Grace

Sometimes we receive things we really don't deserve. Actually, for Christians, we live in a perpetual state of having received something we didn't deserve. That never really seems to hit home, though, because we so often tend to think we're pretty swell. And in a way we are; we have talents and people can do amazing things.

This, for instance. 

Van Gogh: Undergrowth with Two Figures, 1890

But we're also complete failures. We are often self-conscious and feel inadequate, but still our response to receiving something good is usually pleasure but not gratitude and when receiving something bad is dismay and anger and not understanding and acceptance.
That's because we have a pretty high view of ourselves and think we can somehow control our fates by our own actions (think Christian Karma).

I just had a real-life experience that showed me just how wrong this idea is and how works-oriented I actually am.

So I got that speeding ticket I mentioned in my last post. Well, a friend suggested I talk to somebody we know who's knowledgeable about this sort of thing to ask him what (if anything) I ought to do about it.
He was very kind and sympathetic, recognized the fault, but also the guilt I felt. He told me I ought to request a court date, but he'd also try in the meantime to get in touch with the officer who gave me the citation.

I accepted what he said without really realizing what he was implying. We finished our conversation and I left it somewhat encouraged (he thought at the court date I could talk down the fine, which was an obnoxious amount), but also steeled for action: I'd mail that sucker in and WORK that court date. Even if they didn't reduce my fine, I'd still have done everything in my power to make it happen. They'd be the jerks that refused to listen to extenuating circumstances (I was lost!).

I had only about twenty minutes of this tragi-heroic daydream hashed out when our friend called me up.

"Well," he said. "I talked to the officer who pulled you over and explained the situation to him. He was really nice and understanding and he'll take care of the citation: you can throw it away."

"What?" I said. I was not even aware that this was a thing that could happen. Getting a ticket from someone and then that same someone magically making it go away. Our friend explained some more about how Law Enforcement works and what happened, and I thanked him profusely.

"Looks like the Lord knew you needed that money for something else," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "Brake pads."

We laughed, and he hung up. I suddenly felt guilty. Regardless of what followed with the officer who pulled me over, I probably had been speeding (knowing me and the situation), so I did deserve to get a ticket. It didn't seem fair that I hadn't done anything to right my wrong, but it was as if it had never happened, and I will suffer no repercussions from it. Surely I have to do something to fix it. It's not that I WANTED to pay the fine or get points on my record, but I also didn't want to get handed a freebie.

It turns out, of course, that I do need the money--I took my car in to the mechanic today to get looked at (the brakes are in fact squealing) and I don't yet know what the results of that will be, and I randomly got invited by my SO's parents to take a week off to go to Florida (Orlando and the Everglades, I believe) with them. That's not costing me anything for the trip, but it will cost a week's worth of income.

Then, of course, there is the added guilt from that, that I'm getting to do something pleasant and somebody else is paying for it.

Nobody else had to pay for my speeding ticket for it to go away, but I did deserve to pay for it. Because I didn't have to, though, I am able to take advantage of someone else's generosity, give up a week's worth of work, and experience something else pleasant.

So it's a two-fer of me receiving things I don't deserve and didn't pay for, and it's not fair.

Why don't we ever feel the unfairness of our salvation this strongly?

Maybe this sort of pride is why so many people don't like the ideas of irresistible grace and limited atonement: that kind of makes more sense to me now.
We're wrong to think this way about grace, but now I understand how those people feel.

Sunflowers, 1887

Japan, ho!

I might be returning to Japan again this summer for three weeks. To top it off, two of the girls I went with last year would be returning as well, so we could be on a team again.
Also, my significant other won't be around all summer anyways, so there's no guilt for abandoning him for almost a month to go to Japan. Interestingly enough, Anna's (one of the other girls from our team last year) husband was just deployed this past week for a year, so she's functionally single and also able to spend this amount of time in another country without leaving marital responsibilities. Funny how God sometimes works even unpleasant circumstances out so they're not quite as sad.
The main issue would be that I'll be losing three weeks of income to do this, but with some extra saving until that point, I should be fine. I just hope my employer doesn't hate me for taking that much time off.

