a good chuckle...

I went to my friend Janene's open house in honor of her recent marriage. She met her husband in Utah, and they were married there last week, but they're visiting her family at the end of their honeymoon for the Christmas festivities.

Janene and I have been friends since our high school soccer days. She was a classic-literature-loving, piano-playin', studious, modest counterpart on the soccer team, and I especially appreciated her company and friendship during the long bus rides to away games. We would run together sometimes throughout the year. Since she moved to Utah to go to school, we've stayed in touch via phone and facebook messages and the occasional visit when she was home to see her folks.

I had to laugh when, about 5 minutes into our conversation tonight sitting on her stairwell, she asked me, "Are there any boys in your life?" This seems to be a very common question - maybe it's my age, maybe it's the fact that my sister got married, maybe it's something to do with the number of friends I know who have gotten hitched this year (I stopped counting in the mid thirties, remember?)... whatever the case, it's a frequent question I find myself fielding.

Which, in all truth, I don't mind. I know that people ask me out of a sincere desire to see me happy, loved, and in a healthy relationship with a good guy. When friends like Janene ask, I think it's mostly because they feel like their own relationship with a significant other is the most meaningful thing in their life, and they genuinely want me to know they're interested in me and my life, and want to express support for such a meaningful relationship in my own life.

It does make me smile a little though - allow me the self indulgence, please! - because it's sometimes an exercise in patience (and really, this is something of a private joke between God and myself, so maybe it won't make sense to you - my apologies if it falls flat and you don't see the humor in this...) to not retort to people that my value, worth, opinion of myself, goals in life, or accomplishments in my own mind have nothing to do with my relationship status. In fact, several weeks ago (when I wasn't feeling so patient) I whined to a friend, "I am NOT defined by whether or not I'm dating, engaged, or married to someone! I wish people would get that through their thick skulls!!" (in my defense, I think that was after about the 5th person had asked me if I currently had a "special someone" in my life within the scope of about 24 hours...) But most of the time, when people ask me, I smile a genuine smile that maybe only God and I understand, and I answer honestly that I hate to disappoint them, but no, I'm not seeing anyone at this time.

Tonight, though, this rather predictable conversation took a unique turn. Janene looked at me, and maybe seeing the sparkle in my eyes when I answered her, commented, "That's OK, Dani. You're hands down the coolest old maid I know or will ever know! I mean, look at you and your life - you do such awesome things. Most old maids sit around moping. You don't!"

I was so complimented by it that I laughed out loud. I thanked her profusely for the compliment, then paused a moment in the philosophical corner of my mind to comment back to her that there is MUCH I want to do in life - places to go, things to experience, ways to serve, ways to invest in the world, adventures to be had, etc - that I'm really so extremely thankful for where I'm at in life right now. I am, of course, excited for Janene and all my recently married friends, but I simply cannot imagine being in their shoes, thinking about a husband, keeping a house, finishing up my education while trying to learn how to be married, working, kids, in-laws, etc.

I put my hand on her arm and grinned. "I'll make you a deal, friend," I said, "I'll keep adventuring and doing crazy things, and you can live an adventure vicariously through me, and you can do the home-wife-kids thing, and I'll live that adventure vicariously through you. Then we'll both continue to learn and experience new things, but we'll also be content with where we are."

Because really, that's the most important thing to me. God's been teaching me quite persistently that he has placed me here. He has his reasons, and even if I don't understand why, I DO NOT want to be discontent with my present. I think learning to be content is one of the hardest challenges I have - and possibly will - face in life, but I also think it'll be one of the most rewarding. Season in life come and go. Relationships start and end. People are here and then they are not. Babies are born, kids grow up and leave, spouses and best friends die, and nothing seems to be all that permanent.

But I have God. I have my relationship with Him. I have joy and value and purpose and meaning, and I delight in those facts, and can choose to focus on them and be content. Regardless of my circumstances.

So I told Janene, "I have no problem being an old maid!" If that's where God wants me, and if that's where he has me, I'll throw myself into being the most God-loving, alive old maid you can imagine. And I'll play cards while I'm at it...

