The Coffee Stare

The infamous coffee stare incident easily made its way onto the list and has remained there with confidence ever since. The Webers had returned to Mexico for Spring Break once again, a place where all of us, Tammy being the exception, seem to fit in perfectly. This is not to say that she is not liked by the people. On the contrary, they all want to be her best friend; I assume this is because she is not your run of the mill Gringo. She will try her hardest, to little avail, to speak the language of the people, making sure to be friendly, asking all of them, "Como 'Sta?"
On this particular trip, eldest sister Amy joined us, bringing our ranks up to five, and it was our first stay in what Tammy calls "The El Tesoro." For those of you who aren't Spanish-inclined, that translates roughly into "The The Treasure." I will, however, give her credit for so smoothly befriending the hotel manager Ceasar (his name in Tammy-Spanish is "Sessarr") and getting us moved from our lame hotel room on the 13th floor into a pool-front villa. It appeared that this would be one of our best Mexican adventures thus far.
A few days into our trip, while on the beach, we happen across Angelo. Angelo has since earned himself a place on our list of crazy people that provide lots of entertainment. He is enthralled by our family and, after hearing that we are "true Tejanos" wants to hear all about our ranch and how many cows we have. We try several times to explain to him that we live in a house, and only see cows on our milk cartons, but he isn't buying it--he seems to think we are "pulling a trick" on him. After about three hours of painful, poorly translated small talk, we agree to take a fishing trip on Angelo's boat the next morning.
I am awoken by my alarm at 6:00 am and I am not happy about it. The rest of the family seems to be in agreement, Mom especially, who is running around throwing things into her massive basket that seems to get heavier every day we are there. The basket contains things we will need, things we might need, and things we will probably never need but just in case! We stop in the lobby of the hotel for last minute bathroom usage and coffee. And it begins.
The five of us shove ourselves into a Mexican taxi--take your average compact car and half it for the approximate size of these cars. Amy, Mom and I are in the backseat, McCall sits on Mom's lap bent over like a hunchback. I am miserable, but upon seeing McCall, say nothing. Somehow, Dad ends up in the front seat with plenty of space and is chatting it up with the cab driver. We drive on the edge of a mountain for about twenty minutes and at one point Mom's coffee is spilled down her shirt. She is not happy.
By the time we arrive at the dock to meet Angelo, I am concerned that we might be permanantly disfigured from the ways in which we've been sitting--excluding Dad of course. When we wedge out of the car Angelo is there waiting, all five of his teeth proudly displayed in a lovely smile. The first thing he notices, to my mother's utter horror, is the coffee down the front of her white tank top. "Tammy, are you hungover?" Mentally, I put Angelo atop my Idiot List. Meanwhile Tammy has moved from not happy to moderately annoyed. As she refills her coffee cup on the dock I assure her that she does not look hungover. We follow Angelo down the dock until we reach his boat, in which a tiny Mexican is scrambling around, preparing for takeoff. His name is Emilio and the boat belongs to him, not Angelo. In fact, Angelo will be leaving as soon as we are on our way. This is highly contradictory compared to what we were told on the beach, but we let it slide. In a moment of sheer stupidity, we decide that Tammy will board the boat first. The boat is several feet below the dock, so she will have to step down onto a seat and then to the floor from there. She consideres for a moment how she will step down that far; should she sit on the dock? Or just step quickly? She decides on the latter and begins her descent. Her foot hits the seat, leaving her with one foot down in the boat and one still up on the dock. At this moment a large swell comes up underneathe the boat, shifting it. The seat cushion moves, and Tammy flails head first in the boat. It is at this point in time that I notice she is still holding her cup of coffee in her right hand. The coffee raises up as she falls and shortly after douses her in the face. We all gasp and there is silence as we stare wide eyed at her on the floor of the boat covered in coffee. No one is sure what to do and this moment goes by extrememly slowly. She gets to her feet and turns around. There it is. The Coffee Stare. Her bangs are soaked in coffee and hang down in points on either side of her face, like wet devil horns. Her shoulders are tensed and hunched, also covered in coffee. She stares at us, her face a mixture of disbelief and rage. She is pissed. I am laughing so hard that I must sit down on the dock to avoid falling overboard.
At first Mom insisted that she wasn't going anywhere until she was able to take a shower, but we conviced her that there was no shower nearby and we had all gotten up and come out here so we might as well take the trip. McCall and I were first to fish and as I looked back Mom was leaned over the side of the boat splashing saltwater in her hair to try and get rid of the caffeine devil look.
The rest of the trip seemed uneventful after our morning, though we caught several fish that were cooked for us on an island where we snorkled and tanned. It turned out to be a fantastic trip. Later that night we played cards back in the villa and continued to wail in laughter at my mother's expense. By this time she had officially moved on and declared the moment funny, which meant that we were allowed to laugh, and laugh we did.
Several years have gone by, and our eyes still water at the thought of my mother turning around in Emilio's boat, giving us a look that nearly succeeded in killing us all. There is no question in my mind as to why the Mexicans love Tammy. Who doesn't?

