Thursday, March 20, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 45: Type C.

"You're a really good writer," Michael offered.  I can't be sure, but I thought I detected a hint of surprise in his voice.

After I used his eruditeness as material last month, I sent him a text message congratulating him on making his debut in my blog with the link to the post.  I'd been a little nervous ever since to hear what he thought.

"I was waiting for the adjective you were going to use," I joked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable while staring through the little padded hole in the massage table.  I've been half naked in front of this man every month for a year, but this kind of exposure was way worse.

"Y'know, that's not even it," he corrected himself.  "There's more to it than that.  You're..."

He was quiet for a few thoughtful moments as he balanced hot towels on my back.  Suspense hung in the air.  I bit my tongue, wanting terribly to break the silence with a one-liner.

"...you're conversationally contemplative without being intellectually snarky."

"Well, thanks," I said.  It wasn't quite the overt fawning I was hoping for, but hey, I'll take it.

Further into the massage, we were talking about relationships, and he started telling me about a woman he fancies.

"I think the reason I like her is that she's steady.  She's reliable.  She's responsible," he said.  "Her finances are stable, her situation is stable.  I like that."

I wanted to ask him if he was interested in a woman or a minivan, but I decided against it.

"She's a bit older than I am, and she has her stuff together," he continued.  "I've always been attracted to type-A's.  I look for someone who can take care of me."

"Type A's?" I inquired.

"Yeah, I mean,  I'm fun, I'm spontaneous, I'm romantic, I'm great with kids and dogs.  I'm pretty..."

"And humble!" I added.  He laughed.

"But I'm not a planner," he continued.  "I'm terrible at details.  I let mail pile up on the counter for months.  Unless something changes, I'll be working for the rest of my life."

I weighed these attributes in my mind as he continued, "There are two types of guys, well, people really: Type A's, who are go-getters, ambitious, who make the money, and then there are Type B's, like me.  With me, I mean, I'll go anywhere and do anything and we'd have a great time together - but someone has to be responsible.  Someone has to pay the bills."

"Uh...those are the choices?  There's no Type C?"

"Not really," he shrugged.

Someone has to pay the bills.

This struck a chord with me.  Admittedly, I'm pretty much a quintessential Manic Pixie Dream Girl.  I read Victorian novels, quote Shakespeare in everyday conversation, and wear patterned tights.  I bring homemade cupcakes to work at least once a month.  Every random quip is a metaphor for life.  I prefer being called hilarious to anything else, ever.  There's never been a Zooey Deschanel dress I didn't covet.  

Also, recently I've been putting forth a great deal of effort to get my finances back in order.  After many years of un- or under-employment, I'm working towards correcting the errors and misfortunes of my past and save for a decade hopefully filled with far less financial strain.  I don't have impossible dreams - a second dog someday, a new car in a few years, maybe a trip or two back to England.  All of this I'm planning with the assumption that my particular brand of conversationally contemplative charm may or may not be enough to attract a man who's willing to co-sign his financial life with mine for the long-term.  Ultimately, when the time comes, I want a partner, not a caretaker.  I want to be part of a team, not an albatross who occasionally makes spinach lasagna.

I want to be a Type C - a girl who lights candles on a Tuesday evening and makes up cheesy songs for every occasion but who can buy actual cheese and pay her own bills.  I would absolutely hate for someone to dismiss me because I'm more ethereal than practical...or vice-versa.  Both would be tragic.

Can a Manic Pixie Dream Girl also be minivan-esque?

All I can say is, I know at least one who is certainly trying.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 44: Buddy.

My good friend Kayla is visiting this week, and, as I do with all my friends, I suggested we go get a massage from my wonderful massage therapist.

After my massage, I took Michael's (yes, he's named after the archangel, I KNOW RIGHT) dog Buddy for a walk while Kayla got hers.  When we got back from our 45 minute hike several times around the block in the cold, drizzly "early spring" weather we're currently "enjoying" here, I settled on the chair in the waiting area with my book.  I glanced up after a minute or two, and this is what I saw:


You guessed it...Michael's behind the door.

Watching Buddy lying there got me thinking: he's faithfully guarding the door for his owner.  He's where he's meant to be.  He's where he wants to be. The center of his universe is behind that door, so right in front of it is his little corner of the world.

What if we were like that with God?

What would it look like if we guarded the door that God is behind?

It would look different for every one of us.  We have different callings, different ministries, different passions.  We have different abilities, different talents.  God has purposed us each to use what He's given us to further His kingdom.

