Brace yourself, for this will be a long post. This is what happens when I skip a day.
Beginning with yesterday-
Yesterday I finally had a chance to have coffee with my second cousin, Myla. From one introvert, to another, it was exactly the type of therapy my soul needed. Even though we don't get a chance to meet up very often, talking with her is like having a conversation with myself- except considerably more reasonable and a lot more lively. Our topic over and Americano and half shot latte was "living with considerable guilt" and "accepting introversion." I know, I know, you're probably thinking what on earth I should feel guilty about. Well, honestly, surprisingly everything. In a society were extroversion is not only celebrated, but expected, it can be easy to feel guilty about one's own existence. Not only do I live among a minority that thinks and acts foreign, but I must face daily the pressures put upon me to perform beyond my limits. Navy get togethers? Noooooo thank you. I get stared at, I feel uncomfortable, and anything with more than four people at a time causes my stomach to churn.
I told Myla that I force myself to do things I know I can't follow through with, and then I feel like a failure afterwards. Whether it be 4H, karate, multiple volunteer opportunities, parties, or even employment (waitressing. Yes, I waitressed. It was exhausting.), I do all of these in an attempt to fit in. I think the most devastating moment to my introverted makeup was a sermon I sat through two years ago. The pastor went on an on about how there is no excuse to not get out there and go to the masses. No excuse. My heart sank. Knowing what I know about myself and how dysfunctional I am crushed my spirit. The very idea of going to the grocery store during the daytime sends me over the edge. And so with a broken spirit, I left that day with insurmountable guilt about how I would never be good enough. Unfortunately, this has often led me to throwing my hands up in the air and just giving up. I didn't know how to apply introversion to helping others.
Luckily though, Myla helped me realize that there are just as many important ways to serve God behind the scenes as the front scenes. Slowly, she's helping me realize that I should just accept the way I was made for how I am, and serve the best way I know how. She told me many stories of the "silent ministries" that she has served in. She planted a small seed of hope. I know I should have thought of this earlier, and I had, but the little voice in the back of my head always told me it was never enough and no good. Sometimes, the voice was so loud I could barely hear myself cry. The whole passage, "anything is possible through Christ" repeated itself over and over. Yet, I still couldn't stay in the midst of a lot of people. And I still can't. It's not how I was designed, and I simply have to accept that. And with Myla's encouragement and experience with the exact same battle, I slowly am.
The coffee date was ended with a short call from Josh telling me he was done for the day and I could come get him- seven hours early. Let me confess first, I HATE crying in public, but I broke down at the coffee table in front of everyone. I hadn't barely seen Josh all week, and now I got him for the whole day. I was beaming- kinda like this :D.
To celebrate, I took him out to his favorite wing stop- Famous Dave's. We ate too much, laughed a lot, and Josh conquered Wilbur's Revenge. It may be revenge going down, just wait until it comes out. Cracked.com refers to the syndrome known as "scorched asshole." Thank you cracked, thank you. Josh even wrote a song in homage, but I dare not write it here.
After we had our fill of Poulsbo, the thought of going home on such a wonderful day repulsed us both, so we just drove. We found ourselves in Kingston, of all places. Remember, Kingston? Ya, we were supposed to walk there. After the drive out there, I think I would have been in tears by mile ten. Moving on. After navigating through the most poorly planned parking lot manhas ever dreamt up, we ventured to the Kingston Farmer's Market. Comparable to the Pouslbo Market, sans the interesting sample of music (picture hillbillies singing about pasta... ya. Brynda moment.), and with an incredible view of the bay and the tips of Seattle's highest sky scrapers, we had a jovial time. Josh, drooled over the many sailboats moored in the harbor, and I delighted myself in the beautiful stone earrings Josh picked out for me. Side note, I often don't wear jewelry. In fact, I often forget I even HAVE it. But natural jewelry, such as stone and wood, well, I will wear that all day. Not a huge bling girl.
Once the market had exhausted itself of all it had to offer us, we walked down the 200 ft mainstreet of Kingston. There, we found, "The World's Best Roast" and, like elf, had to try the coffee and then congratulate the owner on his superior roasting skills. In reality, it was really tastey, and we had a very interesting chat with the owner about his past, the commodity markets, and his passions now. On her smoke break, the barista came out to talk to us too. We shared our frustrations with our current town (she kindly told us it was the worst place to live on the peninsula... of course. But, hey!, we didn't know that when we moved here!) and how she drives an hour to work everyday. We had a wonderful time.
Beginning with yesterday-
Yesterday I finally had a chance to have coffee with my second cousin, Myla. From one introvert, to another, it was exactly the type of therapy my soul needed. Even though we don't get a chance to meet up very often, talking with her is like having a conversation with myself- except considerably more reasonable and a lot more lively. Our topic over and Americano and half shot latte was "living with considerable guilt" and "accepting introversion." I know, I know, you're probably thinking what on earth I should feel guilty about. Well, honestly, surprisingly everything. In a society were extroversion is not only celebrated, but expected, it can be easy to feel guilty about one's own existence. Not only do I live among a minority that thinks and acts foreign, but I must face daily the pressures put upon me to perform beyond my limits. Navy get togethers? Noooooo thank you. I get stared at, I feel uncomfortable, and anything with more than four people at a time causes my stomach to churn.
I told Myla that I force myself to do things I know I can't follow through with, and then I feel like a failure afterwards. Whether it be 4H, karate, multiple volunteer opportunities, parties, or even employment (waitressing. Yes, I waitressed. It was exhausting.), I do all of these in an attempt to fit in. I think the most devastating moment to my introverted makeup was a sermon I sat through two years ago. The pastor went on an on about how there is no excuse to not get out there and go to the masses. No excuse. My heart sank. Knowing what I know about myself and how dysfunctional I am crushed my spirit. The very idea of going to the grocery store during the daytime sends me over the edge. And so with a broken spirit, I left that day with insurmountable guilt about how I would never be good enough. Unfortunately, this has often led me to throwing my hands up in the air and just giving up. I didn't know how to apply introversion to helping others.
