I believe the printed word should be forgiven

Let’s celebrate with the Woods–
Their twosome is now three!
Come help us honor them
And see the newest member of their family.

We will shower Baby Heath
With books to read and enjoy.
Anna and Jeff can share these gifts
For years to come with their little boy!

I received an invitation to a baby shower this week. Now, this is the first shower I’ll attend that is not intended for a bride, so I’m not sure what to expect. But upon notice of the shower’s theme, I developed a quick enthusiasm for baby showers.

The invitation requested that each guest bring a favorite children’s book for the guest of honor, baby Heath. I’ve already spent what I consider a fair amount of time with my favorite newborn, so I would do basically anything he requested. But to bring a book to share with this precious child? That’s not exactly pulling teeth. 😉

Never mind that the shower isn’t for three weeks yet. This afternoon I made my way to Barnes & Noble and paid homage to a section I haven’t visited in years—the children’s books. It didn’t take long to find exactly the book I had in mind.

One of my earliest memories is learning how to read. I was 4 at the time, and reading was like opening up a whole new world. (Heck. I still think of it that way.) After investing a number of hours on tract-sized “books,” composed largely of sophisticated sentences such as “See Spot run,” I was eager to sit down with a real book and get to reading on my own.

It was with great pride that I began reading myself to sleep at night. I remember sitting in my partial-canopy bed (only appropriate for a princess!) in my purple bedroom. My heart filled with pride at my accomplishment—I could read the Little Bear series all by myself, without Mommy or Daddy at my side.

That childhood accomplishment established a pattern: I have read myself to sleep probably 99 nights out of every 100 evenings since. My heart again swelled as I flipped through the pages of Little Bear this afternoon. Books have kept me company and educated me in the 19 year since, and it’s only appropriate to bestow upon baby Heath the same books that set me on my journey as a reader.

Speaking of reading… I’m a list maker. (It’s a common first born quality.) I decided a while ago to keep track of all the books I read this year. I’m always hearing people say things like “My goal is to read five books this year,” and that blows me away. Five? Is that ALL? Sometimes I read five books in a WEEK. So I’ve created a little sub-blog to keep track of my reading for the year. Laugh all you want, ignore me if you will… if nothing else, I think it’ll be interesting to look back at the end of the year and see how many books I’ve read and how many I returned to the library unopened.

Nothing unusual, nothing’s changed, just a little older that’s all

I’m an oldest child–I’m the eldest of four. I’m the typical first born in so many ways. I’m organized, goal oriented and something of a go-getter. When I know what I want, I’m willing to work for it. (That may explain my master’s degree and the $25,000 debt that accompanied it.)

My siblings also fit their expected psychological birth order. Cristin, as the second child, is an attention grabber. Never content to stand in someone’s shadow, she’s willing to leave college and move thousands of miles to chase her dreams. (And I admire her for it.)

Cheryl’s got middle child syndrome. Heaven forbid anyone compare her to us–she’s going to carve her own Cheryl-sized niche in the world. Forget cheerleading. She’ll play flag football. The worst trouble I ever got into was detention for tardiness. She compensated by scroing a few arrests. (Okay, there’s more to it than that–but I’m confident that it was a factor in her rebellion.) She’s creative, funky and truly one of a kind. (And as with Cristin, I admire these qualities in her. Well, besides the arrest thing.)

Chad’s not just another case–he’s another world. Chad land is populated with legos, anime and Hatchemon (his own Pokemon-esque creation). He can tell you every minute detail of whatever TV series is his current obsession, and he knows all the cheat codes for the best video games. He produces his own cartoon movies on his desktop and no doubt will soon be composing their scores on his keyboard.

Sometimes I feel like the boring sibling in comparison. I’m not sure I have a place to call my own. I’m into the journalism thing, but all of my siblings can write. But I can’t act like Cristin, draw like Cheryl, and I’m not Chad. I used to be the “religious” one, till most of the family went and got God. (It’s a distinction I’m glad to share, mind you.) Still I wonder, where is my place? What’s special about me?

I like to think I’m the quietly interesting one (and yes, in my family I am the quiet one), but I’m not sure what that means. I’m sensitive, and I’ve been told that makes me a good friend. I’ve become pretty good at recommending music to others (thouch Cheryl’s still the one whose taste would be considered “cool”). I have the best shoes, but I’m not sure that’s how I want to be described.

