Coffee with Julie

Today it is snowing in St. Louis.  It's March 24, and there's 6 inches of snow on the ground with more to come throughout the night and tomorrow too.

Seriously??

But yesterday was near perfect.  Temperature finally peaked in the mid-50s around 2 pm yesterday, just in time for an impromptu walk in Forest Park.  I had about an hour to kill before I met my friend Julie and I have to say, that walk was one of the best things that happened to me all week.  I walked, I breathed in the spring air, I broke a sweat walking up Art Hill, and then I sat in the sun and watched the ducks.  Delightful.

And then this...

 ... but I digress.

Anyway, after my walk I had coffee with my friend Julie, who I met in college and saw a couple of times the first few months I was in St. Louis a few years back, but then lost track of until a few months ago when our campus ministry from Mizzou had an alumni night at the Schlafly brewery.  Holy cow we hadn't talked in almost two years.  She didn't know anything about Mom and Dad's divorce or me moving 5,000 times or about anything that's happened since January 2011.  After the alumni night, we started meeting for coffee again about once every two weeks and I had forgotten until then how much we have in common.  Some would say she does freelance design on the side, but if you want to know the truth, in my book she is a freelance designer with a real job on the side.  She very much understands what it's like to be an artist, mainly because she is one at heart.  And what she had to say to me yesterday is worth repeating because 1. I desperately needed to hear it and 2. I want to be able to come back to it at some point in the future.

Besides being an artist, another thing Julie and I have in common is our anxiety over (well... everything really, but especially) the issue of dating.  She recently started dating again and so as we've been meeting, I've been walking through this current relationship with her and hearing about her less-than-conventional dating process, at least when it comes to the way most Christians typically date.  The guy she's been seeing is a non-Christian and yesterday she told me about how through a number of conversations and just him processing life, he's basically become a Christian over the course of the past three months.  What makes it even crazier is that prior to this she and I were both on the same page with regard to dating:  cynical about men (especially Christian guys our age) and whether it was worth it to date them and skeptical of ever finding the right person period...

I wish you could've been a mouse in my pocket, Reader.  I wish you could've heard our conversation.  Because it in fact gave me hope during a time when I have been struggling with all of this... struggling for a long time with it, to be honest, and struggling in particular this past week not to believe the stupid lies in my head:  Literally, that I'm not a good pianist and that I'm never going to find the right person.  My friend Sherdonna (who's a songwriter) calls them "the tapes" -- you know, the tapes that play in your head that tell you how much you suck?  Yeah, those tapes.  Maybe you don't have them.  Lucky you.  Here me now, world:  sometimes it really sucks to be an adult artist.  Those damn tapes just don't stop.  The only hope I have of killing them at all is to be in my Bible every morning.  And even then, some days they just play on and on and on... and on... 

But again, I digress.  I'm not here to talk to you about the tapes.  Instead, I will give you snippets of yesterday's conversation, some paraphrased, some verbatim.  After she told me all of what's been happening, I basically said to her something to the effect of this...

(me, laughing): "Julie!  That's amazing!  But you realize you're one of them now, don't you?  You're totally one of those Christian girls with some crazy story of what God's done for you in your dating life... "
(Julie, laughing): "I know.  But the crazier part is that it's true!  You know, I used to be you.  I was so there... I totally started getting used to the idea of being single my whole life:  I was just gonna bypass marriage and then adopt when I was like 35 or 40.  That was the back-up plan.  And I have no idea if things with Chris will work out long-term or not.  But I'm not anxious about it, which is just as crazy as him becoming a Christian.  I didn't think it could happen:  I didn't think I was ever going to date someone normal... or that I could be normal during the process.  And I don't know that I would advise myself to date a non-Christian if I were to do it again.  But it happened and God has totally used it in both of our lives and it's been awesome and crazy to watch it happen right before my eyes."

. . .

(Julie):  "Katie, people used to tell me this and I never believed them.  But I want you to hear this and believe it:  You are gorgeous.  You are smart.  You are HILARIOUS.  You are super talented.  And you have a good head on your shoulders.  You are the complete package.  And someday, somebody's finally going to realize that and make the investment.  And it may not be on your time-table.  And you can't expect it to happen.  But all that stuff about it happening when you're not looking for it and about being the right person in order for the right person to find you is bullshit.  I'm always looking and I wasn't ever doing anything "right" according to the Christian standards of dating.  And [forget] what society says about when you should be getting married.  And [forget] what your body says about when you should be having kids.  It doesn't matter.  You can't compare yourself to anyone else because ultimately it's just you and God in this and that's what matters..."

... [except she didn't say "forget"] ...

We talked for two hours straight.  And I so needed to hear what she had to say... because I needed to hear it from one of my own -- someone who's right there with me, has been where I'm at, struggled with the same things that I have (displacement, restlessness, skepticism, cynicism), and had something amazing done for them so that they could believe in the truth and beauty of life and the gospel again.  Because when you're given grace, it changes you.  And the process is hard... like stupid hard.  And I can tell just from talking to her that Chris is tangible evidence of the grace of God in Julie's life.  Quite literally.  And her story is evidence of the grace of God in my life.  Because sometimes you just need to know that someone else gets it.  Pretty amazing if you think about it. 

And maybe it doesn't impact you the way it impacts me.  But that's probably because you don't know her.  Or maybe you're just in a different place in life.  And that's ok.

Last night, Julie went home and typed a big prayer into her online journal for me.  Her counselor tells her not to be afraid to pray big prayers.  I'm glad she's praying it because I don't even know where to begin.  But I suppose if she can pray it, then I can too...

I guess that's why we have the body of Christ.

Why I'm Late...