What would it look like if I were as loyal to God as Buddy is loyal to Michael?

It certainly wouldn't look like my life as it is.

I want to be more like Buddy.  I want to be just as loyal, just as dedicated, just as adoring.  I don't want there to be any question to whom I give my devotion.

If God had a door, I'd be curled up in front of it.

What does that look like for you?

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 43: What are miracles made of?

What are miracles made of?

So many times in my life, I have been at the end of my rope.  The end of the line. 11:59.  Down to the wire.  This is it, folks.

I needed a miracle.

So many times, I've felt like God was silent.

So many times, I've felt like I was staring into the blackness of a vacuum, a canyon of nothingness.

So many times, I've felt completely hopeless. 

So many times, I've lain in my bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, tears streaking down my face, begging God to do something.

"Please help me, Daddy.  Please.  Rescue me.  Please."


And so many times, He has answered.  Every time, in fact.

It's never been the same way.  In fact, He has answered in different ways in each circumstance.

And most of those times, it's through someone else.

I think that often, we focus on God above and Jesus on the cross and forget about the Holy Spirit.  We forget that the Spirit of the Lord in each and every one of us is the exact same Spirit that we pray to every day, the exact same Spirit who died for us.

It's the exact same Spirit who saves us.

Miracles are God in us. When we let the Holy Spirit do its work, He does miracles through us.

I've been humbled recently; given grace I don't deserve and patience I haven't earned.  I've been shown such depth of love, generosity of spirit, and direct evidence of God's selfless grace that it has not only answered my fervent prayers but has acted as a more powerful witness to my cracked and crumbling spirit than I have ever experienced before in my life.

There's nothing like being evangelized by seeing God working through people who care about you to just completely refresh and revitalize your heart.

I haven't been to church in months.  I haven't listened to a sermon in nearly as long.  I've barely prayed, barely spent time in the Word, and often felt justified in my anger and rebelliousness.  Foolishly, I might add.  All of this ridiculous behavior has been to my own detriment.

But this - this love, this grace, this generosity and selflessness - I cannot ignore or push away.  I can only beg forgiveness and try to be the kind of blessing and show the same kind of love to others that I have been shown for all the rest of my days.

That's what miracles are made of.

Friday, March 14, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 42: The Wisdom of Friends, Part 1

"Sometimes, things don't work out the way you thought they would." -Rachel, "Friends"

That line has been echoing in my head for days now.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 41: Yawn.

You know you're getting old when the questions shifts from "Why am I here?" to "Why am I awake?"

It's been (another) one of those weeks, folks.

Where does life-changing faith fit in the minutiae of survival? 

That's the question I must leave you with tonight, as consciousness eludes me ever more quickly. Happy Almost-Friday, and Happy Almost-Spring.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 40: Windy.

As the weather warms during early spring, Raleigh gets a lot of storms. Tonight, a severe thunderstorm rolled in suddenly, transforming the lovely sunny afternoon into a dark, turbulent evening. It came on so quickly that I had to pull off to the side of the interstate on my way home from work because I couldn't see a foot in front of me for the sheets of rain that pounded down on my windshield.

When I took Lottie out for her before-bed bathroom trip just now, the rain had subsided, but it still felt ominous. The storm hung in the air. The wind howled and rolled around behind the houses in our subdivision, tilting trees and shifting the senses. Groaning and whistling, it felt like something foreboding was whisking all around us. Whispering. Scheming. Warning.

I feel that way, too. Something is changing...something has already changed. My spirit is different, lurching against itself, straining against the walls of its old shape, trying to make sense of who it is now.

I can only hope it's for the better.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 39: Peroxide.

I'd been seeing that "peroxide whitens teeth!" meme going around Facebook for months, so recently, I decided to try it.

One of my weird childhood fascinations (that followed me into adulthood) has always been to pour peroxide into an open wound and watch it bubble. I was the kid who would pick at scabs or scratch at big bites and then run to the bathroom to clean off the blood, stick my leg or arm or whatever it was into the bathtub or over the sink, and douse it with peroxide. I felt a great sense of accomplishment watching it bubble, as if it were healing right in front of my eyes - even though I had usually been the one to open (or reopen) the wound in the first place.

The directions bequeathed to me by the almighty internet about using peroxide as a teeth whitener said to use about two tablespoons and swish it in your mouth for a full minute. It warned that the peroxide in your mouth would bubble and foam, and that means it's doing its job and cleansing the bacteria.

Let me tell you, it certainly does bubble and foam.

