So Long, Summer: A Discourse on Seasons

I know, I’m a bit late saying au revoir to my favorite season.  I just didn’t want to let it go.  But then I woke up early this morning because I had become something of a human popsicle.  Turns out I set the heat last night but didn’t actually turn it on.  It was horrible.  As I shivered my way the ten miserable steps from the bed to the thermostat I began to remember what every morning of my life in winter is like, and the grieving for summer’s end officially began.

Summer is my refuge.  No, I’m not a teacher, I’m just perpetually cold.  I’m that girl who needs a sweater in 75 degree weather and never turns on the air conditioning.  Yes, I’ve had my thyroid and my iron checked, in case you were on the verge of being the latest in a never-ending line of people who think they’re suggesting something I haven’t thought of.  This is just me.  So when the weather outside is a steady 80+, it’s a relief inexplicable to those whose internal thermometer is normal.

But then Pumpkin Spice coffee shows up.  And Halloween stores open.  I ignore it as long as I can, not wanting to face the reality that the glorious feeling of warmth I am able to enjoy 3 months out of the year is once again about to evade me for 9 more.

I really don’t dislike Autumn.  I don’t mind sweaters and jackets during the day.  The leaves changing color really are one of God’s most glorious displays of splendor, and I happen to love Pumpkin Spice anything.  But chilly Autumn nights are an ominous reminder that the earth’s orbit is about to move my particular spot on the globe just a bit further away from the sun, which in turn translates to major temperature crashes.

As if the plummeting temperatures weren’t bad enough, the days have also grown shorter.  In peak summer, the sun shines until almost 8 pm.  Tonight, sunset is at 6:04.  And the dreaded nail in summer’s coffin – Daylight Savings Time – is still a week away.

Short cold days and long frigid nights are upon us.  No wonder the squirrels are in hyper-drive.  I’m kind of jealous of them, actually.  I would love to hoard up some food and lock myself in my apartment until April with no plans except eating and napping.  Alas, my status as a homo sapien requires me to throw off the warm covers every morning and venture out into the world, no matter what inhumane conditions might exist outside my front door.

Social media has been perpetuating the hysterical “it’s supposed to be another really bad winter” articles for a few months already.  I don’t give them any credence.  Since when is the weather report accurate 3 days in advance, let alone 3 months?  Still, I have to admit, even though I don’t believe they are accurate I still have a dreadful fear that they might be.  There was a time near the end of last year’s horrific winter – I think it was about the 17th snowstorm, or maybe it was the 23rd – where I actually started job and apartment hunting online for a nice new life in southern Florida.  Of course, that may have been spurred on by my brother’s Facebook posts of he and his girlfriend boating off the beautiful Gulf Coast in shorts and tank tops under sunny skies.

They’ve lived in Florida for a few years now, and every now and then I hear something about “missing the seasons”.  When I posted pictures of snow and sadness and offered to trade places, they never took me up on it for some strange reason.  And I don’t think they got the humor when I posted these:

 

So basically, this is how the seasons translate to me:

Autumn is the alarm clock going off.  As much as I don’t want to, I know I have to drag myself out of bed and get ready for work.  If I’m lucky there is time for breakfast and coffee, but usually it’s a race against the clock just to get out the door on time.  Winter is the long, miserable, dreary work day in an office where the thermostat is set to frigid and I left my sweater at home.  The fluorescent light above my desk is burnt out, and every time I look at the clock it’s at least 2 hours earlier than it feels.  Spring is the drive home.  Traffic is annoying and the ride always seems so much longer than it actually is, but at least the office is behind me.  Summer is walking in the front door, kicking off my heels, and trading the pantyhose for yoga pants, then enjoying a nice dinner and an hour or two with Netflix.

I miss you already summer, and I’m dreaming of the day we are reunited.

(Betcha were expecting an extended cliche on the seasons of life.  Perhaps in May, when hope has returned…)

19 Things People Who Are Always Cold Understand

Blogging at 29,000 Feet

I don’t want to sound corny, but sometimes the marvels of modern technology just blow me away.

I am sitting on my last flight home from my week long escape to the Ozarks. And I am blogging at 29,000 feet. I wasn’t really looking forward to an 8 hour trip home on multiple planes with multiple connections. However, looking out over the world from this height makes me look at it differently. Not as a drudgery, but an opportunity.

I guess that’s part of what I learned this week. I am blessed with the ability, and the opportunity, to see the world differently than I did yesterday, and differently than I will tomorrow.

Life had been busy, bleak, and honestly kind of boring. I had commented to someone a few days before I left that my life was starting to feel like Groundhog Day. Each day was a repeat of the one before. The days kind of melded together and sometimes I really couldn’t distinguish one from another.

Did I do that thing on Monday or Tuesday? Or maybe it was Sunday?

But staring out the window and watching a lightening storm off to the west, at just about the same altitude as the storm clouds themselves, it’s hard to remember being bored. Scattered flashes of light from inside the clouds look like fireflies in the fog, and I almost forgot for a moment what I was watching until a piercing bolt shot sideways instead of downward.

I have a bird’s eye view of a huge, glowing orange moon. And just a few hours ago I watched the sunset from above the clouds. It was glorious.

It occurred to me that all of these things go on every day all over the world whether or not we remember or acknowledge or appreciate them. There is incredible beauty and miraculous wonderment in what we allow to become the everyday and the mundane.

Life hadn’t become boring – I had simply grown dull.

In an hour or so we will be landing. Back to the grind, back to the business and chaos of real life. But I hope this trip will not fade quickly into the shadows of memories rarely revisited. I hope that I will have been genuinely changed, if even just the smallest bit.

I don’t need to hike around lakes at sunset or climb mountains or explore caves or canyons, nor do I need to soar 29,000 feet above the earth, in order to appreciate the beautiful gift that this world and our lives in it truly are.

But I do have to lift up my eyes beyond my immediate circumstances, past my constant consuming obsession with me. How I feel, what I think, what I have to do, what I suffer through, what I desire. I…I…I…

Life seemed bleak and boring because I was focused on such a small and contained little piece of existence, and mistakenly called that “life”.

That wasn’t – isn’t – life. That is just a snapshot of a much larger picture, larger than I could even begin to comprehend. It is a moment and place in time, and even there I am surrounded by beauty and blessings that I have become blind, deaf, and dumb to.

I want to keep my eyes and ears open. I want to see the miraculous in what others consider mundane. I want to live my life, and not just endure it.

We’ve left the storm behind. The moon is out of my view and the sun has long since retreated below the horizon. But tomorrow I may see the sun again. Or a storm. Or both. I might see a rainbow. I might glimpse out my window at just the right time to catch the fluttering dance of a monarch. I might see a mother laughing with her child. I might see any number of things that a week ago would have gone unnoticed and unappreciated.

Not now. Now I remember that it is the simplest things that are the most miraculous, and bring the most joy and purpose to life, thanks to the gifts that God has given me in the mountains and a really long plane ride home.

