Today I proudly wore my green Friendship Christian All-Star Camp t-shirt to work. I think it was the first time I’d worn it to do anything besides run or sleep since I got it as a seven-year-old basketball camper. (Yeah, I was a female Michael Jordan in the makings until my mom’s Asian height genes got in the way.) For some reason they gave both me and my friend Cat size large shirts; at first we could wear them as dresses.
I’ve finally grown into it.
I’m currently surrounded by paper and origami frogs and markers and tape. I’m in charge of crafts for my church’s Vacation Bible School this year. That would be fine except 1) I’m not particularly fond of crafts, 2) I can’t cut straight, and 3) tomorrow I have to give the other craft workers the lowdown on what’s going down VBS week and I don’t really know what I’m doing. Don’t get me wrong -I’m not complaining (really…), and I’m glad for this opportunity to step out of my comfort zone (and by glad I mean that I’ll probably feel glad in hindsight. Right now I just have that weird but oddly familiar NOW PANIC feeling I get when I realize that I only have three more hours to write a paper. It also occurred that time CCF exec team staged mutiny and outvoted me to reschedule our meeting time. Confession, guys: when I said “Just let me run home and grab my meeting notes first”, I actually meant, “Let me run home and frantically write my meeting notes first.”).
I’m discovering that I have a tendency to voluntarily accept jobs where I have no clue what I’m doing or what’s going on. Pastor D is normally involved in these requests- sure, Pastor Bob, I can counsel six girls that want to get saved at one time. Sure, I can teach handchimes in another country where everyone speaks Russian with my two days of handchime experience. Sure, I can run crafts, I can’t even use scissors properly. I don’t know if these situations result from some twisted sort of self-confidence that lures me in only to desert me the night before, or some strange mode of youth pastor encouragement, but note to self: Pastor Bob’s ideas are dangerous. Resisttttt.
Or it could be just God’s way of saying that I need to let myself be stretched and pushed to trust Him. That I can quit worrying about what other people might think of me because He’s got my back. That I need to shut up and just devote my time to preparing what I’m supposed to do, fighting this procrastination-inducing fear that’s keeping me from serving Him. That I can ignore all these voices telling me that I’m too young and clueless because I have nice grown-ups around me that seem to think that everything’s going to be just fine (this has admittedly proven true even during the handchime class in Ukraine). That’s IT’S JUST CRAFTS. And all the 6th grade boys will hate crafts no matter what, though I do have to say that these origami frogs are pretty suh-weet.
Rant done. I hate growing up. Sometimes I wish I could be 7 forever, just with better hair than my elementary school self. Help me tie my shoes, teacher. HUNTER PUSHED ME. Can I be the line leader pleasepleasei’mneverthelineleaderrrrr
heh. good night all.
(And because I said I would: check out http://www.chinglisher.blogspot.com! ^_^)