Roman night... and Ikea photos

Tonight was international night at school. But rather than international, we went back in time to Ancient Rome. People wore togas, we had Roman food (not all ancient), and two gladiators came and gave us some gladiator fighting tips. I'll keep them in mind for wandering around Rome.

Speaking of wandering around Rome, I couldn't be bothered to change back into regular clothes before I came home (loooooooong day today!), so I just threw my jacket on and wandered home in my toga. I got a couple stares, but Rome is really rather un-judgemental (non-judgemental? whatever) when it comes to wearing togas. Now, if I'd been in sweats it would be another story...

Anyhow, I'm off to bed. I'm taking a break from Psalms, and my verse is from the NT. 1 Tim 2:1 "I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them." I spend quite a bit of time walking to and from school each day, or just generally not necessarily being in active conversation with people. Tomorrow I want to be more purposeful about praying for the people I know. There's quite a lot of them, so I should be able to keep busy! :-)

I forgot something and was going to add it (I don't think it was terribly important...), but now I've completely forgotten it and my head hurts too much to try to recall it to memory. This is what I get for the 5 hours of sleep I got last night!

Elle, Esther, and Taylor at Ikea... we practically just moved in!



The first time I didn't check out the FOOD section!



Waiting at the bus stop... beFORE I got left!

Random facts and tidbits

- I'm obsessed with dipping food. Or, at least, that's what my roommates tell me. I dip cheese into honey. I dip carrots into cream cheese/powdered sugar/cinnamon mixtures. I dip biscotti into hot liquids. I dip cookies into jam. I dip apple slices into yogurt. It's getting a little out of hand, I think!

- I write backwards. Not, like, "sdrawkcab", but from the right to the left, mirrored. Like Leo de Vinici did, because he didn't want people to steal his ideas. I just do it when I'm writing notes to myself that I don't want the whole world to be able to read over my shoulder.

- I hit snooze WAY too many times in the morning!

- I am horrible about keeping my phone on silent, and I screen my calls religiously. If I don't recognize a number, I rarely pick it up (if I even hear it ringing in the first place!)

- There was a marathon in Rome today. My friend Jason ran it. I ran in it too - to cross the street twice. I went to IKEA with some friends, which was an adventure and a half! It took a long time to get there via the metro to Termini (which was PACKED! I'm not sure I've EVER seen so many people packed into such a tight space, in fact! I was in direct contact with at least 4 or 5 people the whole trip! Then we switched to a bus and got off at the correct stop. We'd intended to go to H&M, but the mall was closed. So we walked through part of IKEA, and then went to get some lunch, then finished the rest of it. When we went to get back on the bus, I didn't move fast enough and ended up standing at the curb waving goodbye to my friends. I decided to walk to the end of the line, one stop down, to try to meet them. I got lost on the way, though, ending up seeing several cul-de-sacs a little too close and personal before I FINALLY got back to the bus stop. On the bus on the way home we witnessed a fight happening on the street beside a bus stop. It was pretty exciting! A guy got mad at another guy and literally started punching him. Yikes! Anyhow, now I'm home, comfortably in my PJs at the late hour of 7:15PM, and I'm going to do some reading before going to sleeeeeeep. I have guests coming in for a couple days the week after spring break, so I'm going to try to use this week to get ahead on some of my homework so hopefully I can spend my time with them NOT having to write papers and do tons of reading!

Tutto Bene: Coming to a theatre near you!

Today was what I call a rubbish party. No, I did not coin that clever phrase, but I partial to using it, because it describes so well what today was! Rubbish, for you non-Brits, is "garbage" at all the public locations in Great Britian. So, for the sake of an example, you throw out your sandwich wrapper in a rubbish bin. A "rubbish party" is when an event or a series of events occurs that just is... well, garbage! It's useless, wasted, or perhaps you could even apply it to the absolute ridiculous. A very literal application of this phrase is when I was in Morocco, taking the house garbage 10 km into town with my friend Dani to deposit it at the dump. On one of the sharp curves, the garbage can full of several-day-old kitchen scraps and such fell over in the back of the van. That was a literal and figurative rubbish party. We had to clean it up.