Distractions, Deterrents, and Nuisances

Day 3 promised to be the most beautiful day of the week, so I decided to go on the excursion I’d most been looking forward to – Dogwood Canyon Park.  Some of the locals had already assured me that it was the one of the prettiest pieces of land around.  There were, of course, the pricier options of tram or jeep tours, but I had my eye on the 6 mile walking / biking trail around the canyon.

It was nearly an hour and a half ride there, and although we are now into October, the forecast called for sunshine aplenty with a high around 86 degrees.  Once I arrived, I layered on the sunscreen and bug spray, grabbed my bottle of water, and was off.

Somehow I had it in mind that this long hike through the beautiful canyon would allow for the most peaceful experience of the week, when I would be able to get quiet and serene enough to really hear that still, small inner voice.

The first stretch of trail ran parallel to a massive construction site.  Like all construction sites, it was loud, dusty, and gave off the nauseating smell of exhaust fumes.  I just had to get past that, I told myself, and my peace and serenity would begin.  Unfortunately, I soon discovered that I had started out just about the same time as a tram tour.  Tram tours apparently use the same trail, and move at just about the same speed.  They’d pull ahead a distance, stop, and the guide would get on his cheap tram microphone with his generic corny humor giving the little facts and quips about that spot.

At first I considered power walking on ahead, but that wasn’t why I came here.  I was here to take a quiet stroll.

I slowed my pace to linger on a stone bridge over a bubbly stream when I heard a nervous warning called out from behind me.  I stepped quickly to the side as a young woman on a bike carting behind one of those child trailers wobbled past.  A man wasn’t far behind, also toting a tot behind.  She apologized profusely, and said those bikes weren’t as easy to maneuver as they looked.  I answered sincerely, and with pity in my voice, that they didn’t look easy to maneuver at all.  I hung out on the bridge a bit longer, figuring she’d get the hang of it, and on bicycles they’d outpace me soon enough.

She didn’t seem to be getting the hang of it, and although I couldn’t make out their words, the tone between the two of them grew tense and angry.  They stopped by a few benches and I decided to go on ahead.  Somehow it didn’t seem likely they were going to continue on.

I have to admit, I was relieved.  I already had the stop and go tram to contend with, and didn’t need them distracting me as well.

I walked past them and soon came up to the main creek, which meandered along the canyon floor in the classic babbling brook manner.  Every so often there would be little waterfalls, and stone bridges to cross.  I stopped here and there to take pictures, but although I recognized how beautiful it was, I can’t say I was completely appreciating it.  I was distracted as I kept waiting for that peace and serenity that just wasn’t coming.

There were a number of hikers and bikers and passing jeeps.  Every so often I’d catch up to the tram.  Instead of serenity, I began to feel frustration.  Then I’d scold myself.  This was a public park.  Did I really expect to find that much solitude here?

I stopped and briefly made up my mind that it wasn’t going to spoil my day.  I may not find a hidden little Eden here, but I was still going to enjoy myself.  I was still going to find that peace.

The further I went the fewer people I encountered.  This was a three-miles-to-the-end-then-turn-around-and-come-back-the-same-way kind of trail as opposed to a loop, so perhaps a lot of people didn’t opt to go all the way to the end.  Better for me.

But as I got deeper into the canyon, the brush grew thicker.  There hadn’t been any significant rain for the last few weeks, and the creek here was low and barely flowing.  It looked more like a trail of shallow pools of stagnant water.  Where there is stagnant water and thick brush, there are gnats.

At first there were just a few here and there, and I simply gave them the occasional swat.  Before long it was frequent swats.  Eventually I found myself walking with both hands waving constantly in front of my face like windshield wipers.

I knew that at the end of the trail was where the highest waterfall and some of the prettiest sights were, but I had gotten to the point where I almost didn’t care.  I’d had quite enough of the gnats, and had almost decided to turn myself around, when I had a quiet thought.

Why, when I had come so far down a path I was determined to walk, would I let these distractions and nuisances become deterrents?  I thought about it.  These weren’t biting gnats, so they weren’t doing any damage.  They were simply annoying.  I also hadn’t seen the tram in awhile.  And I was nearly to the end.

I decided the gnats weren’t going to beat me.  This may not have been the calm, peaceful stroll I had planned on, but I was going to finish.  I turned up my windshield wipers and picked up the pace, and before very long I heard the distant sound of rushing water.  As I moved along it grew gradually louder until finally, it was there.  To be honest I wasn’t sure what was a more welcome sight – the cascading falls or the sign proclaiming “End of Trail – Turn Around”.

As I stood there watching the water crash over the rocks into the pool below, I did not feel a sense of peace.  I did not feel serenity.  What I felt was a sense of accomplishment and victory, and with it, strength.

I tend to be easy derailed and deterred by the constant distractions of life (which is beautifully illustrated by the fact that I felt the need to come out to the mountains alone for a week in order to relax and recharge).  I am also easily deterred by the many nuisances that sometimes seem to swarm around me, stealing my joy and peace and replacing it with frustration.  Often I simply turn around and go back to where the path was easier and more enjoyable.

As I turned around and walked back, I thought about what I had come out here looking for as opposed to what I’d found.  I had come out here feeling as though I needed to find peace and rest and through that I would find some inspiration and encouragement.  As usual, I had it all wrong.

I have been doing a bit too much “resting” as of late.  I don’t mean the kind of rest that renews, but a rest of stagnation and resistance.  I’ve come pretty far, and learned a lot about myself and my life.  I could keep pushing forward, but there are distractions all around and some serious nuisances swarming around up ahead.  So I hang out here.  The problem is that it won’t take long before the stagnation begins to breed more gnats.  What will I do then?  Finally push forward or retreat even further back to where I was in the past?

It wasn’t peace and rest that imparted inspiration and encouragement, it was determination and follow through.  The final leg of my walk wasn’t pleasant, but I did it.  That sense of accomplishment and victory gave me the biggest surge of joy and strength I’ve felt so far this week.

It’s time, I think.  Time to break away from the distractions and push through the unpleasantries.  Time to keep on moving toward where I want to be, instead of lingering along the road just far enough away from who I was to keep me content.

I have been waiting for months to find that surge of inner strength before moving forward, but it is clear to me now that sometimes the strength doesn’t come first.  Sometimes the strength is the victor’s reward.

From the Depths to the Heights

Day two of my solo retreat to the Ozarks was quite an interesting day.  I decided to tour a cave.  I’d never been in a cave before, and I was kind of nervous.  But at the same time, I was excited.  It was something I’d always thought looked intriguing but never had the chance to do.  New Jersey isn’t exactly known for its extensive cave systems.

My tour guide was a cheerful, enthusiastic man probably nearing his 60’s, with a thick but affable accent.  His name, no lie, was Rad.  I liked him immediately.  When he asked me how many caves I’d visited before and I said this was my first, he broke out in a great big smile, and said “you shure did pick out the purdiest one around”.