Maybe I’m the most vanilla–the boring one. I’ve got the standard college education, I go to church on Sundays, I drive a sedan. I’m “most likely to have a picket fence.” But I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think I’m dull. I’m passionate, I’m a reader, I’m a feeler, I’m thoughtful.

Maybe I’m just the most nuanced. You can pick out these qualities about my siblings almost immediately upon meeting them, but it might take a little longer to find what makes me CJ. (That’s not to say that my siblings are simple personalities. They’re not. But it’s pretty obvious that Cristin is the resident drama queen!)

But I’m still the oldest, so what I say goes. So most nuanced it is, whether you believe it or not.

What I give to you is just what I’m going through

I decided early this week that I’d like to go to a movie by myself. There was a chick flick to come out at the end of the week, and I didn’t have anyone to accompany me. No bother–I thought going alone would be an experience. (Indeed, the sense of adventure from flying solo was more enjoyable than the movie itself. Glad I saved by going to a matinee.)

But I’ve been looking for ways to get to know people in town, so I thought about going to a church singles event tonight. It’s not my church (we don’t have a singles group, which I must admit is part of the appeal). There was to be a band and it sounded better than watching What Not to Wear with my grandma and my cat.

One problem: I was too afraid to go alone (especially with the label of a singles group event!), and I realized I truly had no one to call up and invite. The enormity of my loneliness hit me: I’m not just alone, I’m pathetic.

When did making friends become so hard? I used to be surrounded by them. I literally would have too many people to keep up with on weekends. Overlooking someone as we made our calls was quite likely. What happened?

I’ll be honest: I tend to blame it on the state of Alabama. How lame is that?! But since I’ve arrived here, I’ve only made a couple true blue friends, the kind you can cry in front of and still safe. (And the ways I’ve met those friends were rather unconventional!)

While it’s unreasonable to fault the entire state, I know it can’t be all me, either. There was a three month window when I left Alabama this summer. During that time, I met several people I’ll consider friends for life. Our circumstances were admittedly completely different, but it was enough to know that I am capable of opening up to people.

So what’s the difference? Here there’s not a built in group of people within a few years of my age. It should take a little more effort, but I wouldn’t think it’d be this hard.

I guess I didn’t realize the depth of my need until recently. All fall, I worked two full days a week. I was out of the house, interacting with people. Though it wasn’t in a social setting, there was enough contact with the world beyond my house to keep me from drowning.

Unemployment changed that. I went to Bible study on Wednesday night and realized it was the first I had left my house in two days. My ventures in the days since have been solitary, but at least they got me out of my fuzzy slippers.

I wanna hear what you have to say about me

All is not right in my little world. There haven’t been any major disasters or glaring indiscretions, but there’s an emptiness inside. I’m out of fellowship–there’s not a body of believers surrounding me–and I feel like I’m drowning in loneliness.

I have a church home locally and I take part in a community group on a weekly basis. (Well, in theory. We didn’t meet for a month.) But I’m not at home there, and I know it’s at least as much me as it is them.

It’s easy to go to church once a week–to slip in the back and leave again without interaction. When I do engage in conversation, it’s so roughtine I ought to make a tape recording. “My name is CJ, I just received my master’s in journalism from Alabama and I’m looking for a job.” This is the sum of my interactions with virtually everyone in Birmingham.

I feel I have nothing to offer–like it’s my fault for being unemployed. I feel like an unproductive member of society. But I know that’s not entirely true. I’m still able to maintain engaging conversations with people who really know me. I can talk for hours about next to nothing.

I know it’s not all me. I even met a couple guys from church at Starbucks the other day. One struck up conversation when he saw what I was reading. We had an enjoyable, though brief, conversation that broke the aforementioned mold.

So I know it’s possible to have deeper conversations and healthy friendships. I just don’t have a lot of that in Birmingham, and it weighs on me. I’m tempted to think finding a job and moving away would solve this problem. But I know it’s not that easy. I have to take risks, resolve conflict, invest in others–because I know the potential payoff is greater than the risks.

It’s one thing to acknowledge that; it’s quite another to do something about it.