Today was the day my roommate Clara and I ventured forth into the great unknown of Industrial Rome to the Questura Ufficio Immigrazione, which is on Via T. Patini, 19, in case anyone needs to know. But don't expect it to be on any maps of the greater Roman area... After arriving last August, I submitted my information to attain my Permesso di Soggirono, aka: My Permit to Stay. Basically, it makes me a legal person living semi-long term here in Rome. It means I'm not just a tourist, I'm here to do something (in my case, study... English Literature. "Litteratura di Inglese? In Roma? Per che?" everyone asks me. Trust me, sometimes I wonder too!). Now, my understanding is that this process used to be fairly simple - a matter of going somewhere, performing some act like getting your fingerprints taken, giving someone some small amount of money (perhaps for the Mafia? One never knows), and then exiting that somewhere with Permission to be in the country. It's not that simple any more. Per che? Io no se! Perhaps because the Italian government seems to collapse every year and a half... maybe this was a law brought into action by some past government that hasn't been changed because Italy as a whole is more concerned about the health-hazard garbage problem in Naples or whether a region in Northern Italy is going to declare their independence from Italy... or who can wear the most designer items at one time, no idea! I just know that I have a lot more patience for people funneling through Ellis Island (wait, that's not in use anymore... but I somehow guess the process must have been similar!).

OK, so Clara and I left about 7:30 to catch a bus, which was the first of our 4-part journey. It was raining, which I did not realize when I got dressed because I hadn't bothered to look out the window. Lazy of me, I know. Anyone who knows me knows I HATE having the bottom of my jeans be wet. And since I don't go for the skinny-let jeans, if it's raining, my jeans ALWAYS end up wet! Today was such a day. 2 inches were soaked by the time we got on the bus.

We made it to Termini without any problems, Clara had to get some passport fotos (they have little automated stands here, like those funky photobooths that are in malls? They're in all the major transportation stations in Europe, and cost 3-5 Euros for 4 passport photos. BRILLIANT. Someone needs to bring that idea to the states!), and then off we were on the metro to the end of line B. The metro is both a very cool and very creepy place for me. The music is always this happy, carnival type music that somehow freakily contrasts the dim, dank, urine-smelling subterranean passageways. And there is always a cold wind. That creeps me out too... I think the poets would call it "the touch of dead posey" or something.

We reached the end of the metro, and exited the station looking for bus 437 or 447. Bus 437 left every 30 minutes, bus 447 left every 15 minutes. We saw a bus 447 at the bus stand across yonder, so we take off running for the bus. Literally, sprinting. My leather trench coat was flying, gum wrappers were falling out of my purse (thank goodness I didn't loose my passport and all the important info for the Permisso!), and my scarf was flapping in the wind behind me as only scarfs can do when their owners try to leave them behind whilst they are attached to the neck.

We dashed across streets with passing cars (I invision this scene as quite dramatic if my life were to be made into a blockbuster movie... Some great music going here, the camera panning in to see how my jeans now have water soaked 6 inches up from the bottom thanks to the puddles) screeching to a halt around us, and the horns blowing and hands waving and people yelling in Italian as only true Italians can do, and we jump onto the bus... Only to realize it isn't turned on. In fact, it's "Deposito," meaning, it's at the end of it's run and waiting for the appointed time to leave (side note: this must be the ONLY time when Italians make an effort to run on something like a schedule... And I think the reason is because the bus driver likes to grab a cappuccino and smoke a cigarette). Not only was the bus not going anywhere at that moment, but the bus is half full of Romans watching the drama of the American girls crossing the 15 lane highway (OK, that's added for dramatic purposes of the movie...). Clara and I sit down, checking to make sure all appendages are still attached, and 30 seconds later a handsome, young Italian man POUNDS on the window next to our heads, and points across the parking lot at another bus 447 that is actually running and ready to depart on the route. The whole busload of people gets off the bus, we wade across the gravel/mud/wet parking lot (8 inches wet now), and get on bus 447 number two. Thanks for looking out for us, handsome bus driver!