Hopefully you can prepare yourself for more Japan posts, come July-August.

In other, belated news, I picked up a second job working for a Friesian horse breeder in the area.

Yes, they really look like this.

Yes, they are this epic.

And yes, they are complete lovers.

The owner wants me to help her feed, train, and ride her horses. So basically it's my ideal job--somebody pays me to sort of pretend his or her horses are my horses. 

It's a really lovely establishment, the owner is great, and she has some wonderful horses--I'm excited to learn more about the place and finish training so I can work there more regularly (thus far it's sort of an on and off again, once-a-week thing). 

In other news, I got a $159 speeding ticket yesterday because I was in unfamiliar territory, trying to read a friend's written directions, and gauging my speed by a car in front of me, since I didn't have extra brain energy to devote to reading speed signs (or, apparently, my speedometer). Unfortunately for me, the other car was speeding, but he, of course, did not get noticed by the cop. The thing that enraged me, though, is that I told the cop I had never been to this place before, and he kept acting like I should recognize street names and offices in the area. I asked three separate times for him to tell me where exactly I'd been speeding relative to my current position, and he refused to tell me and just changed the subject. 

So I still have no idea where I was supposedly speeding, which makes me very unwilling to accept the ticket. Also, there's an illegible note he wrote on the bottom of the paper--who even knows what that's about. Something about "ruff" and "white lines." Anybody with experience with this know whether I should try to contest this ticket? I really don't need to be forking over a random $160 for something I'm not even sure I did because I don't know where I supposedly did it. 

Any advice would be appreciated!

The end, for now. 

Hey, presto.

Life is okay.

I'm still working at Iron Bridge Inn (and enjoying it for the most part), and now dogsitting for a church friend on Thursday mornings. I've hit upon an ingenious solution for writing--I carry a small notebook with me to work. Anytime we're slow and I have nothing to do, I pull it out and write a few more sentences in it. There are only 32 pages (I hit page 11 today, and I've only been working on it for about a month), so when it's done I'll probably type it all up, edit it, and post it somewhere for people to read if they so desire. I wrote three pages today, and then a poem, because I was angsty. 

My problem is I never feel the drive to write poetry unless I'm being a particular sort of angsty. Thusly my poetry all tends to be variations on a theme of angst and bores and embarrasses me when I re-read it later. 

The story is fun, though. 

Hint: there is an alien. 

Actually, come to think of it, my story is like E.T., only not as horrifying. I think I accidentally saw that movie when I was very young because my parents weren't paying attention. It scarred me. This is exactly how my fear of volcanoes played out, only the movie in question was Dante's Peak and I recall hiding behind the couch while people dissolved in acid lakes. 

Half of this woman is a puddle of bubbling goo. 

If I think to myself "nightmare" and "alien", the first picture that pops into my head is of E.T., all white and pasty, lying at the bottom of the ravine or in the clear plastic sheeting.

This = Pure Terror

Incidentally, the second picture that comes to mind is this:

I blame this one on the fact I also live in a house in PA, surrounded by cornfields, and we had a German Shepherd.

Unfortunately, we do not also have Joaquin Phoenix living in the barn. 

At any rate, despite the fact I love Signs, I do not like aliens. I suppose those two facts are not mutually exclusive. 

True story--I made one of these hats. 

I also kept a spray bottle of water with me for about a month for 

whenever I had to roam the halls of our house alone. Ask my siblings.

To return to my original point: In my mind, E.T. sucks; my story is my attempt to remedy this, mentally. Caitling helped me come up with characters and their names. The basic story is that there is a family, and then an alien shows up in their backyard and all parties react. I don't know how it ends. I presume it will end well, considering I dislike tears and as of yet don't know if I can write well when the topic includes any sort of sentimentality. Stay tuned, though.

Anyhow, I feel kind of lame sometimes, living at home and working a non-college-degree-appropriate job. My comfort is I had the possibility of a couple college-appropriate jobs that would also have been awesome, but made the decision myself not to pursue them. If my reason for not pursuing them ceases to be a reason, I can always pursue them again later.

