May 18, 2012

Jokes

I’ve had this written for a long time, but I just was not funny on Facebook again, and a funny thread was ruined by a bad joke so thought I would share this with some edits today.

I am a funny guy.  Most of the time.

But occasionally I offend people…really bad…even less occasionally.  The later happens less each day as I learn how to actually be the former.  The thing I have learned is to not joke at sensitive or serious situations.  Death is never funny to me, so I don’t even try to use humor to change other’s moods around that.  Weight or size or ethnicity are also generally not funny.  As Tim Minchin says, “Only a ginger can call another ginger ‘Ginger’”, and it is also true that only a chunky, fluffy or fat person can call themselves fat or a short person, short.  It’s not funny when it is confirmed by someone else.  Especially a friend.

But something I realized recently shocked me again as life has gotten more complicated and stressful.

Sarcasm was a crutch for a long time.  I would say what I really felt or meant but with a tone that allowed people to laugh it off.

“I hate it when you cancel plans with me.”

“You are the last person I hoped would have come to my party”

“No, it’s ok. I’ll get that.”

They thought I was being funny, but I was actually hurt.  Then when I told friends this is what I was doing, they noticed it and were hurt how I treated their friendship.  How I was consistently sarcastic with them, and some were not sure when I was joking and when I was not.  This was never truer than in print.  I tend to be a different, more eloquent speaker in print…just ask the beautiful Hannah.  I was shaken when I noticed this sarcasm started creeping into my virtual life.

It is hard to tell when someone is offended or just joking when it is written and you can’t see emotion.  So some 14 year old girl invented emoticons, which if you didn’t know should only be used by 14 year old girls.  Yes, only one gender, and only for a year of life.  It will save the world.

I don’t use emoticons, because they ruin my image and I don’t want to be mistaken for a 14 year old girl, especially online.  So how do I deal with emotion or sarcasm or jokes in just words?

Words. I use well picked words.  Words should be emotional.  And jokes should be written only when safe.  When you get a gauge of how the reading party will receive those words.  I know not to joke with teachers or childcare workers about having a “real job”.  Their work is far more influential on influential minds than mine ever will be and know this, but it isn’t always taken that way.   So I stopped saying that, as well as using sarcasm in emails or on Facebook when situations are tough.

I changed and grew by realizing jokes or humor is not always appropriate and it is a lot easier to let a bad joke die than have to explain yourself for a minute, hour or evening!

 

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May 9, 2012

Touch

“The life of a Jeremiah is unattached, unmarried and unemotional”

This is a 2008 quote on my “daily quote calendar”, which is random things friends say or quotes that inspire me, or occasionally my words.  Some of them are confusing or are no longer true after many years.  It symbolizes my thoughts of 2008 well.  I was done in many ways and started counseling because I had rejected so many people…including a girl that rocked my world… occasionally.  I was living in a dank basement, unemployed, and often had more time on my hands than things to do.  So I joined clubs and groups and made friends in a new city and let old ones go.

For some reason at this time I stopped communicating with people I didn’t physically see much.  There were a couple friends that got a monthly email or call, but I planted and rooted myself in this city.  After a couple years, I had good friends, better than most friendships before.  There were still one or two people I would fight for overseas, and the same amount in this country, but those who knew me best were the ones who drank, ate and hiked with me.

This may seem normal to all of you, but this was different for me. A professional said I was stopping living in the past and instead starting to rejoice in the present.  As I found friends that cared about me and had invested in my life for more than a year I noticed something.  They touched me.

Not in a weird tabloid way, but hugs were more regular than handshakes. I was okay with being stuck in the backseat of a car or close together on a sofa.  It often wasn’t my favorite. Occasionally I had to escape to the single chair in the corner of the room…my old standby for safety.  But, still when I took the 5 love language test, I scored 0 on touch.  Not once did I prefer touch to a gift, service, time, or affirmation.  But in more and more situations I was willing to be physically close to those I was emotionally close with… except when they heard I had space issues and tried to invade them.  I did still push, hit, and occasionally kick when that happened.  But a couple people noticed I had changed.  I did flinch when close to people, and occasionally sought it out.  This was never truer than with Simon, the dog- a minor character in a forthcoming book.

Simon is the dog of a good friend.  And his love language is most definitely touch.  He needs to be in contact when he lies near your foot and if you move it, he moves so it is again near.  He often is as ok with having your hand sit on his head as pet him. Simon is my friend and often made a bad work day better when I would just sit with him…being touched…by a dog.

