Monday, September 7, 2015

Opening Bell


She sat alone.  Not because she was lonely, because she was early.  You know those people.  They're early and loyal.  And Debbi was that person.  Loyal.  I said,  "Do you come here often?" And yes, after it came out, I realized I had just addressed a woman in the corner of a local Dallas coffee shop with a creepy pick-up line.  

I have never been to Dallas.  After visiting the Perot Museum of Nature and Science, we checked our phones, like good hipsters, for a local coffee shop that was open. We came across the Opening Bell.  I called to see their hours, and if they were having live music that night.  "Yes, we are.  In fact, they're two men from Australia.  They'll start at eight."  


We arrived early, too.  I ordered a jalapeƱo kolache and an everything bagel for dinner.   I sat down, with my friends and saw Debbi.  She said she's been coming here for ten years now.  Over the years, she made friends with the owner, Pascale Hall.  

Simple "get-to-know-you" questions rambled out of my mouth, and about the third question in, I knew this woman was a gem.  I asked what she did.  She said she hasn't been working lately, due to some health issues.  I said, "Well, what about hobbies? What do you love to do?"  She said, "Music. I love to listen to live music."  

I got permission to record some of her stories:

"My very first concert was the Rolling Stones.  The first year they came to America.  It was after The Beatles had come and uh, it was just so awesome.  I've just seen some really fun shows.  You pay $3.50 for a ticket, and you'd see all these bands."  

"I remember my mother had a ticket, she was going to go see Ray Charles, and I had gone to downtown Fort Worth on a shopping trip and bought the single from the Beach Boys, 'God Only Knows'.  I came home, and then I went to my elementary school. They had a carnival, you know?  And I stayed too late, and I didn't come home in time, and my mother didn't get to go see Ray Charles.  I always felt so bad about that."

She said, she always let her kids go to concerts, and sometimes she tagged along, too.  She wanted her children to experience what she had when she was younger.

"Well, you know my dad, when The Beatles came to Dallas, he wouldn't let me go.  I think I was twelve.  He was afraid I would get hurt.  There was a girl who got pushed into some glass.  She had to go to the hospital.  My dad said, 'See?'  And I said, 'I know, but Paul McCartney called her!  That would have been worth it!!'  Or so I thought, hahaha."

Debbi was a doll.  She told me some of her story.  She has two beautiful children--one son and one daughter.  She's lived in Texas most of her life.  She asked if "man-buns" were still in. My friend and I, maybe too aggressively, laughed "YES!"  We shared stories and favorite bands/artists.  We shared our lives for a good amount of time.

Talking with Debbi, there is a distinct awe in her spirit.  She genuinely loves observing and appreciating people, music, and the environments around her.  She said she hasn't been able to do the things she used to do since she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She gracefully smiled and mentioned how music has never disappointed her.  Debbi is a light.  She doesn't shine on herself, but others.  Art is only beautiful when eyes like Debbi's delight in it.  She makes the art known and appreciated.  I told her I wanted to write about her, because she has been apart of making so many people famous, and now it was her turn.  
Debbi 

Opening Bell coffee shop is a new home for my heart.  The food was fantastic.  In addition to dinner (my kolache and a bagel), I got dessert, too—one chocolate and one red velvet cake pop, and a bottomless cup of their specialty drip coffee.  The owner, Pascale Hall, came to sit with Debbi and their friends, and I had the privilege to meet and praise her work.

Because of her shop, she has offered locals an opportunity to appreciate.  It is her beautiful gift to Dallas.  (Not just the wonderful food and beverages, but artists, too.)
Pascale, owner

Josh Rennie-Hynes and Steve Grandy are both Australian artists that were on an accident one-week tour in America.  Josh has a unique sound that relates to a blend between The Head and the Heart and Dallas Green from City and Colour.  My favorite song is called, “Lucy”. 

I was going to tell you how I felt, but it gets the better of me
I always tried to be the strong one, I tried to be what you need
But now I’m sitting by the railway station, I’m thinking
‘bout boarding that train
Maybe I’ll head down south again, although in winter it
Only rains

You could’ve called me your father, although it would’ve been
so strange
And I would’ve called you Lucy, I’ve always loved that name


Josh traded his album for a cup of peppermint tea.  I’ve been listening to his art and have enjoyed every song on his album February (also available on iTunes, Spotify, and YouTube).  He and I exchanged some information, and we plan on meeting next year for another tour.  (Maybe some local venues in Fayetteville and Tulsa?  Fingers crossed!  You don’t want to miss him.) 
(left to right) Steve Grady and Josh Rennie-Hynes

Thanks to Pascale and her beautiful artists den, I was gifted with a precious night.  If you find yourself in Dallas, please stop by the Opening Bell. 



Our role in humanity is to appreciate.  We were blessed with the ability to sense and appreciate—others, time, views, sounds, stories, food, man-buns, jokes, textures, favorite cotton t-shirts, smiles, freckles, long car drives, and everything else.  

