Happy Father’s Day to my dad 
who made it to every swim meet, brushed my hair 100 times before I would go to bed when I was little, let my cry on his shoulder any day, knew the best new music before I did, and never let me sell myself short.
I love you, dad!
In April I went to New York with my mom, and her friend, Becky. Becky and my mom have been friends since the beginning of time, or, atleast since before I was born. Becky’s daughter, Lauren, was born the day after I was, and once our family moved away from Wichita, Becky and her husband bought mom and dad’s house…so their lives have been ever-intertwined since. My brother’s going to university in New York and my birthday proved lofty enough excuses for a girls’ trip to NYC, then upstate to see Ben.
Wednesday:
Mom and Becky arrive NYC early afternoon. No one affected by AA flight crisis. See empire state building, dine with Becky’s relatives over pizza near Central Park. Back to hotel
Morgan arrives JFK a few hours late at midnight. Taxi line is about an hour long…
And this is where my journal picks up, precisely at the minute that I realize I will be standing in line for none short of 45 minutes, and I need something to occupy my hands and mind so that I can legitamitely ignore the shady men who are pointing to their sleek black cars and insistently letting me know they can take me downtown for just $45…so I start to write.
People say Texans are loud and obnoxious, but atleast if you’re standing behind one in line, you know exactly what they’re thinking. You about the expensive price they did pay to park their car at the airpoprt, and about the snack that they did not get on the plane. You know their favorite grandchild’s middle name, their opinion of the best queso in town, and about their yeast infection that they’re describing loudly on their cell phone to their mother in law, and to the whole world. But in New York, oh, in New York, there is silent animosity. Quiet and pushy women with longer noses and large coats. If Texas is short and blonde, New York is long and Auburn – all shades of it. Everyone who looks my age (plus or minus about 5 years but regardless of gender) wears a hooded sweatshirt, zipped up, underneath a pea coat. This is interesting to me. Texas would have nothing of the sort. We pick (usually) zip-up hoodie and (only on the three cold days of the year) pea coat. But still, we only have one or the other, there is never a need for both. These New Yorkers also take faster, the men dress well, and they carry real (or are they?) designer leather bags. With my linen (dare I say) satchel, thin leather-soled flats, I feel like I scream Texas. May as well call my mom to tell her I have landed and complain about something in loud fashion to fulfill my stereotype.
I finally get in a cab and argue with him about the fare to Manhattan. Turns out he is right. I can’t understand him but he finally points to a sign behind his seat that states the fare. One point cabby. Jextaposed to the sign with the fare is a TV screen. TV screens? in cabs? ok. I will go with it. The screen alternates between showing me the current weather (read: cold) and a satellite map of where my cab is in New York. This seems cool. If I knew where I was I would know that the cabby was taking me down some crazy trail to get to Grand Central Station. But I don’t know that, and naivity is bliss. Cabby is playing some sweet tunes, including “wake me up, before you go-go” and I like the fact that he is rocking his head back and forth to the music. What livliness at 1am! But wait a second, he’s not going to the beat of the music. And come to think of it, I know New York cab drivers are known for driving erratically, but we are clearly going 15mph faster than any other “crazy” cabby on the road. Is this some sort of extreme taxi driving? Well this doesnt seem safe. And what is he doing with his head, anyway? OH. I catch a glimpse of his eyes in the rearview mirror as his head rocks quickly back and forth. He is in and out of narcolepsy. Well this is fantastic. He starts to fall asleep and his head falls forward and then he comes back to consciousness and jerks his head back up. These two actions happen in about three seconds and then repeat in a monotonous (dangerous?) cycle. Head goes down then up.
Doooooooown. uP!
Doooooooown. uP!
Doooooooown. uP!
I am now worried for my life. I contemplate yelling at him to stop the car, and I will get out and figure out how to get to Grand Central Station from an unknown location at now 2a.m. I run the pros and cons, and decide I am at a lesser risk of dying in the car than I would be if I were dropped off on the dark street on which we’re currently swerving around. I think New York City might swallow me. So I stay in the cab.
