Cute Christianity

The guy who wrote Stuff Christians Like is seriously on to something. His book/blog are hilarious and spot on.

Basically, for those of you who haven't been exposed to it, the guy calls Christians out on their weird habits that no one can explain (like why Christians think side hugs are holier than full frontals.) He also confronts common Christian anxieties, (fearing the rapture would come before you lost your virginity.)

This guy, Jon Acuff, has the boldness to satire the Christian culture that most evangelicals live in. If you appreciate a good observation, and won't be offended by how-metrosexual-is-your-worship-pastor chart, then I recommend it.

Really though, in all honesty, we Christians do some pretty interesting stuff.

Most of it isn't bad, or horribly socially awkward.

Standing in the circle during donut time isn't bad.

Nor is having a different high-five sequence for each kid in the youth group.

I've found, personally, that if I slap a Bible verse on a canvas, Christians go crazy for them.

When I was an R.A. in Cross Hall at WT, the popular thing in dorm rooms was to get these sticker Bible verses and put them on the wall.

But they are always cutesy Bible verses that stir spiritual butterflies up in your stomach.

They are usually the ones about how much Christ loves us. (Which he does.)

Or declarations about their dwelling, as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

Seriously, NOTHING, hear me, nothing wrong with that.

In fact, my roommate and I decided that we wanted a cutesy sticker decal of a Bible verse up in our house.

So this is in our kitchen, above our washer and dryer:

Okay, so it isn't cutesy. But it is a Bible verse.

I mean, the WHOLE Bible is God-Breathed, right?

Hey, I just noticed that our "u" in Exodus fell off.

Anyways, we just thought it was so funny to pick one of the ten commandments instead of one of the Psalms.

It was almost a verse out of Song of Solomon, but we didn't have enough letters. Guess that's the "bizarre sense of humor" thing.

Alright, so now to the heart of it.

There are a lot of things Christians do that I don't like.

Dorky Christian tee-shirts where they jack a secular logo and change the words to make it Christian is a particular pet peeve.

Or the gossip in the prayer circle.

Or raising your kids to be incredibly socially awkward or so fundamentalist, that they can't relate to anyone outside the church walls.

Or saying something horribly rude about someone followed by "bless their heart."

BUT here's the kicker:

I'm not personally in charge of turning the Church into a bunch of Abbey Jo's. That would be a scary-messed up place.

The Church is supposed to just be people who are becoming more like Christ, not Abbey Jo.

Besides, me battling my pet peeves within the Church, or dwelling on how stupid Christians act, isn't furthering the gospel.

Though some of my frustration is probably vindicated in some instances, they are still counter productive.

These verses come to mind:

And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. 1 Corinthians 13:2-3

Instead of focusing on other people's sins, or how the Church drives me crazy, or how wrong I think that a Christian is acting, I need to, what, Love them?

In the end I am not accountable for how other people follow Christ. I am accountable for how I follow Christ.

I am in charge of doing the next right thing.

I am in charge of loving the unlovable.

I can hate wrong-doing all day, but am I loving the people who perpetrate it?

Real change comes in the church,

Real change comes in our neighborhoods,

Real change comes in our cities,

not when we are judgmental to our Christian brothers and lost friends, alike, but when we love just as Christ loved us.

The verse that my roommate and I put up in our kitchen in jest really does keep me in check. Not so much for adultery, but in remembering to not take the pieces of Christianity I like.

We could be the best Christians in the world.

Giving, praying, prophesying.

We could have faith, we could be martyred.

We could be cute Christians, doing all the right things.

But if We haven't got love we aren't following Christ.

Sometimes I miss the boat on that.

I don't want to just be cute.

I want to be like Christ &

Love People.

Panic at the Disco

Apparently, today was "Abbey's Future 101" Day at college.

Fair warning, if you proceed, you will truly see how lame I am.

This morning I had to write a (short) paper about how I'm going to talk to my imaginary children about drugs for my Criminal Justice class. Cool, whatever, I'm (hopefully) a long way off from having little nuggets grow inside of me, much less having kids at the age where I need to have "the drug talk" with them.

This afternoon, I stopped in the Alternate Certification Office to discuss my options for obtaining a teaching certificate after I graduate in May, and what I would have to have completed. The guy kept using these abbreviations for tests like PPR or PPC or PACT or POOP to talk about all these tests I need to take, or sign up for or something.