All week long I’ve been lookin’ forward to a hardwood floor and a country band

This article has come up in discussion with others once or twice this week. I’ve saved it for years ’cause I thought it was so fun… I like the picture it paints of this slightly eccentric, talkin’-to-her-cat line dancin’ woman. So with a hat tip to its author, Philip, here’s my favorite story that anyone has ever written about me.

(Granted there’s only been like two. But Philip is a way better writer than that girl in my School Publications class.)

The “Redneck Girl”

A stroll into CJ’s home in Blairstone Forest reveals a setting that one would not typically associate with the house of a student at Florida State University. It would appear to someone like myself that Martha Stewart herself (the patron saint of home-decorating) had been present when the plans were laid out to design the interior where CJ and her four roommates reside. The house epitomizes comfort and is everything one could expect from a home whose primary resident portrays the essence of southern hospitality. Not more than two minutes passed by after sitting at the dinner table before I was politely asked by CJ if I’d like anything to drink. When I accepted she efficiently rose, poured a glass of the requested water, and returned again to sit with me at the table. It was then that I had the pleasure of conversing with CJ about another atypical aspect of her student life, her weekend nightlife.

On most days of the week, CJ stands a short but respectable 62 inches tall. On Friday nights, however, she gains an extra two inches with the cowboy boots that she generally wears to Stetsons on the Moon, a popular Tallahassee club that she attends regularly. Stetsons, in some aspects, is very similar to most of the night clubs found across Tallahassee. It draws in the student crowd with drink specials, flashing lights, and offers of an all-around good time. However, for CJ and many others, Stetsons is simply the place to go when line dancing is the activity of choice for the evening. Unlike any other establishment in the Tallahassee area, Stetsons on the Moon supplies the opportunity for students to enjoy a country and western style of dancing, a style of dancing that has spawned from what we now think of as old west throw downs and barn dances.

CJ traced her line dancing history back as far as nine years, to the days when she was in 7th grade. It was around that time when CJ was first introduced to arguably the most recognized line dance, The Electric Slide. She quickly realized that line dancing was a likeable upbeat way for her to participate in many of the school dances and also to interact with others. “It’s a bonding experience,” she says. The Electric Slide cleared the way for slightly more complicated dances and CJ soon learned to “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and to do the “Achey Breaky Heart,” a dance set to the music of Billy Ray Cyrus’s popular (only heaven knows why) country song of the same name. It was also during her middle school years that CJ would receive gifts from her grandmother that were thematic to line dancing. For many years, she received pairs of cowboy boots as both birthday and Christmas gifts (she estimates a total number of six pair). An instructional videotape explaining the steps of many line dances followed the boots, and CJ was well on her way to the line dancing prowess she now exhibits.

CJ explained that her knowledge of line dancing carried on even to high school where she performed dances with not only the Mandarin High Mustang Cheerleaders, but also with Pop Warner at a halftime show for the NFL’s Jacksonville Jaguars. She even enjoyed line dancing at Walt Disney World’s Pleasure Island. It was not until her senior year of high school in Jacksonville, however, that CJ danced at a nightclub devoted to country line dancing. It was then that she began to frequent the Crazy Horse Saloon. The more she participated at the Crazy Horse, the more she enjoyed the now more complicated dances. It was this enjoyment for club line dancing that would transition CJ’s club attendance from the Crazy Horse Saloon to Tallahassee’s own Stetsons.

Between brief pauses during she would converse with her cat, Emma, CJ also discussed with me what one would generally expect regulars at Stetsons to wear and more specifically what she often wears. She took a moment to retrieve her preferred boots from the back of the house and then excitedly displayed them on the table. The design on the boots was simple enough and they were colored a traditional black, but the true story behind the footwear was the wear on the bottoms. It was obvious that the size 7.5 cowboy boots had seen quite a bit of action. Jeans were described as a must and should have boot-cut legs and a low-rise waist. Her belt always matches her boots and large belt buckles are “never out of place.” A simple tank-top suffices as wear for the upper half of the body. “Ideally,” as described by CJ, she would wear a cowboy hat to complete the outfit. She doesn’t own a hat of her own, but, with what I detected as a hint of jealousy, she described my own hat, a black Bailey ‘rider’ style, as being well-suited for the event and something she would certainly wear.

