Through a Glass, Darkly

Mike made a Road Trip Mix full of songs that we both like, or that he thinks we both like, and we listened to it on the way to and from Wilmington. Here are a few of the actual songs and our actual conversation based on them. See if you can find a theme.

“What Susan Said” by Rich Mullins

MIKE: Do you like this song?

KARI: Not really, because it reminds me that Susan is probably going to move away, and that makes me sad.

MIKE: Susan’s moving away?

KARI: Well, she might be. And it makes me sad. I want her to stay here.

MIKE: Me, too.

“Yellow” by Coldplay

KARI: Remember that time we were in Target with Susan and we were singing my made-up lyrics to “Yellow” and giggling? And then we went to see Coldplay and they played this song. Those were fun times. We won’t do that if she moves away.

“Killing Me Softly” by The Fugees

KARI: This song makes me sad, because it says, “Strumming my pain with his fingers,” which makes me think of hands, and we all know doctors have amazing hands, which makes me think of Susan, which reminds me that she’s moving away.

“100 Miles to Charleston” by Martha’s Trouble

KARI: Susan’s staying in Charleston right now.

MIKE: Why is she in Charleston?

KARI: Some rotation.

MIKE: I bet this song makes you sad. Charleston is more than 100 miles from where we live.

KARI: And it reminds me that she’s moving away forever.

“Lightning Crashes” by Live

KARI: This song makes me think of Susan because it mentions a doctor, and Susan is going to be a doctor. And she’s moving away.

“Lead of Love” by Caedmon’s Call

KARI: This song makes me think of Susan because we met on caedmonscall.net.

MIKE: And she’s moving away. That’s sad.

“Mr. Jones” by Counting Crows

MIKE: This song makes me think of Susan because her last name is not Jones.

KARI: And her first name is not Maria. But she has been to Spain, so she probably does know Spanish dances.

MIKE: She gave me a bottle of wine for my birthday.

KARI: “I wish I was beautiful.” Susan is beautiful.

MIKE: Too bad she’s moving away.

“Amish Paradise” by Weird Al

KARI: I bet Susan would laugh at this song.

MIKE: Fool.

“Reflecting Light” by Sam Phillips

MIKE: This is your Gilmore Girls song.

KARI: Yeah, and Susan likes Gilmore Girls. When she moves away, we won’t be able to watch it together anymore.

“It’s the End of the World as We Know It” by REM

KARI: I wish I knew all the words to this song.

MIKE: I bet Susan knows them. If she wasn’t moving away, she could teach them to you.

“Every Breath You Take” by The Police

MIKE: When Susan moves away, we can stalk her.

“Graceland” by Paul Simon and “Walking in Memphis” by Marc Cohn

KARI: Susan’s interviewing in Memphis. Or she’s going there in between interviews or something.

MIKE: She should interview in North Carolina. And, uh, why do you know so much about her schedule? Are you already stalking her?

KARI: Possibly. Who wants to know?

“Hypothetically” by Lyfe Jennings

KARI: I can’t believe you put this on here. I am going to kill Brandon.

MIKE: “Technically you’re the baby’s daddy anyway.”

KARI: This song doesn’t really make me think of Susan at all. But I do like that “confessed it/you get tested” rhyme. Nicely done.

“Florida” by Patty Griffin

KARI: We went to see Patty Griffin with Susan.

MIKE: We won’t be able to do anything like that after she moves. Is she interviewing in Florida?

KARI: I don’t think so.

MIKE: You really know a lot about her schedule.

KARI: I pay attention. Good friends pay attention. They don’t move away.

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Judy Garland

KARI: This one’s easy: Susan loves Wicked.

MIKE: If she moves away, you’ll probably be unable to watch The Wizard of Oz.

KARI: I’ll be too sad.

“Fix You” by Coldplay

MIKE: This was the last song they played at the concert.

KARI: We were there with Susan. This could be the last song we listened to together before she leaves.

MIKE: That might be stretching it a bit.

KARI: Doctors fix people?

MIKE: There you go.

