Accomplishments: My Puny Life

It's my birthday! Or at least it was (the days blur into one another when you are old), and I'm turning quite old. What have I accomplished for myself? Well, not much. I did graduate from university which might actually turn out to be the only acheivement of my life, but I sure as heck hope not, because the main reason I went to university was to write books. And I haven't written any. Or published a single thing for that matter. You might say, why haven't you? And I might say, you know what? Screw you! It's harder than you think. But I wouldn't because I'm nice, and because I don't actually know for myself that it's harder than you think. I just know this information from what other writers have told me again and again and again and again and again. Yes I've submitted a couple things to contests and haven't won any, and one or two stories to magazines but wasn't accepted, but I haven't really put my heart and soul into it. Why you ask? Because it's terrifying to put your heart and soul into something you know has a ten times higher chance of being rejected than accepted. When guys ask out girls they usually calculate their chances and make damn sure the chances are good. If the chances were ten time higher that she will say no than yes, no one would ever ask anyone out. And then no one would get married and the human race would quickly die out (naiive idea of procreation). But, as a seasoned writer (not really, that's some pretty light seasoning, like maybe a dash of curry, the mild kind), aware of the trials of publishing and the hundreds of rejections that you might receive before finally making it big, do I take these rejections to heart? Are you kidding? Of course I do. It's like someone telling you your baby is ugly. Not that I know, I don't have a baby.

That's the other thing, I have no babies. And for years I was positive I would have like seven babies by now. Granted, those years were the same years when 18 seemed mature (ha, as if!), and 25 seemed like middle age (ha, ha... sad...). But I recently discovered I wouldn't want my life to be any other way than it is right now. I realized with great relief that I would be perfectly happy if I didn't have kids for another decade. Let's take one decade at a time, people. Of course, by then my womb will be starting to shrivel up, but my dad's solution to that is: have a baby now, give it to Mom to take care of, and then you have years and years to have more babies (it's the first birth that can cause all the medical problems if you're passed 35. SCIENTIFIC FACT). Now, I don't know why my dad would be stupid enough to suggest this, unless he is secretly planning a divorce, because if I'm giving my mom a baby to raise, well, um, that would mean he would also have a baby to raise. I miss my parents, now that I'm moved out, I do. And I miss my dog Kezzie (she's super old, 17, older than most people think I am when they guess my age). But I am positively loving the independent life. My roommate is fantastic and I couldn't ask for a better place to live. My job is great too. I work for Telus Sourcing Solutions, but I'm under the Alberta Health Services contract, so it's like this: big Telus outsources to India but has its very own customer service company it can't afford to actually hire, so we get hired by other companies to do their customer service. What does this mean? Big Telus may have shoddy customer service but at least they own one of the best customer service companies in Canada, so that's got to count for something. The contract I work for is, like I said, Alberta Health Services. Apparently when Alberta outsources their customer service they go to BC... so we're like Alberta's India... But what's great is the kind of work I get to do: not selling phones or pushing services, but helping medical professionals with their benefits and pay cheques. As one coworker put it, "We help the people who save the world." Or, er, Alberta. But I've never worked for a company that makes their employees feel so respected and valued. Where I work, I matter. It's probably the best thing you can ask for from an employer. See how God has blessed me with the very things I was so concerned about after Auxano? A job and a place to live? Beyond what I asked for or imagined. He does that, God. I mean, not always - sometimes He has things for you to learn and sometimes you're just plain reaping your own consequences, but when He decides to bless you, He always does it extravagantly. Now you're asking, then why aren't I a millionaire? Don't be stupid. We all know by now that money means absolutely nothing. For goodness sake, two seconds ago the penny was a real thing and now it's just pretend.

