Just that I have a new one... in case ya'll care.
What I Do
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Tag!
Prompt: Post and blog about the 6th picture in the 6th folder on your computer.
Eve is a gymnast. Or was a gymnast. I'm not sure what to call her anymore. I'd love to see her keep being a gymnast, but for now, it's not in the budget, and she's not really into keeping up her skills. But there was a time that the girl was a handstand machine. I mean it.
But she's also been a hesitant learner, and this picture was taken because Eve was doing that thing that we all do - failing to admit the truth about herself. This picture was taken after being posed in this position. Another one had been taken previously of her own version of this stance... the version where her arms were falling and her back was not straight. "Stand up straight" "Keep your arms straight" We'd told her over and over, but each time she insisted that she already had the posture exactly how she was supposed to.
It took the pictures to show her where things were wrong.
Sometimes I wish there was a camera to show me that kind of thing with my character. I've had things pointed out to me about myself... I've been told to be more this or do such-and-such that way. And I've insisted that I have been exactly the way I'm supposed to. But looking back, I can see how I wasn't.
It would hurt, but wouldn't it also be nice to have some concrete evidence in the moment that was right there telling you, "Ummm... no. You're not being the person you think you're being."
Eve is a gymnast. Or was a gymnast. I'm not sure what to call her anymore. I'd love to see her keep being a gymnast, but for now, it's not in the budget, and she's not really into keeping up her skills. But there was a time that the girl was a handstand machine. I mean it.
But she's also been a hesitant learner, and this picture was taken because Eve was doing that thing that we all do - failing to admit the truth about herself. This picture was taken after being posed in this position. Another one had been taken previously of her own version of this stance... the version where her arms were falling and her back was not straight. "Stand up straight" "Keep your arms straight" We'd told her over and over, but each time she insisted that she already had the posture exactly how she was supposed to.
It took the pictures to show her where things were wrong.
Sometimes I wish there was a camera to show me that kind of thing with my character. I've had things pointed out to me about myself... I've been told to be more this or do such-and-such that way. And I've insisted that I have been exactly the way I'm supposed to. But looking back, I can see how I wasn't.
It would hurt, but wouldn't it also be nice to have some concrete evidence in the moment that was right there telling you, "Ummm... no. You're not being the person you think you're being."
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Blogging and Privacy
Prompt: What are your thoughts on blogging and privacy? Where do you draw the line?
I'm not a blogger. Let's just face it. I'm not. And a big reason is because I'm a private person. When I started this blog, it was because I was quickly falling in love with one Mr. Billy Chia. And he had a blog. And I wanted him to think I was cool. And I wanted to do what he was doing. So, I started it. And he was the only one reading it.
If you look at my early posts, you can see how much more "me" they are. Not that anyone is reading this now, but I currently filter myself. It was a choice, I guess, that I made. Because my husband was blogging, and getting readers, and I thought... hey, maybe that's something fun. Maybe I'd actually like people to read what I'm writing.
And you know what? I do. I do want people to read what I write. Only, I want them to read what I write for magazines. The polished articles that has had time invested and (ahem) a paycheck received. It's a different world to write a feature story about charitable giving at Christmas than it is to write about my life. Writing about my life has been something therapeutic for myself. But it is also something that is horrendously scary for me to think of others actually seeing that.
So, I censor. I avoid. I shut it all down. Even now, yes... I'm hem-hawing around the reasons for my lack of personal feel. But you know what? It's my blog. And I don't care if I'm not sharing myself with a random person who got here from some weirdo Google search.
But it begs the question.... am I sharing myself with anyone? Yes... there are a few. A few women in my life have shown themselves faithful and trustworthy to listen without condemning or without feeling like they needed to have input on every issue I raise.
There are a few women that want to hear who I am, and want to know me for me. But I have learned that that is not most people. That is not what I expect to encounter, and so privacy is too great a need for me to be a blogger.
I'm not a blogger. Let's just face it. I'm not. And a big reason is because I'm a private person. When I started this blog, it was because I was quickly falling in love with one Mr. Billy Chia. And he had a blog. And I wanted him to think I was cool. And I wanted to do what he was doing. So, I started it. And he was the only one reading it.
If you look at my early posts, you can see how much more "me" they are. Not that anyone is reading this now, but I currently filter myself. It was a choice, I guess, that I made. Because my husband was blogging, and getting readers, and I thought... hey, maybe that's something fun. Maybe I'd actually like people to read what I'm writing.
