Maybe you’re the dream I’m waking from

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

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

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

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.

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

“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

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

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

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

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)

Being Southern is a state of mind

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

While discussing various relations, a friend of mine credited the size of his family to his Italian heritage. I thought it an interesting observation—then I wondered what my heritage says about me.

When you can trace your ancestry back some 200 years and still find yourself in the southeastern United States, I’d say you’re pretty stinkin’ American—and dang Southern. We may currently reside in Alabama—but prior to that we were Georgians—and once upon a time we were Carolinians (of the northern sort—and that’s about as close to Yankeedom as we come!).

Okay, okay—I have heard rumors that our roots are some blend of French and English. We’re very Anglo. (Oh, and when I was young I told people we were part Swedish, ‘cause I thought it sounded cool. And part Cherokee, but that part is true, though miniscule.)

But mostly I’m just Southern, and from what I’ve heard, it shows. Save for my Yankee sister, my family exhibits a Southern drawl. (I don’t hear it, but others insist it’s there.) I’m a diehard football fan, and that was actually a factor in both of my college selections. We can cook, we can eat, and we’ve got that hospitality thing (and its accompanying sets of rules!) down pat.

The weirdest thing anyone has noted about my Southern heritage is my appearance. I didn’t know you could look Southern—I’m not sure you can look Southern! But apparently something about strawberry blonde curls and fair skin screams Southern belle.

Who knew?

Stumble in the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The countdown has been on all semester, but today it hits a special mark. I’m dropping to a number of days instead of months until graduation.

So, in 30 days I’ll cross the stage of Coleman Coliseum in celebration of my master’s degree. It’s true that I’ll have attained a level of education that exceeds the requirements of my field—and it’s possible that could be to my detriment at times. Indeed, you can find veterans of the profession who boast only a high school education. Though my degree has come at a high cost, I don’t regret it for a moment.

For all my excitement, I expect many of the next 30 days to pass slowly. I’ve completed my master’s project (though I’ve yet to convince anyone to purchase those 6,000 words for publication). The paperwork for my summer internship has been completed and submitted. My current internship is part time (and is nearing conclusion, itself). So as I told an inquiring friend earlier this week—yes, approaching graduation is exciting—but it’s also fairly boring.

My workaholic tendencies don’t help. I’m attempting to fill my five free days each week with writing, job hunting, f/Friends and volunteering. But truth be told, I long to return to 40 hour work weeks.

They laughed when I rushed through college in three years. “You have the rest of your life to work,” they said. “Slow down and enjoy this time.” They again cautioned me when I aimed to barrel through graduate studies (though for different reasons). “Don’t take on too much at a time or your grades will suffer.”

Turns out I was right all along—the working world suits me. Bring on the 8-5.

Age ain’t nothing but a number

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

As I waited to pick up lunch, I caught part of an NFL game. It’s the first I’ve seen of my team in years, and as I watched I realized something that wasn’t true all those years ago. Now, some of these kids are my age! (Some of them may be even younger!)

That observation is just further evidence of my age hang-up. This hyper-awareness probably stems from my college graduation; I was 20 when I received my bachelor’s, and have been noticing age demographics ever since.

I’m not sure it was a big deal to anyone else, but I was always aware of my place as the youngest in my grad program at Florida State.(I have a cushion at Alabama; three of us were born within a month’s time, so I’m not alone at 23.) I’m never quite sure where I fit.

I complicate things further through the men I date. My ex is three and a half years older than me. It rarely came up in conversation, but it hovered as insecurity in the back of my mind.

I’ve also had several crushes on younger men, both before and since that relationship. (In fact, the only date I’ve been on in the past five years was with a younger man!) None of those guys was anything more than a friend, and so the age difference wasn’t important. (It was also much smaller than the difference between my ex and I in both of these instances.) But it still crossed my mind.

Call me old fashioned, but I’m always careful to avoid “emasculating” the men in my life. I let them open doors for me. (It’s part of being southern, you know.) I try to let them defend themselves in debates (a strange example, but it did come up once in the past). I prefer to date men who are smarter than me—partially because that attracts me, partially because I don’t want to dominate a relationship, and I fear that could become the case if I were intellectually superior.