And I make it to Grand Central Station. Alive! Cabby doesn’t get out of the car to get my bags out of the trunk, but that’s ok. He is probably asleep again by the time I slam the trunk shut anyway.
Not asleep, is my mom. Fourteen floors about in the hotel room my mom is ready with a glass of wine and a travelguide book. I drop my bags and pull out my ream of Google Maps printouts. And we plan for Thursday.
I have an amazing mother. She has always been such a supporter of whatever I want to do…while always being an example to me. She is an astoundingly beautiful woman, and maybe one day, I can be like her.
I love you, Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!
With tact, poise, and bags full of fake coach purses in NYC: my mom. Gotta love it.
We’re REAPing through Galatians this week
Paul, an apostle (not of men, neither by man, but by Jesus Christ and God the Father, who raised Him from the dead), and all the brethren who are with me, Unto the churches of Galatia:
Grace be to you and peace from God the Father and from our Lord Jesus Christ, who gave Himself for our sins, that He might deliver us from this present evil world, according to the will of God and our Father, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
I marvel that ye are so soon removed from Him, that called you into the grace of Christ, for another gospel. For this is not another; but there are some who trouble you and would pervert the Gospel of Christ. But should we, or an angel from Heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached to you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again: If any man preach any other gospel unto you than that which ye have received, let him be accursed! For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For if I yet sought to please men, I should not be the servant of Christ. But I certify to you, brethren, that the Gospel which was preached by me is not according to man; for I neither received it from man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ.
For ye have heard of my participation in times past in the Jews’ religion, how I persecuted the church of God beyond measure and wasted it. I profited in the Jews’ religion beyond many of my equals in mine own nation, being more exceedingly zealous of the traditions of my fathers. But when it pleased God, who separated me from my mother’s womb and called me by His grace, to reveal His Son in me, that I might preach Him among the heathen, I conferred not immediately with flesh and blood, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me, but I went into Arabia and returned again unto Damascus. Then after three years I went up to Jerusalem to see Peter, and abode with him fifteen days. But I saw none of the other apostles save James, the Lord’s brother. (Now the things which I write unto you, behold, before God, I lie not.) Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia, and was unknown by face unto the churches of Judea which were in Christ; but they had heard only that, “He who persecuted us in times past now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed.” And they glorified God in me.
E.
God really used Paul in a radical way. A couple of things in this first chapter of Galatians stand out to me. In the first part, Paul says “do I seek to please men? For if I yet sought to please men, I should not be the servant of Christ.” I quickly can list at least 10 ways that I seek to please men over God, without even thinking twice: When I worry about my appearance. When I am quick to get angry. When I am nervous about what others will think about what I say…In this passage, Paul also recounts his life as a Jewish scholar. Paul was so engrained in the Jewish faith that he “profited in the Jews’ religion beyond many of my equals in [his] own nation, being more exceedingly zealous of the traditions of [his] fathers.” Despite Paul’s devout Jewish past, God uses has used him to minister for thousands of years. Paul’s reputation preceded him, but it was coupled with the hope that Christ gave others through Paul’s conversion:”Afterwards I came into the regions of Syria and Cilicia, and was unknown by face unto the churches of Judea which were in Christ; but they had heard only that, “He who persecuted us in times past now preacheth the faith which once he destroyed.” And they glorified God in me.”
A.
Let’s just be straightforward and say that my application is: stop seeking approval of others. Think of God instead. Live my life so that at the end of it, God says, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Servant. Not presentation-giver, or house-cleaner, or good-dresser. Instead: Servant. Of Christ.
God’s conversion of Paul gives up hope. Paul did more than talk bad about Christians, or mutter under his breath his disapproval of their convictions. Paul murdered Christians. Paul ended lives that represented Christ. Yet Paul’s life gives us hope. Christ revealed himself to Paul in such a way that radically changed Paul. We can be radically changed. Our unbelieving friends and family can be radically changed. If God made such an abrubt change in Paul, think of what he can do in us.
P.
God, let our hearts be renewed each time we stumble, let us be your servants, to strive not for the approval of men. Show us how to be your servant, and when we’re not, put us in our place. And I pray that you would work in the lives of those who radically defy you. Change their hearts. Use us to show them grace, and guide our hearts to believe in your life changing power. Through you, all things are possible.