Then, I met the beautiful Hannah.  A girl who has no space bubble and rates touch as her desired first love language.  She broke the awkward touch barrier before the food came out on our first date.  She grabbed my hand on the drive home from our second date.  She pushed me over and sat next to me in the small loveseat at her house instead of sitting in the chair near when we talked.  It was momentarily overwhelming those first few weeks but it never was as awkward as expected.  No longer is it weird to be leant against or have a leg or arm next to mine no matter where I am.  Now, I miss her touch if she sits across the room or doesn’t let her arm rest on mine as I drive.  She thinks it is because I like touch.  I say it is because I like her touch.  Something I wouldn’t have said 5 or even 1 year ago.

So I guess I should delete that quote…

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April 17, 2012

Busyness

The busyness of life is taking it’s toll on my blog.  When it slows down a little I will start getting some of these words out of my head.  Thanks for sticking around!

 

#2 image from google search of "busyness"

found here

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April 11, 2012

Baptized

I enjoy Easter services at my church because there are always baptisms.  Baptism has meaning to me because it was one of the first things I really researched and studied as an adult figuring out if I was a believer on all the craziness. I realized it is about resurrection, new life and new victories and public profession.  About taking something hidden and making it public.  Public the good sense not the “oh, I didn’t want you to know that” sense.  I picture migrant workers flying out a bathtub-esque baptism in Malaysia yelling “HE IS RISEN”.

Also I really like seeing baptisms because it reminds me of my journey.  A section of my story most people don’t know and this seems like a good time to make that public.

I was raised Lutheran and therefore baptized as a baby.  I was less than a month old when some water was sprinkled on my head.  This was the tradition of the faith, as was 2 years of classes in middle school where I made a public confirmation of my faith.  Then I left the church during the college party years.  I researched faith on my own. I told God to find me and told Him to leave me alone when He did a couple times.  There was a lunch with the Mormons where I was offered a white robe during a quick stop at a branch service to “see something incredible”.

When I returned to faith a couple years later with gusto I assumed that since I was baptized as a baby I was good.  But friends reminded me I had basically divorced God.  I told him to leave me alone and needed to admit I was back… also I was different now.  Most of the conversations ended with me saying something super spiritual like, “Ill pray about getting dunked next time”.  It wasn’t inhibiting my faith…in fact I barely thought about it unless it was in front of me at a service or heard of a friend professing their belief.

In 2004, while serving with a YWAM team in Nepal one of the tasks was to build an outdoor baptismal for the international church service the next day.  There had been a truck load of bricks delivered and a few massive blue tarps purchased.  Now we just had to stack them and line the tub-like pit.  I think there was even some brick steps added inside the now baptismal looking pool.

From the time I heard we were doing this until we were done I fought the voice in my head saying I needed to talk to someone about getting dunked.  If I would get baptized publicly it would be around more friends back in Alaska, not in a foreign country while on “outreach”.  But the voice only got stronger so late that night I interrupted my leader’s meeting to ask them if it was possible.  They were surprised but said I should sleep on it and bring a change of clothes to church.  When we got there, I chatted with the pastor who said not only was there a possibility but it would be a great story one day.  Then he explained the significance of the location.   That the people that surrounded us and whom I had made friends with still risked shunning for taking the step of public baptism.  Switching faith systems often meant drama at home, work, in the neighborhood and occasionally the entire community.   For this reason, baptisms were not allowed to happen and often shut down before they started leaving new followers without the chance of proclaiming.  They often only had one or two opportunities and would jump at a chance to do it if they could.  Yet, I was letting another chance slip through my fingers if I waited again.

So on January 18th  (or so) 2004, I climbed into a nearly freezing cold baptismal outside of Patan, Kathmandu, Nepal, submerged  under the water to burst up with the assistance of a Scottish pastor to yell “HE IS RISEN”.

It makes me love the tradition of baptism and makes me rejoice when someone comes up out of the water…a new creation.

 

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March 23, 2012

Love- The Story

Sunny Day in Portland

There I was minding my own business when we were brought together.  Literally and figuratively. I wasn’t really paying attention to her when I realized there was something attractive about this girl whom fate made the only other person in the massive room that night. With whom I had to work together to string lights over a basketball court in the gym.  I dismissed the thoughts quickly.

The week before I had been telling a friend that starting dating around the holidays was worthless and not genuine.  It would be all about emotions and would be not be a good time to meet someone.  Plus, the only reason I was there was because no one else was willing to lead decorating on Christmas Eve. Also, I was done with girls for another few months.

