I'm Just a Loaf

Lately I've been reading about God doing a lot with a little. My Bible study passage for today dealt with Jesus feeding the multitude with a few fish and a couple of loaves of bread. He took this small, seemingly insignificant lunch and turned it into a feast for thousands of people. Timothy read a similar story last night from his reading book. This one was about the widow with the handful of meal and cruse of oil. When she was obedient to God, her meal and oil didn't run out.
I find it interesting that God didn't necessarily make more loaves and fish or meal and oil. He didn't poof more bread and fish in front of the crowd. He didn't miraculously fill the widow's pantry with food either. He used the little that was there and got a lot from it.
I can relate this to myself. I am not very much. I don't have very much in talent, ability, or wealth. However, I know God can take what I am and what I have and do a lot with it if I will only let Him. He won't necessarily give me more, but He'll stretch what He's already given me to do great things.

Out of Africa

There used to be a zebra in a field close to where I grew up. I don't know why, but the people who owned the land had somehow purchased a zebra and they kept it out in their pasture. They didn't have any other animals in the pasture. Just the zebra.
I used to pass by that field everyday on the school bus, and while everyone else thought seeing a zebra in a pasture in Alabama was funny, it made me a bit sad. It was all alone, and it was out of place. I guess I kind of related to that poor zebra. I was lonely in my youth, and I often felt as if I were completely out of place. As if I were born to be somewhere else, something else.
I still find myself struggling to define, well, myself. What is it that I do? What is my purpose? I'm no longer alone, but I still feel a bit out of place at times. I am very happy with my life, but I still feel as if I'm not living up to my full potential. I've always been terrified of failure, and I sometimes wonder if that fear has dictated some of my choices. In college I chose to study music because music was my "thing." It was easy for me. I know I would never really be brain surgeon material, but what could I do if I stepped away from what was easy and took a chance? What if I dared to risk failing? I've done it before.
I took a huge chance when it came to finding love. I risked heartbreak and rejection in my pursuit of the man who is now my wonderful husband. He could have said no. He didn't, and the feeling of triumph was unbelievable. My risk paid off. I think a risk like that is almost always worth it. Even if you fail, at least you've learned something.

I have been a bit slack in keeping up this blog. However, I intend to change that. I plan on posting at least a couple of times a week with commentary on local happenings, television and entertainment, as well as just my everyday goings-on. So, keep checking back here for my latest ramblings!

I wondered all weekend about what I would do. What could I say? How would I say it? When? Where? I was confused, but determined to do something. I knew I was taking a huge risk. There was a definite possibility that he was not interested, and that I would get rejected. I decided however, that rejection was better than spending the rest of my life wishing I had done something and wondering "what if?" Monday came around, but was completely uneventful. Tuesday was a different story. In order to prepare for final exams, the college gives a day off. Students call it "Dead Day." On dead day I had an exam to make up for my history class. I went in with a plan. I took the test and headed to his office. Since it was dead day, there was no one around. This was my chance. I was going to talk to him avout how I felt. I started to get really nervous as I walked down the hall, so I stopped off the the break area to calm my nerves. I was trembling all over. I told myself to calm down, but I just could not stop quivering. Was I doing the right thing? What if he thought I was crazy? Could I really do this? I wasn't sure. I finally just prayed. "God, if this is what I'm supposed to do, calm my nerves and give me the words to say." At that moment I stopped shaking, I took a deep breath, and I walked out of the break room and down the hall to his door.

The Love Story Continues...

The next fall I began planning my voice recital. It would be a kind of final exam for my private voice classes. I knew I wanted him to be there. I had to sing for him. I had to sing to him. I made a point to give him an invitation, and I hoped that he would show up. The night of my recital I was very nervous. I wasn't as nervous about the performance as I was about him being there. I kept peeking out into the auditorium to see if he was there. Finally, it was time for me to come out. I remember that I walked out and saw him sitting in the back. My heart did a little flip-flop, but I tried to keep my composure.
That night I sang my heart out. I put everything I had into singing. Every song was for him. One in particular was dedicated completely to him. The song was a German piece, and its translation reads something like this:

You my soul, you my heart
You my joy, oh you my pain
You my world in which I live
My Heaven you, in which I float
O you my grave in which into I eternally my grief give
You are the rest, you are the peace
You are from Heaven to me granted
That you love me makes me worthy to myself
Your glance has me transfigured before myself
You raise me lovingly above myself
My good spirit, my better self

When the recital was over, I made my way to where he was. I spoke to only one other person before him. He gave me a hug, and told me that he enjoyed the performance. I was just happy that he had been there. When he turned to leave, I began to walk away as well, but then turned back to look at him. He turned back to look at me too. In that little "moment" I decided that it was time to make a move. I didn't know what I would say or do. I just knew that it was time to do something. I had to let him know how I felt.

