Football, Fanatics, and Family

I’m going to tell you a story.  Actually, I’m going to tell a couple of stories.  My narrative tone may have been influenced somewhat by my recent addiction to the sitcom “How I Met Your Mother” (HIMYM), which is basically about a guy telling his kids a bunch of stories about him and his friends living in New York while he searched for true love.

So in that vein, let me tell you a bunch of stories about me and my friends, family, and...football.

Before I was born, my dad was into football.  Not just into it—he played in high school and college.  He even won awards—he was really good!  But his love of football never really transferred to the rest of our little unit.  I was never coordinated enough to care much about sports; I got hit in the head one too many times in gym class and I guess it knocked out a good chunk of my competitiveness as well.  Growing up, fall and winter weekends were full of yelling in my house—my dad, hollering at the TV with such volume and enthusiasm that the rest of us were forced to take refuge away from the living room.  I didn’t get it.  Not only did I fail to comprehend the game itself, I didn’t see the appeal of cheering for a bunch of guys in tights that I didn’t even know.

Flash forward to college.  I went to a small Presbyterian liberal arts school in Missouri.  We didn’t have a football team; we had a basketball team.  I didn’t really get into that, either.  I was into doing drama for BSU and leading worship at InterVaristy and having long philosophical discussions with my friends.  And in my sophomore year, my family moved from Washington state to Western Pennsylvania.  To Pittsburgh, in fact.  And so I would go “home” to a city I was totally unfamiliar with.

One summer instead of working on campus, I went “home.”  I ended up doing an internship of sorts at the same water authority office in which my mom worked.  And that was when I discovered something strange and unique about Pittsburgh: their love of sports.  All my life, I’d considered football a “guy’s game,” something that gave men an excuse to yell and drink and be physical.  Sure, there was the occasional woman who got into it, but she was the exception.  NOT SO in Pittsburgh, my friend.  As I worked in that office, I overheard grown women sitting around in their jerseys talking about the game.  I was astonished; surely they didn’t mean the football game?  But they did.  I came to learn that these women weren’t an anomaly, either.  Pittsburgh has an overwhelming fixation on their teams—mostly the Steelers, though the Penguins get a lot of love, too, and the Pirates…well, they suck, but it’s still fun to catch a game at PNC park. 

Even the mildest of people can occasionally get caught up in the excitement when their town's team is in a big game, like against a rival, at the playoffs or the Super Bowl.  And everyone kinds roots for their hometown team in such cases.  You know, bit of hometown pride. Pittsburgh, however, tunes in devotedly anytime the Steelers are playing.  Win or lose, they're cheering them on, waving their terrible towels.  Game days find everyone from businessmen to kindergarten teachers wearing black and gold and/or jerseys.  Often at work.  I am not making this up.

And so a strange thing happened: I found myself, for the first time ever, watching the Super Bowl, and actually caring about the outcome.  Actually rooting for a team—unheard of!  I may have said that I rooted for the Redskins because it was the team from the state I was born in, but I never bothered to watch them play a whole game.  Slowly, over the next few years, I became swept up in Steelermania.  Not quite enough to buy my own jersey (though I did consider #43, Polamalu!), and I still had a hard time watching the entire game, but it was by far more invested than I’d ever been.  Pittsburgh’s love of their team—their pride in the Steelers, win or lose—was infectious.  

So, it’s weird for me to tell you this story of how I started watching football, and why I am a Steelers fan.  Weird because I watched the playoffs tonight—all four quarters, AND I yelled at the TV!  Weird because I no longer live in Pittsburgh.  But when you’ve moved around as much as I have, sometimes you hold onto weird things.  Sometimes they’re tangible mementos, sometimes it’s a favorite brand of something, or a certain pronunciation of a word.  Sometimes it’s a football team.  It gives me a strange sense of continuity in a life that is otherwise often fractured.  But it’s also weird because sometimes I get a glimpse of my own transformation from the other side.

For example, once I met an author at a conference.  I’d read some of her stuff, and I was a little in awe of her, so I started rambling.  This was right after the Steelers won the Super Bowl in 2006, and the town was still riding the high.  You need to understand that seriously, Pittsburgh is not like other towns.  I’ve lived a lot of places, but I've never lived anywhere that gets as wholly, almost unanimously invested in a team.  Seriously.  And I had been sucked in.  So I asked her what she thought, haha, of all the hullabaloo still going on.  She looked at me blankly, like she hadn’t noticed.  I tried to explain that it was a big deal to the people of Pittsburgh, where the conference was hosted, and she still had a kind of glazed over look like she’d never considered actually caring about the outcome of a football game…and I realized I’d suddenly become one of them.  I used to be really embarrassed by that story, but now it doesn't seem like that big of a deal.