With as much time and effort that CJ has invested in line dancing, it is certainly reasonable that she would want to share her pastime with others. It should be no surprise, then, that she will hold line dancing lesson sessions at her home from time to time in preparation for those who are to visit Stetson’s for the first time. Being a personal friend of CJ’s, I have been privy to witness and even participate in these sessions on more than one occasion. As many as fifteen people will form lines in her living room (a living room that reasonably fits ten) and watch intently as CJ instructs them step by step in dances such as the “Funky Cowboy.” Because most of those who attend her lessons are beginning line dancers the atmosphere is extremely relaxed despite distractions such as the lovable household dog, Contessa Topaz, jumping and yapping in hysterics at CJ animated feet. With the aid of a few of the more experienced dancers, of which I have the privilege of being counted among, CJ succeeds in sending the first-timers onto the Stetsons dance floor feeling much more comfortable than they otherwise would have felt.

When asked what makes a good line dancer, CJ promptly replied that “it’s more than just knowing the dance.” She described that a talented line dancer will display confidence and style. The dancer should “make the dance their own” and simply have fun while doing it. A mutual friend, Kevin Shoemaker, was given as an example for someone who exudes such qualities and other important attributes such as endurance, determination, and rhythm. According to CJ “he is the guy who all the other boys want to be.” Such lofty compliments are promising to the up and coming line dancer as he was also described by CJ as having improved from being “pretty clueless.”

Friday evenings are rarely boring for CJ. Although her escape from the school week is not what one might presume from a student at Florida State, it provides her with a much needed release. To CJ there is something that is just plain fun about line dancing at Stetsons and, as very few would disagree with, “there’s something therapeutic about listening to good music.” The Bellamy Brothers perform a popular country song entitled “Redneck Girl.” To mention this song in reference to CJ is perhaps one of the kindest compliments you can pay her. As she’ll be sure and tell you, beneath the exterior of this 21 year-old Florida State graduate student lies the heart of a true redneck girl.

Maybe you’re the dream I’m waking from

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28, New International Version)

One of the most amazing mysteries of my faith (besides the idea that God could become human and atone for all of my misdeeds) is encapsulated in that verse. I’ve marveled not only at God’s mercy but also his might since my first steps as a baby Christian. Both before and since setting out on this journey I’ve done things in knowing disobedience of God’s will. But even those blatantly rebellious acts have been worked to my best. Unreal… and yet so true.

I remember sitting through a lot of “girl talks” in those early days. In one such session, girls discussed how far was too far in a “Christian relationship.” I knew my newfound faith would challenge me to approach relationships differently, but I didn’t know the bounds.

I did know that, wherever that elusive line of physicality had been drawn, I had ventured far past it. I secretly hoped that, when I found the man with whom I’d spend my life, he too would have a “checkered past” and therefore would find my missteps easier to swallow.

Then I changed my mind—instead I longed for a man whose Christian upbringing would provide me with a family of faith unlike my own. The hurts I saw in my own family life would be healed in my interactions with his. Meanwhile, he would shine brightly before those I love in a way I was afraid I could not.

You could call me naïve.

My desires have long since abandoned both extremes. Now I merely desire a man who will strive to push my gaze heavenward. Whether he be a redeemed “heathen” or a genteel sort who has long embraced the umbrella of God’s grace doesn’t matter.

That’s the beauty of regeneration. Perhaps the man I will marry (if I marry) has made as many or even more physical mistakes than I. Perhaps he is as pristine as the day is long. It truly doesn’t matter if he falls to either extreme or lands squarely in the middle.

What matters is that Jesus has made him clean, as He has me. I’m not proud of what past I have, but I don’t view myself as damaged goods. Christ’s grace covers those and every mistake.

And He used them to bring me to Him. It’s strange, but He is a beautiful mystery.

Sleepy sweet home Alabama, roll tide roll

There’s a certain degree of uncertainty that comes with unemployment. (More accurately, there’s a degree of uncertainty that accompanies life in general. It’s simply more acute for the unemployed.) My days stretch out like a blank canvas—I’m not sure I have anything on my calendar between now and May 28. I’m waiting for someone—the unemployed’s job equivalent of “Mr. Right”—to come along and fill my days. But patiently waiting for my career to begin is, in some ways, every bit as frightening as dating.