He told me the cave’s original name was Fairy Cave, because the first person to explore it said it looked like an underground fairy land.  His enthusiasm was contagious.

There were about 20 of us on the tour, mostly families.  I got a few strange looks for being the only solo tourist, but I’ve been getting used to that.  Something about a person out and about enjoying life alone seems to make other people uncomfortable, or suspicious, or perhaps it’s an embarrassed curiosity.  But I digress.

Before the tour departed, we got a brief history lesson, and then the disclaimer.  We would be descending about 100 feet and walking 263 stairs.  There would be a few very narrow passthroughs, and as part of the tour, at one point the lights were going to be turned off.  Anyone with physical limitations, any form of claustrophobia, or fear of the dark, should consider backing out now.

One couple promptly opted for a refund.

We began our descent.  The pseudo spiral stone staircase was very uneven, and no two steps were the same height.  Most steps were steeper than the typical stair, and everything was wet.  Needless to say, the trek down was slow going, and very tedious.

We stopped at a platform about halfway down to let the group all catch up.  Rad explained that unlike many other caves which are horizontal, this one was vertical, and had only one opening.  That was most likely why it had been discovered so relatively late in the game.

He began to talk about what a cave is and how it is formed, and as usual, it spoke to me about some deeper truths.

When the earth was younger, it experienced a number of cataclysmic events – major flooding, earthquakes, and massive shifting of the continental plates.  This smashing together and tearing apart of those plates was what created the mountain ranges.  As it happened, however, numerous pockets of empty space become trapped in between the massive pieces of stone and earth.  Caves.

I began to think about some of the cataclysmic events I experienced when I was younger – the smashing of dreams and tearing apart of relationships, things which shook my very foundations and forever changed the landscape of my life.  Was it possible that all of those events left empty caverns trapped beneath the surface, stretching down to unknown depths?

The tour began to move again, and we crept ever so cautiously down the treacherous steps.  A second stop in a wider part of the cavern gave us a clear view of the ceiling of the cave.  Stretching down from the top were waiving curtains of rock and spears of stalactite.

Rad used a laser pointer to trace the source of these formations – a thin crack along the ceiling of the cave.  He said that as it rains above and the water seeps down into the ground, it drips through that crack and melts the limestone, which slowly over hundreds of years forms these columns and curtains in the same way that dripping water in cold conditions creates an icicle.

Hmm.  Rocksicles. The thought made me smile.

We passed through a narrow and unaltered hallway (no steps, no even walkway – just natural, curvy, slippery stone), and after one more set of stairs found ourselves on the floor of the cave.  From there we had an unobstructed view of the most spectacular formation in the cave.  A 50 foot column of rock which Rad called “the angel”.  I still don’t understand the science of it, but in addition to stalactites which drip down from the ceiling, caves can also form stalagmites, which grow up from the floor.  When they meet, they have become a column.  This one was spectacular, and really did resemble an angel.

Again, I began to wonder.  I’m sure that much of what goes on at the surface of my life has dripped down into the unknown depths.  Had they created such beautiful formations?  Were there possibly such glorious things still to be discovered?

My thoughts were interrupted by the announcement that it was time to turn off all the lights.  It didn’t phase me.  Until it happened.  I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced such a heavy blackness.  My pulse quickened and I could feel my eyes reflexively open about as wide as they could.  I suddenly felt cold, and a chill went up my spine.  Thankfully, one of the kids began to cry and the lights were promptly restored.  I could see on the faces of the other group members that I wasn’t the only one so unsettled by that utter and complete darkness.

With that, the tour concluded and we climbed back up to the surface.  Earlier on Rad had mentioned some nature trails on the property, and as the group milled about the gift shop picking out souvenirs and asking questions, I quietly slipped out the back door to get some sunshine and fresh air and ponder the thoughts the cave had stirred up.  The trail wasn’t very long, about 2 miles around, but it was uphill.  Very uphill.  I didn’t mind.  After feeling cramped and moving so cautiously and awkwardly below ground, a brisk walk in the wide open air felt good.  As I neared the top of the loop, I discovered an observation tower.  It looked about 4 or 5 stories high.  I’m not typically a fan of heights, but I figured I had come this far and might as well go all the way to the top.  It was breathtaking.  I could see mountains and valleys for miles in every direction.

It occurred to me how strange it was to have gone from the depths of the earth to heights above the treetops all within a matter of hours.  And quickly there came to mind a familiar and very personal verse.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?  Where can I flee from Your presence?  If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.  If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast.  If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You. (Psalm 139:7-12)

None of this is a mystery to God.  The things unknown to me that lurk undiscovered in the depths of my heart are as clear and as illuminated to Him as that wide open mountainside was to me.  Rapid fire verses began to flood my mind.

He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, And He set my feet upon a rock (Psalm 40:2)…He has called you out of darkness into His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9)…He makes my feet like the feet of a deer, He enables me to go on the heights (Habakkuk 3:19)…For great is Your love, higher than the heavens; Your faithfulness reaches to the skies (Psalm 108:4)

As I stood on those heights looking out over the mountains, remembering the depths of the cavern, I became aware with new clarity what God has been doing in my life.  With this Monday afternoon excursion, He was able to show me His purposes in a way that I understood.  Through all the chaos and confusion and pain and frustration of the past few months, He has been helping me to uncover the depths and illuminate the darkness within myself, so that I will – finally – be able to reach new heights.

Outgrowing the Cocoon

Perhaps you may have read an earlier entry, Caterpillar Soup, that I posted back in May.  In it, I compared the state of my life at the time to what actually goes on inside a cocoon when a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly.  I used to think that a caterpillar simply sprouted butterfly wings.  Not so.  In reality, the caterpillar melts down completely into a mess of disgusting goop, and special cells that had been dormant until then come to life, use that goop to nourish themselves, and grow and merge into the adult butterfly.

Yes, I had melted down completely.  I was a disgusting mess.  Nothing in my life was certain or secure, and I had no idea what to do with the chaos and confusion within and around me.

Fast forward a few months.  Life has settled into a new normal.  I am in a better place than I was, albeit certainly not a place I want to remain for very long.  Life still feels transitional, and I am still unsure of the direction I will ultimately end up going and the person I will end up becoming.

If I could describe myself over the past 6 months in one word, I would use the word pensive.  Even when surrounded by coworkers and family and friends, a small part of me has been perpetually withdrawn, alone with my deep thoughts and emotions.  I have been using this time to face who I have become along the bumpy and treacherous roads I have chosen in the past.  I have examined some of the many wrong turns and choices, and identified some of the damage done to myself and others.  I have made some peace, and uncovered some deeper pain.  But there is a theme here…some.

As much as I’ve been pensive, I’ve also been busy.  Very busy.  All of that busyness and chaos and noise quickly began to infect my introspection and turn it ugly.  Exhausted and overwhelmed introspection can quickly become depression, discouragement, and cynicism.

