cookie fairy.

14 May
One of my favorite women to visit while doing CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) in the summer after my second year of seminary was named Edna.  It was my first week there and her daughter-in-law died.  I’d never met Edna but she wanted to speak to a chaplain.  *deep breath*  Okay.  I met with Edna that day and just loved her to pieces.  She walked with a walker, had a full head of white curly hair, and wore her glasses slightly askew.  On days when I wasn’t quite sure what to do, I’d knock on Edna’s door to chat.  
There was one morning when I was just striking out as I knocked on doors to visit people.  People weren’t home and I was at a loss for how to spend my time.  I happened to be on Edna’s floor so I knocked on her door.  She opened the door, saw it was me, and exclaimed, “Thank God you are here!”  She had just received disturbing news about her son’s health and was happy to have someone to talk with about it.  [I could go on and on about cute Edna stories, including the one where she pointed to her coffee mug, on which was a black and white photo of her deceased husband, and said, “I have coffee with my husband every morning.”  Oh for sweet.]
This is kinda how I felt on Thursday night.  You can read the post beneath this one to see the kind of night I may have been having.  I know there were at least a dozen people – probably more – that I could have called that night to talk with or asked to hang out with … but I didn’t.  I don’t like to be needy, or vulnerable to the point where I seem needy.  [curse of the enneagram number two]  I called no one and sat on the couch attempting to do homework alone.

The buzzer to let people into the building went off in my apartment right around 10pm.  I was expecting no one and just earlier that day, we had received an email from the building lady warning us of possible scheming being done by two strange guys in the neighboring apt. building.  I wasn’t going to let anyone in!  But then it buzzed again.  What the heck, I wondered.  Then this text message exchange happened –
After the “Are you buzzing me!?” text I sent, the buzzer went off about five times, alerting me that yes, this particular sweet couple was buzzing me.  They were cookie fairies, bringing delicious cookies.  I kinda felt like Edna, wanting to open the door and say, “Thank God you’re here.”  Not just because of the cookies but just because it was good to sit and chat for a short while. Lauren and jD had perfect timing AND they brought chocolate.  best. cookie. fairies. ever.

comparisons.

14 May
I constantly compare myself to others.  I know I shouldn’t.  I know that I am me and you are you and our paths through life are different and that’s how it is meant to be.  But I still make the side-by-side lists in my head, comparing pros and cons, good and bad.
Right now my lists consist of comparing myself to classmates regarding calls.  Many of my friends have calls to churches post-graduation.  Many are planning ordinations.  Many know what their summer will look like.  I am incredibly happy for these friends – really, I am! – but I don’t have a call, I’m not planning an ordination, and I know only what my June will look like.  My comparisons have me feeling pretty low.
I had an impending sense of doom throughout all of Thursday.  You know those days when you feel like something is just going to go wrong?  The pit in my stomach warned me that something wasn’t quite right.  I called the synod of my assignment to see what they knew about the church where I had interviewed, since it had been nearly two weeks and I’d heard nothing.  The synod knew that the church liked me – they are not releasing me as a candidate – but they also want to interview more people.  I still feel pretty emotional about the news; in summary, the news kinda sucked.
I know that I am called to be a pastor and that I do well in this vocation.  I know that there will be a church that wants me and that calls me but for now, I feel a bit like a failure.  Again, in comparing myself with others who are called and have dates on the calendar to be ordained and to move and to begin working, I’m behind.  If we continue to compare this process to dating, I feel rejected.  [Ah, yes.  Know that feeling well.]
I’ve been in this place before, with my negative thoughts and illicit comparisons, but I refuse to let them infiltrate all facets of my life.  Yeah, Thursday was a pretty down day [blogger being down helped none.] but things have looked up since then.  I have two finals left to complete by Monday and many opportunities to be social beside.  After that, time will be filled with craftiness, packing, and general playing and merriment.  I know I move home for June and if June turns into June and July, maybe that will give me the chance to start my Etsy store or explore reading, running, and crafting at length.  Maybe I could look for a fun-to-me part-time job or consider visiting long-lost friends in WA and IN and MI.  Maybe I’ll stop comparing myself to others too, and enjoy this unique journey as my own and one that needs to be no one else’s.  

I’m back!

