I've never been one for hierarchy. I have never really had a problem speaking my mind. Since a kid I would make a decision and go with it - disregarding and "or else!" threat my parents would hand down. When I was 2 or 3 I was the goofy kid who would barely eat (yes, this caught up with me in college when I discovered take out) and I ESPECIALLY would not eat meat. No way, uh uh. This trait, however has managed to stick with me.
On one occasion my Dad, being the certain Alpha male and grand poo-bah of the Beal household told me to eat the meat on my plate or go to bed. I went to bed. They gave me choice (ha! fools) and I made it. According to my brother, the look on Dad's face was classic. Too bad I was strutting up the stairs worrying if I might die of malnutrition in the night. I think my brother brought me something to eat later, because he was one of those rare "nice" brothers who cared about is dorky sister.
Fast forward to today. Where I am employed at an organization full of hierarchy. Where I can't go directly to certain people, but I can go through their gatekeepers (administrative assistants) and guard dogs (assistants to their administrative assistants). 2+ years here and I'm still getting the drift of how to maneuver through bureaucratic land mines......I still have my limbs so I suppose my professional kung fu skills (interpersonal sales skills) have paid off. It just seems so unnecessarily exhausting. And for what? Dare I say....ego?
I just don't get it. Why the lofty office? Special parking space? Assistant to the administratvie assistant? Multiple blackberries? Doesn't that get bothersome? In recent weeks, I have found gladness in my menial role in cubicle land. Sure, I'm held accountable to things beyond my control, but I am not woken in the night by the pious humming of a b-berry. I do think about work - and sometimes dream about it. But lately my perspective has continued to change and improve. I do what I can, knowing God goes before me and after me to make things work and come together. I don't feel valued by people, but I do by Jesus. What a nice place to be.
I am human, He is omniscient. And that is the only hierarchy I need.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Flushed away.
So - funny thing happened to me today...
Right before lunch, I went to the ladies room. As I'm sitting there, I hear a "clink" like something metal hit the back of he toilet, tile floor, etc. My first thought was "Great...I'm sitting here and the toilet is going to fall off the wall." It didn't fall off. Yay.
I finish, stand up and look around to see what the noise was. Apparently one of my earrings had come unhooked and feel IN the toilet. Which at this point, was just used. These were not worth saving, so I flushed it away.
I decided to toss the other one, walking around with one hoop, al a Pirate style just isn't my bag.
Right before lunch, I went to the ladies room. As I'm sitting there, I hear a "clink" like something metal hit the back of he toilet, tile floor, etc. My first thought was "Great...I'm sitting here and the toilet is going to fall off the wall." It didn't fall off. Yay.
I finish, stand up and look around to see what the noise was. Apparently one of my earrings had come unhooked and feel IN the toilet. Which at this point, was just used. These were not worth saving, so I flushed it away.
I decided to toss the other one, walking around with one hoop, al a Pirate style just isn't my bag.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Seriously people.....whose idea was spandex?
So recently, my sweet hubby and I went on a vacation to sunny (as in Dante’s Inferno, 7 layers of Hell HOT) Orlando. It was as much relaxing as a networking gig for TJ. I slept in a lot more than he did, and I never really had to dress up in my “goin’ to meetin’” clothes like he did. Pajamas were completely appropriate for me.
We stayed at a resort that was so huge it could probably have housed all of Scotland. According to the map, there were 15 or so pools. They failed to mention that half of these are not constructed yet. Nothing like arm-wrestling a snotty 12- year old for a half broken lounge chair. I went out and purchased a new bathing suit for this vacation – my first one since college, actually. I graduated from college in 2001.
The horror of trying on a swimsuit is universal. No woman, anywhere likes doing it. Even the size 2 stick people that claim to be “overweight” hate it. Nobody wants to go in a dressing room after eating at Sbarro and stand 14 inches from a mirror reflecting every genetic abnormality possible in a few pieces of spandex. A potato sack would actually be more flattering on me. Either way I found one I somewhat liked, bought it and packed it for the trip.