The Ufficio Immigrazione is out in Industrial Rome, I think. The road the bus drove down had factories on one side of it, and scrubby fields with disrepaired fences on the other. I soaked up the view of every green blade of grass and rolling hill that I could. We got off at a bus stop on a very obscure, non-government looking stretch of road. I began to wonder if we were being used in some drug-trafficking heist or something for the Mafia - I thought it would have been a nice touch to my action movie - but it ended up it was the legit place. We found this out by walking three blocks down a scantily paved road with no sidewalk and huge mud puddles that - for the most part - the drivers avoided. I was very thankful, although one inconsidered chap drove through a mud puddle/pond and sprayed a nice stream of water all over us, properly soaking the bottom 2 feet of my jeans (Well, OK, that detail was added to the movie too...).

We came to the back of a parking lot with fences that looked like they were indicating there wasn't a way through, but Clara assured me the fences were just for the dramatic affect of the movie, and we wandered through the maze, stepping around cars, puddles and red and white "do not enter" tape to get to the front gate. We made it JUST before a huge crowd of people came, but unfortunately arriving just before a huge crowd of people doesn't mean you get to go in line right away. One man was answering and direction all the people from a windowed counter, and Clara and I were number 3 in line for about 15 people-worth of questions.

We got a number and took a seat, and only about 10 minutes later were called to a different window. The guy who helped us has an uncle who lives in Michigan on a lake. I think he thought Washington and Ohio were close to Michigan, because I think he was asking us if we knew him. I caught all this from hearing the words "Michigan" and "Largo." Clara later confirmed my understanding of the dialogue. We had the whole "Litterature Inglese? In Roma?" conversation, peppered with the proper astonished facial expressions and my humble acknowledgement that yes, I am crazy, yes, I chose to come here because Rome is beautiful (Although, I must say, my jeans were practically screaming opposition to that idea right there in the waiting room), and yes, my Italian is really pathetic... Fortunately, you see, I've memorized this conversation in Italian, so it usually goes pretty well. "Allora" our Michigan-uncle Questura friend finally said, which is how all bad news is given because that's how all news is given because that's how all conversations are started in Italy. Allora. Then, to roughly translate: "There was some mistake, perhaps the secretary at the post office made it, or maybe a computer mis-printed something, I can't say, but there was a mistake, and I have tried to fix it. I tried to put the two of you together for an appointment at the Questura in Trastevere in April - that is the earliest I can get you in - because you need to go to the Questura in Trastevere to complete the next step. Not here. You should not be here. You see? That was the mistake. You are good, though. OK. This is all OK. I scheduled your appointments, and here is the paper you will show them. You are not together because, you see, the computer is telling me there are no appointments together, but this is good. You are good. Everything is good. Go to the Questura in Trastevere on April 5th for you, and April 7th for you - they are at the same time, if that helps - and all will be good. It will be perfecto. You are good."

By this time, my following skills were lagging, and all I was understanding was "tutto bene, tutto bene. OK? Tutto bene." Clara reminded him (quite calmly, I might say, considering the scene that followed) that our visa expired in May, and we needed to GET our permissi before the visa expired, but that got a "Va bene? Tutto bene. OK. Arrivederci!" with a warm smile and something else about Michigan (probably an invitation to visit his uncle there and eat fish). At that moment (I picture this as being a close up of my eyes in the movie, like when the protagonist realizes something important) I understood 3 things: First, that something had gone wrong; Second, that all 5 feet, 100 lbs, and personality-the-size-of-Texas of Clara was going to blow up in front of the Ellis-Island-like waiting room full of African, Middle Eastern, and Eastern Europe immigrants staring at the two light-haired Americans; and Third, that we were being politely excused and I needed to get Clara out of the room FAST!

