Things I've Learned Being Friends with Boys

I had three really close guy friends in high school/college. If they were girls, we'd be BFFs. But they're not, and really, I was always one of the guys, too. Lots of girls say that, but let me paint the picture for you with a few random scenes:

--Numerous conversations would be interrupted with a "Guys, I just remembered, Elizabeth is in here." "So?" "So, she's a girl." "So? It's just Elizabeth." (And yes, this entire conversation happened in my presence)

--One of the guys had a "man-cave" at his house. His dad said no girls/women were allowed in "except Elizabeth."

--I once hosted an all-boy sleepover. (I slept in a room upstairs, they slept in a room downstairs; doors closed; parental supervision. Just so we're clear.)

During all this time spent as one of the guys, I learned a few things:

1. Eat quickly. I am naturally an extremely slow eater. It is not at all uncommon for me to look up from my 1/3 finished plate to realize everyone else is finished. Girls will politely wait on you, because they really want to talk for a while anyway. Guys, not so much. As soon as the last bite was taken, they were looking for the bill. I think the first 10 or so times I ate with these guys, I probably only finished 3 complete meals. I had to learn to eat a lot faster or starve.
2. There is a difference between "hot" and "pretty." It was not uncommon for me to be interrupted when talking about a friend with the question "Is she hot?" Sometimes the answer was yes, and sometimes it was "She's really pretty." One is not necessarily worse than the other; they are just distinctive ways of describing someone. There is also the less-common "cute." I also learned to rate all three descriptions on a scale of 1-10.
3. Everything is a competition. Drives from one side of town to the other, grabbing a certain seat on the couch, getting everyone to agree with you, etc. To say that guys are competitive is an understatement. When I was hanging out with these guys all the time, I had to learn to compete, or just be left out.

4. Guys are more laid back. Whereas girls like to have a plan, these guys rarely had an "activity" planned. The whole of the afternoon would be spent watching TV or at the pool. Sometimes we'd play games, sometimes we'd do absolutely nothing. It didn't really matter.

5. Despite their reputation, guys get their feelings hurt, too. I have gotten the "she rejected me" phone call. (Just a note on this, please do not flirt with one guy if you're already seeing someone. I mean, seriously, how are they supposed to know?) I think I offered ice cream and my company as a consolation (and I kept my mouth shut on the "I didn't really like her for you anyway" matter for a few weeks). 

One thing I did not learn from the guys: how to burp on command. Despite their best efforts--about 30 minutes of 3-to-1 tutoring one day--I still cannot do it (nor do I really want to).

I love my friends that are girls and have had many girl friends throughout the years, but these guys have been constants in my life. I love getting a different perspective on things--it's entertaining and educational!

other people's weddings

"Oh," she thought,"How horrible it is that people have to grow up--and marry--and change!" 

--Anne of the Island

It's a running joke between me and even mere acquaintances: "What did you do this weekend, go to another wedding?"

This weekend, the answer was yes.

Between shoes, dresses, gifts, bachelorette parties, showers, and gas to get all these places, I have spent an estimated $800 on other people's weddings this year. 

Crazy.

None of those above statements are complaints (except maybe the first one, but Anne said that, not me), just a statement of facts.

I love my friends. I love that they have found love. I love being a part of their big day. [And I hope that someday, they'll get a chance to return the favor :-)] Also, I just love weddings.

I think I have been to my last wedding in 2010, but I already have at least two penciled in for 2011. Bring it on.

shepherds and sheep songs

A Couple of Things I Thought I Learned in Sunday School

My first Bible, well the first one I ever really read, was a pink Precious Moments version. I liked the pictures--those tear-drop eyed, big-headed kids that always seemed a little sad. Mine was the King James Version (because that is the easiest version for a girl of 6 to understand?). I remember this because of one "precious moment" in particular, when I was called upon to read some verses out loud in 2nd grade Sunday School. I stopped short when I saw a certain word. I knew it meant donkey, but it didn't say donkey, if you catch my drift. I began to turn red and shift uncomfortably in my child-sized chair. Was I allowed to cuss if it was written in the Bible? I knew the rules on Hell/hell (the place--okay; any other context--not okay; replace with heck if unsure) but this had not come up before. Could I lie about what the Bible said? After about a 20 second pause, I read it as it was written, amid snickers from the boys.