As I poured the peroxide into my mouth tonight and felt it start to foam almost immediately, I thought about how my soul is just like my mouth. It gets battered and broken and full of gunk - gunk that's not visible or tangible but that is certainly there. I carry it around all the time. Instead of bad breath or dingy teeth, it manifests in impatience, selfishness, and anger. I'm short-tempered. I'm petulant. I wonder what's in it for me?

I'm hoping this time of reflection and introspection will be like peroxide for my soul. I know I'll never be able to cleanse it all, but maybe I can get it a little whiter, a little less grimy and full of bacteria, if I just keep swishing.

Monday, March 10, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 38: Puppy loss.

I'm going to move over tonight and, for this blog post, instead devote it to sharing my friend Renee's story - she just lost her family dog, Rocky, last week.  Her blog, where she's written a memorial for him, is here.

No pseudonyms.  No posturing.  None of my whining or wondering about what it all means.

Because ultimately, I know that it all means is love, and there is no love like the love of a dog.  I don't at all think it's coincidence that dog is God spelled backwards.

Rest in peace, Rocky.  You will be missed.  And Renee, Lottie and I are so, so sorry for your loss.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 37: Precious Lord, take my hand.

I've had a rough day, and to be honest I'm only awake now because Lottie hasn't eaten all day long and I finally coerced her into eating the food I put out for her this afternoon by adding some treats on top.  She's in the kitchen, finally munching away at almost midnight. It's been a difficult day for both of us, because she feels very keenly whatever I'm feeling.  She's been by my side all throughout the day today.

All I can offer tonight are lyrics from one of my most favorite hymns, which right now keep rolling over and over in my mind and heart.

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on,
Let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

I'd ask for prayer tonight, please - for clarity, for comfort, and to be able to get back to who I know I am - the girl I've felt estranged from for so long now.

Thank you, friends.  Your prayers, your support, and the fact that you read this blog all mean so much more than you know.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 36: Settling well.

Give a girl an education and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without further expense to anybody. -Jane Austen

All I can say is...here's hoping.

Friday, March 7, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 35: Do they care?

“Honey, my email’s the same,” she said laughingly - almost dismissively.

It was Homecoming Sunday last year at the church I’ve attended regularly for the six years that I’ve lived here.  The woman I was speaking with had been like my second mother, helping me move, graciously storing some of my belongings in her home while I was between apartments, acting in plays I directed, giving me delicious, easy recipes with which I built out my culinary repertoire – until she and her husband moved four hours away to the mountains several months earlier.  I miss her terribly.

I had sent her an email several weeks previously after not hearing anything from her for months, asking how she was.  There had been no response.

“I emailed you a few weeks ago…” I said meekly.

“Well I didn’t get it, sweetie,” she said, still laughing.  I was stung by her joviality. Didn’t she realize how much I missed her?  Didn’t she know that she’d been so important to me, and then she’d just left?  Didn’t she care that I was hurting?

I guess it’s a double-edged sword that I grew up and lived in the same town, on the same street, in the same house where my parents still live, my whole life until I moved out in my mid-20’s.  They moved into that house in 1979 and have been there ever since.  In the town where I grew up, people of their generation tended to stay right there in that town.  My parents were high school sweethearts – Mom went with Dad to his senior prom at the high school from which my sister and I graduated more than 30 years later.  There is very little moving away.  There is very little leaving.

What this has meant for me in my adult life is that I feel personally betrayed and forgotten by anyone who dares to leave me in any capacity.

“Just email me again!  I’ll get back to you,” she concluded, before starting up a conversation with someone else.

Now, I admit, this may be a childish, whiny, immature thing to say, but here it is:  I don’t want to have to email her.  

I want her to email me!

I’m 25 years her junior.  I’m wet behind the ears.  I’m struggling, I’m unsure, I’m floundering.  I’m sad and lonely.  I miss her.  I miss my old pastor.  I miss the people at my ex-boyfriend’s previous church who were always so kind to us.  I miss feeling like I have a support system.  I miss having people who cared.  

I miss the people who were supposed to be there for me and I want them back.

Even more so, I want them to want to come back.

I want them to reach out to me, to check on me, to ask how I'm doing and to genuinely care.  I want them to say they miss me too, that I am important, that I matter to them.

I want to have mattered to them.

I haven’t emailed her.  I’m not going to force someone to care about me.  We invest in the people we care about, and if she can’t be bothered, then she must not care very much and the last five years meant nothing to her.

That’s how I feel about nearly everyone these days.  

That time meant nothing.

And that’s even harder for me to deal with than the fact that they left.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 34: Smile for the camera!

