a happy dog kind of life

I have been on vacation this week. My plan was to spend one day in bed being lazy, another day out running errands and doing work around the house, and the third day applying for jobs and revamping my business plan for The Fainting Goat. In reality though I have pretty much spent three days in bed being lazy, got a little bit of work done at the house, ran no errands whatsoever, and spent some good times with some good people. Today, literally between naps, I took my dog for a walk at Kennesaw Mt. She absolutely loves being outdoors and around people, and today was the perfect day for it. After a while we stopped in a field and took a break under a tree. I sat and thought about life and listened to Damien Rice sing while she explored the six foot radius that her leash would allow. I thought about my life lately, how happy I have been in some ways and how miserable I’ve been in others. I thought about my business and what it will take for it to be a success one day. I remembered a time when in college I had come and sat under the same tree and struggled with many of the same issues that I still deal with now.

After about two or three songs worth of these meandering thoughts, Annie got tired of the ants and bees and came and sat next to me. I started scratching her back, which of course she loved. She started wallowing on the dry grass and dirt at my feet, then on me, until we were essentially wrestling on the ground. When it was over, we were both covered in dirt and my black tank top looked gray from all of her white hair clinging to it. We sat there and just enjoyed the sunshine and the breeze a little longer. I looked at her, dirt on her face, dried grass and twigs sticking in her hair, tongue hanging out and breaths heavy. It was the picture of pure joy. I knew she was so happy in that moment, she had her mama and sunshine and dirt, and in her world that is everything.

Monday night I heard myself say that if I’m not happy with a situation in my life, then I just change it.. Today as I sat and stared at my happy dog, I started to wonder when the last time that I felt like that was. What is my “everything”, and what is keeping me from it right now?

Last year was pretty rough for me. I learned some hard lessons about patience, trust, and friendship. I had my heart broken by someone that I thought was a friend. I suffered through an impossibly painful situation that I felt would never end. Then in December, I experienced what I am hoping will be the loneliest day of my life. I truly believe that season of sadness has ended though. In the past few months, I’ve taken steps to change things. I signed up for an online dating site to remind myself that dating can be fun again. I’ve interviewed for jobs that I knew I would never get just so that I could say I tried. While some of the main situations and relationships that caused me pain last year are no longer in my life, others still are, and I’m learning how to deal with those in a healthy way. Even though it feels like a lot of these steps have been reactive ones, I’m proud of myself and my ability to get back up and keep going in life.

Having said that, I feel like its time for me to start taking steps that are more proactive. I know what I want my life to look like, and its not there yet. Even if it means that I rent out rooms in my house or take a job behind a bar somewhere, I know that I have to be willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen if I really want to see change. I want to have my everything moments on a weekly or daily basis. So many people live for vacations or holidays to embrace joy. I want a life that embraces it on Wednesday afternoons.

I don’t have a plan yet, but I have the desire and drive for one now, so I know it will come together quickly. I do have a timeline though. Tomorrow is April 1. In almost exactly 5 months I will turn 30. This seems like the perfect milestone to start the next chapter in my story. Five months is a do-able timeframe, but it also doesn’t allow time for dawdling. I want this spring and summer to be one of the happiest and fullest seasons of my life.

One big element of my plan will be The Fainting Goat. I’m taking it in a new direction (or it’s taking me there). Who knows what exactly it will look like on the other side of this facelift, or if it will even still be called The Fainting Goat. I do know that I will be unloading a lot of my current inventory though, so if you want to come shopping for vintage deals I’ll let you know when and where.

I’m also going to start blogging again. I realized that the only time I post anything that I write now is when it’s something serious or profound. I miss my ramblings on mall cops and time travel. Even though life can be serious some times, I can’t take it so seriously all the time.

Time to go bake for a while. I’ll leave you with a little Emily Dickinson. (Does it make it sound less serious if I tell you that I came across it in Glamour magazine tonight while waiting on my hair dye to process?) :

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

the father who ran

Today is Sunday. At church this morning, the scripture passage that my pastor was to preach on was from the book of Luke, the parable that Jesus tells concerning the prodigal son. (See Luke 15:11-32, in case you are not familiar with it.) Rather than expounding on the possible interpretations and applications of this passage, my pastor chose to simply explain the parable, offering insight into the cultural facets that impact the events of the story in Jesus’ time. He then challenged us to leave and allow the story to sit with us, so that that the story Jesus offered to the people way back then could speak to us today as well.