Last night I finished The Wonder Spot by Melissa Bank, who is also the author of The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing. I liked both of them, but I liked The Wonder Spot better, because I could relate to the character a little more. I don’t think the book explicitly said that she was shy and insecure, but I could relate to the hesitation, the uncertainty that she felt, the way that even her longest closest friendships seemed to be somewhat distant at times, the way she seemed unable to say what she felt the deepest. So the book was good, but it was also uncomfortable and exhausting for me to read, because I could recognize so many of my own failings in the main character.

Lately I’ve felt kind of hermit-y, partly because of some of the above feelings, partly because of some of the things I talked about on Wednesday. Not knowing what to do can be pretty paralyzing, and it’s hard to know what to say to your friends when you’re hurting but you feel like you’ve been over it before, when you feel like you should already know what to do, when all you want to do is tell them you’re sorry that you’re still talking about this. This weekend we’re going to see Scott and Kelly for a weekend of baking and snacking and walking the loop and relaxing (and the boys will probably play a game or two of Halo . . . just a hunch). Being with them always helps me sort out some of my thoughts, and I hope that just getting away will help get me out of this rut. It’s also my last weekend o’ fun before I get my wisdom teeth out, so I’m going to eat lots of crunchy things while I still can. This week has been busy to prepare for going out of town and being out of work next week, but I guess Scott and Kelly are worth it. hehe.

When I feel like I’ve been unjustly accused of something, it’s hard for me to rest until I’ve set the record straight. I vacillate between extreme anger at the person and anxiety that they think so poorly of me as to believe fill in the blank. Yesterday was an anxiety day. The day before was an angry day. When I’m feeling anxious, it’s a pretty constant, jangly-nerves feeling, all day long. When I am feeling angry, it comes in spurts, not all at once. I will be in the middle of doing innocent things like ordering books and planning my book discussion group, when suddenly out of nowhere my mind flits to the situation and I feel white-hot rage in my stomach, moving up to my heart.

I have gotten advice from all kinds of places, and it’s been as varied as my friends and family are: let it drop, stand up for yourself, do what you have to do to make it go away, ignore it, just don’t worry about it, tell the person off, refuse to participate. I don’t know what to do anymore. I know that when I think about it, I get the overwhelming urge to defend myself, to explain why the person is wrong, to explain why I am hurting. What I thought I was supposed to be learning from this was that I don’t have to defend myself, that I don’t have to be a slave to what other people think of me, that I don’t have to set the record straight. So I tried to let it go, trying to heal and to trust that God would take care of my “damaged reputation” in some way or another. But the situation hasn’t gone away, so I’m not sure if I misunderstood the message and I need to change my approach or if I need to keep doing the same things, continuing to pursue peace for myself, regardless of what others think about me.

It seems like I keep going in circles: I can’t see a way to deal with the situation without feeling like I have to defend myself, but I think I shouldn’t defend myself, so I think I shouldn’t do anything, but some things that have happened really do call for a response, but I can’t figure out how to respond without defending myself . . . and if I keep on waiting, the decision’s going to be made for me. It’s going to look like I don’t care instead of the truth - I don’t know what the right action is.

I used to think that by the time I was this age, this relationship issue would have gone away. I used to think that by the time I was this age, I’d know how to deal with this kind of thing. But here I am, still going over it, trying to figure out what to do.

On Friday night, Mike and I went to see The Hobbit, which was being performed by a youth theater company from this area. Now, before I poke a little fun, I want to say that we had a good time and the kids obviously worked very hard. The sets were great and the main characters did a good job. Bilbo was good, Gandalf was good, Gollum brought down the house (obviously channelling Andy Serkis, but who can blame her?), and Smaug was quite terrifying. We definitely plan on going to see other productions by these kids. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is their Winter production, and we might go see that one if we can.

But . . . whose idea was it to cast all 13 dwarves? I am all about being faithful to the text, but thirteen dwarves plus Gandalf, Bilbo, some goblins or trolls is just a mess. Party on the stage! Chaos! You can’t even really see the sets anymore! Mr. Tolkien was obviously not writing with a stage production in mind, because 13 dwarves works fine on paper, but is not so great on stage. My suggestion would have been to have six dwarves and Bilbo set out on the journey. In addition, not all the dwarves had microphones, so there were a few we couldn’t hear, which was a shame.

