Of Cover Letters and Other Truth Telling

I'm applying for a new job because my current job is like a vampire for my professional self-confidence.  Every shred of skill, ability and attitude I have honed over the past 15 years of my professional career has almost been drained away by the past 160 hours of my work life.  I took this job because it was a timely opportunity and it was something I thought I could learn how to do, but things are not progressing as I had hoped they might.  Thankfully another opportunity came up that's a better fit for me.  And I have to get out before I lose myself in the trees instead of continuing to develop forests.  I'm good at developing forests - and apparently not so good at learning how to groom the trees.  

For me, the hardest part of applying for jobs is the cover letter.  I grew up in a culture of women where you were to be demure, you were to deflect complements, and you were not to speak highly of yourself in any way.  You were not to express your true opinion because "if you don't have something good to say, don't say anything at all."  So unless you were talking about how good the Jell-O salad was, you kept your mouth shut - or you just kept shoveling food in your mouth until it was the appropriate time to get up and help with kitchen cleanup. (I've wondered on more than one occasion if this is not the root cause of many a church-lady's plumpness.) Voluntary kitchen duty for me has more than once involved "mistakenly" disposing of someone else's hot mess of a potluck dish then disavowing all knowledge about where the rest of it might have gone. 

So writing about myself in a way that places my abilities, talents and experience in a positive light has been a difficult task I have had to learn during my last semester of graduate school. I've had to shed my genteel upbringing and learn how to write about myself in ways I'm not used to.  It has helped me to put myself in the shoes of my mentors, to think about the things they would say about me and my work.  It has also helped me to let go of the control I feel like I need to have over every word I write.  The letters that have won me the interest of prospective employers have been the ones I've fired off quickly, where I've written eloquently about my passions, and the ones where I've treated my abilities and talents with (Yikes!) the most honesty.  


I still shed complements.  I still deflect glory - but only because I work with other women who can only take credit indirectly.  They're also the ones who make the best potluck dishes.  And every Southern woman worth her salt knows that silence is actually the best complement you can give a cook during any meal.  The other one is not refusing to take home leftovers. 

Beef - It's What's Making Me Sick

Beef - It's What's for Dinner.  This is a familiar ad I grew up with - this triggers all kinds of happy memories from grilling out to the theme song from Rogers and Hammerstein's Rodeo.  I was raised on the gold standard of beef - grass fed.  Twice a year, my Dad would scope out a prime specimen among the hundreds of unknowing bovine candidates in our pastures to become our dinner for the next six months.  He'd carefully select the best one out there, load it up in the trailer and roll off to the butcher 80 miles away.  A few days later, we'd pack empty coolers in the back of the Suburban and bring Bessie back to the deep freeze as steaks, roasts, ribs and ground beef.  

Because I was raised on such lusciously wonderful beef, I haven't been particularly impressed by the grocery store's efforts at what they call beef.  This has apparently been a lucky stroke for me.  Several years ago, I had a student who was diagnosed with a beef sensitivity, along with sensitivity to tons of other crazy things like olives.  She was a high achieving student, but reached new heights after she quit eating beef.  A couple of years later, my Mom's skin rash that had been diagnosed as Lupus and subsequently as a Latex/Lanolin allergy was so bad she changed doctors.  She was diagnosed with all kinds of crazy food allergies, including beef, watermelon and Brazil nuts.  She never eats Brazil nuts, so cutting those out was obviously not a problem - the other two were.  But after she quit eating foods she was sensitive to, her skin rash totally disappeared after plaguing her for constantly for more than 10 years. It was when my sister-in-law was diagnosed with similar crazy allergies, including a sensitivity to grapes, that I started to pay attention to my own reactions to foods I eat.  

My culprits:  almonds, soy, fruit whose juice is red, melon/squash, and...you probably saw this coming...beef. I went to the hippie grocery store last weekend (as opposed to the regular folks grocery store with lower prices and *gasp* corn fed beef) specifically to buy the good stuff.  I made this super-licious spaghetti with meat sauce to store away for lunch this week.  I've been eating it like gangbusters because of just how yummy it is.  I've been increasingly indescribably uncomfortable, and I've lost sleep because I've had acid in my mouth all night.  Then last night, I had a pretty wonderful grass-fed burger at a party along with several tums.  I think it was about halfway through the fireworks that a light bulb came on over my head that the Beef was making me sick.  I hadn't eaten any of those other foods in weeks because I'm very careful about not eating them.  It had to be the beef.  