So I did what I’ve never been good at before.  Rather than just tell myself to suck it up and deal with it, I admitted I was exhausted and overwhelmed and did something about it.  I took a vacation.  Alone.

Yesterday was my first day in the beautiful Ozarks in Missouri.  It’s a strange destination, I know, but it is far enough away from my busy suburban existence where I am constantly in motion but never seem to “catch up”.  Here, there is nothing to race around for.  There is fresh air and mountains and nature trails and lakes.  It is peaceful.  It is quiet.  It is not in a hurry.

I spent my first day here hiking around Table Rock Lake.  It was a perfect day.  The water was clear, the sky was blue, the day was warm, and the breeze was cool.  But something unexpected met me on that long walk around the lake.  Butterflies.  Dozens of butterflies.

In the peace and quiet and beauty of my surroundings, I was able to do what I came out here to do.  I was able to think.  What I thought about was Caterpillar Soup.  I asked myself where I was in my own transformation, and the immediate and brutally honest answer was stunted.  I had made some important changes, and learned some important lessons.  But I had also avoided some of the more difficult things that I didn’t want to deal with.

As I watched the butterflies, it occurred to me that I couldn’t call what they were doing “flying”.  They were flitting.  Dancing.  They seemed light and unburdened and if I had to guess, I’d say they were entirely enjoying their existence.  As I watched them, I had to admit that I definitely haven’t emerged.  What was taking me so long?

I immediately thought about a story I’d heard where a boy was watching a butterfly struggling to emerge from its cocoon.  He wanted to help and cut the cocoon open, but when the butterfly emerged it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.  It turned out that the butterfly’s struggle out of the cocoon is what pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings, and strengthens it to fly.  Without the struggle, it cannot become what it was meant to be.

Personally, I’ve never liked a struggle.

I didn’t want to think about it so I changed the subject (which is really easy to do when you are conversing with yourself).  I kept on hiking, and taking pictures, and made it back to the starting point with enough time to watch the sunset.  It was glorious.  But it reminded me of another story about a struggle, and this one was harder to forget.

Genesis 32 tells the familiar story of Jacob wresting with God, but far fewer people know that story in its context.  In Genesis 31, God tells Jacob that he has worked as his uncle’s servant long enough, and He sends him back to the promised land.  There is a problem, though.  In order to get there, Jacob must cross through his brother Esau’s territory.  The last time Jacob had seen Esau, he had just deceitfully stolen both his birthright and his blessing from their blind and dying father, and Esau was going to kill him. That was why Jacob had fled to his uncle in the first place.  Twenty long years had passed, but Jacob was still terrified of his brother’s wrath.  When he heard that Esau was coming to meet him with 400 men, he divided his possessions among the company traveling with him, to be given as gifts to his brother.  He sent them all ahead of him, one group at a time, hoping that the gifts brought by his company would appease his brother’s wrath.  Lastly, it says, that at night he sent his wives and children with whatever he had remaining across the river, and he himself remained there alone.

That was when the real struggle began.  And sitting there alone, with no one and nothing around me, watching the last of the sunlight disappear behind the mountains on the other side of the lake, it all began to make sense.  Jacob wrestled with God until daybreak, refusing to let go until He blessed him.  There is plenty of theological discussion (i.e. argument) about what this passage really means.  Without getting into that, here’s what it meant to me last night.

I tend to agree with the teaching that Jacob wasn’t wrestling against God (because really, how absurd is it to imagine that any human being could possibly outmatch God in hand to hand combat?).  He was wrestling with God against himself.  He knew that come daybreak, he had two choices.  He could cross the river alone and face his oldest and greatest fear, or he could abandon his family and possessions, and tuck tail and run back to his uncle.  I don’t know what it was in Jacob that was holding him back, but I know that he and God wrestled with it until daybreak, and together overcame it.  I know this because when Jacob sees Esau and his men coming the next morning, he doesn’t hide behind his family anymore, but passes on ahead of them to meet his brother head on.

I may not know what it was in Jacob that held him back, but I do know what it is in me that holds me back.  I know what my Esau is, and I know that I can’t run and hide forever.

I also know that I’ve outgrown the cocoon, and it’s time to struggle my way out.  Do you know how you can tell when a butterfly is almost ready to emerge?  The cocoon becomes transparent, and you can see the color from its wings through the chrysalis.

I’ve gotten a glimpse of who I can be, and I know that what lies between here and there is a great big struggle.  It’s a struggle against the things within me that still hold me back.  But as I watched the sun set over the lake last night, it was as if God was reassuring me that it’s not a struggle I have to go through alone, because He will be there to wrestle with me against the things I cannot defeat alone.

Choice and Consequence

I recently heard someone say that free will was God’s greatest judgment on mankind.  I couldn’t agree more.

We’ve all made some bad choices in life, and ultimately faced some kind of unpleasant consequences.  Hopefully we “learned our lesson”.  Unfortunately, for many of us there is something in our nature that prevents us from learning our lessons well enough not to repeat those same bad choices.

Think about it.  How many times have you done something that caused some kind of pain or misery, and sworn off ever doing that again…only to find yourself doing that again?

Personally, I’m tired of learning lessons the hard way – especially lessons I have already learned the hard way multiple times before.  But for some maddening reason, I often find myself walking down the same familiar paths that have only caused me trouble and angst in the past.

I suppose not everyone struggles with this particular affliction, but those of us who do are sorely familiar with the very popular definition of insanity – doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  I am the first to admit that in these kinds of situations, I feel like a genuinely crazy person.

I know it’s not just me.  I’ve had conversations with many other people who knew exactly what I was talking about.  And we all ask the same frustrating questions.  Why do we do what we do?  What is it that drives us to these self destructive patterns?  Is the immediate gratification of this bad choice really so overwhelming that it causes temporary and selective amnesia of the all the past consequences?  Because that’s exactly what seems to happen.  Somehow our minds manage to extract the memories of the few pleasant moments associated with the past experience and keep the rest cloaked in darkness and obscurity.

There are, of course, some consequences so excruciating and enduring that one lesson lasts a lifetime.  Most aren’t quite so cataclysmic, and as time goes on the pain fades.  Then eventually, so do the memories of that pain, until the wrong choice is just that much easier to make again.

Jesus told a parable that I had trouble fully grasping for many years, but it came to mind recently and finally made some sense to me.  And don’t check out on me here – even if you’re not a Christian, Jesus still spoke with great wisdom and insight into the human heart.

When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first…” (‭Matthew‬ ‭12‬:‭43-45‬ NIV)

Whether or not you believe in “impure spirits”, this can still apply.  Think of them as symbolic of your bad habits and destructive tendencies, and you get the point.  Basically, we kick them out.  We clean ourselves up.  But they come back stronger than ever, and we’re worse off than we were before.

That was the part that always confused me.  After they were gone, the person cleaned up.  Why, then, would they be able to come back in?

