Flirtation Geru

This one's for you, Jen W. Most of you have heard how my romance-baning became instant urban legend the day a nice guy tried to offer me some yellow wildflowers and the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "Are they going to shoot poisonous barbs at me?" My feminine wiles, if I have any, manifest themselves more often by accident than by design and tend to be incredibly counter-productive for me. They have never yet produced reciprocal liking in any of the few guys I have developed a romantic interest in and they apparently work cruel wonders on some truly decent guys I am really not compatible with or interested in. Sindy once told me that this phenomenon was not actually a curse, but a protection from God so I wouldn't get entangled in a relationship prematurely. For the most part, I'm content with that. I have been blessed with many meaningful, deep friendships with my family and female friends. I can remain focused on my studies and I am free to make my own academic and career choices to a degree that my "claimed" friends cannot. It also helps that the unknowing targets of my affection typically move away or start dating someone else within weeks of my meeting them. Quite fortunately, I have maintained an awkward relational distance from pretty much everyone in the Young Adult group at my church so there's no fear of any of them reading the following. Quite unfortunately, I have maintained an awkward relational distance from pretty much everyone in the Young Adult group at church, including he who shall not be named because I actually developed a crush on him, something that happens VERY sporadically with me. Or to me, as the case may be. This un-named person first captured my notice because he tied my mom's shoe for her. I also learned that he loves to travel, works in construction, prefers organic foods, and is Nolan-like in his spontaneous enthusiasm for random opportunities like learning German from the senior's German bible study group or reorganizing the defunct church library. I'm a sucker for out-doorsy extroverted guys who are sweet to older women because they can be and love the written word. Three weeks later, he felt called by God to move back home to another province to be with his dad, who was really ill. Protection of family, spiritual maturity, and obedience to God's will are also really attractive to me. But half a year went by with no indication he would ever be back and I took it as a sign that God was telling me to get a better grip on reality: I'm not rally even an acquaintance to him, I still haven't finished my BA, and I may well be moving to another province in another year to begin work on my Master's and PhD. Then, last week at church there was this hairy, blonde, tanned, friendly guy happily mingling with the Young Adults group like a long-lost friend. He expressed stunned pleasure at the news that two of his friends had gotten married since he'd last saw them. I haven't been a part of the GIC young adults group very long and I'm certainly no consistent participant now that I have joined, so I assumed he was one of the elite who had been a part of the church forever and had moved away for college or something. Feeling characteristically awkward around the whole group and too sleep-deprived to bother pushing myself out of my introverted silence, I retreated with Sam to find mom so we could go home. Mom, however, was detained, so I told myself to suck it up and go mingle with people in the lobby. I dropped off a belated birthday present with Karla, then went to wish Rena a happy birthday with a mental note to make her a gift as well. While chatting lightly with Rena, Jen and Josh, the happy new couple, also came over to join the conversation and that is when I found out that the hairy guy was he who shall remain un-named. Darn, he looks lovely, I decided (non-verbally, don't cry) upon a brief glance where he stood talking to a group of people. But I have issues inviting myself into group conversations even when I'm good friends with those involved and that is definitely not the case with anyone at that church so I maintained my distance. When I glanced again he was gone and I felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Soon after, mom reappeared and we headed together for the exit. Dang nam it, he's standing on the landing in front of the door, I realized all too soon. It's ok, Faye. Just say, "Hey ____, welcome back." You can do casual and non-stalkerish. Nooooo I can't. It's partly the un-named's fault. He destroyed the rote response protocol by first turning away from his conversation with an old man to give my mom a hug and then picked up the keys she dropped on the floor with a cheerful, "Here, let me get those for you". Then he quickly turns to me, exuberantly lifts his right arm over his head for an exaggerated low-five (which I did manage to reciprocate) and beams, "Hey, Buddy!" And at that moment, my brilliant, witty mind, which is usually my secret pride and joy, vacated my body and its imbecile replacement spluttered out, "I'm a girl!" Gee thanks, Tips. Like I'm