I’ve got my eye on a specific position, and I’m more confident that we’re compatible than I’ve ever been about any man. The title is alluring, the salary is good, but more importantly, the work is just right. I know that I would be an asset to the company, but that I would grow professionally (and perhaps even personally and spiritually!) as well.

Though I fit better with this job opening than any man I’ve dated, just like with men, there are some scary bits. The possibility of flying across the country (or at least halfway!) is tantalizing. The fact that a job offer and my acceptance would pull me to that far away land semi-permanently is a bit like a daydream. It seems a fantastic idea, but also crazier than my most hare-brained schemes. After all, to date those plans have pulled me out of the south for no more than two months at a time.

My family, most of my friends and at least a portion of my identity are wrapped up in this land of oaks and magnolias, of fried catfish and sweet tea. Leaving them behind is hard to imagine.

But when it’s right, you know. And I suppose you do whatever it takes—be it move mountains or move to the mountains—to make it work. Rejection is very much a risk. “Mr. Right Job” could find another woman higher on his ladder. That’s part of the adventure of unemployment, and just like dating, that’s the risk I face.

But unlike dating, “Mr. Right Job” has a deadline. Bring it on—I’m ready for the results.

In the right heels, a woman feels invincible.

“Every item of clothing has a narrative.” –Nancy Macdonell Smith

Smith, author of The Classic Ten, seems to understand the relationship I have with clothes. It’s not so much that I’m obsessed (though I’ve developed a growing shoe fetish under the influence of all these ‘Bama girls). But I am a very nostalgic person, and I do attach memories to certain pieces of clothing.

My black, off-the-shoulder stretch top from Delia*s always reminds me of my first trip to the Grand Ole Opry wiht the last guy I dated. (Don’t you feel so special!) I associate my pretty pink twirly Gap skirt with church the weekend of my summer project reunion. My gray pinstripe pants are reminiscent of my interview with Birmingham magazine and work days at Campus Crusade for Christ’s HQ. I have a pink trench that reminds me of breaking up with the aforementioned boy, but more recently became my “I’m getting my master’s degree!” coat.

Yes, I do try to replace negative memories with more positive ones. I know it’s a little weird. Welcome to my mind.

Likewise, I associate memories with each pair of shoes I own. I don’t have that many–only 15 pairs, and I’ve decided that one of these needs to be contributed to Goodwill. (I’d ask what I was thinking, but I know what I was thinking: I was thinking that I was in high school, chunky heels were in and I was poor.)

After returning home with my newest (and sexiest!) pair of heels, I was inspired to tell you the story of my life (or at least, the past few years of my life) through my shoes. The latest pair doesn’t have much noteworthy attributed to them… yet. But I’m sure they’ll merit something more mentionable than a touring show of Thoroughly Modern Millie in the near future. Maybe they can be my “I need a job and you’re going to offer it to me!” shoes.

Sexy snakeskin pumps
Green snakeskin pumps with ankle strap, Nine West, $25 ($69 retail)

Freeze frame

I’m a few days behind in offering a year end entry… but since it’s still the first week of 2005, I don’t think it’s really too late to reveal my bestof 2004.

However, it’s boring to be just like everyone else… so here’s my own personal twist on the year in review. 😉 Most of these songs were released in 2004, but all of them were added to my collection during that year. (And yes, I need to update my CD page over there… but I will mention that I met my resolution for last year. I limited to myself to one CD or less per week, resulting in only 41 CDs for the year. I’m so good.)

Sexiest Vocal: Marc Broussard, “Home” from Carencro
Have you heard the man sing? It’s a shame the rest of the album is so bland.

Song that most makes me wanna throw myself off a building: TIE Patty Griffin, “Top of the World” from Impossible Dream and Ryan Adams, “Wonderwall” from Love is Hell Part One
Yes, in my little world, wanting to throw yourself off a building is somehow an appropriate response to good music.

Song that made me cry the hardest: “Still Hurting,” from the Original Cast Recording of The Last 5 Years
Oh MY gosh. I need this CD. This has to be the saddest break up song of all time. What a great actress… you can just feel the sorrow in her voice.