Then it hit me.  The house was clean, but it was empty.  The trouble and its resulting miseries were gone.  Life was good.  Life was comfortable.  And therein was the danger.  The problems may have been gone, but nothing had taken their place.

I find a clean house to have a very calming effect.  It is peaceful, but if it’s also empty, the peace is eventually overtaken by loneliness.  It’s too quiet.  There is a sense of isolation that begins to infect the mind and the heart, and when the mind and the heart begin to wander, our actions quickly follow.

Compounding this problem is the fact that once the pain began to fade, no other deterrent had taken its place.  No security system was installed, no new locks on the doors and windows, no fence erected, and no motion sensing lights.

You’d think after getting all of that Trouble out of their house, this person would be hyper-vigilant, and take extra precautions to protect him(or her)self.  Not the case.

Maybe the person was in denial. Maybe they kept telling themselves that Trouble was a random, freak occurrence and won’t happen again.

Maybe the person was an escapist.  They didn’t want to face what had happened, so busied themselves with any number of distractions.

Maybe the person hated change.  They found their comfort and security in the familiarity of their surroundings and were afraid to chance them, even though they were unsafe.

And so the person left the clean house empty and unprotected. They justified themselves, or passed blame, or made excuses.  It’s not necessary, I’ll know better next time.  It’s because so-and-so left the door unlocked, there was nothing I could do about that.  I’m too busy to make all these changes.  I can’t afford it.  I don’t want the house to look like a fortress.  Etc, etc, and so on.

In reality, the cleaned-up house looks vastly improved to most passerbys, who are so happy to see all the progress being made.  But for Trouble, it is still an easy target.  And because it is cleaned up and emptied out there is room for Trouble’s buddies too.

I enjoy analogies because they allow me to examine the problem without looking straight on at the real problem.  It’s time to move away from the analogy.  It’s also time to move away from the “they” and “we”.  Time to get real.  This is about me, myself, and I.

Obviously this is not about an actual house.  It’s about my heart, mind, soul, and spirit – the non-physical aspect of myself.

As I read this parable and thought about its meaning, I began to see my problem more clearly.  I don’t mind cleaning up on the surface, but when it comes to doing the hard work of facing and attempting to fix my weaknesses, I mind very much.

I deny the problem.  I refuse to face it.  I feel threatened and frightened by the idea of change, so I do what’s easy and familiar and avoid any hard work.  Then I justify it.  I pass blame.  I make excuses.  It’s not necessary, I’ll know better than to make that mistake the next time.  It’s because so-and-so did what they did to me; I was a victim and there was nothing I could do about it.  I’m too busy to work on myself.  I can’t afford therapy.  I don’t want to look like a fortress.  Etc, etc, and so on.

And each time Trouble comes back, it comes back stronger.  The pain is worse and the consequences reach farther and deeper than the last time.

I was confronted with a painful consequence today still lingering from an old bad choice, and as I felt that familiar guilt and regret and sorrow stirring in the pit of my stomach, a thought crossed my mind.  How much more pain do I have to cause to myself and others before I am willing to fill up my empty spaces and start working on strengthening my many weaknesses?  What will it take?  Is this guilt and regret and sorrow enough, or will it take more?

I wish I could state with confidence that I have learned my lesson once and for all, and will never make such bad choices again, but that would be a lie.  The only thing I can state with confidence right now, is if I had the chance to give back my free will I’d take it.  But I can’t.  I will continue to face a multitude of choices every day, from the mediocre and mundane to the potentially life altering, and everything in between.

What I am starting to realize is that if I want to make the right choices down the road I can’t wait until I get there.  By that time it’ll be too late.  If I want to avoid repeating past mistakes in the future, I have to fix myself in the present, and not making that choice today will have untold consequences in the future.

The Busy Life

It’s been over a month since I’ve sat down and written something.  There is a good reason though – I’ve been busy.  Really busy.

I’ve been working two jobs, seven days a week for an average of seventy to eighty hours.  Besides that, I have a few dutiful commitments that I do my best to keep.  When people ask me how I am, or how things have been, my immediate answer is “busy”.

Someone asked me last night how I’ve been and got that very answer.  He then asked how things were – outside of work.  It occurred to me there wasn’t much to speak of in that category.  I go to job #1, then to job #2, then home for sleep.

The conversation turned to my two jobs, secretary by day and waitress by night, neither of which have the potential to take me anywhere beyond where I already am.  Then came the golden question – what I would want to do with my life if I had the choice?  I had to think a moment, but the answer was fairly easy.  I’d love to get paid to write.  He pointed out that lots of people get paid to write, so why couldn’t I?

One has to write to become a writer.  Writing takes time.  And I have no time.  The very little bit of free time I do have is usually spent lying on the couch in a semi-conscious daze with an episode of whatever is on Netflix, or standing in the kitchen with a tantalizing meal of pickles and cheese.  Don’t judge – that’s all I have in my fridge.  I just haven’t had the time to get to the grocery store.  Even if I had, I don’t have the time to cook.

It really got me thinking.  I’m too busy for fun, too busy to do what I love, even too busy to eat.  In the few moments I’m not too busy, I’m too exhausted.  Life is whizzing past and I’m too busy to really live it.  For a moment I felt like I was in one of those videos where the background is moving in super duper fast speed and there is one person standing motionless in front of it.

I kind of thought by now I’d be settled down with a kid or two.  But my Facebook feed has progressed from pictures of parties to engagements to weddings and babies.  This last week I was taken aback by all the “first day of school” pictures, and I realized most of my friends’ kids are now in elementary school.  When did that happen?  And why am I missing out on it?  All I have to speak of is a divorce and a broken engagement, and no one wants to see that on their feed.

I’ve worked two jobs plenty of times in the past, but it feels different this time.  This time I’m working to pay for the stupid mistakes I made in the past.  And sadly, the not so distant past.  Now there is a sense of urgency, of I don’t want to do this forever.  I keep saying I’ll be able to enjoy life when I can quit my second job after my debt is paid off, but I know that’ll take years.  How much will I miss out on in the meantime?

That question didn’t bother me in my 20’s.  It always seemed like there was plenty of time for “fill in the blank”.  And I know that 33 isn’t that old, but it’s starting to feel that way.  When my knees crack and ache if I climb too many stairs, I feel it.  When people use internet slang that I have to Google to understand, I feel it.  And when I look in the mirror and it seems my gray hair is multiplying exponentially, I feel it.  (Although I have to confess, I’ve resisted dying it in hopes it keeps younger men from hitting on their waitress).

When I’m invited to dinner with mom and my sisters, I’m too busy.  When I’m asked to a join a few friends for a drink after work, I’m too busy.  Too busy to get to the beach, too busy to get a pedicure, too busy to sit down and write or spend some quiet time in prayer and meditation.  God forbid I get asked out on a date, I’m too busy for that too.

But then it occurred to me that my friends who have what I want – the marriage and house and kids – have the same complaints.  Get the kids up for school and rush not to miss the bus, rush to get to work, rush home to run this one to soccer practice and this one to piano lessons and when they finally get home it’s rush through dinner and homework and fall into bed exhausted at the end of the day.

