Scaling the Wall

I think, to this point, my life has been relatively easy. It doesn't always feel that way - in fact, sometimes when I'm facing a particularly high wall on this obstacle course of daily life, I can't imagine that I'll ever be past that wall. I stare up at the wall already feeling defeated. I refuse to consider the previous walls that  have been conquered with God's strength, and label it impossible. I turn my back on the wall instead of calling out to God for help. I lose myself on the internet, wasting another afternoon. And, far too quickly, the weeks follow the days down the drain, and not only am I no closer to scaling that wall, but I'm getting even more comfortable in my own static existence. 


What to do?


I try to remind myself of a few things when I reach such a point. I remind myself that God is my source of strength. I think Philippians 4:13 was the first verse I memorized when I was little (had to be either Awana or the Donut Man...). That verse is often referenced when facing difficult circumstances, and even when facing things that are seemingly trivial. I've even seen it used in battling the urge to bite your nails. So, broad applicability? Certainly. Encouraging? Definitely. But, the other day my pastor preached from chapter four, and preceding that famous verse thirteen are some equally powerful words. Beginning in verse four, Paul writes,

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. ⁵Let your reasonableness be known to everyone.The Lord is at hand; ⁶do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. ⁷And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

As I face (or run away from) that wall, the wall that is an endless source of frustration and stress, am I still remembering to rejoice? Or am I letting anxiety creep into a life that has been bought at high price? This is what I've been meditating on lately.

So, this week, I'm no longer ignoring the wall. But even though I'm facing it knowing that God is my source of strength, the wall doesn't look any smaller. From my perspective, it still looks scary. Threatening. Insurmountable. The external circumstances remain the same. If not this obstacle, then another. What has changed (or rather, is changing) is my internal condition. These verses are a reminder that my focus is to be on rejoicing in the Lord, not on anxiety over obstacles that are comparably minuscule. Rather, my role is to rejoice and present my requests with thanksgiving. Then, when that wall is scaled with God's strength, it will not be for my own personal sense of satisfaction. It will be scaled so that I may, in some small way, bring glory to God.  

Gloria in exelsis deo.

Weapon of Mass Consumption

Wandering my way through the Anthropologie website is enough to make me quit this whole grad school thing and put that tuition money towards ordering their entire winter collection. Money well spent, right?  Perhaps I would regret that decision in the coming weeks. *ponders this* Hmm. Nope - it'd be really difficult to be sad with this hanging in my closet. I'd have nowhere to wear it, yes, but that's not important. (Hi Dad! Just kidding! PS - Need money for Trader Joe's!)

So, may I present:

{Adorable Things I COULD Have Spent My Tuition Money On}

1) See link above. Or click here. That, my friends, is autumn summed up in one piece of clothing. Unfortunately, my current geographic location didn't get the memo about the seasons changing and it's still 112 degrees here. (Also unfortunately, it's ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY EIGHT DOLLARS! But, since we're spending my tuition money, we'll just refer to it as "half an hour of a lecture on Poe"). 

2) Since, as mentioned, it's 112 degrees here, it does seem a little absurd to be shopping for coats. I freely admit this. However, if I were to own this one, I'd just turn up the air conditioning and wear it anyway, because, hello! That is a coat that needs to be shown off despite the weather forecaster's cheery predictions of triple digit heat.

3) However, since I'll have spent my tuition money, I'd likely move back home where the temperature sits at a balmy 60 degrees. Which would give me an excellent excuse to wear this cozy, can't-help-but-smile cardigan, or 

4) this I'm-walking-to-Starbucks-for-hot-chocolate-where-I-will-stumble-across-Mr.Right sweater.

5) Hmm. Still have tuition money left. Well...why walk to Starbucks when I could drive to Starbucks?

6) Okay, that last one probably put me over, but here's one last item. Doesn't that just make you want to curl up and read Emma? That's what it makes me want to do. Except reading a classic novel would likely only remind me of my dream of getting that MA. Quandary. 

So, there you go. Thanks for helping me avoid my textbooks for a little while. Because, contrary to my daydreams of spending that money on the above, I did, in fact, spend it on filling my brain with useful factoids about T.S. Eliot's alleged anti-semitism and the scandal of Shakespeare's famous sonnets. Everything's more fun when it's controversial. Have a great week ~ I'm off to read Emma while cozily ensconced in my well-worn Target bedding.

Chocolate covered bacon? Check.

With all the cultural activities available within LA, the city is an excellent place to spend a weekend enjoying high-brow, sophisticated entertainment options. Take in the symphony, check out the Getty, hike to the Griffith Observatory - the options for educational activities are pretty much endless.

So, what did I do this weekend?  None of the above.

I went to the LA County Fair! And let me tell you: that place was 180 degrees away from your typical LA city experience. First of all, there were barns. And cows. And sweet old women explaining how to make your own dairy products. (20 minutes of churning to make butter? This wannabe domestic diva is gonna stick with Trader Joe's, thanks).

As we wandered through one of the many barns, we stopped to look at the chicken coop. And it was here that I realized, once and for all, that I am not, nor will I ever be, a country girl. Despite my hometown's slogan ("country close to the city"), I have reconciled myself to the fact that God's creation will be safer if I am firmly ensconced in a high rise apartment building. Nature will be better off. In this particular chicken coop, there were three relatively lively chickens enjoying their captivity within. Those chickens did not concern me so much as the one not-so-lively looking chicken in the corner. I tilted my head and leaned in to assess it. I watched for any sign of life. Nothing. I poked my friend, A, a fellow city girl who was spending her time in the barn with her head bent over her phone, texting.

