Orange Soup

I am a very easily irritated person.

Conversations sometimes irritate me. I like to say that I have a low tolerance for inanity, but perhaps I am just uninterested in other people.

Improper drivers irritate me. This is normal, of course, as I believe that I am the only capable driver on the road.

Squeals, screams, yells, and other loud noises (especially without proper warning) irritate me. This, again, is normal as I would appreciate not losing my hearing.

What irritates me perhaps more than anything else, though, is loud eating.

I know someone who has not yet learned to chew with their mouth closed. I glower at them until they notice, growl "chew with your mouth closed," then attempt to go on with my business.

I have had far too many experiences where people are eating normally, but there is no background noise available to drown out the sound. I want to scream "EAT QUIETER!" but I know that this is socially unacceptable.

Today, I had an experience with someone eating carrots. They were eating carrots relatively normally, but they were eating carrots. Many of them. Carrots piled up on the plate as though there was some kind of carrot eating contest and they are in training. I could not really leave the room, and neither could the perpetrator. For those infinite ten minutes (carrots take a long time to eat, especially twenty of them), I was near hyperventilating.

I am very easily irritated. I should work on that.

Unholiness in the holy land (Or Satan can suck it)

Sunday morning in Israel. Almost every one of the other people at Jerusalem University College went to church this morning. I didn't. I slept in. And believe me, it felt glorious. Sometimes I feel like being typically "unholy" is much better spiritual discipline than being typically "holy."

I don't usually like to go really deep into spiritual or theological matters here. However, something important happened to me this week that I want to discuss.

Those that know me well know that what is probably the most important thing to me is my family. I have a rather large family, and several people who count as family despite not being related by blood. Because my family is so important to me, I find it very difficult to do too many things without my family. When I first moved away for school, it was one of the most tumultuous times in my life. It has gotten better since then, but for several reasons I have found myself very eager to be at home in the past few months.

At the beginning of this week, I traveled for two full days from Minnesota to Grand Rapids to Chicago to Istanbul to Tel Aviv and finally to Jerusalem. Incredible opportunity as this is, I found myself terribly homesick. I didn't find this that unusual.

One day, though, it got really bad. I was able to skype with my mom, sister, cousin and nephews (which is an incredible blessing), and I found myself practically weeping due to my desperate wish to be with them instead of just talking with them.

I told my mom that I was unable to sleep and that when I should've been sleeping all I could think about was being at home. My mom told me that I was in a spiritual battle, and that she had spoken to several people that were going to be praying for me during the day and while I slept that night. I went to sleep that night, soon after I talked with my mom. Although I didn't sleep perfectly, I slept much better. I woke the next day with a much more optimistic attitude.

I truly believe that my mom was right, and that a spiritual battle was won that night. I have been much more excited about where I am and the opportunity I have in the past few days. Satan preys on our weaknesses, and one of mine is that I am perhaps too dependent upon those that I love. I thank Jesus and I thank so many prayer warriors for what happened that night as I slept. Due to my physical and emotional exhuastion, there is no way I would have been able to do that on my own.

I am excited to spend the next two weeks in the holy land. And I am excited to be able to say that I am actually excited.

Christmas music sucks

I have a disease.

Not a normal life-threatening kind of disease, but more of an emotional and mental disease.

I get songs stuck in my head really easily and quickly. When a song is stuck in my head, it will not leave for a long time unless I am able to take immediate action against the song. All too frequently, I won't be able to sleep because of a song stuck in my head.

I once did not sleep for an entire night because I had Soulja Boy's Kiss Me Thru the Phone in my head. It was horrible.

I love Christmas. It is one of my favorite holidays because it is all about family and joy and hope and excitement. But I hate Christmas because it is all about walking in winter wonderlands and santa clause coming to town and rudolph, who happens to be a red-nosed reindeer. Oh, and about wishing people a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in Spanish.

Christmas music is so catchy and horrible. Luckily, I have been able to avoid it for the most part this year (three cheers for avoiding malls), and my sleep has not been fraught with jingle bells rocking or frosty snowmans.

Next year I plan to ban Christmas music entirely. From the world.

It's for the best.

Phoenix

Failure.

I fail at a lot of things.

I fail in the way that is getting really old. You know what I mean. When I trip walking up a staircase or spill water on myself and everyone around me says "FAIL." Ugh. Yes, I know.

So, I fail in ways that are laughable, small. Ways that provide amusement for me and those around me.

But I fail in bigger ways, too. Important ways.

Today, I may very likely have failed an important test. A test that, if passed, would ease a lot of worry and suffering for me.

