Old dogs, new tricks

College didn't work out for me. Is it terrible to say that I didn't like school? Don't get me wrong - I was all about making 3:00am Cool Ranch Dorito runs and wearing pajamas to music theory first thing in the morning. I was very into my friends, hot guys and stupid shenanigans, but the school part - meh. Not so much. It's not that I don't like learning - I simply prefer to learn in more non-traditional ways. While I may have my Masters in Life degree from The School of Hard Knocks, pursuing education after my attempt at going to college was never on my list of things to do. 

About a year after I left college, I worked as a Sonic carhop. This was back in the glory days when we made regular minimum wage and everyone tipped the carhops, and when we could literally eat or drink anything we wanted while on shift. My lunch every single day consisted of two chicken strips on a hamburger bun with cheese and ranch dressing and a small side of tater tots that I dipped in their barbecue sauce. I have quite the sophisticated palate. 

I worked there until I had enough cash saved up to buy my first on-my-own car which was a teal green 1994 Chevy Beretta that I affectionately named Buttercup after the green PowerPuff girl who was known for being a little mean and feisty. My first real grown up job was as a secretary for the sweetest old man named Ron. My dad knew him from the HVAC business and knew he had a need for someone in his office to answer phones and do administrative work. I'll never forget how important and adult I felt the first day I drove up to my very first office job in my black slacks and silky work blouse holding my to-go mug of coffee. I was bright eyed, bushy tailed and 20 years old when I entered the work force.

His office is where I got my start in bookkeeping. While I started out as a secretary, I ended up teaching myself how to use Quickbooks and eventually started taking things off of the bookkeeper's plate. When she had to leave, I was primed and ready to take the position and managed the whole tiny office all by myself. Over the years, I've worked for different companies, primarily small businesses, in mostly full charge bookkeeping positions. I've mostly enjoyed my work which seems strange to say. While I have this very outgoing and bubbly personality, I like to stay busy and keep my head down at work and I love that as a bookkeeper, I do the same thing every month over and over again. It might sound boring to some, but I've appreciated the predictability of my job as everything outside of my job is anything but predictable. I've been doing this for twenty years now which is a pretty damn long time.

At the end of 2021, which was in all actuality one hundred and ten times more horrible than 2020, I decided that it was time for a change. I want to do something more fulfilling with my work. Now, I love my current job and my boss and co-workers. The place I work now is the best, but I'm also burnt out and I want to do something new. Since December, I've been researching and reading about different writing opportunities on the internet: copy writing, content writing, ghost writing, articles and blog posts. After talking with a couple of professional writers and checking out dozens of hilarious and amazing copy writers on the internet, I decided this is something I could see myself doing and being good at.

It seems a bit foolish to try something new at my age though. Isn't it true what they say? "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."  Pursuing an entirely different career in this current world climate and economy - I've had my own doubts, especially with my lack of fancy degrees, about my ability to do this. And at the same time, I feel like I'm right where I belong and I would be more foolish not to try.

I have a plan, a brightly colored website, a supportive boss (because I'll be writing for him too) and a pocket full of small business owners I'm slowly reaching out to. I've been setting things in motion for weeks now and honestly, it's kind of weird to have a goal and then doing things to achieve this goal. I've never been one to dream lofty dreams and it's only been since my late 30's that I was able to start imagining a different life for myself. With 41 quickly approaching, I decided it was time to follow my greatest passion and I've been doing just that. I sent off my first application, portfolio and cover letter this morning to work with an organization that other companies use for all of their writing needs. Now, I'm fully prepared for a full on rejection, because who the heck am I to land anything on the first try? But, I felt pretty damn accomplished when I sent off an application for something I've been dreaming of and working on.

Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks? I'm about to show the world that you absolutely can.

Splits: Church and Marriage

*Okay, so - I had planned on continuing my "Faith, Church and MORE nonsense" post, but this came out instead and I'm rolling with it.*

The great unraveling in our marriage gained speed in 2015 when our church went through a major split. Until that point, we had the sweetest community of friends we called framily (Sprint totally stole that from me by the way). We were in ministry together, had barbecues, girls nights, accountability groups, Bible studies and we would always come together if anyone was in need, donating of our time and ourselves to love on our brothers and sisters. I remember how good it felt to belong somewhere especially when I didn't feel that way in my own marriage. 

For the churchy folks reading this, the split was caused by usual church politics garbage where deacons felt like the elders and pastor weren't being leadery enough or preaching the right/relevant things. For the non-churchy folks, some people threw a fit and decided they didn't like this place anymore and used Scripture and prayer as a way of making themselves feel better about deserting the church to go to a "better" one. Many conversations were had about church problems that we were never apart of, so we were blindsided when we heard friends were literally just up and leaving. We felt led to stay while our huge group of friends at this church felt differently and moved on.  As a result, all of the friendships that were made at this church started to fizzle out and the people that we once shared countless meals and intimate details of our lives with, had basically vanished in a matter of weeks. 

