Talk to the Hand

Remember when "talk to the hand, not to the face" was the ultimate insult? It appears that everyone took that to heart. I've found myself recently wanting to say "talk to the face, not to the hand!" It might be a few more years before we fully realize the effects of texting- and facebook-only relationships. We are more adept at expressing ourselves electronically than we are in person!

Does this alarm anyone else? I catch myself doing this. Awkward topics occasionally come up over video chat, and instead of responding verbally, I'll type it out! I never do this in person. I've never pulled out a piece of paper and written out what I was going to say because I couldn't explain it. That's absurd. Why is this normal as soon as a gadget is involved? I've met teenagers whose entire dating relationship was texted. They got together, they talked, and they broke up all via text.

Privacy, the 21st century's most endangered word, is thrown out the window with texting. It's no longer acceptable to respond when you want to. You are expected to respond to a text pronto, and there could be relational consequences if you don't. The next generation of phones will probably be waterproof so we can text in the shower, thus avoiding a friendship demise because of 15 minutes of silence.  

I don't mean to sound anti-text. I'm all for it. I'm reluctantly learning to be more conversational and not so mission-accomplished. Texting is especially handy when I have a couple minutes of downtime in public and want to look important and popular... er... um... you get the idea. And thus ends my "technology may not always be the only solution" rant. The End. 

Lone Ranger

I'm housesitting for the summer...er, shall I say plantsitting. Why I agreed to keep plants alive for 3 months, I have no idea. I'm a notorious plant-killer. Grandma loves her plants. Bad combination. There was no interview, or I wouldn't be here writing this. So far, only a few have been lost but are making a surprise comeback!

Flying solo in the Rocky Mountains is decidedly less exciting than I hoped. I used to think I was an introvert with extrovert tendencies, but I'm thinking it's the other way around. It's definitely not as great to have fun by yourself as it is to do it with someone. Dinner is a joke. I stocked up the first week with all these grand plans to cook for myself, only to make it to Friday with a tub of wilted lettuce, some bad tomatoes and one lonely piece of leftover quiche. Eating across the table from Empty just doesn't have the same allure.

Living alone is wonderful for doing things at your own pace and with your own style. I can read, clean, groove, make coffee, come and go, whenever and however I like. It's terrible for laughter, interesting conversation, and spur of the moment bike rides. It's terrible if I choke. It's terrible if I break my legs. It's awesome if I just need to get away. It's perfect for enjoying the simple things. 

In the end, living alone has its ups and downs, just like everything else. I am second-guessing my dream of getting my own apartment, and unless things improve, it will be awhile before I plant my own garden. And I continue to learn that the grass is green on the other side, but it's green here too.

With Love, Jen

Take a deep breath and put your virtual personality aside for a moment. We are about to venture into a foreign place -- the land of handwritten letters. Three weeks ago, a letter dropped into my mailbox for the first time in years. Not a greeting card; a letter. Six pages of bliss. I read it four times in a row and laughed out loud to myself, not because it was funny, but because I was so delighted.

We write letters differently than any other way we communicate. Putting pen to paper feels more permanent. For one thing, you can't ever look back at it to see what you wrote. In a world that has an electronic record of almost everything, not knowing what you've said can be unsettling. Once it's in the mail, it's gone. It's almost as though your thoughtful side intuitively knows it's time to shine. We usually write about more meaningful things in letters than we do in texts or emails. We usually treasure letters more than texts or emails.

This letter was so captivating not only because of what it said, but because it was written by someone's hand. No one else in the world has this handwriting. I see charm and personality, not font. It is special because I know how long it takes to write a letter -- and I know it was sent only to me, not 755 facebook friends. I am closer with her simply because we exchanged one letter, the first of many.

Here is my idea for you: sit down with a blank piece of paper, a pen, and a person in mind. Start writing what flows to your fingers, and you may not be able to stop. Receiving a letter in return might be the highlight of your year. Seriously. It will at least be more memorable than the annual mass "Merry Christmas! I'm so thankful for your friendship!" text. Happy writing!

The Land of Corn and Fireflies

Windblown and sticky, six of us pulled into the Eberspacher driveway after eight hours on the road. Eight hours without air conditioning, in the sultry heat of June, surrounded by cow farms and other unidentified odors. 

Why would people choose to live in Nebraska? We didn’t know. Yet. Tumbling out of the car, we faced an expansive cornfield that gave me a fraction of the feeling I have standing at the edge of the sea.  A train clunked on behind us and Lucy, the German Shepherd, sat by the front door as if this was her friendly queendom. 

The family inside the farmhouse greeted us like we were the long-lost relatives. We were taken straight to our VIP sleeping quarters, to an air-conditioned basement full of soft air mattresses and a bathroom big enough for the entire Nebraska population. 

Those of us not in the wedding explored around the farm while everyone went to rehearsal. There is a lot of open space between people in Nebraska, so our free spirits came out and we laughed long and loud, disturbing only Lucy.  We walked along the corn-lined gravel road and felt surprisingly relaxed. I saw my first fireflies that night and was completely enchanted, as if I’d been invited to a spontaneous garden party. 

It was Saturday afternoon when the radiant and relaxed Elisa slipped into her pretty white dress and hopped in the car. The only decorations in the chapel were candles and wildflowers. Nothing distracted from their vows to each other and it was the sweetest wedding I’ve ever been to. After a catered dinner, Krispy Kreme groom’s cake, and my first ever bouquet catch, they were off! 

Allie took this awesome snap.

When we thought about going to celebrate afterward, we remembered we were in Milford and did the only thing we could do: we went back to the farm. We rode in the bed of the old pickup out to the pasture to watch the stars and the distant lightning. We soon found ourselves driving through corn, then running through corn until we got scared of the dark. I think I can speak for everyone: we had the times of our lives. 