13 May
The host for this blog, blogger, was down for nearly a whole day and, boy, did I miss my bloggy blog.  A lot of things happened yesterday – good and bad – and I found myself wanting to share the day with you.  But I couldn’t.  Every time I tried I got an error.  No worky.  
I followed Blogger on Twitter and they constantly said that the site would be up and running again soon, along with the missing posts on this blog that suddenly went missing.  I waited.  I wrote blog posts in my head.  I exploded my thoughts onto paper.  
Joel even wrote a rap about it last night.  He and his wife use blogger too, and were equally frustrated!  But fear not, as I live and breathe and type here, blogger has been resurrected.  I blogged here briefly in the absence of this gnomepreacher if you want to check that out, and even though it no longer technically applies, please enjoy Joel’s rap about blogger being dumb.
Blogger is down/ can’t write for awhile/ I’m gonna yell as I bust out in style/ try to write down all the stories in my mind/ better come back on line or I’m swinging for your head/ all you IT geeks with your programmer skills/ get blogger back up and running before I hit you in the grills/ I got hops/ and mad writing skills/ write now I’m pissed off/ cuz there are pages to fill/ off on a rant started couple hours ago/ this stupid ass site/ has got to show some respect for the people who navigate and write/ I’ll poetry slam you with a blog post all through the night/ what the hell is up, dear blogger/ what the hell is up….I want to write! What the hell is up, blogger/ you better watch out cuz we in for a fight!

love letter to a thesaurus.

11 May
First, watch this.  [There is no embed code and you’ll have to make the jump.  One further apology for the recent abundance of Friends references.  I’m on season one again and it’s in the head.]
I was about to close a few windows on my computer, paused over my dictionary/thesaurus application as if to close it, and then thought, “Nah.  I use that baby all the time.  I’m just going to keep it open.”  This is the result of that thought, too much homework in one day, and the previously linked video clip:
Intimate thesaurus,

I delight in you, a laudable thesaurus.  I recoil from employing equivalent script duplicated in a phrase or write-up and I’m completely about obtaining cutting-edge and diverting methods to construct whatsits.  You as a thesaurus are jolly, utilitarian, and viable, and designate me jovial, blithe, and chirpy.  I aspire to habitually wield you, a thesaurus, in my oeuvre.

Really,
Lindsay Poached 

teeth. grain. A TORNADO!

11 May
Paper.  Snow.  A GHOST!  [Fast forward to about 1:10 on this video to follow this joke that plays inside my head.]
Did you know that George was  6’2”?

A fun chap with weird hair he is.
Lauren, Paige and I – all future residents of southeastern MN – ventured to the MN History Center on Tuesday night [It’s free from 5-8pm.] with the eager anticipation of seeing George Washington’s wooden teeth.  Turns out he never actually had wooden teeth – they were clunky and metal and hippopotamus-derived.  Even though he brushed dutifully, he had a mouth of horrid teeth that eventually were pulled.  I know what else you’re wondering but no, we never found out if he chopped down the cherry tree.

While at the museum, we also learned about the history of underwear.  It’s true.  Paige asked, “Me, wear a girdle?”  [The advertisement on the wall asks the question, trying to convince all ladies that they should.]  This was right next to the mirror with the underwear stick-ons.  [Do you understand what I’m poorly explaining?  The paper cut-outs were stuck on the mirror and one is to align themselves in front of the mirror so it looks like you’re wearing them.  Kinda like the mustache on the mirror in The Office that Dwight ends up “wearing.”]  We tried to position ourselves in front of the mirror so it looked like we were wearing the underwear but it was more difficult than one would think.  We could not get that bra and panties to pretend-fit us.
From there, we went to Grainland where we became corn in a grain bin.  We climbed to the top of the grain bin, decided if we were corn or wheat [actually, we had no choice.  the wheat chute was closed.  corn by default.] and then went down the chute to rest in the bin.  In an exhibit meant for small children, we climbed through tubes and squeezed through small spaces as kernels of corn.  We finished off our trip to the history center in a “basement” experiencing a tornado in the weather exhibit, where there were blue men.  [Seriously.  In the winter exhibit, the guys had blue faces.  We get so cold in MN that we turn blue?]  We learned lots in our history museum trip, not to mention got a break from the humid heat that attacked MN yesterday.  I would go back and be corn again.  Definitely.
You can see Lauren in the background; this was before there was a little boy kicking her from behind.

a petulant pattern.

10 May
I sense a life pattern emerging.
1.  go to new place
2.  meet awesome new friends
3.  leave
4.  be sad
In a nomadic life like mine, this is bound to be the pattern.  But in my last move and my upcoming move, I find it much more in my face and emotional than before.  Both in my move from Dawson to school, and in the next couple weeks from school to home, I’ve been somewhere for a year.  [Granted, yes, I was at school for two years prior to internship, but the year of a senior has looked different than the first two years.]  I’ve been somewhere for a year and generally speaking, for the first part of that year, it was hard.  My first months in Dawson and my first months back at school were difficult places for me to be.  They were places of adjustment, loneliness, and mourning the past.
In both places, I quilted, I clung to old friends, and tried to keep an open mind of where the year could take me.  And in both places, something clicked right around December/January.  The tables turned, my attitude improved, and I enjoyed where I was.  This year, I specifically think about the January term.  A class of connecting to new people, trying new activities, and I think opening myself up to that newness.  It’s great that this has happened … but then I just get really frustrated that I have to leave again when things are going well, there are fun people to play with, and knowing that this is the end of that experience!  How does that make me feel?  Angry, a la Chris Farley.
No.  Not really that angry.  I won’t throw punches or tip tables [yet] but I am getting incredibly sentimental and sad about what is to come.  I’m excited about the next two weeks – two weeks that are booked solid with hanging out, going out, and being around these great people I’ve connected with in the last four months and in the last four years.  There are new friends and there are also the people I’ve known for the years I’ve been in the Cities.  I think about M. and her family, Sara, and my Stillwater family who have been a part of my life here since I moved to Minnesota as a volunteer intern at Trinity.  
Another transition looms.  It’s coming.  In the time that remains, I hope to play much, sleep little, and take many photographs to remind me of the people, adventures, and fun.  Stories to follow.  

