too much

This week, the architecture firm that I work at has been conducting annual performance interviews for every employee. Really, it is purposefully a semi-casual environment that everybody dresses über professional for (i.e. guys in ties and/or sport jacket and ladies ... who knows). I have been at this firm for many years now (since my senior year in high school), and I have spent time with all of my reviewers (4 in all!), so there was no point in being nervous.

So we were sitting and chatting waiting for the last reviewer to join us. It started, it ended, no biggie.

One of the last questions asked me was how do I rate my performance over the last year ... well, half year. My answer: I feel sluggish because I am only working 30 hours and the market is a little slower. It probably seems much more slow to me because I am more accustomed to running than walking - working overtime and rushing to meet project deadlines than having time between tasks and taking off Fridays.

The K of RVK (where I work) corrected me. He said that my six month vacation was no vacation; it was a sabbatical. The best thing that I could have done for myself was going to India. I was at work too much and doing school too much. I thought about adding in church to the short list, but figured it would not help my cause. He then said that I had no life.

That was true. I am working on discovering what having a life looks like. it may mean hanging out with friends - like eating dinner, or enjoying not having something going on every evening after work, having time to volunteer at Habitat for Humanity, or (possibly my favorite) deciding and following through with a wonderful afternoon nap. Currently I am sitting outside at a friend's house watching and playing and loving their dogs. Sitting in the sun is good. Breathing is good. Life is good.

memory/legacy

Part 1: My sister passed on an email that one of her friends sent her. Essentially, her military friend oversees had a conversation with an airman that was stationed in San Antonio at Lackland AFB. (He wants to go to a Spurs' game as soon as he gets back home.) The part that my sister's friend knew would be of interest to her, and thus to me as well, was that this airmen stationed far away from home knew and had worked with my dad.

"I thought you'd like to know that he is being remembered over here." It is very cool and special and some other emotions that I am not sure really what they are.

Part 2: My dad's old Sunday School class commissioned a sculptor in our church to have an altar cross made in memory/honor of my dad. It is a beautiful cross. (Thanks Mike, you did an amazing job).

My point in all this bragging of sorts is really a question. Why is having a dead loved one remembered by others (and yourself) important to us? They are no longer here; their body has begun decay, burned to ash, or (as I desire) played with/on by medical people. Why is memory something that surpasses this and goes to the heart of it all?

I have a hunch it is at least something to do with wanting to be an impactful people and not wanting to live a life that is purposeless in the end. Or maybe memory is one of those God attributes that we are given to illustrate that God never forgets.

grown-up christmas wish

I heard a sermon illustration at the beginning of Advent that has stuck with me these weeks leading into Christmas. Here is the Tammi version - cut down in areas and elaborated where I want.

So kids have no issues telling Santa what they want for Christmas. They lay it all out there. Announce it to the world. Mail letters to the North Pole. And then they wait expectantly.

As an adult, it is like pulling teeth to figure out what someone wants. "Just tell me something so that I know what to get you" we say. But what do we really want for Christmas ... really? Do we not share our hearts and our desires and dreams because we have had our hopes dashed too many times? Are we afraid that it is simply not possible to receive that which we truly desire in the deepest of our beings?

This is kind of where I am at. I don't need "things"; I don't want "things". I have seem happiness when despair might have been a better answer. I have seen such clinging to hope when life isn't life. And stuff doesn't answer the questions that creep in nor the tears that appear without prompting.

I don't want anything for Christmas because what I want, I cannot have. What is my grown-up Christmas wish? To hug my dad, have him hold me. To have our fun, random conversations. To tell him that I love him. He didn't hear that enough.

So what else do I want for Christmas, something that IS possible? To love life, love friends, love hope, love my God. Merry Christmas all!

benefits of not being clergy

I am exceedingly thankful that I am a lay person and not clergy. Why would anyone willing do this? (I say this knowing that my sister is clergy and I have many clergy friends.)

I was reminded why I am thankful for my non-profession status within the church last night. Right now, we (a substantial population of the Williamson clan and extended others) are gathered in Abilene, TX for Thanksgiving. Dinner today will be at least 30 people gathered around several tables, and then we disperse to various napping "stations" (where ever you sit/lay and manage to fall asleep) and football watching.

Anyway, last night both my sister and I were sitting on a couch when our aunt's brother-in-law came over and we started chatting. After learning that Kelli is a pastor, the questions began. The good thing is that he was asking honest questions instead of defensive or antagonistic retorts. I am a fan of the question we heard, "so what do ya'll (Methodists) believe?" Go ahead and try to answer that one. No other promptings. Good times. What I appreciated is that I could answer with, "well, this is what I have come to believe, but I am still learning and could very well be wrong". Clergy don't have that benefit. Once it is discovered what they do, they are direct representatives of that denomination/sect/religion. So my sister was trying to answer various questions with guarded and cautious responses because what she says becomes truth in his eyes. I like having the opportunity to be wrong (sadly, it does happen) and no harm, no foul.