Hit the nail on the head song of the year: Tara Leigh Cobble, “Here’s to Hindsight” from Things You Can’t Stop with Your Hands
Of course, if “Winter’s Ending” were new to be in 2004, it would have won. In any case, TLC hit home with this one, especially the bridge: “And all today’s uncertainties and all of my impatience will just be flecks of color in the picture that He’s painting.” Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. (;))

I can’t explain it, I just have to dance: Jem, “They” from Finally Woken
Alisa thought this song was so weird… and well, it is. But the album is MUCH fun to dance around to when no one else is home. (It also reminds me of the first day of summer project, ’cause it’s what I was listening to as I pulled into Pine Harbor. Oh, the memories…)

Best remake of the artist’s own song: Sandra McCracken, “Plenty” from Best Laid Plans
The original version of this song was one of my favorite tracks on McCracken’s last album. But this re-recorded version rocks my face off… the strings are stellar. I usually have to listen to it several times before moving on to the rest of the CD.

Most likely to scare Alisa if she met the song in a dark alley: Dave Matthews, “Grave Digger” from Some Devil
Granted, when Alisa said she never wanted to see Dave Matthews angry, it was after listening to Before These Crowded Streets. Just the same, I love his vocal on this song. It’s sort of creepy, but it’s fabulous.

Best song that was made even better by another band: TIE Carrie Newcomer, “I Should’ve Known Better” from Betty’s Diner: The Best of Carrie Newcomer and Oasis, “Wonderwall” from (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?
The originals were excellent, but Nickel Creek and Ryan Adams (respectively) took these songs to greater heights.

Song that best describes my fears about relationships (for now): Chris Thile, “On Ice” from Deceiver
This is absolutely one of my favorite songs that was released this year. It truly would fit well with Nickel Creek’s material on This Side, but it is a jewel regardless of where it’s placed. Thile is an amazing songwriter and musician… and this song is just too quotable. I have used at least three different sections of it in away messages, but I really could use the whole thing at any given moment. 🙂

Song that I love even though I can’t sing along with some of the lyrics: Damien Rice, “Woman Like a Man” from B Sides
I’m 99.9% sure this is the only “parental advisory advised” disc in my entire collection, and this song is most of the reason why. And unfortunately, the part I won’t sing is in the CHORUS, so it’s repeated quite a bit. But it’s just a great song, no matter how much I hate that word.

Cheesiest country song that I don’t mind admitting I like: Sugarland, “Baby Girl” from Twice the Speed of Life
Yes, it’s cheesy. Yes, it’s totally pop-country. But yeah, they’re great performers and I love singing this while driving down the road… especially the part that’s Nashville-specific. We all need a little cheese from time to time!

Just like your family name

It’s kind of funny how you learn new things about someone years into your relationship. I’ve known my daddy my whole life (obviously!), but I didn’t know until this summer that he once wanted to be a lawyer.

I picked up another random fact about him this weekend. When he worked in downtown Birmingham, my dad often ate his lunch at the park I pass on my weekly visits to the library. He would follow those meals with a visit to the museum where I’ve recently begun to volunteer.

It’s not that those pastimes seem contrary to my father’s personality; I simply never imagined him as the art museum type. It’s neat to realize the better part of my Sunday afternoon somehow mirrors my dad’s time years ago.

Indeed, the older we get, the more I find my parents and I share. It’s not even me turning into my mom (and dad). That would be quite the challenge, since they’re different in so many ways. There may be elements of that, but there’s also a tendency of them becoming more like me.

My mom’s musical interests are starting to mirror mine (however slightly). Last year I bought her Johnny Cash and Dave Matthews Band CDs for Christmas, and Caedmon’s Call joined her collection at Mother’s Day. Daddy and I have had more similar tastes for years (which is how I knew he’d love the Coldplay CD I sent for Father’s Day).

But part of our increasing likeness is the work of Christ in our lives. It’s not that we’re becoming Christian auto matrons. As the Holy Spirit guides our steps and changes our desires, the foundations from which we operate become alike.

I’m not always proud of the ways I reflect my parents. The bad jokes I crack sometimes echo my mother’s silly sense of humor, and my stubbornness was once the source of many disagreements with my dad. But the sanctification in our lives is a trait of which I’ll gladly boast. Christ is at work in my family; let his work be proclaimed.

May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. (Galatians 6:14, NIV)