four years old again and it's really important to assert that fact of biology to others because the baby pink shirt with rhinestones and the apple-sized growths on my chest somehow might not make that point self-evident. "You don't like 'buddy'?" he asks, surprised. Now deeply empathising with River's character in the movie Serenity as she weeps, "Please God, make me a stone," my befuddled mind's replacement searches for some Clueless era attitude and responds, "Um, no-o." Unfazed and irascible, the un-named pushes, "How about 'Poncho', then?" Poncho? Poncho?! As in the name of that horrible little self-absorbed but emasculated terrier in the Pooch Cafe comic strip that I always hope will be eaten alive by angry hornets? I will beat your friendly face in with my shoe if you ever call me that! "Ok," I hear myself agreeing congenially, "I can live with Poncho." Suddenly his eye-brows knit together and the un-named is looking intently at my face: "Do you wear contacts? You have really blue eyes." Completely thrown off my casual groove now, I mumble, "No contacts," and immediately want to beat my head against a wall because I always wear contacts, they're just not coloured. "I don't remember them being blue," he frowns, then he suddenly turns and dashes up the staircase calling over his shoulder, "Sorry, I gotta go catch the Jankes before they leave!" I stand on the landing a minute more, dazed and mute before I follow my mom out the door. Outside, my mom bursts into laughter at me and Sam frowns at her, confused as to what's so funny. I sigh. Why? Why, God, why? Why must I turn into Rainman around guys I really like? Why can I not either shut up or speak intelligently? God laughed. Then he made me look up 2 Corinthians 12:1-10.

Shiny Red Ball

In a devotional book I can no longer remember the title of, Max Lucado wrote an anecdote about his toddler at a ball pit park. It was this cool wading pool filled with those hollow plastic base-ball-sized balls that come in a rainbow of colours, characteristically found in child-friendly places like Chucky Cheese. The pool was for "children under 12 only" and its crowning jewel was a launcher in the center where children could set one of the plastic balls and have a great puff of air send it flying. Max' youngest daughter stood up to her neck in the pit of balls and therefore had difficulty moving through it, although it was clear she intended to get to the ball launcher in the center of the pit. Making her movements more difficult, however, was her insistence on trying to hold several of the red plastic balls she found at the edge of the pit. Without her arms for balance, the dear little half-pint sunk below the surface of the balls, couldn't get up again, and was wailing inconsolably. Max tried to instruct her from the side to release the balls and just use the ones closer to the launcher but she was not to be dissuaded. She was convinced the shiny red balls in her hands must be far superior to any elsewhere in the pit. So he sent her older sister to try to get her to release the balls so she could get back onto her feet and to the center of the pit. This resulted in a submerged cat-fight which had other parents beginning to stare. Finally, Max looked at the lifeguard on duty and was given permission to enter the ball pit to retrieve his now very unhappy toddler. Pulling her out where she could see and breathe again, Max eased the troublesome balls out of his daughter's hands and carried her to the center, where her older sister was able to demonstrate how to use the launcher with equally shiny red balls found right beside the launcher. Problem solved. I've been thinking about that story a lot lately. And about the shiny red ball in my hand God's asking me to release. Oh, ok. And the shiny pink one, too. The red ball is a summer 2008 3 week trip to Israel and a one-week stop in Ethiopia with one of my favourite Professors and a few of my closest friends from school. I want to go. I want to acquaint myself with the world in the company of someone who sees it clearly and already knows it better than I do. I want to see how much everything and everyone in Bethlehem and Jerusalem has changed in just one year, I want to taste the alien strangeness again and be shocked once more to realize how interconnected and similar we are. I want one last wild adventure before I'm locked into another 4 or 5 years of studies to complete my Masters and PhD in Counselling Psychology. I thought I could do it. I discovered, miraculously, enough funds left over from last year to pay all of the next year's tuition so if I could just make enough money this summer and during the school year I could afford to go again. Things seemed to be going my way: group homes run by the foster care group my parents belong to were desperately looking for relief workers and were offering $14.50 per hour. After pushing myself hard for a month to get my driver's license, I had all the requirements. I even had references from several friends who already work there and an impressive reference from the DC where I volunteer. Not only would it have been the