Anyway, also in 2nd grade, I was required to memorize the 23rd Psalm for school. I memorized my pink, Precious Moments, KJV version. The first verse (in the KJV, and several other versions) reads: "The LORD is my Shepherd; I shall not want." Since this was before I completely understood the semicolon, this verse always confused me. Why would we not want the Lord, our Shepherd? Furthermore, why were we always quoting this verse about not wanting God? It wasn't until much later in life that I put two and two together and realized that it meant "Because the Lord is my Shepherd, I will never be in want." (my paraphrase).

On a somewhat related note, I always thought that "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus," the invitation hymn of choice (on alternate Sundays: "Just As I Am"), was about sheep. I guess I only paid attention to the part about "No turning ba-a-a-ack." See: ba-a-a-ack? Kind of like "ba-a-a," like the noise a sheep makes? I suppose I was daydreaming during the other portions of the song? Probably thinking about sheep.

Camp--it will always be with me

Camp season is over. I didn't work camp this summer, but I did work as a CentriKid staffer the four summers before this one. (I wrote a few guest posts about camp at this blog.)

There are a few habits I picked up from camp, though, that I just can't shake off. Here are 7 of them:

1) The 90-second testimony

During training, we learn to give our testimony in 90 seconds--approximately the attention span of an elementary student. I became so good at this, that I don't even use all 90 seconds to tell my faith journey. Outside of camp (and sometimes during camp, actually), the 90 second testimony is kind of strange. People expect you to talk for much longer, so it's a little awkward when you finish 78 seconds later. I now try (sometimes successfully) to remember to include more details, but it is still a struggle to overcome my habit.

2) The Budget-Line

When you load and unload a Budget (or Ryder) truck full of boxes, pool noodles, sound equipment, archery targets, and a sno cone machine once a week for about 8 weeks, it's best to form a line and pass things, assembly-line style. I think this is how everything should be moved and I'm often disappointed to find that no one else believes this.

3) The Debrief

At camp, we say that anything can lead to a conversation about Christ, and try to make that happen as much as possible. We call these little Christ-application moments "debriefs." I have, in all seriousness, gone from a light-hearted discussion of a little girl's stuffed lion into a full presentation of the gospel. We would jokingly "practice" this debriefing in our free time using songs ("Ridin' Dirty" is about accountability, and the friends you choose to associate with) and other silly situations. To this day, given almost any topic, I am certain that I could figure out a way to present a biblical truth.

4) The Motions

Having served as a "back-up dancer"/motions instructor many times (once for an entire summer), it is difficult for me to hear songs sung at camp and not jump around/wave my arms/look like an idiot. I'm also pretty skilled at making up motions on the spot. Just sayin'...

5) The Alternate Lyrics

At camp, we take popular songs and change them to apply to our teams for "cheers." There are some songs that I remember the alternate lyrics to before I remember the real ones. It is slightly annoying.

6) The Games

Give me 25 kids and no props, and I can come up with 5 games to play without even having to think, not including tag. Don't believe me? Eleven, Captain's Coming, 60 seconds, Squirrels in Trees, and Look Up, Look Down. Add some rec equipment, and the possibilities are practically endless.

7) The Unmarketable Skills

Along with the skills listed above, I can also french braid, make balloon animals, fill and tie hundreds of water balloons in record time, drive a 12-passenger van, scoop a beautiful sno cone, and decorate a classroom using only butcher paper. These skills are excellent ones to have at camp...and maybe a carnival. But in the real world, not quite as impressive as an internship at a publishing house.

The truth is, I would have been more "successful" career-wise, if I had gotten an internship or a "real" job in the summers, instead of working camp. I would have gained skills that would help me make money, instead of skills that would help me be a carnie. But camp was my dream job. I grew and learned more (in addition to the amazing skills listed above) at camp than I believe I would have otherwise. I would never trade in those summers.

A Better Story

[I recently read Donald Miller's book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and I very highly recommend it. It's about stories and life and life being a story--so make it a good one. He's going to give a conference in Portland about how to do this. For more information about the conference, go to www.donmilleris.com/conference
Also, here's a video about it:

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

He's also holding a contest to win a free trip for two to this conference. Below is my entry.]