Here’s where they did the “chip the glasses, crack the plates,” bit, which was fun:

Another problem was either with the script or with kids who forgot their lines. “What are those flashes of light?” “Those are those flashes of light!” Hee. Mike and I have been saying that pretty constantly since Friday night. And the spacing of the scenes didn’t seem to make any sense - Act I was an hour and a half, while Act II was 35-40 minutes. And Act I, Scene 1 was really more like three scenes. There was a point where I wondered if we would get out of there before 11:00 at night, since we had been in the first scene for half an hour . . . and we still had seven scenes to go. The worst thing about the script was that, at the end, instead of having some kind of acknowledgement that Bard of Dale killed Smaug with an arrow, they had the Elf Queen (we think they must have had more girls than boys try out) of Mirkwood present Thorin with a sword that was created to kill Smaug in exchange for some of the dragon treasure. Um, what? And, hee. Additionally, pretty much everybody knew about Bilbo’s ring. At some point, Mike turned to me and said, “I thought only Gollum and Gandalf know that Bilbo has the ring?” “That’s right,” I said, “don’t think too much about it.” “They’d better not try to do The Lord of the Rings next year or Sauron is going to go after a lot more people than just ‘Shire. Baggins.‘” Hee. Some of the other big changes were that, instead of three male trolls, there were five trolls: two men and three women. And there was no Rivendell at all. Mike pointed out that they probably could have gotten Hugo Weaving if they’d wanted to - he doesn’t seem to be doing much these days.

Here’s the Elf Queen and her attendants. Sorry it’s blurry.

There were the usual mistakes you get with theater, like props getting knocked over by the curtain and lines getting messed up, but my favorite was when they were hiding “in” the “barrels” to get out of Mirkwood, and one of the “barrels” fell over. “It’s just cardboard? I’m so disappointed!” hehe.

The scariest moment was when Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves set off on their journey, and they came into the audience. I told Mike that if thew threw glitter at me, I was leaving. Luckily, no glitter was thrown.

We were definitely the only ones there who weren’t related to any of the kids, which was a shame, because they worked really hard. We may have giggled a bit too much, but we both agreed it was well worth the cost of admission. Mike tried to convince me to get my picture taken with Gandalf, but I refused. Now I kind of wish I had. Oh, well.

Mike and I heard yesterday that a young man from our church died in service in Iraq. Over the summer, when he was on leave, he gave a really moving testimony during a Sunday service, telling us how he had felt God was there with him, saying how he was proud to be serving there. I told Mike last night - he had made it through some pretty tight spots, things where it didn’t seem like he ought to have survived, and I never consciously thought this, but I think I believed that since he made it through those things, he was going to be okay. He was going to make it through the rest of his time there. But he didn’t.

We talked last night about how different it is for something like this to happen in a small church where you pretty much know who everybody is. Mike grew up going to big churches, and he was actually pretty hesitant to start going to a church this small, but he’s really grown to appreciate the community aspect. I didn’t know Andrew at all . . . I had spoken to him at church and prayed for him, but he left for Iraq right when we started going to church there. Over the summer we were at a cookout and he was also there, and I spoke to him and got to observe him a little bit. I’m not going to feel the loss like his closest friends and family will, but I think this is why we’re supposed to live in community - it’s right to celebrate and mourn together. I think our church does this well, and it’s one of the reasons I’m thankful to go there. There are people at our church on both sides of the issue of the war in Iraq, and yet I never felt that Andrew was supported less than 100%. He will be missed in our community, and therefore I feel his loss as well. I think that’s as it should be.

Please pray for Andrew’s family and friends as they deal with his death.

Sometimes I think I might be allergic to exercise. I mean, here I am, trying to be healthy, trying to walk (or run a little bit) around my neighborhood a few times a week. And how am I rewarded? By breaking out in a rash. When I exercise, I very often get itchy on my legs, especially on my thighs. It happens more when I wear shorts, and I had been thinking that wearing warmup pants to walk had solved the problem, but this morning I was walking/running while wearing my warmup pants and on the way back to the house I started itching like crazy. I ran the whole way home so I could jump in the shower and scald my legs with hot hot water (which actually took the edge off). It’s discouraging to think that big red welts (seriously, my legs look awful) are my reward for trying to take care of my body.

