Being in a motel room reminds me of him.

I say that like not everything else reminds me of him, and it does. Driving this same highway, eating at this same restaurant reminds me of him. Billboards and Bible stories that carry his name remind me of him. Cars with high mileage, teachers, and anything related to Chicago reminds of him. A handful of songs and artists, the hum of my desktop computer, and my favorite scent of lotion all remind me of him.
But.
I think it’s getting easier. Each memory brings slightly less hurt. Each prayer brings more joy. Each day, each step away from his direction, brings security and comfort. I’m thankful for that.

I had a lot of time to think today in the car. I did some praising and heard some great sermons. One very brief part of one sermon just shocked me, because I’d never thought of it in quite that way before: the pastor said worry is a sin, because worry is the opposite of faith in God. Worry is faith in Satan’s power of us and over our circumstances to bring something our way that God can’t handle. When we spend time worrying about things, we’re basically saying that not only do we not trust God’s got our best interests in mind, but we trust Satan to be able to destroy our lives. That summary, of course, is much less eloquent. If you want to hear the whole sermon, you can find the podcast here. Subscribe, and then it’s the February 24th sermon entitled “Hostage: Worry.” It’s a good word, and I’d recommend it.

I also realized how much I’ve changed from who I used to be. Inside I’m different. I’ve noticed a definite shift in the way I see things, in the way I regard people. That said, old habits and human nature are hard to break, and a lot of old Rebecca slips out much too often. But I think those times are getting fewer and further between. I’m not worried about things so much any more. I’m not depressed the way I used to be. I don’t feel as angry or bitter as I used to. I don’t crave alcohol or cigarettes as often as I used to. I’m even feeling great without caffeine, and God’s constantly reminding me that He, and He alone, is my strength. Each day I awake with a renewed interest in serving Him, and letting more God and less me come through.

I had a rather miraculous blessing last week in the form of my finances. I’ve given them all to God and committed to tithing regularly and being completely honest with the money I make at my job, which is something I haven’t done for any of the years I’ve worked in the restaurant business. And the first several days I worried like crazy if I was going to be able to afford this road trip. Then suddenly, out of the blue, someone I don’t really even know very well literally just handed me money, saying, “No thanks required” and “It’s not a favor” and “Just bless others every chance you get.” Amazing, I tell you. It happened to me. God looks out for His children.

So.
Here’s what else about the trip so far:
My belief has been reaffirmed that Oklahoma really does have the worst drivers. I’m basing this predominantly on the fact that I had to turn off my cruise control about a million times while on the highways driving through Oklahoma. And, of course, it’s based on a couple years of living there.
While at a gas station in Oklahoma, some greasy guy asked me to help him jump his car battery. Of course, I’ve watched way too many episodes of Law & Order or Without A Trace or Criminal Minds, so I agreed and then dug my mace out of my purse and turned the nozzle to the spray position. The guy kept talking to me while I was waiting for him to connect the cables, but for some reason I could never hear exactly what he said. He mentioned something about being robbed the night before and losing his driver’s license, something about his transmission, and something about his mom calling a gas station that morning to give them her credit card information so he could get gas.
He had bandanas wrapped around each of his hands, which were then covered by latex gloves. Of course I’m thinking, “he’s got the gloves on so he won’t leave fingerprints when he kills me” and “the bandanas are covering scratches on his hands from the last girl he murdered.” Nevermind that it was broad daylight with a lot of people around. It happens on Without A Trace, so it could happen to me.
He was wearing black, skid-proof shoes, AC/DC pajama pants, and a shirt that said, “Machinists for Kerry.” He made a funnel out of a magazine page and poured some oil in the car before connecting the cables and jumping it off. He asked if I knew anyone who would want to buy his car. I laughed, because I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t, not really.
Afterward, he thanked me, I parked, and began walking inside the gas station. He pulled over to me and offered me his phone number “in case you ever need a favor since you did a favor for me.” I said, “No, thanks, I don’t live here.” His eyes glazed over and he said, staring down at the ground, “I don’t live here, either.” I just walked away.
He drove around and parked in front of the gas tank, as if he was about to get gas. I stopped inside the store to watch him, because I didn’t know how he was going to get gas if he already got some this morning, didn’t have any money, and had a mostly-dead car battery. A car pulled up behind him, and I decided everything was fine and went to the bathroom. When I came back out, I noticed the car behind him was actually a police car and that a policeman was standing at his driver’s window talking to him. The policeman was there the entire time I was shopping, and I’m fairly certain he gave the guy a ticket. I don’t know why he stopped behind him or what was going on, but I was certain at any moment he’d get arrested on suspicion of twelve counts of rape and murder in the first degree. Imagine my disappointment when the police car left without the greasy machinist for Kerry handcuffed in the backseat.

