Segways and Barn Drinks

My family is a bit behind the times. At least in some areas.

Especially in the TV area. We’ve never had cable or satellite television at my house. When I was really young, we just plain couldn’t afford it. The cable guy would come around once every few months and offer us free cable for one month followed by some sort of contract. My parents would always reply that, no, we weren’t interested and we didn’t want a subscription, so we shouldn’t get a month free. But then, time and time again, the cable guy would—out of the goodness of his heart—give us the free month anyway, despite my parents’ ardent protests. We would then proceed to buy boxes of VHSes in order to record every possible episode of My Little Pony. These would tide us over until the next time the kind-hearted cable guy made his rounds.

Nowadays, however, we don’t have cable TV and there is no nice cable guy to bring it to us for free. As a result, we get a grand total of nine channels: 3 local news and programming, 2 public access, 1 off-brand version of TLC, the science channel, and at least two infomercial channels. For a brief stint we even got the NASA channel, but unfortunately that has been reduced to static. We did get to watch the International Space Station Thanksgiving broadcast, though, and it made me really thankful for non-reconstituted turkey. So I guess that’s good.

I love my sisters a lot, but sometimes they do things I don’t really understand. Like sit around watching infomercials. And not once, not twice, but multiple times through the same ones. As in, they now are able to quote certain ones or finish the person’s sentences for them. It’s bizarre, really. And maybe even a little bit wrong. But I guess there isn’t much else to do in Kansas. Regardless, though, I still find it really strange. But I should probably change subjects, lest I get into further trouble with my sisters. You both know I love you, right?

Okay, so what I really want to talk to you about tonight is convenience. We live in a culture that is so wrapped up in its own comfort, that it can be a bit comical at times. Infomercials are one example of this. People who order the “Butt Buster 3000” are concerned about convenience. They don’t want to get off their butt and go to the gym, so they have a “Butt Buster” delivered to their home to make it more convenient for them. And they don’t even have to get off the couch to order it. For three easy payments of $29.99, they can get a better butt without even leaving their living room.

Or take drive-throughs as another example. You can sit in your car and get warm, hot food handed right to you. You don’t have to cook; you don’t even have to stand up. Awesome, right? And if you pay with a credit or debit card, you don’t have to count out the change or do the math. It’s all conveniently done for you with one effortless swipe. This doesn’t just go for food, either. Right here in Stillwater, Oklahoma, you can get a fountain drink or a six-pack (of Gatorade, of course! Haha) without getting out of your car. Courtesy of The Barn, “The best thing to happen to beer since ice.” A drive-through liquor store. Only in Oklahoma.

This “convenience cult” isn’t limited to the USA. In fact, when I was in Europe, I witnessed—and laughed hysterically at—the silliest example of it I’d ever seen: Segway city tours. That’s right; for a fee of 30ish Euros, you can cruise around the sites of Prague, Paris, and Rome for hours under the direction of your own personal tour guide. Caesar and Stalin would both roll over in their graves, I’m sure.

I’m sorry that this blog seems a bit cynical; I really didn’t intend for it to be. The harshness of this post is actually not directed at you. Rather, I am aiming it at myself. Yes, the culture of convenience surrounds me, and I am one of its biggest investors.

You see, a few days ago, I got slapped in the face. Not literally, of course, but in a sense it certainly felt like it. Sometimes God’s promptings or “spiritual reality checks” feel almost physical, and it did this time. On Friday afternoon, I was out and about with my youngest sister Weasel; we were running errands around town and enjoying some quality, sister-bonding time. All was well with the world, that is, until we tried to get ahold of Rascal. She and Weasel were supposed to meet some friends for dinner, and they needed me to give them a ride. But Rascal was doing some work for her athletic training class and wasn’t able to answer the phone. As a result, we couldn’t contact her, and we didn’t know when she would be ready for me to take her to the dinner or if she would be ready in time. If she wasn’t, then I would need to give her a ride separately after taking Weasel. Now, I am not nearly as popular as my college-freshmen sisters, and I had no dinner plans, which means I should have been patient and understanding, and I should have gladly and willingly taken her separately. Theoretically. But theory doesn’t always match reality. Instead, I found myself getting incredibly annoyed. Why wasn’t she answering her phone? Didn’t she know I was hungry? Didn’t she realize that I didn’t want to wait on her all evening and that I had better things to do (even though I actually didn’t)? In other words, she was slightly inconveniencing me, and I was more than slightly annoyed by it.

Then all of a sudden, my eyes opened, and I saw myself clearly for the first time. I was being a jerk. A selfish, bratty, unloving jerk. A jerk who in no way, shape, or form resembled Jesus.