A couple of months ago, Emily asked me something about how I read so fast, and during the course of the conversation I realized that everyone doesn’t read like I do. When I am reading a book, I read sentences or phrases all at once, instead of reading individual words one at a time. Until she asked me about this, I had no idea that the way I read isn’t the way that everyone reads. The only time I have had any inkling that I do things differently than some people is when people are reading out loud and I can hear from word to word that they don’t know what is coming next. When I read out loud, I am usually saying one sentence out loud as I am reading the next, so I can stay ahead. I was trying to explain it to her, saying I take the whole line in at once, give or take some words, and she was like, “How do you do that?” “I don’t know,” I told her.

Since then, I’ve been taking polls among my friends, who often ask me how I read so fast. Many of the people who feel they don’t read fast enough do the word-by-word thing, and many of them also say that they “hear” each word in their head, which also takes longer. Mike often talks about how he wishes I could teach him to be a faster reader, but I always tell him that I don’t know how I do it, so I don’t know how to teach it. In desperation, I brought home a speed-reading book, thinking it might give him some tips (but honestly not having a whole lot of faith in it). One morning while I was eating breakfast, I started flipping through it (that whole, “I have to be reading something at all times and this is what’s available” thing I do) and I saw at the end there was a checklist. The first two things were, “I have learned how to read in sentences or phrases instead of individual words,” and, “I have learned not to ‘hear’ the words in my head.” So Mike’s been right all along - these are things people can learn. I had no idea.

There’s not really any point to this, except that maybe it’s funny how surprised I can be that everyone doesn’t do things the way I do. And, if you feel like you read too slowly, maybe one of those speed-reading books can actually help you. I guess we’ll find out . . . if Mike ever has the time to read it. hehe.

This is a variation on a conversation that is often heard in our house. Let’s just say we have differing ideas about why one might turn on a lamp.

KARI: You know, the lightbulbs in our house seem to be good ones. We haven’t had to change many of them, and we’ve lived here a year and a half.

MIKE: One’s going to blow up right now. Exploding all over you.

KARI: Yes, I’ve jinxed it now, but you know what I’m saying.

MIKE: Yeah, and it’s a good thing for you that none of them have gone out. Because one day all the lights in our house will be fluorescent, energy saving bulbs.

KARI: I hate waiting ten minutes to be able to see. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a lamp?

MIKE: We’re saving so much energy!

KARI: I hate having to turn on a lamp and then wait in the other room.

MIKE: It’s so good for our power bill!

KARI: I don’t turn on a lamp because I want light in ten minutes. Lamps are about instant gratification.

MIKE: I remember when I worked in Danville, and I put fluorescent lights in the staff room and everybody got mad at me.

KARI: I can’t imagine why they’d be mad.

MIKE: Me, either. Just go in and turn on the light an hour before you want to take your break, and everything should be fine.

KARI: An hour? Gosh, sounds like you’ll save lots of energy that way.

I went running the other night. The last time I went running was in the spring 2001, when I was taking a jogging class. At UNCG. For credit. I even had to run in a race and everything. The goal in the class was to improve over the semester, and sense I had zero running skills to begin with, it wasn’t hard to improve, even just slightly. However, I never discovered any kind of joy in running (or jogging), so it’s not something I kept up with after the class was over. The other night, I made it through about half the neighborhood and walked the rest. I was pretty proud of myself. You have to start somewhere.

I don’t like running in general, though. It’s just not my thing. All that “push through the pain” stuff? It’s a load of crap. When I push through the pain, I get more pain. The other night, I was like, “If I push through this horrible cramp in my side, maybe it’ll go away!” Instead, it became an even more horrible cramp and I decided it was my body’s way of telling me that walking is fun. I think the runner’s high is a myth perpetuated by people who run so that they can get other people to run and then laugh at them. It’s a pyramid scheme, and I’m here to expose it for you all.

I had planned to go running this morning, and maybe my legs would feel better if I had, but I chickened out and just went walking instead. It was pretty cold, and I needed some old familiar comforting music, so I switched over to Rich Mullins. Although I used to listen to it constantly, these days I only pull out A Liturgy, a Legacy, and a Ragamuffin Band when I really need it, and today was one of those days.