The 2006 Super Bowl brought about an unfortunate, unforeseen side effect: family drama.  They played against the Seattle Seahawks, and in case you forgot, we used to live in Washington, and still had family in the Seattle area.  (And in fact, we are back again!)  What started as good-natured ribbing ended up becoming harsh on both sides, causing some temporary rifts that have thankfully healed since.  But I still have very good friends and family members who hate my favorite team.  In such cases, it’s easy to get swept up in the moment and forget the bigger picture.  Family & friendships are much more important than who wins a game of football! 

Fanaticism about anything can bring you closer to some people and divide you from others if you’re not careful.  Does that mean it’s bad to be a fanatic?  I don’t think so.  I’m a fan of a lot of things, and a twenty minute conversation with me will probably start to reveal them.  You could even say I geek out about stuff.  But the point of geeking out and becoming a devoted fanatic shouldn’t be merely to prove our own dedication and thereby exclude ourselves from the uninformed, unenlightened masses.  It should be to invite them to share our passions.  That’s what got me into football in the first place—I felt the city of Pittsburgh inviting me to share their joy and fervor over a good game.  If I hadn’t lived there so long (longer than anywhere else in my life) and experienced it for myself, I’d probably hate the Steelers, too.  I usually root for the underdog, and with six Super Bowl wins, the underdog they ain’t.  But instead, I’m a fan.  A black-and-gold-wearing maniac.

The funny thing is, there are tons of other things I’m more fanatic and geeky about than the Steelers.  Ireland, superheroes, Star Wars, philosophy, good stories, God, writing, Switchfoot, and Narnia, just to name a few, in no particular order.  In a way, it’s kind of fun to branch out and defy a few stereotypes.  Football, science fiction, and chick flicks.  Yep, I’m that kind of girl.  

I guess the moral of the story is: if I annoy you with my tweets or facebook status updates about the Steelers…especially when the Super Bowl is on…I’m sorry.  I’m apologizing in advance.  Just know at the end of the day, no matter how fanatic I sound, I am sane, and I care more about you than I do about the Steelers.  Now let's go forth and invite people to share in our fanaticisms, instead of driving them away.

Oh, and…go Steelers!!!  (I couldn’t resist!)

Let’s Hear it for Pain!

(Note: this blog is also featured on Hearitfirst.com this week.)

“Yay!”

Raise your hand if that’s your first thought when things go wrong.

Didn’t think so.

You know all those verses in the bible that talk about rejoicing in the midst of trials? I’m terrible at that. In fact, when something goes wrong in my life, I’m rarely thinking, “What is God trying to teach me?” It’s usually something more like “God, why are you doing this to me? Why did you let this happen?”

It’s something I’m trying to work on.

A couple years back, I was having a miserable time in my life. Honestly, 2005 was one of the worst years I’ve ever had. My mom had cancer, my dad lost his job, we had to move out of the one house I’d ever gotten attached to, I had one of the worst jobs I’ve ever had, and my grandma died. It was really just a rotten year.

But, I survived it. And as things began to get better, I found myself thanking God for moving me out of that dark and dry time. I suppose that’s a better response than not thanking him, but it occurred to me that I could have had a much better attitude during the whole thing.

I’m not one of those people who thinks that being a Christian means putting on a smiley face no matter what’s going wrong in life. You know what I mean. There are people who will always say they are “Fine, thanks,” when you ask them how they are. Although, I admit, I don’t exactly like for people to see me crying, either. I say I believe in being authentic, but I don’t like to let everyone see that I’m hurting.

Yet the Psalms are full of laments. A lament is when you cry out to God in the midst of your troubles. And I was so relieved when I learned that being honest with God was okay. I pour my heart out to Him all the time—and I especially did that Awful Year. BUT I neglected something very important. A Psalm of Lament, no matter how bad the situation was, ends in praise. The Psalmist would break off from his pleading and moaning and end up steadfastly trusting in God’s ultimate goodness.

That’s the hardest part, at least for me. I have a hard time seeing past my circumstances, and trusting that God has something good for me. Oh, I believe it, deep down; but I don’t usually feel it.

