Awkward

For those of you who know me in person, you know that I have a strange affiliation with awkwardness. In fact, that may be an understatement. There are times in which I feel that I am the epicenter of awkwardness. Not only are awkward people drawn to me like a moth to flame and awkward happenings always come up when I am around, but I myself am subject to periodic awkward outbursts. (Mr. LIOLI has dozens of such stories...ask him about them sometime!). They are like out-of-body experiences in which my ability to relate normally to others is suspended and I become trapped in a frenzy of awkwardness.

A quick web search of awkward yields the following definitions:

• causing inconvenience; (Me, a lot of the time)
  
• lacking grace or skill in manner or movement or performance; (Remember when I fell down while walking and broke my elbow? I had no idea that was just my awkwardness!)
  
• difficult to handle or manage especially because of shape; (Ah!)
• not elegant or graceful in expression; (Finally! An answer for the lifelong question of why I completely suck at sports!)
  
• hard to deal with; especially causing pain or embarrassment; (Mr. LIOLI: No need for your comments here, despite my previous invitation for feedback.)
  
• socially uncomfortable; unsure and constrained in manner; (Yes, yes, yes!)
  

Sometimes, it's comforting to find your niche. But there's more!

Anyway, I'm writing because for the last four days, I've been at a conference for pastors in which I've realized that my vocation itself might be an expression of my issue. Because so many people here are SO AWKWARD. (Have you ever noticed how awkward the WORD awkward is to say and spell? I think there's a name for this, but I can't remember it.) Now truly, I think most pastors are good people, but a deeper look reveals that many of them, including myself, have an awkward edge that propels them forward in the world like the wonky wheel on a shopping cart. And for some reason, this slight mutation gives people a selective advantage in ministry.

For instance, this morning, when I sat down to breakfast with some other folks, the man to my left offered the man across from him some creamer for his coffee, to which the other man responded: "No thanks. I like my coffee like I like my presidents: strong and black." This was followed by a deafening silence and then a tentative change of subject. But I had an epiphany in that instant that this is exactly the problem. So much awkwardness. In fact, mild racist overtones aside, this is totally something I might say, finding it totally hysterical.

So, I'm putting the call out there for some sort of awkwardness test: like those ink blot butterflies but better to test for awkwardness. This could become a great tool for assessing new ministers and just generally being hilarious. So wake up, social scientists. The church needs you! And I do too!

p.s. An anti-awkward therapeutic technique would also be welcomed.

Comment, Damn it!

Every time I visit friends and family at home, I am reminded that there are ACTUALLY people reading this blog periodically. HALLELUJAH!

Usually, I just go about believing that NO ONE is EVER reading this and I just puke out my thoughts into cyberspace in the relative anonymity of the blog no one reads. But people do read it. I found out. It's just that they never comment, other than a faithful few.

So I wanted to give a shout out to those of you secret behind-the-scenes readers and let you know: Don't be afraid! It's okay! I want to know what you think! Why are you secret readers?!?! Come out of the closet and comment damn it! :)

In fact, I'm going to go into my settings right now and make it easier for you to comment. You now have no excuse!

Confession

We don't have confession booths in the Presbyterian Church, so I'll have to use this blog instead. Because I have something important I need to proclaim to the quasi-anonymous confessional booth that is the world-wide web :

I'm not that Jesus-y.

I know, I know. You'll all say, "Of course you are! You're a minister for Christ's sake." (By the way, this is not swearing, I am a minister, literally, for Christ's sake.)

But I'm really not that Jesus-y.

What I mean by that is (and here is the confession part) that Jesus is not the A Number One Top Thing on my mind all the time. If this is shocking to you, please stop reading now. In fact, if I were really honest, there are not that many moments in which Jesus IS the A Number One Top Thing on my mind. Were I to go through my day and somehow prioritize and record the list of things that were on my mind, there would be times in which one might have to search pretty far down that list to find Jesus, probably somewhere after: the phone ringing, that I forgot to respond to someone's email, how ugly the girl's skirt is in the bank, what time it is, what I'm going to eat for lunch, wondering if we remembered to feed the dog this morning, figuring out what I'm going to do with my life, realizing the light has turned green, reminding myself that I need to stop by the store on the way home, Jesus, I wonder what color we should paint the hallway, etc.

Now, my non-Jesus-y-ness is not something that I notice that often, much the way one might not take note breathing in and out all the time or what their face looks like all day. But sometimes, when all of the sudden I experience my level of Jesus-y-ness in comparison to someone else, I realize how much I fall short.