We looked at prices for the graduate classes I would enroll in, but I was still fine.

After that, I had Senior Seminar with one of my all-time favorite professors, Dr. Braisington. We usually read a bunch of articles from databases, and write a short paper each week about microhistory. Alas, this week he was helping us look at resumes and CVs and cover letters, and grad school applications, and internships.

At one point in the middle of lecture he said, "Abbey Jo, you're staring at the ceiling, are you alright?"

"Oh, no, sorry. I'm fine, thank you.'

On the bike ride home I started to wander back to options available through Teach for America or even The Peace Corps. But then I remembered when one of my best friends, who was marvelously qualified was turned down by them a few years ago, which led me to feeling inferior and incompetent.

My next thoughts were, "I don't want to be rejected. That's devastating. I could just not try."

By the time I got back to the Booger I was in a total panic.

I was pacing and nervous, and trying to play out all the scenarios in my head of which option was best. I was a wreck.

So I put in my ipod, pulled on a knee brace, and went for a run....which turned into a walk after an embarrassingly short amount of time.

I wanted to cry.

Or curl into a ball.

And I never ever ever wanted to make a decision, but I felt like all of a sudden, today on November 3rd, 2010, I needed to decide the course of my life.

I had started out listening to hardcore rap music to sustain my run, but after making it three blocks I pulled the buds out of my ears and sat on the curb with my face in my hands. could hear panic in my breathing.

I don't know that I've ever freaked out to this extent.

All my friends who graduated before me tried to describe this very breakdown to me, but it cannot be grasped until you're on that curb, staring into the dark abyss of your future. Within a matter of months you will be hurled into the blackness regardless of whether or not you've got a plan or a flashlight. And it wont be like going to college. No one will pat you on your head or help you along. They'll instead make you put on slacks and sweat through interviews and make you question your intelligence and throw your resume into a huge stack, with the other sweating, nervous graduates.

I forced myself off the curb.

I stood on the edge of the street, trying to manage the sinking feeling in my gut, as I decided to just put one foot in front of the other.

One foot.

Then the other.

One foot.

Then the other, again.

And I walked to the park.

And I sat in a swing.

And I let the wind push it back and forth.

But I didn't pump my legs.

And I soaked up the sight of watching children play on the playground.

So carefree.

Their biggest concern was when one of the soccer mom's caught sight of them throwing rocks.

"Don't throw rocks!"

The kid dropped the gravel and then just kept playing tag.

I was reminded of the Proverbs 31 girl.

She laughed at her future.

In that moment I was reminded that I was to be anxious about nothing.

Well that was certainly easy in high school when I didn't have much to be anxious about.

At least, it feels that way in hindsight.

The biggest problem we always have is the one that we are facing currently.

When I was in high school it felt like a big deal that I wanted to go to college but was extraordinarily broke. I thought there was nothing that would be so difficult.

When I became an RA, the thought of getting to know all the residents on my floor seemed impossible and my abilities looked insufficient at the foot of my towering to-do list.

But God has brought me through all of that.

Why on earth should I not trust him now.

"Yeah, Yeah, God," I thought, "It's easy to be anxious about nothing, when there's nothing to be anxious about. But this is everything I worked for for the last four years! That's a lot of fo(u)rs!"

But I was reminded of what it took to get off of the curb.

One foot.

In front of the other.

One foot

In front of the other, again.

It'll be fine.

And in ten years I'll look back and wonder how I could've been so doubtful.

I'll laugh at past.

But that's not what the Proverbs 31 girl laughs at.

She laughs at her future.

Which is harder, since I don't know what that holds.

But whatever, dark abyss of future,

I'm going to eat leftover halloween candy and watch Aladdin on VHS,

and I'm totally going to laugh at you.

The Future is Scary,

But

Laughter is the Best Medicine.

It's Biblical.

Social Networking

I have a twitter account, a facebook account, and obviously, a blogger account. I can send text messages without looking, and I understand what people mean when they say dumb sounding stuff like "There's an Ap for that."

So, let me preface this post by saying, "Social networks and technology are not inherently bad things."

Okay.