But I do feel better, writing.  

Disclaimer: there is a female butt I do not approve of. Awesome music, though. 

Not as complete a post as I would wish

My duck spree continues, though I figured it was high time to update this blog--just to keep in practice.
Since you last heard from me the boyfriend came to visit, my sister and her roommate got back from college, I got a speeding ticket, and finished Christmas shopping.

Everyday, pleasant things... except for the ticket. It was coming back from Pittsburgh after picking my sister and her roommate up at the airport. There's a section of I-79 that goes down to 55mph for no particular reason, and I wasn't paying attention, and passed a cop while going 70 mph. So he nabbed me. I was polite and I've never been pulled over before, but he was cranky and unimpressed and still gave me a ticket for $110 and told me to be grateful he didn't double it because of the work zone I was approaching that was still a half-mile ahead.
Rawr.
I was annoyed, obviously, but dutifully paid my fine. Then last night I realized I had two letters, dated one day apart, warning me about suspending my license for failing to pay fines. Apparently I still owed the state 0.50. The cop, might I point out, had horrible handwriting, and added up the numbers incorrectly, so they were all a scratched-out black spot on the paper. I wrote my check by remembering the total he'd given me when he snagged me.
So given that the price of an average piece of paper, printed, is 0.15, an envelope, printed, is about 0.13. Now, granted, they probably didn't have to pay postage because it's a government thing, but it's still costing money somewhere. We'll pretend it's not though.
They sent me:
3 papers (two white, one orange)--0.45
2 legal envelopes----0.26
Total: 0.71

So basically, I'm fifty cents poorer, and they're twenty-one cents in the hole because they insisted on taking my fifty cents.

I did, however, include this note with my check for 0.50:

I feel some small sense of victory because of this note. Dad got all angsty, though, about the Feds coming for me. I don't think telling somebody to buy two gumballs constitutes anything like a real threat, though. I mean, what could I have followed it up with? "I hope you chew them until your jaw hurts"?

I had more to write about that wasn't as full of complaints, but it's late and I have work tomorrow, so you will have to wait. You could also read my most recent Duckling Saga update to pass time if you wish: Pascal's Duckling Bildungsroman

I will end with a song to cheer you up. Kate Rusby is one of my all-time favourite artists, and Priscilla, my friend who introduced me to the joys of Ms. Rusby, sent me this today. Make sure to read the lyrics.

Winter comes around,
And he knows he is homeward bound,
His heartbeat is the only sound he's known,

He once lost his way,
He knows now that was yesterday,
He fell down on his knees to pray for home.

We'll sing to the morning,
We'll sing till the bells they sound,
We'll sing till the wandering soul is found.

We'll sing to the morning,
We'll sing till the bells they sound,
We'll sing till the wandering soul is found.

He's found his way at last,
With each turn a new bond was cast,
His friends now hold him steady fast and true.

With peace in his eyes,
The fear now is a pain in the skies,
With friends near he sees only skies of blue

We'll sing to the morning,
We'll sing till the bells they sound,
We'll sing till the wandering soul is found.

We'll sing to the morning,
We'll sing till the bells they sound,
We'll sing till the wandering soul is found.

It's clearer every day,
He knows now he is here to stay,
He cares not why he went away so long.

He's found where he belongs,
He know he's been here all along,
He is smiling as he joins his friends in song.

We'll sing to the morning,
We'll sing till the bells they sound,
We'll sing till the wandering soul is found.

We'll sing to the morning,
We'll sing till the bells they sound,
We'll sing now the wandering soul is found.

On a Duck Spree, Will Return Shortly.

"Hey, you guys; I have a lot of opinions about things!"

Dear Abby...

Back in the day tons of people used to ask me for relationship advice.