So there's one more thing tallied up to be thankful for this day. Have a happy thankful day and every day.

hurry up and rest

Being in a hurry is a strange thing. Not to say I am unfamiliar with the concept - quite the contrary actually (and sadly). Allow me to expound on it by way of something that I just realized today.

I don't eat breakfast. I like breakfast foods, just at other times of the day. I used to eat breakfast back as a kid until mid-high school-ish. Back then, I really looked forward to that time. I would need to get up early for morning practice (either basketball or band or both), and my dad would also be up early because he was very much a morning person and would drop me off at school on the way into work. So the morning was kind of our little space of time to sit, eat, and catch up on what was happening in that day. It was a nice breath time before the craziness began.

But now, I have learned to value my sleep. I am still a morning person, but I simply "maximize" my time. I get as much of those precious last minutes of sleep, I get up and ready, and then rush off to work. I don't want to "waste" my beloved morning time just sitting around. This is the part that I realized today. And how sad. But I don't want to remedy it.

I also encountered that this last weekend. I decided that I wanted to just go for a ride. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and I didn't want it to slip by me (especially with winter approaching). So I took me, my motorcycle, and my camera, and we (the plural me) rode out to Fredericksburg, about an hour from where I live. And when I got there, I turned around and headed back. But on the way, I found myself hurrying to get ... to get where? It was the ride I wanted and not the destination. Having to literally ask myself, "Self, why I am rushing to relax? Slow down, and enjoy the ride."

I am hundred-fold better at that than I was even a year ago. I do make time now to be chillin' - lounging on my hammock, jumping on my bike for a random ride, or even sitting quietly with my eyes closed when going from one meeting to another or one location to the next. But, oh how much improvement there is to be had.

disappointment with God

(from Yancey's Disappointment With God, page 47 & 48) "For a time God did show up in person, and a man spoke to him face to face as he might speak with a friend. They met together, God and Moses, in a tent pitched just outside the Israelite camp. The rendezvous was no secret. Whenever Moses trudged over to the tent to talk with God, the whole camp turned out to watch. ... And yet what happened during those days almost defies belief. When Moses climbed the sacred mountain stormy with the signs of God's presence, those people who had lived through the ten plagues of Egypt, who had crossed the Red Sea on dry ground, who had drunk water from a rock, who were digesting the miracle manna in their stomachs at that moment - those same people got bored or impatient or rebellious or jealous and apparently forgot all about their God. ... God did not play hide-and-seek with the Israelites; they had every proof of his existence you could ask for. ... The Israelites responded not with worship and love, but with fear and open rebellion. God's visible presence did nothing to improve lasting faith."

And yet.

I [finally] finished reading a book that a friend from my time in India gave me just before leaving. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they accepted me for the internship. With good counsel, I had not made secret what I had recently gone through or was currently going through - and those wonderful people that I worked with, housed with, ate with, worshipped with, accepted the risk that I thought I was. I did experience some times of strong emotion - and not necessarily just around the days of a year out of my dad's death, or his first birthday non-anniversary. I read the book of Job as if I were back in English AP class, dissecting the text for every bit of anything. I so wanted to feel God's presence again, His arms around me holding me up lest I fall.

But maybe sometimes it is better not to have the direct encounter. Because I continued to seek Him, I found beauty and peace. That's not to say that I still do not wish God would say, 'I know I did the direct communication and visible presence thing with the Israelites and it did not work out well for them ... but I will give it another shot.' With the knowledge that God wants me to do this or that, it would make planning specifically much easier. I'm just saying ...

dreams

So I have dreams. Nothing like ML King, Jr. - nothing particularly encouraging or life enriching. Simply a product of my mind deciding it never wants to shut down ... or even go into hibernation mode.

My dreams are vivid. Despite how much sense they don't make sometimes, I still have to question if things really happened. A consequence to that is I am tired when I wake up. And what was worse, while in India on a project trip near Mumbai, I needed to take Malaria meds. A major side effect stated was vivid dreams & hallucinations. Wow, those pills messed with me. I even very recently had a dream about Teletubbies, which was just strange. But this is all besides the point.

Most of the time, when analyzing and picking them apart, what I or others like my sister uncover is that what I ponder during the day, I also ponder at night (albeit in odd ways). Last night was just such a night.

It all started and ended with a mirror. I was speaking in front of a group of people about being real. I stood facing the mirror with my back to the audience. I said that what you see and what I see are very different. I don't know what you see, but I have an idea because I put on certain masks and mannerisms to present the Tammi I want you to think I am. What I see is a woman who is not in fact perfect - no where near it - and many times I don't even try to be. I see imperfection. I see pride even amidst my self loathing, but it's not all bad. I see someone that so desperately wants to hide sometimes - ah ha! that's progress because I used to always want to hide, to disappear. I see my wounds that I tried to make unnoticed for so long, too long. I see me.

