Twister Sister

When I left church today, I felt the strong desire to talk to my mom... and I mean REALLY talk to her. It seems bizarre how a sermon about "why men hate to go to church" made me want to talk to Mom. I'm quickly coming to the realization that anytime I bask in God's truths I know I need to love and honor my parents. Not only that, but I want to do those things.

Unfortunately, that is not how things unfurled. Mom was waiting to go to Target to make use of my employee's discount in order to buy a new grill when she discovered me down in the basement glued to the Internet. What followed was a huge fight in front of my brother and his girlfriend. Sulky, I consented to go along. However, Mom angrily decided that she didn't care to go anymore. Thank goodness Hunter was there to be the peacemaker. I guess I greatly underestimate him. Being proud and also self-righteous (even on Mother's Day), I took longer than I should have to apologize. Even so, it was a skim milk apology.

We ended up getting the grill, but things continued to stay glacial between Mom and me. It seemed as if my lofty plans of writing her a sentimental letter, hugging her, and wishing her a great day had been blasted away with the 50 mph winds that were raging outside. All the while a familiar frustration raged in my heart against my flesh for being so stupid; all that I had originally intended was to tell her that I appreciated and loved her.

After dinner, Mom, Kelly (Hunter's girl), and I played some Scrabble. Mom won and I came in third: fate, I suppose. Then a more forgiving Mom insisted on going to our garden down the road at Mr. Brown's place. I whined about the wind and the chill but quickly shut my mouth when I realized that I was stepping on her excitement about the possibility of sharing the garden with all of us kids (aka- Hunter, Kelly, and me). All that was great until, upon climbing into the truck, I looked down the hill to behold half of a giant Bradford pear tree splayed across the driveway.

"Just perfect," I thought. Surly was the word.

Getting out of the truck and into the cold wind just didn't appeal to my comfort. However, it struck me that Paula (our neighbor) was going to be sawing that stupid tree with her tiny saw for hours without help. Mom got Dad to grab his chainsaw. And my dad loves to feel useful, so this made his day. Hunter, Mom, and I took turns carrying off parts of the dismembered tree. With the entire Causey family working, it couldn't have taken more than 10 minutes to completely clean off the drive.

Tree minced, we got back into our rides. Mom and Dad in the truck, I elected to sit in the bed. Hunter and Kelly followed in the Caprice. Looking down, I noticed a pine cone. I threw it at the windshield of the Caprice, and the contents of the car were laughing with abandon. And I smiled myself.

What had been bad became good. Earlier, while on the phone, I had talked to John about the fact that there was still some time left to change the course of events. I'm not so sure that I had much to do with the the way things turned out. With the Holy Spirit playing the parent to a pouting child, I did manage to tie down my pride long enough to apologize to my mom. But now I am certain that Romans 8:28 must be true: "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him, to those who are called according to His purpose."

I ended getting a grill for my mom, eating dinner with my family, playing Scrabble (one of Mom's favorite pastimes), working with my family to accomplish something for our neighbor, and laughing with joy.

...And Two for the Show

The backyard has been mowed and the herb garden has been hoed. Not only that... all the vegetables, save two heads of broccoli, have been cooked and eaten (by me). The things I do to put flesh on my time at the Causey Homestead.

Mom and Dad are in Alabama visiting the oldest living ancestor in my family tree. I guess that sounds redundant: oldest living. Well, duh. Apparently Great Aunt Georgia is in her 90's, and this could be her last Easter. I'm sure she's loving the company as much as Mom's ever-talkative cousin Denny (he's the one housing my parents).

Hunter and his girl, who I accidentally keep calling by his last girlfriend's name, are in Dahlonega visiting her grandma. Right now, they're closer to John than I am at the moment. And John had to work today.

This has been the saddest Easter. Not only am I alone (which I can handle on most days), but I sat alone at church. I must have looked pretty odd couched in by 4 empty seats on both sides. Even that was not as sad as the fact that on one of the three most important days of the year (with Elvis's birthday coming in a close fourth according to many), I had no one to share this with. How great could it have been if I would have had friends and family around? That to me is the worst part about this Easter.

I think it all boils down to a fear of PDA: public display of affection. I don't want to make people uncomfortable by showing my real feelings about who Jesus is and what his sacrifice means. Instead of showing my allegiance, I keep it a secret and in doing so, stop the good news from spreading. All the while it hurts me to see people looking in the wrong places for their refuge.

Today, I rededicated myself at the alter (but more importantly, in my heart) that I would seek the Lord first and stop acting embarrassed. So after the service, I joined a women's Bible study group. It's something I've been considering for months. I look forward to sharing this journey with them. I hope they will be of encouragement and share their love for the Lord with me.

From the Biggest Little City in the Southeast

It has been long... Back to the blog: updates. I currently find myself stationed as a humble server of foods and services at Bella Roma in, you guessed it, beautiful Rome, Ga. Talk about the past revisited; Berry is there as are all my former haunts. The faces have changed, and so it is a very different place.

I live, part-time, with Ashlea Hutchins (my long lost ex-roommate) farther from John than before. Part-time with my family. And if I was honest I would say I even live part-time at the Johnson farm.

Without realizing it, I have self-branded the featherlight life of the floating and uncertain artist upon myself. Returning to academia seems daunting, and studying for a possibly unnecessary GRE has become part of my distraction of choice. The other part has been spending all my time dreaming about the possibilities. When will I decide amongst graduate school, scraping up 2 more jobs, getting a seasonal job out West, or joining some long adventure in the Peace Corps?

Maybe it's because I'm broke. Or maybe I'm broke because I can't decide. I guess I've always had trouble setting courses. Even as a child, I wanted to do everything: play violin, ride horses, ice-skate, design clothes, explore new lands. My senses didn't want to miss anything. However, those pursuits were nothing but tepid. I took violin lessons for 2 years, took riding lessons for 3 years, never got around to ice-skating, designed dresses but never learned to sew, and settled with the thought that perhaps there were no new lands to explore.

I wonder what it would be like to have a certain goal and devote everything to seeing it come into my hands. Typical 20-something angst, I guess. Finding a purpose for my placement in this place. Yadda yadda. Sometimes I get envious of my friends who find happiness in the typical ways: graduating, getting married, buying a house, and having babies. Could my dad be right about us? He and I are "rolling stones"? That phrase pains me to write. So overused.

Enough about that. I'm going to file my taxes for Virginia and Tennessee (a clear sign of my inability to stay in one spot too long). Then I will scrawl a few postcards to a few friends. One lives in Oregon, one lives in Canada, and the other resides in Malawi for the next year. Perhaps they'll send me words back to inform me of what they're seeing that I'm not. Vicarious is the word of the day.

Cheers. I'm off.