sometimes jury duty changes your life

"What time is it?"

The man poked my elbow and motioned towards my phone as he said it.  We had been seat neighbors for about two hours, but aside from him offering me a mint earlier (I declined), we hadn't interacted at all.

"Hmm, it's 10:30," I replied.  He nodded.

"How long is this supposed to last?" he again queried me.  Apparently he, along with the rest of the room, hadn't found the endurance to pay attention to the 15-minute shpeel they so kindly rolled for us at the beginning of our wait.

"I think we're here 'til twelve."

"Jury duty.  Man, I tell you.  I can think of a lot o' better things I could be doing right now."  He seemed to be on a roll now that he'd breached the silence.  "I wish I'da known it was gonna take this long.  Woulda eaten a bigger breakfast."   He wasn't talking loudly, but the fidgety lady four chairs down stood and brushed by us, annoyed at the sudden disruption of quiet.

"And how are you, young lady?" my new friend asked as she passed.  She showed no recognition of his sociable gesture and kept walking.

"Ah, well," he turned to me again. "She must not be doin' too good then."

His dark skin didn't look too weathered, though as I later learned, he'll turn 70 next month.  Before he'd asked me the time, I'd noticed him pull out a copy of "Crazy Love" from the basket of his walker.  Now the book was back in its spot and he wore a pair of tortoise-shell shades to block out the sun from the bright room.  He sat with his feet propped up on the walker, hands folded comfortably in his lap.  This amusing individual seemed quite at his leisure to now launch into an inescapable, one-sided conversation.  Inescapable because I didn't have the heart to leave like our neighbor had.  One-sided because, although I appreciated the respite from my [unsuccessful] quest to do something productive on my smart phone, I felt a little awkward carrying on a conversation with a man three times my age while an entire room of bored, anxious, fellow jurors undoubtedly listened and judged.

"You a student?"

"Umm...yeah."

"Where at?"

"Well, actually I'm just doing some traveling right now.  Missions work."

"Ahhh..." He smiled.  "So you know our Father.  Daddy, I like to call Him."

I nodded and gave a small smile.  I was intrigued; so happy to hear a stranger talk about Jesus this way.  But I didn't really know how to respond.  I never do.  God is everything to me, yet the usual Christian responses are just so cheesy.  What was I supposed to say? Amen, brother!  Boy, ain't the Lord good.

"You know, if Daddy weren't love like He is, I wouldn't be worth anything.  I'd just explode all the time, frustrated and all, yet here I am, calm and collected.  He covers all that frustration with peace."

I was eating it up.  I loved hearing him talk like that and I was beginning to shed my initial hesitation to talk to him.  Still, my face only showed a polite amount of interest.

"I used to play the blame game with God.  Gettin' all mad at Him for everything.  But I just finally realized He's large and in charge.  So now I just get out of His way and let Him do what He wants.  What time is it now?"

I looked at my phone again.  "Eleven oh one."

"One more hour!" he cheered.

We continued to talk, him a lot, me a little.  Soon I learned that this man whom I'd known for all of an hour went to Tokyo in 1977 on a Buddhist pilgrimage, loves fried chicken, was planning on getting a beer and meatball sub just as soon as this waiting thing was over, and although he wore a silver band on his left hand, was not indeed married and apparently lived alone.

By 11:15, a lady came in to announce who had been selected for the jury.  By the end of the list, my friend's number had been called: 977.

The room stirred as people stood and stretched.  The man, whose name I never caught, gathered his cane and walker and began to make his way down the aisle.  But just then he stopped, turned to me with his sunglasses and a big grin, and gave me a wave.  And then he disappeared into the crowd, faded blue ball cap and all.  I guess I'll never forget him, because humans make a bigger impact on other humans than we ever dare to believe.

love letters

Brides are the definition of 'lovely'.  They captivate.  They carefully put on display every last drop of their beauty and proudly hold back their shoulders as they grace the aisle, knowing that they are wanted and loved.

The groom is obsessed.

He can't think about anything else except her.  His head spins with how much love his heart feels for her.  Though the onlookers are enraptured by her beauty {'look at her dress!' 'her hair is stunning' 'she's glowing'}, the groom is lost in it.  

That's what Jesus feels for us.

A few months back, he wrote me a love letter.  I've typed a portion of it below.  Please read it out loud and let his words wash over you...and realize he doesn't condemn you for a thing.  The only thing he requires of you is to rest in his love.

I'm standing at the altar in a little white chapel.  It has vaulted ceilings just the way you like it.   The crowd is glowing.  All of our loved ones are packed in there, anticipating the beauty of love to commence.  There are even people we don't even know well...they just knew this would be a wedding to remember.

I see the back doors open and my heart skips a beat.  Is she coming?  No, of course not.  It's the bridesmaids.  My friends behind me smile in encouragement.  The flowergirl is sprinkling red roses.  Everyone is in their places now.  It's quiet.

The soft, beautiful music begins.  Everyone stands to their feet and turn to welcome the bride.  My bride.  You.

Then the doors open...there you are.  I haven't seen you since last night.  There you stand, illuminated.  Your intricately designed white gown graces your figure perfectly.  Your hair falls in wisps to frame your face.  Your smile is bigger than I've ever seen it.