I think there should be a second phase of swimsuit shopping – walking around in it wet, and in public. Just to make SURE you know what you’re getting yourself into. Who knew spandex could get clingier, but after splashing in a chlorine fountain, it does! And then you get to walk out of the pool and amble to your chair all while your spandex is clinging to you and creeping into places it shouldn’t be, and leaving “no room for imagination” as my mom would say. MORTIFYING! REALLY – who’s idea was this?!?
Fast forward to Sunday night when we get home. I pulled our scale out from the 6-inch dust bunnies guarding it under our bed, breathe in (somehow, I got in the habit of sucking in my stomach when I get on a scale and it doesn’t help, but it’s habit) and step on it. I then realized just how angry I can become in a meager 3 seconds. It doesn’t take long and I have a flashback to my first night at Weight Watchers in 2004 when – after stepping on their cattle scale - the kind old lady behind the desk covered her mouth and gasped, looked at me in disgust and said how “well” I carried my weight. That old lady part didn’t happen.
So I had my first (albeit 5th?) weigh in this morning to see if I can’t pull off another weight loss success story. No, don’t even ask what it was.
Hopefully you’ll be seeing less of me soon…
We stayed at a resort that was so huge it could probably have housed all of Scotland. According to the map, there were 15 or so pools. They failed to mention that half of these are not constructed yet. Nothing like arm-wrestling a snotty 12- year old for a half broken lounge chair. I went out and purchased a new bathing suit for this vacation – my first one since college, actually. I graduated from college in 2001.
The horror of trying on a swimsuit is universal. No woman, anywhere likes doing it. Even the size 2 stick people that claim to be “overweight” hate it. Nobody wants to go in a dressing room after eating at Sbarro and stand 14 inches from a mirror reflecting every genetic abnormality possible in a few pieces of spandex. A potato sack would actually be more flattering on me. Either way I found one I somewhat liked, bought it and packed it for the trip.
I think there should be a second phase of swimsuit shopping – walking around in it wet, and in public. Just to make SURE you know what you’re getting yourself into. Who knew spandex could get clingier, but after splashing in a chlorine fountain, it does! And then you get to walk out of the pool and amble to your chair all while your spandex is clinging to you and creeping into places it shouldn’t be, and leaving “no room for imagination” as my mom would say. MORTIFYING! REALLY – who’s idea was this?!?
Fast forward to Sunday night when we get home. I pulled our scale out from the 6-inch dust bunnies guarding it under our bed, breathe in (somehow, I got in the habit of sucking in my stomach when I get on a scale and it doesn’t help, but it’s habit) and step on it. I then realized just how angry I can become in a meager 3 seconds. It doesn’t take long and I have a flashback to my first night at Weight Watchers in 2004 when – after stepping on their cattle scale - the kind old lady behind the desk covered her mouth and gasped, looked at me in disgust and said how “well” I carried my weight. That old lady part didn’t happen.
So I had my first (albeit 5th?) weigh in this morning to see if I can’t pull off another weight loss success story. No, don’t even ask what it was.
Hopefully you’ll be seeing less of me soon…
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I Finally Read "The Shack".....
While on vacation this week, I finally read “The Shack”. I’m not typically one to follow the herd on things like this, but since so much controversy exploded on this so-called literary heresy, curiosity took over (that and a few people claimed the book changed their lives) so out of mere wonder, I read it.
Unlike my Shack-evangelist friends, this book did not change my life. Sorry friends, don’t be mad – I just was expecting to be made to cry my eyes out and didn’t. Guess I’m either 1) incredibly unsympathetic and cold hearted or 2) the Florida sun dried up my tear ducts. Neither of which are true. Deep down I really hoped it would, I mean – why not, last time I read a book that really changed me was a few years ago when I read “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. I thought of sin and humanity and the nasty matrix within, quite differently. I think reading Dorian Gray started me thinking about homosexuality differently. That was a book that made me think. And still does. So naturally I was hoping the same here.
