Be Jealous

Tomorrow, I'm headed



I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.

That's a Whole Lot of Tan...

I am not happy about spending my entire lunch break to cancel my tanning package at Desert Sun. The bottom line is, no one in their right mind would spend $65 a month for unlimited tanning.

Nevermind the fact that I temporarily agreed to do so. I was certifiably crazy, trying to throw myself together in two days for Kj's birthday bash in Seattle. I didn't have a dress at the time, but one thing I did realize was this: everything I was destined to try on within the next few days would look that much better after a few visits in a Super Bed.

I wanted to tan.

And I wanted the Sales Girl to shut up.

So, yes, I buckled and paid $65 for "unlimited tanning" for a month, and there's nothing I can do about that, but I will be damned if I will continue to allow them to deduct said amount from my account every single month.

I don't even tan that much. And surely I will not, in hindsight, PAY for skin-cancer. No, thank you.

Give It Away

Last night, we had the opportunity to hear from Pastor Tracey Armstrong. He pastors Citadel Church just right up the freeway in Des Moines. This is the second time I've heard him speak, and something happened within me, at a particular moment in the service. He was talking about saying yes. About saying YES as a church, and showing up with expectation levels soaring, so that God can show up and work through our lives, to reach others.

Tracey is the epitome of passion. Everything he does is purposeful, which is something that is so inspiring to me. I'm drawn to passion. He exudes it.

One of my favorite verses in the bible is from Mark, and Tracey's messages went hand in hand with this scripture. It says:

Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? What could you ever trade your soul for? (MSG)

Lately I've been hearing so much about being "of the world", and honestly, that's not where I want to go with this post. That would be an entirely different post on its own. I think, when Tracey talked last night about laying it all down, he wanted us to stop wasting our lives living half-heartedly, in answering His call. We're chosen people, and chosen people are purposed to share Him with the world... and each gift may be a little bit different. We can all be shining examples of God, and each of our testimony is different for a reason. Your "harvest" is different than mine. Laying it down means putting aside selfish intentions, ambitious goals for success, and acknowledging our power as a church - as a collective body of Christ.

If someone has been saved by grace, time and time again - then their testimony will reach those who need to understand that you don't need to earn His love. It's impossible. We serve a God of grace, and grace means that no matter our sin, we're saved because of His ultimate sacrifice. But who can ever understand that, if we don't tell our story? The girl who dwells in her shame and thinks she's done far too much wrong to ever earn His love will never understand that his love transcends all humanity... what we've done doesn't matter. What we do, is what matters.

If someone has experienced His power of healing, how will someone else fighting a battle ever understand that our God is a God of miracles? How will they ever grasp that when we give up all hope... then that is when we truly begin to die? How will they ever understand that God WILL meet us at our expectation level. Only if we truly think something to be impossible for Him, will it be.

If I've changed because of God's love... then I need to give that love away. And I'm not necessarily talking in the physical sense. I'm talking about being love. I don't have to memorize scripture or remember the parables, word for word, that Jesus told. I don't have to speak to millions to save a soul. If someone is forever changed because of the love than envelopes them when they're in my presence, I'm living as He's designed me to live.

If, when I walk away, they feel that my presence is lingering around them and that they find themselves wondering, when I'm long gone... "what is it about her?" God didn't love me so I can bask in it alone. He loved me so that I could love others.

What good is His precious gift to the world, if I only take my share and allow others to fend for themselves? If I don't share what I've learned, what I've experienced... then it stops with me. And I won't allow my harvest to die.

Some People's Kids

Do you know what I love?

Getting into a "fight" at the gas station with the fifteen year old girl in the passenger seat of her mother's car, while her "mother" looks on stupidly; helplessly.

I mean, really? Control your child. Before I do.

And memo to the fifteen year old punk, throwing up gang signs as she barely peaked over the dashboard: when you learn to drive a car, you can tell me how to navigate mine.

Had you had ANY experience behind the wheel of said car, you would know that it was virtually impossible for me to pull forward to leave the pump. There was a lifted truck, an SUV and a Cadillac all at pumps in front of me. I had no choice but to back out, which was quite trying... seeing as to how the car chauferring you around town was waiting for it's turn at the pump, a mere inch from my bumper. But thank you, honestly, for taking it upon yourself to honk the horn, flip me off and tell me to drive forward. Really, that thought never crossed my mind.

I especially love how you made a spectacle of yourself as I finally freed my car from the gridlock of automobiles and drove away, getting out of mommy's car and coming at me like you were ACTUALLY going to beat me up.

Get real.

If you wanna do this, I'll meet you at the flagpole after recess tomorrow. Don't be late.

I've been PUNKED - for sure.

I know I can be dramatic (shut up, some of you). But today’s lunch hour was SO absolutely insanely WRONG, I have to document it. I have to! So, bear with me… I’m kind of laughing about it now, so you can too.

It’s okay, really.

First of all. We get an all-staff email saying that they’re really cracking down on lunches - we HAVE to take them at our designated time and we HAVE to be back on time. So, I don’t really feel like pressing my luck as it is; as the shining example that I am (haha) I leave at 1pm exactly.

My lunch “hour” is actually only thirty minutes, so time is really of the essence. I have a birthday party this weekend, formal, which is requiring me to be in the token “little black dress” I mentioned last week – which, by the way, I still haven’t found. So, with the 30 minutes I have, I decide I should probably go tanning (hold the critique please, this little fact is really beside the point). I’ll go in a Super Bed to maximize my time. Perfect; I’m planning ahead.

As I go to pull out of the parking lot, I weigh my options. Option A takes me down Lakewood Drive, which I usually avoid all costs although I think it’s much faster, because a stupid sneaky cop usually sits somewhere in the school zone, pulling over ANYONE going a half a mile per hour over 20. I don’t think my car can physically even do 20mph, so I decide on Option B… a bit longer of a route, but safer for my driving record.

