learning how to like someone

I have a problem.

I am quick to jump to conclusions about people. Sometimes this may be considered judgmental. I prefer to say I make incorrect assumptions. It softens the blow a bit.

Most recent case:
I have a student that I have a difficult time with. Sometimes I just don't like her. She has a tendency to be a bit annoying and most things that come out of her mouth are completely self-centered...although I guess these actions are fairly typical of a student, for some reason she bothers me more than my other students.
As I was venting to someone about this, though, I felt really convicted about feeling this way. So I'm trying to learn to like her. Maybe that's too big a step...first I'll start with just trying not to dislike her.

I find myself making these sorts of judgments too often. Sometimes I'll say I don't like someone, and when asked to give a reason, I can't really come up with anything. I just don't like them based on a personality trait or a misplaced comment or the fact that I have a very low tolerance level for annoying people. So I've decided that my tendency toward pre-judging people (or making assumptions) needs to be toned down a bit. After all, God loves us all. He even likes us all, which is the bigger issue.

confessions of a bookaholic

I love to read probably more than a sane person should. If I am in the middle of an exceptionally good book, I will choose reading over watching TV, movies, or sometimes even hanging out with other people. I will curl up in my papasan chair (which I bought for $5 at a garage sale) with a blanket and not move for hours, and when I finally get up my legs won't support the rest of me because my knees give out from being bent for so long. It's pathetic, really.

And I am one of those people who reads books more than once. In fact, some books I read more than twice. I can't count how many times I've read some of my favorite books. I just finished re-reading Pride and Prejudice for the second time (the first time was in high school, so it doesn't really count). It's a tough read. At least this time I understood what was going on.

I would rather read than do just about any other activity. If I am not in the midst of reading two or three books at a time, I am lost. I have to go to Borders. Or I will be forced to reread something from my library, which cannot all be contained in my apartment. It's true. I had to store books at my parents' house. They can't wait until I have my own storage space.

I claim that it's their fault, though. My dad (a combination professor-pastor) is also a bookaholic. One entire wall of his office is lined with books. In my family, books are a more-than-acceptable gift. In fact, we usually give each other a list of books before any major gift-giving holiday. We collect books like other people collect more normal things--video games, movies, trophies, etc. I have long been aware that we are somewhat freakish in this regard, an awareness which was heightened the first time I brought Lucas home to meet my parents. He thinks we're all freaks.

Lately I have made a rather comforting discovery. I am not alone.

There are other bookaholics in the world. I just started reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (a book on writing) and compared to her I seem a little more sane than I originally thought. Other people are freakish too.

I think that all any of us want in life is not to be alone in our freakdom. I am so relieved that other people wallow in the world of books, trading reality for the pages of a different reality.

I, of course, know the difference between fiction and reality. I'm not THAT bad.

men will be...boys

Let's face it, the saying "boys will be boys" is applicable not only to small children, but to grown men as well. I am of the firm belief that men never really grow up--sort of the Peter Pan syndrome, but without the magic of flying away to a mythical land, which would definitely spice up life a little bit.

Digression: I loved Peter Pan when I was growing up. Actually, I was (and to some degree still am) a huge fan of almost any Disney movie. I remember the first Disney movie I saw in the theater--Grandpa took all of the grandkids to see The Little Mermaid. I was probably seven or so. I think it was my first movie theater experience, and the part where Prince Eric stabs Ursula with the prow of the ship and they flash her skeleton was permanently etched into the back of my eyelids for weeks afterward. I was a highly impressionable child.

Back to my point: I am at Luke's house at the moment, and there are four grown men playing the newest edition of Smash Brothers. They are highly invested in this game, and it is raucous and uproarious. I am listening from the loft. It is most entertaining. But this scenario proves the point I am trying to make. Men in their mid-to-late twenties are no more grown up than boys in high school. Sure they have their moments of maturity. I will concede that point. But for the most part they are funny and silly and appreciate an inappropriate joke, no matter whether they are pastors or not.

Obviously I speak only from my own experiences. Perhaps I overgeneralize. I think not.

Also--I must make a disclaimer that I had to "clean up" my list of blog links on my site. If yours was deleted, please don't take offense. It's just that some of you don't post very often, and the list was getting too long. I still love you.

who we used to be...

I love my mother. Please understand that before I say anything else. But she has the power to make me more frustrated than any other single person in my life. Today she called me for the first time in a few weeks and was asking about the wedding plans, and when I told her all the things I'm trying to process, she says: "Whatever happened to the simple cake and punch reception you always talked about?" I have no recollection of that conversation, but she insists that in high school I always said that I wanted the simplest of receptions when I ended up getting married.

I may have said that. But that was then.

I would like to state for the record that I am in no way, shape or form the same person now as I was in high school. Traces remain of the girl I used to be, but on the whole I am perfectly happy with the woman I have grown up to be. I am a thousand times more confident in who I am today than who I was in high school. Everyone goes through a period of extreme self-consciousness and personal discovery, I know. But I can't imagine being the intimidated freshman anymore.

I was always the quiet one, the studious one, the good student, and the obedient daughter. Maybe that is who my mother misses, who she wishes I could still be.

Unfortunately...I still pride myself on being studious, but I don't think that on the whole the word quiet would describe my personality. Somewhere around my senior year of high school I realized I could actually talk to people. It turned out to be pretty fun. In college I learned that I had ambitions and talents that I hadn't known about in high school. After college I took a totally different life path than I had anticipated.

And I have no regrets about that. I think things have turned out rather well, I must say.

But some people get stuck on knowing you one way, and resist watching you change into someone they claim not to recognize. This is the case with my mother. She has expectations of me that fit who I was eight years ago.

Eight years is a pretty long time. I would be disappointed in myself if I had not grown into who I am now, leaving behind who I used to be.