God cares about your class schedule

Signing up for classes is frustrating when you do it just a week and a half before classes are due to begin. All the good stuff is taking up. For me that included everything that I needed to take.

You see, the OT program is a Masters degree. I got a BA so I'm set there, but I still need to fill some prerequisite courses in order to even apply for the program. I decided that I would do this at the local community college since I was already enrolled there (I had been pondering their Culinary Arts program). Yesterday during my meeting with the adviser at GVSU I was given a list of equivalent transfer classes I can take at GRCC. Feeling solid and excited about my new chosen direction I rushed home to sign up for classes online. There were three I needed to take: Algebra, Pyschology and Anatomy & Physiology.

All three were full.

I was determined, however, and, armed with a transcript from Calvin, went to speak with an adviser at GRCC this morning. I asked her if any of the credits I had from my undergrad would cover some of the courses I needed. It was a long shot. I had been a music/art major during college and highly doubted that Music Appreciation and Art History were adequate substitutes for biology and math. But you never know unless you ask. As expected nothing I had would cover what I needed.

The adviser informed me that I should keep checking the available classes. She said that if people don't pay their tuition they get dropped from the class and that people change their minds right up through the first week of class about what they are going to take. She checked her email and told me that the system had just been reset from the day before and that I should look as soon as I had the time because something may have opened up.

I debated about checking on campus or just waiting until I went home. I found my way over to the student life office and got an ID card made (woohoo student discounts all over again!) and got some info about parking before I finally decided I might as well just look. I walked over to the enrollment office and sat down at an available computer. I checked and all three of the classes I needed were still full.

Feeling discouraged I prayed, "God, what should I do? I really feel like this is the direction you are pointing me in and I need these classes. I don't want to wait until next semester to get started." I decided to check just one more time. Mind you this was about two minutes after my initial check.

All three of the classes I needed were suddenly open and they had exactly ONE SEAT EACH.

God is amazing. His timing is perfect and He often does things in ways that cause us to see just how amazing He is and how much He truly cares about us. Even the little things! Who the heck am I that the creator of the universe should care about my class schedule? And I know He does, not just because I got what I needed but because God answered another prayer in the doing of it. Alex and I had been concerned that because I was registering so late I would end up with all night classes and we would never see each other. When God opened up all those classes for me He picked ones that would get me home in time for dinner and be free for the rest of the evening. What a blessing!

So after five years away, come August 31st I'll be a student again. What an adventure. Whoever thought being a follower of Jesus is boring never met my God.

Close Encounters of the Relative Kind

Last Saturday my father called to tell me that my grandmother, his mom, had passed away during the night. It wasn’t at all unexpected. She was 92 and living in a nursing home. I did not have much of a relationship with my grandmother. Not because there were any sort of hard feelings. Far from it. She was a fine woman who raised seven kids all by herself in a rural area of North Carolina (my dad grew up on a cotton and tobacco farm). My dad would call her on Sundays and she would always tell me to “be sweet“. The lack of relationship was simply a matter of distance. She lived nearly 800 miles away. The last time I saw any of my father’s relatives was 8 years ago. So I really just did not know her. The feelings of sadness I had were completely due to the fact that I knew my father was hurting.

My grandmother’s health had been rapidly deteriorating for the past few years. My father told me that he was happy God took her home. That was not surprising. But what he asked me next was. He asked me if I wanted to go to the funeral.

I will admit that my first reaction was to say decline the invitation. Riding in a car for 13 hours to go see relatives I have no connection with for something as depressing as a funeral was not my idea of fun. However, I was the only family member available to travel with my dad. Alex pointed out that it would be a good opportunity for me to simply spend some with my father, and that since I was not employed I really didn’t have an excuse. I couldn’t argue with that. And really, how heartless would I have to be to make my dad go to his mother’s funeral by himself? I know that I sure would want someone I loved to come with me. Besides, the title of this blog is “Adventures in Unemployment”, and traveling across the country with my pops to have a close encounter of the relative kind sure fits that bill.

So on Sunday afternoon my dad drove over from the other side of the state to pick me up. It’s about a two and a half hour drive from GR to my folks‘ house. It did not take long for the ease with which I converse with my father to unfold. It’s something that I’m thankful for. We stopped for dinner at a Quizno’s and talked about random things. At one point we listened to a Dave Matthew’s Band CD and Dad’s conclusion was that he had heard better. We got back to my folks’ house and I was able to chat with my mom and show both of my parents the photos I had taken while in Mexico.

