Tuesday, February 17, 2015

I want you to be my best friend.

I am discovering another thing about myself (this is something people do in college).

I want everyone in the world to be my best friend.

You are friendly to me?  Not good enough.  You are probably doing it just to be nice, you don't actually like me.

You make time to invest in my life and encourage me often? Not good enough.  I also need you to need me.  I want you to come to me when you are sad and when you need somebody to talk to.

So this leaves no room for the 99.9% of people in the world who are just kind or who want to be a "mentor" of sorts or who don't know how to be that kind of friend because they've never learned.

This is probably just another leaf on my giant bouquet of insecurity.

A few thoughts in lieu of a proper conclusion...

 * If everyone were really my BFF, I would be exhausted.
 * Insecurity is telling me that people are just being kind because they are kind.  Instead, what if I told myself that they actually like me as a person
 * Sometimes, people's personalities and loving styles are just different.  It's not a matter of liking or disliking someone.  It's just life.  So if someone doesn't think they need me as a best friend, it doesn't mean anything's wrong with me.

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

A Post in High Resolution

New Year's resolutions, the list.  Ready, set, go.

1.)  This year, I resolve to bring my acne problem down a notch (yes, you're welcome for this information).  Nothing is working.  That strong, salicylic acid stuff dermatologists recommend is too rough on my skin, so it's time to try a cleanser that is both gentle and effective.  I could also couple a warrior of a cleanser with a nice pH-balanced lotion afterwards.  And probably the most important acne-fighting measure is to wash my hair more often.  Come on, Eliza, you hippie :)

2.)  The other more important resolution is to let people live their own lives the way they want to.  Or, in the immortal words of Cole Porter, "live and let live".  People do not want advice unless they ask for it.  People do not want to change their lives for the better until they are ready to do it.  This is good practice for being a wife who is not an annoying nag as well.  

Most of the time, when people's lives are a giant whirlwind of self-destructive behavior, it stems from the fact that they don't love themselves.  And they are bad at loving themselves because someone else was bad at loving them at some point or another.  So it's possible if I just offer them the kind of unconditional love God offers me that they will start to love themselves a little better.  And then they'll want to treat themselves better.

I don't know if this is a clear explanation, but it makes a lot of sense in my head.  And it will be pretty hard to carry out at times.

So it's time for a year where I let people mess up their lives and love them anyway.  And also fewer zits.


Monday, May 5, 2014

This is a problem.

Here's something I've been learning at college... I get frustrated by anything I consider to be weakness.

If someone is fragile, shy, insecure, or not totally emotionally healthy, it can spark this fire in me.  And not the nice, spiritual, righteous sort of fire that's the kind we want.  More like the kind that's mean and unfair... like a grease fire.  I mean, anything that ruins a pan full of bacon is just plain cruel.  But I digress.

Why do I get all peeved when someone is too shy to assert themselves?  Or when they aren't able to be open and honest about something that's hurting them?  Why does this tick me off so much?  Where is my Jesus-given compassion?

Maybe it's because I am insecure.  The things that I have to work so hard on to overcome... when they show up in someone else I get all agro.

And I think this happens with everyone.  Because when I am feeling sad or insecure, sometimes people don't seem to notice or try to do anything about it.  It is a lot of work to draw someone out of their shell and it's kind of uncomfortable and awkward for the drawer-outer.  Maybe they feel the same way I feel in their position: "just get it together!  Why do I have to do all this work to make you feel good?".

I believe this is why people like outgoing, seemingly confident friends.  I know I do.  I like to hang out with people who already seem to love themselves and don't need me to.  And when people like themselves, they unconsciously give me permission to love myself too (that may be a partially plagiarized quote from somewhere, but not sure where).

This is the exact and utter opposite of Jesus.  I need His compassion and unconditional love.  Because the only way to break this yucky cycle is to go against the natural way of things and love people when it's hard and when they need it most.  Goodness knows I need people to do that for me.

If you made it to the end of this little post, you are a stud.  You deserve a Butterfinger bar.

(With imperfect) love,

Friday, April 19, 2013

A Plea

Dear Schoolwork,

Please just go away.

I know we only have two more weeks together, but those are exactly 14 days longer than I can tolerate.

