What a Way to Welcome Someone Back!

I am completely overwhelmed by your loving, generous comments to my post yesterday! I can't even wrap my mind around the warmth from you all.

I would say that I'm speechless in response, but you who know me also know that would be a lie, so I'll just go ahead and jump into some words like a kid swinging over a pond on a summer day and letting go. Not that I ever did that. That would be way too scary for me (and my mom) to have ever considered doing, but I always liked watching people do it on TV.

Anyway, as I sat here basking in your comments, I'm sure Jorge could see, from across the room, the silvery sparkle-twinkle of your love for me in my starry, starry eyes. But just as I typed the first letters of this very paragraph, my little dog made an editorial comment of the stinky kind in my laundry room. Now that will bring a person back to Earth right quick. But that's OK. I'm resigned to and content with my life, where I fight the battle of the [pet] bowels with paper towel and disinfectant on a daily basis.

But for one brief moment ... I WAS Sally Field.

This was also my first day back to work after having a week off before the wedding. Lots of people welcomed me back and asked how the wedding went, and while I was very happy to talk about it, every time somebody asked, I was keenly aware that he/she had not been invited, and I felt a little sheepish. But here's the thing--it wasn't my idea to limit the guests. It was the bride's and groom's idea. They wanted a small wedding, just a few friends, family and God, and that's what we did. Still, I felt guilty.

I consoled myself by telling myself that the people who inquired were probably happy to merely hear about the event and not be obliged to give a gift or sit through the ceremony.

By the way, the whole ceremony only lasted 28 minutes. I know this because somebody timed it and told us. ??

I don't get it, either.

So after a full day yesterday of counting and counting and counting white rented table cloths and coming up short, and after scraping candle wax off of the borrowed cake plates, and after throwing away box after box emptied of contents ranging from candles to lemon drops wrapped in tulle (also pictured here), I went back to work today to begin the busiest week of our year.

This is the big community service blitz week, cleverly entitled, "Serve."

I was bone tired, but I had to hit the ground running.

As I walked through the empty chapel today going about my business, though, I was surprised to see much of the florist's decorations still at the front of the room. And in the middle of the platform on the floor was a bud vase with two Gold Strike roses (pictured here) in them from the wedding. Do you think that made my heart break a little? Yes, yes it did. I took the vase to my desk and placed it on the ledge. Still beautiful, like my memories of the day.

The happy couple are on their way to California as I write this, Mendocino, to be exact. I received a text from Katie earlier today: "Attn: Parents. We are about to board our flight." I didn't ask her to do that, but it was sweet.

So that was my wonderful "welcome back" to blogging, to work and to days no longer filled with anxious thoughts about "what I need to do as soon as I get home ...."

I'm switching gears, but I'm not doing it so smoothly yet.

And now, there is another distraction as I write this. I do not have any idea how this happened, but somehow, sitting here, I cut the knuckle on my right thumb, and I've been wrapping it up in tissues the whole time I've writing this. You should see the typos I have edited. It will not stop bleeding, so I must stop now.

Gee, that's sad when the only way to end your own babbling is by unstoppable bleeding.

Ok, Universe (meaning battle of the bowels and bleeding) I get the message. Time to stop!

PS: Wouldn't "Gold Strike Rose" be a great name for a racehorse? Dave Barry hears names of rock bands in weird word combos; I hear racehorse names. That is all.

Elvis Has Left the Building, But I Got His Picture First

Yes, Elvis made his annual appearance at the Oneighty building today, just as I promised myself at 2:00 a.m. he would. The hundreds of people present for the Thanksgiving lunch loved him as much as they always have, and I got to eat pumpkin pie while watching him be-scarf members of the audience to "Viva Las Vegas." I didn't get much else done today. You know you wish you had my job.

Flashback Friday

What did you want to be when you grew up? Why did you want to be that, and did you do it? Did you consistently plan to be whatever it was, or did you change your mind often? Did you do anything like volunteering or interning to give you a taste of your future occupation/role? Were you as happy/satisfied with what you became as you thought you would be? What surprised you? Would you choose it again? Do you still want to be something else - either in addition to or instead of?