The other day, I found out something that troubled my heart. It hurt—even though I truly know that it was good for me. It was not what I had in mind for me, but as I thought about the situation, I realized that it was a perfect opportunity for me to praise God, even when I didn’t feel like it. Understand, I wasn’t mad at God, or shaking a fist or anything; I just felt deeply disappointed. But, I praised Him anyway. And though I don’t actually feel a whole lot better today, I do have a peace about the situation.

It's one of those things where God is trying to teach me not only patience, but to be present. Remember in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, where, where Luke goes to see Yoda? And Yoda says about him, "A long time have I watched this one. All his life as he looked away...to the future, the horizon. Never his mind on where he was, what he was doing."

That's me. I don't know if it's because I have a good imagination, or because I love stories so much, but I have such an easy time picturing what I think God has in store for me. What I wish God had in store for me. And it's so easy for me to be focused on the things to come that I forget to pay attention to what I'm supposed to be doing now.

And when things are a little difficult, like now, it's even easier to wish away the hard circumstances. And that's exactly what God is trying to break me of.

It isn’t easy. But it is good, because God is Good. All the time, as my pastor says. All the time, God is good. Especially today.

Rainbow Garden

There’s this little Chinese Food place that my family and I go to when we get the craving. It’s not far from us, and it’s so much better than the big buffet-style places. As you can probably guess, it’s called Rainbow Garden. Their food is good, and they are very nice.

In fact, the lady who works there now knows my order without me having to say a word; I always get the almond chicken. It’s so good. She also knows my mom (shrimp with garlic sauce).

My mom and I stopped by there for dinner tonight after Community Worship and before we went grocery shopping—you know how dangerous it is to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach!—and we decided to eat in.

It’s a fairly small place, with about four tables, enough room to seat maybe 16 people. The woman who runs the place has a son who is almost always there, usually watching cartoons on video on a little TV. One time he was watching old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons and I wanted to laugh because it was such a blast from the past. Another time he was watching Star Wars (IV, A New Hope) and he had never seen it before.

So this kid sits at the table next to my mother and I as we’re eating. He’s not watching TV this time; he’s playing with play dough. And since we were in such close proximity, he struck up a conversation with us.

Benson’s—that’s his name—favorite game is “guess.” Remember those days? He said he was in first grade and then wanted us to guess how old he was (8, he just had a birthday). Then he asked how old we were. <grinning mischievously> I told him to guess.

“Give me a hint,” he said. So I told him it started with a 2. “Twenty-something,” he murmured. “Stand up,” he said next. So I did, wondering how that was going to help him. After a couple minutes of looking at me rather intently and muttering to himself, he said, “twenty-six.”

I was shocked. That is my age. Kids never guess that, not right away. In fact I had a whole class full of kids trying to guess my age last night. Some were wayyy off. Surprised, I asked him how he knew, and he told me, “I counted.” I have no idea what he meant, and couldn’t bring myself to ask. Sometimes those explanations are best left unsaid.

Nonetheless, it was an encounter that left both my mother and I chuckling. I find kids hilarious most of the time anyway; you just never know what they are going to say. Before we left, Benson asked us when we were coming back. And you know, I’m tempted to go by there again this week just to chat with him! “You can pick a day when you get home,” he told us helpfully.

Well, that’s all I have to say today. Just a (hopefully) amusing story. I probably could have blogged about the British guy who came in for coffee (and a “biscuit”) the other day, but you really don’t want to hear me go all Britophile on here. It’s so sad. But it did reinforce the daydream I have to move to Scotland one day, and continue my search for Mr. Right on a different continent. One that has British accents. *Ahem!* Anyway, that’s all for now. Go and enjoy life with the wonder of a small child…make someone “guess” something today. 

Pursuit of the Ideal

L.M. Montgomery (famed author of the “Anne” series) once wrote a short story titled “The Pursuit of the Ideal,” and basically it was about a guy who tells his best girl friend all about his ideal woman (nearly her opposite in every way) but when he meets her, he realizes that it was his good friend who was his ideal all along. Montgomery also wrote a similar plot line with Anne, who aspired to love a dark, melancholy and poetic man, but found that in the end, she preferred Gilbert, who was not melancholy or very poetic, but laughed at her jokes and appreciated her.

The moral obviously is that what we think we want is not always what is best for us, and I think we can see that in almost any area of life.

But what, I wonder, if our ideal is someone who were are friends with, someone with whom we can laugh with, among other things? What if our ideals are things we actually know would be good for us?

