Wednesday, March 10, 2010

One of the most exhausting things I've experienced in life is to be pulled in two very different directions. I think, too, as Christians, this is an almost never-ending battle...never-ending, until the End. (An End to which I look forward with most anticipation.) My flesh, versus my spirit--a battle God promises us, but even with the guarantee is made no less difficult.

I already battle a never-resting mind. Even in my sleep I dream long, detailed, decision-rampant dreams; I get no breaks from my over-active mind. I don't say this as a complaint, necessarily. More just a statement of fact to paint a picture of the way I'm pulled every which way, every day.

I love shoes. I love clothes. I love fashion and looking good and dressing up. So I spend time maybe once or twice a month looking at my favorite websites at inexpensive clothes; I stick all the things I 'can't live without' in my shopping cart, and when I'm finished looking through every page at all the things I love (tops, shoes, bags, and necklaces), I go back through my shopping cart and pick a few things to actually buy. So I guess that's not a horrible practice. I don't spend hundreds of dollars a month on cute clothes...but I would like to. I would like to have a room-sized closet, wall-to-wall filled with beautiful things (very well organized). I would love to have a shoe wall-- a wall with ceiling-high shelves and row after row of glamorous heels.

But while I'm sitting here dreaming of said closet, I can't help but frown upon myself and these silly moments of flesh-relapse. While I sift through pages and pages of aesthetically pleasing attire, I feel a gnawing somewhere deep in my heart that tells me, "But this isn't what you were made for." (Can you believe my conscience ends sentences in prepositions?) My spirit is committed to something else. I don't want to say "greater," because that's not fair, and awfully judgmental, to people who don't have the future desires I have. So it's not "something greater," it's just something very different, on a personal level, that my spirit and I know, and have known, I've been committed to for a very long time.

This commitment has something to do with life being ever-short-- a brief and tiny flash of time spent here, and what I do with that little time. I'm still not sure what I believe as for purpose. Does God birth us for something specific, or do we assign our own? Either way, I'm to the same conclusion that my life is not about fancy clothes and shoes and shiny necklaces, but is far more about helping to give meaning to the lives of others. Not that a person can't do both, but I don't believe I can, because the shoes and the people are two very great loves for me-- loves that/who are at a constant battle for my affection. And because of this battle, because I can't seem to make room for both, I must prioritize. And people always, always come before things.
People are beautiful, and tender, and broken, and often unloved, and so they need my love, my care, concern, and attention. I could wear cute shoes and attend to hurting people. I could. But I can't. I want to love people who ache for love, and they don't need me to look any certain way. They just need me. My kindness or generosity won't be extended by a pretty blouse, but it could, in some circumstances, be limited. And if I'm truly going to devote my life to practically loving unloved people, how can I carry on in life with even the tiniest limitation on that love?

Anyway, as usual toward the end of my ramblings I'm getting muddled. But I write these things for me, anyway, and I think I've said to myself what I need to say.


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

So we all know I have issues. Commitment issues, lazy issues, procrastination daddy issues. But I've always had boy issues most of all (duh, right?). So I'm in this situation and I don't know what to do with myself. Well, ok, I know what to do. Walk away of course. Not care, of course. Forget about him, of course. But I'm no good at those things! Really, really no good.

So this boy. He drives me crazy when I'm with him. I mean, literally, all I think about is, "Oh m'word, is this guy for real?" He's so...self-absorbed. Not really in a cocky way; I don't think he thinks incredibly highly of himself...but he's ignorant of other's feelings. But we have so much fun anyway. I should qualify that, I suppose, because we don't seem to connect at all until we're drinking beer. It doesn't even have to be multiple beers, just enough that we're both relaxed. He seems to care more for people after a good beer. Or something? Oh who knows.

So he's incredibly, incredibly attractive. I'm talking, model-in-a-magazine attractive. He has, in fact, modeled for a magazine, but he's totally embarrassed by it, and never wants to do it again. He's rugged, tall, built, has a smile that could stop traffic (at least female traffic at a mall or something), and beautifully intense eyes. He's not a jerk in the usual sense...he's actually very nice. Very, very friendly and outgoing. Knows no stranger, all that. Oh, perhaps I should mention the dimples. Really, added up together, it's just not fair. To anyone. No one should be so pretty and not gated into Hollywood or something. I don't want to see someone that good looking out on the street in my neighborhood. It's not right.

So anyway. I hang out with the guy once every couple months or so, and I have yet to understand our interactions. He calls me beautiful and sexy, and to put it bluntly, he wants to sleep with me. So I guess he finds me attractive..?? But I know, really, really know, I would never, ever date him. Oh never, never. It makes me shutter a little bit to imagine such things. But I still want to be around him. I still want him to want me. He's by no means chasing me...he doesn't call often (I never call him), and he never makes advanced plans. Like, "Well, you wanna hang out next week, too?" Ha. No. So maybe it's the mystery (together with the dimples, of course), that I can't resist. I keep spending time and energy on this fellow. Granted, I limit our time to beer time, 'cause it's practically painful hanging out with him drinkless.

So what do I do? I know, I know: forget him. Move on. Et cetera, Et cetera, whatever. If it were that easy, we wouldn't have a romance movie genre at all. Oy. Somebody tell me something really wise. Something really smart that snaps me out of this entanglement. Bah!

Things I already know:
-He doesn't really care about me.
-You can never trust a pretty boy.
-Don't have sex with him. (This is not a problem. And a bit of a funny story.)
-Forget about him.
-Move on.
-Don't answer his calls.
-Don't answer his texts.
-Talk to him about how you feel. (That's never going to happen. Ever.)