And you know what? I do. I do want people to read what I write. Only, I want them to read what I write for magazines. The polished articles that has had time invested and (ahem) a paycheck received. It's a different world to write a feature story about charitable giving at Christmas than it is to write about my life. Writing about my life has been something therapeutic for myself. But it is also something that is horrendously scary for me to think of others actually seeing that.
So, I censor. I avoid. I shut it all down. Even now, yes... I'm hem-hawing around the reasons for my lack of personal feel. But you know what? It's my blog. And I don't care if I'm not sharing myself with a random person who got here from some weirdo Google search.
But it begs the question.... am I sharing myself with anyone? Yes... there are a few. A few women in my life have shown themselves faithful and trustworthy to listen without condemning or without feeling like they needed to have input on every issue I raise.
There are a few women that want to hear who I am, and want to know me for me. But I have learned that that is not most people. That is not what I expect to encounter, and so privacy is too great a need for me to be a blogger.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
California
Prompt: What was your big dream for yourself when you were 18 and had graduated from high school?
Something in me was saying "California." It's nothing mysterious. It was simply being young and into Counting Crows. They just made it sound like the place to be. In the midst of the depressing break ups, the nightmare filled sleeping, and just the overall loneliness of life, California was the one bright light in Duritz's lyrics.
It was far away, California. Not that I had anything to run from. At 18, I had my life ahead of me, and it was looking pretty good. I was headed to school at Purdue, to study History and English in preparation for law school. My aspirations were torn between working in prosecution or civil rights, mainly because my scope of the law was so small that I didn't know what else there was out there to do. It was only later, through life experience, that I realized there are other parts of the system that would allow me to not defend scumbags. Like family law, for instance. Working on adoptions. Or contract law, as well.
But anyway, at 18 I was not running from anything. I just wanted to experience a daily dose of palm trees and the beach. I just wanted to know what it would be like to be somewhere that had health food stores bigger than my local grocery (this was before Trader Joe's was a household name in the mid-west - not that I've ever been to one).
There was something almost foreign about California to a girl that grew up in icy winters (sans real snow, of course) and frizzy-hair-humid summers. It was like going to a new country where they speak my language.
I didn't quite have life figured out past the point of being in California. I didn't know what daily life would look like, whether I would enjoy my job or meet a man and start a family. I just saw easy living and laid back healing... the kind that comes after long Decembers.
Something in me was saying "California." It's nothing mysterious. It was simply being young and into Counting Crows. They just made it sound like the place to be. In the midst of the depressing break ups, the nightmare filled sleeping, and just the overall loneliness of life, California was the one bright light in Duritz's lyrics.
It was far away, California. Not that I had anything to run from. At 18, I had my life ahead of me, and it was looking pretty good. I was headed to school at Purdue, to study History and English in preparation for law school. My aspirations were torn between working in prosecution or civil rights, mainly because my scope of the law was so small that I didn't know what else there was out there to do. It was only later, through life experience, that I realized there are other parts of the system that would allow me to not defend scumbags. Like family law, for instance. Working on adoptions. Or contract law, as well.
But anyway, at 18 I was not running from anything. I just wanted to experience a daily dose of palm trees and the beach. I just wanted to know what it would be like to be somewhere that had health food stores bigger than my local grocery (this was before Trader Joe's was a household name in the mid-west - not that I've ever been to one).
There was something almost foreign about California to a girl that grew up in icy winters (sans real snow, of course) and frizzy-hair-humid summers. It was like going to a new country where they speak my language.
I didn't quite have life figured out past the point of being in California. I didn't know what daily life would look like, whether I would enjoy my job or meet a man and start a family. I just saw easy living and laid back healing... the kind that comes after long Decembers.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Right Now
Labels:
Writing Workshop
Prompt: Right now is the best time to start. What is your first step?
Well, I guess this isn't going to be anything profound, but this house is getting to me. Oh, not the actual house... just the "not quite moved in" status of our belongings.
It's been just over a month now, and it feels like there's still a long way to go. We're done with the big stuff. All the furniture is arranged. Clothes are hung. Kitchen is arranged in working order. It all has been for 4 weeks. But that other stuff. All the little things that took so long to pack, are taking even longer to unpack.
And my first step towards fixing that is tiny. Open a box.