So maybe it’s not just me.  Maybe it’s a lot of people.  We live in a world full of modern conveniences meant to make our lives easier and more efficient, but it seems our lives are becoming more and more chaotic, and we have less time to enjoy it than our parents and grandparents did.  But then again, values were different.  Dinner with the family every night was commonplace – how many families do you know that still sit down together regularly at the dinner table?  Businesses were closed on Sundays and holidays – now everyone is open Sundays, and business hours are longer and more absurd with every passing Black Friday that pushes its way earlier and earlier into Thanksgiving Day.  College grads may be making more money, but after paying their enormous student loan payments due to the absurd cost of tuition, they are working longer hours and taking home the same, perhaps even less, than their college-less counterparts.  Vacations have become staycations, used to catch up on all the household projects there just haven’t been the time for.  No wonder there is an epidemic of chronic anxiety and depression.

Sorry to disappoint if you were reading in hopes of finding a creative solution at the end, because I don’t have one.  The easy cop-out answer would be that we all need to take the time to stop and smell the roses.  Easier said than done.  I mean, who has time to plant a rose garden these days let alone enjoy it?  It’s a law of the universe that objects in motion tend to stay in motion, and unfortunately, from our individual lives to our culture as a whole, we are in constant crazy motion.  I have no idea how to slow things down.  But I also know I don’t want to look back on my life in 40 years and wonder why I spent so much time on things that didn’t really matter.  I suppose it’s a matter of rearranging my priorities.

But that will have to wait for now.  It seems I’ve lost track of time and have to rush off to work.

The “F” Word

I got in the car this morning and turned on the radio.  After half a commercial, the very first song that played used the “F” word.  Really?  How obnoxious is that?  Who actually wants to hear that?  But for some reason, I left the song on and listened to the words, really listened, and I began to squirm in my seat.  Perhaps I was initially turned off by the “F” word, but the rest of the song was exactly what I needed (and didn’t want to) hear.   Perhaps you’ll indulge me and read the lyrics for yourself:

It’s the hardest thing to give away
And the last thing on your mind today
It always goes to those that don’t deserve
It’s the opposite of how you feel
When the pain they caused is just too real
It takes everything you have to say the word…

It flies in the face of all your pride
It moves away the mad inside
It’s always anger’s own worst enemy
Even when the jury and the judge
Say you’ve got a right to hold a grudge
It’s the whisper in your ear saying ‘Set it Free’… Matthew West

Yup, you’ve guessed it.  The dreaded “F” word is forgiveness, and it really was the last thing on my mind today.  The first thing on my mind (and not just today but for quite awhile now) was exactly the opposite.  Anger.  And justified anger, mind you.  When you’ve been through what I’ve been through (or any other form of betrayal or violation) then yes, you have the right to be angry at the offender(s).

And I have been very, very angry.  Wednesday was an important day.  It was the day I was hoping all of the absurd drama and hurt and humiliation of the past few months would finally be resolved and over with.  Unfortunately, that did not happen.  Everyone involved – except, of course, the actual offenders – agreed that it was unfair, and never should have happened.  But due to circumstances beyond everyone’s control, there was no way around it.  It wasn’t going away.  This was the epitome of the profane “F” word you may have been expecting at the beginning of this post.

I have been stewing, almost obsessively, about how unfair this all is and how I don’t deserve it.  I’ve been thinking of all the horrible things they’ve done and what I could have done to prevent it, and thinking of all the horrible things they’ve said and all the snappy responses I didn’t think of until later, and imagining all the various ways I’d like to see karma pay them back for all of it.

And then I had to hear that word.  Forgiveness.  The worst part is that the song is absolutely correct.  It is the hardest thing to give away, and would absolutely be going to those who don’t deserve it.  They haven’t asked for it, and certainly haven’t earned it.  But when that nagging little voice inside reminded me of how I have been forgiven many times in the past when I haven’t deserved it, I had no choice but to stop and really consider it.

I immediately recalled a conversation between Jesus and His disciples, when they asked Him how many times they should forgive someone who sins against them and if seven times were enough.  Jesus responded, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18:22)  On the one hand, it’s tempting to start a log of every time someone offends you and officially cut them off when they hit 490, but that’s not what He was saying.  In poetic and symbolic language, He was saying to forgive them every single time.

That’s a tall order.  I know that God has forgiven me for every wrong thing I have ever done, but He has that capacity because He is God.  I am not.

But if I get real, I am forced to admit that’s a cop out.  I do have the capacity; I’m just too prideful to use it.  (Remember that line about “it flies in the face of all your pride”?  Busted.)

Really, what’s the point?  They couldn’t care less if I forgave them or not.  And aren’t there some things that really are unforgivable?

That’s kind of a two part answer, which I already knew somewhere in the recesses of my mind because I learned it years ago.  I just haven’t allowed myself to think about it because I was too busy being mad.  This song pushed it to the forefront of my mind, and I began to remember all of the things I had learned about this subject some ten years back.

First, forgiveness is powerful.  Just a few days ago I read a headline about a mother who hugged her daughter’s killer in court.  I went back and actually read the article.  Apparently a 17 year old kid was playing with a gun he had found, and accidentally shot this woman’s 13 year old daughter in the neck, killing her.  As it turns out, this woman’s decision to forgive the shooter was the deciding factor that spared this kid from a prison sentence.  Then, in a move that shocked everyone, she hugged him in court.  Prison would have ruined his life.  Instead, after a year in a juvenile center, he will travel around the state a dozen times a year – with this brave mother – talking to kids about gun violence and gun safety.  If you ask me, that’s pretty powerful.

Okay, but that was an accident.  What about cases of intentional harm, or repeated offenses, or cases without remorse?  That’s where the second part comes in, and it’s found in the last verse of the song, which I purposely saved until now.

It’ll clear the bitterness away
It can even set a prisoner free
There is no end to what its power can do
So let it go and be amazed
By what you see through eyes of grace
The prisoner that it really frees – is you.

Take a moment and really let that sink in.  I did.  And in a very, very short amount of time, it has really changed my perspective.

I can almost guarantee my offenders are not spending their days and nights ruminating about this, letting it steal their joy and ruin their fun.  Even if they were, why should I let it steal my joy and ruin my fun?  Although the offense itself is in the past, holding onto that anger is actually giving them the power to incessantly re-hurt me in the present.  No thank you!

That applies whether they want to be forgiven or not.  In cases where the other party wants to be forgiven and you refuse, you aren’t just hurting them, you’re hurting yourself as well.  And in cases where they don’t care about forgiveness, well, now you’re only hurting yourself.

So why do we stay angry?  There is something satisfying to our wounded pride when we parade about telling them, the world, and ourselves how wrong they were and how innocent we are.  It is especially hard to let it go when others agree with you.  We want the whole world to see them the way they really are – the way we know they are – and then we will win.