Now to be clear, I have heard this story before. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was covered exhaustively in a seminary class I took once. There have been times when I have felt like the wayward son, having chosen poorly, forced to crawl home with my head held low in shame. There have also been times when I could associate more with the older brother, who despite his faithfulness feels unseen and forgotten by his father. Today however, I tried not to see myself in the story at all. I played the role of the audience, one of the “sinners” that Jesus was speaking to that day. I let the story be a story and the characters just be characters in that story, not necessarily people that I need to associate myself with. I listened, and then I left with an open heart to understand what Jesus was trying to say that day.

There is another story that I have been sitting with today as well. As much as I hate to admit it, there are times when I am a silly girl whose thoughts get stuck reliving past mistakes and unfortunate incidences that I would love to erase from my personal history book. In my case, these usually involve “relationships”. Now I use that word loosely because I don’t necessarily mean romantic relationships (although there are definitely plenty of incidences there I would like another shot at). No, I unfortunately struggle with all facets of human interaction at times. Take for example a conversation I had once with a very dear friend of mine. While driving cross-country together, she began to open up to me about some very personal issues she was struggling with at the time. I felt so honored that she felt comfortable enough to share these inner secrets with me, and arrived in Texas feeling the bond of our friendship tightened immensely. A few days later though, it somehow came out that the conversation hadn’t gone nearly as well as it had in my mind. Apparently you see, while she poured her heart out to me, I sat silent. Completely silent. And after she finished baring her soul to me, I didn’t respond. At all. When I did finally say something, it was to comment on the scenery. At the time, I didn’t realize I was doing this at all, but in hinds sight I could see that she was right. I was completely engaged in the conversation, in my mind, but never actually spoke the words that I was thinking. No acknowledgements, no comments, no questions, just silence and inner processing.

This hasn’t been the only time that I have been guilty of miscommunication either, not even the worst in fact. Having suffered in the past due to my social ineptitudes, I have become increasingly more self critical of myself in this area. I relive even simple conversations in my mind, searching for mistakes or omissions. Those that know me well know that a random apology or clarification two days after the fact is not uncommon. Maybe that is why I like writing so much, it allows you the chance to review and edit before putting your words out there.

Anyway, to get back to where I began, today something unique struck me in this parable that Jesus told. Today I was struck by the role of the father in this story, specifically how he interacted with each of his sons. It was as if he knew what they were going to say before they even said it. The image of the father was not compromised by the actions of his sons. He was an ideal father, not limited by the chains of pride, self-image, hurt, and loss that real men (and women) deal with. One point that my pastor made when explaining this story was that in that culture, this story would never have happened. From beginning to end, the cultural norms at that time and place made a scenario like this impossible. So then what is the message in an unfeasible story? Today, for me, the message was a reminder of the grace of God.

As I mentioned, I struggle with my words sometimes. I know that I have hurt people who are very dear to me by careless things that I have said. Relationships have ended over things that I haven’t had the courage or insight to say until it was too late. Sometimes I just cannot figure out how to express the things that I feel, be it love, gratitude, hurt, sympathy, even excitement or happiness. As silly as this may sound, while some people’s greatest struggles are with lust, substance abuse, greed, pride, mine is with words. It kills me to think of the power that my words and action possess, and it breaks my heart that I just cannot seem to get out of my head sometimes and engage with those around me. If there was one bad habit that I could break it would be this endless cycle of stunted interaction and painful self-critique.

The day when I first truly understood the grace of God was the day that I realized that he knew me. Not the Me that the world saw, but the Me that I saw. That day I realized the beauty of this grace: my words can’t screw it up. The relationship between man and God is built on grace, which allows us freedom to live. Like the father in the story, God’s grace towards us is an ideal; it is not impacted by the flaws and misgivings of man. I can fail miserably at life, yet I always have a home with God. This is one relationship in my life that my words cannot break.

Today, this story reminded me that even though my words have the potential to destroy me, I have a Father who is more powerful than my failures, more influential than my words. I will never escape the frustrations I have with relationships, and unless I become a hermit living in a mountain cabin somewhere, I will still continue to say and do things that I later regret. But I will always have a Father who will run to me when at my lowest, no matter how great the distance that I have put between us, and he will great me with restoration, not condemnation. Then he will walk with me down the path of reconciliation and guide me in the ways of love.