My toy poodle Lottie has really bad teeth.

It's the bane of our existence, really.  She's tiny, and there's just not enough room in her mouth for all of them.  She's only five years old, but in the past three years (and four dental cleanings) she's lost all but 9 of her teeth.  She still has all her canines and can still eat fine, but I don't want her to end up a 7-year-old toothless wonder-dog who can't enjoy bones and rawhides.

However, try to brush that handful of pearly whites and my sweet, loving little dog turns into a 5-pound Cujo bent on destruction of everything in her path.

Tonight, realizing it's been a few weeks since she's had her teeth brushed by the groomer, I decided it was time to try again with the tiny angled toothbrush and beef-flavored doggie toothpaste I bought a few years ago.  I did everything the package said: I let her smell the toothpaste, lick it off my finger, praised her over and over, and finally...managed to wedge her in between my knees and desperately tried to get even a few brushes in between her vicious attempts to take off my hands with the few crunchers she has left.

After ten minutes of fighting, I gave up and reached for the dental spray I keep on our bathroom counter - a compromise, if you will.  (Not really, she hates that too.)  But first, I decided that I was going to prove to our vet that Lottie will not let me do anything with her teeth, so I turned on the video recorder on my iPhone and set it up against the bathtub to film her.

"This video is for Dr. Tran!" I announced to a quizzical Lottie, who did the poodle head-tilt as I narrated. "This is to show her that Lottie will NOT let me brush her teeth or spray them!  This is proof!"

Lottie sat across from me with a look as if to say, "Mom, quit being such a weirdo."

I leaned in, grabbed Lottie under her chin, held the spray in my other hand...and would you believe it, she sat peacefully right there as I opened her mouth and sprayed her teeth, no muss, no fuss.

I was shocked.

I praised her out of disbelief as well as excitement, and after I was finished she trotted off back to her rawhide in the other room, adjusting to the new flavor in her mouth.

I picked up the iPhone and stared at it dumbly...then stopped the recording.

What just happened?!

She had never let me spray her teeth before - not once in her almost 6 years of life.

And yet, when the camera was on, she sat still and was complacent.

Now, I'm not silly enough to think that she understood the camera was there. That wasn't it. She probably was just relieved that I wasn't trying to use the toothbrush, or she liked the taste of the spray (suddenly), or any other number of reasons.  Whatever it was, though, it got me thinking.

How many of us are like that?  Angry, rebellious, fighting with God, fighting with our families and friends - until the camera is switched on?  Until we're out in the open, out around strangers, out at church or in public?

How often do we stop our bad behavior when all eyes are on us?

I think that's one of the reasons I sometimes get frustrated with church.  Not any one church in particular, just in general - we have a tendency to lie when we're at church.  In response to "How are you?", we say "I'm well!" or "I'm fine," not being genuine.  We have a tendency to put on a happy face, to sweep our struggles under the rug, or to deny that we're suffering.

We have a tendency to become complacent when the camera is switched on.

I can't be complacent right now.  I can't be silent and obliging in this season of my life.  I can't just pretend everything is fine and that I'm not angry, not hurting, not heartbroken.

I guess I just have to find someone, something, somewhere...that won't turn on the camera.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 33: Fragile.

I think one of the hardest truths for me to swallow about adulthood is that nobody  will ever really fight for you as much as you want them to.

We're all just human. We're fragile. We all have our own problems and mountains and questions and doubts. We're all busy and tired and overextended.

We can only do so much.

So...what happens to those people who slip through the cracks?

Who fights for them?

Who will fight for me?

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 32: Selfies.

   
Me, tonight, tired after a long day.

There's a girl I know and follow on Instagram who literally posts at least one selfie - often several - every single day.

This girl is a Christian, married at the age when most kids would've been starting their freshman year in college, and lives with her barely-20-year-old husband in a suburb of Raleigh as he's in college at the local seminary. 

Now, I'm 10 years her senior and have been a Christian longer than she's been alive...but to me, in my time of doubt and floundering, all those selfies are hurting her witness.

I mean, seriously, every single day? She literally can't do anything - do her nannying job, go to Bible study, go out to dinner, go shopping, etc etc ad nauseum, without posting a selfie about it. Oftentimes with the hashtag #blessed, of course. 

Why does this bother me so much?

Logically, I know she's a child and doesn't know any better. But every time I see another selfie it digs into my subconscious like a little prickly thorn.