Wow, that was longer than I anticipated. Bedtime. Tomorrow I’m going to the Jesse James Museum and tomorrow evening I get to hang out with Jesse (not James) & Carri. I’m super-excited, as long as they don’t make out in front of me.

Peace, love, and all these happy things.

Okay. So this little girl from our church volunteers at a Wildlife Center in town and today they had an open house. She asked me to stop by. So this whole time I’ve thought how weird it was that I never knew Lubbock had a Wildlife Center and I had to look it up to find out where it was located. It’s actually called the South Plains Wildlife Rehabilitation Center and it just happens to be someone’s backyard. I mean, there’s a house, and a large backyard filled with cages and a little shed and a fenced-in area and stalls for birds. They have three deer, a pelican, a bobcat, a fox, a raccoon, a possum, lots of different bird species, a kitten named One-Eyed Jack because he only has one eye, and several ducks, including one named Ilene because she only has one leg. In a very large backyard. No kidding.
One-Eyed Jack, by the way, is looking for a good home, but he can’t live with other cats because he has feline herpes–contagious to other cats but no other animals, including humans. If Mel wouldn’t say, “ew” and “ick” and “shoo” I might ask her if we can get a cat, but I already know what she’ll say.
So two of the owls were the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen in my entire life. There aren’t words to describe them, but knowing me, I’ve got to try. So they’re your typical scary-movie owls with big, yellow eyes so menacing you think they’re putting a curse on you. The ears of one of the owls’ were sticking straight up, his mouth was open like he was laughing evilly, and his chest was moving rapidly up and down in a fluffing motion that only amplified the effect of his silent cackle. The other owl just stared at me wide-eyed. As I started walking away, his gaze appeared to follow me the way some portrait paintings do. When I stopped to see if he was actually looking at me, he bowed his head and stared straight ahead, baring into my soul and I’m certain he was plotting my death. It was bizarrely creepy.

At the suggestion of Ben and this guy’s post and also maybe God, I’ve given up caffeine and Imitrex in an attempt to lessen my headaches. I gave up caffeine about six years ago and things were better for awhile, but apparently at some point I decided it no longer mattered, so I started drinking it again. The first week was excruciating and nauseating as if I’d been beaten by bricks and poisoned. But now it’s been ten days without caffeine and nine without Imitrex and the days are getting better. I have hope again, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.

Also at the invitation of Ben, I’ve joined Plurk, and so far it’s holding my attention and entertaining me. Feel free to join as my friend. I can’t tell you how happy that would make me.

More later.

Peace, love, and plurking.

So I had the pleasure of seeing the spectacular Meiko in concert last night. By far, one of my favorite musical finds since moving to California. A tiny, adorable little foul-mouthed girl from Georgia in a tiny, adorable little packed venue in Hollywood. It made my heart full.

Opening for her was a guy named Dan Wilson. I didn’t recognize the name and the music on his myspace was ok, but not terribly memorable. We showed up part way through his set. His recordings don’t do him justice. He was actually quite engaging and incredibly funny. He starts telling a story about the creation of a song… Here is a clip of him telling the same story (although I think he’s perfected it some since last November.) And if Wikipedia is correct, this is actually a true story. Who knew.