Like You Have Loved Me

Oh, what a broken place this is. I find myself discouraged by just how hopeless the world seems to be. I walk around campus and my eyes fill with tears, not because the lack of belief is so clearly evident, but because I am such a part of it; in fact, I fit in perfectly. God calls us to stand out, to be disciples, and yet I seem to blend in to the gray faithlessness of the world more and more. I absolutely believe in Jesus, but it appears that I care nothing about sharing this faith with other people.
For a long time I believed that in order for me to share Jesus with other people, I had to first have my own stuff figured out. How lame of a cop-out is that. None of us are ever going to have our stuff together, so me using that excuse was synonymous with not following God's call simply because I didn't feel like it. God wants to use me to open the hearts of my brothers and sisters, but I don't feel like sharing him. Souls are at stake, but I don't really feel like it. Maybe Tomorrow. How disgusting.
I am fully aware of and humbled by the fact that God does not need me to do anything. My sharing his word with other people and talking to them about the God of the Universe is completely unnecessary to God. If he wanted to, he could think it and make someone believe. So I am utterly useless. But the incredible part is that he desires to use me! God wants to allow me to be a part of bringing his children to him; he wants to grow and mature me through missional living. What a beautiful and honoring privilege that I have so carelessly and insultingly ignored. Rather than sharing Jesus' truth with others I have allowed sin to dictate my actions. I have done what I wanted, when I wanted it.
How dare I treat God that way? He is my creator! He put air in my lungs and loved me before I even existed. So how dare I spit in his face by acting the way that I have.
Without pride, I make the assumption that I am not the only child of God who feels this way. So much of the time I think we take advantage of knowing that we are saved, that we're good...and forget that there is a world full of people around us who are hopelessly lost. Why do our hearts not break over this? Perhaps we don't understand the weight of the truth--those who are not saved are going to spend eternity in hell. Eternity. In hell. I think that many of us, as believers, need to step it up and practice what we preach, or rather share what has been preached to us by Jesus. My prayer is that we would feel a desperation for those around us; that our hearts would break for those who have not claimed Jesus as their one and only saviour. And that when our hearts do break, we would overflow with love for our brothers and sisters--the love that comes from a heart that is consumed with the Holy Sprit. I desire more than anything to bring pleasure to my Lord's face, as do all of us who understand what he has done for us. So what have we to fear? The king of the universe is on our side, remember?

Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me
Break my heart from what breaks yours
Everything I am for your kingdoms cause
As I go from nothing to
Eternity
~Hosanna, Hillsong United

For Caitlin

Dear Caitlin,
Did you know that when baby twins are sick the nurses will put them together in one incubator because when they're together, they get better faster? I believe it. Though I never got the chance to know you in the way that we typically think knowing someone means. But I also don't feel that I can say I never knew you. I say this because every year on the day you left us I wake up feeling tired and sad and distant, and I wonder what on earth is wrong with me. Something causes me to become emotionally overwhelmed, and then it hits me; I remember. Today is your day. I miss you terribly without even realizing it, so how could I possibly not have known you?
Mom says that we used to talk to each other. A coo would come from one crib, waiting to be answered by the other. I still talk to you often, and though I can't hear your soft replies anymore, I feel them. Your presence in my life is unmistakable. I ask you questions, some that I'm scared to know the answers to. Are you proud of me; of who I've become? Do you miss me? Do you think we'd still look just like each other, at nineteen? How did I get so lucky?
Sometimes when I see a pair of twins I become envious, wondering why it was that you had to leave me so early. But luckily God is incredible and sovereign, and you, sweet sister, are one of his precious babies! I don't understand it, but I trust that Jesus has this, and I find joy in knowing that everything that happens in this life happens for a specific purpose. A loving and all-powerful purpose. And you are no exception.
So, dear sister, know that I think of you often, and I miss you tremendously. I thank God for the two months that you were with us; for the joy that you brought our family in the time that you were allotted. I can't wait to see how your little story is used to touch lives and bring glory to our creator. In fact, it already has.
I love you Caitlin, and you will always have your reserved spot in my heart.
Your sister,
Claire

To My Future Husband

You don't know yet what you've gotten yourself into by marrying me--I admire you, brave soul! No but seriously, I will do my best to be a wonderful wife to you and I can't wait for our life together to begin...and I can say with confidence that neither can my mother.  She will be so relieved when we settle down together.  

