Ser and Estar

My last post was pretty dreary to say the least. I thought I’d post an update so you all know I’m not living in constant misery.

Parks news article #1. We are still dogless. Animal Services put me in contact with a woman who rescues dog with Parvo. We’re hoping within our apartment’s weight limit will come our way via her.

Parks news article #2. Two days after I was fired from DG’s, I called Eric because he asked me to. I had no intention of asking for my job back. I called because I didn’t want to burn any bridges on my way out. When I called, before I said more than, “Hey Eric,” he told me he’d like to put me back on the schedule for Monday. We had a small talk and I asked him to please, please, tell me what I’m doing that bother him before he spontaneously terminates my employment. Most of my friends think I’m nuts for retruning.
I came back because making some money is better than making no money. I’ll just hang out making sandwiches until I hear back from some of the places I applied to.

I think they biggest thing I have taken away from this whole thing-having the carpet ripped out from underneath my feet-is the lesson God is constantly trying to teach me: Trust.  Sometimes, people who are secure in what they’ve built up for themselves need a trust lesson. How can I be getting what I need from God, when I think I can be fulfilled in “the world”?

I am learning the difference between joy and happiness. I knew the difference in my head but now I am learning it in my soul. Yeah, I am really, really unhappy right now. I work for a crazy old guy who can’t keep his pants up and refers to his employees as “whatchamacallit over there.” But there’s an attitude I can cling to. Nothing will fulfill me but Christ, and that is a powerful notion. Powerful enough to obliterate the dispair I feel when I consider my circumstances.
It makes me think of Spanish’s ser and estar. Ser, if I remember correctly, is concrete. I am a girl. I am American. Estar usually connotates some action or temporary state. I am in the computer lab. I feel hungry.
Estoy, I am unhappy.  Soy, I am in Christ.

Praying Differently

I don’t care how much of a seasoned Christian you may be, sometimes we forget how to pray. I know, I know, fold your hands, close your eyes, bow your head.

Maybe it’s just when we’re rusty, or hurting, or preoccupied, we preface our prayers with “I want. I want. I want. Me. Me. Me. Me. Now. Now. Now.” I find myself praying like that a lot, realizing it, and feel myself forcing a mumbled thanks before continuing.

Alongside my parents, the one person who has taught me the most about prayer is Mrs. Hosley. An ageless woman who has been sentenced to a lifetime of unruly little GA’s on the second floor of First Baptist church. Mrs. Hosley taught me to pray for not just my wants and needs, but those of others. Most of those others were people halfway ’round the world. Others I would never meet in this lifetime. After reviewing the news of people working for the “home mission board” (currently the North American Mission Board) and the “foriegn mision board” (International Mission Board), she would ask us crazy, pig-tail sporting, seven year old miscreants if we had any requests. Most of the time they were things like, “Pray for my dog.”

But Mrs. Hosley didn’t roll her eyes. She heard those requests, emulating the way our Father hears even the tiniest of our hearts’ groans. Instead of leaving us to keep talking about our ailing dogs, she would ask in her peaceful tone as she crossed her right hand over the left to grasp the hand of her little neighbor, “Who would like to pray for Tori’s dog, Hastings?”

She would assign us each other’s burden, so we would learn on the most basic level how to bear each other’s loads. Or at least, so each girl would feel like she had equal speaking time.

At any rate, I’ve been thinking a lot about those early prayer lessons as I contemplate where we are now. Over Christmas Eve, Tanner’s grandfather suffered a concussion that was not diagnosed until a day and half after if occurred. Today, it has resulted in a stroke. As we sit anxiously awaiting updates, our prayers have stopped being, “please don’t let Granddad Howard die.”

As Tanner said on his last phone call to me, “Tonight, I’m praying differently.”

“I’m not praying for what I want or what I think is best. I’m just praying for resolution. For an end to his pain, whatever that end is. I just want what God wants.”

A lesson we learn over and over in talking  with God. Wanting what He wants.