most money I've ever made, but the job is related to counselling psychology (a definite plus for acceptance into grad school) and the shifts are flexible enough that I could have full time work in the summer and part-time work in the fall and winter when I go back to school. But they never called for an interview. I even re-applied. Still nothing. I didn't get it. Fortunately, God is good about dropping me hints. I have been working 3-4 days per week at my boss' house doing landscaping, renovations, and the usual house-keeping duties while waiting to hear from a real job. I'm starting to loose my mind from boredom and quiet but at least I get to be outside and using my muscles for a change. As an added bonus, my friend Jen lives in walking distance of my boss and encouraged me to just come sleep over at her house in between shifts so I wouldn't have to cross the city on public transit so much. Spending time with Jen and her kids has been the high-light of my summer. They just let me be a part of the family for a while. I earn my keep by tidying Jen's kitchen or bribing her children to do their chores by rewarding them with tickles and spinning them around up-side down. In return, I get free meals; a rich new understanding of the demands of raising children (particularly if you're a single parent); hours of intimate conversation ranging in topics from spiritual oppression in our childhood and teen years to hopes and plans for the future to how the big bang/evolutionist principles and creationism are really compatible, not competing theories; and Jen is teaching me how to play DDR. Jen also gave me the best recipe for chocolate chip cookies EVER. Score! The more time we spend together, the more similar we discover ourselves to be. So it should probably come as no surprise that Jen's shiny red ball incident was what helped me clue in to my own. Jen's shiny red ball was a job teaching aerospace science to grade 6 kids over the summer while her kids were away at their dad's. Jen's working on her teaching degree and so any experience related to the field that will help pay her tuition and living expenses is golden. This job was to be even more golden because it required Jen to work with the age group she prefers in the subject she prefers doing programming work her degree prefers. But then the unexpected occurred: Jen's kids were staying with her for the summer. This meant half of her pay would go towards child care instead of towards tuition, and she must somehow deal with the strain of caring for 2 highly unhappy children at the end of an entire day spent with other people's children. Jen's heart was with caring for and enjoying her children but her head knew she needed the money and the good reference from the job she had already accepted. She wanted advice on what to do and I couldn't give her any. But I suddenly realized that if she chose the job I could offer her the only thing I had at the moment: time. I could stay at her house and be available to look after her kids as needed. In the end, God told Jen to let go of the job and trust him to get her the funds she needs. She resigned and the next day her church offered her a large scholarship to use as needed. My help was no longer needed. But the idea that I might need some extra time for something crucial this summer remained. The crucial thing was identified as I began researching possibilities for grad schools and their entrance requirements. I need an undergraduate thesis. Thus, I found myself applying and being accepted for one of the exclusive independent research studies spots I had so feared and avoided. Essentially, this is a one year project in which I conduct my own research under a supervising professor (a master-apprentice relationship, of sorts) and then write a very long paper about it and present my findings to the entire psychology department at the end of the year. I have the summer to learn everything there is to know about the topic of my study, then summarize it into a review of the literature and a detailed research proposal that will be submitted to an ethics committee for approval prior to commencement in September. I also booked my GRE (graduate requirement exam?), which is like an SAT only harder. I'm supposed to be memorizing classical Greek and Latin keywords; lists of words only a GRE examiner has ever heard of and their general meanings; mathematics and science I haven't touched since high school; and generally practicing how to make it through a timed computer exam that becomes harder the more questions I answer correctly. More time to prepare is better than less. Getting a mindless, very part time job is probably a good thing. I will probably cut back to just 1 or 2 days of work per week for the summer, in fact. God seemed to reinforce his 'no' to the whole working-for-Israel-money-thing further by sending me large scholarships to help with tuition this year. Now I' suppose I will save up for graduate studies and living expenses in another city. So good-bye shiny red ball. I'm going to graduate studies instead. And the shiny pink ball? I'm not telling you about that.