So - this discovery doesn't really help me today.  In a few minutes, I'm off to get antacids to get me through until the Prilosec kicks in.  I've already had as much allergy medicine as I can have and stay awake for work today.  So, goodbye grass fed drips of grease down my happy hamburger eating chin, goodbye chunk of savory Sunday pot roast, goodbye to the sizzle of Ruth's Chris steakhouse, and goodbye spaghetti with super-licious meat sauce - we had a good run.  Now to find an allergist to get official confirmation of my own crazy food allergies. And more Tums.

First International Church of Starbuck’s

I am friends with a group of people that includes several members of the staff of a large local church.  One recently was fired for being too outspoken about church policies he disagreed with.  One was even more recently promoted because her boss recommended her for the position after the woman retired.  The senior pastor of that church resigned a few weeks ago, the hiring committee asked the music minister to resign.  Drama, of course, ensued. 

The response from the church members I know has been strong to say the least.  One side trusts the hiring committee explicitly because “they know things about the situation better than the rest of us do.”  The other side wants to raise hell because they were not involved in the decision making process, ostensibly implying that they would have kept the people happy and found a way to work through things.  I regret to say that this is pretty typical of churches I have known.  The story line is always the same:  do one thing, someone else doesn’t like it, drama ensues. 

I know a lot of folks in conservative churches listen to talk radio – you know the kind I mean - where the radio host is intolerant of any liberal views, cuts people off mid-sentence, and is generally disrespectful of anyone who is even a shade of gray away from his own views.  I can’t stand that stuff, even though I agree with 99.9% of what is said.  I can’t stand it because of how the hosts treat the callers.  My Mamma taught me that that behavior was rude and any lady worth her salt doesn’t treat people that way. 

The sad part is that this is how disagreements are treated in the Christian circles I have been a part of.  Dissent is never treated as an opportunity for exploring a topic.  It’s treated like leprosy.  Only the leper colony is now bigger than the “pure” folks inside the walls of the city.  This is doubly bad for those who ask hard questions because the defensiveness that comes from being a minority compounds the need to draw hard and fast lines about which all members must make a public decision.  It’s Travis’s line in the sand – and I fear that those who stay inside will die a painful death like the rest of the Texan patriots at the Alamo. 

For this church to survive, and many like it, there has to be an intentional process of drawing out the conflict very carefully, skillfully moving toward reconciliation – or at least enough forgiveness that those who choose to stay can move forward together as a church body.  This might be a wonderful opportunity to learn the skill of debate – recognizing the merits and weaknesses of someone else’s argument and presenting your own before both sides come to a new understanding of the issue.  All of this is very Hegelian, and sadly most Christian folks know very little about this nor do they care to learn anything about how to practice it.  But it is likely the most important skill that the pure church insiders need to gain if they are to reach the lepers they have ostracized by their staunch foothold on their version of the truth.

 

I’m not advocating for a looser definition of truth here.  I am advocating for listening, for respect, for openness to others’ ideas & perspectives, for laying down your own pride and considering others as more important than yourself.  All of this is Biblical, yet these phrases do not characterize the way that this church has been treating its staff.  And the lepers become less and less interested in getting back into communities that treat people like they’re enemy guests on an afternoon radio show.  That’s why I think I’ll stay a leper and hang out with the other lepers for a while longer at Starbuck’s on Sunday mornings. The coffee's better there, anyway.  

The Goodness of Coffee

I grew up in a family of coffee drinkers.  If you were not drinking coffee, you pretty much were not allowed at the adult table at holiday meals.  I didn't get my first invite to the adult table until I was in college.  That's when I discovered the local coffee house - Sweet Eugene's.  I also discovered that black was not the only way to drink coffee.  "It puts hair on your chest," my Dad would say.  Maybe that's why I put off the coffee conversion for so long.  I could not imagine how that would be a good thing for me.  