I had gone home early on Thursday and while seeing what was on TV, caught the last bit of a Dr. Phil episode. Ordinarily I would skip on by, but the title and what was happening captured my attention. Apparently Dr. Phil is doing a series called Get Real Retreat. A man was telling the group that he doesn't have it all together. He owes child support, is in debt, isn't the father of his child ... he made the choice to be who he is in front of this group and consequently also in front of whatever extremely large television viewing audience.

Way to go secular television. Where is the church? We know that it is only God's grace that first accepted us just as we were, where we were ... and continues to redeem us in just the same way. Why aren't people finding freedom to 'get real' in church among a body of people who know exactly how good it is not to need to hide. And yet - and yet, we still hide from each other.

I am starting to sound preachy. hm. It breaks my heart to see people that are trying so hard and struggling so much to keep their mask (or masks) up. I desire for them to know that freedom - that I still forget I have - of being me.

So still standing facing the dreaded mirror, I say: I want to live my life, not this reflection's life that I have put before you. You and I see different me's, but I want to see me from God's perspective and live like it. And I want to see you - not the image you put before me or what you see, but I want to see you, and love you for you, the real you. As real as California cheese. (sorry, couldn't resist).

Crazy dream, huh? whew. Glad that's not real.

beauty

This seems to be a focus for me lately (still?): the absolute beauty of God's creation.

Most recently, like a few minutes ago, I was reading a New York Times article online titled 'The World, Up Close'. In all confession, to reading, I mean like you can read a picture book. A competition was held recognizing photographs taken through a microscope. The images are amazing. The structure, the color. Beautiful. The first place photo is of algae, the most common type of phytoplankton which was found in mud. In an audio blurb with the photo the photographer said, "God’s finest creation in miniature. Absolutely stunning; they’re beautiful." The same applies in macro - like gazing at galaxies caught in time by Hubble telescope.

I have a friend in India (we went over together at the same time for internship with eMi; he just decided to hang around for another go) who recently survived something very scary. He and another guy from the office where on a bus riding up in the Himalayas heading to client when it started to snow ... lots of snow, in the mountains, on back Indian roads, in an old bus. They (the group of strangers on the bus) were stranded in a small pit stop, highway diner-esque type of place for six days because of an avalanche blocked them in. When the army finally found them, they all hiked three hours to where vehicles could only reach. My friend was just speechless with the beauty of the mountains and snow and yaks (!). He describes it as one of the most beautiful places he has ever seen.

Even where I am right now (which happens to be on the gulf coast at my sister's house). We went for an after-dinner walk along the bay as the sun was setting. It was cloudy, but right at the horizon, as the sun made its last appearance before settling in for the night, this bright orange ball glowed with such force over the waters.

Life is a beautiful thing. Sadly it is easy to overlook much of what God has skillfully crafted, but sometimes, sometimes it just slaps you in the face and awakens drowsy eyes.

choose you this day

I met an amazing woman recently. She would probably object to being labeled as such. However, what I am drawn to about her is her utter level of honesty - even in group settings, even one-on-one among friends. She is who she is, and she owns her past as just that - her past. She is a survivor of many things, including rape and drugs. Though this helped to create who she is, she is not defined by it. She shares in a manner of unabashed openness. The same things that some may be put off by or uncomfortable with, actually draws me in.

My past is not like hers, but her response to what is and what was is something that I am continually growing in. I reveal me (my ups and downs) and I trust - but still cautiously. Her choice to live despite, to thrive despite, to love despite is an encouragement to me - and also a challenge I choose to take on.

who knows what I am thinking

I have been negligent in blogging for some time. As a person who processes internally, journaling is a fantastic way for what I work out and work through to become "real". I have not even opened the pages to my journal since shortly after my return from abroad. I do not know why I do not write - is it a refusal, or me simply leaving no time because I am, once again, busy with commitments that fill each week, or maybe right now the journal season has waned for me? Whatever the case, without this important step, stuff - thoughts, questions, worries, insights, trivia - stays in my head. It is hard for me to create words from abstractions and feelings and parcels of put-together expressions. Hard not necessarily as in difficult, but as in time consuming.

All of this affects the state of this blog, for one, because I simply do not have complete thoughts to share. But also in another way - sharing with others verbally. "How am I?" "What is going on with me?" even "What are your prayer requests?" I don't know, I haven't asked myself.

On a very side note: I have noticed two (probably more, but I no longer remember) things that have made me smile while running around town. I notice more and more motorcyclists on the roads with their beautiful bikes. I do not know why, but it makes me smile. The second is the Indian population that I am seeing. I go to the grocery store or Walmart or driving and I see salwar kamis suits with those choking hazards that is known as a dupata (all of this is typical Indian women dress). What a lovely reminder. It makes me want to go up to these unsuspecting females and just thank them (and probably scare them in or at least confuse them considerably).