We’ve been studying passages of the Bible using the REAP method, simply standing for Read, Examine, Analyze, and Pray. Today I read 1 Corinthians 4:1-2 and wrapped it in with last night’s Proverbs 31 discussion.
R.
“So then men ought to regard us as servants of Christ, and those entrusted with the secret things of God. Now it is required tat those who have been given a trust must prove faithful. I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself.” 1 Corinthians 4:1-2
E.
The end of the chapter prior talks about us, as believers, being of Christ, and that Christ is of God. I think it is interesting how Paul calls out that he doesn’t even judge himself. I often think about not judging others (note: I think about not doing it more than I act that way). But, I rarely think about not judging myself. I judge how I look, or how I “think” I look, really. I judge what I cook, clean, create…nothing is ever good enough for my own standards. I also get overwhelmed – I create too much for myself to do and then want everyone’s sympathy because I am so busy.
A.
The beginning of the set of verses tells how we should act in such a way that people see us as Christ’s servants. How would I act if Christ physically showed up in my house and I was to serve him?
I would probably:
Last night we spent some time talking about the Proverbs 31 woman, discussing who she is and what she does, and doesn’t do.
Some of the realizations that we came to were that the Proverbs 31 woman:
The promise is in the verses around today’s reading in 1 Corinthians help us see why we do it:
1. God’s spirit lives in you (ch 3 vs 16)
2. You are of Christ (ch 3 vs 23)
3. So regard yourself as a servant (ch 4 vs 1)
4. You are given trust and must prove faithful (ch 4 vs 2)
5. Do not judge yourself (ch 4 vs 3)
6. For the Lord will judge (ch 4 vs 4)
7. He will expose the motives of man’s hearts and at that time, each will receive his praise from God (ch 4 vs 5)
For God. How do we do it? How do we strive to be that Proverbs 31 woman? We stop worrying about it and just do it with a servant’s heart. We don’t judge ourselves or worry when we fail, we just keep out hearts focused on Christ.
P .
Lord, make me more like you. Make my heart desire to be more like you. To have a servant’s heart. To cease judging myself. To negate the superfluous and wait for your glory.
More journaling from last month’s trip.
We roll into Jamaica aroud 8am, and I am in the fitness centre. When I arrived here at 6:30, you could see the entire island of Jamaice, from east to west, like someone painted a picture across the windows of the gym. As I pedal on an eliptical machine, U can see the island more clearly. Rows of hills, lined up like students in a class photo. Tallest in the back and smallest in the front. Clouds lay between each line of hills to protect the valleys from the harshness and reality of the sun. In a few hours, the sun will deny the valleys their coverr and the clouds will dissolve into the sky, valleys left unrequited.
So I am in the gym, with the other crazies who: must. work. out. and Jamaica approaches, or we approach Jamaica, rather. Green lucious hills look like they are covered in astroturf, but they’re not. God greated that vibrant green colour in nature, man only copied it later. The people in Jamaica are slow, they walk slow and talk slow and drive slow. They get your food slow, which is highly irritating to most Americans. They’re not really slow though, they just aren’t so rushed like us. I joke that if I have three hours on a Sunday afternoon, I will make a list of things to do that will logically take 4 hours, and then race around to get everything some in a smaller timeframe. I do this all the time. An hour to make dinner? This recipe will take an hour and 15 minutes, but I will stress myself out trying to speed it up to be finished in an hour while my “30 Minute Meals” cookbooks laugh at me from the bookshelf. I feel like I have to rush around. I don’t know why.