But it doesn't matter how many books I've written (none) or how many babies I have (also none), I have accomplished a lot. Everything I've learned, everywhere that I've grown (I don't mean like how my chin hair is steadily getting thicker and turning into a beard that is the envy of all the boys, I mean like character growth), all the people I've positively affected, my family and friends, these are my accomplishments. And what greater accomplishment than my relationship with God, which has grown exponentially and will continue to grow exponentially because at some point you learn as a Christian that there is no end to God, and therefore no end to how much you can grow in your relationship with Him. And that is both frightening and wonderful. And so, I don't have to feel a single year was wasted in my - really, let's be serious - puny 26 years of life. Besides, God can return your wasted years. Thankfully, I don't feel He has to. What more could I ask for?

Now what about my writing you ask? Well, I am going to continue to struggle to write the book I know I need to write no matter how ridiculous it is, and I won't let anybody tell me that writing about unicorns is childish. Of course it's childish, you dumb goose, it's a book for children.

Limbo

For Steve Fielding

So, here I am, home alone in my parents house while they're on a cruise to Alaska and the envisioned "party time" turned out to be just a serious food shortage with no money (because no job) and a constant checking the door to make sure it's locked. Except for last night, when I forgot to lock it. My dog doesn't know what happened. You see, she was asleep on the couch when my parents left and as far as she can tell they simply disappeared and left me, the Incompetent One (in her eyes of course), behind. She peed outside my door in defiance. But Lola, my sister's little dog/hamster does that just for kicks. Matt was down from camp for the weekend so I wasn't lonely but he couldn't sleep over (because it looks bad and why put yourself in the way of temptation?), and there is something about being in a house on your own, waking up in the middle of the night and waiting to hear the comforting sound of intense snoring when all you get is silence. After a great weekend together with Matt I messed up our plans and we missed lunch with Matt's family in Duncan. We had Subway instead and I was ragging on the falseness of the "eat fresh" motto (I may have said "Eat fresh my butt" only in not as nice words) when I realized that the reason my sub sucked so much was actually because I forgot to get any condiments on it. We did get to hang out with Matt's family, who I really love, but not for long before I had to go down for a nap just so I could safely drive my sister's car back to Victoria. How much more pathetic can you get? I don't know. I would hate to see it. It might actually be right now. I'm in my pajamas and it's past dinner time and I haven't gone outside yet...

My life is in limbo right now, not just because my parents left me to go on a cruise, but because I am still waiting on a job prospect. It's been a month and a week since Auxano ended and I wish I could say I had accomplished a lot of other things, but the sad truth is I've mostly been sleeping. And watching Downton Abbey (it's so good!) and now that it's over mostly just sleeping. A little writing, trying to get some exercise and hang out with friends, reading my Bible and praying but mostly sleep, sleep, sleep and never really feeling any less tired. Despite the depressingness of that fact, I'm still dreading going back to work. The alternative to not sleeping is being awake. Oh gosh. Yes, I do hear myself. At least now when I feel like I'm going to pass out I have the wonderful satisfaction of going back to sleep. At work when I try that on my desk they think it's rude. I don't mind it though, being home alone, without a job, constantly feeling ridiculous for missing my boyfriend who is actually doing real work up at camp. I mean I'm old enough to live on my own now, right? WRONG! I am just as capable of burning the house down as ever. Those little pictures above the stove top are freaking confusing. Which one is on top and which one is on the bottom???? Anyway, we're both safe and sound, my dog and I, don't worry. I put her out to pee and everything. Of course, she's constantly afraid for her life but luckily she is so old now she has forgotten why already.