Luckily though, Myla helped me realize that there are just as many important ways to serve God behind the scenes as the front scenes. Slowly, she's helping me realize that I should just accept the way I was made for how I am, and serve the best way I know how. She told me many stories of the "silent ministries" that she has served in. She planted a small seed of hope. I know I should have thought of this earlier, and I had, but the little voice in the back of my head always told me it was never enough and no good. Sometimes, the voice was so loud I could barely hear myself cry. The whole passage, "anything is possible through Christ" repeated itself over and over. Yet, I still couldn't stay in the midst of a lot of people. And I still can't. It's not how I was designed, and I simply have to accept that. And with Myla's encouragement and experience with the exact same battle, I slowly am.
The coffee date was ended with a short call from Josh telling me he was done for the day and I could come get him- seven hours early. Let me confess first, I HATE crying in public, but I broke down at the coffee table in front of everyone. I hadn't barely seen Josh all week, and now I got him for the whole day. I was beaming- kinda like this :D.
To celebrate, I took him out to his favorite wing stop- Famous Dave's. We ate too much, laughed a lot, and Josh conquered Wilbur's Revenge. It may be revenge going down, just wait until it comes out. Cracked.com refers to the syndrome known as "scorched asshole." Thank you cracked, thank you. Josh even wrote a song in homage, but I dare not write it here.
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| aha. AHAHAHAHAHA. Yea. |
Boomer and I also made doggy cookies. Though, sadly, I've eaten more of them than Boomer has.
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| The following recipe is based upon one I found in this book. |
"Babe? Babe, what are you eating?"
"....nothing."
"Baaaabe?"
"NOTHING!"
"BABE!"
"Dog biscuits."
"Seriously."
*nod*
"Put those away if you want me to kiss you again in the next century."
*grumbles, and keeps eating*
But seriously, not only are they gluten free, they taste like macaroni. Mom, make these for Momo-
1/2 c of cream cheese, really softened
1/2 c of shredded cheese
Nice splash of milk
1.5-2 cups of oat flour
Mix and bake for 15-20 min at 350. Tatey.
Onto today!
Josh had the exceptionally good bad idea to walk 27 miles to Kingston today but *thankfully* he stayed up waaaay to late with Smith and slept in far too late for us to walk anywhere. (I was dancing on the inside.) Nevertheless, I was up at 6:30 to scour an Estate Sale for art supplies like the craigslist ad promised. I loaded Boomer into the car, and away we went. The whole way there I had a nagging feeling in my gut. Something wasn't quite right, and I shouldn't be going. I kept on driving until we arrived. It was barely 8:07 and the whole house was practically picked over by vulturous people. It was as if time aroundme sped up, watching scavengers prey upon dead carrion. Something about the whole situation left me sick and disgusted. I left quickly. The ravenous faces of the people there looking for a cheap buy, the drawn faces of the deceased relative. I don't know what it was. But for respect of the passed on, it didn't seem right for people to be fighting over the few items once treasured by the deceased. When I die, I don't want people to be fighting over my belongings. I understand that I cannot take them with me in death, but the thought of having scavengers pick upon my memories just seems so wrong.
I came home, relieved to be away from there, and Boomer just to be out of the car. I told Josh of the Farmer's Market up in Poulsbo, and to my utter surprise, he decided he wanted to go. I was flabbergasted, but whole heartedly excited. I couldn't wait to spend the day out of the house with my best friend!!!
On our arrival, we were not disappointed. We sampled fudge, Josh enjoyed a double hand made brat, and we had the most delicious Viking Feast Coffee Berserker ice cream ever, all the while listening to a session. The vegetables were the most ripe and delicious we had ever seen, the people were so friendly, and the wares were top quality. Happy days.
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| I teased him about his "oops... I pooped." face. |
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| "Me Gusta." |
After we had our fill of Poulsbo, the thought of going home on such a wonderful day repulsed us both, so we just drove. We found ourselves in Kingston, of all places. Remember, Kingston? Ya, we were supposed to walk there. After the drive out there, I think I would have been in tears by mile ten. Moving on. After navigating through the most poorly planned parking lot manhas ever dreamt up, we ventured to the Kingston Farmer's Market. Comparable to the Pouslbo Market, sans the interesting sample of music (picture hillbillies singing about pasta... ya. Brynda moment.), and with an incredible view of the bay and the tips of Seattle's highest sky scrapers, we had a jovial time. Josh, drooled over the many sailboats moored in the harbor, and I delighted myself in the beautiful stone earrings Josh picked out for me. Side note, I often don't wear jewelry. In fact, I often forget I even HAVE it. But natural jewelry, such as stone and wood, well, I will wear that all day. Not a huge bling girl.
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| Josh is my paparazzi. :P |
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| "I'm angry because they locked the docks so hooligans like me can't admire their boats." |
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| Josh's lady love, 'The Mystique.' She needs a little TLC, but was a very pretty boat. |
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| Josh has a gift for picking out colors that match my skin tone. I love these earrings. The rocks have the most intricate and beautiful patterns. |
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| Josh sitting in front of the roaster exhaust. |
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| It is my duty to poison test Josh's coffee. |
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| This cat had the most eccentric fur pattern. |
And now we are home. I'm blogging, Josh is polishing off his hot pocket, filled to the brim with "imitation mozzarella," while playing his new game, and Boomer is nomming. I could not be more grateful for this rare opportunity to spend time with Josh. It was a wonderful day.
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