Jen and I met while studying abroad at Oxford University, which is an excellent beginning to a story, if you ask me. While traipsing around England and Ireland, we discovered a mutual love for Jesus and coffee shops.

Also during European exploration, I learned about a whole new category of people who need Jesus--intellectuals. I think that since intelligent, wealthy people don't need anything physically, they are often forgotten spiritually and are off the radar to most Christians.

After our semester abroad, I returned to Nashville and Jen went back to California. I worked at a Christian camp that summer, and learned of a a missionary couple in Canada that work to share the gospel at a popular university. They hope that those who become Christians there will take the message of Jesus back to their home countries and help make a difference in the entire world. The idea made perfect sense to me and, really, seemed like an excellent strategy for furthering the kingdom of God.

A couple of years and many "I-still-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-with-my-life;-do-you?" phone conversations with Jen later, I had an idea:

What if there were a coffee house that was missional with both production and consumption?

The coffee house would be in an area of wealth and intelligence--think college towns--and would have a direct relationship with the village that grows the beans used for the coffee consumed there. Not only would the costumers be aware that their coffee was grown in Costa Rica, they would know the coffee-picker's name and if his daughter needed surgery. Coffee drinking would become much more personal and coffee drinkers could help those farming their coffee in personal and specific ways. On the other end, the coffee house itself would be a place of ministry. Coffee houses are comfortable. The environment is perfectly suitable for building relationships and discussing things of importance. The hope is that those who come in to study and get a caffeine fix would find community and faith.

Immediately upon the conception of this idea, I called Jen. Two years later, we are still in the "that's a great idea" phase.

See, we still love coffee houses, but we don't know the first thing about coffee farming or running a business. I don't even know how to make a pot of coffee (I don't even like coffee...we'll need to serve tea, too). We need help. I think the Living a Better Story conference could help us get started and develop a plan of action.

We know it's crazy to think two twentysomething girls who can't even figure out what to do next week could start something so big. We know it's a huge dream, a God-sized dream. We know we'll have to work hard and we're ready. We know if we don't try to make it happen, we'll always regret it, and if we do try, the worst that could happen is failure. And we think even failure can make a great story.

My Best Friends' Wedding: A Rehearsal Speech Story

[This is a long one; get ready. (I won't be offended if you don't read the entire thing.)]

As mentioned before, my best friend, Erin, got married this past weekend. I was the Maid of Honor, which I was happy, and honored (yeah, I know it's a pun, but I'm serious) to be. I had many jobs to complete, not the least of which was a speech made at the rehearsal dinner.

Let me set the stage for you:

Erin had told me months ahead of time (per my request) that I would be giving a speech at some point, along with the Best Man. The week before, I learned it would be at the rehearsal dinner (later I learned I would also be giving a toast at the reception, too). I wrote a speech and read through it a couple of times to practice. I didn't memorize it, because I am awful at remembering things word-for-word. For some reason, I thought there would be some sort of podium for me to put my paper on. Looking back, I have no clue why I thought this. Why would there be a podium in a dining area?

So, the night of the dinner, we get to the dining area and I realize my hopes for a podium would not be realized. I would have to hold my paper. I knew my hands would shake--I don't really fear public speaking, but I still get shaky. As the dinner progressed, I began to get more and more nervous. I even passed up the ice cream dessert, because of my nervousness (and I really like ice cream).

Then, the Best Man gets up to make his speech. He's an actor. Like, for real--that is his profession. As you can imagine, this makes him a pretty good speech-giver.

He had memorized his. It was a comparative speech--the groom, David, to the biblical David. A literary work of art. He's acting the whole time, too, walking around and projecting his voice enough for the grandparents to hear (I'm sure they heard none of my speech).

And then he starts to sing.

Did I mention he's a Broadway actor? Yeah. So he's singing...it's a little weird at first, but then the groom joins him.

I am dead serious.

They have this whole routine--singing, joking, dancing a little. They can both sing and act. Everyone was laughing, people were pulling out recording devices, there was applause at the end--I think I even heard some "Encore!" requests.

I was hoping, at this point, that people would just forget I was supposed to give a speech. No such luck. "Lizzy, your turn!"

[There will be no pictures of my speech. I guess standing in one place, reading a sheet of paper isn't exactly photo-worthy. Or maybe it's because I look like this while giving speeches:

Yeah...]