For instance, I was recently in the middle of a conversation with another minister in which we were discussing some innocuous non-church-related life happenings and I said something along the lines of "I guess sometimes you just need a different perspective." To which she responded, "Well, that's what Jesus did, isn't it? He took the lessons and teachings from the Torah and reinterpreted them so people could see them in a new light." (This is a verbatim conversation, I am not exaggerating.) I have to admit that in that moment I was dumbfounded. Because I hadn't been thinking about Jesus at all. I had been thinking about the ACTUAL thing we were talking about....not that thing as a functional metaphor for the miraculous and transformative power of Jesus in our lives. And I honestly did not know how to respond other than to say, "Yeah," sheepishly, as if I had had some opportunity to express my piety which I had utterly missed....much like those times when I start chowing down in the restaurant as soon as my food comes and then look up to see the other person looking at me curiously and then asking, condescendingly, "Should we pray?" which I usually end up doing with one french fry hanging out of my mouth.

Anyhow, all this got me thinking, am I ever thinking about Jesus that way? And if not, should I be? And who are the people that are thinking that way? How do they do it? Are they ever just talking about the thing we are talking about? Or are they always looking beyond it? How do I get there? I seriously think I could use some major help in this area. Because I'm worried someone's going to find out soon. And then there could be major trouble.

For now 20 hail marys and I'm off to bed.

p.s. Even though I'm a minister, I still find praying in restaurants before eating to be TOTALLY awkward. What is wrong with me? Was it Harvard Divinity School?

Too Long

I've recently become aware of THE most wasteful and ridiculous development of recent history: the length of receipts. Has anyone noticed how freaking HUGE register receipts have gotten lately? Remember when they were just tiny slips about 2 inches wide and just a few inches long? Or when all they recorded was the cost of each item and then the total? Those days seem to be long gone.

I recently dashed into Star Market (the East Coast version of Albertsons for you Westcoasters) to buy exactly two items: a gallon of cheap lemonade and a box of fudgesicles. I went through the self-checkout lane to "save time"* and when I was finished, the receipt that printed for me was the most astounding artifact I have yet found of the super-sizing of all things American. The thing was approximately 5 inches wide, 7 feet long and had enough information on it that it must have included: my purchased items (including SKU, weight, regular price, sale price, price per ounce, price last year on this date, price I would have paid if I actually remembered my frequent shopper card, and a short narrative description of said item), the total (including what my total would have been had I saved with the shopper card), a customer service response survey, a message from the President of the company, my credit history, three coupons for things I didn't buy and the entire text of the New Testament. The ridiculousness only increased when I went home later and attempted to photocopy said receipt for record-keeping and reimbursement purposes. I had to fold the thing in thirds and press copy three different time to get it all!

When did this happen? And why did it become necessary? It's insane! I've concluded that by now there is probably an island of receipts floating somewhere off the coast of Malaysia the size of Manhattan. I know there is one at least the size of a generous size shoe box in my desk drawer.


* Tangent: WHY aren't ALL the self-checkout lanes open all the time? Isn't that the friggin POINT of self check-0ut? Why are half of them always closed so you still have to wait in line to check out your own damn groceries? ARGH.

I could hear every word...

I once heard a saying that went something like this: Most people, if given the chance, will do the right thing most of the time.

I would like to share a new version of that teaching based on what I have learned in the reception line at the door of the church after the service. It is this: Most people, if given the chance, will say what they mean, somehow.

For those of you outside the church (or even those in it), you would be AMAZED at some of the things people will share as they shake your hand. Mostly, I very much appreciate them, as they are the comments that keep me humble, especially the ones about my preaching.

Now, I am not a great preacher. No, don't argue. I've been told so by very famous experts. But that is okay. I think I am decent (when I try) and I am at peace with that. When I was in seminary, I used to think I was great, but that was before I actually did it for a living. As it turns out, there is a difference between preaching once a month in your seminary gig (and having a month to prepare!) and preaching every week for the whole year. The later is like long distance running, a completely different activity than the 100 meter dash, one which requires patience and training.

But I digress. The real point is the things that people have said to me about my preaching, things that have informed how I see myself as a minister. Some of those who train ministers will tell you that you'll never hear honest feedback on preaching again after you leave seminary, but I've not found that to be true. Here are some of the highlights:

"I really liked your message today. It was so much more authentic than those other sermons you give about books and stuff."

"How many pages was your sermon today?"