I know it's that simple. But behind that simple step is other more complex things. Decisions have to be made about where to put things. Organizing needs to be done, some organizing containers need to be purchased. But before I even know what I need to organize, I must open that box.
UGH!
I did actually unpack a little bit today, and it felt good, but I tell you what... opening up a box and unpacking... just one box... wore me out. Still, that's one box down. If I do this every day, we should be moved in by Christmas!
Well, I guess this isn't going to be anything profound, but this house is getting to me. Oh, not the actual house... just the "not quite moved in" status of our belongings.
It's been just over a month now, and it feels like there's still a long way to go. We're done with the big stuff. All the furniture is arranged. Clothes are hung. Kitchen is arranged in working order. It all has been for 4 weeks. But that other stuff. All the little things that took so long to pack, are taking even longer to unpack.
And my first step towards fixing that is tiny. Open a box.
I know it's that simple. But behind that simple step is other more complex things. Decisions have to be made about where to put things. Organizing needs to be done, some organizing containers need to be purchased. But before I even know what I need to organize, I must open that box.
UGH!
I did actually unpack a little bit today, and it felt good, but I tell you what... opening up a box and unpacking... just one box... wore me out. Still, that's one box down. If I do this every day, we should be moved in by Christmas!
Monday, August 22, 2011
What Bugs Me
Labels:
Writing Workshop
Prompt: 5 of my absolute worst pet peeves...
1. Facebook statuses about the weather.
I'm 32, and over the course of time, I've noticed that every single year, it gets hot in the summer. It gets really hot. Like I walk outside and sweat. Can you believe it? But eventually, we have 2 weeks of nice weather, and then it gets cold. Like break out the fur-lined ear muffs cold. Freaking, who-would-have-thought-it-would-ever-get-this-cold-6-months-ago? cold. And we all swear that we will never complain about the sun again. But first, we endure the rain of spring. The grass gets mushy and nice days are too few before this whole cycle starts over again. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. Okay? Every year. So, really... do we all need to put up a status update about it?
2. Cars that stop when I'm waiting to cross the not-busy street with my 3-year-old.
I'm trying to be a responsible parent and teach my child not to cross when there are cars in the road. This makes it very difficult as he is not really able to tell that you've slowed down enough for me to cross. If you would just politely continue driving, I will cross the street after you pass... you know, the way I've told my child we should do it.
3. When I correct my child and someone else then encourages the behavior again.
I can't think of an example, but trust me, it happens.
4. When I have to drag Billy to bed, and then he gets ready faster than I do and covers his face with the comforter, as if the light in the bathroom is just soooooo burdensome.
Ummmm... you wouldn't be in bed if it weren't for me, so you could at least just hang out and wait for me like a normal person. (Of course, then I couldn't get back at you by sprawling across the whole bed and not letting you in when I get there first.)
5. When people talk bad about their spouse in public.
I would not have said #4 about Billy except that we joke about it all the time. And it's not really that big of a thing. But I really hate it when people are constantly tearing down their spouse. It's very unbecoming and destructive.
1. Facebook statuses about the weather.
I'm 32, and over the course of time, I've noticed that every single year, it gets hot in the summer. It gets really hot. Like I walk outside and sweat. Can you believe it? But eventually, we have 2 weeks of nice weather, and then it gets cold. Like break out the fur-lined ear muffs cold. Freaking, who-would-have-thought-it-would-ever-get-this-cold-6-months-ago? cold. And we all swear that we will never complain about the sun again. But first, we endure the rain of spring. The grass gets mushy and nice days are too few before this whole cycle starts over again. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. Okay? Every year. So, really... do we all need to put up a status update about it?
2. Cars that stop when I'm waiting to cross the not-busy street with my 3-year-old.
I'm trying to be a responsible parent and teach my child not to cross when there are cars in the road. This makes it very difficult as he is not really able to tell that you've slowed down enough for me to cross. If you would just politely continue driving, I will cross the street after you pass... you know, the way I've told my child we should do it.
3. When I correct my child and someone else then encourages the behavior again.
I can't think of an example, but trust me, it happens.
4. When I have to drag Billy to bed, and then he gets ready faster than I do and covers his face with the comforter, as if the light in the bathroom is just soooooo burdensome.
Ummmm... you wouldn't be in bed if it weren't for me, so you could at least just hang out and wait for me like a normal person. (Of course, then I couldn't get back at you by sprawling across the whole bed and not letting you in when I get there first.)