I've been a fantastic student all year.  Hours and hours every day locked in the basement with an egg timer and a stack of books.  We've had some good times together, but it's time for you to leave.

Anatomy class, you can stick around if you like.  You were easy and fun and interesting.  Let's hang out in college okay?

Oh geometry.  Geometry.  Why do you hate me so?  Why are you necessary?  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will never be a civil engineer.  Why doth the government require me to take you?  Your proofs and your transformations and your evil habit of bringing back algebra I never really learned.   We are never ever getting back together.

Chemistry, you aren't that bad.  What a pleasant surprise.  Your evil twin, College Chemistry, lurks in the shadows, but for now Chemistry, you are tolerable.  But your little sister, Chem Lab, makes me write alllll these lab reports, and they are stacking up and growling at me.  Why do they hate me so?

College Prep Writing.  Our relationship has been rocky.  Moments of triumph and moments of despair.  I've learned a lot about my skills and my interests and about what writing really truly IS.  But I wrote your seven page research paper already.  It's time for you to go off and chat with Poe or something.  Leave me alone?  Please?

Your little senior,

Friday, April 12, 2013

How to Remember

Yesterday, I got a mini miracle, and I want to remember it.

It had rained for the third day in a row and it was cold outside.  Looks like another tennis game was about to be cancelled, and that we were headed for another tough practice in the gym.

I had a major case of senior-itis, and was "repulsed by the very touch" of schoolwork.  I was being Oscar the Grouch.  I really wanted to watch this cool Jodie Foster movie called "Nell" about a lady who's so isolated for years that she makes up her own language (she's something of a wild woman).  I wanted to watch it with Mom.

Mom and I settle down for Nell, and she gets a phone call.  The phone call takes way longer than she estimated, and now we can't watch the movie and I have to leave for tennis.  And I fall apart.

She's braiding my hair and apologizing for my Nell-lessness, and I just go into attack mode.  She tells me something she's excited about and I'm like "you'll just change your mind again.  You keep doing that."  And Mom starts to cry.

So now I'm grumpy and pouting and unhappy with the world and I've made Mom cry.  Yippee.
As a last ditch effort, I grab Mom's hands and say "let's pray."

"Dear God," I whine, "I really don't want to play a game today because it's so cold outside, and last gym practice we ran so much my lungs hurt bad."  (I start to cry) "And I didn't mean to make Mom feel bad.  Please make her stop feeling bad."

I go to grab my stuff, and Mom goes to call Mr. Carr and check on his current plans.

And you know what?

Mr. Carr had cancelled both the practice AND the game.  "I think another gym practice would be too hard on the girls," he said over the phone.

And then Mom and I sat down to watch Nell.


That little mini-miracle meant a lot to me.  And I'm blogging about it to remember it.
Nothing like that is worth getting bummed over.
God seriously cares.  He won't leave you hangin'.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

What I liked about my Dad

I wrote this last year, and never got up the nerve to post it.  

It's about time :)


With Thanksgiving bounding its way toward me, holding pie and ham and mashed potatoes in its friendly orange arms, I thought I'd write a little post about what I'm thankful for about who my Dad was.

I've got to start off by saying: yes, my dad was abusive.  They say you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but it's the truth and there's just no getting around it.  We all still hurt.  Still, not to excuse his behavior or anything, but he was hurt pretty stinking badly in his life too.  And hurt people hurt people.  I feel like all I do is talk about the hurt, but my dad was actually a pretty cool guy and he deserves better.  So here's my list:


He used to take us all religiously every year (unless we decided to swap it out for a state fair outing) and those were some of the best times of my little kid years.  Dad was a ride nut.  Rollercoasters, space shot, spinny rides, flying rides, water rides... and his enthusiasm was highly contagious. Just ask the Knittels.  Has anyone been on the Der Flinger?  The one where you swoop up and down in a circle in this white car deals?  Well, he always told me to throw my arms out and pretend I was flying.  He "whooo" noises on any ride were loud and unashamed.  I don't think his arms stayed down much at Adventureland.  He took me on my first rollercoaster (and being a wimp it took me a while to try one) at Arnold's Park in Okoboji.  Sitting in front of him on the log ride going over a big hill was a mistake though because his large self would lurch forward and squish you.  That was unintentional :)  I can just remember his smiling bearded face.  Amusement parks held good memories for him from his childhood.