Now, I'm not that old: I grew up with the internet, but there were still some things that were sacred. We didn't know where everyone was every moment of the day. We didn't broadcast every adventure or misadventure or shenanigan on Facebook. And ten years ago, on my college campus or in my group of friends,  the idea of constantly posting pictures of oneself on the internet would have seemed, well...like a pathetic waste of time.

I think my distaste stems from the fact that it's insidiously narcissistic. If a girl does her makeup well but doesn't post a selfie about it, I mean, does it even count?

And, dare I ask - where's God in all this?

Here's what I think: #blessed is, more often than not, #boasting. Why does everyone need to know you're getting a manicure or going to the beach or going on a date?

Shouldn't we be constantly trying to take the focus off ourselves and put the focus on God?

I certainly think so. And it's something I need to work on, too. I mean, right after this post, of course. My hair looked pretty good tonight - #blessed!

Monday, March 3, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 31: Death.

I pay for HBO every month largely for just two shows: The Newsroom and Girls. I'm sure I'll be writing about The Newsroom quite a bit more in the summertime when it comes back on, but for now, Girls is on and I'm strangely fascinated by it.

Since I had a largely puritanical, straight-laced twenty-something experience, a lot of the nuances of Girls don't quite resonate with me.  Even so, many of them do - the insecurity, the questioning, the doubt.  The major shifts.  The minor harmonies that haunt the everyday.

On last night's episode of Girls, Hannah's grandmother is sick and near death.  She goes to the hospital where her mother, aunts, and cousin are all gathered, waiting.  They do a montage of scenes through the night where the three aunts and Hannah are sleeping in the hospital hallway...just passing time waiting for the grandmother to either die...or not.

One of my deepest and scariest truths is that I'm afraid there will be no one there for me when I pass.

I'm 31 years old, unmarried, and childless.  I can't even handle thinking about my five-year-old dog growing older, much less myself.  My younger sister will have children, I'm sure, but how much does an aunt really mean to a twenty-something?  Would you spend the night in a hospital for an aunt?  Would you stop by to visit?  Would you care for her the way you would your mother?

Doubtful.

As I watched that scene, I thought about my own grandmother in the hospital in the months before she died: small, scared, and sick.  Withered.  A shadow of her former self. Doctors and surgeries and pills away from the vibrant woman I remember from my childhood who tended her garden and cooked elaborate meals for her grand-kids.  I remember how sad she looked each time I left.  I remember how hard it was to fit a visit in between school and my work schedule and my plans.  My big plans that didn't really matter.

I wish I hadn't left so soon.

I hope that when I get to be an old lady, whoever my family is won't be so quick to leave me alone in the hospital room.

I hope when I get to be an old lady, I will have family who will visit.

I can only hope.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 30: Yep.

"The mind of a writer can be a truly terrifying thing.  Isolated, neurotic, caffeine-addled, crippled by procrastination and consumed by feelings of panic, self-loathing, and soul-crushing inadequacy.  And that's on a good day." -Robert De Niro at the 2014 Oscars

I couldn't have written it better.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

The Seeking Daddy Project Day 29: Puppy love.

It's one of my greatest sources of pride and joy that my Lottie has absolutely no fear or trepidation of any kind when it comes to humans.  In fact, she can't even conceive of the idea of someone not liking her or not wanting to pet her and cuddle with her.  It's never happened.  She has been surrounded by love her entire life.  Even with people who don't fawn all over her, she will still snuggle up next to on the couch contentedly, because to her, people are big warm buckets of love for her to draw from and enjoy and give her precious poodle affection to, obviously.

The other night, as we were curled up in bed together and she stretched out against me, sleeping, I watched her with my heart swelling.  The fact that my little dog has been well cared for and loved her whole life is something I can't help but feel pride over.

She's my little girl, my sunshine, and the light of my life.  She's curled up right next to me as I type this.  Why wouldn't I take the best care of her that I could?

I then thought about that idea regarding us and God.  Am I like that with God?

Do I fear God?  Sometimes, yes.

Sometimes I view God as a dictator, doing everything His way regardless if it hurts me.

Sometimes I view God as a judge, ready to sentence me for my shortcomings.

Sometimes I view God as a monarch, sitting on His throne watching His peasants starve.

I used to view God as Abba, Daddy, Father, a loving friend and confidante who was always on my side and against whom I could curl up and feel safe with, no matter what.

As I watched Lottie sleep, thinking about how much I love her and how grateful I am that she loves me, I wondered if God feels the same way about me.

Does God watch me sleep with His heart bursting with love and affection for His little girl?

If He does, I wish I could feel it.