I made some joke about Erin and I acting out The Sound of Music (which we did, once, as we watched it) and then something about me being a writer, so I would just read my speech, thankyouverymuch.

I read this speech:

I can remember the exact moment my friendship with Erin began. While we met our freshman year at Union, I thought of Erin more as my roommates' friend than my own. One day our sophomore year, Erin was in our apartment studying with Jill. After a while, all my roommates were leaving to go to choir practice. I looked at Erin and said, "See you later," thinking she would leave when her friends did. Erin looked back at me and said, "What? We can't be friends?"

And thus began our friendship.

Throughout college, we had many adventures. We were "adopted" by the same Watch Care family at church, and therefore, became "sisters." We would take road trips to Memphis, just to shop, and watch chick flicks when Jill was out of town. We lived together our senior year and survived the entire spring semester without air conditioning. Erin and I made a great team--I'd get crazy ideas for things to do and Erin would make everyone do them. We made family portraits one day in the living room, had everyone participate in the church musical, and successfully executed a graveyard scavenger hunt.

After graduation and a whirlwind trip to California, Erin and I went to train for camp. Erin was working her second summer as a Crosspoint staffer, and I was working my second summer as a CentriKid staffer. This meant that we got to train together. Now, I realize that God brought these two together, but I'd like to take a little credit as the messenger. Erin and I determined that we'd each pick out a guy for the other one on their team. Erin later told me she just picked the first guy she saw me talking to, to which I immediately said no. I, on the other hand, took time to observe her team. I knew who D-Mac was--you didn't work camp then and not know who D-Mac was. He had a reputation as being a good guy and when I saw him and Erin together, I knew he was my pick for her. I told Erin and she said no; he had a girlfriend.

Then, a few weeks later, I got a call from Erin saying that David and his girlfriend had broken up. All of Erin's calls to me the rest of the summer included observations of David. She thought he liked her, but wasn't sure. Then she knew he liked her, but didn't know anything would come of it. Well, something did come of it, obviously; that's why we're here today.

Since graduation, despite being busy with med school and dating and being engaged, Erin has been there for me any time I needed her, to talk, listen, and give sound advice. My prayer journal from the last couple of years is full of "Thank You, God, for Erin" statements. I have also prayed for Erin, and for David, and their relationship together.

Erin, you are my best friend. David, I guess that makes you my best friend-in-law tomorrow. I know tomorrow is only the first of many happy days of marriage for you two. I love y'all!

It wasn't so bad. I made it through without crying--barely--or falling over on my shaky legs.

The next day, I stumbled through a cliff-notes version of that speech (that I did not have written down. I'm pretty sure I said something like "I hope you have a bunch-many hours...days...um, years of happiness.) before the Best Man said something very eloquent about the love the couple has for each other serving as an example to the rest of us.

Then this little old man posed us for an awkward picture, and I tried to forget what just happened.

"Stand behind the microphone and act like you're giving a toast. No, both of you. No, move the microphone, it's in the way."

All photos courtesy of Pam McDaniel.

My Best Friend's Wedding: A few highlights

My best friend, Erin, got married on Saturday. The wedding was absolutely lovely and fun. Here are a few fun/funny highlights:

• As Erin directed family members to tie ribbons on the bubbles for the grand exit, we had to explain about 5 times what the bubbles were for, and then exactly how they would be used.
• Grandma Dodi's commentsat the lingerie shower. One of the best was when she wanted Erin to model all the lingerie in what she called a "slide-show." She said if Erin modeled, then all the guests could say, "We came, we saw, we conquered." haha
• Everyone (and I mean everyone) calling me Lizzy.
• The bachelorette party concluding at WalMart. Oh, Blytheville.
• Catching up with Jill and Bec and April (and Anna via a random phone call on Friday)
• 
• Sitting at the "kids' table" (which included no actual children) during the rehearsal dinner. Topics of conversation included: the over-use of exclamation points in Facebook status updates, organ donations ("Nurses are the custodians of the body world"--Steven Gunter), the artful way to use curse words, and the definition of the word "brazen."
• Rehearsal dinner speeches (more on this here)
• The bridesmaids and photographers making fun of my toes during a shoe picture. Jill: "Lizzy, your second toe is so long!" Photog 1: "We can photoshop it." Photog 2: "I don't know if we can. Look at this thing."
• Jill realizing she was the only bridesmaid with the flower on her dress, not her hair, literally one minute before she was supposed to walk down the aisle. "Do I have time to change it?!"
• Noticing 2 minutes into the ceremony that Erin's halter was about 3/4s unbuttoned and using a prayer moment to fix it before a wardrobe malfunction.
• The awkward "Are we supposed to be praying?" glances during the Family Blessing.
• At least two people congratulating me. Um, thanks?
• Older people stopping me at random to take one of those awkward, I'm-just-standing-here pictures.
• That time I handed April's baby off to a complete stranger because I had to get Erin's "undergarments" from the car.
• Dancing. 4 bridesmaids, 5 kids, 1 baby, and 1 husband. The Hokey Pokey was a huge hit.