I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, thoughts about my friends and my family and why relationships can be so complicated sometimes, why stuff that happened years ago can still be so hard. I did not have the easiest week last week or the easiest weekend, but listening to Rich helped. It’s almost as if I’m not just listening to the album today, but also every other time I’ve listened to it in the past. It anchors me, reminding me of the times I cried along with “Hold Me Jesus,” sang “The Color Green” in my car where no one could hear me, had “Peace” played at our wedding, went up the Statue of Liberty and thought about “Land of My Sojourn.” It’s one of the albums that has the most memories for me, both good and bad, and it makes me feel more stable somehow. I’ve expressed similar thoughts about singing hymns and making tomato juice, about how I feel they tie me into the body of Christ by taking me out of myself and reminding me how God has been faithful in the lives of his people in the past. This album, though, does that by tying me into my own faith. I see how I’ve changed and grown over the years, but I see how God has been there, too.

One.

The only time we watch commercials these days is when we’re watching sports (thank you, TiVo). And with NFL and post-season baseball both getting a fair amount of airtime in our house, we’ve seen more commercials than usual. There’s a weird commercial . . . I’m not sure what it’s for, maybe wireless internet or something? In the middle of it, there’s a desk lamp coming up an escalator. And it seriously creeps me out. I call it, “When office furniture attacks.” I don’t know why I am so frightened of it, but it really does scare me.

Two.

When I was growing up, I’d always get holes in my shoes from where my big toenail pokes up. It was the worst in Keds. I realized last week that it still happens and I’m gonna have to be careful or my Mary Janes are going to have a hole in them. And that would seriously suck.

Three.

Over the weekend, while one game or another was on, we found that Dirty Dancing was on another channel, and we kept flipping between baseball and Patrick Swayze. I think that it’s best to see Dirty Dancing every few years, because I truly enjoy reveling in its awfulness. But I wouldn’t want to overdo it. The last time I saw it was before Mike and I got married, so it was time to see it again. Of course, we only saw the last 45 minutes or so, but that’s the good stuff anyway, right?

Mike is taking a class on the history of film, and one of his projects is to take a movie that’s not currently considered a “masterpiece of cinema” and make a case (including a 3-minute clip) for its inclusion on one of those “great movies” lists. I told him that I would give him millions of cool points if he could make a serious case for Dirty Dancing and then present it. The problem is that neither of us could come up with any reasons besides, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” (By the way, Mike didn’t realize that Kelly Bishop is Baby’s mom. hehe.) “I always do the last dance of the season. This year somebody told me not to.” I’m going to keep working on it, but obviously the clip he should show is from the end. What better scene is there to prove that this movie deserves a place among the best?

Four.

On Gilmore Girls, this has been the season of adult conversations. I complained all last season that I just wanted Luke and Lorelai to talk about the things they were thinking, and they’ve done that several times already this season. I have to say that I really enjoyed last night’s episode. It felt old-school to me in a lot of ways - Rory seemed likeable, Emily was the same old “love-to-hate-her” person that I remember, and Richard’s realization at the end made him seem less hateful than he has been. Luke and Lorelai’s story didn’t get as much screentime, but I enjoyed their scenes. Their relationship seems miles better than it was last season. I was surprised this morning to get on some websites and see people bashing it. The main complaint seems to be the lack of Luke/Lorelai affection, but it doesn’t bug me. They were cooking dinner and spending time with friends, mostly, and making out isn’t really appropriate for those times. They seem normal, which I appreciate. It’s also been great not to watch any promos, because I am just enjoying the story as it unfolds.

The only thing that bugged me was when Lorelai fed Paul Anka off a plastic spoon and then put the spoon on the counter. Gross.

Despite the gray day and the pouring rain (our new grass is so green!), Mike and I decided to venture to Costco yesterday to try out our new membership. Mike’s boss added us onto his plan, or something like that. All I know is that he gave it to us, which was very nice of him. I had been to Sam’s Club before, but never to Costco. Warehouse shopping like that is not really my thing - I get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of product and I always feel as if I’m taking too long to do the math (is the price per unit really better, that kind of thing). However, as Mike said, we shop well together, so it was actually kind of fun.

