Do what you love

I love this phrase: Do what you love. Love what you do.

Lately my parents keep pressuring me about "getting ahead" in life. They tell me that I should be looking for better options other than my current Caribou job. My dad makes a good point that if I "still haven't done anything" by the time I'm in my late twenties, everyone else my age will have master's degrees, working at much higher-paying jobs, and overall will have a better-looking resumé than I.

But there's a war going on inside of my heart. I want to be able to pay for rent, insurance, my car, living expenses--the usual things--but at what cost?

I feel like there are so many jobs out there that I could get, but I would be sitting at a desk all day, either answering phones or entering data into a computer. Why even bother living if that's what I do with 40 percent of my life?

I don't mean to criticize those who do have jobs that fit that description, it's just that I am much different. I have never been able to sit still. I've never been able to fit the mold of most working Americans because I've always made my own mold.

When I was an infant, my mom put me in one of those baby carriers and I somehow found a way to wiggle my way out of it. She also tried putting me in one of those automatic swinging chairs, but I held out my arm and grabbed the stand so it would stop.

I believe I am and will always be the same way for the rest of my life. I cannot "do what everyone else does." It's like a code that my body cannot read.

I love pouring lattes. I love moving around all day. I like having short-term tasks. I like to be really nit-picky and detail-oriented. I don't like doing the same thing every day. I simply cannot do it.

Someone once told me, "Your job shouldn't define who you are. It's just a way to pay the bills." But that's not good enough for me. Even if I were marginally satisfied at a job, I still wouldn't be pleased with myself.

As my parents have lived much longer than I and have a lot of wisdom, in their efforts to prevent me from loss, they have cloaked me with a veil of comfort and security. They tell me to do this and don't do that, but what they don't realize is that beyond their covering is a vibrant, unique individual who simply cannot be "protected" from the world with rules and instructions.

I would say that one of my main goals in life is to follow the phrase I mentioned above. I do not want to live my life according to the standards set by typical American society, or even the standards of the people whom I love. I simply want to do what I love and love what I do.

Love songs

I had somewhat of a epiphany while I was at worship practice the other night.

I have always heard people pray before worship by thanking God that we live in a country where we can "freely worship him." I've always felt sort of guilty and uncomfortable when they say this, because frankly, I've never shared the same intense gratitude as some have. I know that I should be thankful that I do not live in communist China, where many Christians have been persecuted for their faith. The problem is that I just don't feel that heavy burden that others may feel.

Putting guilt aside, I asked myself, "Well, in what other ways can you be thankful in terms of musical worship?"

Then I started to think about the Current. In the past week I've been really enjoying turning my dial to 89.3 and hearing some really talented musicians. As I've been listening to some awesome songs, I am hearing lyrics, I am hearing notes, and I am hearing passion. But I keep wondering, who are they singing to? Who are they singing for? Why are they singing? Where is this passion coming from, and where is it being channeled?

Whenever I hear songs that are written for any other purpose than to give glory to God or to point people towards God, I feel such an emptiness whenever I listen to them. I wonder, what does this musician feel after they've created and performed such a great work of art? When they are singing lyrics about a woman, things in nature, war, peace, their life--Do they experience hope? After the crowds cheer and their adrenaline is pumping, do they feel as though they have done something that surpasses all joy? Do they feel whole?

As I was singing the other night, my voice had begun to get very sore by the end of the practice. But as I was singing lyrics like, "You are my supply, my breath of life," I thought, for who else other than the Lord God Almighty--the Creator of heaven and earth--should my voice be sore from singing?

Then I realized that I did have something to be thankful for:

I am thankful I don't have to sing songs about whether war will ever cease, because He has already brought peace. I am thankful I don't have to sing songs about brokenness because He is the one who can heal pain. I am thankful that I don't have to sing songs about whether there's a man out there who can love me and take care of me because He is strength of my heart and my portion forever.

I am thankful that I can have the satisfaction of singing to someone with all of my heart and all of my strength who deserves to be sung to. There is no questioning about what this "life" is for or who this life is for--the answer is Jesus.

I am thankful--sometimes even overjoyed--when my voice is tired and my fingers are numb because it is all in the pursuit of giving glory and honor to my brilliant Creator, my Father in heaven, my Redeemer and Friend, Jesus.

Ordinary

I have been hesitant to ever write a blog for fear that it will be a big waste of time. Who cares what I have to say? Who wants to read about how I like to see fresh vacuum lines in the carpet or long for a husband to laugh with?

I find that dozens of thoughts, feelings, and ideas that fly past my head in a day get tossed out like garbage because the "better" part of me believes to know which ones to keep--the ones that will be relevant, useful, and valuable in my day-to-day experiences. There is no need for all of those excess "silly" thoughts. No one cares about those.


The conclusion that I have come to is that all of those little, "ordinary" thoughts, feelings, and ideas that I carelessly label as unimportant, unoriginal, and just plain silly--are on the contrary, very extraordinary. The collection of all of those ordinary things is what distinguishes me from just being a living, walking mass of organs and flesh. I have realized that silly or not, my thoughts deserve to be kept.

So I am making a commitment to myself to stop throwing away those thoughts and bringing them out into the light. No more pressing the delete button out of fear of what may or may not be important. From now on, I am pretending that there is no such thing as an unimportant thought.

I look forward to seeing what silly things I will come up with to post on here and I hope you will too.

Leggings and blogging

I've never been one to hop on bandwagons or follow trends. On the contrary, it is in my nature to resist them with brute force. But in recent years I have realized that I have this habit of resisting trends for so long that I eventually lose all self-control, I deny myself, and succumb to trends just as they are retiring--when they have become irrelevant, unpopular, and even in some cases--dated.

Over the years, for example, I have resisted purchasing leggings because so many girls abuse the original purpose for which they were created and wear them in place of--dare I say--pants. I did not want to ever be categorized with such fashion miscreants, so I resisted the spandex altogether.

But recently I have made the profound discovery that wearing leggings--not as a replacement for pants and worn in public, mind you--is actually quite practical. When I wear them to bed, they stay put, unlike regular pants that creepily sneak up my legs as I sleep. When I am doing chores around the house, such as sweeping or mopping, they stay snugly attached to my legs and do not get in the way like regular pants, which sweep dirt around and get wet in the random puddles of water around my kitchen.

I have also succumbed to the not-so-recent-trend of writing a blog. Maybe I am imagining things, but I recall blog-writing becoming really popular around four or five years ago and its novelty has been slowly declining ever since.

So now, here I am, feeling hip and groovy in my leggings and writing a blog. I feel as though I have somehow been defeated by our culture, but I don't care.