ten things I do instead of final papers:

9 May
1.  blog.
2.  students vs. staff/faculty softball game. [wednesday]
3.  watch Friends/Modern Family/Gilmore Girls on dvd/hulu.
4.  file fingernails.
5.  plan senior week events. [ie order tshirts and reserve a cotton candy machine]
6.  cover clothespins in pretty tape and mod-podge.  
7.  drink wine at Joel & Melissa’s.
8.  see George Washington’s wooden teeth at the MN History Center. [tomorrow]
9.  text/facebook/twitter/pinterest.
10.  think about you and when we can hang out.

end in sight.

9 May
It’s official.  I have entered my last full week of seminary classes.
[I’m going to say it again, because sometimes I don’t even believe it.]
I have entered my last full week of seminary classes.
I have four class periods and four final papers that separate me from the end of my seminary career, plus a few other minor assignments.
Ca. ray. zee.
[and here I am blogging instead of working on any of them. procrastination of schoolwork is my life.]

new favorite.

8 May
Raw oatmeal.
The old-fashioned oats soaked in cold almond milk for a matter of minutes (or put in the fridge overnight) and devoured.  
So delicious.
No cooking.  No forcing myself to eat a hot breakfast when it’s not cold out.  A little chewy with the perfect taste.
I so love oatmeal – I think I’ve sang my oatmeal song here before – and love that there is yet another new way to eat it.
Do you want the recipe?  Ready?
[1/2 cup old fashioned oats.  1/2 cup almond milk.  Mix.  Eat.]

tears.

7 May
My mom could speak to my youngest years and how often I shed tears, but in my adult life, I know that I do not cry much.
I remember not crying when I led prayer services for the family and close friends of deceased members while in Dawson.  Sometimes, I even wanted to, or felt like I should.  But I don’t think I ever did.  I didn’t cry at the funerals that happened the next day, and can remain pretty emotionally strong while meeting with families and being with them in times of loss.  [Not that crying would be a sure sign of not being emotionally strong.]
Want to make me cry?  
Stress me out, give me too much to do, throw in a lack of Lindsay time, and it’s only a matter of minutes before the tear ducts burst.  
I remember on internship there were moments like this.  Moments right around Easter and VBS when I was incredibly stressed out.  I had taken on too many responsibilities or procrastinated so well that I was stuck and frustrated, both at myself and the situation.  Talk to me about it and my eyes would well up.  
When my coworkers could tell I was at my limit, they would ask what they could do to help.  Being ever the one to not give up control or let anyone down, I said I just needed to have a good cry and that would push me into the git-er-done mode.  They wouldn’t necessarily accept this as a good answer to their question, but time and again, it’s what happened.
I reached that point tonight.  I went to the CYF dinner, walked into the room where it was being held and realized I didn’t really know anyone who was there yet.  [There are distance learners and people that I just don’t come into contact with on a regular basis within the program, and whether I’m stressed and on the edge or not, walking into a room where I know no one strikes enough fear into me – unless I’m in pastor mode and know it needs to be done.  No pastor mode tonight.]  I could tell I had reached my limit with everything going on and that if I walked in any further, I’d start to cry.  Pathetic, right?  
Pathetic or not, I knew I just needed to step away for a moment.  I sat cross-legged on a couch in the hallway for a good ten minutes, checking Twitter on my phone, speaking very few words.  I regrouped myself and had a nice dinner at a table with people I knew.  [Call me snotty but that’s exactly what I needed – people I knew.]
I’m back at the computer now, working on my presentation.  I can hear your inner thoughts: “Lindsay, you’re not working on your presentation.  You’re blogging.”  True, wise grasshopper, true.  But truth is, typing all this out is a way to work through the current tears.  I feel better focused and ready to carry on.  Let’s git-er-done.
ps.  I realize it’s late notice but if you are at all intrigued to watch me present my thesis, you can stream the video of it here live.  9:30am.  You’re invited to watch me fall on my face rock it.  [My self-confidence still needs work.]
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