What's the big [i]deal?

Journaling is a big deal.

I admit, I stooped and settled for an imitation Moleskine for my last journal, but the differences were subtle enough to overlook (temporarily anyway, because I immediately reverted back to the real thing the minute I filled up the faux wannabe). I have a specific pack of pens that roll smoothly across the lines and those are the only instruments that can be used for journaling (and are not to be used for any other purpose). My best handwriting is indubitable, and I afford myself very little forgiveness for typos and grammatical no no's, so scratch out's are avoided as much as possible (the ugliness mars the page, duh). When I write, I must be seated comfortably, isolated from louder-than-a-coffeeshop-hum distractions, and obviously I have to feel just so--ready to battle all and any thoughts jumbling about in my head with the sword of articulation.

I find my obsessive compulsive journaling approaches to be unfortunately analogous to my prayer life. Too many times, I have this [subconscious] misconception that I have to be in a state free of sin and generous in Christian rhetoric, be entrenched in some sort of holy environment, and in the right mood. So I wait for prayer until that moment finds me.

And wait and wait and wa...of course that never happens! The fulfillment of those parameters is rare at best and entirely imaginary at normal. When do or will I ever have it all together? Considering I passed out and had to be taken to the ER in an ambulance because I forgot to breathe, I am going to go with NEVER.

God has been refreshing me with freedom in the throne of grace as of late. I am relearning that prayer is not always this dignified benediction that stringently follows the ACTS-determined order and my presence is not expected in the form of perfection. Rather, prayer is a rambling conversation to the heavens when business is slow at the coffee cart, a sentence of resignation to God the second I feel bitterness and paranoia seeping into my bloodstream, the surrender of heartbreak weighing on my shoulders over a particularly emotional case at the law firm, a song of praise for His wisdom, a giddy outburst of thanks for a delicious meal, a humbled sigh over a reassuring kiss on the temple.

I don't want to blaspheme against the holiness of going before God. It is a big deal. A bigger deal than Moleskines or juicy pens or little ol' me will ever be. But in the biggest deal in history, Jesus came so that prayer could be a big deal...but not a big deal.

It is a slow process of transformation for my stubborn inclinations, but I think that if I can overcome even my tendencies to instinctively order crayons and markers in ROY G BIV color order and eat all my chips smallest to biggest and never allow my pillows to be even slightly uncased, I can catch on to prayer as just dialogue, simple and true, with an ever graceful God.

On a breakfast burrito-induced fiasco

I'm a graduating senior in my spring quarter, and I got kicked out of class for the first time in my entire life today.

I was sitting quietly at my desk, taking meticulous notes, when 15 minutes into class, I got one of my infamous stomachaches. Never a good sign. I tried to ignore it but before I could scribble another word, it morphed into one of those explosive threats. I realized I had far too long a day ahead of me to risk anything, therefore I HAD get to the nearest bathroom NOW. I got up, attempting to be as discreet as possible, only to have my professor call me out.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Um, I'm sorry, Professor, but I really need to use the restroom."

"Well, I don't appreciate interruptions. You can take your bag with you and expect not to return to my class today. For future reference, I expect you to use the restroom on your own time."

[Mind you, this is the same professor who made me sit front and center on the first day of the quarter because I arrived at exactly 9:30AM and he had already started. Sigh.]

I grabbed my bag and left with the entire class staring at me. At that point, all I could focus on was making it to the bathroom. I dashed in with the nastiest stomachache ever only to discover too late that my stall had no toilet paper.

At least there were toilet seat covers.