For Shayla Broda

So what is the point? Well, the point is, I am savoring this time. I am flat broke but God has been so good (because that's who He is: good) and provided everything just when I needed it, not that God is supposed to do that. There's many reasons why He wouldn't. Tim Parker, the amazing prayer warrior who taught us at Auxano, told me at the graduation night that God wanted me to know He saw my faithfulness up at Auxano and He wanted to reward me, but I needed to be patient and have faith, it was going to take a little while. Why did God do that? He didn't have to tell me that. And that's what makes me feel so incredibly loved. He didn't have to but He did. So I'm waiting, patiently, faithfully, trusting Him and sleeping lots. I knew I was taking a big chance going up to Auxano to volunteer, but I also knew God was bigger and I said to Him, "Well, if I go, I hope you're going to provide for me." And He hasn't let me down. Of course, my biggest, possibly naive, wish going to Auxano was that I would be able to get my chronic fatigue sorted out. That taking iron supplements or whatever I needed would finally fix my sleeping problems after going to the Sleep Clinic and finding out about my TLS (Twitchy Leg Syndrome, a name which I made up, read post Leg Tourette's, Or Why I'm So Freaking Tired). I was hoping that coming back from Auxano I would be ready to enter the "real" world again (because camp is totally fake. No one is real there. They are all actually just inflatable dummies that can be used as complimentary flotation devices in the lake. Just kidding!). But I am going to just have to trust God again. Go figure. It's almost like that is what life is about. Trust that He will carry me through like He did at my previous job, where every day was a struggle. This is not supposed to be a depressing blog post, but it is real. Life is freaking hard. That's what heaven is for.

Auxano, or Something

Camp Imadene, Mesachie Lake

I went to Camp Imadene last week for Senior Coed, cabin leading an amazing group of girls ages 15-17. On the first day I thought I was going to die. On top of my chronic fatigue I went up there with a cold and still tired from getting home the week before from Intermediate 2 where I was the Bead Lady! Finally my dream of being the Bead Lady came true! All the kids loved me, which is weird because on the second day I cut myself on the paper cutters (seriously those things are dangerous, note to self: don't put your finger on the exacto knife part) and I didn't realize it until I was helping one girl put her bracelet on and said, "Where did that red come from?" Um. My blood. That's where. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know I was bleeding," I said. She was all, "That's okay," and unconcerned that the crazy Bead Lady just gave her some kind of blood disease (not really). Sorry for the digression. Anyway for someone who is naturally tired all the time (or would that be unnaturally?), all it takes is a laid back week at camp as the Bead Lady to wear you out enough that you get a cold because the walls of your immune system are made of rice paper. The craft was actually paper beads, which is ironic because we're on a lake and all the kids go swimming and no matter how many times you tell ten-year-olds that paper beads are not waterproof they still need to find out for themselves.

That week as the Bead Lady a friend told me about Auxano. What is that you say? A type of acne cream? No! I shall give you the definition because we all know how much you love reading definitions on my blog:

       Auxano (owx-an'-o)

1. to cause to grow, augment
2. to increase, become greater
3. to grow, increase
   1. of plants
   2. of infants
   3. of a multitude of people
   4. of inward Christian growth

So basically it's a greenhouse for growing plants and infants. Sorry, I was thinking of those little screaming baby plants from Harry Potter called Mandrakes. It's actually a greenhouse for Christians, as in an eight-month discipleship program for young adults aged 17-24 from September to April. My friend Erin told me they still needed a female RA, Resident Advisor. I said, "Oh I could never do that, I'd be too tired." She said, "Well you're tired all the time at home, why not be tired up at camp?" You think you're soooo smart, don't you Erin? Actually she is (she has also struggled with fatigue so she knows what it's like. She is probably one of the only people who could say that to me!). Sometimes the best wisdom is the most obvious. At Senior my friend Katie told me the amazing news that she was going to be one of the students. I was so happy for her, going out and doing this thing, whatever it was, that I obviously could never, ever do. Then Andy the director of camp sneakily started asking me questions that I knew were leading to something to do with the RA position and me. Then I thought, "Do I have to actually consider this? What, now I have to physically sit down and pray about it and ask God if I should do it and wait to see what He says and then have an internal dialogue with myself, or not-so internal because I like to talk out loud like a crazy person?" This was asking too much, people. Too much.