My early school years were not pleasant, until I hit 4th grade and landed in Miss Deborah Keeney's class.

Oh, the difference one teacher can make.

She had such an edge on previous teachers. She was born in the same century we were in. She smiled before Christmas. And after. She may or may not have been the most beautiful lady I had yet met. She definitely was nice to me. And she read aloud to us every single day. The two novels I remember most are Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Charlotte's Web. I even baked my first cake for her.

Miss Kenney inspired me and made me want to teach 4th grade. Not just teach, but teach 4th grade. Basically, she made me want to be her.

I held onto that dream until I met my 9th grade English teacher, Sondra Seibold, and at a slightly more mature level, but not that much more mature, my goals were re-birthed as I sat in the classroom of someone born to teach.

My goodness-she knew what she was doing, and she influenced me in many ways, including my decision to major in English Education at Ball State University.

In college, I was disillusioned with the education portion of my program. All theory, no practical helps. Egotistical profs. Lazy public school teachers. No time spent in classrooms early on, only in the last two years of my degree.

By the time I student taught, I hated it, wanted nothing to do at all with teaching.

Over the years, I have harbored a fondness for positively influencing youth and for writing. For a short time, I subbed in English classes here in town. I tutored at a Sylvan Learning Center. I tutored someone in my home. I have always respected teachers and lived vicariously through their inspiring and challenging stories.

But the flame for teaching burned out for me long ago.

So I have held various part-time jobs, my favorite being a meeting leader at Weight Watchers, where I loved to encourage people and discuss health and nutrition and the emotional side of weight management. And I guess I enjoyed subbing, but not enough to stick with it.

So finally, 7 years ago, I landed in a youth ministry office. Occasionally, I work with the youth, but mostly I create documents and send a lot of mail.

And you know what? That's really OK. People don't realize the amount of creativity I am encouraged to contribute to our programming and to all of the documents we generate in our office. It's difficult to explain here, but it's way more than an office job.

Except on those certain days when I literally spend all day stuffing and labeling envelopes. And then I think about my degree and graduating magna cum laude all for naught, and I wonder if I missed my calling. George says he thinks maybe I did.

All I know is, I'm basically content in life, and I know a good gig when I see it. God has been good to me, and I think I'm at Oneighty for a reason.

This is Just Funny! A Video About Youth Pastors

Oh, please, anyone who reads this, especially anyone who reads this and happens to employ me, please don't take offense. This is just good clean fun, and I say that while offering you the biggest "Awkward Side Hug!" ever!

The vid:
This is Just Funny!

Wordless Wednesday: Last Night of Crazy Love Book Study--Teenagers Are Gone, Sniff

Zach and Aaron are going to Kazakhstan next week. This was their goodbye cake.



Not everyone made it to the final night, but here is a good sampling of the group.


Aaron really likes watermelon. I mean really likes watermelon.



The requisite crazy group picture, apropos for Crazy Love book study.


I can honestly say I have a soft spot for each and every one of these kids. I'll miss them, but I have now committed to a once-a-week house group just like this for the duration of the school year beginning September 14. What a blessing!

Treasure Chest of Goodness and Euell Gibbons

Bet you're wondering what could be in this deceptively plain-looking treasure chest of white cardboard. I know it says, "variety chips" on it, but please, would a treasure chest hold mere potato chips?

No, it would not.

It would, however, hold a boatload of S'mores ingredients! Woo to the hoo!



So for eight weeks a group of teenagers is meeting at my home for a study, and tonight I decided to do hot dogs, fruit kebabs (you'd think it'd be spelled "kabobs," but you'd be embarrassingly misinformed) chips and dip and S'MORES!







Do not ask me why this child has one shoe on and one off and looks like he might fall into the fire. I know his mom sometimes reads this blog, so maybe she will interpret his actions for us.