In case you're wondering where I got my tendency to be a drama freak, it's from dad.  And mom.  And grandma.  But of my parents, Dad was the one who "made it big", so to speak.  He was with a traveling theater group called the Everyman Players for a few years and they traveled ALL OVER the U.S.  I wish I could hear more stories.  His favorite play they did was Pilgrim's Progress, and he played all the villians apparently.  Once he was inside the giant Apollyon monster costume with one other guy and they almost fell on top of some audience members because of foor marking tape mistake. That must have been an exciting night!

Daddy had a pretty baritone voice.  Everybody thought so.  He was always singing, and he had these kooky songs he'd make up about Stu and I.  They were tongue-twisting and full of madeup words.  Actually, his "songs" were more affectionate than a lot of his words.  I'd be in a room and he'd automatically launch into one.  It was cozy.

The watermelon
When I was one years old or so, Dad was a little chubby.  I dubbed his stomach "the watermelon" and one of my favorite games was to try to "climb the mountain".  This was a very exciting game!
Climb the Mountain morphed into Dad throwing a blanket over his entire self (this was a huge, lumpy, slippery blanket) on the couch, and Stu and I would clamber all over him.

He made good food.  Pancakes and waffles and apple pies and so many other good things.  He was the official cook in our family and did all of the grocery shopping (very frugally and with fervor).  Sometimes I'd get up early and help him by making scrambled eggs in the microwave.  And once I went strawberry picking with him at the berry patch.  Best day ever!

Dad really liked vacations and we took a lot of good ones.  One time he drove us out east to see Niagara Falls.  We spent three hours in Canada and once in NY stayed in a Hilton Hotel that he'd gotten a good deal on.  Man, was it posh!  We were on the 40-some-odd floor and they had a "waterfall" on a glass wall in the pool area and a tall waterslide.  We camped in the Pokenoes (brrrr) and saw my cousin graduate.  He was the one who instilled an unquenchable love of travel in Stu and I, and I'm thankful he valued it so much.

Thanks, Dad.  I can't wait to see the "New You", soon, with all the good stuff and none of the bad.  I can't wait to hug you.  You gave REALLY good hugs.

- Your "Fine Girl"

The Future?

 << Dublin

Hey there.

I feel pretty good about having planned out the rest of my year.  It was pretty embarrassing to waffle around for so long.  So hopefully, this is my last waffle. *crunch*

This summer, I was going to go to the Boy Scout Jamboree down south with Venture Crew.  But I reallllyyy felt sad about not getting to repeat my last summer with Teen Missions.  Through a startling turn of events, my summer plans completely flipped.  Now I've been accepted onto the Ireland/Northern Ireland team.  Basically, it's just like my France summer last year, only less baguettes.  Here's why.

It's another evangelism team with my same awesome leaders from France, same dates, same Boot Camp experience, same team size (extra small).  T.M.I. plans are pretty waffle-y like mine, but they think we'll be in Dublin for a while working with kids and doing street EV. Our one sightseeing event planned is visiting the Titanic Museum (cue "My Heat Will Go On").

This makes me so happy.  I've missed Mr. and Mrs. Foy, I've missed Boot Camp (what????), I've missed Europe.  I've missed that awesome intimacy with God that comes out of such a hard summer. The thought of never getting to do it again sounded devastating.

In Ireland, I can't wait to hear Irish accents, see if it's really as green as all the photos, maybe taste some Irish food (mmm potatoes) and they will speak ENGLISH!! Yay!  Learning French and hearing French and reading French and singing in French was the best thing ever.  But it was sad at times to literally listen to words for a half hour at a time and not be able to understand them.  What a weird feeling!


Okay NOW, I touch the ground at the Des Moines airport, and less than a week later, hopefully go to my new COLLEGE, Northwestern College in Orange City, Iowa.

But that's a whole 'nother blog post.  I have lots to say on that topic, but have run out of oomph.

Oh hey, and if you want to pray for the people we'll be talking to and showing God's kindness to in Europe, that would rock.