Yes, the story was great, I was thoroughly entertained. In a nutshell a guy has a huge tragedy happen to him which causes spiritual doubt, anger etc. God leaves him a note to come back to the place (the shack) where this tragedy hit the tipping point and spend the weekend. He goes, and meets God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. They were all in human form and together a fantastic story of redemption was woven. I was pretty engrossed; I flew through the 245ish pages pretty much within a day and a half. Unfortunately, Bill Young is no Pulitzer-prize winning author, and I sometimes lost the ‘wow’ of the moment to the occasional cheesy line or christianeeze slogan arbitrarily thrown in. Many times and definitely at the end I thought “Dang, if CS Lewis or Tolkien would have written this same storyline – WOW, this could be the next great classic!” But they didn’t. So it’s not.
I can see this as something of great encouragement to someone going through a great loss. Mack, the main character, is someone anyone could identify with. He’s a proud dad, works hard, has a good buddy Willie who would do anything for him, lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, has a wonderful wife – yay, all the makings of your standard modern-day mythical utopia. I would recommend this to anyone as a “good ole beach read”, but not much else. I am not sure how this fictional book has end up on the church’s “Top Ten Most Wanted Heresy and Let’s Burn em at the Stake” list, and others aren’t. Maybe it’s because God was portrayed as a black woman. I was envisioning the Oracle from the Matrix the whole time and Mack was Neo, but a much smarter Neo. If you’re one of those people who are appalled that I read The Shack to begin with, please get over yourself and lighten up. I’ve read much worse. You probably should be more concerned with the contents of my iPod then this fictional redemption story.
Maybe I’m a jerk, but the Bible is a pretty great narrative about God, too. If a fictional work takes the place of the Bible – yikes, now we’re in for some heresy. Until then, enjoy it for what it is.
Now I’m reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin. So far it ticks me off.
Unlike my Shack-evangelist friends, this book did not change my life. Sorry friends, don’t be mad – I just was expecting to be made to cry my eyes out and didn’t. Guess I’m either 1) incredibly unsympathetic and cold hearted or 2) the Florida sun dried up my tear ducts. Neither of which are true. Deep down I really hoped it would, I mean – why not, last time I read a book that really changed me was a few years ago when I read “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. I thought of sin and humanity and the nasty matrix within, quite differently. I think reading Dorian Gray started me thinking about homosexuality differently. That was a book that made me think. And still does. So naturally I was hoping the same here.
Yes, the story was great, I was thoroughly entertained. In a nutshell a guy has a huge tragedy happen to him which causes spiritual doubt, anger etc. God leaves him a note to come back to the place (the shack) where this tragedy hit the tipping point and spend the weekend. He goes, and meets God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. They were all in human form and together a fantastic story of redemption was woven. I was pretty engrossed; I flew through the 245ish pages pretty much within a day and a half. Unfortunately, Bill Young is no Pulitzer-prize winning author, and I sometimes lost the ‘wow’ of the moment to the occasional cheesy line or christianeeze slogan arbitrarily thrown in. Many times and definitely at the end I thought “Dang, if CS Lewis or Tolkien would have written this same storyline – WOW, this could be the next great classic!” But they didn’t. So it’s not.
I can see this as something of great encouragement to someone going through a great loss. Mack, the main character, is someone anyone could identify with. He’s a proud dad, works hard, has a good buddy Willie who would do anything for him, lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, has a wonderful wife – yay, all the makings of your standard modern-day mythical utopia. I would recommend this to anyone as a “good ole beach read”, but not much else. I am not sure how this fictional book has end up on the church’s “Top Ten Most Wanted Heresy and Let’s Burn em at the Stake” list, and others aren’t. Maybe it’s because God was portrayed as a black woman. I was envisioning the Oracle from the Matrix the whole time and Mack was Neo, but a much smarter Neo. If you’re one of those people who are appalled that I read The Shack to begin with, please get over yourself and lighten up. I’ve read much worse. You probably should be more concerned with the contents of my iPod then this fictional redemption story.