So I've worked for youth groups the last two summers, and I really enjoyed it a lot.

However, I constantly felt/feel just a little behind on keeping up with the new hip things.

I've accepted the fact that I'm getting old (according to teenagers) and if I so choose, I could spend my entire life battling to stay cool.

I don't really want to battle to stay cool.

I am inherently cool.

My lack of iphone might make me seem less cool, but looks can be deceiving.

So anyways, when I was younger AIM was a thing.

You have a buddy list, you chat with your friends, it was awesome. My code name was martinkerbelle, (again, keep in mind that I am inherently awesome, so the fact that this seems super lame is totally misleading.)

That got replaced with XANGA.

Then MYSPACE.

Now FACEBOOK.

and TWITTER.

This stuff is mostly lost on people who are older than 35, (excluding parents of teenagers who got a facebook to creep on their kids and know what they're up to, or youth pastors who try and stay connected, or the really rare but still existent technology-savvy-old-people who knew about it before the teenagers did,) so don't feel bad if you didn't follow the timeline, it's merely a subpoint about how what is "cool" constantly changes.

People that graduated high school between 05-08 only began to dabble in social networking stuff while we were in our teens.

Teenagers that I work with now have social networking at their finger tips all the time.

It can be a good thing.

A way to keep up with friends, procrastinate on homework, post funny stuff, circulate videos, ideas, jokes.... whatever.

When it turns into a problem is when it becomes the sole interaction you have with the world.

Some of the teens I've worked with in Amarillo and in Carrollton are so obsessed with "staying connected" that they have become completely awkward in the actual social realm, because they only interact in the online social realm.

I've met some middle schoolers who absolutely have no idea how to talk on the phone.

They can text all day, everyday, but actual conversations are impossible for them to maintain. They're not sure where appropriate breaks in conversations go, they can't articulate thoughts that are more than 160 characters, and they don't have the manners to say things like "bye," before they hang up the phone.

When standing in a group of people, they'll be so busy sending text messages that they miss out on the live-action conversations and are disconnected from actual interaction.

Also, here is a clarification for my younger readers:

The word "u" is not actually a word.

So long as you're not being charged by the letter, spell out the whole word.

u look retarded if u spell like this.

My question is for all Facebook/Twitter users (both young and old):

Are you really getting to know someone if you only interact with them through a medium where they are privileged with getting to choose what they disclose about themselves?

Erase the pictures they don't like.

Edit their thoughts to only expose the funny ones.

Have friendlists composed of people that they don't even talk to...

Facebook doesn't lend itself to fostering real relationships.

It's a fun tool to use in addition to fostering real relationships, but it's not enough when used alone.

With a generation losing the ability to maintain real community, how can we expect them to learn to be the church? To really love one another? To challenge one another? To know one another well enough to have true fellowship?

On the upside, Social networks can be accessed from virtually anywhere these days.

To prove it I wrote this blog from the toilet.

Don't Rely on Social Networks

For Your Entire Social Life.

Facebook is inferior to Face-to-Face.

Put the Phone Down,

Log Off the Computer,

And Be a Human Sometimes.

Chronicles of Spaz

We have a cricket problem at my house.

Green, and spectacular as my house may be, it's surrounded by this annoying thing: nature.

Obviously, like anyone who is human, I like nature sometimes. But whenever it chirps incessantly, I want to squash nature. I want it's guts to be stuck between the tread of my converse. Or I want to capture nature and throw it into someone else's yard.

In fact, as I was typing this blog, a little cricket was metronoming so loud just outside the back door that I merely opened it and called out, "I'll kill you, you tiny insect devil!" to the then silenced driveway. Of course, the cricket is smarter than me. He stopped chirping as I searched for him, and as soon as I sat back down to finish my work, his horrid song started again.

Your song, by the way, is worse than anything Justin Beiber sings, if that says anything about how much I hate you, tiny cricket.

The crickets are all out in the yard.

I've never seen one in the house. But when I'm trying to sleep, it's as if they get together and plan to be horribly obnoxious just outside my window.

Squash Nature.

In other news, parking at WT is supposedly horribly under-developed these days, and I've heard nothing but the old people (commuters) in my class complaining about having to walk really far from their cars.

I don't care, really. I ride my bike to class anyways.