We dock, and take a taxi into the town, and wander around until a guy offers to take us for a tour. Sure, we say, but he’s already leading us through the streets of downtown. He keeps saying “hey, Mon,” do this, or “heymon” look at that. Later we learn his name is Paul, but for now we just call him Heymon. Heymon takes us downtown through Montego Bay, MoBay to the locals. We round a corner and Heymon points to the left, “that’s where the Pakistani markets are.” what? but there’s no point in asking, we’re now down to MoBay’s market and Heymon is stopping traffic for us at each intersection. The only other tourists whiz by in tour busses abd peek out the windows at the locals. We weave through shops with shoes and hats, and head south from whence we came. We pass schoolgirls in uniforms. The uniforms are a reminder of the country’s British past. We end up in a ‘tourist market’ and Heymon tells us his name us Paul. He points us to his brother’s stand in the market. Jon thanks him for the tour and shakes Paul’s hand as Paul asks for $20. Jon gives him a $5, and they both feel like theye got a good deal for the 10 minute tour.
Later, we head the Pork Pit, where we had lunch: half a chicken and Red Stripe while pondering just living here forever. We could slow down, we say. We could take each day as it came, we say. We could live off the land and lose everything we own when a hurricane hits. Maybe later, we say…maybe later.
We walk the three miles back to the shop in the hot 2pm sun, the rays beat down on my back and we’re often sharing the sidewalk with staggering men. It’s all the same as home.
The Game of Tag about your MAN:
1. Who is your man? Jonathan R.
2. How long have you been together? 1 year married , 7 years total…sheesh
3. How long dated? 6 years if you do the subtraction
4. How old is your man? 23
5. Who eats more? Him.
6. Who said “I love you” first? Sad that this should have been a defining moment but I don’t remember
7. Who is taller? Jon, by far.
8. Who sings better? Jon is a very good singer. He can also play many instruments, I have none of these talents.
9. Who is smarter? Eh, Jon is a better analyzer, but I am a better test-taker (for what that’s worth…o wait, not a lot). I can do the English and foreign language if he can do the Math and Economics.
10. Whose temper is worse? Easy, Jon…In conjunction with “Who is more irrationally emotional?”: Me
11. Who does the laundry? Jon does most of the time.
12. Who takes out the garbage? Mostly Jon. I just continue to cram more garbage into the trashcan so that I don’t have to take it out. I consider myself an effective human trash-compactor.
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? If you’re looking at the bed, he sleeps on the right side, but that changes depending on where we are. Jon always sleeps closest to the door. To protect me. From the monsters.
14. Who pays the bills? I do.
15. Who is better with the computer? Jon is a way better typer, I still look at my fingers and I attribute that to moving schools a few times and missing a typing class, but that is a lame excuse. I am better at internet RSS and such.
16. Who mows the lawn? Jon. We can safely say I have no idea how to use a lawnmower.
17. Who cooks dinner? Moi. usually. Glad I get to claim that I do something on this survey.
18. Who drives when you are together? Jon
19. Who pays when you go out? Jon signs the bill.
20. Who is most stubborn? I am.
21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? He is better at it and then I typically follow.
22. Whose parents do you see the most? Pretty even.
23. Who kissed who first? He kissed me.
24. Who asked who out? He did.
25. Who proposed? He did.
26. Who is more sensitive? Me! Me!
27. Who has more friends? Not really sure. We have many mutual friends. We’re both homebodies though.
28. Who has more siblings? Jon, he’s the youngest.
29. Who wears the pants in the family? Jon…absolutely. He is an amazing leader and protector. I love that he wears the pants
That’s all I got, friends.
It’s Monday and we get up early, only to relocate to lawn chairs and return quickly to the somber from whence we came until atleast 1pm, when the bellyflop competition will commence poolside. I think of the staff meeting that I was not present for this morning, and think of the fondness I have for the people I work for. We spend so much time together and know pretty well how to help eachother our and be supportive.
I wonder what these other 3,000 passengers on this vacation megaboat do on a normal day. Haircolour and number of wrinkles alone lead me to believe that over half of these people are retired and much of what they are doing today is probably normal: waking early, eating, playing bridge and talking about grandchildren. But what about the rest of these people?
An early thirtysomething dad stands with his probably four- or five-year-old daughter to look out into the ocean:
Daddy, what’s under the water?
More water, baby. With fish.
What’s under that?
Even more water.
More fish?
Yes.
Like Nemo?
Nemo is probably out there somewhere, baby.
Well what is under alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll the water?
Rock
What’s under that?