My best friend is married. It's a little weird, and I'm a little sad that the fun weekend had to come to an end. I'm so happy for them!

Photo of the "kids table" courtesy of Pam McDaniel.

Summer and Engagements

--I find that when I learn of a friend getting engaged these days (usually via facebook), I start singing "Another One Bites the Dust" in my head.

--It has been so hot here in Nashville. Like, break-a-sweat-walking-to-your-car hot. Oh, summer.

--This is my first "real-life" summer. I feel an immense pressure to do something wonderful, fun, and adventurous. So far, I feel I have failed. I have had fun, but nothing adventurous.

--My best friend is getting married in 24 days. Which, conveniently, brings me back to my first point.

"Every time a couple gets married, two single people die." --Leslie Knope, Parks and Recreation

25

I am 25 today.

I feel like this is a monumental birthday. 25 was always the deadline, it seems. Now the deadline is here and I expected things to be a little--no, a lot--different.

And I've spent the greater part of 24 learning to be okay with that.

I'm actually happy with it; excited for 25.

[and beyond.]

some-

Today I read somewhere someone saying something along the lines of "I'm proud of you for fighting against what you want to do in order to do what you ought to do." I found that incredibly sad. I hope someday someone is proud of me for doing the opposite. The real trick, I suppose, is to want to do what you ought to do.

Coffee House Dream

My friend Mary has a blog called "Chasing Dreams... Rabbits... and Pigeons." She writes about big plans that may or may not ever become reality. See, Mary and I are similar. We are both great big dreamers; we come up with a new plan for our lives on a daily basis. Mostly, these goals will fall by the wayside, because they are big, big plans that would take much effort, much charisma, and much money to pull off.

I have always been this way. Just ask my mom, or my sister--both tend to roll their eyes when I tell them of a new plan to travel the world, start a business, or run a marathon. They know that next week I'll have a new dream and the current one will fade away. While this never achieving used to bother me a little, I have learned that dreaming is a part of me, and while I may never achieve some of my crazy little goals, a few do make it to reality.

For example, I once got an idea to study abroad. I don't know why I thought to do this. I just decided one day that I would like to study English in England, and not just anywhere in England--I wanted to study at Oxford University. I'm pretty sure everyone that knew me, including myself, thought this was just another one of my ideas. I even remember thinking, on the day my parents purchased a very expensive plane ticket, "I guess I can't back out now. This is really happening." And I didn't back out. I really did study English in England. I was on the rowing crew (another "crazy" goal that started as a joke with my roommates at Union), I walked where Shakespeare walked, I was inspired by the same meadows and rivers that inspired Lord of the Rings and Narnia and Wonderland. Amazing. And it started as a silly idea.

I have another dream that I think may be my most insane. It is definitely the largest, spanning the entire globe, costing millions of dollars, and requiring a lot of very specific knowledge. But I think "it just might work." I refer to it as the "coffee house dream."

This particular dream has a long, detailed history. Maybe I'll write about it later. For now, here's the bones:

Missional coffee houses catering to the oft-forgotten wealthy intellectuals in big university towns (think Ivy League, Oxbridge, etc.) getting their coffee and tea from partner plantations in third-world countries. The idea is that the coffee is missional on both ends--one, it allows a village in struggling area to have jobs, get medical care, education, and most importantly, to learn of a God who loves them; two, those who drink the coffee will be made aware of its origins and those who grow it; and three, the coffee house itself will be a home for conversation, relationships, and ideas, the hope being that evangelism will be made possible over a cup of coffee and a homemade scone.