In a futile attempt to reduce our planet's carbon footprint, I've vowed not to drive anywhere unless it is obviously more than one mile.

I know, right, I'm soooo revolutionary.

Hey, I'm just taking one really tiny carbon footstep at a time.

So I keep my new (and totally rad) mountain bike in the garage to protect it from other nature-ous things like rain, snow, and thieves. You know, the elements.

Each morning I crawl out of bed just in time to tinkle, brush my teeth, grab a piece of fruit from the fridge, wrap it in a paper towel and stagger across the gravel driveway to fetch my bike from the garage before I mount and ride while I nibble on a peach, or an apple or something. (Please note that I didn't list "do my hair" or "put on make-up", because I've given these things up cold turkey for class seeing as how I have a steady boyfriend who no longer goes to WT. I have no reason to look pretty. Merely, to be nutritious. So I've replaced "getting pretty," with "munching an apple.")

Alas, our garage is, for whatever reason, only half-way a motorized garage. It's a double-wide, and one of the doors has a button-presser, which I misplaced almost the moment we moved in, and the other door is manual.

Of course, due to my lack of possession of the button-presser, I use the manual door.

I bend over, everyday, and grab the handle, and pull with all my might, and up slides that big white door, and there sits my shiny bicycle.

So, one morning, round about three weeks ago, I roll out of bed, throw on my clothes, stagger through my morning routine, and walk out the side door to the garage, where I bend down, I grab the handle and I start to pull up...

CRICKET.

There. I just saw him.

By my foot, just on the morning light side of the threshold to the dark garage.

And he saw me, too.

If those tiny monsters have eyes, then we totally made eye contact.

And I whispered down intimidatingly at his exto-skeletoned body, "I'm going to squash you for all the hell you've put me through, little bug."

And his silence was probably a plea for mercy.

"But you dissolved your mercy with every obnoxious chirp, didn't you, little bug?"

He was close to my foot so I lunged toward him.

Crickets can jump.

He dodged my stomp as he pounced towards the drive way.

I turned ninety degrees, with my foot steering the assault and missed again.

This time he double jumped like a black-buggy checker towards, and into the garage.

I thrust toward him, but because my attention as focused on the ground-level spectrum I hadn't noticed that I'd only managed to get the garage door halfway up, and so in my pounce for victory I actually found utter defeat and a concussion-esque knot on the side of my head as I lay on my back in the gravel drive way.

Holding my palm to the bruising bruise, I tried to blink my pain away.

It took a moment for me to realize what'd happened.

And as I lay there confused and throbbing, I heard the menacing chirp chirp of a cricket victory song.

I am a total spaz.

I ran jumped into the garage door with my temple.

Urg.

One for you, Cricket.

One for you.

Don't Launch an Attack on an Enemy

Without First Consulting the Garage Door

To Make Sure He's On Your Team.

Ace of Cakes

So it was Ross' birthday at the end of August, and almost a month in advance he'd asked me to come to his birthday party. If you're dating someone you have to go to their birthday party. It's the rules. Which totally works out, because I love parties. So I agreed to go to his "family get-together" to celebrate, eat cake and get the approval of the parents. (Though that last objective wasn't specified, it was clearly implied by his nervousness.)

25+ people ended up showing up at this shin-dig at his parent's house.
Turns out everyone wanted to meet the new girl that won the heart of the eldest, and (in my completely biased opinion), best looking grandchild.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sister-in-laws, grandparents, greatgrandparents, a couple second cousins thrown in just for fun, and of course the ever-frightening regular parents.

Word was out.
People drove in from Lubbock, Borger & Abernathy.

Ross told me that night, "this many people haven't come to my birthday party, ever." He shrugged and said, "they're here to meet you."

That's a lot of people wantin' a piece of the Abbey pie.

Everyone kept making jokes about needing name tags so I could keep up, and "there's going to be a test over the family tree, Abbey, so you keep in mind whos who..."

My goodness, they all looked the same to me.
But I can work a room.
Even if they're small town people, even if they're strangers, I got this.

Let's start with what we have in common: Everyone here likes the cowboys, and was raised methodist. Game on.

So there is some general mingling going on among family in the kitchen, two living rooms, and backyard.