Convenience. That’s what I was basing my love on—and not just for Rascal but for everyone. Suddenly, I remembered countless instances when I failed to act lovingly, failed to be kind, failed to act like Jesus had called me to act, simply because it would have been inconvenient. I should have called that friend to check on her when I knew she was having a rough time. I should have stayed to help clean up the bleachers, so the janitors wouldn’t have to be there all night. I should have given a bigger tip to that waitress because it was obvious she was struggling to make it on her own. Time and time and time again I have fallen short. I’ve not only missed opportunities, I’ve turned up my nose and walked clear around them, like I would a mud puddle or a heap of dog doo. But people aren’t mud puddles or dog poop. They are creations of God, treasures for whom Jesus came to Earth and willingly died. But I choose not to love them because it would be too much trouble for my perfect little convenience-driven life. And that could not be more wrong.

I realize that this blog isn’t as uplifting or upbeat as normal, and I guess that’s because I am not feeling too terribly happy with myself. Coming to grips with one’s own sin is rarely an enjoyable experience. But it’s an invaluable part of our growth as believers; through discipline, God makes us more like Him.

So now that I have confessed my “inconvenient” sin to you, I propose a challenge for myself, and I would be honored if you would join me. Let’s make a choice right now, starting today, to quit loving for ourselves and our own gain. Let’s ask Jesus to help us do this thing that is so counter-intuitive, so contrary to our every inclination and nature.

Let’s love inconveniently.

Not based on what we can gain or what the other person can do for us. Not based on if we have the time in our oh-so-busy schedules. Not controlled by what we feel like doing. But simply because that’s what Jesus asks us to do. Because that’s exactly what He did for us.

Coming to Earth and being born as a baby was not convenient. Wandering around a dust-covered, dirty land without a home to call his own was not convenient. Being rejected by the people he loved and who called themselves His friends was not convenient. Being humiliated, beaten, and crucified was anything but convenient. But that didn’t stop Jesus. Because He loves us unconditionally… and inconveniently.

Will you join me in my inconvenience?

A "Bedtime" Story

Sleep and I are not friends.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say that we are enemies, but we don’t exactly get along. I don’t think it’s my fault, really. I try to reach out to sleep and get to know it. Sometimes it seems like sleep doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s kind of hard getting rejected by a personified, inanimate concept, but I try not to take it too personally. Suffice it to say, sleep is no more than an acquaintance to me most times. We have lots of mutual friends, but I certainly wouldn’t send sleep a Christmas card or invite it out to coffee (then again, would sleep drink coffee anyway? That’s an intriguing thought.)

All goofiness aside, I seriously have a hard time sleeping. Even now as I write this, I really should be getting some shuteye. But, as usual, sleep is ding me, and I get to be wide awake while the rest of the world is dreaming of sugarplum fairies and the newest Harry Potter movie. Alas. The things I miss out on while I am wide awake.

Although I wouldn’t say that I have actual insomnia, sometimes I think I flirt with it. Despite my avoidance of caffeine and my best attempt to not do anything rigorous or stimulating before going to bed, I oftentimes experience great difficulty when falling asleep. I’ve tried all the tricks, like counting sheep or counting backwards from 100… or counting 100 sheep backwards. I read really boring chapters in my Bible, like the laws in Leviticus or the lists of names in Numbers. I sit up, lie down, roll over, walk around, but nothing seems to help. I listen to my “sleepy” playlist on my iPod, but to no avail. Sleep still gives me the cold shoulder, the silent treatment, and whatever other negative reaction you can think of. It’s frustrating and annoying, and I get really tired of it—and tired because of it. But as they say in France, “c'est la vie!” . Such is life.

Fortunately, however, this borderline insomnia is not a constant problem; it comes and goes in spurts, and I don’t have to deal with it all the time. Sometimes, in fact, I fall asleep with incredible ease… too much ease. And during my Easter break travels in Europe was one such time.

Because Austria is a Catholic country, we got three weeks off for Easter, which, in case you were wondering, was absolutely AWESOME! I spent the first week frolicking around Ireland with my friend Jodie from Canada and the last week checking out the Czech Republic (get it? Checking out? Haha) with a couple other friends. And the middle week was chock full of adventures in the original stiletto boot—Italy. My French friends Anne-So and Marie and I enjoyed our own whirlwind tour of northern Italy, starting in Pisa and visiting Rome, Florence, and Venice all within six days. Yes, it was amazing.