Then I acquired a boyfriend and they all stopped. I had enough distracting me that it took me a while to realize nobody wanted me. Once I figured it out I assumed they were under-impressed with the way I handled my own relationship, which was not an unreasonable opinion for them to hold at the time. Recently, though, I realized it was probably more because almost to a man (or woman), they were engaged or married by that time. My work was done, I suppose.
At any rate, my relationship counseling services have been mostly in disuse for the past two years. I've noticed a slight resurgence recently, but I had a jem of a counseling experience today.
I was up far too late (early?) last night and didn't get to bed until 3am. I was woken at 6:35am by a text message from an unknown number that said, cryptically, "Hey." Seeing as I'd only been asleep for three and a half hours I ignored it and went back to bed.
When I woke several hours later I answered it and said "Sorry, who is this?" and signed it "Abby."
I didn't hear anything until I got off work around 4pm when I checked my phone and saw I had a text from the same number. The text informed me that the texter's name was Courtney and she was under the impression that I was Chad.
I am not Chad, and told her so.
She apologized, I graciously told her it was no problem, and left it at that.
A moment later I heard the sound of the Tardis materializing in Mom's office.

http://www.moviesoundclips.net/tv1/drwho/tardis.wav

Yes, this is actually my text alert sound. 

I had another text from the strange number. "How old are yu jw lol" it said.

"Courtney," right...

I attempted to be very nonchalant and said "22." I have no problem telling random people my age and am so worldly-wise that I knew that if my texter next asked for my credit card number, I should probably be suspicious. Instead, this is the reply I received: 

"Ok," she said. "this may seem weird but I just want to get a girl's opinion from someone I don't know. Can I ask you a relationship question? If not that's okay," she hurried to add, "I totally understand."

There was no way I was letting this one escape me. 

"Sure," I said. "Fire away."

She proceeded to tell me a fairly normal story. Boy dates girl for year, she likes him, he's been hanging out with another girl. She wants to know if she should be worried that he's cheating on her.

I told her I didn't think her boyfriend was necessarily cheating on her, or intending to give that impression, but the more time he spends with another girl the more likely at least one of them is going to end up liking the other. "Courtney" was perfectly justified in feeling uneasy, and should tell her boyfriend how she feels. If nothing's going on and he loves her, he'll understand and cut back/out contact with random other floozy. If not, "Courtney" has her answer. 

Courtney responded that she didn't want him to think she doesn't trust him, she's just worried because he's seemed more distant from her recently. That is what's really bothering her about the situation. 

That is indeed cause for concern, I said. I suggested (again) that she sit him down and tell him how she feels about it--that she feels as if he trusts and cares about this other girl more than his own girlfriend because of the time he's been putting into that other relationship, and that upsets her. "Men suck at picking up on these things," I added, usefully. Heaven only knows how many times this wisdom has been uttered by people better and wiser than me. Yet it continually needs to be said. 

"Okay, thanks, girl," she said, including a smiley face to let me know she really was grateful. Then added as an afterthought, "you should be a therapist." 

I thanked her, she apologized again for the randomness, and I told her not to worry about it--it made my day a bit more surreal, and therefore improved it considerably. 

Thus ends my recounting of my correspondence with Courtney. Good luck to her, and I hope her boyfriend's not a jerk. 

Recently discovered song that is awesome.

Girding up my loins, here.

For all three of you who read this blog but aren't friends with me on Facebook or real life, I'm actually attempting NaNoWriMo. In case you didn't know, that stands for National Novel Writing Month. If you're interested in doing it yourself, go here--> http://www.nanowrimo.org/
Basically the challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November.
Unless you're brilliant, nobody's expecting you to have an actually good novel by the end of it. Writing that much in thirty days mostly precludes the possibility that it will be "good." Unless, as stated before, you're brilliant.
What the point actually is, is that normal people who want to write sit their butts down for a month and just get words on paper. At the end of the month hopefully you have something that needs serious editing and plot-hole-mending, but something that has promise that it could be Actually Good and Worth Reading.

I'm putting mine online so maybe some people will actually read it and I'll feel guilty and embarrassed if I don't keep up with it.

http://fearlestifail.blogspot.com/

I'm going to aim for 1,000 words a day. I realize this doesn't actually come out to 50,000 words by the end of the month, but I prefer to make resolutions I might actually have the possibility of keeping.
Today I wrote about 120 words more than the 1,000/day goal, so I'm going to be pleased with myself and go watch Scrubs or something now.