Oklahoma, OK.

Well, almost exactly a year ago I had come back home to Michigan from a spring break trip to Tulsa and The Alamo. Before I left I was working at Barnes and Noble and taking physics classes at Wayne State. I had also started subbing in Livonia, and had been frantically applying all over the Metro-Detroit area for open teaching jobs. While I was in Edmond for a short visit, I was hanging out with Becca and Eric Sharp and Becca mentioned that they were looking for summer care for Connor, Autumn and Dillon. She asked if I might be interested. To be honest, I was very interested because I was feeling rather slumpish up in Michigan. She and Eric talked about it and started crunching numbers and she said that she would get back to me.
I had been back home for a couple days and Becca called me and said that they weren't able to pay me what they had hoped to, but I could live with them and eat their food and maybe it might even out some. I said I'd do it, and that became the moment: the point of no return.
I immediately (rather than doing my homework, like a good girl) started researching jobs in Edmond Schools. I made sure all of my applications online were complete.
By April 21st (after I finished acing my physics final--2 weeks early) I had my car packed up, had a date set to meet with my best friend for lunch to say goodbye, and my map. I got in my car and started driving. That was it. I was leaving Michigan. My parents had been in Oklahoma for spring break with my brother. My dad wanted me to wait until they got back before I left. I didn't, and the truth is I wouldn't have left if they'd gotten home first. I would have let myself get talked into staying. So we made plans to meet at a hotel in Effingham, Illinois. Once I left that hotel the next morning, that was it. The first time I was leaving home, first time without my parents, first time out on my own. It was empowering, frightening, exciting, and so new.
Now to make some friends. . .
I kindof put myself out there and met a few people. I'm not terribly outgoing but I had people pretty persistently persuing (woo, look at that alliteration!) relationships with me. I was finding myself surrounded by many peers who I could laugh and hang out with. Oklahoma wasn't so bad after all.
Yeah, that was the honeymoon. About a month later, when I realized I didn't get to watch every Pistons game and that grass in Oklahoma isn't soft or green in the summer, and that I hadn't found a church I liked, and that my parents weren't around, and that I missed my brother--the Oklahoma wasn't holding a candle to Michigan. Everything I saw was not as good as Michigan.
Most readers of this blog have followed my journey from Michigan to Oklahoma, and it's no secret that I hold a grudge against the state of Oklahoma for not being Michigan. I don't need to go into much more detail about that. But as the one year anniversary of my move from the shoulder to the armpit, it's interesting to look back on everything.
A lot has changed. I have changed. My relationships have changed. I've gained some new ones, I've loosened some old ties, I've found a place for myself in a place that I don't really see myself belonging. I have realized that the Herron's are famous in this state. I've realized that I will probably never meet a boy who hasn't already had a crush on at least one of my sisters before even knowing I existed. I have realized that so many things are uncertain, and sometimes I have to force myself into commitments or I won't make them. As much as I want to leave, I know that I can stay here and be happy if I need to. I've got a good support system. I've got Jennifer--and she understands (and lets me sleep on the sofa bed with her even though both of our beds are perfectly empty and inviting). I've got soccer on Saturdays. I've got Becca and Eric any time I need them. I've got Niki and Matt if I feel like I need to get out of this place. I've got my church--where I'm not just a face. I've got the best group of 6th grade kids you could ever imagine (give or take one or two). I'm doing pretty alright. I'm doing pretty great. It's been a year, and I couldn't tell you where it has gone. I'm in Oklahoma. And I'm okay.

It's Not You, It's Me.