A Long Way from Barbieland

I thought I would take a break from the telling of my love story to write about my little sister. I was an only child for quite a few years before my sister came along. I was very lonely, and decided that I would pray to God to send me a sister to play with. I didn't know that my parents had been trying for some time to have another baby. I believe God hears the innocent prayers of children. He heard mine, and before too long I had my little sister. She was a little bitty thing. She still is. When she started school, my parents had to lift her up onto the school bus steps. Despite some initial jealousy, I loved my little sis and she and I became great playmates.
Our favorite pastime was playing with Barbie dolls. We didn't just play the usual "Barbie's getting dressed to go on a date with Ken" scenerio. We had intricate plot lines and complex characters. Barbie had many adventures, and was a victim of numerous disasters. She survived a flash flood, an earthquake, a couple of tornadoes, as well as a few wars. Barbie got married and divorced more times than I can count, and had more kids than the old lady who lived in the shoe. Our cast of characters included Barbie as a suburban housewife, as well as Barbie the undercover spy supermodel.
All of our dolls had names. No one was just called Barbie. We had Lynne, and Teresa, Christy and Misty (twins,) Lori, and more that I can't remember. Kens had diferent names as well. We had a young Ken named Kevin. We had a Ken doll that looked a bit like Bruce Boxlietner, so we named him Lee Stetson. Then there was the doll named Bruce. He was one of the oldest Kens we had, and he had a bit of a flatulence problem. Not an imaginary one either. He always really smelled like farts. He was a commitmentphobe as well. Whenever he would attempt to kiss his Barbie love of the moment, his head would pop off.
Our story lines got crazier as we got older. In one plot we had a Barbie that went nuts and started killing all her Barbie friends. Ken once played a phantomesque role as the weird guy who lived in the basement of the Barbie mansion. My favorite story involved Ken as a maniacal kidnapper with an obsession for dinner breads.
At one point in our childhood, my family moved into a house that had enough room for us to have a playroom. This room quickly became Barbieland, fully equipped with a grocery store, hotdog stand, school, and even a game show. We spent most of our free time there making up wild adventures for Barbie.
For the most part, my sister and I took care of all of our Barbie dolls. After so many hours of play however, they did begin to wear out. We played with them until they fell apart. My doll, Lynne, was one of these dolls. She had been my favorite, so she was quite battered. Upon realizing her impending demise, my sister and I made up one last story for her to play out. Lynne survived the earlier homicidal rampage of her fellow doll only to slip on a stick of Barbie butter, fall down the stairs of her townhouse, and break her neck. She had a lovely funeral, and went to the garbage dump in a comfy little shoebox casket.
Some of our other dolls were not so lucky. They became victims of our attempts at Barbie makeovers. Though I successfully gave one doll the "Rachael" haircut, my attempt at the Meg Ryan bob went horribly wrong. Instead of Meg Ryan, the doll looked like Sinead O'Connor. Barbie met with worse fates than bad haircuts in Barbieland. The playroom was a bit drafty, which led to one poor doll's unfortunate run-in with the space heater. Several dolls lost their heads in one way or another. I think there was even a time when Barbie's mustang was responsible for severing a leg during a hit-and-run.
I was in highschool before I stopped playing with Barbie dolls. I tried to tell myself that I was just entertaining my little sister. However, I know I enjoyed it just as much as she did, if not more. We had a blast. I miss it. I'm now a wife and a mother of two boys. There isn't a Barbie in sight at my house. It's kind of sad. I have hope, though. I've recently found out that I am going to be an aunt. I'm praying now that my sister will give birth to a little girl. If she does, I'm digging out my Barbies. Hopefully, I will be with her when she takes her first journey to Barbieland.