At 5am the following morning we hit the road. The trip in and of itself was pretty straight forward. We talked about many things: music, God, faith, careers, family, relationships. We rocked out to some top radio hits from the 70's and I exposed him to the melodic delights of U2, DMB, Ben Harper and Jars of Clay. At one point my built in ice cream radar had me choose a rest stop that just happened to have a Dairy Queen in it. I discovered that my mother isn't the only parent that has a penchant for the sweet, heavenly goodness of ice cream.

When we arrived at my grandmother's house my dad's oldest sister, my Aunt Mona, had already arrived up from Atlanta. There was an instant warmth about her towards me and I think it is largely due to the fact that she thinks of my dad kind of like her baby. She was 15 when my father was born and pretty much raised him because Grandma was working hard to earn money to care for them all.

My uncle Gene and aunt Silvia live in a double wide right next door to my grandmother's house. For the last five years it was they who cared for my grandmother before they moved her to a home. I love my uncle. He is the closest in age to my father and looks a lot like him. He has a handlebar mustache and usually wears a belt buckle big enough to be his ID. He loves to sing and is quite the story teller. He came over to say hello, but the reunion was short because we had to get to the funeral home for the viewing.

This is only the second time in my life I have seen a dead body. And actually it is the second time within the last year (the last one was a co-worker's elderly father). I had always been a little freaked out by dead bodies because they don't look natural. You can tell they aren't sleeping and something literally looks like it's missing. It is strange to think that only after death is a person's soul visible, and it's only visible because it's no longer there and you notice it's absence. I also have entirely too wild of an imagination and even though I know it's not going to happen I am sort of waiting in anticipation for the person to sit up and scare the living the daylights out of me (one too many zombie movies I guess). Thankfully that did not happen. Grandma actually looked pretty nice.

I stuck close to my dad's side during the viewing. I didn't know anyone else, really, although I was introduced to several people through the night. Oddly enough so was Dad. He met relatives he didn't even know he had, too. It seems that many people knew and loved Grandma. At one point during the evening I slipped outside to call Alex and he asked me if I was surrounded by a war party (for those of you who don't know my dad's side of the family is Cherokee).

After the viewing Dad and I were extremely hungry; we hadn't had any time to eat dinner before we left the house. We drove down the road to a nearby place called Smithfield's and bought some BBQ Pork Sandwiches. We sat up talking with my aunt for a little while before bed.

The next morning a woman from the funeral home actually came to Grandma's house with a limo and picked Aunt Mona, Uncle Gene, Aunt Silvia, Dad and me up. We went to Bethel Baptist Church (where Dad had gone to church as a kid) for the service. I was happy because the pastors who spoke really focused on the fact that this was only a temporary goodbye and we would see Maudie Lawson again on the other side of glory.

Dad and I were the only ones who stuck around to see the actual burial take place. I had never seen one before so I was curious, but for Dad it was about closure; for him it wasn't over until the earth was settled.

There was a small reception inside the church's fellowship with drinks and snacks, but it did not take long for things to wind down and soon we were on our way home. I was not sure what to expect from my relatives after the service, but no one was terribly wrought with anguish or grief. I think it's because Grandma had been on her way out for so long that there was more rejoicing than mourning in that day. She is finally whole and happy with Jesus.

My aunts and uncle took Dad and me to a real southern style buffet for lunch. I enjoyed some spectacular fried chicken and biscuits. After that we hung out at Grandma's house until later that evening when my Uncle Albert and his wife, Gayle, came over with their 4-year-old son, J.J. I ended up being on kid duty (thanks for volunteering me, Dad!) while everyone else listened to Uncle Gene read Grandma's will. The night ended with peach cobbler and some ice cream (YUM).

The next morning Uncle Gene and Aunt Silvia came over to have coffee and chat for a bit. It was really the first chance I had gotten to speak with them about something other than family affairs, and I appreciated the opportunity. Soon, though, Dad and I had packed the car and we were on our way back up to the mitten.

I like traveling with Dad. Here is a sample of how our navigating works:
-Check GPS for route
-Double check directions printed off from Yahoo
-Find discrepency between the two and pull out road map provided by AAA
-Decide to make up our own route and delight in tourturing the GPS
-Change our minds and decide to follow the GPS
-Check the map again and compare it with the Yahoo directions and decide to go with what Yahoo says
-Make a pit stop and find that once again my ice cream radar is functioning properly (Dairy Queen!)
-Check GPS for route and decide to make up our own
-Find out that Yahoo directions and GPS are actually agreeing and change our minds to follow them
-repeat

The cool function of the Garmin is that you can look up restaurants. Dad and I had been living off of fast food mostly so he decided that for dinner on the way home we need to eat at an actual restaurant. He said he felt like popcorn shrimp so i used the GPS to search for a Red Lobster. How cool is that? We had dinner in Toledo and made it back to GR around midnight.