Do you know how hard it is to explain a church split to a six year old? All Tommy knew was that he didn't get to see his friends anymore and he was sad and didn't understand what had happened. It broke. My. Heart.

It was devastating to me. This hurt and loss caused a major rift in my relationship with God, and without the distraction of friendships and things to do, all that felt broken with us as a couple seemed more tangible somehow. I lived with this ache in my throat, like I could fall apart at any moment in despair. I was incredibly lonely and having a large group of friends made me feel less alone. I didn't realize how much of a crutch my friends were for sustaining our marriage as long as it did. 

As it would turn out, we ended up leaving this church about a year later after I had become "too noisy." I was being much too vocal for a woman in the church, as women are supposed to be restricted only to children's ministry and other women's things, to sit and be quiet and look pretty and to absolutely not have any kind of voice of influence with the serious and spiritual men. I still have the email from the elder who when repsonding to my thoughts and concerns about the youth group and the teens I had worked with for years, told me that things were simply going to be his way. I was to remember that he was an elder and was speaking on authority of the Pastor and that as a woman and church member, I had to submit to him and his decisions. So I said no. I actually didn't have to submit to this man in any way. So, I waved good riddance and sobbed the entire way home on our last Sunday there. I deserted a couple dozen teenagers after everyone else had left them the year before and I felt like the worst person ever. It was awful. It made me want to be done with church entirely. 

Fast forward another year and a half, the same people who disappeared in the church split, were the exact same people who crawled out of the woodwork to rebuke me for wanting to divorce my husband. Mind you, I hadn't seen or spoken to these people IN A VERY LONG TIME. They had deserted us when everything was falling apart. At the time I was very angry and I told most of them in ugly, angry ways to basically leave me the hell alone and work on their own damn marriages since they had it all figured out. Not my finest hour, but I was very not okay and I pushed everyone else who gave an actual sincere damn away from me because I wanted to feel something other than sad and miserable. I was convinced that mirrors and truth-tellers would keep me in my marital misery. 

It broke me to leave there and it ended up breaking us too. Without the community of people we had grown accustomed to doing life with, there was little left for me to hang on to. I had tried to be as godly as possible and throw myself into every Bible and church activity I could be a part of hoping that I just needed a spiritual kick in the pants to keep me committed to my marriage. The things that usually worked for me didn't work. It took us ages to find another church to call home, and even then, I felt cautious and weary to get involved with anything outside of Sunday morning service. When our marriage ended, there were only a few people that knew or noticed. Our Bible study group frantically tried to keep us together but then ultimately wrote me off because I had no interest in anything other than getting a divorce. Everyone seemed shocked that I wasn't willing to "let him work on some things," and I wasn't "giving him a chance." All I have to say to people like that is: SHUSH YOUR MOUTH. You don't know what you don't know.  

Sidebar: FYI, people going through divorces aren't okay. Realize you don't know the whole story and offer them some unconditional support and encouragement. Regardless of the circumstances, what God says in Scripture about how He hates divorce, or your personal convictions - there is so much going on that you cannot, will not and don't need to understand or know about. Just love people without judgement. And if you can't, then SAY NOTHING and go about your business. 

I went about everything all wrong when it came to my divorce and social media. Shortly after I had filed, I met Travis and we went public with our relationship before my divorce was final. Again, not my finest hour or wisest choice, but there's no going back and undoing what I did. Meeting Travis though was extraordinary and I cannot convey in any amount of words how good it felt to be HAPPY. 

Was it so wrong to want to be with someone new and feel happy after a very long time of not knowing happiness in a relationship? If you ask a churchy person, their answer would be a loud and very holy-sounding, YES. That is wrong. And for good measure, this statement would also be added: "God doesn't care about your happiness Jennifer. He only cares about your holiness." I felt like I had to make a choice between God and being free from a life-less and sad marriage. So I chose freedom.

What I didn't realize then, was that I never had to choose.

Faith, church and nonsense

I grew up in the church - actually and literally grew up there. My Grandfather was the Pastor of the church I went to as a girl so we would be there on Sunday mornings for church service, Wednesday nights for prayer and Friday nights for Bible study. My dad was a deacon and led worship with his guitar with music from those old 80's Maranatha praise song books. My very own aunt and uncle were real-life missionaries and I always thought I was especially Christian cool because not many other kids I knew had actual missionaries in their families.  My mom sang "special music" almost every Sunday, her voice as powerful as the great Sandi Patti. My Sunday school teacher Alice taught Bible stories with paper figures on felt boards.  We always had to memorize a verse every week and recite them first thing Sunday morning for a gold star. My daddy read me a story every night out of The Big Storybook Picture Bible and Grammy made all of my Sunday dresses in precious patterned fabrics where there was always a white collar and a bow.