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Stupid Cheeks

This is a mini blog. 
Okay, next.
I'm on week four of being a Christian camp counselor.
Okay, next. 
Begin reading.


Walking into Starbucks on my time off, I had this weird feeling something was missing... If you've ever been a counselor or a parent, you know what I'm talking about.  It's this sensation that there is LITERALLY nobody behind you, and it's not normal.  I catch myself turning around every minute to make sure there are still twenty-two pairs of eyes and legs shuffling behind me.  When you're leading a flock of sweating, laughing, and corn-dog-filled-campers around a land where the term "Oakhaven" means getting food, "Cracker Barrel" means chaos and milkshakes, and "Fundatory" means exactly what you thinking- fun AND mandatory, your life gets consumed by childlike joy.  I say this is a "mini" blog, because I don't have much time to spit this out.  But, honestly, the best part of my job (if I can even call it that), is challenging myself to be more like a child.  I want to have that precious faith Jesus talks about.  I want to be careful not to be "childish" but strive to be "childlike".   It's easy in a world of theology, philosophy, and other studies that try to answer such big questions, to rely on answers and not faith.

Adults think it's cute when kids believe in something that doesn't make sense.  I think it's brave.  I think knowing answers is important, but I think asking questions is beautiful.  I've recently been asked by many people, "What if at the end, this whole 'Christianity' thing isn't real?"  
I don't know.  That's why it's called, "faith". 



Some people would answer, "then I lived with good morals and had peace."  But I think that's a "by default" reason. 
I refuse to have that "by default" faith. 
I'm going to trust He is real, and at the end, I didn't "happen to live well"... because maybe I didn't.

Maybe, I was uncomfortable. 
Maybe, I had a lot of pain.  
Maybe, I hurt others. 

Instead, "I lived a life where I put faith into something bigger than myself.  Something so mysterious and powerful, I can't explain it."  

And thank goodness, for that.  Thank goodness a mind like mine, very similar to yours, doesn't have all the answers.  Thank goodness, a frizzy, nose-ring-wearing, college student who still shoots snot rockets and misses her aim, can't look up all the science facts and explain all doubts in the world. Thank goodness truth isn't tangible. 

Thank goodness there is a supernatural God that isn't limited to human minds and abilities.  I'm thankful and satisfied daily with the unexplainable.  
I've learned never to trust something you know everything about, because that in itself is contradicting. 


Here's what I do know:
I know we aren't here to die.  I know I have a purpose.  And I believe the explanation is a God that loves, cherishes, protects, and gives me life.  

If you say it's ignorant, and I need to spend more time searching.  I have.  I've tried to doubt God.  It just proved empty and desperately dry. My stomach ached.  I couldn't sleep.  I had anxiety.  I felt worthless.  And it lasted less than month.  

It's childish to tell our Dad, "Nah, I'm good.  I can go through this divorce, alcoholism, finical burden, death, depression... on my own"

It's childlike to humble ourselves, and admit, "Dad, I'm broken.  I'm so messy.  I hurt people and I'm hurt by people.  Forgive me, and give me life, please. I'm desperate."


I don't believe in perfection.  I believe in honesty.  

Jesus wasn't crucified on the cross for the pure.

I'm voluneralbe and I'm honest.  There are moments at camp, a kid's chubby stupid cheeks, the way she pushes her stupid tongue out of her stupid mouth, and squeals/whines/cries with her stupid voice about how she didn't get another turn on the stupid swing, can annoy me.

But the patience I'm learning with these innocent children, is minuscule compared to the patience He has with me and my whiney complaining doubts about His character... for nineteen years. 

I'm so unworthy.  
He's so perfect. 


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Dialogue

 According to a Facebook link (always credible) we spend 70-80% of our time communicating.  That communication includes writing, reading, listening, and speaking.  And if you’re anything like me, you repeat dialogue in your head.   

**Directed to strangers I had just "met"  
(side note, "met" is such a strong word.  I mean, "eavesdropping"  "meeting" it's all interchangeable)
((side note on the side notes, there will be  a lot of side notes))


“Well, hey! (A lot of bit too loudly)
Good luck on your son... (Quietness stilled the restaurant.  Because nobody, including I, knew how to take that comment. Especially because he’s 22—not a sick newborn… just a man graduating from college.)
Huh… (Me verbally realizing I should probably, “ABORT MISSION!”)
Happy late birthday! (To the wife whom I immediately embarrassed just by making eye contact, instead of shoving sushi where my words were spilling out)
 Oh! And happy early birthday!... ?” (To the husband who didn’t have patience for his meal being cooked literally in front of him, let alone a raspy-voiced-frizzy-haired me yelling at him in a [nice] restaurant. Especially when his birthday is four moths away…. Don’t ask how I know that.)

