Catering

Posted under Church, Idiosyncraticness, Life, Writing by Sarah

Writing stuff that’s going to be read by everyone from your grandmother to the kids in the youth group where you’re a leader to some guy you met once to your former boss is complicated. It really is. Not joking with you there.

Do I go with slightly funny or can I possibly launch into mocking Canadians, Mexicans, Hawaiians, the Dutch, or those from the H.C. (Huron County, where I currently live), because I know all those people groups well and I can do it? But one of them might be offended, eh! I’m thirsty (translation: it’s 2:58 pm. translation: coffee time)!

Should I stay away from mocking church and its tribal nuances, as Drew Marshall so eloquently put it, because some of my readers think church is the best thing, like, ever, hallelujah, amen?! Or will there be enough church-goers (I’m one of them, I guess I’ll admit) that can laugh at themselves to make it worth the risk?

Can I swear (because I’m okay with that every now and then, when it’s appropriate)? Or should I be concerned about what Mr. Board Member might think of me should he happen to hear about this website and come over to read this exact post? Might I get “fired” from being a youth group leader if I say “what the hell” instead of “what the heck”? Even though we all know “heck” is a substitute?

There are things I’d like to write about that I don’t want to expose while living in my hometown, where people that have known me for years (and know that I consider myself a “missionary”, which means I’m holier than everyone else, obviously) can look me in the eye and stare in shock. In that one restaurant that everyone goes to for brunch. I’d like to talk about my church, but not when I live two blocks away and my next-door and 9-door-down neighbours attend there, too. They might hear about this website, and then they’ll look at me differently, you know they will! You just can’t escape gossip in a town of 7500, although I must say it seems to be better than living in CLA-n, town of closer to 3000 with one main corner in the centre of it.

I also wonder if those people who get the being-online-24/7 thing (they’re the ones who get “24/7″, too) and know what blogs are actually want to read my stuff if it’s longer than a few lines and doesn’t include pictures? If I don’t make references to rap or raves, and if I don’t say motherf****** at least once every 30 seconds, will they understand me?

Like I said, complicated. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could just write whatever I felt like, whenever. One of these days, I’m gonna write a tell-all book and then it will be too late for me, wherever I live, but I feel much better about that somehow. It’s as if getting published in print adds an air of legitimacy to would-be scandal, whereas publishing your own subjective words online is suspiciously subversive.

I strangely want people to know that I AM scandalously and suspiciously subversive, but I want them to figure it out without my telling them face-to-face. Because that would just be awkward. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned growing up in a small town, it’s that when things get awkward, either get drunk, or get outta there!

Life In The H.C., Part One

Posted under Coffee, Idiosyncraticness, Life by Sarah

My family has claimed residence in the H.C. (Huron County, for all you uninitiated) for over 20 years. The H.C. extends from–well, the left side is Lake Huron, and Goderich is somewhere in it, and so is the first town we lived in when we moved to the county, Dashwood, and a bunch of other towns that I’ve never been to.

I’ve known for years that the H.C. is famous for a few things, namely drunk driving, drunk driving accidents, divorce, and domestic violence. Some legacy, huh?!

But now that I’m out and about this small portion of the County, I’m slowly picking up on a few other things that I somehow missed before joining the “real” work force. Oh, the culture that I never realized I had foregone by not going to bush parties or gravel running, and avoiding Buck ‘N’ Does (or Stag ‘N’ Does, etc.).

I never heard about the insanity of teenagers working in the barn and the fields till 10:00 pm, then picking up a 40-ouncer (that would be alcohol, ladies and gents) and a couple of girls, “touring” till the booze was gone, getting a couple hours of sleep, then hitting the barn again at 5:30 am. Day in and day out!

Who knew that entire towns were rife with gossip about who is building something on their property, who is moving in with whom, whose business has gone bankrupt, who hasn’t shown up to the coffee shop in a couple of weeks?!

There’s actually a whole other accent I’ve stumbled upon, too: a nearby town I’ve always known as Clinton (CLIN-ton) is pronounced by some Huronites as Clinton (CLA-n).

But my absolute personal favourite is this: 3:00 means coffee break. For everyone, duh! My boss will venture to ask somewhere in the vicinity of the hour if I feel like coffee. Usually, I’ve had at least two cups by then, and, in favour of my body’s general health, I reply that I’m fine. The response, “Oh, well, it’s about 3:00 so I was just thinkin’ you might want coffee.” How is it possible that 3:00 has come and gone every day for 20 years here in the H.C. and I am only now learning that it is an hour synonymous with coffee?! Help a girl out!

Jeans: The Key to Levitical Rebellion

Posted under Church, Clothes, God by Sarah

Yesterday I had the privilege of chatting with a girl who is, like me, a singer and worship leader at an evangelical charismatic church. We began to share experiences, compare notes about practices, styles, expectations, etc. And then we came to something that has had me curious for a handful of years: being part of the worship team at her church comes with certain expectations.

Those expectations stipulate a code of conduct befitting a group of Levites who lead a congregation into the throne room of God: no drugs, no premarital sex (some of these are obvious), no drinking, no jeans on the platform on Sundays, etc.

Wait. Reverse this train. No jeans on the platform? No jeans on the platform on Sundays?

Please understand the tone of this blog isn’t meant to be abrasive, but simply, well, incredulous. We can scripturally justify no sex before marriage, but what about the rest? Sure, most would argue that drugs mess with the temple of the Holy Spirit, and many would say that alcohol does, too. I’d be interested in delving into those standpoints with you, if you’d like, particularly the drinking one, but let’s get back to the jeans, and how wearing them, on The Platform, on Sunday, should be frowned upon.