Obviously, I wasn't kidding when I said fires have become a nightly routine here.

And Jorge is still acting like he's a forest ranger fire expert. For instance, he's still getting pretend-mad at me for throwing a paper plate or two into the flames, like I'm going to sully his handiwork or something: "You're going to create ashes!" (Uh, sorry. Fires should not have ashes, for sure.)

When we sit there every night toasting marshmallows (Wonder why can't I lose weight? It's a mystery!) he keeps saying nature-y things like, "Notice how the wind has died down." "That's a nuthatch you hear." Excuse me. This guy doesn't know a nuthatch from a ... a ... another bird, and yet, he has a running nature commentary.

Tonight I was grilling the hot dogs and became upset because a fly landed on a couple of them as I was about to lift them onto the grill. I was spazzing about the flies when he casually remarked, "It's OK. The germs will burn off on the grill."

I'm beginning to feel like I'm married to Euell Gibbons. You remember Euell, don't you? (If you're over 35, maybe?) In case you don't, here's a 30-second commercial that will tell the whole story and explain why Jorge may be called "Euell" here on the blog until he gets over this Eagle Scout kick.



Question: Have you had S'mores yet this summer, and, did we ever actually see Euell Gibbons eat pine cones or cattails? I think Euell scammed us into eating those edible b.b.'s called Grapenuts.

Wordless Wednesday-What I'm Doing Today

How about "Nearly Wordless Wednesday?"

It's SERVE week here at my church, a week-long blitzing of the city with community service, including things like tearing off shingles, painting, pulling up stumps, planting flowers, visiting nursing homes, having neighborhood block parties, helping to organize public food assistance and women's shelters ... you get the idea. Nearly 130 youth (6th-12th grades) are spending the entire week here as if they are at camp. But the whole SERVE program involves 3 through 19 year-olds.

My main role this year is to be the snack lady at 8:00 pm in our cafe courtyard. After a long day of hard labor, they do love their Oreos and MOUNTAIN DEW. Here is the row of chips, cookies and "drug pop," as I call caffeinated sodas, that I set up before they come in.


Yes, I said "Mountain Dew at 8 pm." Can I also say I'm glad not to be chaperoning them in their rooms at night? Can you imagine all of those teenagers hopped up on drug pop trying to settle down and go to sleep?! But here's how happy they are after grazing on Mt. Sugar which has a river running through it: The Sucrose.


Traditionally on Wednesday of SERVE, we have the hog roast and requisite jump in the lake.

The week culminates on Friday evening with a big free-to-the-community "Party in the Parking Lot" (PIP), where there are tons of free prizes, food, inflatable games, etc., with the goal of blessing the community and opening up an option for people to check out the church.

The first two pics are my Abilenian boss, our youth pastor:

A Very Fulfilling Evening

This many shoes at my door means one thing: teenagers are present. Last night 13 9th and 10th graders showed up for the first night of our summer book study on Crazy Love by Francis Chan.

There are many other house groups meeting besides mine, of course. I just happen to have 9th and 10th graders on this side of town, sort of.







You all know I stress out when I have people over, but I did OK this time because it was just kids. They don't care that your entry way is stripped of wallpaper and you haven't done a thing to it because you're indecisive. No, their eyes don't look for interior flaws; their eyes look for food.



Ordinarily, people looking to me for food would send a chill up my spine due to my culinarily challenged self, but I know from experience that most teenagers aren't picky, as I have seen teenaged boys take bites out of sticks of butter, so I knew I was probably OK.

I fixed all kinds of beautiful fruit and a fruit dip which didn't turn out so great (how can a person mess up marshmallow cream and cream cheese? I don't know, but I did. It looked sort of curdled.) I also prepared veggies and dip, a cheese tray, cocktail wieners in the crock pot and the piece de resistance, iced brownies topped with chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and chocolate syrup.

Due to the dessert, I think I now have 13 disciples. So it was a very fulfilling and full-filling evening at the Crows'.