However, this non-stop excitement inevitably takes its toll on one’s energy level, and despite countless delicious cappuccinos and scoops of gelato along the way, one reaches a new depth of exhaustion. I found that I had plenty of energy to make it through the day as long as I was constantly moving around—walking through museums, admiring Michelangelo’s David, and taking lots of pictures. But once the night came or I stopped moving, exhaustion would hit me like an express train. And speaking of trains, it was on one such train ride that I lost my battle with fatigue.

Anne-So, Marie, and I had already visited Pisa, Rome, and Florence and were heading to Venice, which was our last stop of our Italian adventure. When we planned our trip, we wanted to save as much money as possible, like true college students. We discovered that one way would be to cut out a night’s hostel stay and to take a train at night instead. Note that I didn’t say “night train.” Night trains are fancy, expensive trains with sleeper cars and places to rest. Our train from Florence to Venice was a regular train that just so happened to be at night. Specifically, this train departed at 1:42 a.m. and was scheduled to arrive at 5:26 a.m.

Needless to say, by the time our departure rolled around, we were beyond exhausted, and all we wanted to do was pass out. Much to our chagrin, however, this train was not the ideal environment for such slumber. You see, “train at night” in Italy is actually code for “homeless shelter.” This train was jam-packed with downtrodden, sketchy-looking old men with nowhere else to sleep that night. Super. Even better, because Anne-So and Marie had booked their tickets separately from mine, our assigned seats were in different parts of the train. Luckily, when I found my compartment, I discovered that there was a family with a dad, a son, and a daughter in addition to a couple homeless men, so I felt somewhat safer (nevermind that this family looked like it belonged in The Godfather.)

Due to my unbelievable exhaustion and against my better judgment, I soon fell fast asleep. Like, *snap*. I was gone. The train lulled me into a state of oblivion, into the abyss that comes only after going a million miles a minute for way-the-hey too long. I had crossed the border into La-la Land, and unless they revoked my visa, I wouldn’t be coming back for awhile.

Then suddenly, from the fuzziest, haziest parts of my subconscious, I heard something. It was distant, barely audible, like something from a dream. Struggling through the swamp into which my brain had wandered, I sought to decipher what they were saying. Whatever it was, it seemed important. If only I could just hear it…

“St…. St…. ….. you…”

“Steffi!... Steffi! Where are you?!”

Oh my gosh! It’s Anne-So and Marie! Immediately, groggily, I jolted awake from my slumber. Frantically, I shook off the fog that had descended on my mind and remembered where I was and what was happening. The sketchy mafia family was gone. The homeless men had disappeared. The train had stopped moving. And the only noise was from my friends desperately yelling my name. We were in Venice, and I was all alone on the train.

In a daze, I grabbed my duffel and backpack and wandered to the door of the train, took the steps, and stumbled onto the platform. Moments later Anne-So and Marie overwhelmed me with hugs and exclamations of relief. They were so worried that they had lost me and that the train was going to leave with me onboard. So they had run up and down the length of the train calling my name, hoping that I would hear them and come out. And luckily—thank the Lord!... literally---it worked. Otherwise, who knows where I might have ended up. And that would have been terrible.

The other night when I couldn’t fall asleep, I decided to take a break from the unclean-food section of Leviticus (as enthralling as it is) and venture over to Psalms instead. I found myself reading Psalm 121, which has been one of my favorites for a long time now. As I was reading it this time, I couldn’t help thinking of my train ride to Venice and what happened. The Psalm is relatively short, but in the interest of space (and your precious time), I will only share the really relevant verses.

“3 He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.”

God doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t slumber. He’s always awake watching over us and taking care of us. 100% of the time. No exceptions. Take a moment and think about this. That means when you can’t sleep at night because you are worried about something, when you are crying your eyes out at 2 a.m. because your heart is breaking, when you are up really early and driving to work, God is awake. And not only is He awake, but He is watching over you. Isn’t that amazing? He never shuts His eyes, turns away, or even blinks. No, He keeps His close, loving, protective heavenly gaze on us, and He won’t let us stumble or fall. And that, my friends, is pretty darn cool.

So I thought about these verses in light of my Venetian train ride, and I realized that my friends showed me a vivid picture of what God does for us. They hadn’t slept during that entire midnight ride; they knew what was going on. And they weren’t going to let anything happen to me. They were looking out for me, they had my back, and they were wide awake even when my consciousness had long since skipped town. No, they weren’t exactly like God; they were not omniscient and they didn’t know my exact location. But they did know that I was on that train, and they weren’t going to let me get away. In the same way, God watches over us too, and He doesn’t sleep... so that we can.

A God who loves us and cares for us all the time without ceasing or resting, a God who won’t ever let us go—that, I believe, is a dream come true. And speaking of dreams, it’s time for me to call it a night.

Sleep well! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……..