Being introduced to Foo-Foo coffee is what keeps me coming back for more.  I have sought out the best way to make coffee, the best tasting coffee, and have a daily ritual surrounding these things.  I almost won't drink my Mom's coffee flavored water anymore - unless I sneak in to the kitchen after she has prepared the coffee pot for the morning and dump in a few more scoops of grounds.  I'm really glad my brother works in a country that produces good coffee, and that I get to partake of that abundance. 


I am a coffee snob.  I prepare coffee every day in my French Press - one cup of delicious goodness while I eat breakfast and blow dry my hair.  I have been committed to the French Press for years now...until my friend Kate bested me with decaf. 


Now decaf generally tastes like drinking aluminum foil to me, but Friday night - it was the best coffee ever to have crossed my amateur foodie palate.  She made this coffee in what looked like something you'd see in a mad scientist's lab - using filter paper and all.  I felt like I was back in Chemistry with Mr. Ramsey, just as clueless now as I was then.  I was doubtful, because the French Press is superior in every way to any other method.  Well, she explained how this method was actually better, and in the end - that few sips of decaf superseded any other past cup of coffee - smooth, no aluminum foil taste...it made me wonder what goodness it would bring out of my Guatemalan beans.  I might have to give in and get me one of those chemistry sets - if it's going to be that good every time.  It might be time to break up with my French Press.  

Remember the Sabbath Day?

Today, Saturday (this won’t upload until Monday at work because my apartment is slow to fix my internet access), is typically not referred to anymore as the Sabbath.  This has become part of the Western concept of the cycle of work because the beginning stories of the Bible record how early Hebrew people recounted the creation of the universe – and it ended with God resting and declaring that it was good.  So we get some time off at the end of the week.

I remember my small hometown would shut down on Sundays and all but roll up the streets.  As a little kid, Sunday after church we had to go straight home to eat or go to some family member’s house because there was nothing open, nowhere to eat, you couldn’t even buy a gallon of milk at the store because it was closed.  As a pre-teen, we started to eat after church at the Pizza Hut which had just opened.  It quickly became a tradition.  I remember the first time I was sent into the grocery store with money to buy milk after church.  I remember quizzically objecting, “Isn’t it closed on Sundays?”  Not anymore.  Nowadays, the only store I really want something from on Sundays is the only store that’s closed on Sundays – come on, why can’t I remember that Chick-Fil-A chicken biscuits are available on all days EXCEPT Sundays? 

My Bible study this week closed out with a reminder to take a Sabbath rest.  But taking a day off is easy.  Staying out of stores you need something from (or crave a chicken biscuit from) is difficult when you have the day off and others don’t.  The author of the study didn’t stop at challenging us to take a Sabbath rest – he challenged us to “reflect and celebrate” what the week has brought, what we have created, and who we are because of our created-ness.  The hard part of what he asked – that I will not be doing – was to stay home, require no work of someone else, and enjoy being with family. 

I had a friend in seminary who became Jewish, moved to L.A., and married a Rabbi all within a few months.  It was exciting to see her go on a journey toward expressing outwardly where she had already moved inwardly.  Her new Sabbath practices were instructive for me, too.  No turning on lights you didn’t need, no sweating, no walking/driving farther than a set limit, and spending a lot of time eating tasty food, talking with friends and family, and reflecting on the goodness of God.  I have to admit that the way it changed my perspective made me consider making the switch to the ancient side of the Good Book. 

Today, I plan to practice the second half of that list – the eating, talking and reflecting part.  But I am going to drive farther than prescribed to do that, and I am going to require that someone work to tear my movie ticket.  I might even require that someone work to listen to me complain about my lack of internet.  I hope to have my energy restored, to cultivate social connections, and to enjoy God’s creation along Farm to Market 485.  I hope to arrive back home tonight with a smile in my soul.  I think God would be pleased with that Sabbath practice.  I know I will be – now if only I could remember that Chick-Fil-A will be closed tomorrow…

There's a ditch on both sides of the road

As a kid, I used to ride in our giant 1970's van with my brothers and my mom out to the field to take my Dad lunch when he was plowing.  Most of our land is contiguous to our homestead, but we have one place that is 8 miles or so east down a long, straight country road.  One day, instead of driving our normal route into the field through the pasture, we needed to drop the lunch and head to town (oh, glorious day!), so we pulled off the road to wait for Dad to circle back around in the tractor. 

