Flashbacks...
You'd think after almost 34 years of living, I would know by now that any hair-related decision I make impulsively is going to turn out bad. Very bad. Hideously bad. And yet, I keep on doing it. Deciding on a whim to cut my hair, color my hair, perm my hair, and every time it ends up being a disaster.
Like today, when I decided during lunch to have my bangs cut. Never, ever make a serious hair decision while ingesting copious amounts of pasta. There is a chemical in the pasta that relaxes your brain to the point that you shouldn't even be allowed to drive, much less make important decisions.
Or was it the wine?
Either way, my grand idea to whack off my bangs has left me in a sullen mood. Why, you ask? Because the woman decided to give me bangs that are so thick and heavy (girls, you understand what I'm saying), that I look like a reject from a bad 80's movie. These aren't cute, choppy, stylish Sandra Bullock bangs. These are the bangs I had in the 5th grade, which I happily wore along side my hot pink corduroy jeans, jelly shoes, and matching twist-a-beads. I'm getting woozy just thinking about it.
To make matters worse, a rogue band of pimples has overtaken my face in the last 4 hours. I'm living a pre-teen nightmare. Let's face it--I'm the poster child for DORKS-R-US.
May as well have another glass of wine.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I Think I Need to Go Home.....
Let me be clear about something. I wanted to come here. I wanted to live overseas. I prayed....or rather, begged.... that God would give us orders to Germany or Japan or England, or any place that didn't include the words "little" and "rock" in its name. I want to make that perfectly clear so that when you read the next few paragraphs where I whine and moan over everything that I absolutely hate about living here, you'll understand that it's just a phase. I will overcome. I will get better. I will survive.
The main problem here is that I haven't been home in over a year. For any of you who know me, you will know how that is killing me. Family is everything to me. I am extremely close to both parents, my brother and his wife, not to mention a gorgeous neice who is about 18 months old and transforming into a young lady before my very eyes (via e-mail, of course). She is walking, talking, clapping her hands, playing in the swimming pool....all the things you'd expect a toddler to do. When I left her, she was sleeping and pooping. See what I'm missing?
My father, a Baptist minister, took a job at a new church in March. I have yet to meet any of his church members, or even see a picture of his new church. In the past year, my parents have removed a huge tree from their backyard, added on to their patio, rearranged furniture and hung new pictures. I've missed all of it.
I know that people back home take it for granted, but I'd give my right arm to go shopping at Walmart.
I think Sunday was the breaking point for me. As we were driving to church (of course, because don't all the bad things happen on your way to church???), this German guy came screaming up on my butt, driving like a madman (which is the only way Germans know how to drive), yelling at me and motioning for me to get over. This is a huge pet peeve of mine, tailgating, and I'm pretty sure it was the Germans who invented this, so I did what any good American would do: I tapped my breaks and slowed down to about 30 km/hr, which is about 18 miles per hour. Translation: really, really slow. The whole time I was sobbing and yelling, "I hate these people! I hate this country! I want to go home!"
So that was my low point. I've managed to pull myself together, but the emptiness lingers just the same. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss Outback. I miss Wendy's. And no matter how much I love Germany; no matter how much I love the travel; no matter how thankful I am for the experience, sometimes a girl just needs the comforts of home.
Let me be clear about something. I wanted to come here. I wanted to live overseas. I prayed....or rather, begged.... that God would give us orders to Germany or Japan or England, or any place that didn't include the words "little" and "rock" in its name. I want to make that perfectly clear so that when you read the next few paragraphs where I whine and moan over everything that I absolutely hate about living here, you'll understand that it's just a phase. I will overcome. I will get better. I will survive.
The main problem here is that I haven't been home in over a year. For any of you who know me, you will know how that is killing me. Family is everything to me. I am extremely close to both parents, my brother and his wife, not to mention a gorgeous neice who is about 18 months old and transforming into a young lady before my very eyes (via e-mail, of course). She is walking, talking, clapping her hands, playing in the swimming pool....all the things you'd expect a toddler to do. When I left her, she was sleeping and pooping. See what I'm missing?
My father, a Baptist minister, took a job at a new church in March. I have yet to meet any of his church members, or even see a picture of his new church. In the past year, my parents have removed a huge tree from their backyard, added on to their patio, rearranged furniture and hung new pictures. I've missed all of it.
I know that people back home take it for granted, but I'd give my right arm to go shopping at Walmart.
I think Sunday was the breaking point for me. As we were driving to church (of course, because don't all the bad things happen on your way to church???), this German guy came screaming up on my butt, driving like a madman (which is the only way Germans know how to drive), yelling at me and motioning for me to get over. This is a huge pet peeve of mine, tailgating, and I'm pretty sure it was the Germans who invented this, so I did what any good American would do: I tapped my breaks and slowed down to about 30 km/hr, which is about 18 miles per hour. Translation: really, really slow. The whole time I was sobbing and yelling, "I hate these people! I hate this country! I want to go home!"
So that was my low point. I've managed to pull myself together, but the emptiness lingers just the same. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss Outback. I miss Wendy's. And no matter how much I love Germany; no matter how much I love the travel; no matter how thankful I am for the experience, sometimes a girl just needs the comforts of home.