5. When people talk bad about their spouse in public.
I would not have said #4 about Billy except that we joke about it all the time. And it's not really that big of a thing. But I really hate it when people are constantly tearing down their spouse. It's very unbecoming and destructive.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Billy
Labels:
Writing Workshop
Prompt: Describe your significant other's most attractive quality (on the inside).
It's funny, because I'm the details person. I'm the one that gets uber focused on something and can't let it go until it makes sense. I'm the one that wants everything to line up, to be consistent and void of cognitive dissonance.
But when I think about Billy's most attractive quality, there's something that I know I can count on. Billy points me to Jesus.
The Gospel of Jesus has taken a hold of his heart in amazing ways, and I get to witness it every day. I get to watch the way he leads our small group through hard conversations. I get to see when he impresses on our children the truth that nothing they do can change their standing before God. Nothing. Nothing good they do can earn God's pleasure. Nothing bad they do can take it away. God smiles at Jesus in them, and their actions do not affect their standing before God.
Sometimes... okay... most of the time, when I'm in the middle of my own mental and emotional turmoil, it's hard to hear Billy's Jesus talk. It's hard to have him ask me to stop and think about what I'm not believing about the Gospel. I tell him that I don't like to think of it that way. I don't want to always look at my whining sessions as sin. I just want to get it out of my system and move on.
But that doesn't deal with the real thing, and Billy knows it. Getting things off my chest so I can feel better is a cop-out. Something else will eventually come along that gets me all hot and bothered. I mean, sure, just getting it out there releases some tension, but it doesn't deal with why things really bothered me in the first place.
But God uses Billy to show me that when I feel offended by something someone else said or did to me, it's typically because I was putting more stock in what they think of me than what God thinks of me. In that moment, I'm not believing that God thinks I'm beautiful regardless of whether someone else understands or respects me. When I fly off the handle with my kids, it's usually because I am not believing that God has given me everything I need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3-4), including patience.
When I feel like a failure, it's because I've forgotten that I'm more than a conqueror in Christ (Romans 8:37)
When I feel impressed with myself, it's because I have forgotten that all my righteousness is as filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).
Billy spurs me on to keep the Word of God as my authority in life. He shows me everyday that I need Jesus.
He reminds me that I am nothing without Jesus, but that with Jesus, I am beautiful royalty. Without Him, I was a slave to sin, but in Him I am the righteousness of God.
It's funny, because I'm the details person. I'm the one that gets uber focused on something and can't let it go until it makes sense. I'm the one that wants everything to line up, to be consistent and void of cognitive dissonance.
But when I think about Billy's most attractive quality, there's something that I know I can count on. Billy points me to Jesus.
The Gospel of Jesus has taken a hold of his heart in amazing ways, and I get to witness it every day. I get to watch the way he leads our small group through hard conversations. I get to see when he impresses on our children the truth that nothing they do can change their standing before God. Nothing. Nothing good they do can earn God's pleasure. Nothing bad they do can take it away. God smiles at Jesus in them, and their actions do not affect their standing before God.
Sometimes... okay... most of the time, when I'm in the middle of my own mental and emotional turmoil, it's hard to hear Billy's Jesus talk. It's hard to have him ask me to stop and think about what I'm not believing about the Gospel. I tell him that I don't like to think of it that way. I don't want to always look at my whining sessions as sin. I just want to get it out of my system and move on.
But that doesn't deal with the real thing, and Billy knows it. Getting things off my chest so I can feel better is a cop-out. Something else will eventually come along that gets me all hot and bothered. I mean, sure, just getting it out there releases some tension, but it doesn't deal with why things really bothered me in the first place.
But God uses Billy to show me that when I feel offended by something someone else said or did to me, it's typically because I was putting more stock in what they think of me than what God thinks of me. In that moment, I'm not believing that God thinks I'm beautiful regardless of whether someone else understands or respects me. When I fly off the handle with my kids, it's usually because I am not believing that God has given me everything I need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3-4), including patience.
When I feel like a failure, it's because I've forgotten that I'm more than a conqueror in Christ (Romans 8:37)
When I feel impressed with myself, it's because I have forgotten that all my righteousness is as filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).
Billy spurs me on to keep the Word of God as my authority in life. He shows me everyday that I need Jesus.
He reminds me that I am nothing without Jesus, but that with Jesus, I am beautiful royalty. Without Him, I was a slave to sin, but in Him I am the righteousness of God.
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