Why I Pray For Ugly Betty

It's a good day. And not just because my beautiful friend has delivered a beautiful baby boy or because the weather couldn't be more perfect if it tried or because I've been listening to The Beatles for the past sweet forever and I'm like moved. Like moved in my soul. It's just because of the Lord. Pretty simply, that's it. And I'm not gonna start talking about how I saw the face of Jesus in a wildflower on my way to work or how the clouds seemed to form a cross as they drifted over my shimmering and ethereally glowing head as I did a Bible study in the woods yesterday. (totally didn't do a Bible study in the woods yesterday, unless it counts that I did one in my bed last night and I haven't shaved my legs in 2 days. gasp!).

It pretty much all has to do with how much I love being taught. Let me rephrase that. I love knowing things. Being taught that which we should know is often very painful and annoying. Lessons in the Lord are no different than numerous brutal hours of being taught the difference between sine cosine and tangent. Oh sweet heavens, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

But it seems like once you have a knowledge of something, you're pretty grateful it's there. Especially when it's useful. For instance, I love the fact that I can quote passages or ideas from certain books that I love or that I can provide random and fascinating information on virtually any current popular television series. (Karen Filippeli, from The Office, is TOTALLY the daughter of Peggy Lipton and Quincy Jones)

It's pretty common to hear that knowledge is power. So, wouldn't it stand to reason that the more we know about the Lord the more powerful we become? Of course.

I've been growing in my knowledge of the Lord, specifically my faith. Not faith like religion. Faith as in faith. The fruit of the spirit. The means by which we are saved.

I'm surprised at how much I didn't know about the intricate nature of faith. I always assumed faith was just a character quality that someone either possessed or didn't possess. To actually learn that faith is an action is something I feel I should have always known.

This past week, specifically, I have been more conscious of the ways that I allow faith to affect my life. My prayer life has been more intimate because I have opened myself up to freely praying for whatever is on my heart (which, last night, was the entire cast of Ugly Betty for some freakishly odd reason...I love that stupid show)

A foundation is laid through prayer. A foundation that opens us up to God's character so that His qualities can gently creep into our lives and words and actions. When we and others see evidence of this, THAT is what increases our faith. So much so that we can't abide the idea of it slipping away, which hopefully leads us to cling to the fragility of faith and cradle it and nurture it so that we never know anything but how good it feels to be in love with the Lord.

Thursday Night Football

I'm a football fan, something I never thought I would be admitting to when I think of all the times my mother forced me to watch Sunday NFL football for the majority of my formative years. But, now that I'm a grown woman with adult decision making capabilities, I find myself unabashedly addicted to the players and their sometimes wildly attractive coaches (hi, Chuckie).

So, you can probably understand how proud it makes me that all three of my little brothers are playing football this season. Luke and Ben play for Bishop McGuinness and John plays his little heart out for the CHA Crusaders. And, frankly, I love going to their games. Last night, John played at Mount Saint Mary's, and since it's my Fall break right now, I didn't have class and got to head over there to watch him play.

I realize I should be going into great and wonderful detail on what a great job he did and how the game was really close and exciting, but I can't get out of my mind the random comments I heard from the parents during the game and how funny they seemed to me.

First of all, I would just like to say that it took me a good sweet forever to find the football field at Mt. St. Mary's, a school that seemed like it would be a really good place to film the video for Pink Floyd's The Wall. So, once I finally got to the field, I felt greatly rewarded. I went to sit by my dad and grandpa and knew it was going to be a fun night because grandpa couldn't stop talking about the delicious stew he had made the day before. Old people are proud of their stews, guys. Seriously proud.

Here are some of the things I heard during the game that made me laugh:

"Make it a good threesome!" Now, this was shouted by my father. I realize he was talking about the formation of the men on the field, but it still struck me as awkward.

"Grab his sack!" I'm pretty sure I heard this incorrectly. Certainly, the parental unit who said this said something more like "go for the sack." But, really, is that any better? I can't imagine any of the players being too thrilled about anyone going for or grabbing their sacks. Just an opinion.

"You're running around like a chicken out there!" I know this doesn't sound very funny, but let me assure you that it left me in stitches as it was immediately followed by my grandpa's subtle remark that he had, in fact, put chicken in his stew.

"You need to handle your balls a little better!" I don't necessarily feel like this one needs an explanation.