Monday, September 11, 2006
I Remember, Too....
September 11, 2001
My day started like any other. Up at 7, get dressed, get breakfast, get Troy ready for school. Sweet Troy. My baby boy, who had just started the first grade. I took Troy to school, then returned home to feed Grace and get ready for my Tuesday morning Bible study. I remember exactly what study I was doing....Beth Moore, Jesus, The One and Only. We were only two weeks into the study, and already Tuesday mornings had become the highlight of my week. I loved the fellowship, I loved being in God's word, I loved it all. As I drove off base, I sang songs of praise to God for all that He had done in my life, for all the blessings He had given me and my family. My heart was so full of joy.
Little did I know, that at the exact moment my car left the front gate of base, the first plane was crashing into the World Trade Center tower.
When I arrived at church, I headed right for the nursery to drop off Grace. I walked in and saw several ladies gathered around the radio. I couldn't imagine what they were listening to so intently. I asked, "What's going on?" to which they replied, "Shhhhh!" I put Grace in the walker and went to listen. I only heard bits and pieces...."Plane....crash...trade center....dead." I was stunned and confused. We all decided that it was such a tragic accident. And then I kissed Grace goodbye and headed to class.
It seemed like only minutes later, the secretary of our church came into the classroom to tell us that another plane had hit the second tower, then the Pentagon, then news of the crash in Pennsylvania. Of course it was clear by this time that this was all a huge terrorist plot. We all began to sob. We prayed and cried, then prayed again, then cried again. We didn't study at all that day. Later on I found out that the base had been completely shut down, and only housing residents were being allowed to enter. The school was also dismissing the children. I rushed to pick up Troy, headed home, turned on the TV to pictures of fire and ash, and held on to my precious children for dear life. Blake was working in Georgia, and I felt so alone. I was scared. Very scared.
People say that hindsight is 20/20. Sometimes we can look back on the pages of our life and see so clearly how God worked. How he protected us. How he used the bad to bring about such good. September 11, 2001 was one of those times. A few days later, Troy was asking me questions about life and death, Heaven and Hell. I explained to him how Jesus died on a cross for our sins; how He loves us and wants to live in our hearts; how we can trust in Him and live forever with Him when we die. It was a casual conversation, but Troy was hanging on every word. That night, as I tucked my precious baby into bed, he said, "Mommy, I want Jesus to live in my heart. When I die, like the people in those planes, I want to see Jesus. Can I pray now?"
Yes, good can come from bad. From the ashes of September 11, 2001, my son was given life...Eternal Life in Christ. And that is something I will never forget.
September 11, 2001
My day started like any other. Up at 7, get dressed, get breakfast, get Troy ready for school. Sweet Troy. My baby boy, who had just started the first grade. I took Troy to school, then returned home to feed Grace and get ready for my Tuesday morning Bible study. I remember exactly what study I was doing....Beth Moore, Jesus, The One and Only. We were only two weeks into the study, and already Tuesday mornings had become the highlight of my week. I loved the fellowship, I loved being in God's word, I loved it all. As I drove off base, I sang songs of praise to God for all that He had done in my life, for all the blessings He had given me and my family. My heart was so full of joy.
Little did I know, that at the exact moment my car left the front gate of base, the first plane was crashing into the World Trade Center tower.
When I arrived at church, I headed right for the nursery to drop off Grace. I walked in and saw several ladies gathered around the radio. I couldn't imagine what they were listening to so intently. I asked, "What's going on?" to which they replied, "Shhhhh!" I put Grace in the walker and went to listen. I only heard bits and pieces...."Plane....crash...trade center....dead." I was stunned and confused. We all decided that it was such a tragic accident. And then I kissed Grace goodbye and headed to class.
It seemed like only minutes later, the secretary of our church came into the classroom to tell us that another plane had hit the second tower, then the Pentagon, then news of the crash in Pennsylvania. Of course it was clear by this time that this was all a huge terrorist plot. We all began to sob. We prayed and cried, then prayed again, then cried again. We didn't study at all that day. Later on I found out that the base had been completely shut down, and only housing residents were being allowed to enter. The school was also dismissing the children. I rushed to pick up Troy, headed home, turned on the TV to pictures of fire and ash, and held on to my precious children for dear life. Blake was working in Georgia, and I felt so alone. I was scared. Very scared.
People say that hindsight is 20/20. Sometimes we can look back on the pages of our life and see so clearly how God worked. How he protected us. How he used the bad to bring about such good. September 11, 2001 was one of those times. A few days later, Troy was asking me questions about life and death, Heaven and Hell. I explained to him how Jesus died on a cross for our sins; how He loves us and wants to live in our hearts; how we can trust in Him and live forever with Him when we die. It was a casual conversation, but Troy was hanging on every word. That night, as I tucked my precious baby into bed, he said, "Mommy, I want Jesus to live in my heart. When I die, like the people in those planes, I want to see Jesus. Can I pray now?"
Yes, good can come from bad. From the ashes of September 11, 2001, my son was given life...Eternal Life in Christ. And that is something I will never forget.
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