allowing me to use my gifts and talents in a truly fulfilling way? i feel likd a brat just typing this. it certainly IS so much to ask for these things in a job, especially now.

so, i will be quiet, go to work(s) and finish my application for the program in london, just in case they feel like awarding me some sort of fantastic scholarship - one that will make it only a slight impossibility, as opposed to a laughability (made up).


i actually feel somewhat better now that i've officially missed the deadline. at least there's nothing i can do about it - feeling bad doesn't help anything. today at work, when i was working on my application and thinking about how i wasn't even really that interested in getting an MA in english, i started to get truly stressed out. the 1/4 life crisis feeling was growing in my throat, as it often does these days, while i watched the clock crawl from 4:50 to 5:00. it took so long. when it was over, i went home and piled my entire wardrobe on my bed. item by item, i put everything back, neatly, with the exception of he things that didn't make he cut. a small mound of clothing in the hallway outside my door slowly grew into a sizable pile. the process did not complete my application, but it was therapeutic. a clean closet helps to achieve a clean brain. when i was done, it was time to go to courtney's (my lovely sister-in-law) birthday party. next thing i knew, it was 11pm. i worked on my essay until 12:13, at which time, i discovered the application expiration. i guess i see now where my priorities are - clean closets and birthday parties, not graduate school.

i am disappointed not because it was the option that i loved, but because it was an option. sometimes potential options are all that get me through a bad day of checking indexes and 12% tips. as they dwindle, my patience dwindles, my tolerance dwindles, my grace dwindles. i don't like it. i feel myself becoming a person who is slightly less happy. i don't know how to help it.


like i said, who knows how i will feel 5 days or even 5 minutes from now, hopefully better and full of optimism. i pray now that i can be less consumed by my desire to have my desires met and maybe be more consumed by a desire to see the desires of others met. who knows, maybe it will become a two birds with one stone situation.

behind and restless

behind.

when i started this blog in january, i had a dream of posting an average of 4 blogs every month. as you can see, i'm about 8 blogs behind and the year is nearly over. i'm going to try to play catch-up. we'll see if i make it. i'll try not to cheat and split single blogs into several posts. i'll try.



restless.

i think it has something to do with the fact that my 1-year anniversary at this job is today. thanks for remembering, by the way.

this was my goal - to have a grown-up job for one year. now i've done it. i'm officially respectable.

the problem with reaching my goal is that now i am no longer satisfied at this desk. admittedly, my satisfaction over the past year was a precarious thing, but now it is ever more fragile. broken, even. i was at this point once before - in the early spring, i believe. then, it was because i had nothing to do here. then, my antidote was to plan a move to central america. i know it would likely not happened, but the thought freed my mind. freedom of the mind, i believe, is far more important than freedom of any other kind.

this time, i'm not planning a move to central america. i'm applying to grad school. i take the GRE next wednesday. i'm applying to duke divinity for the masters of theological studies program; unc chapel hill for the masters of english program; and hopefully an english program or two back in england. in fact, if anyone knows anything about any english programs in england, that would be helpful. i have no idea where to begin picking one, or even three.

i'm taking the GRE and applying to these programs not necessarily because it's what i believe i need to do next, but because these acts give me a sort of vital forward momentum. if i fail and don't get into anything, or decide i just don't have enough money, then at least i tried. in that case, i would most likely embark on a job-search. after all, i am respectable now.

i would love to work in a PR/editorial position at a non-profit organization or interesting publication. those sorts of jobs aren't exactly flooding craigslist, but who knows.