I always like to look at what people have in their carts at the grocery store to see what it says about them. I got this from a book - I don’t know what the book was right offhand, but I remember that the lady had a lot of sugary snacks and a huge thing of laundry detergent in her cart, and the main character thought, “Her kids have bad teeth but clean clothes.” When you’re warehouse shopping, the combinations seem even more ludicrous, since there’s so much more stuff. There was a lady yesterday who had two big cases of Kleenex and about ten bottles of wine. I told Mike she was either just broken up with someone or she was going on a women’s retreat. Not long after, she passed us again, this time with two huge boxes of cookies now added to her cart. “Definitely a breakup,” I whispered.

Of course, the best thing about Costco is all the free samples. I didn’t think they’d have that many things on a Monday afternoon, but they did: ravioli, potstickers, mango juice, cheesecake, crackers, bruschetta, hummus, cheesesteak. And we had fun with that. We shouldn’t have eaten lunch.

We very meticulously wrote down prices, but we only bought a few things like toilet paper and shampoo. I wonder what that says about us? Clean hair and lots of fiber? After that, we went to Wal-Mart and compared. Everyone talks about how great the Costco prices are, and I guess they are . . . if you are used to buying name brands. But we buy Great Value (Wal-Mart brand) for so many things that the Costco prices were actually more expensive for most of the things on our list. The things where it was better were things like Cascade and Woolite and other name brands like that. So now we know that we can go to Costco for that kind of thing, but we feel good about our Wal-Mart purchases. (Except for the fact that we wish we could afford not to shop at Wal-Mart.)

I have to tell you, though, that I could not have done it alone. I would have given up. It was fun, though, to have the list of what the price per unit was and to have Mike dividing out the Wal-Mart prices on his phone (I didn’t even know our phones could do math). As we were finishing up, I turned to him and said, “I don’t think I could have done this with anyone else.” And it’s true. I would have gotten nervous that I was taking too long, and I would have felt like I was bothering the people around me, and I would have gotten frustrated with the length of our list. When I got home, I would have felt worn out. I think Mike would have been pretty exhausted if he had to do it alone as well. Instead, we laughed our way through my least favorite kinds of shopping, and when we got home I made French Onion Soup, which I don’t think I even made at all last year. It was quite good, if I do say so myself. And we relaxed and I read Kristin Lavransdatter and it was a wonderful afternoon. I definitely needed to take these days off. I am dreading going back to work tomorrow.

I forgot to stop and buy brownie mix on the way home. I remembered earlier, but not when it counted. In my defense, I will say that I had a lot on my mind, and Kelly and I were talking about some things both serious and light, and I just didn’t think of it in time.

No big deal, I thought, I’ll just make them from scratch. I know how to do that, after all. I did it once and it was fine. Okay, you’re right, technically I did it twice and it was fine the second time. The first time, I misunderstood how many brownies it would make and I used a pan that was too large. I had little tiny crunchy brownies. Mike laughed and took pictures. It was not his most supportive moment.

I got out the butter and the cocoa and I prepared to heat them. Of course I didn’t have baking chocolate (good thing for Paul Anka but not so good for brownies), so I made the conversion, which is three tablespoons of cocoa plus some vegetable oil equals one ounce of baking chocolate. It’s on the cocoa container. Unfortunately, even though we own two open containers of cocoa (no idea how that happened), it wasn’t looking like it was going to be enough. In fact, that was the case. I needed fifteen tablespoons of cocoa, and I only had twelve. For the record, fifteen tablespoons is a lot of cocoa. (Mike: “Can you reduce the recipe by 1/5?” Kari: *evil death glare as she ponders how to take 1/5 of three eggs*) At this point, I felt: 1. Lucky that I hadn’t added the oil (which is why I can’t remember exactly how much) or butter (I had that all ready to go - 2/3 cup) and 2. Beyond pissed that I was going to have to go to the store in the rain.