Mandrake

I wanted God to make it clear to me by Tuesday morning SHARP so that I could actually give my two weeks notice at work. And then what did God go and do? He left it up to me. He left the door wide open so that I could decide if I wanted to walk through it or not. It seemed like the perfect time to move out. As some might say I needed to fly the cuckoo's nest, I mean nest, although cuckoo is probably the most appropriate bird for my family (sorry family). And God had already shown me at Senior coed that His grace was sufficient for me, that He could use me despite my tiredness. One by one all the obstacles I thought were so huge (health issues, my parents needing to move, financial problems, my dog) they just started to seem more like changes than obstacles. What's a little inconvenience to my parents? By now they were secretly begging me to move out and get on with my life. So what if I can't afford to get a crown on my sketchy tooth? God would give me dentures. What's a dog, anyway, when you think about it? People in China eat them (just kidding, I mean they do, but I love my dog. Unfortunately she loves my mom more anyway.) One big thing that changed my mind? I told my brother about it and He was totally, completely against it. He reminded me that we are not rich kids who can just give up our jobs at a moment's notice. And then out of the blue during a different conversation he said, "I think you should do it. I will support you financially $20 a month." (What a good brother!) So I gave my two weeks notice at work and will be leaving on the 15th of September for eight months up at one of my favorite places on earth! The ten or so of us will be staying in a house in Lake Cowichan and commute to camp every day for the program. I will be an advisor and leader for the students so I have to be on my best behavior = sarcastic, attention-seeking Faith will have to sit on the back burner (she can come visit me in my room when no one is looking). Room and board and food are paid for but I will most likely have to raise money for a living allowance.

Wait a second, who decided that I would make a good RA? Have they read my blog? Do they know me? I think someone has made a grave error. No one must ever know how unqualified I am to lead a group of girls my own age in discovering their inner selves. I write stories about unicorns for goodness sake's. Thank GOD He is strong in my weakness! If the onus is on me this ship is going down in a giant whirl pool, and fast, with a lot of screaming and throwing up. If the onus is on Jesus then we have nothing to worry about! He walks on water and tells storms to pipe down and they do it. (I tell storms to pipe down too but they never do it.) I am going to have to change my name on this blog before they find out it is me and tell me no one who writes this stuff could ever advise young adults about life and God. I've just decided. I shall change my name to Paith Slenkin... Jr.

Big Mouth Betty (Debby Downer's BFF)

I am a faulty machine. If you bought me, hopefully you kept the receipt. For instance, sometimes I have a big mouth. No, I don't mean the actual size of it, though it is large. Actually my mouth isn't so large as my gums are ginormous. When I smile it is equal parts gum and teeth. Some might say large gums are not aesthetically pleasing, and although I haven't yet had a dentist say, "You're lucky, you have large gums," I prefer thinking of them as well-endowed. I imagine that some day I will be old and have no teeth, and then I will be happy that I have such large gums to fill up my smile. What was I saying? Something to do with talking too much... Oh right, what I actually meant by having a  big mouth was that I say things without thinking. They call me Big Mouth Betty (fortunately no one's ever called me that). She's best friends with Debby Downer. I wish I could say that at least I mean well. Unfortunately when you say something without thinking, you don't have time to sneak good intentions behind your words and use that as an excuse. And telling someone you mean well instead of apologizing is about as effective as telling someone you didn't mean it. Didn't you? Didn't you? Then there are the times where you actually do mean well but you still shouldn't have said it. You may have been thinking before you spoke, but you were thinking of bunny rabbits. These are some of the ways it happens:

1. I want to be funny, so I say something slightly hurtful but hilarious.
2. I have this desire to share things with people but some things are not mine to share.
3. I like to talk.
4. I usually think I am right (I usually am) and so I argue for no reason (except to prove your ignorance, obviously).
5. I am always overtired and when I get irritable sometimes bad things come out.

A Super Crafty Christmas

I have been busy writing a Christmas story for the Christmas Eve service at my church and I had to kill a lot of babies to get there. Wait, you know I don't mean real babies. Did you even read my last post, Girl Meets Boy Meets Awkward Meets Boy Runs Away? "Kill your babies" is an expression. Sometimes you have to delete parts of a story that you love because a) they just don't fit the story, b) you have a word limit, or c) deep down you know they suck. I'm excited because it will be my first time reading something of my own to a large-er group of people. I'm happy because it's actually a very small group of people and if I make a fool of myself I can threaten them to eternal silence. The story is about one little boy's effort to make his little brother's Christmas wish come true. I often end up writing stories about children, probably because of my immaturity level. Something about seeing things through their eyes makes me happy, and I find I usually care more about stories with children in them. Or romance. If there is not the possibility of romance in the first few chapters of a book, it is 75% more likely that you have lost me. However, I will usually persevere, I'll just be disappointed as I do it before I get so caught up in the story I forget to be disappointed.