I am praying that God continues to show you new and wonderful things about himself daily, and that your heart would belong to him always.  May you seek unswervingly to serve him and bring him glory. 

Thank you in advance for loving me.  I can be a very difficult person to love, but know that I cherish you and will give you all of me and love you to the best of my ability. 

I cannot wait to meet you.  I long for the day, in fact.  I wonder if you've thought of me yet?  Are we unknowingly walking around the same campus every day?  

I promise to be your best friend; to support you and love you and serve you the way that Jesus would have me do so.  I promise to be faithful and honest with you.  I promise to laugh at myself.  I'll even watch football with you if you promise to watch my dumb shows with me.  I promise to put only Jesus before you.  I promise to learn how to cook one decent meal, if you will, too--that way we'll have some variety.  I promise to give you my whole heart, leaving nothing out.  

I want to laugh with you; to spend time with you doing nothing of importance. I want to help carry your burdens in times of pain, and dance with you in times of joy.  I want to raise babies with you; to grow old together.  

Though sometimes I wish we had already met, I am thankful that the Lord's timing is perfect and I will meet you exactly when I am supposed to.  So for now, know that I am thinking of you. I love you. 

And What Might This Be?

I took an ink blot test on Wednesday. Before you jump to conclusions and assume I've gone off the deep end and been locked away somewhere, let me just say that I did it to get extra credit in my psychology of the offender course. See, if we volunteer to participate in studies that the psychology graduate students do, we can earn extra credit in our psych classes! It's brilliant, really.
Anyway, I volunteered to help out a grad student who was the TA in one of my classes last semester. His name is Jacob and he's very nice (Unfortunately he's married). Jacob needs me to come see him twice and take some routine psychological tests so that he can practice administering them in order to get his degree. Wednesday was my first visit and it proved to be quite interesting. I met him in the psychology clinic at Terrill Hall and he took me into big room with a nice couch, and we began the first part of the testing.
Ok, Claire, first of all, this test is completely anonymous and it's only being used for teaching purposes. Thanks so much for helping me out. I'll need to ask you some routine questions about your background and medical history. Is that ok?

Sure.

Alright. Has anyone in your family ever had a nervous breakdown?

Not one that was ever diagnosed. Hahaha. Oh. Sorry. Um, no.

Any mental retardation in your family?

Nope.

Is there any mental illness?

(I pause for a second and wonder if I should launch into the details of my extended families. Either side of the family would be quite a field day for someone like Jacob) Mmm, no. We're all pretty normal. (I picture my mother's reaction to this and laugh out loud.) Sorry. We're normal. I promise.

At this point Jacob is probably already questioning whether or not he should trust my answers. I made a joke about one question and then randomly laughed out loud during another one. He assured me there was no reason to be nervous, that he wasn't analyzing me. Good to know, Jacob.
After some more boring questions about my performance in school and my social life, we move on to the ink blot test. The official name for this test is the Rorschach Ink Blot Test. There are ten official inkblots. Five inkblots are black ink on white paper. Two are black and red ink on white paper. Three are multicolored. After the individual has seen and responded to all the inkblots, the tester then gives them to him again one at a time to study. The test subject is asked to note where he sees what he originally saw and what makes it look like that. The blot can also be rotated. As the subject is examining the inkblots, the psychologist writes down everything the subject says or does, no matter how trivial.
Now that you know how the test is administered, I can tell you just how awkard yet hilarious this experience was. Every time Jacob handed me a card, he would say And what might this be? It was very difficult for me to keep a straight face. I wanted to use my British accent and say Hmm, yes, quite a quandary this is. What might that be? But I didn't. I took the card from him and stared at the blot. At first I didn't see anything, which made me concerned, so I had a little internal conversation with myself before proceeding.