Now I’m approaching another graduation, and my mental age barriers are slowly fading. I don’t think it’s nearly as strange to be 23 with a master’s as to be 20 with a bachelor’s. Maybe (maybe?) I’m coming into my own.

Who could ask for more than to be living in a moment you would die for?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

No ice, no flame
No place to stand
No one to blame
No ice, no flame
Rescue me, rescue me
From the inbetween
–Sandra McCracken

I’ve noticed a trend over the past few months. Everything has become “okay.” One week blends seemlessly into the next and the passage of time is the most remarkable quality of my days. I’m moving toward a goal, but the path has been bland.

I’m not alright with leading an “okay” life. My days haven’t been characterized with glaring sins, but my time has been filled with more socially acceptable ones. I’ve been coasting along at less than what God has for me.

Jesus said He came that we might have life and have it “to the full.” The cup of my life has not been running over.

What do I want my life to look like? I have learned over the past weeks that I don’t want to lead a self serving existence. That may be comofrtable, but it’s also boring and pointless.

Neither do I want to err on the opposite extreme. There was a time when I embodied the happy cheesy Christian image. I went through the ritualistic purging of my CD collection. (Sister Hazel, out. Jennifer Knapp, in. Limp Bizkit, out. FFH, in. Needless to say, these weren’t all wise decisions.) I bottled up my struggles because “God would take care of it.” Though that’s true, I wasn’t entirely real in my relationship with Him or with others.

During that period, I learned a lot and grew spiritually. But my focus was still inward in many ways. I think that may have been part of why I wanted to join staff with Campus Crusade. It may have helped me, to some degree, avoid the corporate power struggle that quickly makes me forget my faith.

Now, I want balance.

I’m re-reading my favorite book, Finding Common Ground: How to Communicate with Those Outside the Christian Community… While We Still Can (Tim Downs). In the chapter on Christians in the workplace he asks, “What in the world does a Christian auto mechanic look like?” His point is that the Bible doesn’t prescribe action points for each possible vocation, but as Christians, our faith should be reflected in our work.

So what does a Christian auto mechanic look like? Maybe he’d be like the gentleman at Firestone Tires who is helping me find a new wheel for my car. (Long story.) It isn’t this man’s responsibility to find me a part and save me a couple hundred dollars. All I asked him to do was put new tires on my car!

Moreover, what does a Christian journalist look like? My faith and ability may carry me to a publication that seeks to combine the two. But they may not, either. That doesn’t mean my faith is irrelevant to my work.

I’ve had some opportunity to see the two interact at my present internship. Recently I wrote an article about a ministry. In doing so, I was challenged to use language that did not betray my worldview while writing to a “secular” audience.

That’s a small example, but an easy illustration of how God works at my job. The words I use are read by tens of thousands; heaven forbid I inadvertently rule out the power of prayer in the ministry’s work by careless word choice.

Maybe that doesn’t make sense to you–maybe it would seem more logical with the story in front of you. Be assured that I am not abusing my position to evangelize the city. That’s not within the magazine’s editorial mission and would be sloppy “journalism.”

Instead, I see it as my responsibility to avoid contradicting the possibility of God with my words. I don’t think you would guess from the article that I’m a Christian. But neither do I think you’d conclude that I don’t believe in God.

So I’ve spent four paragraphs of your time harping on the selection of a single word in a magazine filled with thousands of them. My point is this: I don’t want to fly below the spiritual radar. I don’t want to be one of those people I always hear stories about–people who get so caught up in their car, house, family that those responisbilities consume them. I don’t want to live for God for an hour on Sunday and merely give Him lip service during the week’s remainder.

I want to see God’s presence and live for His role in my every move. I want to see Him radically change me and those I know.

That probably doesn’t demand going into Christian service as a full time vocation, in my case. It may mean devoting myself full time for a period of my life. (I’m still praying about that/playing with that idea.)

All I know is the Christian life isn’t meant to be bland.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10b