Girl Meets Boy Meets Awkward Meets Boy Runs Away

Happy Baby

Everyone knows what it's like to accidentally let it slip that you like someone and then have it get around to the person so that even if there was a slight possibility that they might like you in the future, that bridge is now on fire and if you tried to cross it you would burst into flame and die, that is how low your chances of success are. If, by chance, that person likes you back and finding out you like them just helps it along, then well, way to go, you win. I always like nice guys so if they ever hear that I like them and they don't like me back they are too nice to lead me on and instead AVOID AVOID AVOID! RETREEEAAATTT! And the sad thing is half the time I don't really like them, I just want to be their friend. It goes like this, I see good qualities in a guy, usually because I think they are funny, and instead of saying to someone, "That guy is cool. I should get to know him," I say, "I like him. I think I shall marry him," and then it gets around to him and for some reason he runs away. I get it though. If you actually thought I was a stalker I should hope you would take serious precautions. Sometimes I want to say, "I don't even like YOU, I just like the Jesus in you, don't be so freaking flattered." Because it's true. I see the Jesus in a man and I'm like, "I LOVE him!" which should and will weird a guy out if some girl they barely know is saying she loves you (I don't actually do that, don't worry). All I can say is, I can't help loving Jesus. It just comes naturally to me. But you can't like all the boys all the time, it gets tiring. Believe me, I've tried (Grade 2). But I've always liked to keep my options open for whoever God might happen to bring my way. I am the opposite of picky. I walk around going, "Maybe it's him. Is it him? Could be that guy. Maybe not that guy, but then again, you never know." Hopefully keeping myself open will pay off eventually and I won't be an old lady on my death bed getting a crush on all my doctors and random male janitors who walk by: "Is it that guy? He's still got two hairs on his head. Looks like a winner to me!" Gotta keep hope alive though, right?

The Duck Award of Excellence

This post is pure diatribe. Pure, beautiful diatribe.

The Duck Award of Excellence

It's unfortunate but true: a lot of good literature doesn't make sense. It's like to be considered good a book must have attempted to make it as difficult as possible for their readers to understand what they are reading. I'm half kidding because I absolutely love painful old-school stuff like Shakespeare but Shakespeare has a good excuse for being difficult to understand: it's old. If it was difficult to understand then, everyone would have left the theatre frustrated and sent him to the guillotine (it was very violent back then). Many books that win awards are not very friendly to readers, though they may be doing all sorts of wonderful things like pushing boundaries and dealing with important subjects. But if I'm not enjoying a book, which doesn't mean it has to be a happy story or that it can't educate me on something, then what's the point? If I wanted to be educated on important topics only, I would just watch The Onion News. Seriously people. Many of the books I really love have not won any awards, or at least not the really important ones, like Christy, The Dwelling Place, Fortune's Rocks, I Capture the Castle, or fantasy book series like Dave Duncan's books, or CS Lewis The Chronicles of Narnia which do not necessarily have the most amazing writing in the history of the world, but they are the kind of stories that you get lost in. And there is nothing quite like getting lost in a book. Often I find I can't trust those little awards on books at all, I'll get all excited reading a book with an award, thinking, "This book can't possibly let me down, it won an award!" And then find myself feeling horrendously betrayed by the awards people when the books just plain sucks. Sadly, awards just can't be trusted. I believe the awards people are corrupt and give awards in exchange for bribes and personal favors (like those little kazoos in party favors or doing their laundry). I think there should fake awards for crappy books to warn readers. They could have a sticker with a picture of a duck on crutches and call it "The Duck Award of Excellence" and hope the authors don't notice the mini crutches. Only readers would secretly know it was a courtesy sticker that meant not to waste their precious reading time on such a lame book.

