Tonight, I'm in a good place. I'm not feeling stressed to the max, or overwhelmed, or worried about anything. I'm not wishing away the days until Friday. I'm not dreading my alarm clock.
Instead, I am full of contentment and peace. I am comfortable.
It's a luxurious, decadent, rare feeling.
I know it won't last long, but I am reveling in this quiet moment.
To me, tonight, comfort is:
1) The big brown overstuffed couch I'm sitting on, the home base of my house. The place where I read and blog and grade and nap and watch Grey's on Thursday nights.
2) The big old gray UNCA volleyball t-shirt that I've had since 8th grade. It that has been washed and worn so many times it is softer than a box of Downy's dryer sheets.
3) The feeling of a real book in my hands, the ruffly sound of the pages turning and the scratchy sound of my pen making notes in the margins.
4) The southern taste of the sweet tea, BBQ sandwich and macaroni and cheese I had for dinner, filling me up with warm carby goodness.
5) The conversation I just shared with my mom, chatting and reliving the day's mundane events. Nothing revolutionary. Just comfort in knowing she cares, genuinely cares about me and my life.
6) Sharing a laugh with a best friend on the phone and taking a moment to let the encouragement, friendship, and support she gives soak in and make its way to my heart.
7) Reading a sweet comment from my baby sister on my Facebook wall and realizing how much technology can be a blessing - not just a time wasting curse!
8) The clock moving closer to bedtime - the thrilling prospect of 7 hours of nothing but rest and rejuvenation. Sleeping is all I have to do until tomorrow.
I better go get some sleep before I remember my to-do list.
Now I know: Comfort is all around. If you stop and relax for a moment, it might even find you.
But today y'all will learn the truth. And I will make my mom so proud by finally declaring:
Country music is my absolute favorite.
I can just hear her saying, "What took you so long to write a blog about country music?"
I love you, Mom.
The story goes that that my favorite song when I was two was "Have Mercy" by the Judds. When it would come on the radio I'd go to town in my car seat bouncing around and squealing "HAVE MWWERCY!!" because I couldn't say my "Rs."
When I was four I clearly remember singing every word to Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places," to entertain some family friends.
When I was in high school, I wore cowboy boots and a big old belt buckle before Madonna made it popular. The first song I learned to play and sing on guitar was "You're Still the One," by Shania Twain. I still think she is amazing.
And even now, the #1 preset on my radio is 99.9 Kiss Country.
So naturally, the recent movie Country Strong made my life complete. There is one song from the movie that I haven't been able get out of my head for months.
Today it was raining, a cold, drizzly, curl up on the couch and take a nap kind of a rain. And all I could think of was the lyric from that song that goes, "I remember that day, when our eyes first met/you ran into the building to get out of the rain, cause you were soaking wet/and as I held the door, you wanted to know my name/timing is everything."
In my 26 years, I've found that timing is everything. The time to crack a joke or give someone a hug or tell someone the truth or tell someone you care about them...timing is everything.
Just watch this clip and you'll understand why I want to be Gwenyth and fell in love with Garrett Hedlund.
Then listen to the whole song. And just try to pretend that you don't love it, too.
Timing is Everything
When the stars line up And you catch a good break And people think you're lucky But you know its grace It can happen so fast Or a little bit late Timing is everything
You know I've had close calls When it could've been me I was young when I learned just how fragile life can be I lost friends of mine I guess it wasn't my time Timing is everything
And I could've been a child that God took home, And I would've been one more unfinished song And when it seems a rhyme is hard to find That's when one comes along Just in time
I remember that day When our eyes first met You ran into the building to get out of the rain Cause you were soaking wet And as I held the door You wanted to know my name Timing is everything
And I could've been another minute late And you'd never would've crossed my path that day And when it seems true love is hard to find That's when love comes along Just in time
You can call it fate Or destiny Sometimes it really seems like its a mystery
Cause you can be hurt by love Or healed by the same Timing is everything
It can happen so fast Or a little too late Timing is everything
I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world. -Mother Teresa-
At LIFE tonight the theme was about the connection between love and service. (Awesome job on the talk by the way, Jenko!!)
Ironically enough, when I got home I turned on The Bachelor. The contrast was so great that I couldn't not write about it.
Jesus's idea of love is to serve others.
The world's idea of love is to desperately seek someone who can serve you, who can meet your needs, and who ultimately will never let you down. The world's idea of love is spending time in Costa Rica with Brad Womack's amazing abs.
Hate it break it to ya, America, but those abs ain't gonna last forever. (His commitment issues, however, probably will. ZING!)