When I was in middle school, my Grandfather took a Pastoral position in a rural country town and we found a new non-denominational church to attend. The church building was made of white stone and nestled in dozens of huge oak trees that created a canopy to walk under with dark green ivy peeking over all of the sidewalks between the different buildings on campus. I grew up with Christian friends and my closest friends were always from youth group and Sunday school.  To this very day, I am still friends with a guy I've known since the 7th grade and somehow we've always stayed friends because "Friends are Friends Forever." (If you know, you know.) I sported my WWJD bracelet and Christian tees that were supposed to communicate to the world, I'm a really good Christian. I have several friends on social media that I went to church with in middle and high school, with memories of playing Barbarian Women at youth group, moshing to Jesus Freak by DC Talk, scavenger hunts, car washes and spaghetti fundraisers where we served meals and hoped people would donate money to go on a "service" beach trip which was actually a beach trip where on a Saturday afternoon, we washed cars for free in parking lot except for a couple of the bad kids who snuck off to make out and buy sno-cones. Youth group was a whole thing that looked like teenagers learning about God, but in reality it was all about who was crushing on who and who was wearing what, strange, hilarious games, Christian rock music and junk food. Tell me I'm not wrong.

Everything made sense then. Even God. Rules felt clear. Doctrine was black and white. A woman's "place" in the church was understood and rarely challenged. There was always a tasteful balance of hymns and modern worship songs to satisfy the old folks steeped in tradition. Kids obeyed their parents and families all lived in clean suburban neighborhoods where they hosted barbecues and Bible studies and Fellowship Feasts and pre-marital counseling. You didn't associate much with anyone you didn't see outside of Sunday mornings.  Those people were politely and nicely looked down on because they obviously weren't serious about their faith. That was never spoken out loud, but it was clearly seen and understood, even by my adolescent self.

I always got excited when I met another girl who didn't fit the churchy box in the neat and tidy ways that were acceptable. I felt more connected to someone who also liked things that weren't necessarily approved of in Christian circles like Beverly Hills 90210, secular music and collecting Troll dolls because they were cute (not because they represented some kind of evil or witchcraft and yes I was told this). Once I made a friend named Molly who was the coolest chick I'd ever known.  She loved the Beatles and had all of these random things plastered to her bedroom wall - magazine clippsings, art, movie stubs, restaurant napkins, deflated mylar balloons. I ended up modeling my own bedroom just like her because I wanted to be Molly-awesome. She was the coolest and she also said shit sometimes and I loved how she seemed to not care that I heard and she didn't act embarassed that she had used foul language in front of me. She had opinions and vocalized them.  And sometimes, SHE TALKED BACK to her dad. In front of me. The girl was an enigma.

At nearly every retreat, camp and conference I attended, I would "recommit" my life to God. I was mostly good and good at making all of the goodly good choices. I learned I had to cover up my boobs, not wear anything too short that highlighted my butt, and keep my purity intact until my wedding night. Pornography was presented as a man's struggle and was greatly frowned upon, however, "girls didn't have to worry about that, because porn is a guy thing." Women were expected to submit to their husbands no matter what and I always wondered how that was okay, when one boy always came to church with bruises and black eyes because his father physically abused him. I checked my boxes and knew all of the phrases, Scriptures to quote and all of the perfect spiritual answers to give at Bible Study.

Problems were always and only solved with prayer. We would lay hands on someone sick or hurting, and for major illnesses, church pastorswould anoint others with oil. Anyone who went through any kind of trial and hardship were told things like - God has a plan! God won't give you more than you can handle! Stay strong in the Lord and you will get through this! There was always a Scripture to quote that was supposed to uplift and encourage one another and I often wondered why things felt the opposite of what they were saying. God has a plan - but literally, what the hell? I definitely feel like I have more than I can handle on my plate right now. If I don't stay strong in the Lord, will He leave me and I'll be left to figure this out on my own? Is He even here helping me? Others words of encouragement ended up making me feel like faith was so much work because I had to remember to read my Bible and pray every day, not to be anxious or worry about anything, go to church every time there was anything to be there for, maintain my purity, dress appropriately and always be as good as possible. 

A specific and well defined worldview was expected of all Christians. All of us were supposed to be conservative republicans, vote pro-life and view all non-heterosexuals as an abomination. We could go to church and fellowship with people of other races, but we white Christian folks better only marry other white Christian folks. (I found this out in my early 20's when I had shown interest in an african-american man). You were supposed to always tithe 10% of your income to the church and it was rather embarassing if you had nothing to put in the plate that was passed around. The Bible said to care for the poor, the widow and the orphan - and churches did that, as long as it was with the right organization that had bylaws and mission statements that aligned with theirs. It had to fit neatly into the church budget and didn't cost them too much of course.