Dear Simon Baker

There was a dark time in my life where I became overwhelmed by school and work and in a successful attempt to avoid my real world responsibilities I obsessively watched fake lives on TV. It was fantastic. For a time. But it meant the homework I was finding too intimidating to do, simply didn't get done. I nearly failed a class and was deeply ashamed of it. One of the shows I was watching was The Mentalist. In my desperate, fragile, emotional state, I immediately fell in love with Patrick Jane. You can't help loving his egotistical insensitivity (which in real life would make me kick him in the groin and call him a heartless douche bag) so why fight it? I wanted to hold him and tell him I alone understood his deep, suppressed pain over his murdered wife and child. 

Pipe Dream

Yay! When I search "Faith'sbook" in Google now, it comes up with my blog first! Before it only came up with Christian sites trying to be clever, referring to faith as some sort of book when obviously "Faith'sbook" is a genius play on Facebook and my name. 

But, we can't all be geniuses.

This guy has issues.

Anyway, this post is supposed to be all about dreams. Not the kind you have when you go to sleepy-time land, the other kind that express your deepest, darkest desires. I have a lot of those - riding a unicorn, having a slide in my house that goes from my bedroom to the kitchen downstairs, getting an acceptance letter from Hogwarts, marrying Batman, owning a pet tiger that I can communicate with like my own personal daemon from The Golden Compass - you know, fairly average. But some people would like nothing more than to toss these particular types of dreams into the "pipe" variety. They would, however, be wrong and malicious people and would do better to pipe down, pardon the pun (but did you notice it?). Seriously though, have you ever wondered why a dream is called a "pipe" dream? No, it's not, as I previously assumed, because of the crazy ideas that come from inhaling drugs out of a pipe, example: Alice in Wonderland. No, it's because of that awesome old computer game "Pipe Mania" where you have to put together pieces of sewer drain before the nuclear waste comes and destroys the village, mutating the animals and children. Just like that, a dream that has a low probability of coming true is like trying to get ahead of that never-ending flow of TMNT ooze (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle for the unhip). It's just not likely. At some point you have to accept that the children will become mutants, be it turtle-boys with nun-chucks or wolverine's with shiny knuckle-knives that defy the whole "don't run with scissors" rule.

Have You Been Schooled Lately?

I love shkool.

Our society says education is really important. You can’t get a good job if you aren't schooled. But then they school you by making you pay a million dollars to go to school. Then, when you can’t foot the bill because you don’t have a good job because you don’t have the schooling, they might let you take out a student loan, depending on whether your parents were nice enough to make under a certain amount of money but not nice enough to make enough money to pay for it. Then there are the really unlucky souls whose parents make more than enough to pay for school but they want to punish their child for all the pain and suffering they've caused. But what happens after you take out a student loan and you’re done all your schooling? Well, you’ve got thousands to pay off and not nearly as many job prospects as they pretend. I bet they didn't tell you they were playing pretend, did they? Maybe they don't know that when you're playing pretend you have to say, "Pretend you're the dad and I'm the mom and Jimmy's the baby," and then Jimmy will say, "Why do I have to be the baby?" And you'll say, "Just because, Jimmy, just because." The good news is that with any luck you might be able to get that good paying job that you couldn’t before. The bad news is that for the first decade of your life any money you think you are making doesn’t actually belong to you. You are not working for your livelihood, you are working for the schooling you had to take in order to get that job.

Glitterfy Your Life

I love doing crafts, mostly because it makes me feel like I am talented. The trick is to never start anything that will take very long; knitting is not my forte. Needless to say my crafts are more or less coloring birthday cards. The beauty of short projects is that you get to see the finished product right before you under fifteen minutes (or fifteen seconds if it's particularly abstract). At my church the ladies have a craft night that I attend about once every five years and though it is fun doing crafts with other people it is also very dangerous. Glue GUNS? Hello?! Scissors? Scissors are just two ninja knives stuck together disguised as a helpful appliance.