So there it is. I have high hopes for this one.

Lost Love

The other day, as I turned onto a narrow road hoping to avoid a particularly congested area of town, I realized that I do not mind getting lost. In fact, I kind of love it. There are two exceptions to this: 1) if I am late and 2) if it is in a dangerous area at night. Other than those two exceptions, I enjoy being lost.

I like the adventure of not knowing for sure if I will end up where I intend on going. I like learning new ways to get somewhere and I like getting to see things that I might normally bypass all together. I also really enjoy jamming out to some music with my windows rolled down.

This realization got me thinking about how I have sort of been lost the past couple of years. Most of my friends took the roads that they knew would get them exactly where they wanted to be. They took jobs to earn an income, went to medical school to become a doctor, got married to become a wife and mother, etc. I, on the other hand, did not. And like the sadly cliched poet, I, I took the road less travelled by.

So, I've been wandering on roads called Camp and Unemployment and Singleness for the past two years, trying to figure out if these roads will ever lead me to my goal, which has gotten a bit more hazy as the years have passed. Despite all the bad things that have come with taking this route, I've actually enjoyed it. Maybe it's that I like being mysterious and enjoy the adventure of not knowing what in the world I'm doing. I have also learned some great things, about who I am, about who God is. And I've enjoyed lots of windows-rolled-down-top-of-my-lungs-singing moments along the way.

I think this is why lately I have been hesitant to be tied down. I don't want to take the normal route, despite the fact that it is easier and leads me straight to where I've always wanted to go. Maybe I'm just not sure that is still my final destination.

This could get a little crazy..

My new life plan is to not be fifty and think "I really wish I had tried to do that."

I'm only 24.

[Sometimes, I have little panic attacks when I realize how close I am to 25, 27, 30. Seriously, panic attacks.]

I've determined that I don't want to look back on my 20s and realize they were wasted wishing.

Therefore, I'm going to reach for some crazy dreams. Yes, dreams plural. I'm going to go for it. I may never fully realize any of them, but why not try?

Jesus in the Minute-Clinic

Once, I saw Jesus at a minute clinic. I saw him in a middle-age, middle-class black lady.

There are a bunch of details that I could go into about how exactly everything went down, but seeing as I was only watching (and eavesdropping in on) the action, I am not sure of all the details. Plus, I tried writing them out and they were just boring that way.

The point is, I saw one woman showing friendship to a complete stranger. She was a true friend in a moment when friendship was needed--she provided empathy, calming words, and practical advice. I don't know if the woman was a Christian, but I really felt that she was showing Jesus to the other woman. 

I thought in that moment of how badly I want to be like that. Usually, I don't do a good job of it. I would love to just help people, especially people in distress, like that woman. To take someone's horrible day, and make it a little better. I need to work on that.

What Do You Want to Do?

An old friend called me yesterday about a job I had wanted. She asked if I was still interested in working at that particular place. Good thing it was a voice mail, because had we been having a "live" conversation, I probably would have fumbled a bunch of sentences, basically meaning, "I HAVE NO IDEA!" But, it's probably not good to give out that impression. The impression that, at 24 years old, I am a mess. 

I've been thinking a lot about what I want lately. As in, what do I want to do. Some may say that it's not about what I want, and I get that. But isn't it a little bit? Shouldn't we want to do whatever it is we do? I hope whenever I do settle into a "career," or whatever I settle into, it is something I enjoy. I think we should all wake up excited about what we do and go to sleep thinking about ways to improve it. That can only happen if you do something that you want to do.

So what is it that I want to do? I HAVE NO IDEA!

Lesson from the Israelites #1

I wrote this a while ago ("wallago", as it is pronounced here in TN). But, I've recently been reading more about the Israelites, so this will be first in a sort of series. 

I recently ran across a verse that I had never noticed before. Right in the heart of the story of the Israelites leaving Egypt is Exodus 13:17-18. It says, “When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, ‘If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.’ So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea. The Israelites went up out of Egypt armed for battle.”

          We know how the story turns out. We know that the Israelites are going to get to the Red Sea, God is going to command Moses to stretch his hand over the sea, the waters will part, the Israelites will walk across dry land, and the Egyptians will get swallowed by the waters. We know this. The Israelites did not.