"I can't really remember how our old pastor preached. I just remember that it was always really, you know, relevant."

Him: "Your sermon just wasn't very...funny." Me: "Well.....it was about death." Him: "Yeah...I guess. But you're so funny. It just wasn't that funny."

"I love your sermons, Pastor. They're so....short!"

Her: "I'd really like it if you preached more about the bible." Me: "I do preach about the bible." Her: "Oh. I guess I can't tell."

"I think you're going to be an amazing preacher in 5 to 10 years."

And one of my favorites: Her: "I could hear every word you said from the back pew." Me: "Yes, and what did you think about the content?" Her: Pause. "I could hear every word."

Jammin'

Okay, friends. I thought I should update you about having made my first forray into the wild world of food preservation.

When I recently became obsessed with localvorism, I vowed that I would learn to can. "I'm going to can EVERYTHING," I told anyone who would listen. "I'll probably never go to the grocery store again," I self-righteously proclaimed.

I should note, for the sake of honesty, that upon hearing this my friend LW burst out laughing and screamed, "But why? They have CANS of stuff at the store."
"But this is BETTER," I said. "And FRESHER. And probably CHEAPER." I was right on the middle count, wrong on the others as it were. She was not the only one who was skeptical, however. My mother (helpfully) wondered where I was going to PUT the cans, given that our apartment is smaller than most average-sized SUVs. This is not to mention where I was going to put the canning equipment (which apparently includes a 200 gallon pot that, in retrospect, may not have fit on our 3/4 sized stove.)

So after waking up to reality and doing a bit of research, I decided that first I would try freezing. There are tons of recipes online for Freezer Jam, which you can make in smaller batches and store in the freezer until ready to use.

So I set out, bought some local raspberries and some type of crazy hippy pectin from the local co-op, went home and set about preserving.

Now, I must admit that this first attempt may not have been "worth it" in the traditional sense. Especially given the fact that it took several hours and my kitchen ended up looking like this:

However, ultimately, I did end up with a jam-like product that I had made myself, which was pretty thrilling (I was concerned that what I was actually making was frozen-fruit-mush, but it did set up overnight and turned very jam-ish.).

On the price front, however, I did not triumph. Total cost? $17. Which, as you might guess, is slightly more than even gourmet store-bought jam.

So the final count, as I see it, is as follows:
Me: 1
My friend LW: 1
Global Warming: 0

Can't wait until the next round!

I'm a PILOT!

So, I'd like to officially nominate my husband for "Best Spouse on the Planet." (And no, I'm not biased.)

His nomination is based on many qualities and incidents (some of which have been reported here, some not), but mostly right now because for my birthday this year, he gave me the best gift ever.....WINGS!!

Well, actually, he gave me a day trip to Martha's Vineyard (which is paradise by the way, if you ever have the chance to visit). The most exciting and luxurious part of the day however was the fact that we flew there!
Typically, to get to Martha's Vineyard, one drives from Cambridge to Woods Hole, MA at the Southern base of Cape Cod (about a 2 hour drive with no traffic which is, well, never), after which one would park and make one's way to the ferry which would (in about an hour) take you to Martha's Vineyard. But, if you are REALLY cool, or your husband is SUPER amazing, you can FLY from Boston Logan in a tiny 10-seat Cesna across the coast to MV in just 37 minutes.
And, as if this special treatment weren't enough, I got to sit COPILOT on our way down. (This was not a part of the birthday plan, in fact, just a fluke of weight balance needs and the fact that we were at the front of the line.) It was INCREDIBLE! The dials were whirring and buzzing and the engines were LOUD as we bounced through the puffy clouds and watched the central coast of Massachusetts float by. The low altitude meant we could see EVERYTHING as we passed by: buildings we recognized and all the tiny inlets and moored boats as we approached the Cape.

We landed smoothly around 9:15 a.m. and spent the day touring around the island, eating crab cakes on the Marina, visiting light houses and swimming in the ocean. It was amazing.

Upon arriving back at the airport an hour before our flight, the woman at the counter asked "Boston?" (It's not that big of an airport.) When we said "yes," she said, "Great, we've been waiting for you." and quickly escorted us through security and in a few minutes onto the runway. We were apparently the only passengers on the return flight and flew in private style back to Boston at sunset.

What a day! Needless to say at this moment I am seriously considering getting my pilot's license and also winning the lottery. But, until I can work on that stuff, let me just say, "Thanks, Mr.LIOLI..you're the BEST!"