"Come on guys! Let's go for the touchdown!" Again, this one is not very funny, but I'm just letting you know that this is what was yelled by my father just moments before his giant elbow whacked me upside the head. I was just sitting there minding my own business, when my father jumped to his feet behind me and delivered a fierce blow to my cranial surface. I turned around and looked at him like he'd just shot my kitten and it was decided that his excitement would be better contained in a vicinity that was not shared by my head.

They ended up losing the game. I blame the constant discussion of the stew...or the violent display of temper that was demonstrated on my poor head.

Why I'm Better Than You

Okay, so school is really hard. And I don't mean hard as in my brain can't figure it out. I mean hard as in I finally found something I can't b.s. my way through. (yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition. eat me.) And even as I type this, something deep inside tells me that grad school was never intended to be easy. But I never thought I would be THIS humbled THIS quickly. I thought I would at least be able to sail through my first semester on my ability to compose an arguable thesis on something as trivial as a car owner's manual.

But, seriously. I'm at a point where I'm mystified by the fact that my best efforts aren't always met with academic success. In years past, if I did poorly on a paper, I could attribute it to the fact that I started writing it five minutes before class or the fact that I had never read the book about which the paper was supposed to be written. But now I feel like even my most meticulous and well-prepared assignments are deemed average.

Which makes me wonder...am I just fooling everyone? I mean, honestly. Isn't anyone with any sort of academic prowess just a slave to another man's thoughts? All the information I have stored in my brain has come from books and data sheets and intricately composited philosophies. So, it somewhat bothers me that I feel like I'm sitting on the ignorant side of stupid about ninety percent of the time. When all I really want to talk about, quite frankly, is the condition of humanity or God or why I'm the only one who seems to think there is no such thing as too many bottles of shampoo in the shower.

I'm not going to quit grad school. Mainly because I'm not a quitter. But as I sit there and listen to my "colleagues" discuss the feminine opposition and schizophrenic nature of King Lear, I can't help but wonder if this is really what I'm supposed to be doing in life. I love learning and I love being taught, but I feel so wildly inferior to so many things that I almost think I don't belong there. And, please don't view this post as a cry for help or sign of depression. I'm actually quite happy at this particular juncture in life. It's just that today I feel like I fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down. But, don't worry. It's nothin I can't b.s. my way out of. (yes, I just ended with a preposition again...)

Panera is Rated R

This morning, I met my friend, Lindy, at Panera for a Bible study. It's always such a nice place to study the Word because of all the BREAD type situations. Bread bread bread. Bready bread breadness. Okay. I just really love their bread.

We sat down with our selected bakery items and cracked open our B-I-B-L-Es. About ten minutes into our conversation, a guy came and sat down about two tables away. The tables in Panera, if you are one of the 4 people in the world who has never been to one, are fairly close together, so we figured he could probably hear what we were saying. Which was fine because, in all honesty, we were pretty much talking about going shopping this weekend for new dresses. So, it's not like we were, you know, OFFENDING anyone with all our speaking in tongues and slaying each other in the Spirit and stuff.

However, after a decent amount of time, our new dining patron decided to make a phone call. I know this is going to sound awfully eaves-droppy of me but when someone in close proximity is on the phone and speaking loudly, I'm pretty much going to listen to the conversation. But, in this instance, I was truly disinterested in what he was talking about...until I heard the word 'cuddle.' I immediately looked at Lindy and felt a strong need to begin a conversation about whoknowswhat in order to disguise the fact that I was about to slide across the booth to him, put my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands so I could listen to him tell me all! about! the! cuddling!

But Lindy and I just stared at each other because the conversation had only just begun. From what I understood, this particular gentleman had apparently had sexy-ool relations with a young woman who was "possessive" and "like a stalker, dude." I heard such lovely phrases as "Come on, man, what was I supposed to do? She was lying there naked on top of me" and "I'm going to be known as the cuddler." It was all very appalling to my ears, frankly, and I'm pretty sure Jesus was a little disappointed in this fella's sexcapades and the fact that they TOTALLY distracted us from spending time with Him. But Lindy and I thought it was about the funniest thing we had encountered in a while.

And when we were getting up to leave, I stood up and stretched my neck and loudly exclaimed to Lindy, "Dang, girl! My neck hurts! I think it's from all the SEX." He stopped talking long enough to laugh at my comment. I'm hoping he learned his lesson, cuz ain't nobody wanna hear about no sex at 8 in the morning during a Bible Study. Can I get an Amen? Hallelujah one time.