It was almost a year ago that I dialed 911

My phone got all excited and informed me that it was going into emergency mode, making special blips and beeps I’ve never heard from it before or since.

I had been rear-ended by the lunatic in my neighborhood. Out of anger. Because he thought I was stalking him. People, I wish I was making this up.

I had also just learned that I am terrible at car chases, as he got away before I could get a glimpse of his license plate number. I think my fatal error was the three-point turn, giving him a head start. When it was clear I wasn’t  going to chase the guy down, I pulled over and dialed 911. The time was around midnight.

(Feel free to skip this paragraph if you want. I thought some background info might be helpful: Crazy Guy and I did have a brief confrontation before he rear-ended me. It started with him following me several blocks, then driving alongside me on a windy, two-lane road through a ravine. Smart. At first I thought he wanted to pass me, but when I braked he braked too. So I stopped the car, rolled down my window, and shouted, “What do you want?!” He looked a little shocked but yelled back just as angrily, “Why do you keep driving by my house?!” Apparently he thought I was stalking him and had driven by his house several times that night. After arguing for a minute or two I rolled up my window and started driving. He followed me, at times so close that I couldn’t see his headlights in my rear-view mirror. He was looking for a chase, but I refused to drive over the speed limit. I wasn’t afraid of him and I wanted him to know. (My plan was to drive to the fire station and lay on my horn, but we never got there.) When he realized I wasn’t running away he sped up and rear-ended me. That’s when my failed attempt at a car chase happened.)

The police officer who met me at my house was very nice but not very encouraging as to the prospect of catching the perp without a license plate number, especially since my description of the car was along the lines of  “smallish, red, boxy.” I don’t know cars! I can identify Ford Tauruses. And Priuses. And Subaru Outbacks. And Mini Coopers. And Deloreans if the doors are open. Sadly it was none of the above. So I went to bed feeling irritated that justice would not be served. And (I’ll admit it) kind of distraught.

The next day I cruised the neighborhood looking for suspicious red cars, but (unsurprisingly) I didn’t come up with anything too promising. As I was driving home I thought about how odd it was that the red car had left blue paint on my bumper. Blue… like… license plates?

To be continued!

Dear Blog

I am sorry I’ve neglected you. I’ll try to be better.

Justifying one’s existence

IN A STATION OF THE METRO

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

-Ezra Pound

This is one of those poems that a serious scholar can write a book on. Someone probably has. One of my English profs in college spent 2 hours discussing this text in class. And you know what? It was fascinating.

It’s poems like this that English profs use to justify their existence.

I have forgotten the reason for my existence as of late, but I’m sure I’ll find it again. Maybe re-reading Winnie-the-Pooh would help.

Speaking of justifying one’s existence, did you know that I once went to a thesis defense about the use of the word “and” in the Dead Sea Scrolls?

The “Reading is Sexy” Dilemma

While looking for birthday presents for my big sister at my favorite bookstore, I came across a sticker that I just had to buy:

Normally I am not one for bumper stickers. A Christian bumper sticker is probably the last thing I’d put on my car because, let’s face it, when is the last time you thought something nice about another driver? That being said, I still sport my old Trinity parking pass with pride, but that’s on my windshield.

But I digress.

Anyway, I found this “reading is sexy” sticker and I just had to buy it. I had to. How could I not? Enter moral dilemma: do I put it on my car? Part of me wants to so badly, but the other part (probably my better judgment) says no. What would I tell my six-year-old niece if she were to ask about it during her visit this summer?

If one of my sexy, bibliophile friends (you know who you are) will put the sticker on her car, I will gladly pass it on. If not, I suppose I will use it as a bookmark. Such a waste…

Lies, All Lies

Did you know that Miss American Pie was the name of the airplane Buddy Holly went down in? Or that the f-word is an acronym for “for unlawful carnal knowledge”? Or that running through the rain actually gets you wetter than walking through it?

The above are examples of  “facts” I believed at one time to be true. Some, for a long time, telling people over and over that I don’t run through the rain because I’ll get more wet if than if I walk. It’s true. Mythbusters proved it. Dare you question Mythbusters?!

Fortunately, with the advent of the Internet, we now have things like Google and Snopes.com on our side. Every now and then, after explaining something like the etymology of the f-word to someone, I’ll randomly decide to fact-check myself and realize to my chagrin that I’ve been unwittingly spreading urban legends all along.

This is why I need an iPhone.

I could be that annoying person who immediately looks up every interesting fact someone tells me and then informs them that it’s not true. Okay, I don’t know anyone who does that, but I could be the first!

On second thought, maybe I’ll have more friends if I don’t get an iPhone.

Living Sacrifices

A couple of weekends ago, one of the pastors at my church preached a sermon on Romans 12, the Living Sacrifices text. Her sermon was timely for me because that’s something I’ve been pondering lately, what it means to be a living sacrifice. Or, more specifically, what it doesn’t mean.

I am incredibly thankful for the Judeo-Christian values my parents instilled in me, but I do think some things get over-stated by Christian values, one of which being this idea of sacrifice. I grew up with the idea that any nice thing I can do for another person I should do. In general I am in favor of being a nice person. I try to be kind to the people around me. I try to live by the golden rule. But I also think there are times when it’s absolutely appropriate for a person to take care of himself.

On the scale of doormat to drama queen, I am definitely on the former end. NO DRAMA. To the point that in the past, I have sometimes ended up in doormat friendships. It’s something you can do for a while, but after so long a person hits a watershed moment where she either becomes bitter and resentful or starts standing up for herself.

In learning how to set boundaries in friendships, I had an light-bulb moment a few months back. I was thinking about this idea of being a living sacrifice and what exactly Paul means by that. Do I really have to be poured out like a drink offering? Is that what we’re called to? And then it came to me… and forgive me if this is all too obvious to some of you… but we aren’t called to be living sacrifices to each other, but to God.

We are called to be kind to each other. We are called to love our neighbors. We are not called to sacrifice ourselves to them. This is a big lesson for me, that it’s okay to set boundaries for myself in friendships and other relationships, that I don’t have to feel bad about distancing myself from people who don’t treat me with respect (even if they are my “friends”).

Of course, there are absolutely times when the best thing we can do is to die to ourselves and pour ourselves out for other people, but this is not a hard and fast rule. It’s not something we’re called to unconditionally in the Bible or by God. There must be a balance. Perhaps you are in a season of building up, or perhaps you are in a season of tearing down.

Personally, I’ve been in a season of building up for quite some time, and my hope is that soon I will be ready to love more recklessly. But for now I’m thankful for the lesson that it’s okay to guard my heart, that God approves.

Sharing

I love sharing. I love to share my food with whoever’s around me. A piece of chocolate. A handful of nuts. A mint. A sip of my martini. I derive joy from the act of sharing.

But I know that not everyone loves to share. Many people want to eat their entire dessert themselves, thank you very much. And I don’t blame them, but I do wonder what causes a person to love or hate sharing?

My hunch is that it’s a birth-order thing. I’m the youngest among my siblings, so naturally, from the moment of my birth, I was sharing with my brother and sister. I didn’t get my mom to myself; I didn’t get my toys to myself; I didn’t get my room to myself. So, I grew up sharing and now it’s something I genuinely enjoy.

I can also see how oldest and only children might not like to share. They probably thought they were doing just fine until some other sibling came along or they started school and suddenly had to start sharing. That could annoy a person.

But maybe birth order has nothing to do with it and it’s just a personality trait or a personal quirk. Hmm… I believe this calls for a highly scientific poll!