But there she was.  With an amazing smile.  Giving up her Christmas and Christmas Eve to volunteer.  Seemed to love people, was beautiful and goofy and sarcastic and funny.  After what might have been the most stressful day of my year being a “leader” Hannah invited me to a friend’s place for Christmas dinner and some games.

“I was just invited to the decorating girl’s friend’s place for dinner.  If I go I know emotions will be involved. Encouragements and rebukes welcome” is what I texted a buddy.

I had noticed Hannah blush a little as she wrote down her number.  It seemed like there was something there, but I was exhausted, but what if this is the one chance Eminem talked about, but I’m really tired and I’m already late, but I should just go.

I went, late and with beer to celebrate making it through the largest event of the year, and for nerves.  I made a short appearance, lost at Skip Bo and went on my way home.

“How was your night?” was the text I received as I got home.

“It was fun. She is really cute and funny, but not sure if she is nice to everyone”, to the same buddy.

And 20 minutes later he got another. “Well, I know now…we have a date Wednesday”

‘What am I doing?’ I thought.  I just asked a girl out on Christmas…by text.  I thought similar things when I invited her to my friend’s New Year’s Eve party for our second date.  And when we took a 12 hour road trip two days after.  But… she was different…beautiful…caring… and open.

Little did I know these emotionally open, exhausted, completely censor free interactions would influence the rest of my life less than 3 months later.

Last Sunday, having planned a super romantic and creative way, only to have it not completely work, I surprised the girl of my dreams in her house when I asked her to marry me.  I was sick and Hannah was still waking up from her nap, but it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.  The timing was a surprise but the act was not.

We had talked about marriage early in the relationship as we clarified our intentions.  A couple weeks before I walked out of a horrible movie with my mentee to call her mom and ask if I could marry her.  Her brother also gave his blessing.  My family was on board as was the inner circle.  My grandmother’s ring had been restored, sized and cleaned for her…and wasn’t going to wait until our trip to majestic Crater Lake next week.

We spent the weekend with friends in Bend, where it was cold and snowy and forest-y and beautiful.  I had gone to retreat, pray and figure out how to take over the world.  Hannah came because I was going away for the weekend.  Since I had the ring, and am not an eloquent speaker…just writer…I decided to type my thoughts out.  How amazing she is, has made my life better and how much I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with her. The standard things.  Because I knew I would want to actually say the words, I left the last sentence unresolved and asked her to read the last few sentences aloud…

The forecast for the mountain pass coming back to Portland was treacherous at best so I found a hiking trail near Salem that we could take a short hike and then when we returned to the car I would give her the letter while I changed my shoes and shirt, leaving me time to grab the ring and listen for her cue.  The pass wasn’t that bad but my cold was. It started to make me tired, stuffed up and nauseous occasionally.  As we approached the turn off for the trail, the skies opened.  It was not raining- even by Oregon standards.  It was dumping a month’s worth of sky water in a matter of hours.  So we kept driving, skipping the hike and I prayed…

God, I thought this was it.  Did I miss something? Am I supposed to wait? Is there a better place or did I mistake your timing?

The negative thoughts flooded in as my perfect plan failed.  I still had the letter and realized there was a better place and it would have more meaning.

After a much needed nap, we were sitting on the same loveseat we confessed love and infatuation for the other.  It was where we had shared some of the largest and deepest pains and hurts in our life.  It is also where we decided we were in this together and neither Hannah nor I was leaving. Now to make that official.  I had called her over to the chair after finding a song that we both enjoy- and she sings to me- and handed her the letter.

As she started reading, I held her and I could feel my heart in my chest, then throat… then forehead.  I waited as she read.  Setting the laptop to the side so I could get up and down on one knee.  I waited more.  I notice she was reading parts again so pointed to the margin note to read the last part aloud.

She started, “After thinking of you in all these ways, I have made a decision that both delights me because there is no one as perfect as you and scares me as I wonder if I can protect and love you as much as you deserve, but it is with incredible certainty I ask… ”

I have to admit I teared up a little as I asked her to make me the luckiest man I know.  She accepted. We hugged and stared at each other.  Called family.  Texted friends. Told my Portland family at Sunday night dinner.  Then I went home alone to my cold now lonely bedroom, ready to start the next chapter of this thing called life.

So there is the story.  And no, we are not getting rid of that chair anytime soon.

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