In my blog on Singleness, I mentioned I’ve been single for a long time, and I briefly listed some things I’d (ideally) like in a guy. Having been single so long has a dual effect on me regarding these “ideals”: one is that I feel entitled to at least the majority of them; the other response I have is despair that I will ever find anyone who even remotely matches up.

If I were to list for you the things that I would like in a guy—The Guy—the length and elaborateness would stagger and astound you. It is the result of mentally calculating all the things I ever noticed and liked about guys I have known (whether real or *ahem!* fictional) and things I have observed in relationships. And…probably stuff from sappy chick flicks, too. I know. Shame on me for being out of touch with reality.

And some of the stuff—for example, being able to play the guitar, having an accent of some kind, driving a motorcycle—isn’t really important at all. It’s just fluff. Although…the guitar thing…….no, okay, really, I’m fine. I’m back to reality now. Not important.

Some things are only relatively important, like having the same taste in literature or music or movies. I don’t expect any guy (or anyone, for that matter) to like everything that I like. But at the very least I’d like to think he wouldn’t bash it, to my face, if he knows I love it. It’s okay to disagree on things, to have differing opinions, certainly. Everyone has different tastes. I’m pretty opinionated myself at times. Most times. But for example, tonight a guy was saying some harsh stuff about my favorite band ever. Ouch. Right after I said they were my favorite band ever. Really ouch. Not scoring any points there. Not that he was trying to. But you get the point.

I have decided, however, that a few things really are important to me. Like, non-negotiable. I know, you’re thinking, he has to be a Christian, right? Yes. Of course. That’s a given. But more than that, I want him to be a deep, strong Christian. A Ransomed Heart Christian. The kind of guy who’s read Wild at Heart by John Eldredge and has already gone on his journey with God to learn who he is as a man.

Why is that an Ideal? you may very well ask. Well, let me just say that Mr. Eldredge’s writings have been extremely meaningful and influential to me and my journey as a Christian, and as a woman. I will save further details for another blog at another time.

One thing I really liked about Wild at Heart (which I am currently re-reading) is that although the book was written primarily to give men permission to be men, in the process, it also gave me permission to be a woman. It told me that it was okay to want a strong guy who would fight for me. More than okay—it said it was good! No one had ever really said that before.

It’s a little embarrassing to admit in today’s culture of strong, feminist, “girl-power” women that I actually would like a guy to fight for me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am capable of fighting for myself. But I don’t want to always have to. I like it when chicks kick butt (hello, Alias?  Princess Leia?) but I also tend to really love the heroes in the story.

Think with me now: William Wallace (Braveheart), Aragorn, Spider-Man, Han Solo…these are men who fight for what they believe in, they fight to free and help people. And they also fight for the woman they love. And deep down, I think every woman longs to truly be fought for—not necessarily in the physical sense, punches being thrown and all that, but to know that she is worth the risk. That’s not an Ideal, that’s a part of being a woman.

I know, this all sounds rather silly and perhaps a bit juvenile. The fancies of a girl who’s lost touch with reality. Knights in shining armor and all that…who needs it today? Who even really believes it’s possible? Well, I don’t know how possible or probable it is for me…but for right now, all I have is my Ideal. It’ll Have to Do, as Dean Martin sang, Until the Real Thing Comes Along. 

"Christian" Fiction

I am an aspiring author. That’s what it says in my profile to the right. Basically it means that I really really like to write (hence, the blog that I pound away on for a very small audience) and that I hope one day to be published and recognized as an author. As opposed to a girl who works for a dentist and at a coffee shop and writes in her spare time.

I have actually written a book; I hope to be self-publishing it in the next couple of months. You can read a little more about it on my humble web page, listed under my links to the right. I’m not going to synopize it right here. But if “Found Phoebe” does get taken on by Red Lead Press, you can be assured that I will also add a link to where you can order it online.

A lot of people have asked me, “Is this a Christian book?” The answer is: yes and no. First of all, no, it is not an explicitly Christian book. By this I mean that Phoebe does not go to church, have a conversion experience, nor is there any mention of God. But at the same time, yes, it is a Christian book because I am a Christian, and I am the author. My worldviews are inherent in my writing, just as “The Lord of the Rings” was not an explicitly Christian book, either, yet is loved by many Christians because of the deep theological themes found there. I am not comparing myself to J.R.R. Tolkien; I am just using his work as an illustration. Although my book is not exactly an allegory, there are parallels and Christian themes in the story; furthermore, my book does not endorse any unscriptural activities.