Little did we know that the very tall weeds there obscured a deep (very deep) drainage ditch.  Now, in the Texas Panhandle these are not full of weeds or water very often, but this was a wet year, so it had grown up with weeds which had hidden how deep and dangerous it was.  So Mom pulls off to the side of the road and within the blink of an eye the giant 1970's van was teetering on the edge of disaster, hanging from a cliff over a drainage ditch.  Luckily, my Mom's panic was allayed by a man driving by who took to rescue us from certain death (it was only three feet down).  By the time the tractor made it's way around the field, Dad reminded Mom that of course there was indeed a culvert there that had always been there - didn't she remember? This did not please her.

Generally ditches are used in one of two cases: either to avoid something bad  (say, a car passing another car in oncoming traffic and they cut it a little close) or after something bad has already happened (when there are flashing lights behind you and the man in the Ray-Bans asks you to pull over).  I almost had a convergence of these two circumstances south of Valley Mills, pulling over to let others pass me and almost hitting a highway patrolman who had someone pulled over in the ditch right in front of me. I think we both saw our lives flash before our eyes that day.

I say this sometimes when I refer to problems with extremes.  There are fundamentalists on both sides of all issues.  More often than not, they have more in common with each other than anyone in the middle.  There are problems with almost every area of human life related to extreme overuse and extreme underuse of our bodies, nutrition, work, liesure,....  Exercising too much leads to injury.  Exercising too little leads to heart problems.  Eating too little leads to digestive problems.  Eating too much leads to obesity.  Working too much leads to relational dysfunction.  Working too little leads to poverty.  Too much free time results in bad choices related to boredom.  Too little free time makes you unavailable for spontaneous fun.  When the issue of extremes comes up, I always say "There's a ditch on both sides of the road."  More often than not, people will stop and say, "Yeah, that's true!" 

The thing with life on extreme terms is that you can only be there for so long before the drainage culvert of death catches up to you.  That's when you're going to need someone to swoop in to rescue you.  When that happens, I hope your road is easy to get back on and someone kind heps you back to the middle. 

Someday May Never Come

My to-do app on my phone has three time designations – Today, Tomorrow and Someday.  I wonder about the Somedays.  I mean, it really does sound like an honest to goodness day of the week.  It would sound even more like a day of the week of we used it a little differently.  Instead of “Someday, I’d like to eat Sushi there,” it might be easier to think of Someday as an actual day of the week if it was said like this, “Does anyone want to eat Sushi there for lunch on Someday?” (It works better if you give the ‘e’ a little black Baptist preacher getting-uh worked up-uh about-uh Jesus-uh in her sermon-uh sound like “sum-uh-day”).

Someday, I would love to climb a fourteener in Colorado.  Someday, I would love to tube down the Guadalupe.  Someday, I would love to tour Viking sites in northern Europe. Someday, I would like to visit a city and only eat at places featured on “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” (and then spend time becoming acquainted with a cardiologist and a personal trainer).  


Someday, I would love to do all kinds of exciting things like this and more, but most of these really are the kinds of things that are best experienced with other people.  Someday, I’ll pitch one of these activities and someone will actually say they want to do it too and then we’ll actually make plans and actually have a really great story to tell! My Dad has always said that Someday, he wants to go to Alaska, but he has always been waiting for Someday to roll around.  The truth is that Someday may never come.  It’s not a real day of the week, though I tend to treat it that way.

I don’t know when the Someday tasks on my app actually roll over onto the Tomorrow screen, and then Tomorrow becomes Today. (Dont you love how it is sunny and kind of dreamy on Someday?) I don’t have anything entered on that screen, as you can see.  I think you have to actually intentionally move those Someday tasks onto an actual real day in the actual real future.  Otherwise, Someday will always just be out there in the Land of Intentions, which I imagine to be like the neon graveyard outside Las Vegas where all of the once glitzy and flashy neon signs are now rusting, broken and forgotten.  


So this leaves me with a decision.  I can plan tasks and other adventurous excursions for Someday, or I can really actually plan them for Tomorrow, or even better – for Today.  Now that puts a smile on my face.