More rock.
And?
I don’t know, baby. Why don’t you become a geologist when you grow up and figure it out?
Ok. I want to be a gee-ol-gis. Maybe I will be as smart as you, daddy.
He probably spends 60 hours a week doing something terribly important for a company, but in these two minutes, this five-year-old is more important than anything, thanks to no ability for incoming phone calls and and only four dial-up internet enabled computers available for these 3,000 people.
We got back from a cruise last week! I will post some entries from my journal in the next few days:
The road to Galveston is a long one, a highway that rushes like a river through the concrete jungle that is Houston. Houston is massive. You can drive for an hour and a half and all along your way meet people who say they’re from Houston. We pass skyscrapers. Symbols of the American Dream, of wealth and power. Rich oil companies and swanky investment firms make their beds in the top floors of the tallest ones while single-digit floors are laden with smaller businesses that spend too much money for a downtown zip code. They feel privileged to rest on the bottom bunks of their more established, more successful counterparts.
We pass desperation on the sides of the road. They’re stumbling either from too much booze or from sheer physical deterioration. Sadly, I can’t tell the difference. I wonder silently if they gave up on life or if it gave up on them.
Today, my airplane was at Gate 1. I have hardly explored the Gates 1-12 section of Austin Bergstrom International Airport, as my typical Continental ticket has me waiting in the 13-25 wing. Today I am at gate 1, so I really will have seen the whole airport. I walk through the terminal, seeing gates 6, 5, 4, 3…round the corner to 2, and then just a simple sign for gate 1: PLEASE USE STAIRS OR ELEVATOR DOWN TO GATE 1. Ah, the special gate, cant wait for this one. I sit down for a few minutes and then they start to board. And by board, I mean open up the door out to the cement runway where passengers climb stairs up to the plane. ABIA is a small airport, but not small enough that it doesn’t have [that accordion thing that connects the terminal to the plane…can’t think of what it is], no, this plane is simply so low to the ground that [an accordion thing] would not be able to accommodate it. Unless it was a mini [accordion thing…what is that called?], but then perhaps we would all feel too much like we were boarding a Disneyworld ride and not a fancy grown-up airplane. For me, this is a business trip. I feel pretty special when I get to take a business trip, so special they had to fly me somewhere. That is pretty prideful of myself, but I don’t really care, and my ego is being fueled by the staircase I have to walk up to board the plane. I feel like the president, or the president’s wife at least. Jackie O or Laura Bush…walking up the steps to my private jet (because there are ohsomany stock photos of W and Laura on the steps of Air Force One, embarking and disembarking). My pride is quickly brought back to reality as I shove my too-big bag under a seat and a lady sticks her behind in my face as she tried to get her bag into the overhead compartment. Oh well. I sit down in my little seat want waited for the plane to leave the airport. I feel really American after my nostalgic minute as a first lady. I feel even more American as the overhead music plays “crocodile rock.” I know Elton is an Englishman, but I claim him as American, so whatever. My American-ness (or Texan-ness?) penetrates further as I eat my smoked turkey salad that I brought from the Salt Lick stand in the airport. I even use bbq sauce instead of dressing on it.
I got to New Orleans ok. my flight was an hour and a half late. Because the “battery broke” on the plane. I put that in quotes because later I called Jon and he said there was no battery on the plane, so who knows what they were stalling for. then I got to new Orleans and then shuttle ride to the hotel was some 50 people long, and I am pretty sure each of those 50 people were paying with foreign currency completely unfamiliar to the shuttle-ticket seller at the window. it was taking forEVER. SO, I split a cab with two other people I met in line: a woman from Michigan (ohmygawsh, you are heeere for a cawnfrence? does that mean all the rest-rants will be filled up? uuuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhh), and a man from Montreal (read with French accent: we has so much snow in mon-trayyy–aal I don’t know where to put it anymore on my drrrriveway). That was a new experience. My boss can thank me later for the $10 I saved on splitting the cab. I am not sure if it was worth it or not.
I arrived at the hotel and it is fantastic. The room is huge, I feel like I am on my honeymoon with my co-worker.
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