Zoe enjoyed this night because she met a bunch of new people to pee for (submissive sign of love for her, hair-pulling-out frustration for me) and she also did her tricks. The "Bang! You're dead!" trick gets 'em every time, mainly because when I hold up my hand like pistol and say "bang," she doesn't die a quick death as if she's been shot; she sort of rolls over as if she's turning after hours of leisurely tanning at the Riviera. It's quite elegant and hilarious.

So when you have guests over, do your pets do anything funky or funny, like hide or behave oddly? If so, does this mean we are bad pet parents?

Sundae, Sunday, Sundae!!!

Hang with me; I know I'm not getting around to commenting lately at your place. I'm working, trying a different chili recipe every night in my laBORatory, going to National Honor Society inductions, volunteering at Oneighty, writing my newspaper column for Saturday, taking Kristin to dance, etc., etc. Pretty soon I'll be back around to harass you.

Sunday night was the third event in our three-week "More Than Me" series at Oneighty, where the 6th, 7th and 8th grades competed for bragging rights and prizes to be awarded March 29th in the special VIP room. The object was to score the most points based on attendance, bringing people, eating contests, carnival games, etc.

The pics below are from this last Sunday, which was "Sundae in a Gutter" night, where we served up two scoops of ice cream into little plastic boats and then placed them in 100 feet of rain gutter. The kids could top their own sundaes and eat as few or as many as they liked within one hour. The pressure was on! I can't divulge which grade won, but I can tell you we scooped 35 gallons of ice cream and 405 sundaes. I heard rumors of a student eating 15. FIFTEEN.

Oh, and by the way? Many kids received Christ or rededicated their lives to him through this series. Just so ya know.

And They Said Coke Was "The Real Thing" OR Momentum for My Omentum

Sometimes my job just requires me to wear a beard, that's all.

Because of yesterday's post, I know that you don't believe me, but I really don't wear lampshades on my head at parties, etc.

By the way, both of my daughters responded the same way to the Bearded Lady pics: "That's scary." To that I say, "You tell 'em what's what, Stephanie Tanner." Thanks, Steph.

Seriously, when my former boss hired me, he said, "You realize that in youth ministry, sometimes you're called on to do tasks and participate in things that normal people do not do." Ohhh, I thought I was just going to make copies and stuff envelopes.

I was wrong. But I am glad. I have a fun job, most of the time.

The larger group I work with, called The Design Team, has reps from each department, and we discuss programs, go out to lunch, have meetings, go out to lunch, take polls on who knows how to play Euchre, go out to lunch, and sometimes, we have a carry-in, which is a nice change of pace from loading up in vans and going out to lunch.

The place we go to lunch each Tuesday serves REAL Mexican food. You might question whether we Hoosiers can be sure that we're eating REAL Mexican food since we're not only a fur piece from Meh-hee-co but also because we lean a little toward the gullible side of thinking, like Woody Boyd, the bartender on Cheers from Hanover, IN. Well. Is that so. Then just what do you make of this actual advertisement for PV, our home away from home?



Please note that the REAL Mexican in the sombrero is telling the ... Pilgrim? to "try the best Margaritas in town" and to "ENJOY THE REAL THING" in big letters. So there. That's all the convincing I need, a badly-drawn stick figure encouraging me to believe.

My favorite PV order: Vegetable Nachos. Ah, they are like fertilizer for the omentum.

So do you have a favorite dive whose food you cannot do without? What's the uncontested unhealthiest food that you have regularly?

Wordless Wednesday: They Call Me The Bearded Lady

CARNIVAL NIGHT AT ONEIGHTY!!!

Who is this bearded lady??

Our middle school pastor and the Bearded Lady.
Lady got hip!

Bearded Lady and Oneighty Intern, Gwido

Strike the pose. Vogue.

I'm sure this child left traumatized.

Bearded Lady and Hunky Jorge

The Vixen, she calls. (Why do I look like I'm audtioning for the role of Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof??)