            They came out of Egypt and were met with a guide: a cloud during the day and a pillar of fire at night. This cloud/fire was leading them straight to the sea. 

            I can just imagine the Israelites following this cloud/fire and talking amongst themselves, finally getting brave enough to confront Moses. I can see them coming up to him one by one, maybe in groups sometimes, to offer their advice. “Hey, Moses, my brother has been out this way before, and he says we’re headed right into the Red Sea. And, uh, I can’t swim that well.” “Moses, did we take a wrong turn somewhere back there?” “Hey, I realize that you said we should follow this cloud, but are you sure it’s leading us in the right direction?”

            I can see Moses just walking on, his eyes fixed to the cloud before Him.

            The thing the Israelites (and we) may not have realized is that God was saving them a lot of trouble by leading them to the water. The other option was war. Sure, God could have led them to victory, but I personally think that a bunch of angry people with weapons is a little scarier than the beach. God said, “If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt” (vs. 17). I guess building pyramids is also on the list of things less scary than angry people with weapons.

            There’s another reason I think God might have led the people to the water instead of the warzone. If the Israelites had gone to war, God probably would have let them win. They were His chosen people, after all. But, it would be a lot easier to take credit for winning a war than moving a sea. It would be believable to say, “We defeated all these people. We are that good at warfare.” To say, “We moved all this water. We are that good at controlling nature.” is not so believable. There is no way the Israelites could have made a path through the Red Sea and then have the walls of water collapse at just the right moment for the Israelites to be safely across and the Egyptians to be crushed by the waves. That had to be God.

            God, like us, knows the end of the Israelite’s story. He knew the Israelites better than they knew themselves. The verse says that they were already dressed for battle. They thought that fighting Philistines was inevitable. But God realized that the Israelites were finicky. He also knew how much greater the story could be.

            The reason I like this passage so much is that I sometimes feel like I’m on a desert road. For example, I was prepared, after college, to become a wife and mother. I had heard all my life that it would happen that way. When the option of marriage failed to present itself, I was a little lost. I began to travel the desert road. I have wandered in unemployment and changing goals. So far my desert road has made me question God a few times, “Are you sure this is the right way?” I sometimes feel clueless, like I’m going toward the beach dressed in armor.

I have hope during my desert-road wandering, because God led the Israelites to the Red Sea. I am looking forward to witnessing my Red Sea. I think I can see the beach in the distance and I’m wondering what will happen when I get there. For now, I’m just trying not to offer God any advice or question where He’s leading me, because I’m sure He’s got something planned that’s better than anything I could have suggested.

Church (by myself)

I have now been to church all by myself twice. I think I'm growing up.

I have put off visiting churches because I don't like to go alone. I don't like sitting by myself anywhere, not even while the person I am with goes to the bathroom, so church by myself seems daunting. Then, the fact that different churches handle things differently also gives me reason to worry. If someone's with you, then at least you're not the only one that sips from the communion cup instead of just dipping the bread. It's also good to have a partner if you are the only ones wearing jeans, or if you're the only ones dressed up. At least then there are two people who look out of place. 

Sunday School is a completely different story. For people who are my age and single, this can be especially frustrating. There is the "singles" class that the well-meaning greeters try to pressure you into. Most of the time, these singles are, as my friend says, "single for a reason." They are the forty-year-old divorcees and the cat ladies. I believe that there are some great divorcees and cat people out there, but I would rather learn and fellowship with people in my stage of life. So, the other option is the college class. Well, I am no longer in college. I have had my share of Sunday School lessons on dating, doing my best in school, and following God's direction for what to major in. Also, I will be there every Sunday, not just during the summer and winter breaks. 

I find myself going to churches without Sunday School as a result. These churches have small groups. Small groups are a similar story, though. They usually throw in a "young professionals" group, though. This is good. What is not good is that many of these young professionals are engaged, married, and having babies. They aren't necessarily available for socializing outside of class. Not to mention, how in the world do you find a date when all the guys are already taken? (Note: this is not why I go to church, but you and I both know that every single person scopes out the other singles at church events. "They" say it's a great place to find a mate.)

I have triumphed over my fears for at least two Sundays now. Albeit, I had been to this church before and knew that jeans were okay and they dip the bread, so that took away a few fears. I'm still working up the nerve to join a small group, though.