I wasn't sure what to expect on my trip with my Dad. But I am so happy I went.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

Lately I have found myself struggling with thoughts of what to do with my life. Perhaps that shouldn't be surprising considering that I'm unemployed and was feeling unhappy in my last job. I have been struggling greatly with the thought of myself as a graphic designer. I have been looking at other designer's online portfolios and have been consistently, painfully, blown away at how much better their work is compared to mine. I cannot not help but wonder if when I send in my resume to companies if they go to my portfolio and think, "She's worked for five years and this is all she has to show for it? What a joke!"

I can't be surprised if that's the case. If I were truthful to myself I would say that Baker was always just a job for me. I've known other designers or artists and they live and breath their work. They are creating and designing and reading about design and thinking and talking about design outside of their office. They love it. They are wholeheartedly dedicated to it. And I never was.

Outside of the office I never read magazines or blogs about design. If you asked me what the latest trend in design is I couldn't tell you. When I left the office I LEFT the office. I spent time reading cookbooks and fitness magazines. I would work on sewing projects. I'd bake and talk on the phone with friends and hang out with Alex. I wouldn't think about design. I wouldn't peruse the internet reading articles and looking at other people's work. Several times I even tried to motivate myself to learn HTML and web design because I knew it would help me but I never could make myself just sit down and do it.

Before you tell me that I am being too hard on myself, that no one does the things I have written, stop. The reality of the matter is that there are indeed people involved in the creative design field that do those very things. I know a few. It's not to say that they don't have lives and are not social, but they are very dedicated to their craft. It excites them. They live and breath it.

I do not. And perhaps I can never be.

It is a startling conclusion. I've felt dissatisfied for quite some time now and I am beginning to suspect that it may be because I am missing something. I am missing dedication. For the last five years I have dabbled in this and that, doing a little of this and a little of that, and really just scratching the surface of many things. My personality, by default, is attracted to randomness. Call it a short attention span if you want but really it's just that I am excited by change. That is a strength and a weakness. My desire to avoid the mundane and routine is most likely what has allowed me to survive the ups and downs of the past three years so well. And yet, I know that it makes it hard for me to dedicate myself to becoming truly exceptional at something.

I am currently sitting in a Starbucks in Gaslight Village (a small, quaint, almost disgustingly idyllic wealthy part of GR filled with boutiques, salons and restaurants) and on my way here I mused over whether or not Mozart ever wished he had been a baker, or if Steve Jobs (CEO of Apple for those of you with your head under a rock) wished he would have been a tour guide, of if Michael Phelps wishes he would have been a veterinarian, or if even Mother Teresa wished she would have gone to cosmetology school (probably not, but I'm trying to make a point here). It seems that people in our world who we would consider truly exceptional are those who dedicate their entire lives to perfecting a certain craft, ability or calling.

The possibility that I have been afraid of missing something and thus not just picking one thing and sticking with it has haunted me of late. I don't think it's because I feel like I can't, but just because what if it ends up not being just perfect for me? I will have wasted too much effort and time that I can never get back. At yet, each path grows shorter the longer I stay.

And so I have decided to ask myself a question. If I cannot dedicate myself to design, truly living and breathing it and feeling invigorated by it, what can I dedicate myself to? Actually, an even more important question is one that I ask you, dear reader:

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

Whoa. Scary, huh? Think about it for a moment. Don't worry about what's the most logical... don't worry about what's the safest. What would you do? Would you become a doctor? Would you move to Hawaii and open a resort? Would you become a writer or a pastor? I believe that this question reveals the deepest longings of our hearts. Ask the question to yourself. What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail? Perhaps the happiest person in the world would answer, "Exactly what I'm doing right now."

Me? It's only fair for me to answer my own question. I would open a small bakery and coffee/tea shop in a disgustingly idyllic neighborhood like Gaslight Village. I'd offer fresh baked delights like donuts, scones, muffins and cakes. I'd give discounts to veterans and police, fire, military and EMT personal. I'd be closed on Sundays and open early Monday through Friday. I'd offer classes to people that wanted to learn how to make a popover and on Friday and Saturday nights I'd invite local musicians (jazz and classical) to showcase their skills. And maybe if I got really ambitious I'd learn how to make candies and start offering those, too.

The second thing I'd do if I knew I could not fail would be to become a professional classical guitar maestro. Oh yeah. Don't know if I could make any money doing that, but it is a desire.

So, we'll see what happens over the next few weeks. I am not certain what God has in store for me, but I do know that I'm tired of doing the same thing and I am in search of a passion that I can live for.

Perhaps in the end I will find that it was design all along and I just needed to take a break. If not, I will be playing Bach's Partita for lute in E Major while offering free samples of tarts and coffee at my shop's open house.