My basic game plan is to stand near Ross so he can whisper things I need to know about each person as they approach me. We were positioned strategically by the back door to catch people as they come and go from the grill. Perfect.

Alas, I deserted my post in search of a trash can.

"I'll be right back," I said.

Foolish.

I slipped inside the house, looking awkwardly for a trash can to ditch the soli cup of lemonade I've finished, and someone calls, "Abbey, what 'cha lookin for?"
Ross' mom.
"Uhm. The trash can," I say in my sweetest voice. (which honestly, to me, just sounds awkward.)
"Right here, girly," and she points to the tiny obviously, not party-prepared trash can right below the kitchen sink. With all these people here, you'd think she'd have a toter ready. Amateur.
"Thank you," I say as I dispose of my cup.

As I turned back towards the exit there was someone RIGHT there.
"So, Abbey," says a new, rather intimidating face to me from amazingly close.How did she get that close without me noticing? Who are you. Aunt? Really old cousin, maybe? Not the mom, she was wearing blue..."Tell me about yourself."

I didn't know really how to answer the question.

In a job interview, I just list all my best qualities, but if I start rambling about how punctual I am, then she's just going to think I'm pretentious.

I leaned back on the counter and tried to speak with her as best I could, though mostly if either of us spoke it ended with weird pauses and nonsequiter restarts.
All the time I was thinking, I've gotta get back outside to where Ross is and he'll fix this. He'll whisper the names I forget in my ear. He'll let me play football with the little kids. He'll hold my hand if I'm feeling stressed out in a Ben Stiller movie. He knows me good. He's the best. I wanna be standing with Ross. Where is Ross?

Apparently the whole brain-wave thing is starting to work because behind me I heard the the back door open, I felt someone grab my hand, and I heard Ross say over my shoulder, "I'm sorry, I've gotta steal her for a second," and pulled me into the backyard.

He was introducing me to his favorite aunt and uncle, who apparently I'd missed in the shuffle of the previous half-hour, "Abbey I really wanted you to meet Aunt Lori and Uncle George."
The good-to-meet-yous went around the triangle and Aunt Lori went in for the nice-to-meet-you-hug.

Not totally my style to hug people I don't know very well, (or people I do know really well, for that matter,) but I thought I did a pretty good job.

When she pulled away I caught Ross' eye and for some reason he had a little bit of panic on his face.

Am I that awkward of a hugger?
"Abbey," he said in his serious voice that only happens when he's tired or we're at Wal-Mart and I'm acting childish, "I think you leaned on the cake."

"What?"

"Abbey," he glanced around nervously, "I think you leaned on the cake."

Instinctively, I reached around to test his hypothesis, and when my hand returned to me it was indeed COVERED in frosting.
White cool-whip frosting.
All.
Over.
My.
Ass.
You can't recover from that by being a smart alec, you just gotta own your stupidity on that one. When I caught my reflection in the glass of the back door I realized that, indeed, yes, there is approximately a whole cake on my backside.

"Would ya look at that..." I said in my nervous giggle to hide exploding laughter just underneath.
The only thing that could make ACE-OF-CAKES over here look like a bigger fool is if I do that thing where I laugh so hard I cry.

Hold it together, Abbey, C'mon. Don't laugh. Upside down turtles. War. Famine. Last poptart gone...

"I'll get you a towel, honey," said Aunt Lori who disappeared into the house.
Uncle George has made himself busy elsewhere, undoubtedly hiding laughter, but unfortunately the great-grandmother caught wind of something askew and was proceeding to yell, in that attention-getting-way only acheivable by the elderly, "WHAT HAPPENED TO ABBEY'S BOTTOM!?!?!?"
The children have noticed.
The tiny cousins have gathered in a circle around me in the yard, and though Lori has retrieved a dishrag for me, despite all the twisting and turning I can't see all of the cake because of the (sexy) curvature of my buttocks.
"Give me the rag," she said...

And then

Aunt Lori wiped my ass.
At Ross' birthday party.
While the children and the elderly watched.

While the children and the elderly watched and the other aunts and uncles walked by being annoyingly mature about the whole situation.

Aunt Lori.
Wiped.
My.
21-year old.
Cake-covered.
Ass.

I officially need a reality tv show and probably soon a new boyfriend.

Meeting the Family Can Be Tough.