In truth, that’s extraordinarily counterproductive.  After a hurt or an offense has been done to you, your focus should be on healing from that hurt; staying angry does exactly the opposite.  It would be like someone hitting you in the face and giving you a black eye.  Instead of putting ice on it, you spend your days showing it to everyone and telling the story to whoever will listen, even if you’re only retelling it to yourself, and every time you get to the part where you were hit, you punch yourself in the face again for emphasis.  I guarantee you – that black eye will never heal.

When I think about how much of my emotional and mental (and even physical) energy I have been giving to the offenders, and how much harm I have done to myself, suddenly anger isn’t so very attractive and forgiveness sounds like a fabulous idea.

I’ve been through this before, so I remember the lessons I learned way back when.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean the pain will immediately stop.  Wounds hurt, but as you treat them they will heal.  What we tend to forget is that healing takes time.  Occasionally a lot of time.  And it will continue to hurt while it heals.

Forgiveness certainly doesn’t mean I should be foolish enough to invite them back into my life.  Have you heard the saying “hurt me once shame on you, hurt me twice shame on me”?  There are many cases when the person or people are remorseful, and repentant, and it’s more a matter of establishing stronger boundaries than burning down a bridge.  But then there are other cases where those bridges really need to burn baby burn.  No one needs to knowingly subject themselves to more unnecessary hurt, or allow themselves to be taken advantage of or abused.

What forgiveness does mean is that I need to make a conscious, committed decision.  I have no power over what they did or why they did it, and I have no power to change the past.  However, I can choose not to let their wrong choices have any more negative impact on my life than it has to.

I know from experience that I will have to decide daily, because I know that just as it takes time to heal, it also takes time to completely let some things go.  But even though the song correctly says “it takes everything you have to say the word”, I have decided, finally, to say the “F” word.  I forgive them.

The Perpetual Prodigal, or Bad Habits Die Hard

It’s stuck in my head again.  I can’t get no…satisfaction.  Cause I try and I try and I try and I try…

And I really don’t like that song all that much, but it’s just so apropos tonight.  What in the world am I looking for anyway, and why do I keep looking in the same places I’ve failed to find it so many times before?

I’ve been thinking about the story of the Prodigal lately, and how very much like the prodigal I tend to be.  Two kids grow up in the same household with the same father, but one decides that life on the farm isn’t enough for him.  He asks for his share of the inheritance and sets off to find whatever it is he’s looking for.  He finds himself a good time, for sure, but the good times dry up quickly and then he finds himself destitute.

Yup, been there, done that.  I cringe to think about how much of my life I have wasted on fleeting, trivial things as I have fought to quell that ever present and insatiable dissatisfaction that never quiets down.  When I take a step back and really examine the problem, along with my embarrassing attempts at solutions, I’m quite baffled by my own behavior.

Something is bothering me, and I don’t like how it feels.  So I reach for something that does absolutely nothing to address the “what’s bothering me” but makes me feel temporarily better, or at least effectively distracted.  Then the temporary fix wears off and now there is the “what’s bothering me” plus the miserable withdrawal from the temporary distraction which demands more temporary distraction.  So, I reach for more temporary distraction, which still fails to address the “what’s bothering me” and adds more negative withdrawal from temporary distraction.  And yes, I’ve heard Einstein’s definition of insanity.

I have a great big list of things that don’t help.  Entenmanns, Ben & Jerry’s, Cabernet Sauvignon, Marlboro Lights, Work Out World, Weight Watchers, mani/pedis, haircuts, new clothes, new credit cards, and new romantic relationships.

I know that I know that I know that none of those things will fix the dreadful “what’s bothering me” that never really goes away, and will actually complicate my life and bring about more misery in the long run, but there is something so very natural and effortless about reaching out for one of my familiar temporary distractions.  I actually have to try to talk myself out of it.  And sometimes, armed with a hundred examples of how a temporary distraction has caused nothing but misery in the past, I still can’t convince myself to pass it up.

What gives?

I don’t believe that I am plagued by some kind of masochistic neuroses that derives a sense of pleasure from self destructive tendencies.  In fact, I am quite sure I solidly despise self-destruction in all forms.

And yet, the wine still flows at the end of the night.  I keep eating donuts today and counting calories tomorrow.  The credit card balances continue to climb as the wardrobe continues to expand.  And I can’t seem to stop smiling back at the very charming, very attractive, very flirtatious Bad News Boy.

Someone told me once that I have no coping skills.  I disagree.  I have plenty of coping skills; they just tend to be counter-productive.

I know I’m not alone.  There are all kinds of support groups and programs and pills and therapists and hypnotists out there thriving on the likes of me.  But as far as I can tell, there is no sure fix or easy answer.  If there was, we’d all know about it and this wouldn’t be an issue.  But it is an issue.  It is a fundamental, universal human issue.

And yes, my beloved brothers and sisters in Christ, I know that I must surrender my will to Him and allow Him to deliver me from my bondage.  I haven’t overlooked prayer and fasting and reading the Bible, but if breaking these bad habits was really as easy as most Christians make it sound, there wouldn’t be as much adultery and addiction in the church as there is.

I do not mean to disrespect or downplay the role of faith, because I do sincerely believe that without God’s miraculous grace I would have no hope whatsoever of ever getting out of my own way.  However, I do think that Christians tend to respond to difficult questions with flaky easy answers that offer no help or hope, and leave people disenchanted and discouraged.

It wasn’t flaky easy answers that drove the Prodigal home.  It was utter starvation.  I don’t think he ever found whatever it was he was looking for.  I don’t think anyone who lives the rock star lifestyle really finds any kind of contentment.  But he went home when the results of his temporary solutions were finally worse than the nagging “what’s bothering him” that drove him away in the first place.

And there it is – the epiphany.

I choose the temporary solutions no matter how much I know they’ll hurt, because the only other choice is to face the shadowy demon “what’s bothering me”.  I am familiar with the painful consequences of the temporary solution, and although I despise it I know how to deal with it, and that seems much less terrifying than glimpsing into the unknown tormenter who lives in the darkness beyond.

What’s bothering me?  I’ve chewed off half my fingernails trying to consider it.  They are monumental, overwhelming questions and uncertainties and doubts and regrets and fears, about myself and my life and the world and my past and the future.  They are things that will require great courage and faith to tackle, and that are guaranteed to provoke extreme emotional responses.  Truthfully, it’s more than I can think about or deal with on a Tuesday night.

Pour the Cabernet, please.

Locked Out

Today was “one of those” days.  We’ve all had them – days when Murphy’s Law actively works its mischief in your life.  Today, Murphy went into overdrive.

Just to set a bit of background, I moved into my new apartment exactly 5 days ago.  I started a new (second) job 7 days ago.  There is a lot of new in my life this week, which I haven’t quite caught up with yet.

Being the newest waitress on the floor, I was trying hard to make sure I didn’t mess up.  Initial impressions are lasting, and I didn’t want to make a bad impression that would haunt me for months, maybe years to come.