I feel like I am constantly sucked into the lie that this life is about ME. What I can get. What I look like. Who I will marry. What I can accomplish. What I want to do with my free time. How many things I can check off my to-do list while still getting plenty of sleep.
After LIFE tonight, I am reminded that life, real life - is not about what I can get.
It's about what I can give.
If I write a kind two-word note to one of my students on a post-it, I am showing love.
If I stop to thank the custodian and ask about her day, I am showing love.
If I tie a kindergartener's shoe at breakfast, I am showing love.
If I am vigilant about noticing the needs of others and trying to fill them, I am showing love.
Now I know: God is writing the story. I am just a little pencil.
I could make a list a mile long of the reasons why I love teaching. Sometime I might just do that.
But today, I want to talk about the biggest catch to the job that I love and adore. It is the bane of my existence. The robber of all my free time. The reason for my quickly failing eyesight.
Dun dun DUNNNNNNHHHHHH!!!! Grading papers.
Seriously, grading is a real drag. You might think that grading sounds like a cinch. How many papers can I possibly have to grade anyway, right?? Well, let me give you a quick little math lesson before I get to the point of this entry.
I teach 5 subjects each and every day (math, reading, writing, social studies, and science. Also spelling, but for my purpose today we'll leave that out). So 5 subjects times 26 kids. That pans out to a nice little 130. I am required to enter into the grade book at least 9 grades per subject each quarter.
So that's 1,170 papers, four times a year.
At the bare minimum, we're talking 4,680 papers per school year. I've always been an overachiever so of course I grade LOTS more than that.
Today when I sat down with a toppling tower of manilla folders full of papers to grade, I felt completely overwhelmed. But suddenly I remembered some immortal words of wisdom from a very wise woman: my mom.
Whenever I started to freak out over a project, a paper, or the thought of cleaning my room, she'd simply ask me, "Honey, how do you eat an elephant?"
The answer?
"One bite at a time."
So this afternoon I decided to take my Leaning-Tower-of-Pisa papers out to my screened-in porch. I sat on my porch swing, turned on some chill music, and started grading away. One bite at a time.
Now I know: Eating an elephant one bite at a time is much nicer on a screened-in porch.
I think Dolly Parton is one amazing woman. (I dressed up like her a few years ago for Halloween, as you can see above. Surprisingly no one knew who I was. I got several Jessica Simpsons, a Pamela Anderson, and ironically someone asked if I was Taylor Swift).
In my opinion, none of those buxom beauties has a thing on Dolly. When someone inquires, "If you could invite 6 people living or dead over for dinner who would you ask?" Dolly is at the top of my list.
First of all, her style is impeccably cheap, and she knows it. The original Backwoods Barbie has a sense of style that is all her own. I love the glitter. I love the big blond hair. I love the bright colors she wears and the fantastically high heels that coordinate perfectly with her too-short dresses.
When I was little, I'd say, "Mom....Dolly is so BEAUTIFUL!" To which my mom would reply, "Oh honey, no! She is TACKY!" So then I'd respond with a huge smile and a sigh, "Yeah...she's so TACKY!"
From then on, I thought the word "tacky" meant "beautiful."
I guess my sense of style was always a little tacky. I had a pair of glittery pink jellies complete with a gigantic metallic bow on each foot. I had an Easter dress with puffy crinoline skirt and jingle bell hidden on the hem. I wore overall shorts with a big old belt, a pink and turquoise turtleneck, and hiking boots. Some of this was the 80s, but some of this was my desire to stand out and be original. Dolly inspires me because she is true to herself and wears what she thinks is beautiful - no matter what anyone else has to say about it.
The second reason I love Dolly is because she has voice as unique as her style. In my humble opinion, her version of "I Will Always Love You" trumps Whitney Houston's any day. She wrote that song, you know. She didn't need a team of songwriters to produce some homogenized hit. She took her experiences and channeled them into pieces of perfectly phrased poetry.
Anyway, the reason I was thinking about Dolly today was because of all this rain we've been having in Greenville lately. One of my favorite things she ever said was, "If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain."
There are a lot of people - including me - that have been in a grumpy funk this week. The constant cold downpour has brought with it days of indoor recess and frizzy hair. I haven't felt like working out. I hate having to find an umbrella and despise accidentally stepping in puddles in ballet flats.
But Dolly sees the puddle half full.
Now I know: Instead of shaking a fist at the heavens and cursing the nimbus clouds above, I should embrace the rain, throw on a pair of hot pink galoshes, and start looking forward to the rainbows.
