Managed Expectations

Expectations can be a tricky thing.  In any avenue of life, they can provide you the confidence to step up to the plate, or they can cause your hopes to plummet to record lows when they're not met.  In my early 20s, I was full of high expectations.  Everything was going to be on a grand scale.  I was meant to end up in New York working for a record label and travel the country seeking new acts to sign.  I would have a completely fabulous rock star boyfriend and would go on the road with him when my job allowed and be the girl in the crowd he sang to during "that" song.  I would stay grounded by being actively involved in my chosen church, which is where I'd go to recenter on my whole reason for being in between road trips. 

Needless to say, my life took a different path.  My expectations weren't met.  As I began to realize the original set wasn't really going to happen, my expectations adapted.  They became more about making the place where I am as great as it could possibly be.  Does an adaptation make it any less great?  From where I sit today, not at all.  Sure, the original plan sounds glamorous and exciting, but as it turns out, I kind of love where I am.  However, there is one glaring area of my life that continues to elude me.  In my original expectation set, I had a rock star boyfriend.  I'd still love a rock star boyfriend, but in my adapted reality, his life style probably doesn't fit with mine.  However, I have no adapted version of him.  Is he an engineer, a lawyer, a hobo?  No clue.  Why does this confound me?  In literally every other part of my life, I've adapted, and without fail God has provided a gloriously enhanced version of anything I expected.  The second I think I've begun piecing together this idea of what could be, it falls apart and the expectation dies.  I've started to question whether an expectation should exist at all for me. 

The answer to that is no.  I can't expect.  How does this effect hope?  At the moment, it challenges hope to its very core.  At the same time, I feel completely selfish for that.  I have an unbelievably blessed life.  How could I even ask for one more thing?  I can because no matter how disheartening every unmet expectation is, I have this hope inside me that just won't die.  There are times I want it to because it can be painful.  However, without it, life would be different in a gray kind of way.  Despite pain, I love color.  It has the potential to change your outlook into something you might not have pictured for yourself.  It opens your eyes to things you didn't see before.  It changes you.  I've been trying to teach myself to manage my expectations.  This has been an arbitrary pursuit.  I can't do it.  I will always hope for the best possible outcome.  I will always try my hardest.  I will always pursue things sincerely and with passion.  To that, I move forward in hope once again.

(Tara - this was my serious one for you ;)

Of Nuns and Priests

It is needless to say that as a twenty-something Christian woman, especially in Detroit, being single is a fairly common occurrence. I'm not saying it's great, or even tolerable at times, but it is fairly common. In my teenage years, it was common because I was shy and terrible at showing interest. In my adult years, it was because I was an extremely driven person who was still shy and wanted to be pursued. Plus, I was a bit of a relationship idiot. Ok, a lot of a relationship idiot. 'Nuf said.

One day, a few years ago, my mom informed me that she would, at my marriage, give me and my future husband a significant sum of money as a gift. If I would like, she plainly declared, she could give me that money now instead of at my wedding. Translation: "You'll never get married, so invest in a condo or something." Thanks, mom.

My dad, at the same time, was making comments (half seriously) about me becoming a nun. A) I am not Catholic, so this would definitely not make sense; and B) I do not want to be a nun. Period. After I would inform him of these two facts, he would respond with a story of a priest friend who decided to leave the priesthood and marry a nun. This, he proposed, would definitely happen to me, should I decide to join a convent. No thanks, dad. I don't want a priest, either.

Needless to say, all of this parental discouragement got me incredibly self-conscious about my singleness. Was I doing everything wrong? They had pushed me into the online dating path, the visiting other churches path, the family friend path (let's just say...umm...no.) and nothing was successful.

Still, I'm certainly no expert today on relationships. Let me make that perfectly clear. But if I've learned anything, it's that there are no right answers, no formula, no magic pill to take and wake up to find your "Christian Prince Charming." There were the piles of books on my shelf, the blogs and magazines I'd read, and still I felt like God just wasn't listening to me. Being in the church even made me feel less valuable at times.

So, I decided to just enjoy the journey. Live, love, and don't settle. Single Christian women of the world, SHOUT OUT LOUD. Repeat this with me: I am not less. I am valuable, and I am more. ***Hint: more shouting makes for more fun. Disclaimer: author is not responsible for any "shhhh-ing" while reading this post. :)

Lesson: Don't become a nun. Don't count on marrying a Catholic priest. They're probably gay anyway.

of boo-boos, physical and otherwise

As the proud auntie of eleven (soon to be twelve), I am frequently informed of the funny or quirky or "awwww" moment-inducing things my nieces or nephews have said or done. As this blog isn't a forum for all the goings on of my siblings' progeny, I'll keep those stories to a minimum...

...however, I couldn't pass this one up.

Recently, my six-year-old nephew, Dylan, proudly diplayed to my brother and sister-in-law the contents of his bug jar. Aghast, amused, and slightly mortified, they saw that in the jar he had collected a scab... or his "boo-boo," as he affectionately called it. Apparently, when a six-year-old loses or picks a scab, they think, "Why not hang on to this?"

As gross as it is to think about keeping a "boo-boo jar" to house all our scabs, I can't help but think of the figurative "boo-boo jars" we keep. Life is full of painful experiences: heartbreak, loss, disappointment, and unfulfilled dreams. Relationships fall apart. People scathe us with what they say. Often the people closest to us, whom we trust the most, cause us the most pain.

We face these difficult, damaging situations and they hurt. They wound. They sting.

We're left reeling, wounded. So we learn how to deal. We move on. We rise from our pain and confusion armed with lessons learned and insight gained. (We also learn that time may not heal all wounds, but time + awesome friends + chocolate works wonders!) We have the ability to view challenges, obstacles, even hurtful words or situations, as opportunities for growth. We learn more about ourselves. We learn to find peace and strength in God. We learn to reach out to the good, safe people around us.

What we're tempted to do, though, is to look at our wounds, and like my nephew and his scab, think, "Why not hang on to this?" "Why not hang on to what that person said to me?" "Why not hang on to that hurt that person caused me?" "Why not hang on to bitterness or resentment?" And so we maintain our proverbial boo-boo jars. We keep with us the hurts and wounds that time/life/people have caused as a perpetual reminder that we were wronged/hurt/wounded. What we're really left with, though, is an off-putting display that showcases our inability to heal, forgive, and move on.

Horace Bushnell says, "Forgiveness is man's deepest need and highest achievement." As we're met with life's challenges and difficulties, we will undoubtedly get hurt in its turmoil and turbulence. We determine the effect of life's pains and difficulties: we allow them to either enrich or embitter us. Choosing to let go allows us the freedom to move forward, with flourish and flair, unimpeded into the next fabulous step in the journey.

A Little City, A Lot of Sass

Michigan - auto jungle where dreams are challenged.  This is the story of 4 girls picked to live, get educated, work and worship in Macomb, Oakland & Wayne counties.  Our lives are different, but we walk to the same beat.  Our hopes are two fold: that you thoroughly enjoy our musings, and that one day they're made into a movie about us.  No, really - we've already picked out the actresses who will play us.  That came before the blog, actually.  Thanks for reading, and feel free to give us feedback (as long as it's positive:).