Don’t get me wrong… I get it. I’ve done the dress-up-for-church thing for, well, all of my life. But why do we dress up? And why should those on The Platform dress any better than those not on The Platform? (Hint: The answer “We’d put on our best clothes for the queen of England, why not much more so for God?” isn’t going to be accepted in this discussion.)

I want to exacerbate this topic, right here, right now, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to carry on a one-sided discussion. Thoughts?

Productivity Plus (read: EMPLOYMENT!!)

Posted under Idiosyncraticness, Life, Money by Sarah

Have you ever tightly grasped heavy tools with each hand a-a-a-a-l-l-l-l-l-l day, climbing up and down a two- or three-foot ladder with them, moving them just so up and down walls, trying to wield them in such a way as to make mudding plaster do exactly what you want it to?

I hadn’t either, before today, the third day of my summer employment as assistant to a professional custom drywaller/painter. Today, we trowelled all day long, and tonight, my hands are sore and blistered. There were several times this afternoon when I was pretty sure my hands were going to seize up and I was a tiny bit afraid I’d never be able to unclench them again! Who knew that mudding stuff weighed so much or that I could have any ability whatsoever in applying it to walls? The part that shocks me most is that my boss is trusting me to touch these walls and, in fact, isn’t correcting everything I do!

Tomorrow we’re sanding… I wonder if I have any skill with that, and if the dust is going to make the cold I developed after the first day on the job site any worse.

Yes, I got a job. On Monday. And it’s been the most productive week I’ve had in a l-o-o-o-o-n-g time. You really haven’t heard the half of it. Well, okay, about 60%.

The rest is this: on the weekend, I finally moved upstairs to the room I painted back in March, and I even have new curtains up now! But wait! That’s not all! I actually got two jobs on Monday! You should be proud of me now, I’m telling you.

My second job is as a waitress/server at a new English pub coming to the very tourist-attracting town of Bayfield, 20 minutes south of my town. The pub will be called the Brew’n Arms, will have 12 brews on tap, and a very English menu, as well as decor as authentic as possible. It will open around the end of this month, and I’m very excited!! I’m also very grateful that I’m not starting both jobs at the same time, what with the current pain with every step I take and everything I try to grasp with my hands. Hopefully by the end of the month I’ll be used to the physical demands of my manual labour job so that I can have a bit more energy by the time an evening full of serving comes around!

One more thing for the productivity roster: I went for a run tonight, after peeling off my white and crusty clothes (and putting on other ones), and before taking a long soak in a hot bath with Epsom salts… ahh.

(insert smile here)

Maybe? Man? Might? Missions?

Posted under Jimi, Life, Love, Ranting by Sarah

As I’ve ranted before, this time in my life, too, shall pass. I won’t have to live with my mother forever, and this cancer phase will cease to be The Way It Is. Question is, “then what?”

Everyone, somehow without even knowing who everyone is, agrees that being home is the best/right thing for me now, but what’s the best/right thing for me then?

Or the questions I almost dread to ask, “What if the Next Thing isn’t ‘ministry’ or ‘missions’? What if it’s going to school and working? What if it’s moving to another country, for a guy, and even maybe marrying him?” Do I cease to be a “missionary”? Will I have given up my calling? How do I retain the feeling of sanctity, or holiness, when I regard my life’s path, as I have in the past several years? Is it important? Is there something I might be missing?

I’m confident that with these impending decisions, as with many major ones before them, I’ll know which path to take. Yes, it seems mystical perhaps (Jimi certainly thinks so), but it’s what I’ve grown into over the past several years.

Major decisions have often been accompanied by anxiety, but usually it’s just a matter of time before I get to a place where I’m confident of the direction I should take. Yes, it’s possible I had already opened the door and simply stepped along the path, but still.

After a few months of deliberation (granted, it’s not much in the grand scheme of things), I’ve decided that I definitely do want to marry Jimi (and the heavens opened and a mighty host of angelic beings descended and lovely harmonies were heard resounding throughout the earth). He is an amazing, unique, indescribably perfect-for-me man (See my other Jimi blogs for more girl-sigh-fodder). I don’t want to lose him, hence my decision to move to Indy, hopefully in a handful of months.

The thing I haven’t totally reconciled in my heart/mind is how moving to Indy in order to be near the man I love affects my “calling” and my otherwise “missions-y” bent in life.

When I left after having served only 6 months of a 2-year commitment, having previously been sure I’d stick around for 3-5 years, I never thought my path home wouldn’t turn me right back around towards Kona, missions, and YWAM; towards a life of living by faith and donations, continent-hopping, and great teaching.

I miss it, obviously, and I’m not ready to write it off. Not sure I’m even comfortable with a “maybe” I’ll go back to Kona and/or YWAM. I’d kinda like to know for sure before I make any truly binding decisions (”Till death do [me] part” from a dude).

Might it come down to laying it aside (and trusting God with it, hoping he’ll give it back to me) in favour of the man and a few years of work and school, even if it’s in one place (drudgery, drudgery, drudgery), that place possibly being the beautiful Indianapolis?

This decision, too, shall pass, and other, scarier ones will takes its place (To buy a house or not? To have a kid in 2 years or not? To get a loan or not?) Meanwhile, I continue to deliberate.