?

The comment I left on Josh's blog got me riled up and now I just want to talk about offense.
God asked me to stop doing something recently, and He knows very well that I had no desire whatsoever to stop. Mind you, it wasn't "sin" or anything obviously wrong... just something God knew I didn't need right now. And so I stopped. And I hate it.

Writing this blog is giving me that lump in the throat you get right before you want to cry. I don't think I'll let myself cry because of pride (which is another story in itself), but I am struggling with it all.

I keep wanting to ask God, "If You knew You were going to eventually ask me to stop doing it, then why did You ever let me start to begin with?" You allowed me the joy of running, only to see that there was a cliff stopping me not too far into the trail. It was all an illusion.

I really don't want to be offended by God. I want to trust His leadership and come out saying it is perfect. It's a struggle to do this, but I'm glad I said yes, though. I don't care if people think it's stupid to let someone "who caused you pain to dictate your life". Jesus is the only person who has never let me down and to think that He would intentionally hurt me for no reason is spiteful and sickening.

I want to be like Moses. I want to come out of this wilderness unoffended. I want to be able to love God more than anything else. And I just want God to call me His friend. Lord, I want to be Your friend.

not so funny

The other day, I was walking to the prayer room and I saw a group of guys playing football outside. It looked like something straight out of a post card...

guys playing football in the street
dad talking to his daughters
dogs running around everywhere

So as I'm approaching them, I take out my phone to call my friend. I'm about ten feet in front of them when one of the guys looks at me and motions something. He's a tall one with a big brown beard, and he looks young and nice.

He grabs the football and makes a gesture like: "OK. Get ready. I'm about to throw it to you."
Since I was talking on the phone, all I could do was gesture back. So I gesture the "You don't want to throw it to me. I suck at sports." kind of face. He gets the hint, smiles at me as I pass along, and that was the end of that.

Today I was sitting in the second row of class and Jerry, our Commission administrator, says, "Class, we have a true treasure for you today. We have a guest speaker... Jesse Engle." And in walks in bearded-smiling-football man... Jesse Engle.

It was awkward sitting so close to the front. I wanted to laugh for some reason. & strangely enough, I kept thinking "So this is the guy that made Erika cry." I don't think a lot of you even know who Jesse Engle is, which is cool. I didn't know who he was till I got here. I just wanted to share a part of my day.

It was a good day :)

October

The Commission program I'm in has this one couple, John and Emily. John is a baldy (by choice) who loves to wear red flannel with flip flops and Emily is a brunette with blue eyes and a Wisconsin accent. He's twenty-three and she's twenty and they just got married this July.

When I found out their ages and the fact that they're married, my initial reaction was "Eww." Not "eww" at them, but "eww" at the thought of being married at twenty.
::"Why on Earth would anyone want to be married so young? You could never do that!" thought Sylvia to herself as she looked in confusion."::
However, seeing them every day has now changed my perception. I think in the valley, a lot (but not all, i know) of young marriages are forced because of pregnancy, so I had this stigma in my head that people don't really want to do this. But seeing two young people willingly want to do that is puzzling yet envious at the same time.

We usually have hang outs at their place, and last week's was making me sick. We had "movie night" and I was surrounded by three couples...
three affectionate couples...
three affectionate and blissful-looking couples
Needless to say, I left the place depressed and jealous

I was sort of doing the "God, this sucks" kind of thing, but then I got over it. I figured, "Hey, if God being wayyy smarter than me, doesn't think it's time yet than who am I to say otherwise?"
But at least I learned it's cool to be twenty and married.

OH! and John was Emily's first and only boyfriend before being married, so take that all you nay-sayers who think it's not possible to get married without dating around. If they can do it than so can i

I've noticed the phases in my life recently. If you would have asked me a couple of months ago I would have said I was the same Sylvia... good with consistancy. For the most part I still think I am, but there are little things that have obviously changed - my wardrobe being one.

Early middle school Sylvia was the image of what every teacher thought a sixth grader should dress like. That meant a lot of visits to Sears and JC Penney come August. I remember one time a teacher (who was also my girl scouts leader at the time) made me stand up in front of the class to show that my shorts were the appropriate length above the knee. Yes, I was "appropriate length" girl. Very modest and painfully shy.

Once eighth grade started, Herby introduced me into a little band called Anti-Flag. I was so desperate to change into something more "look at me" that I went headfirst into the political punk look. I wish I could post pictures... they are a doozey. I had the works: patches, safety pins, band pins, raccooon eye makeup. You name it, I wore it. So obviously dressing like that introduces you to new friends, and new friends introduce you to different scenes.

"High School" Sylvia was a really big Fat Wreck Chords / NOFX kind-of-gal. That's where I started straying from the cliche and made things my own. Fascinations with hair dye and Chuck Taylors ran rampant and they have yet to die down in my heart.

I don't really know where I am now. I invite anyone to take a swing and describe my clothes now, whether you like them or not. I don't care. Something I've been pondering a lot recently, though, is that everyone is a cliche. Clothes are something we desperately use to "define" us and make us "different", but no matter how hard we try there is always a John Doe out there who looks exactly like you. I've found at least two here in Kansas City. Either your the "girly feminine" one, or the "artsy indie" one, or whatever (you catch my drift).