Someone once told me that if he could describe me in two words they would probably be "relentlessly cheerful."
I suppose I could credit this to my childhood hero of Maria from The Sound of Music. Or maybe to my abnormal super power of not being capable of staying angry. Perhaps I eat entirely too much ice cream--which is difficult to be glum while consuming. Whatever the reason may be, people who meet me line up left and right to jump on the bandwagon of affectionately coining me as cheery.
I can honestly say I don't see much of a problem with this. I really honestly am cheery freakishly often. I don't think this stems from an abundant happiness, however, but rather a lack of being able to feel much else. Or at least the inability to recognize the other feelings, and then the defectiveness of owning them once I figure out what they are.
If you have ever read anything in this entire blog, you already know that I am constantly trying to reason through ways to be closer to God. You will also know that I really struggle with reading my Bible. I think I have a better than average understanding of the connection between spending time with God and feeling close to him. There is an obvious link between knowing God and knowing his word. I know this full well--and I am pretty sure I could preach some effective sermons on the topic, assuming the church wasn't struck down for having a woman in the pulpit. I know this stuff. Inside and out.
But today, in a calm empty day of an uneventful Spring break, I sat down and let myself be totally honest. I lit some candles (ambience, if you will), got out my prayer journal (neglected for almost a month now), and I started reading. There were six entries. I had just stopped writing in it because I just decided I didn't want to take that time and sit and think and pray. I just simply didn't want to.
Did I have other things I would have rather been doing? No.
Did I run out of time? No.
I just didn't want to sit and spend time with God.
I went to the store and bought some pens. The pens where the ink is liquid inside, and you can see it swishing around. I love those pens. I am not a doodler--but if I see one of those pens, I will find any excuse I can to find something to write with it. I bought those pens and put them next to my prayer journal.
I went running. I ate some yogurt. I drank a bunch of water. I walked in and out of the room as the journal and pens sat on the table. I did a couple Sudoku puzzles (which I don't even like to do). I played around on a yoga ball. I checked my e-mail a couple hundred times. I lit some candles. I blew them out. I lit them a few more times, and played around in the wax. I sat on the couch and stared at my journal. I watched the pens--waiting to be used. I finally picked my journal up and started to write.
I didn't really have a prayer. I mean, I need $900 by tuesday and I don't know where I'm going to get it from. I am going to have a giant gap in my teeth for two weeks and I'm afraid people are going to laugh at me. I'm in love with a boy who not only lives far away, but is in love with someone else. I miss my family. I want to adopt every shelter dog in the world. And I'm trying desperately to form new relationships at a new church.
But I didn't have a prayer. I didn't even bring any of that up. I forced myself to sit down and just spend time with God. It was very glaringly obvious to me that I had to force myself to sit down and talk to God. Not just force myself--but bribe myself. With wonderful new pens.
I know that spending daily time with God will bring me closer to him. I was in a youth group, I went to youth rallies. Not a new concept. But here is where I started wondering if I can want and crave to come and meet with God just by forcing myself to do it daily. How does that not make it something I resent?
I know full well that the reason I've been feeling incomplete lately is because I haven't been spending time with God. But what I wanted was to stop knowing why, and start doing my part to fix it.
The worst part about the whole entire thing is that I'm so distant from God, and I'm not even squeezing in the sinful desires of the flesh. I'm not even getting a good sinful helping out of it. I'm not skipping God so I can go live it up pagan style; I'm just skipping God.
How do you think God feels about the fact that before I can willingly come to him, I have to force myself to? Does that feel as awful as it sounds? How does God deal with constantly being not loved? Does he ever get lonely? Does he ever feel used? So I'm supposed to pray for God to help me feel closer to him? So I don't have to feel so bad? What's in it for him?
I am pretty sure God wants me to be honest with him. And I'm pretty sure that me being so distressed is probably making him sad. And every alter call at any youth rally will tell you that God just wants to comfort me and hold me and love me--despite all of this. But frankly, I don't really feel comforted. I already know it's going to be okay. And I already know that in a few hours I'll be back to my normal cheerful self. But siting and telling all of this to God, I did not feel any comfort. All I felt was sad.
I was spending time with God, and all I felt was sad. I was perfectly happy running, blowing out my candles, eating my yogurt, having a quiet day. I was my normal cheerful self until I sat down to spend time with God and then all I felt was sadness.
Everything I've ever been taught about God tells me that this is okay. But what am I supposed to do with it? Chalk it up to some quality time spent with God? I'm not gonna lie--if spending time with God is going to make me so sad, why would I keep it up to try to even make it a habit?
Maybe I felt sorry. Maybe I felt guilty. But without resolve I ended my prayer with an apology. Maybe God was going to have to feel unwanted for a little while longer--until I genuinely let him close enough to change me.
Please don't let me hurt you. . .you're God. You're tough. Don't feel bad. Because we'll work this out. We can fix this.
I know it.

Working it Out

In my family there are 4 children. I was thinking this morning about how well my parents tried to always keep things even and fair between all of us. They did a really good job.
When we were younger, my dad used to tantalize us with the reward of getting to make muffins. Looking back on it now, I realize that it was probably that he wanted muffins and to not have to make them so he would put the spin on it so we would rather die than not be able to make muffins. Anyway, he would take us to Kroger and we'd race to the muffin mix aisle and stare at the endless boxes of JIFFY muffin mix. We would each get to pick a flavor (apple cinnamon was my usual choice) and we'd go back home. This where it got tricky, however. 4 boxes of muffin mix would make a ridiculous amount of muffins--that wasn't responsible. So we'd get to make 2 boxes. It was usually a vote--decided by the two of us who had to sit in the back seats during the trip to the store. But so as not to be exclusive, whoever got to pick the flavor got to crack the egg. The ones who didn't get to crack the eggs got to stir and put the mix in the paper cups. Everybody got to do something, and we all reaped the benefits.
We had a conversion van--2 captain chairs and a back seat bench. With 4 kids, my parents early on devised a rule that you have assigned seats for the month. So calling seats as you leave the church building and racing to get to the van first to claim your throne became just a way to stay in shape--rather than a guarantee to not have to sit in the back. February was the worst month to have the captain chair--because you only got it for 28 days--29 if you were lucky. And long family vacations you wanted to time out just right so you could be in the back when the bed got put down. I realized pretty quickly on those 3 hour rides to grandma's house stuck in the back seat that the only one of my siblings I never got to sit by was the smallest one. This realization usually occured as Kali would lean her head against the window and put her stinky stinky feet across the seat in my direction. Despite the annoyingly fair arrangement of the deal, there was always something to complain about.
Isn't that how it is? I wonder what I'm going to do when I have my own kids. I, personally, am rather attached to the phrase "well, life's not fair. . ." Would I have accepted that when I was younger? Probably not. Maybe it was because my parents worked hard to make life as fair for us as they could. Maybe it's because nobody likes to get the short straw. But there's always a short straw, and somebody has to draw it. Karma? I hardly think so.
How do you get over the fact that you don't deserve everything you get?
Does it really always even out the fact that you get things you don't deserve?