Should I see something? This only looks like an inkblot to me! Oh my God I'm going to fail the inkblot test. Ok, Claire, be cool. Flip the card over. Maybe then it'll come...

A monster.

Great. A monster? Really? Surely that can't be a good answer. Do better on the next card.

A crab.
A bowl with something sticking out of it.
Oh, that's a bat.
A fountain.
A skyscraper between two cliffs. Duh.
Seahorses.
An angry face. Chuckle.

By the end of the test I felt I'd quite gotten the hang of it. All I had to do was tell Jacob what the blot looked like to me and hand him back the card!

Jacob: Alrighty, Claire, that was perfect. Now here's what we're going to do. We're going to go back through the cards and I'm going to read your answers back to you. I need you to show me on the card where you saw what you did, ok?

Uh oh. I have to explain my answers? Great. He isn't going to see them the way I saw them and then I'm going to fail the inkblot test.

Well, as it turns out, I passed (Everyone passes. It's impossible to fail the inkblot test, though you could come out with unfavorable results. Like being crazy). I was able to convince Jacob of all but the crab. He just couldn't see the crab. I tried. I gestured and I outlined and I told him to squint, but he still couldn't see my crab. But, I figure nine out of ten isn't too bad. Jacob tells me that I am a wonderful test subject and that he'll email my teacher about my extra credit and call me in a couple weeks for my MMPI test.

That's a check yes or no test, and I think I'm better at those. I just can't wait.

And That's My Final Answer

Last night I had to go back to the sorority house for a meeting that I was told would officially cancel my membership in the sorority. I thought I'd already done this, but I showed up anyway. The adviser and the other girls who were in the meeting with me tried for fifteen minutes to convince me to stay in and give it one more shot. Obviously, my mind was already made up, and I apologized and said that I wasn't going to be coming back. The adviser explained that they had recognized some of the problems within the sorority and that they were working on it and that I shouldn't take this decision lightly. Duh. Then the other one said this: "And I mean, you have such a great voice. We'd really hate to lose that."
Seriously?
The only reason this girl gave for wanting me to stick around was the fact that I can sing. They talk about how they stand for good character and integrity and sisterhood, yet they guilt tripped me the entire time, and made it seem like the only reason they even wanted me to come back at all was because I could sing. Well that, and it makes the sorority look bad to have people leave. That meeting solidified my earlier decision to leave.
Although I'm annoyed at how things were handled by the sorority, I'm relieved to be done with everything. I've left the building, and I've taken my great voice with me.

Jenga

We bow our hearts, we bend our knees
Oh, Spirit, come make us humble.
We turn our eyes from evil things,
Oh, Lord, we cast down our idols.

Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another.
Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another.

Oh, God let us be a generation that seeks,
That seeks your face, Oh God of Jacob.

We sang this song during a worship service I went to last night and it's been on my mind ever since. I've always loved this song, but today it bears a new significance in my mind. Really the one line "we cast down our idols" is what my focus has been on.
I have been so convicted lately of the things that I put before the Lord on a daily basis. For a while I let my list of idols stack up and stack up until I had this massive pile of things that were starting to block my view of the Lord completely. He let this go on for a while, allowing me to pick things up and move them around, only to move them again a short while later; it was an ongoing balancing act between me and my stuff.
When the time was right, God came in and simply nudged my pile, sending the whole thing crashing to the ground, my concerns and secrets flying about every which way. What are you doing?! Do you know how hard it is for me to keep everything just where it's supposed to be?! I lashed out, furious at him for what he'd done, and began trying to scrounge everything back up thinking that it would take me forever to get everything put back in its place.
He lifted my chin so that I was facing him. Claire. Of course I know how hard you've worked to keep all this together. But don't you see you're wasting your time? You've missed the mark entirely on this one.
God was trying to explain to me that rather than continue this balancing act I had going on, all I needed to do was forget about all of it and let it fall where it may. I was so focused on my pile of idols that I was starting to lose sight of what was really important in my life.
So here we are, Jesus and I, sorting through this jumbled pile of things. He tells me which things stay and which things have to go. Sometimes I argue with him and clamp onto something, refusing to let him have it. He is patient, and reminds me of who I am and what I really need. Slowly, my grip loosens and I hand it over.
The pile has begun to dwindle, and sometimes this makes me extremely nervous. But it has also brought a sense of peace, for which I am grateful. My pile and I must become smaller, so that Jesus can become larger. That is my goal.