Point is clothes don't make you. I'm wanting the "punk" in me to die down. I kind of just want the Jesus in me to define.

effin eros

I did a silent fast yesterday. From sun up to sun down I didn't say a word. Well, actually I did. I broke it three times. But I think it's funny the things the Lord allows to happen when you make a choice not to talk. I guess it's just to see what you're made of. Not that He'd look down on you for breaking it... but anyways...



The weather here is amazing. It's bright and in the 60s. So since it's just so nice outside, I decided to walk from the prayer room to birchwood. As I was walking over there, some black guy in a black convertible pulls over and gets close to me.



"Hey, you wanna go to the Tina Turner concert tonight?"



Aside from being a little freaked out, I thought: "Seriously, do I look like someone who would even listen to Tina Turner?" So I awkwardly motioned "no" with my head.



"Are you sure? You'll be going for free with me" (as if that was going to make it more enticing)



::make a weird face to accompany the "no" I motion again::



I was a little scared because there was no traffic at the time and no bystanders to see me get whisked away by the masked murderer. But God's good and He took care.



Plenty of other uncomfortable situations occured throughout the day, but the most uncomfortable was just the stare that you get from others.

Some stare in amazement ("Wow! I could never do that!")

Some stare in wonder ("So, have you broken it? How long will you be quiet for?")

And others don't want to talk to you and make you accidentally break your fast

so they just stare. and smile. and stare some more.

I liken the feeling as to an animal in a zoo. Because all you can do is stare as well.



So Yeah. I broke it three times. The first time I broke it by speaking in tongues at the prayer room. The third time I broke it by singing a line from a Peter Bjorn song. But the second time was kind of funny.



I've been battling a cold recently, and it looks like it's almost dead. Except yesterday I started sneezing a bit so I decided to take some medicine. Before I took it though, I looked in the mirror and to the sickness said "I'm gonna kick you in the booty."



I dropped my mouth in awe because I couldn't believe that the word "booty" even escaped my lips. But thinking about it later, I laughed because I realized that the one time I really broke my fast it wasn't in talking to a friend or a roommate but it was in talking to myself.



so i don't know which of the two was worse

cried myself sick

I'm at the IHOP library, and I think i might be in the midst of a class going on. I feel like the intruder alert should ring any minute now.

There's this girl (lady? idk) who's passing out some written papers with grades on them. I wonder what the assignment could have been...

"Class ::picks up glasses from her nose::, listen up! Simmer down! Ooh up, down... nice play on words. Anywho, i want you to write me a 400 word paper on Jesus. GO!"

What exactly would one have to do to fail any of these assignments, out of the obvious "not doing them" or "didn't follow the rules" reasons? I couldn't imagine someone getting an F because they missed the mark on explaining how much Abba loves them. Or because their testimony was just a tad too dramatic.

"Now, Timmy, I just had to fail you on this paper because... well... I think Jesus loves you just a little bit more than the way you wrote here."

I really hope they don't have that computer program that lets you read or look at what people do/write on these computers. I don't think they'd appreciate this. But I'm not making fun of IHOP or this class or anyone. It's just one of my thinking cap moments. I obviously have no knowledge of the class going on or knowledge on anything for that matter. So let's continue on with the conversation.

I'm going to see Ryan Adams in two weeks! Can't hardly wait. Before I left home, I remember thinking of how nice it would be if I got to see him while I was here. :) Beck plays this next week, so I'm going early in hopes of them selling tickets at the door.

It looks like Victor is coming up here to visit and drive back down with me. I was seriously over-joyed this morning thinking about it. It'll be a nice bonding experience, but I couldn't help to think that we are so old now. We have our own money, our own cars, our own free will to do as we please without the parentals breathing down our necks.

And finally, I finished "A Farewell to Arms" and the ending made me cry. I want to re-read it and maybe start one of those weekly book clubs to discuss (which makes me sound that much older, huh?)

Anyways, I really should leave now.

We're off to see the city!

I never knew how much I would love to be disconnected from the outside world. I mean, I knew that I was always a fan of alone time but this is great.

At my house, all I have to keep me entertained is my little $5 am/fm radio and the dearest Hemingway book my eyes have ever seen("Farewell to Arms" is by far the best story I have ever read. It's so engaging and I highly recommend it). At first I was obsessed with reading only one chapter a day, but that was far too difficult. Besides, I can always go downtown and just buy another :) Maybe "The Old Man and the Sea" is next.

The radio is for the obvious purpose of music and at times a little talk radio.
:: Side note, but I wish there were more liberals on the radio. Not that I'm necessarily a liberal (i'd like to meddle in the middle and say i'm a moderate), but the Fox News mentality is cringe-inducing sometimes ::

But getting back to the main idea, it feels amazing being by yourself. On the way to the Jenny Lewis show, I remember having a conversation with God and it was totally a movie moment. Only me and God.

I really think the spirit of peace and thankfulness hit me at that moment as I was driving in the Kansas outskirts. I wish you guys could feel what I felt. I just felt so happy and endebted to be by myself, in the car Jesus bought me, without a care in the world, looking for a new adventure.

I told my dad about it as best I could and all he said was: "I bet you felt like a real American woman," and all I said was "Sure, dad. That must have been it."

I wish I could keep on writing. This feels nice. But everything in moderation (including moderation).