Guys, I have a problem.  It's called being on time.  And it's gotten really bad lately, especially if I have to be anywhere by or before 8 am, which has been a regular occurrence these past 2-3 weeks.  There have been a number of times that I've had to be out at Lutheran High by 7:30 or 8 am.  I consider it a major victory if I'm there within five minutes of the deadline.  I've also discovered that there is a law related to this phenomenon of mine.  I've entitled it Katie's Law of Time.  It goes something like this:  No matter how early I get up or how hard I try, in the end I will inevitably be late.  It's highly discouraging, especially because it really bothers my director and I basically feel worthless as a person when I come running in de facto, even if it's only by 2 or 3 minutes.

Statistically, if you count all the times that I ever have to be somewhere on time, I'm honestly batting about .275.  In the mind of my director though, it's more like .200 since the majority of the times that I'm late are when I have to be at Lutheran... usually for something important.  Like the bus leaving for tour.  Or contest.  Or when I'm adjudicating for the Grade School Festival.  It doesn't matter how early I get up or how much I prepare beforehand, in the end I will still be late.  What can I say?  Shit happens.  Literally.

Case in point:  This morning I was supposed to be out at Lutheran at 8 am.  This is at least the sixth or seventh time in the past three weeks I've had to be out there at that time (or earlier).  It takes me roughly 35 mins to get there from my house right now.  I came down the stairs at 7:10 to make coffee and scoot.  I still had to finish my make-up but I figured I could put it on while the coffee was being made, get my cup ready to go, grab a banana, leave by 7:20 and be fine.  I was the first one down the stairs and as I made my way through the living room to the kitchen, I felt something soft under my left foot...

[... before I go on, a little context:  within the past month, my housemom had decided she was going to Africa on a missions trip.  She's raised money and has been on a number of trips prior to this.  The non-profit she runs sponsors an orphanage over in Kenya and they've done all kinds of projects.  The object of this trip was to take supplies and meet up with an American who will help finish building a well for the orphanage.  And of course, today was D-Day: she left this afternoon around 3 pm -- incidentally, this week I'm crashing at a number of friends houses since it's inappropriate for me to stay there alone with her husband, but I digress... The point here is that last night she pulled out the suitcases to start packing, which of course sent their lovable golden retriever into a fit of pouting since he's been traumatized by them moving two or three times within the past three or four years.  He was not a happy pup at the sight of multiple suitcases being stocked with supplies being sent to Kenya.  In his mind, he was like "Nuh-uh.  Not again"... ]

... it took me about two steps to realize what I'd stumbled upon.  Literally.  Such an interesting present for me to find at 7 am.  And of course, being the first one downstairs, stepping in it, and knowing they had a lot going on today, who cleaned up puppers' mess off the hardwood floor?  Off the shag carpet?  Off of my shoe?  Yes.  Oh yes.  Oh... yes...  And I still had to finish make-up.  I cleaned everything up, washed hands, finished getting ready, left without coffee, and grabbed a banana on my way out the door, but it was too late.  The damage was done.  Estimated time of departure was 7:25 am.  I drove like a mad woman and pulled into the parking lot at Lutheran at 8 am on the nose, when I should have been in my judge's chair waiting to hear my first little pianist.

No matter how early I get up or how hard I try, I will inevitably be late...

Last week, I was late by 3 minutes on contest day because even though I had made both my lunch and my breakfast the night before and packed my bags to be ready to go, of course I had forgotten to get gas the night before and while en route to school, my gas light came on.  Somehow I managed to pull over and get gas in (no joke) 2 minutes but once again, nicht sehr gut...

I've spent a lot of time thinking about this issue over the past three weeks... i.e. as my director gets more and more miffed with each truancy.  I honestly don't blame her.  I appreciate people who are on time, mostly because it validates the fact that I didn't screw something up in my schedule or dream that I was supposed to be somewhere when I wasn't.  I've thought about the fact that when I'm late, I'm basically telling people that I'm more important than they are.  I've thought about how I have too much going on in my life right now to keep it all together and ticking in a timely manner.  I've thought about how I was raised by someone who was and still is consistently late.  I've thought about how my brain is still in college mode while my body just doesn't want to haul ass to get stuff done anymore (in college I knew exactly how to use 7 minutes worth of time and it normally included doing no less than 10 things... and somehow I nailed it every time).  I've thought about how people are more important than deadlines, how it's better to take care of the business at hand and do a good job (even if it's cleaning up dog poo or driving safely), worrying less about the immediacy and urgency of minutes rolling by.  And I've thought about grace and how much I value being extended grace, while simultaneously being called out of my problem with time-keeping (it really bothers me when people slather anger and guilt on me over their frustrations with me being late... it makes me feel like nothing else I have to offer is valuable.  I promise I'm working on it...).  I've also thought about how I try to defend myself in my mind, lashing out angrily and justifying myself by saying things like, "People just do not understand what a major victory it is for me to leave the house and get somewhere on time..."  Indeed it is such a battle, but it doesn't mean it's ok.

But what I think it really boils down to is this:  When you live deeply... I mean, when you're really living deeply, things like time limits and deadlines matter less than the people and thoughts and beauty and trauma you're coming into contact with.  And maybe that's a cop-out.  Maybe that's just another way of saying "there's too much going on and I clearly can't handle it..."  Partly yes.  But I think in my world, there will always be too much going on, even if it seems to others that there's nothing going on.  I honestly think it's just one of the ramifications of fighting the battle I'm called to in this world.  Every time I arrive somewhere safely and relatively on time, I count it a major victory:  I am here.  I made it.  Let's live the dream. 

Some people will always be punctual.  And they honestly deserve a medal.  But some people will never understand.  And I will just have to accept the consequences of that.  Because there are more important things than being perfectly on time.

"Yep, I'm late.  I am ever so sorry.  Please forgive me...?"