Heroically, I tucked her under and arm like a football and carried her out, flailing arms and legs surrounding me (Well, that's what'll happen in the movie...), and we found ourselves back in the maze of the parking lot, with me asking, "What just happened?" Clara, understandably upset, accentuated her point by speaking very loudly about *%#@! Italians in general and the $@*#%! Italian government and the $&@*#! immigrations process and how on $@#*%! earth we were going to get back into the country in the fall without our Permissi. I have to say, I agreed with every word. She ranted, I raved all the way back the 10 blocks (that's what it felt like!) through the pond-splashed road to the one bar in probably a 10 mile radius (and if you've ever been to Italy, that's saying something!!!) beside the bus stop. In proper Italian fashion, we decided that this situation called for enduring and drastic measures, so we went inside and ordered cappuccini and cornetti. After standing under the dripping awning of the bar for 20 minutes waiting for either bus 447 or 437 to come (we aren't picky!), and an entirely-too-long bus ride across from a man who hadn't showered in several weeks, I suspect, we back-tracked the remaining steps of our journey and came home soaked, tired, and success-less on our quest to legalize our residency here.

I hope that helps explain what a rubbish party is. I only wish two things: 1 - that I'd had a camera to document the party, but alas, you'll have to wait for the movie! and 2 - that I'd worn a skirt and boots. I HATE HAVING WET JEANS.

I made it in time for my 2nd class of the day, and naturally the 3rd as well. The 4th was cancelled because we're writing a paper for the midterm over the weekend, so I came home and fell fast asleep by 4:30PM. Clearly the rubbish party exhausted me, because I slept until 7:30, and got up to do homework... and do other fun stuff like "hang out" on facebook and myspace. Now, I'm going to sleep for the night because I'm still tired, and tomorrow I intend to awaken and accomplish great and mighty things.

Although I didn't have my camera today, here are two photos from last night, as promised.


The gang, minus Tanner, who was taking the picture



The Trumbo trio - bearers of southern grace and charm to Rome en masse... And after another couple hours with them, all my thoughts are "wyath ah SUHthrn AXsent" Yikes!

Arabic alcohol and awkward moments...

I have a cup of Arabic alcohol steaming hot beside my laptop sitting here at my dining room table. Arabic alcohol is better known as coffee - but I was just reading someplace the other day that since Muslims aren't permitted to drink wine, they drink coffee instead... And coffee used to be known as Arabic alcohol.... I don't know if it is true, but I liked the sound of it! I guess they both are capable of giving you a buzz, albeit different kinds. Well, actually I don't know from personal experience, as I've drank wine, like, twice in my life and it certainly wasn't enough to get anything that I would call "a buzz." And coffee, well, I drink it sometimes, in phases usually, for awhile it's hot tea, then coffee, then hot water... but caffeine rarely makes that big of an impact on me.

Anyhow, onto the awkward moments thing. They also have a different name, actually, popularly known in some circles as "Melvin Moments." Melvin is the awkward turtle that comes out and swims around a bit whenever things get to be a bit awkward. He resides the rest of the time either on my myspace or in my car hanging on a leash around my rearview mirror.

So, I've had a fair share of awkward moments in my lifetime, I think everybody does. But I usually try to forget them! One situation that regularly turns awkward for me, however, relates to the doctor. I've known our doctor for years, and really like her. In fact, I worked in her office for about 18 months, between volunteering and actually working part time, early in my high school career. I left on good terms, of course, and my family regularly gets invited to their Christmas Season open house, and we see them at soccer games and grocery shopping and good stuff like that. I don't really have problems with the doctor herself actually... oh, let me explain, this is getting confusing!

Awhile ago I had to get a blood draw. It wasn't just ANY blood draw, however, it was a blood draw to get a pregnancy test. Now, I'm not pregnant, nor do I intend to GET pregnant ANYtime soon, nor am I at risk of BECOMING pregnant! For the record, I'm waiting for my first KISS until my wedding day, so I wouldn't say I'm a likely candidate for pre-marital sex... BUT, of course, not everyone has the same standards I have.