Thanks, Nebraska. I haven’t felt so free in a long, long time. 

Verve

Ever been parched for adventure? I can't seem to get it off my mind, and the more I crave it, the more I think you want it just as bad as I do. That's right, you. And me. We want adventure. We want to feel alive, vibrant, like we're on top of the world! Bear in mind that our levels of adventure may be different.

Your heart might skip a beat when you buy 2% milk instead of skim. Or when you turn off tom-tom and just drive. Or when you pack up and move to a place where the face in the mirror is the only one you recognize. Or when you jump off a rock 90 feet above the sparkling blue water of the Mediterranean Sea.


Whatever it is, we crave adventure. It makes my heart burst. Adventure is the rush that comes with knowing that something about this moment is out of your control and you absolutely love it.

I received Francis Chan's book crazy love yesterday. The foreword says this, "God put me in Simi Valley, California, to lead a church of comfortable people into lives of risk and adventure. I believe He wants us to love others so much that we go to extremes to help them." I have a funny feeling that if I keep reading I will be challenged beyond my wits and, should I choose to change, every day will be a crazy adventure.

I'm confident that you and I crave this because God made us to want passionate, vivacious lives. If jumping out of planes can become routine, then why were we created with this bottomless pit? Jesus -- God -- left a heavenly throne to come to our floating sphere of dirt and water to save us from the worst imaginable fate... eternal separation from him. He's given us rather adventurous guidelines to follow if we want to be part of his work here. Reckless abandon is all he asks...

Here's the bit that gives me confidence to jump: "...we are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor , yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything." 2 Cor 6.8-10

Surprise!

The first thing I want to do after a sedentary day at the office is to run. Today was going to be adventurous: I was going to explore an unknown, new-to-me route at Garden of the Gods. Crazy, I know. About ten yards in I discovered my legs felt more like a Clydesdale’s than my own. After 43 minutes of running and stopping and backtracking and cutting through hillsides of baby cacti and shrubs, I found the trail I needed and walked the last mile back to the Taurus. 

At the same moment I was blindfolded by a cobweb, I was asking myself a question. Why are certain character traits so much more revolting to me than others? Am I afraid that the one trait I despise most in other people is in fact true of me?  

Take self-centeredness and self-promotion, for example. I get sarcastic and roll my eyes when I see it. Is it because I am more self-centered than I’d like to be? I rarely update my facebook status. I often consider it one of the biggest "who cares?" on the internet. Last week I posted a link to my blog on my facebook page, at the suggestion of one of my friends. After he posted his blog on facebook and told me how many people had visited five minutes later, I put on my pretend look of shock and told him it was shameless self-promotion. And then I did it and felt queasy about it. I might do it again today. 

Here’s the catch: I think we all possess those traits we dislike in a style more pleasing to us. With self-centeredness, it’s not that I don’t want to be noticed; I do. We all do. But I prefer to be stumbled upon than force everyone within the sound of my voice to notice. Same with my blog: I’d rather it be found by accident and enjoyed as a pleasant surprise than to see that you visited because I told you it would be a pleasant surprise. See the difference? It’s not a surprise when I tell you it’s going to  be a surprise. I think the moral of this story just became my love for surprises. 

The End.

The Blob

The 20-somethings of the world are establishing a trend. Instead of dating, they're blobbing. The older generation, happily married 25+ years, can't understand it. Grandparents certainly can't understand it. I don't even think 20-somethings understand it, but they surrender to it anyway.

The blob is a mass of people that intend to remain "just friends" until death do we part. Almost every one of those people, if cornered, would admit to wanting love and marriage {note: this does not make them desperate}. I call it 'the blob' because it follows you and sucks you in until you disappear inside it and make it just a bit bigger and more powerful than it was before.

It seems to me that most people want to be married but feel strange admitting it outright. Instead, we go in secret to the privacy of our computers and become one of 20 million people per month that try online dating in hopes of finding that special someone. After a date with Chainmail Guy and the dude in metallic spandex, Comb-over Man arrives wearing chinos and a tucked-in polo...only to reveal he's been in college for 12 years and lives with Mom. With no luck in love, we return to the blob so we can at the very least enjoy our weekends once more.

blob.

The blob is fun and easy. It requires very little of us, and everyone gets a half-hearted version of what they truly want. I guess that's worth it. Guys don't have to commit or risk rejection, and girls get companionship...sort of.

I promised myself I would not tell this story to anyone, but as it turns out, I've already told 342 people so I might as well make it available on the world wide web. It's a story about a gutsy guy who made me swoon in less than nine seconds. Why? Because he knew what he wanted and went and got it. That makes a woman out of a girl.

I had just finished working the registration table for an event we were holding in Washington DC. I was a bit frazzled and standing in between two of our Directors. Both men. This strapping young lad left the reception, walked right up to me and after looking at my nametag, asked if that was my real name. I was not in the mood for whatever this was. Of course it was my real name, and I told him so. Then he told me that he asked because he simply had to know my name. Call it cheesy, but how many of you fellas would actually have the guts to do it? Needless to say, my mood changed -- for the rest of the week. The following details are irrelevant to the topic, but whether or not I see him again, he will always remain an icon of sorts.

Now I know that men are capable of this. I'm quite certain I didn't dream that up. I was beginning to wonder if what everyone said was true: if I didn't give a guy googly eyes, bake him cookies twice a week and offer him my heart and soul on a silver platter, I'd be lucky to receive a nod in my general direction.

This post was not to draw any conclusions; it was simply to stir the pot. And to the dear friends in my own blob, I love each of you and can't wait to encourage every one of you to make your move.