"I think that chicken's dead," I, city girl, say ominously.
"What?"
"He's not moving! I think he's dead."
"I'm pretty sure that's a she."
"How do you know?" I ask, awed by her display of agricultural knowledge.
"Because it's not a rooster." Hmm. One point to A.
"Oh. Well, I think she's dead."
We both crouch down and get as close as we dare to the coop. We watch for the only sign of life that we know to look for in a potentially lifeless chicken: breathing.
"Did she move?"
"I don't think so." We stay frozen for a minute, watching. Waiting. Nothing.
"Should we tell someone?"
"Maybe."
We stayed there, not moving, for what felt like ages, but was in actuality no more than one very long minute. Finally, just when we were about to inform the powers-that-be that they were down one chicken, the hen sprang up and quick-stepped across the length of the pen, completely oblivious to the very concerned spectators.

Lesson? The next time you see a chicken that's seemingly without life, don't be too quick to call the Colonel.

Thankfully this eliminated any desire we had for chicken, because this is how it was being served at the Fair:

Apologies for the grainy photo (we can't all have iphones, people). If you can't surmise from the picture, that is a BBQ chicken sandwich served on a donut. Yes, a donut. Because, as we all know, LA is the land of healthful, organic cuisine. On the other menu boards around the fair: Deep Fried Reese's (probably would have tried this one, not going to lie), Frog's Legs (just...no), and Chocolate Covered Bacon (no words). Gross, right? Well...in an effort to truly experience the Fair, we may have opted for at least one culinary offering.

I give you: the Deep Fried Oreo.

And you know what? It was pretty good. Even though it cost this poor grad student an entire $6. And a future angiogram.

Yea, though I drive through the valley...

Driving in southern California has resulted in a few new driving habits for me. Upon entering my vehicle, I simultaneously cringe, grip the steering wheel so hard that I'm beginning to rub away the leather finish, and pray for safe travels. Not because of the infamous traffic. I can deal with traffic.

No, it's because when my little car passed the state line from Arizona into California, the cesspool that is the California highway system declared war on both me and my car. At first it was just the potholes. No big deal, just a few bumps here and there. I was just glad to be free from the snow at that point. Then the trouble began. While driving home on the 10 from downtown LA one Friday night, I was singing along, loudly, with Lily Allen. Probably driving around 80 mph. Then, BANG. Not good. It sounded like someone had fired a gun at me. Traveling through east LA, that was a distinct possibility...Anyway, I pulled off at the next exit, drove my car all the way up the excruciatingly long exit ramp and finally pulled into the sketchiest looking Chevron I've ever seen in my life. By this point, I could smell burning rubber. Yup - blown tire. As in, literally no rubber left on the rim. Excellent. 

This incident now caused me to think every bump, pothole, crack, piece of previously blown tire, and/or other debris I drove over was going to instantly destroy another one of my tires. (Oh, did I not mention I'm a complete and total worrywart?) This wouldn't be such an issue except for the fact that on the highways in California, there is a bump, pothole, crack, piece of previously blown tire and/or other debris approximately every nine inches. It makes for teeth-chattering, nerve-wracking road trips.  

Last week, just when I was beginning to gain a little more confidence in my ability to survive trips longer than fifteen minutes, I ventured back into Hollywood with friends. Mistake One: Volunteering to drive. Mistake Two: Missing a turn that resulted in having to make a U-turn. Mistake Three: Convincing myself and my passengers that the loud, echoing CLUNK we heard upon making the U-turn was just something in my trunk. Mistake Four: Driving all the way home, laughing nervously every time the CLUNK sounded, reminding said passengers that it "was just something in the trunk." 

Result?

Well, when I eventually realized that the car was, in fact, badly broken, I surrendered it to the shop and prayed it would be an easy fix. It was not to be. Struts, shocks, etc etc, four digit price tag. Apparently, the corrosion on the car from its time served in the Great North did not combine well with the concrete ditches that pass for roads in the Wild West. When I went in to collect the car, I mentioned my car was the one from out of state, and every mechanic in the place swiveled to look at me. A couple laughed. One looked at me with what was either sympathy, or just outright pity, and said: "Oooh, that one? Yeah, we've all taken a crack at that one. Yikes*, they just turned to dust" (*yeah, that's not exactly the word he used). I smiled nervously. "So, it's getting a reputation for itself, is it?" The owner, silent to this point, looked at me and said, "For that one, I'd recommend two sticks of dynamite. That oughta solve it." Awesome. 

Then, he proceeded to inform me that the car wouldn't be ready until the next day. Of course. So, that's how I found myself standing in a parking lot in the 107 degree heat, carless and newly impoverished. It was on the three mile walk home that I realized why Californians are so dependent on cars:

a) cars have air conditioning

b) there are precious few sidewalks, making any attempt at being a pedestrian extremely difficult

c) cars have air conditioning

d) cars allow you to keep a protective barrier between you and the sheer ugliness of much of this town. Don't believe the postcards, people. It isn't all a beach. But...that's another story for another time.