I got my keys and went to Lowes Foods, feeling very sorry for myself. I paused for just an instant too long on the brownie mix aisle (what, you thought I was just going to buy cocoa? If I had to go to the store, then I’m doing it the easy way), deciding between extra fudgy and triple chocolate. (I got extra fudgy.) This meant that two ladies with full-to-the-brim carts beat me to the two open lanes, which already had people in line. I stood there with my one item feeling very sorry for myself as the cashier chatted it up about coupons and offered extra discounts to the lady in line in front of me. Now, I know that said lady had no obligation to let me go in front of her, but . . . come on. We all know it would have taken less than a minute to do my transaction, and then she wouldn’t have had to put up with me glowering as her entire cart had to be rung up. If our positions had been reversed, I would have let her ahead of me. Unfortunately, she chose not to take that route, and it took a long time. She had a lot of stuff. There was a lot of chatting. Life is all about tradeoffs, I guess. She stood there with those, “I know I should have let you pass me but I refuse to look you in the eye,” shoulders while I glowered. I’m not proud of the glowering, but it was either that or bursting into tears. Maybe the cashier would have sped up if I’d burst into tears.

I got home and continued to feel very sorry for myself as I quickly whipped up the brownies. I even added extra chocolate chips. Take that, triple chocolate! I accused Mike of playing Halo for the 20 minutes I was gone (he didn’t). I refused to let him have brownies. He gave me a hug and ate cookies instead.

It was sad. I haven’t been so unreasonably upset in a long time. If my friends knew how much trouble the brownies had turned out to be, they would have told me to forget it. It was just one of those sad bad nights where nothing was really wrong and everything was wrong. And I acted like an idiot.

On Sunday at church I was kind of out of it. During the children’s sermon, I turned to Mike and whispered, “I didn’t hear a word of the scripture. What’s the scripture today?” He told me it was where John sends a message to Jesus, asking him if he’s the one they are supposed to be waiting for. I nodded, knowing which passage he meant. “I thought I was paying attention, but then it was over and I realized that I hadn’t been. Sorry.”

During the sermon I didn’t do much better. Again, I thought I was paying attention, but when Mike and I were talking about it at home later on, I realized that I wasn’t listening like I thought I was. He told me not to worry, though, because he’d asked for a copy of the sermon and our pastor had emailed it to him. I may have mentioned this before, but our pastor writes his sermons in manuscript form, which I know some people object to. I really like it, though, because I’ve heard too many speakers be “led by the Holy Spirit” to say something when it’s really just a tangent. I like that he plans what he’s going to say, that he doesn’t stray from the message he’s prepared. But, to each his own.

I read the sermon this morning, and I am glad Mike asked me to read it again, because he’s right, it was very good. I wanted to quote from it for just a minute:

Sometimes I would give anything for one fireball from heaven, for one blast of raw power from a tidal wave God who would sweep my and everyone else’s doubts away forever. But that is not what I have. What I have instead is a steady drip of mercy from the followers of a man named Jesus, who is still playing doctor to a lot of marginal people in this world . . . [some examples of how followers of Jesus have impacted the lives around them] . . . These are not big stories. They are small stories, in which only a few people at a time are saved. Meanwhile, there are many others who go on wondering if God has abandoned them. They listen to the bold claims of faith. They look at the modest returns. Who can blame them if they send their own message to Jesus: “Are you he who is to come, or should we look for another?”

The only way I know how to answer them is to point out how stone is shaped by water. See that round hole there? Water did that. Drop by transparent, short-lived drop, water transforms rock as no tidal wave ever could. For reasons beyond our understanding, that is how the Messiah has decided to come for now — not all at once but steadily, drop by drop, for millennia. Every time someone lives as he lived by loving as he loved, another drop falls. For some people, it is not enough. For others, it is the way of life. And blessed are those who take no offense at him.

I’ve been a little overwhelmed the past week with relationships and work and chores and life, so it was helpful to think about God moving in those small ways to change things over long periods of time. I often want instant gratification, and it was helpful to remember that God doesn’t usually work like that.

The rest of Sunday was spent doing girly things: making soup*, baking cookies, scrapbooking, watching season 4 Gilmore Girls. And those were small graces, too, creating things and relaxing and thinking and not thinking. I feel a little better today.

*I know I said I’d post my soup recipes, but I made vegetable soup. And it doesn’t really have a recipe. I just mix homemade tomato juice and beef broth, and then put in some of the vegetables we like and let it simmer for a while. It’s usually diced tomatoes, green beans, pintos (which Mike doesn’t eat), carrots (which I don’t eat), corn (I also don’t eat), frozen chopped spinach, squash, zucchini, onion, um . . . I’m not sure what else. We don’t eat many potatoes these days, so there aren’t usually potatoes in it. And I don’t add any seasoning (maybe a little salt and pepper when I serve it) because the vegetables have so much flavor as it is. So there’s not really a recipe.