 It gets worse… I touched them.  That’s right, I awkwardly touched two adult strangers on the shoulders in a patting manner. When I realized what I was doing was inappropriate half way through the arm extension, I tried to retrieve, but it was too late.  As they were walking towards the exit (which I unconsciously blocked with my obnoxious body) their bodies collided with my aggressive arm. And before I knew it, the pat happened.  You know that “pat”.  The one that acquaintances, coaches, teachers, or pastors give to kids when they’re proud.  It’s affection in a very innocent and childlike manner.  I gave the pat to adult strangers. Ugh. 
In just one sentence (if you call it that), I single handily made the entire right side of a restaurant, my waiter (who didn’t find my jokes funny, and burned me with rice), and two very confused adults feel violated. 

Dialogue. 

The sad thing is, that was just last night. And honestly, fumbling of words occurs way more often than should.  I have yelled at a pizza boy and made the whole restaurant stop in fear, all because I asked for spinach and olives on my pizza a little too aggressively. (Dang it, Giada!  Look what I get for a good source of vitamin K and heart-healthy unsaturated fats) I have made fun of the movie Frozen to people directly related to the animators of the movie… Frozen (Honestly, I’m proud that particular bounce-back).  I have publically humiliated my crush in front of the entire school, including but not limited to my senior speech.  Me asking a kid at a bounce-house day camp “Hey, sweetie! When’s your birthday?”  “July 2” “JULY 2?!?!? NO WAY!! Wanna know something really weird about July 2?”  “WHAT!?” “My hamster died on July 2 during a Hannah Montana episode, and the now the song, “Start All Over” is ironic.  You know?.”  “…. Can I bounce now?”  “Sure thing!"

Communication is key.  I know these are horror stories for most introverts who do that thing… what’s it called?  Oh! Thinking before you talk. However, as bad as these stories get, and trust me when I say, these aren’t the worst, I love my commutation skills.  “How the heck are you proud of your communication skills, Chloe?”  Good question, random reader who probably didn’t care to ask, but because I typed it out and you’re reading it, you just asked…  I’ll tell you.  See, as bad as these get.  I would relive all of my awkward tasteless blurts of questions, opinions, and assumptions because—aside from these moments—I’ve seen real growth and healing through communication.  Not just communication but specifically, confrontation.


 I’ve heard a lot of girls (and boys) say, “oh, we never fight” when describing their friendships or relationships.  And, yes, I do think to an extent, there is something to be said about compatibility.  One can’t even call it a “friendship” if there isn’t any friendliness.  But I heard a pastor say, “relationships are about sacrifice.”  As I sat in a Cheetos and conflict-free chocolate covered back seat of a bumpy van, I realized how relevant and powerful those words are in all relationships—parental, friendship, and romantic.  Are you willing to give up your pride?  Are you willing to change your dreams for another (even if they don’t ask)?  Are you willing to risk a fight for a better future?   Are you willing to sacrifice your comfort and trade it in for awkwardness?  Are you willing to sacrifice your temper even if somebody is smacking a banana and peanut butter in your ear at 2 am while you’re trying to study and simultaneously learn all the lyrics to the new Selena Gomez song?  (Trust me, my temper is one of the hardest things for me to sacrifice).  However, these are just cute words on a “feeling crafty” canvas posted on Instagram, but it means nothing if you don’t realize the power of confrontation this requires.  How will you ever be able to improve, give up, work on, work through, or forgive, if it’s never brought up?

Something I’ve been honored and blessed with is community.  Community looks different for everybody.  I have about seven very close friendships.  I love each of them very dearly.  Some friendships were born in the depths of smelly puberty filled hall-ways and green eye shadow yearbook photos (aka middle school), and others I met in college doing sophisticated things like coffee dates, philosophical debates, and stealing ducks from the local pond and putting it in Allen Hall 410’s bathroom. 
(i.e. green eye shadow)


Either way, my pastor said, the best friendships are never the easiest ones—they’re the hardest.  If you’re not being challenged to grow, experience, and share they aren’t, by definition, friends.  They’re affirmation buddies.   Yes, “we’ve never fought” sounds cute and maybe on looks good on a resume, but the deepest talks, the best memories, and the purest relationships are the ones willing to get messy in awkward fumbling of words and screaming fits.  Of course, it’s a given, make sure when confronting somebody, it’s with a pure heart and intientions to grow.  “Um… so here’s the deal, I was thinking we should confront some issues.  FOR STARTERS, COULD YOU LIKE NOT CRY TO YOUR MOM SO LOUDLY?  IT REALLY ANNOYS ME WHEN YOUR TEARS WAKE ME UP.  Okay, this was great. Thanks so much.”  This might require a day or so to pray about, but seek and God’s going to give you wisdom.  Trust me, I have to ask all the time… 
Cheesy Picture of Friendship 


Scripture on Biblical confrontation and communication:          
Galatians 6:1-10
2 Timothy 3:16

Matthew 18:15-20