Everything was understandable and if you didn't understand it, you simply needed to study your Bible more. There was an underlying theology that while we have been saved by grace and salvation is a free gift from God, we absolutely had to maintain said salvation so we always appeared as the good, holy and fruit-bearing Christians we said we were. I lived most of my life believing that what I was doing wasn't enough and maybe I sinned so much because I wasn't ever really saved like I thought I was. I asked God to save me a thousand different times just in case it didn't take the last time I asked.

All of this was etched into my DNA from the moment I came into this world. I didn't question any of it because it all made sense and everything I heard was from my Grandfather-Pastor, Christian parents, church members, Sunday school teachers and Bible study leaders and obviously they were right about everything. 

All of this worked for me though.  

Until it didn't.

(To be continued...)

around the table

It's true what they say: "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." This can be true for many things, but most recently, this has especially been accurate in regards to our dining room table and not having one.

Last September, our previous landlord decided to put the house on the market to take advantage of  sky-rocketing home sales and we found ourselves needing to find a new place to live within 45 days.  All of that was a monumental headache that I don't care to revisit, but the story has a good ending considering we found a bigger, better, newer home for only $45 more a month than we had been paying. God paved the way to make it all happen for us, we secured the house and moved in last October. However, since the move we've been dining room table-less as we scrapped the set we had because all of it was falling apart.  We ended up using a card table and folding chairs in the new house so the kids would have a place to eat and we grown ups have been sitting on the couch eating on our own. It's not ideal, but it's been a temporary solution until we were able to save for something new.

The neighborhood we moved into is a brand new, cookie-cutter housing development full of simple yet nice homes. Our neighbors are pretty great and relatively easy-going. I feel like we walked back to a place in time where neighbors talked to each other, and asked to borrow a cup of sugar on occassion like the 'good ol' days.'  One of of my neighbor-friends picks Jacob up from school every day and we've been invited to a few get-togethers and parties. But our neighborhood is neighbors helping neighbors with any number of things and it's the first sense of community I've had in a very long time.  The subdivision Facebook page is where we all go to chat about all of the neighbory things - like when the farm next door accidently lets their cows out again and they walk over to eat everyone's perrenials from their neatly landscaped front yards. This group has become especially important to keep up with as all delivery services in this neighborhood seem to have a difficult time deciphering address numbers and street names and we are all picking up and taking packages to correct addresses on a daily basis. It helps that everyone is friendly and packages make it to the right place eventually.  

Just two weeks ago, my youngest came to me and asked if we were ever going to eat together as a family again because he missed it. Waves of guilt came over me because I had no idea when we were going to be able to purchase one and naturally, I have had my eye on something specific and expensive. Saving for what I really wanted was going to take awhile, yet here was my child asking me to be more present with him in the evenings around the dinner table.

Saturday, someone posted on the neighborhood page about selling their old dining room set.  He said it was a bit worn out, 15 years old, but still in great condition and wanted $100 bucks for a large rectangle table AND all six chairs. I reached out to him immediately to claim it and to our delight, he was only a few houses down on our street so we were able to carry everything from his house to ours. It's the exact shape I wanted and since it's all real wood, I can sand it all down and paint it to my desired color which is still undecided between ivory or a very, very pale light blue. I've also never refinished anything before, so this will be interesting. (Stay tuned)

We had our first meal all together around the table since we moved into the house last October.  Travis threw some burgers on the grill, I put some tater-tots in the oven, set out carrot sticks and made a huge pitcher of Koolaid. We sat at our new-to-us table and ate our simple meal on paper plates and we laughed and talked and told stories. I could tell that all four of our children were happy to be sitting together with us and each of them had something to say about what it felt like to sit around a dining room table again. There was nothing fancy about the table, or the meal we had prepared, but the simplicity of sharing a meal brought joy and contentment to all of us in one way or another.

If the last couple of years have taught me anything, it's to take nothing for granted; people, health, income, family, air conditioning, cars with good gas mileage, friendships, school-teachers. COVID has had to grow and stretch all of us in uncomfortable ways, and for me, finding contentment in what I have, and being at peace with where I am have been the biggest places of growth for me. Travis and I have been in crisis-survival mode since the week after we got married due to one unforeseen hardship or another.  He recently started a new job and we both finally feel like we can see the light at the end of a very long tunnel, though the state of the world right now makes us both acutely aware that we could lose our desired way of life at any moment just like we did in 2020.

I'm over the moon about this dining room set, even if it's my most unfavorite color of wood and I don't like the fabric on the chairs. I'm grateful to have back what we had lost. Because now I know, exactly what we have.