Anyhow, I called to make the appointment for a blood draw, and they asked what the blood draw was for. Have you ever had to say "It's for a pregnancy test."? yeah, talk about weird! I don't even know the office staff at the office anymore, so that makes it more uncomfortable. See, if it had been the people I had worked with, they would have laughed and said "really, Danielle?! I just KNEW that was coming!" and I would have been comfortable explaining the situation to them (which I haven't explained yet, sorry! It's for some medication that has potentially horrible side affects to unborn babies, so they screen everyone who wants to go on it). But when you don't know the people, and they're trained to treat everyone professionally, they don't do any teasing or make any comments that you feel you can say "No, it isn't like that... here's the deal." Instead, they're completely accepting of it, and you feel like you're suddenly being silently judged! It's weird! Fortunately, since the doctor DOES know me, I don't actually have any problems with her personally. She knows that it is simply a hoop I had to jump through. In fact, one time when I'd had the test done, she came into the room and said "Well, Danielle, I'm sure you'll be surprised by this, but it's negative." And we had a good laugh about it.

So anyhow, I had to go in for a pregnancy test blood draw again today, but this time I was going to a different lab. It had finally become natural and un-awkward (I don't think that's actually a word, but I just made it one!) to go into the office of my regular doctor, because either I'd told the main people at the office, or the doctor had mentioned it to them, but they knew that it wasn't for the NORMAL reason women get pregnancy tests! But then I had to switch to the other lab. I went in with my slip of paper ordering the test, and had it to the gal at the counter. "Hi, I need to get my blood drawn" I told her. She was like, "OK, let me get some info from you." So she asked all the typical questions: what's your address, phone number, etc...

Then she asked my age, my relationship status, and religious preference. I answered "I'm 18, I'm single, and my religious preference is Christian." And suddenly I felt like "Wow, this could be a prime reason why people don't have respect for Christians. I'm an unmarried teenager, claiming to be a Christian, in here to get a pregnancy test." Of course, did I explain WHY I was getting the test done to her? No. Should I have? I don't know. I mean, it isn't really her business, but maybe I should have told her anyhow. Sigh. Talk about an awkward moment!

I had another moment that COULD have been awkward today, but it wasn't. I was in the grocery store picking up laundry detergent, and I ran into the wife of my ex-boyfriend's co- worker. Complicated, I know! But I've figured out life gets that way when boyfriends/girlfriends and/or EX boy/girl friends become a part of your life. I mean, I didn't "date" anyone until I was 18, so for awhile it was just weird to think in terms of "I have a boyfriend." In fact, I had a whole "terminology issue" going on for awhile.... but that's another issue! Maybe I'll get into it later :-) But what's even weirder is thinking in terms of "I have an EX-boyfriend." Yeah, odd. Fortunately, I still think he's a pretty nice guy, and the people he works with are pretty cool too, so running into his co-workers wife wasn't that bad.

In fact, I was genuinely pleased to see her, as I haven't really talked to anyone at his work place since we broke up. I always liked her and enjoyed talked with her anyhow, AND she has the CUTEST little girl EVER, so it was fun to see how she (the daughter) had changed in the past couple months. It was funny though. When I walked out of the grocery store it suddenly hit me how blessed I am. I mean, I could have been in a relationship that just ended altogether badly, and caused a rift of anger, bitterness, or hatred between everyone who knows me and everyone who knows him... but that wasn't the case. Or, at least I haven't got that feeling! Yes, there is obviously a little bit of separation that happens when two people who were together kind of go their own ways, typically with his friends seeing less of her, and vice versa... But at least there isn't, like, animosity between the people that have been friends with him and then gotten to know me... or at least not that I've sensed. Maybe there is, and they're hiding it well, but if that's the case, I'd rather just live in my little naive bubble! I HATE it when people are upset at me.

But that's something else I've learned about in the past little bit. You can't always control what people think of you... in fact, I'm convinced that in my case, it may have been an issue of pride that God has had to work with me on. I've always been a person who has had high standards, idealistic, and I regularly have people say "I want my kids to be like you when they grow up." I think I'd begun to take pride in the fact that people saw me as a role model. I mean, I have good grades, I've never done anything massively stupid like go off the deep end rebelling or anything, I get along with my parents and siblings most of the time, I played sports and did fairly well in them, I've been a student leader in my youth group, I'm artistic, creative, inventive, intelligent, unique, and fairly responsible. (Wow, OK, I feel very egocentric for explaining all of that, but PLEASE believe me that I didn't write it with the intention of bragging!)

