living the story

Twice in the past month I have presented about the power of story.

I have used this quote both times... I love this: "My story is important, not because it is mine...but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are you will recognize that, in many ways, it is also yours.” (Frederick Buechner, Telling Secrets)

and this:
"Because of this story of Jesus, each of our own stories is in countless ways different from what it would have been otherwise, and that is why in speaking about him he we must speak also about ourselves and about ourselves with him and without him too because that, of course, is the other story we have in us to remember and tell. Our own story.'‘ (Buechner, "A Room Called Remember"

And yet...and yet I am having so much trouble with my own story lately.
You see, I know God loves all of us desperately, and wants to bless us and "use" us beyond our wildest dreams. I believe that for everyone. Except, well, me.

The whys keep nagging at me. The not-good-enoughs. The when-I-finally-get-this-area-of-my-life-worked-out-on-my-own, THEN God-will-fulfill-this-desperate desire. And yet, if a friend told me that, I'd say - oh- that's not the way God works. God works through those imperfections. In spite of those imperfections. Silly, you don't have to be perfect for God to love you and bless you and use you to bring truth and justice and goodness to your brothers and sisters. Of course He has a place for you in His Kingdom. I see that here and there and here. This is where you fit. This is how you fit. This is just one of the ways God uses you.
Yet even when my friends point these things out to me... I still struggle to believe them. Lord, I thought I'd conquered this battle before. Years ago!

And yet, hope...

"Though we would never have had the courage or the faith or the wit to die for him any more than we have ever imagined to live for him very well either, his story will come true in us at last.''

What a bizarre week.

This week has been so crazy... I think I've experienced every emotion known to woman.

I've been angrier - and more embarrased - than I've ever been in my life (Most of you know about this subject-that-refused-to-die on Monday).

I set my hair on fire (accidentally, of course); and last night I was ready to pull it out strand by strand (not accidentally!).

Our magazine won one of four prestigious awards out of 800 other publications.

My feelings have been hurt - irrationally, for I know that this particular situation will never be anything but what it is.

I have been reminded of the amazing friendships I have.

I have begun to grieve the fact that my sister will be living so far away from me for who knows how long, even as I rejoice with her in this exciting time; and have missed other family members intensely this week.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm presenting at an art conference tomorrow? A writing session... I've never done anything like that before. Scary.

Sheesh.

Liar, Liar hair on fire

yup, that's me.

'Cuz I promised Ukraine stories weeks ago, but never posted them. However, if you want to read the journal of the trip, it is here:

www.malone.edu/ukraine2006

or if you want to see pictures, you can go here:

http://s63.photobucket.com/albums/h121/malone2ukraine/

In the meantime, life has been much more dramatic than I'd like it to be lately.

I'm tired of drama.

For example:

8 a.m. I've just finished taking hot rollers out of my hair. I'm out of my regular hairspray, but I search in my odds & ends drawer and discovered a small can of expensive hairspray that I must have gotten at some point in my past with a haircut. Warning: it reads. Extremely flammable.

8:15 a.m. I go to work, where more drama ignites regarding a situation I'm tired of talking about.

11:00 a.m. I return to work after an interview where my boss (rightfully so) goes on a warpath about the very thing I am not wanting to talk about.

12:15 We're at lunch celebrating Jen's birthday, and I am subjected to another 20 minutes of despised subject.

12:25: Husband calls to talk some more about said despised subject.

2 p.m. Friend emails to chat about the subject that will not die.

5 p.m. Husband comes home to finish talking about if we say one more freaking thing about this thing I will implode subject.

6: 15 p.m. I go outside to light the grill. I put the burner handles on "medium" and press ignite. Nothing much happens, except that I smell gas. I know that if this occurs, I need to light a match and drop it into the grill. I return to the kitchen and grab some matches. I take the box of matches out to the grill. I lean over to light the match, but a tiny strand of my hairsprayed hair has made contact with the lighted match. I scream as the flame licks my auburn & caramel colored tresses, but I am able to extinguish the fire quickly with my fingers, and amazingly without pain - or - thank God - too much damage (I don't have much going for me today other than decent hair). But for the rest of the evening, we are smelling my burned hair.

8:52 p.m. I sigh with the realization that I am being a complete drama queen, despite all of this crap being true.