Today, I was reminded again that I am a failure when it comes to change. I was reminded also that I am a failure as a roommate and a failure as a friend. A failure as a person of faith. A failure as a student. A failure at life.

When I physically fall flat on my face, I am able to pick myself up pretty quickly, brush myself off, laugh hysterically for a minute or two, then move on.

This is something I need to learn to do better when it comes to other types of failure.

Making mistakes can be good. It certainly helps with humility. But it also helps remind me that I don't have to be perfect and trying so hard to be perfect is useless.

Hopefully I can learn from my mistakes. Hopefully I am learning to be better at change, a better friend, roommate, person of faith, and student. Hopefully I am learning to live my life in more positive ways.

As I fail again and again, though, I remember that I am not perfect. I pick myself up and dust myself off and try to move on, maybe better this time.

What are people thinking?

Today I saw a mascara commercial.

Another one.

I realized, as I was watching this mascara commercial, that there are several categories of commercials. The ones we see most, though, are car commercials, insurance commercials, hair product commercials, and mascara commercials.

I get the first three. Cars are important, insurance is important, and hair is an integral part of the images of many people.

But mascara?

I have never met a person who actually bought mascara based on anything other than price.

But still, there are commercials. All the time.

These commercials are all about increasing the volume and length and curl of your eyelashes without any of the awful clumping.

Because, of course, if you have lots of long eyelashes you'll be noticed. You'll be much sexier. So sexy, in fact, that you should focus on your eyelashes. Don't worry about anything else if you've got great mascara.

Some of these commercials even boast that their mascara makes your eyelashes look like fake eyelashes without all the fuss of actual fake eyelashes (really). What on earth?

This has gone too far.

Can we all just please agree that regular eyelashes are fine?

Why I don't need a boyfriend

Today someone stood right next to me and said "I want to be with you more than anything." I think maybe I was imagining things.

When I was about 15, I wrote a poem basically to the effect that God was my boyfriend and I wasn't looking for a human boyfriend.

It was a really awful poem.

I think I wrote it in backlash to someone I knew that was going from guy to guy because she was desperate for a boyfriend.

The premise of this poem was ridiculous and the poem itself just sucked, but I still think about it sometimes when I'm trying to convince myself that I don't need or even want a boyfriend.

And it's true. I don't need a boyfriend. I often don't even want one. The grace of my God is sufficient for me. I believe that. I believe that he comforts me when I am broken and gives me hope when I am hopeless. I believe that he is with me when I am lonely and holds me when I am crying.

But sometimes ...

Sometimes I want to have someone that will call me beautiful. Someone that more than anything else wants to spend time with me. Someone who is hilarious but thinks I'm funny too. Someone who is there for me when I need it. Someone to learn how to Salsa with. Or Tango. I'm flexible.

Here's a little secret: my last actual relationship was almost 5 years ago. I was really young. It doesn't even really count.

So maybe ... Maybe I just want to know what all the fuss is about.

Tomorrow perhaps I'll wake up happy and single again. I can wait. But sometimes it is a struggle. Sometimes I feel like a bad feminist because of how much I wish I had a boyfriend.

But here's what I know for sure:

Someone did tell me they want to be with me. And when that someone was hanging on a tree, he told me that he would never let me down, even when I was at my worst. And I believe that he was telling me the truth.

Then friends, now friends

When I was in highschool, I was close with a group of about 15 people. I was especially close with about 5 of them. We hung out a lot, laughed a lot, had numerous inside jokes, and even occasionally shared important conversations.

I thought "these are friends I will never lose."

It is less than four years since I graduated from highschool, and I have not seen one of my close highschool friends in at least two and a half years. I have spoken with only two of them in the last year, and that only on facebook. I attempted to make plans with one of them, but it just never worked out.

I sometimes read the facebook pages of those I used to be close with and wish I was still a part of their lives.

It's my fault, really. At least partly. It certainly has some to do with moving away for school when most of my friends stayed at home. But it also has to do with making my family the ultimate priority when I am at home. It has to do with being too lazy to make an intense effort to see these old friends again.

I just spent a night with some of my friends from college. This year has been difficult in that we have had much less time to spend with each other. Tonight, though, many people were there that had not been around for a long time. We all laughed together and even shared some important conversations. Despite not being together all the time, we are able to be the friends we have always been. This is incredible to me.

And I am terrified.

I am so worried that I will graduate and not see or speak with these closest friends of mine again. I regret so much not being close with my highschool friends anymore. I don't want to regret the same thing with the friends that I have now.

I'm not going to be lazy. I don't care if we're all living all over the world.

I wonder if, were I to have an opportunity to be with my highschool friends again, we would be able to be the friends we always were.

I pray with fervent prayers that I never lose my friends now.