Look, Shelby and Jeremy get their very own entry!

When I woke up, the first thing I thought was, “Shelby’s getting married today!” And then I prayed that her day would be perfect. I didn’t pray specifically about the weather, because I don’t know if I believe that praying for the weather makes any difference, but I checked the forecast and it looked good, so I took that as a good sign. And the day really was wonderful. Shelby looked radiant, the ceremony was lovely, the house where they got married was beautiful, the food was delicious, and we had a great time. I even got to see Shelby before the ceremony (since Mike and I got there so early) and spend a little time with her.

When Kelly got married, I said that it wasn’t hard for me like weddings sometimes are because she is such a good friend to me. All I could feel was happy for her. And Shelby’s wonderful day was the same way. How could I feel jealous of Shelby’s family when they have always been so kind to me? How could I envy her plans when they were so perfect, so Shelby? Why would I even want to think about myself, to make it about me, when I was so excited? This day was finally about Shelby (and, oh yeah, Jeremy, of whom I am very fond but do not know as well as I would like. Jeremy himself said that the day was not about the groom, so I feel confident in my assertion that this was Shelby’s day). Again, this says a lot more about Shelby than it does about any growth I may or may not have had.

And, really, it couldn’t have been nicer. It was a great day for an outdoor ceremony. There were no notable embarassing moments, which was what Mike and I had decided would be Shelby’s heart’s desire, so we felt that our prayers for a perfect day were answered. Congratulations, guys!

On the way home, Mike and I, who have been having some serious musical disagreements of late (let’s just say I am not a huge fan of The Decemberists), weren’t sure what to listen to. I let Mike play his beloved Decemberists for a while, and then at some point he put on Michael W. Smith’s Go West Young Man. I’ll set the scene for you: I’m driving, he’s fiddling on the iPod, and “Place in this World” comes on.

MIKE: Don’t you just love this song? I love this song. You have to love this song.

KARI: *opens mouth to answer*

MIKE: LOOKING FOR A REASON, ROAMING THROUGH THE NIGHT TO FIND MY PLACE IN THIS WORLD, MY PLAAAACE IN THIS WORLD.

KARI: *closes mouth*

BOTH: NOT A LOT TO LEAN ON, I NEED YOUR LIGHT TO HELP MY FIND MY PLACE IN THIS WORLD, MY PLAAAACE IN THIS WORLD.

KARI: Now that it’s back to the verse, do you want to hear my answer?

MIKE: What answer?

KARI: The answer to the question you asked me.

MIKE: I asked you a question?

KARI: . . .

MIKE: What?

KARI: You asked me if I love this song.

MIKE: Oh, right.

KARI: And, I think, I probably relate to the message of this song more now than I did when it came out. I mean, I was, what 11? 12? But I remember hearing this song on the radio and thinking that I could do anything. Because Christian music wasn’t supposed to be on the radio. And I thought it was so cool. I had this album on tape, I got it for Christmas from my aunt and uncle. And I started really getting into Christian music because of this album. This and Heart in Motion.

MIKE: LOOKING FOR A REASON, ROAMING THROUGH THE NIGHT TO FIND . . . what? Why are you looking at me like that?

We made our way through the album, singing along with “For You” and “How Long Will Be Too Long,” listening to snippets of the other songs, and then skipping to the end since we were almost home. I do not love “Agnus Dei” as much as Mike does, so he jumped on to “1990.”

MIKE: This always made me mad.

KARI: Well, the album is pretty short. Ten songs, but some of them are short. I don’t think this album ends all that well.

MIKE: No, I mean, it gets all “To be continued” at the end. Where’s “1991?” There’s not even a “2000.” There was no continued. We were promised a continued fifteen years ago, and we’re still waiting.

KARI: You’re still waiting. The rest of us have moved on.

Shelby and Jeremy, we had a wonderful time. I hope we can hang out soon. And Michael W. Smith, thanks for making that album. Except for that whole “Love Crusade” thing. I would ask what you were thinking, but I just admitted to singing along - loudly - to “Place in this World.” And enjoying it. I don’t feel I have the higher ground in this situation.