There is an older gentleman at the detox center that insists on walking me out to my car if I’m working late and further insists that I pull my car out in front of him and he drive behind me on our way back to our respective homes until we hit a main street in the city. The center is roughly 8 miles outside of the city limits into what I guess is considered “the country.” It can be a fairly isolated drive. While things like this typically annoy me to a small degree, it’s kind of a refreshing change to the mental institution mentality of me, where everyone there generally assumed I would knife any poor bastard who looked at me wrong and no one had any qualms letting me walk to my car at 3 in the morning in a truly decrepit neighborhood.

People have said I’ve been different lately. I’m quieter. I’m less quippy. I’m way happier. Well in a way. I’m awkward and uncertain in what I’m doing, though that will get better with time. About 60% of the clients coming through are ex-offenders out on parole or are there because it’s under the terms of their probation. The other 40% are homeless. I am neither and it shows. I’ve already been asked out once by a crack-addict felon. He found my “no, thank you” all sorts of amusing.

I have a date with jane. I’ll end this here.

For those of you who haven’t been introduced to Matt…

This makes me so happy. I’m keeping it in my pocket for when I have a bad day.

Man I am tired. And sparse for words. I’m going through a transitioning period for me, meaning I’m more apt to keep things to myself. This doesn’t come from a desire to not speak about such things, but rather out of laziness. The idea of recounting things I’m just becoming adjusted to makes me feel like I’m doing it all over again and wears me out. Change is big for me; I don’t seek it often. When I do, it is typically of large importance and great weight. See? I just used heavy, tiring words.

Today everything seemed silly. Everything. Driving a car was silly. Perusing entertainment was silly. Painting my nails was silly. Shopping for comfortable business casual shoes was silly (and annoying). My existence was a dark comedy bordering on existentialist. I don’t buy into that philosophy at all but it had an odd hold on me today.

Ahhh. I’m tired. Off to bed. My parting gift to you is to say that if your morbid curiosity gets the better of you and you end up viewing any of jane’s Green Porno, the firefly segment is kinda funny.

In the realm of Things Too Bizarre For Me To Begin To Grasp and Things So Disturbing I Think I Just Entered Into A Pee-wee Herman Movie and Things Guaranteed To Make Me Have Some Seriously Screwed-Up Dreams, I now bring you the only thing to completely satisfy the requirements for all three categories: Green Porno.

Watch it if you think you can handle it, but be forewarned: you will never be the same. Don’t come crying to me when your dreams are so screwed up you finally seek that psychotherapy you’ve been considering for years. To be honest, I only made it through the bee before I said, “That’s it. This is too messed up, even for me.”

Whew.
I feel purged now, having passed it on to you.

Now, here’s a video so moving I’ve actually emailed it to half the people I know already: an excerpt from a Louie Giglio sermon: Laminin.

And now for my own contribution to the post about videos: I’ve finally gotten around to narrowing down the pictures and videos from my Russia trip. I had good intentions to make a little video combining it all, but rarely have the time or the motivation to do so. Now that flickr allows video uploads, you can find an abundance of short, fifteen-seconds or less videos of my Russia trip here.
For a preview, I now introduce you to the three singing babushkas, who motion repeatedly for me and other to put money in the tip bucket:

Did that guy on the left of the screen in part ii just wink at the camera?! I just noticed that. Weird.

So yesterday I was a lemming and download the new firefox. Twice. So far what I like about it is the mac version has a blue star in the address bar to mark favorites. How happy does that make me, on a scale of one to eleven? Probably about a twelve. At least an eleven-point-five.
Plus, this is the first time I’ve actually liked the default browser theme for, well, any browser (although Safari isn’t too much of an abomination).

And now it’s time for working. But one more video before I go, in case you’re not all video-ed out:

Also, thanks to all of you who have been praying. Things are going well these days, and my attitude at work has definitely showed improvement.
Peace, love, and videos, videos, videos.