Maybe I’m a jerk, but the Bible is a pretty great narrative about God, too. If a fictional work takes the place of the Bible – yikes, now we’re in for some heresy. Until then, enjoy it for what it is.
Now I’m reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin. So far it ticks me off.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
This ain't about you....
Blogging is so trendy. And here I am giving into to my own personal introspective peer pressure, starting it up again. I need to - sort of like I need to use my Neti Pot during allergy season - which is 11 months out of the year in North Carolina.
This is my 4th - two previous blogs I kept up with for a long time for two reasons:
1) The first blog was about weight loss and how I kept myself accountable to lose 40 pounds. People actually followed it and read it. And I would honestly make choices based on the fact that someone would read how I failed and ate 3 french fries.
2) The second blog was about struggling through work the past 3 years. It was honest and real, and really should be deleted in case anyone VP's from my workplace ever find it. Should they find it, it probably wouldn't be a terrible thing to discuss some of my experiences. I'm just not ready to be hauled off by men in white coats.
I blog (write, rather) to vent, it's my therapy. It helps me categorize and organized the lottery ping pong balls of thought that ricochet in my brain. Some days there are alot of these, some not so much. I get stuck on finding the right word(s) and have a hard time spitting my thoughts out. Contrary to what people may assume - it isn't the Leinenkugel's or insomnia talking, I really do slur my words naturally. Sad, I know.
So here it is.
My husband just graduated from seminary with his Masters of Divinity, and is subsequently looking for "a call". Our lives are probably going to turn inside out and tap dance all the way to Kalamazoo soon. I'm thinking I need to document how my bird brain deals with it - so I can look back and God's faithfulness (and sense of humor) and be encouraged. Hopefully a byproduct of my rants will encourage someone else.
I leave for vacation in 24 hours and I'm so excited - I feel like it's the night before Christmas and I asked for a new barbie jeep that I KNOW Santa is going to bring me because I already found the "secret present stash bag" and it had Barbie Jeep sunglasses in it. Of course, we didn't have Barbie Jeeps when I was a kid. Just big wheels in ugly yellow and red.
This is my 4th - two previous blogs I kept up with for a long time for two reasons:
1) The first blog was about weight loss and how I kept myself accountable to lose 40 pounds. People actually followed it and read it. And I would honestly make choices based on the fact that someone would read how I failed and ate 3 french fries.
2) The second blog was about struggling through work the past 3 years. It was honest and real, and really should be deleted in case anyone VP's from my workplace ever find it. Should they find it, it probably wouldn't be a terrible thing to discuss some of my experiences. I'm just not ready to be hauled off by men in white coats.
I blog (write, rather) to vent, it's my therapy. It helps me categorize and organized the lottery ping pong balls of thought that ricochet in my brain. Some days there are alot of these, some not so much. I get stuck on finding the right word(s) and have a hard time spitting my thoughts out. Contrary to what people may assume - it isn't the Leinenkugel's or insomnia talking, I really do slur my words naturally. Sad, I know.
So here it is.
My husband just graduated from seminary with his Masters of Divinity, and is subsequently looking for "a call". Our lives are probably going to turn inside out and tap dance all the way to Kalamazoo soon. I'm thinking I need to document how my bird brain deals with it - so I can look back and God's faithfulness (and sense of humor) and be encouraged. Hopefully a byproduct of my rants will encourage someone else.
I leave for vacation in 24 hours and I'm so excited - I feel like it's the night before Christmas and I asked for a new barbie jeep that I KNOW Santa is going to bring me because I already found the "secret present stash bag" and it had Barbie Jeep sunglasses in it. Of course, we didn't have Barbie Jeeps when I was a kid. Just big wheels in ugly yellow and red.
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