But as a Christian Author, and even just as a Christian Philosopher in college, I have wrestled with this question: what makes something “Christian Art”? I actually took a whole class about it my senior year, thank you, Dr. Wilson.

I think as Christians, we have a tendency to separate ourselves so much from the mainstream culture that we have created our own little bubble of a sub-culture. There was a time in my life when I thought this was good, but I don’t any more. Part of the problem is that the mainstream market has become so liberal that there isn’t a lot of market for Christian religious art. To compensate, we created publishing houses and media companies that would produce Christian art. But to whom? Not to the world, who needs it the most. But to us, so that we could be surrounded only by what is good and theologically sound.

Yes, I know the verse in Philippians where Paul tells us what things we should think on. And I know we are called to be set apart, to live in the world , but not be of it, and certainly not to love the world or anything in it.

But if Christian musicians are just singing about God’s love to Christians, and Christian authors are just writing books about living life as a Christian and selling it only in Christian bookstores, how are we changing the world?

I am not ashamed that my book does not have the plan of salvation in it. I think God uses all things to draw men to him. I think he uses people who don’t even know Him to spread truth, without them even knowing it. I think His truth can be found in very unexpected places, because it is His world, and He is sovereign, and He has put truth in our hearts. I think you can find elements of the gospel everywhere: in movies like Braveheart and Star Wars, in shows like LOST and ALIAS, and in books like Susan Cooper’s “The Dark is Rising Sequence” and yes, dangit, even in the Harry Potter books.

I still haven’t finished “Heaven is Not My Home,” but I do agree with Dr. Paul Marshall that it is our responsibility as Christians to redeem the world, and to bring to light those truths we find. “Found Phoebe” is about fairies and fairy tales. Why? Because fairy tales (as John Eldredge and even C.S. Lewis would say) present a deep view of reality. They show us what is really going on. As does all effective art, Christian or not. 

Singleness

This morning I went to church with my parents. Usually I go on Saturday nights, to Community Worship at Memorial Park. But my dad recently got a job at North park Church, and they wanted to introduce him to the congregation. And he wanted the family to be there. No problem. My brother Kyle and I showed up (thankfully) right on time and took a seat. I was looking kinda cute—at least, I was wearing a blouse, skirt and heels, which is a bit of a stretch for a jeans-and-tee girl like me.

So they go through the announcements and a testimony and a couple of songs and finally ask my parents to go to the front. My dad says he was nervous, but it didn’t show. He was cracking jokes and keeping everyone’s attention. And then he decided to introduce us, his “adult children.” Kyle and I politely stood to say hi to everyone. And then he said it: “And they’re both single.” I sat down immediately. The congregation erupted into laughter.

It’s not that I minded or that I was even mad; it’s more of the label that bothers me. “Single.” Alone. Unpaired. Yeah, okay, so I’m single. Really single.

And if you know me, or if you have read my profile, you know that I’m twenty-six. Twenty-six and single. Is that as depressing as it sounds? I have other friends from college in the same boat. Even a couple that are still living at home, like me. (If you read my earlier posts about jobs it should be abundantly clear that I do not make enough to afford rent and other utilities.)

Most of the time I don’t mind being single. I’ve lived with it for a long time. I like my independence. But I happen to be an incurable romantic. If you look at my favorite movies list, you’ll see a few chick flicks in there. I have more. I am a SAP. When I watch movie and TV shows, I hope that the main characters fall in love and find happiness by then end. I’m a “shipper:” I root for certain couples to get and/or stay together. (Sidebar: some of my favorites include: Sydney and Vaughn from Alias; Bright and Hannah from Everwood; Sun and Jin from Lost; Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione from Harry Potter; and Han and Leia from Star Wars.)

The Point: My Independence and my Hopeless Romantic-ness are quite often at odd with each other. Yes, I’d like to find someone and settle down. Yes, I’d like to get married and have a few kids someday. But I’m afraid I have too many unrealistic expectations planted in my head by my favorite sappy movies. I’m also afraid that some of the standards and things I’m looking for in a guy just aren’t ever going to come together. Deep down I think I do believe that there is a guy out there suited for me just as I am for him, whether or not he happens to be a Scottish, guitar-playing, intellectual, funny, adventurous Christian man. But some days it just seems like I’ll be stuck being labeled “single” forever. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me, but it’s not what I’m hoping for.

But don’t you dare recommend E-harmony to me.