I am quite certain I made an impression tonight.

One of the other girls found a set of keys on the floor and asked whose they were.  I immediately reached in my pocket and realized my keys weren’t there.  However, the found keys weren’t mine either.  In a sickening, dreadful instant I realized that I had tossed my keys in my purse out of habit, rather than putting them in my pocket, and then locked my purse in the trunk.

Yes, the trunk.  That was the place where my ex insisted I put anything I wasn’t bringing with me, because leaving it in the car in plain sight would send out a homing beacon to every thief and burglar for miles around to come and steal my stuff.  It wasn’t worth arguing with him at first, but after three years, it had become habit.

As I racked my brain for solutions, it occurred to me that my spare key was in the apartment, but my apartment key was in my purse…in the trunk.  I approached a few people asking if they knew how to break into cars because I was a dork and locked my keys in.  I got a lot of sympathetic sorry’s before the hostess offered to call her roadside assistance for me.

Relief was in sight.  When the service showed up about 45 minutes later, I went out back with her to meet them, and was greeted by a sedan with a decal proclaiming “AUTO RESCUE”.  I laughed, and said that’s exactly what I needed.  The laughing didn’t last very long.

The technician used his special tools to get the door unlocked, but immediately the alarm started going off.  I panicked, but he said “yeah, that’s what happens”.  Like, no big deal lady.  I asked how to turn it off, and he said “you can’t, it’ll stop eventually”.  Great, nothing like a subtle “auto rescue”.

But thankfully, the driver’s side door was open.  I reached down and hit the trunk release.  My stomach twisted when it didn’t make the usual clicking noise as the trunk unlatched.  I tried it again, vainly hoping I only thought I pushed it the first time.  Nothing.

The technician commented that some cars go into a safety mode after the alarm goes off and the trunk release is disabled.  He said he had a few other things he could try, and I ran back inside to check on my tables who were probably wondering where their waitress had disappeared to.

About 10 minutes later, I went back outside to check.  The technician and the hostess had been joined by the shift manager, another waitress, and a waiter.  They asked where the spare key was.  I explained it was in the apartment but the apartment key was in the purse in the trunk.  Someone had the brilliant idea of putting the back seats down, but unfortunately the release for the locking mechanism on the seats was (you guessed it) in the trunk.

The shift manager said she was on the phone with Hyundai, and they were trying to connect her to one of their technicians.  Back inside I ran to check on tables, back outside to check on the car.  This time, the alarm was going off again, and another waiter and a cook had joined the party.  The technician had my hood open and was disconnecting the battery.  The hostess was in the driver’s seat with her finger on the trunk release button, following his “try it now”…”what about now”…”maybe try it with the door closed” instructions.  The waiter was in the passenger seat looking for the fuse panel.  The cook was lying across my back seat trying to get the seats down.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t “cleaned” my car in about 2 years.  There was a suspicious looking spot on the back seat that resulted from my ex’s daughter “forgetting” her jar of white glitter paint, which then exploded one hot day, melting into the seat and forever merging with the cloth.  There was a pink flip flop of hers – just one – and her orange tic-tacs on the floor.  There were muddy dog prints that I had never gotten around to shampooing, and to top it all off, I had gone to Target earlier that day and had a bag in the front seat with a value pack of Always super absorbent maxis.

Back inside to check on tables, back outside to check on the progress.  The shift manager had just hung up the phone, and said there was nothing Hyundai could do.  Their new security systems are apparently impenetrable, and the only way to get into the trunk is with the key.  Apparently I must be the only person ever to have locked my key in the trunk of a Hyundai.  I joked that at least I knew my purse would always stay safe in there.  There was some laughter, but again began the questions – where is your spare car key?  In the apartment, and the apartment key is in the purse in the trunk.  Doesn’t anyone have a spare to the apartment?  I just moved in 5 days ago and haven’t had a chance to give it to anyone yet.  Why doesn’t anyone have a spare key to your car?  My ex had it until I moved the rest of my stuff out of his house, 5 days ago.  Can’t you just fold the seats down?

Ugh.

The technician handed me paperwork to sign, admitting defeat, but was nice enough to leave the battery disconnected so the alarm wouldn’t keep going off.  The hostess had to leave, she was already over an hour past the end of her shift.  Each person whose shift ended stopped to watch the show and put in their two cents before going home.

I finally decided I was going to have to call the apartment complex’s emergency service, but the number was in my phone.  In my purse.  In the trunk.

The shift manager used her phone to look up the number and lent it to me to call them.  Lockouts are a $25 fee, they said, which was painful considering I’d only made about $40 that night.  They also wouldn’t unlock the door unless I was there and weren’t going to wait around for me, so told me I should call back once I got home and then they would page whoever it is that comes out with a key.

It was getting late.  I somehow had to manage getting back to the apartment about 15 minutes away, waiting around for the lockout service, and then getting back to the restaurant to get my car.  I didn’t have money for a taxi, and I didn’t want to have to ask anyone.  Everyone realized the dilemma, and I could see on each face that no one wanted to offer.  I didn’t blame them, I wouldn’t want to either.

The shift manager told me to go inside, finish my shift work and cash out, and that they’d figure it out.  I imagined as I headed inside that they were drawing straws and making deals about who would get stuck chauffeuring the ditzy new girl who had locked her keys in the trunk.

As I finished cleaning up my section, I was having visions of sleeping in my car and having to call out of my other job in the morning…except that the phone was in the purse in the trunk.  Or I’d have to have my car towed and get a ride home…except that the key to the apartment was in the purse in the trunk.  Or I’d have to take up nearly an hour of someone else’s time late on a Tuesday night in order to get home and back again.

Then the shift manager burst through the door, holding in her hand the holy grail – my purse.  I’m not sure who was more relieved, her or me.  Apparently the cook, who had been diligently working on getting the back seat down without the use of the release latch in the trunk, was finally successful.  I gushed thanks and praise and I think I even called him my hero.

I cashed out, wanting nothing more than to stop for a bottle of wine and retreat to my apartment, but I couldn’t leave just yet.  I had no idea how to reconnect the battery.

There were lots of “don’t worry about it”-s and “it happens to everyone”-s, but I can only imagine what was thought, or said, after I finally pulled out of the parking lot.  At the very least, everyone will have a good laugh at my expense.  An impression has definitely been made.

Spare keys will be distributed.  The purse will never again go in the trunk (although I now know that that is officially the safest place in the world).  Keys will always be double and triple checked for before closing and locking the car.

Tonight, I am thankful for AAA, and holders of the AAA card willing to stay an hour past their shift, and shift managers who sit on hold with Hyundai waiting for a real live person, and persistent cooks who keep on working until they get that damn seat down.  And wine.  I am very, very thankful for wine.  But most of all, I’m thankful that I have two nights off before I have to go back to work.  Maybe, by then, it will have been forgotten.

Did I mention I’m also thankful for denial?