Well.

Option B is five straight miles of road construction, which I don’t realize until I am too far into it. And you know the flaggers holding the Stop/Slow signs? Well, all eight of them must have been communicating, via walkie-talkie, the look of absolute annoyance written all over my face, because I got the fresh STOP sign.

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

As in, every car down to the one in front of me got to pass go. Except for me.

I love that God has a sense of humor.

Eighteen minutes into my 30 minute lunch and clearly with not enough time left to tan, I opt for Taco Time… my guilty pleasure. I love the ranch there. And I love their salads. I’m grumbling about the fact that now I have to tan SOMETIME after work and before church, but it’s a quick jump over to South Tacoma Way and I’m starving. I figure I’ll be back in plenty of time to stroll into the office at 1:29pm. Perfect, as always.

Oh, did you know there’s ALSO construction on South Tacoma Way? Yeah, me either. I swear, the city of Tacoma just LOOKS for ways to make commuting more of a headache. Why “construct” THREE different major travelling routes into and out of Lakewood at one time!? Are you kidding me?

I hear my phone now going off in my purse; MADLY. I’m talking some insane ring that I’ve never heard before and it won’t stop. I’m dodging orange cones, digging through my purse for my stupid wannabe iPhone and watching for the turn into Taco Time… I come across my phone eventually – unlocked and with 64 new calendar entries. I don’t even know that that means.

None of these “calendar entries” I entered intentionally; they were, in fact, entered by my wallet, makeup case, and various other items in my purse bashing against the screen of my phone during the past twenty minutes. I’m trying to shut up my stupid “alerts”, and right before I resort to throwing it against my dashboard, I realize that I can mass delete all 64 random calendar entries, therefore silencing the alerts I had “selected” to go off every sixteen seconds. I mean, really.

Oh, then I randomly turn into Wendy’s, rather than Taco Time. I do not want Wendy’s. I want Taco Time. I turn the wrong way down a one way parking lot, turn around and realize I can not RE-enter South Tacoma way this direction because of – yep, you guessed it – construction.

I won’t go into detail about how I got to Taco Time because I’m pretty sure I broke about fourteen laws and almost killed a pedestrian, but I got there.

I was happy for my taco salad. Ordering went smoothly. I am now on the homestretch of my lunch, returning to work. Annoyed, yes, but it’s almost over.

I have a killer migraine at this point. Almost to the point of tears.

I swing into the gas station for pills of some sort. Don’t judge me. Anyway, swing into the gas station and run into my ex-boyfriend. Yeah. I’m NOT kidding. Not much happened there, because I honestly just looked up to God and asked Him if He was kidding me, got right back into my car, and left – avoiding a conversation I really didn’t want to have, a conversation I made every effort to avoid at all costs by keeping this part of my past, in my past. The only thing I suffered was an awkward silence as we stared each other down for a moment as I weighed my options, and then an even more awkward silence (for him) as I mumbled some lame excuse about being late for a meeting, and got back into my car. It was painfully obvious. For him, not me.

Disaster avoided. And now my headache was gone from the sheer trauma of the events of the last half an hour – nice.Yes, and I did say “half an hour”… I was supposed to be back at work and was not. Awesome.

I get back into my car, start it… and you know how sometimes there’s a random CD error that spits out the CD you have in the player and resorts back to the plain old radio? Well, it happened… which would have not been so dramatic had the song not been Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry” – quite possibly my most hated song of all time.

I FINALLY get back to work, and get out my salad… sans ranch. The moron at Taco Time was in on this mess too. He forgot my freaking ranch.

By now, it’s all I can do not to burst into a fit of rage, but I stomp to the kitchen and find some random dressing in the refrigerator that I can use, begrudgingly. I eat my salad, begin working…And then notice the ranch. Which had been hidden UNDERNEATH the taco shell… which ONLY could have been seen AFTE R THE SHELL WAS CONSUMED… which made the USE of the freaking ranch, NULL and VOID.

I’m now debating blowing up Taco Time, South Tacoma Way, Gravelly Lake Drive, and the gas station, just by association.

The icing on the cake? As I’m finishing this sweet little note, my coworker just brought me my keys, which I had left in the kitchen. Typical Corianne.

She also asked me how I’m doing today.

And you know how I replied?

“Blessed.” :)

How I'm Blessed

Do you want to know how I know I’m blessed?

I’m blessed because in the midst of trial and tribulation, there is an inner peace in my heart that is never shaken. Ask me about it.

I’m blessed because my friends and family respect me enough to come to me for advice, even if they don’t ever take it. Ask them about it.

I’m blessed because I’m no longer a victim to my fears; any of them. God has taken my hand willfully enough, on many occasions, and led me straight into the fire that was raging in my mind – and I’ve come out refined. Ask Him about it.

I’m blessed because I have an amazing, and ever-expanding group of people in my life that love and encourage me always; for every friend I thought I had that has proven to be nothing more than an illusion, He shows me one more person that I may have taken for granted from time to time, that was waiting in the wings for me to overcome myself.

I’m blessed because just when it feels like I can’t take another step, I’m renewed. Again, and again, and again.

I’m blessed because when I can’t seem to find the words to say, He always does.

I’m blessed because I’ve finally embraced my passion; I’ve recognized when and how to fan the flames of this fire when it rages within me.

I’m blessed because just when I think no one understands who, or why, I am; I find a verse in the Bible, or in my favorite song, that reminds me otherwise. Read about it.

I’m blessed because I get IT. I have IT. I see IT. I love IT, and cannot live without IT.

I’m blessed because I can see how far I have to go… and just how far I’ve come.