What I told my manager tonight was that I wanted to stab him in the chest with a screwdriver. The statement appeared to disturb the three customers with whom he was sitting at the time, but really, it seemed less severe in context and actually it’s not far from the truth. The truth is my job makes me want to stab myself in the chest with a screwdriver.

The way I feel about my job is the way all the teen mags talk about whether or not your boyfriend is “the one.” If you’re a different person when he’s around, they say, then he’s not good for you, not healthy for you, and not the one for you. I hate the person I am when I’m at my job. It’s not good for me, not healthy for me, and not the one for me. I’m an angry person at work, I constantly scold my coworkers and complain and gossip. Sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I’m actually me, happy and overjoyed at life and blessings and what God’s doing in my life. But it doesn’t take much to set me off, and I can count on one hand the times in the past year when I’ve had a good attitude and a good night, all night. And then I worry that I can never be a credible witness. How can I invite people to my church or talk about all the great things God is doing around me and in me when all people see is Angry Rebecca, or Becky, as some people have labeled my psycho alter-ego. One girl tonight actually told me I’m always mad at someone at work, and it always seems like Rebecca-against-the-world.

I’ve tried to reassure myself that Jesus came to serve, that He humbled Himself to wash others’ feet. I recite the twenty-third Psalm sometimes to myself. It may sound extreme to you, but the valley of the shadow of Death is just about right. I pray about it every single day. Every. Single. Day. And yet, I get to work, and I end up feeling repeatedly discouraged and disappointed by everyone and everything around me. That leads to anger and the anger leads to my open mouth, spewing out negativity.

I tell myself it’s in my best interest spiritually to just quit. If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, the Bible says, cut it out or cut it off. So do I cut my job out of my life? Which, of course, brings me to the single reason I’m still in this same place after so long: money. Good money. Money I couldn’t earn anywhere else, at least not immediately. And I have too many responsibilities to too many people to not have a relatively solid source of income. If I knew God was saying, “It’s okay to quit. I’ll make sure you’re provided for,” then I’d quit. Tonight. I’d call my manager at home just to tell him where he can put his screwdriver and the oyster shucker he handed me tonight. I know God will always make sure I’m provided for, really, but if I openly go against His will, I have to be prepared to face the consequences. And I don’t think I’m ready to do that. I need to know it’s what He wants for me, and I don’t know that.

Shift gears. Health still isn’t so good over here. I’m still dealing with this headache crap and have quite literally given up all hope of ever being healed. It’s not that I don’t think God can–it’s that I don’t think He will, not now. And I know prayer can help me deal with it even if it won’t take it away, but the truth is, knowing people are praying about my health and not feeling better actually makes it worse. I start asking myself, “What am I doing wrong? Do I not have enough faith? Did I do something bad that can only be punished by this constant pain?” But last night–actually after being so offended by some of my church family that I almost walked out of the house where we were meeting–I took a chance and asked for prayer for healing. And then, following the prayer, came something I hate more than almost anything–people who swear they know what will cure me. I don’t like talking about what medicines I’ve tried. I don’t like talking about what I know is and isn’t the cause. I don’t like talking about how long I’ve had them or how frequently. And I really, really, really don’t like people telling me what helped them. I don’t like people telling me about an article they just read or a TV show they saw with a possible breakthrough. Because I just don’t have it in me to try and seek a cure anymore. I can’t. This is the only outlet where I actually feel it’s okay to talk about it, probably because I don’t always get the let’s-try-and-cure-Rebecca conversation.

So. Most of this is me ranting and getting it off my chest. I’m discouraged to the point of tears and disappointed to the point of extreme anger, which of course leads me back to the point of tears. I’m weary and I’m sad, and I have my faith in God but have lost my faith in everything else. So the other part of this is a really long request for prayer. I don’t even care what you pray for or if you’ve never prayed before and may not even be sure if there is a God. If you consider me a friend, I’m asking you to please say a prayer for me. Just one. That’s all I ask.

Peace, love to you all, and prayer.

Well I cried.

My life seems to be built on breaking down and large amounts of hope.

I am really done now though.