Just Cover Yourself in Whipped Cream

And Get it Over with.

Summer Redo Series Volume III

Volume III

(The Ross Saga)

Back in May, I bumped into a friend of mine, Chris, who I hadn't seen in almost a whole semester. He'd taken some time off from school and was working at a restaurant in Amarillo. When he recognized me, he gave me a hug and a discount on some tereaki chicken and some rice. We tried, in the few moments we had, to catch up on all we'd missed in the last three months or so, but after realizing it couldn't be done, he invited me to hang out after he got off work. Apparently some people were hanging out at a friend's house, and I guessed I was going to be one of them.

Enter Ross.

Technically, enter Abbey, into Ross' house.

He was sitting in a chair watching tv when I walked into the living room.

"This is Ross," Chris said in his booming voice.

"Hey, I'm Abbey," I said as I simultaneously noticed something mockable on his bookshelf, "You own every season of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer?' I just judged you a little bit."

He didn't laugh or even smile. He just kinda stared at me as I sat on the couch, and we began our first evening hanging out.

Though he later told me that the Buffy comment wasn't cool, I guess something I did was, cause as it turns out, I got invited back the next week.

And the next.

And eventually he said, "I've never heard anyone talk so passionately about snowcones. Why don't we go get one this weekend."

And we did.

Ross is as hermit-like as they come. I think in the politically correct world they call that, "introverted," which clearly, I am not.

We're total opposites.

I'd heard him say very few things before our snowcone date.

But there we were sitting on a bench in SouthEast park watching geese peck at children for bread while we ate our snow cones and he spilled his guts.

He talked for 30 minutes straight, and then got all flustered when he realized how long it'd been. "I've been talking for a long time, your turn."

I'd say a few more things, and again he opened like a book. "I really don't talk this much."

I loved it.

So naturally, that date led to some more.

Like when I demanded he take me to see Toy Story 3, (which by the way is totally awesome.)

And he came and hung out with my roommates at the Booger and watched "Shudder Island," which is, in a totally different way, also a good film.

This went on for a while, until one day it came up: "Sometimes when I'm describing to people who I'm going to hang out with I say 'he's this guy I'm dating."'

He considered this, exhaled, and said, "I kinda already told everybody at work that you're my girlfriend, cause I hope you are."

So there you have it.

Boyfriend Ross.

My roommate told me just a few days ago that Ross reminders her of a Ken doll. His hair has grown out a bit and it poofs a little to one side, and he's so muscley and tan. Cool.

This is my Ken doll.

(And yes, it pisses me off that he's tanner than I am.)

If You Are Passionate About SnowCones, You Will Find Love.

Summer Redo Series Volume II

Volume II

(Crotch Rocket Crash)

I really hated the "I told you so" portion of the summer. (Please note now that I'm fine, no serious injuries, and no regrets.) And while those who were anti-motorcycle probably feel justified in their mistrusting attitudes, I plea that a gravel patch, is a gravel patch, is a gravel patch.

But here's the deal.

The Green Machine, may she rest in peace, is totaled.

Yes, I purchased the crotch rocket in May and destroyed her in June.

Meh, life happens.

And though embarrassing as it may be, I totaled that poor bike in a parking lot. When I hit a parked truck.

Yes, I am stupid. Thank you for noticing.

But as I said before, a gravel patch, is a gravel patch, is a gravel patch.

I was scared to death to tell my mother, because Moson has been through an awful lot as it is, and I thought it better for her to be spared the knowing of my wreck as long as possible. I'm too old to be "in trouble" per say, but honestly I just didn't want her heart to sink, or to think I was hurt. I wanted her to see with her own eyes that I am fine.

So I waited until after our family vacation to Michigan, on the Sunday afternoon before I had to get back in the car and drive to Canyon.

I was playing with nephew on Moson's living room floor. He'd pulled out all my old toys and we were examining them and I was showing him how some of them worked, and just being overall remarkably cute.

My mom stood in the doorway, and said "This is just the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

"This is sweet." I said, "By the way I've been looking for a good time to tell you...."

My mom deserves a high seat in heaven for all the hell we've put her through here on earth.

Be Nice to Your Mom.

Watch out for Gravel.

Please check out Craig's List if you're interested in some slightly used motorcycle parts.