And then I see your eyes, eyes that have tears spilling.  Eyes that captivated me while I formed them.  Eyes that gazed at me with trust as I grew you in your mother's womb.  I love those eyes.  I can tell by the look in them now that you realize it was me all along who loved you.  And now you're mine, for forever.

you will not be the same

"You can promise that I will come back?"

"No.  And if you do, you will not be the same."

~ The Hobbit. J.R.R.Tolkien

Take on the world.  Take wise chances.  Go get your dream.  Don't look back; if you keep looking in the rearview mirror, you'll crash as you travel forward.  New year, fresh start.  I can't wait to find God all over again.

here, planet earth

A few nights ago, my mom and I were at the post office.  As usual, the line was long-ish and there was only ONE GUY on the cash register.  We weren't in any hurry though; dad was waiting in the car and we were making our way to a chamber strings concert at a local university.

As we stood in line for about 10 minutes, I watched the man behind the counter efficiently get us through the line.  He stood perhaps 5'7", middle-aged with glasses, white buzz cut for hair, and as we got closer, I noticed a bit of a lazy eye.  He greeted every customer with a nod of the head and seemed to be well-practiced at his job.

It was our turn.

Mom gave him the mail, and as he began to process the envelopes, I debated whether or not to make small talk with the guy.  I knew that all the people in line behind us would be observing our transaction as carefully as I had watched the ones before us, and it occurred to me that if I said something encouraging to him, perhaps it would inspire someone else to reach beyond themselves, too.

"Are you having a great day?" I decided to ask.

"I am!  I'm just glad to be here, " he answered, carefully sticking a bar code to an envelope.

"That's great.  I guess we all should have that attitude, huh?"

He smiled at this, then continued.  "I was out of work for 7 months this year.  I had liver cancer.  But they cut it outta me and I'm all better now.  So like I said, I'm just glad to be here."

This time, the phrase had different meaning.  By "here" he didn't just mean at his so-so job; he meant here, on planet earth.  He was thankful to be alive.

Are you thankful to be alive?  Your life might be great, or it might not be anything you want it to be.  You might be depressed or discouraged, or you might be living the dream.  Whatever your place in the world, let's just remember to thank God for the breath in our lungs because it means we still have a reason to be here.

journal entry

This is from my journal on 9/11/12:

"I feel like I'm almost starting over, now that I'm 19. Spiritually, I've been at a loss to know who God really is. Worship? Church? Reading the Bible? What's the point? How much is really how God designed it? How much is useless human invention? I need to know. I'm basing my LIFE on this stuff...I'd like to know what I believe.

I heard someone on YouTube say (while she was drunk), 'If you're drunk, who cares how much black makeup you have on, you're sad anyways, because if you weren't, why would you be drinking in the first place?'

That's my generation, people. Doesn't anyone care?"

...become blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world. Philippians 2:15

life

It's funny; I've never watched Titanic before.  According to two of my coworkers, I haven't yet fully known the epitome of female emotion.

Um, ok.

Until today...because I watched [the first half of] it today!  I'll finish it tomorrow when I'm ready to emotionally embrace the ending...tear.

What an incredible story.  It makes me think about something called life.  Life: our existence.  We don't know anything else.  We've seen death, felt death, tasted death, but truly no one who is alive has known anything different.  Life...what a precious, fragile thing.

Compare the Rose of old to the younger version of herself.  Young Rose is vibrant, fully clear-minded, able-bodied.  Her concerns are small; she knows little of what the world truly holds.  Her beauty is flawless, untainted by the years that would ultimately carve themselves into her face.

Fast-forward to the centenarian whose memory is wearing thin.  Frolicking around the deck of a ship is no longer a fact of life.  She doesn't lower her lashes at the mystery of a caring young man, for he isn't a mystery anymore.  Her bones carry weathered skin from years past, and truly she is a wealth of matchless worth, yet the current generation casts her aside like a forgotten toy.

One day my beauty will fade.  Today, I feel the eyes of men assessing what they see.  Today, I look expectantly to the future, having not a clue what it truly holds.  Today, I have hope that my life will be a story worth telling when I'm old and gone.

But one day, when I'm old and still here, my outward beauty probably won't be a drawing card for people.  And that's okay, it's not what matters anyway.  But I don't want people to look at me as a 'once-upon-a-time'.  I want to be someone who cares, someone who's still in touch with the world and the current generation, someone who can love them and speak wisdom into their lives.  I want to get closer to God with each breath and one day breathe in and be with Him.

My 100th birthday will be here before you know it, and I want to live all those years in between exactly how God wants me to.

you've probably thought about this too

via

I begin writing so many posts that I never actually publish.  For some reason, I often feel as though my words will just seep through the cracks of this hugely extensive social networking world, forever to go unnoticed by anyone.  So why bother fitting my thoughts into a coherent and publish-able work of art?

But I've been finding that it's the little things people say that you actually remember.  People won't let you see who they really are, not if they can help it.  The last thing they want to do is stride out to center stage, into the spotlight where nothing is hidden, and whip their cape back so the world can scrutinize their every last flaw.

It's the small unguarded comments, the raising of the eyebrows, the "humphs" that come from their throats, that whispers this is me.  Without those simple moments, we might all look the same with our safety masks on, not one of us differing from the next.

So this is a "humph".  It's not much.  But in 10 seconds I will click publish and maybe, someone will hear it.