Anyhow, I've also been fairly outspoken about the "pitfalls of dating when you're too young to consider marriage" and stuff like that. Obnoxiously so, as a matter of fact. But I always thought MY love story would unfold exactly how I planned it... I would meet an awesome guy between the ages of 18 and 22, we'd "court" for awhile, see God was clearly directing us together, and get married. Storybook romance. It's read like THE perfect example of "Waiting for God's Best" and "Setting an example for people to follow" etc. but..... not everything goes according to plans! I've decided it's great to have theories, but when those theories have to hit the road and actually DRIVE, well, you have to keep your toolkit handy in case a tire comes off or the steering isn't quite right.

Unfortunately, when you're outspoken about things, people have a tendancy to say "OK, I'm going to watch you and see how this works for you." And that's when my pride (and competative nature!) thinks "You just wait. I'm going to prove that my way is the best here." Well, at least that's how it worked for me! So, dating someone and then breaking up with them was like a spotlight highlighting some of my very obvious faults... like pride in doing things "The BEST way" which, in all reality, was simply MY idea of what was best. Now, I'm not saying I'm throwing out my theories all together, or don't see any purpose in praying about and for my future husband. Heck, I still have full intentions of keeping my standards just as high as always, and not getting into dating relationships just because I'm bored or anything. I still won't consider dating someone I wouldn't be interested in marrying, as a matter of fact. But, I have learned that a) I was judgemental about people who have been in more than one relationship. and b) sometimes God has plans that are WAY different from mine! :-) Duh!

See, I kind of thought that the TRULY spiritual were so intune to God that they wouldn't make stupid choices like dating the "wrong" person. I also didn't think that God would "intend" to have someone date a person they weren't going to marry. But, like I said, I've had to re-do my theories! I don't understand everything, for sure. I mean, a part of me wishes I hadn't had the experience of dating someone I'm not going to marry, simply because I would have liked to share ALL of that with my future husband.... BUT, at the same time, an even BIGGER part of me is SO blessed by having the chance to date my ex-boyfriend. I mean, not only have I learned some important things about relationships in general, and obviously God has used it to teach me some MUCH needed lessons, but I also had a heck of a lot of fun with my ex. Good fun, clean fun. And great talks. He introduced me to so many things that I may not have had the chance to experience, like weird foods and vintage candy bars, and different types of music, and movies, and political ideas, and all that kind of stuff. Would I really want to trade all of that to be the "mature role model" I thought I was? HECK NO! Because, in reality, I wasn't as mature as I thought! Or as much of a role model either!!!

But it has been a little hard to think of myself as a "failure," not only for me, but for what I perceive other people to think of me. BUT, as I mentioned, I'm learning that you simply cannot always control what other people think. On top of that, it really shouldn't concern me that much if other people think badly of me. Don't get me wrong, I DO want to be an example (1 Timothy 4:12), but I don't want to be a PROUD example. There's a big difference, I believe! Have I made mistakes? You betcha. Do I regret those mistakes? Absolutely. BUT, at the same time, by making the mistakes, I've learned that it is indeed possible for not only me but other people to make mistakes, and I believe God has used the experience to give me a greater mercy for other people as I have had to face God in need of his mercy. I hope I've learned that, at least. And I think I'm learning to deal with all parts of relationships (learning as in STARTING to learn!) in a proper manner. I can thank God for the blessings, confess my shortcomings, thank him for his mercy and forgiveness, and then move on. You can't hold on to the past, either the good or the bad. Both can enrich your lives, but it must be in the proper manner.

OK, I'm getting theoretical (or I guess hypothetical would be the correct term!) again... I usually end up doing this, don't I?! :-) So I'm gonna stop now! Wow, we've covered a lot of ground... coffee to Melvin to preganancy tests to my ex-boyfriend to lessons I've been learning... I don't know if you enjoyed it, but I appreciate the chance to organize my thoughts and put them on a page. Thanks for sticking with me so long folks! I hope you have a wonderful evening!