Why I Should Write Screenplays Instead of Novels

Proof That I Ought to Write Comedic, Romantic Screenplays, Not Novels

Point One: I'm a Dreamer

 I have dreams, and then I have vivid dreams. There are dreams that feel like dreams and then there are dreams that feel realer than real life. Do yours have that distinction? The best part about these vivid dreams are the fact that in most cases, they are full of things I have never before felt, or at a depth I have never felt them and with no exceptions, they come unexpectedly and have nothing to do with what I assume I will dream about. My brain somehow concocts the most intricate pieces of entertainment from my subconscious and imagination. As I sleep, I live them. A dream-dream will fade within the first hour of my waking up. Sometimes, if I'm jostled awake too abruptly by my "Somewhere Beyond the Sea" alarm, I'll forget them in an instant. But the vivid dreams exist as if preserved by some good fairy's charms. They aren't always romantic dreams either--once I had to be the assistant of a wordless FBI agent. I have run a week before on the fumes of a vivid dream just as I would if it was a real experience. They don't come often--perhaps every several months--but when they come, they are a delight. I had one the other night. I'll skip the details except for telling you that it was a perfectly innocent dream of a slightly-famous and highly-attractive man moving into the house across the road and falling in love with me. At one point in the dream he took my hand and laced his fingers through mine and, laughing, took me into the house to meet his parents and his eight year old niece.

I wish I could describe to you just how real it felt. Everything, from the feel of his fingers between mine to the slightly-stupid question I asked at the beginning when his sudden tenderness toward me sent me into much warm-cheeked confusion, felt extremely calm and real. Which is hilarious, because I've never met this person or had someone hold my hand that way, and the people who live in the house across the street have been there since we moved in. All the details are ones I have never consciously considered. The reality of the dream continued when, after visiting with the man's parents, I checked my phone and realized that it was 11:30 and I had needed to be at work by 9:00. I pulled a Cinderella then and fled the scene, sending a panicked text to my boss with something along the lines of, "Sorry I'm late--a really sweet/handsome man started talking to me and I thought it had only been fifteen minutes!"

Such a lame excuse, isn't it?

But I love dreams like this. I spent the entire day after that dream feeling loved and cherished and excited about something...what was it? Oh yeah. That ridiculously vivid dream. I laughed to myself over it, then told it to my siblings where it was laughed over and taunted further. One of my sisters put together a love-lorn playlist and we danced around the kitchen, putting dinner together to the tune of "Not That Girl" and "Marry Me." The point of this post so far is to let you in on my frame of mind before socking you with...

Point Two: I'm queen of serendipitous hilarity

Because, though fun, not only was our kitchen dance session amazingly pathetic but the reason for my flushed cheeks and starry eyes was some dumb dream about someone I will never meet and never think about without provocation. Still, I have told you before that I'm easily satisfied with small things and if it is pitiable that having a dream about someone holding my hand and saying pretty things to me sets me up for a fortnight, at least I'm not hard to please. As I have said, I felt quite airy and blushy this day and the dancing only made it feel more real. Whenever this sort of dream-thing begins to happen in real life, I already know I'm going to be hilarious. I'm going to be the person who is smiling about nothing. I'll be perfectly functional, but everyone will know I am in love. I mean, seriously: I'm made happier than a caterpillar in May to have a dream about something I didn't know I wanted.

I had almost gotten this ridiculous mood out of my system when I took my littlest brother upstairs to change into pajamas. In my room, I found my cat and she looked so sleepy and cuddly that I felt like rummaging her awake and dragging her into my fine humor. I get like this sometimes: I can't leave the cat alone, even if she's sleeping peacefully. I just have to bounce her. So I plopped on the bed beside her, then laced her paw through my fingers and continued the conversation from the dream with my other hand stroking her fine ruff.

And then it happened. The part I couldn't have scripted any better if I'd been writing that screenplay:

Just as I got to the cleverest part of the dream conversation and had almost determined to finish waking the cat by scooping her into my arms and dancing Aurora-wise about the room to annoy her, the dratted beast began to hack up a hairball. Not your normal, easy-going hairball. This one must have been lodged and stuck and never gonna come out, no sir.

"HACK, HACK, HUCKKKKKKK. HACK, HACK." 

I un-laced her paw. I sat up straight. I started to laugh.

"HURKKKKKK, HACK, HACK, HYUCK."

I dumped the choking animal unceremoniously on the floor and watched her body convulse. Get it out, darlin'. My little brother joined the circus and tweeted--yes, tweeted like a bird--every time she hacked and giggled in between It was quite the chorus, I tell you:

"HUCK"

*tweet!*

"HACCCCKKK"

*tweet*

That twinkly, rose-flavored feeling from the day--that in-love for no good reason about no real person--belongs strictly to dreams. It's wonderfully pleasant and I look forward with delight to the rare occasions when I get a vivid dream instead of the whisked-away sort. But the truth is, it's all imaginary. There is no guy in my life who wants to hold my hand and take me to meet his parents and tour his childhood home and laugh over the fact that we're standing in the front yard together and I really just asked if his windows had a good view. No one like that. Not yet. He might be on his way, but he isn't here and the house across the street boasts a tubby country boy and his slender wife and his little-man son and the only person who holds my hand is the three year old on her way to go potty. So while the vividness of the dream is a good substitute for things I have never experienced, the real parts of my life are much more realistic and quite hilarious.

 I'm not a Cinderella or an Aurora and I'm pretty sure that when my man comes, he'll probably not fit the description of the amazing man from the dream (you won't guess who it is. If you do guess, I won't tell you. But it isn't Tom Hiddleston) and he probably won't be your classic Prince Charming. In many ways, he'll probably be better. But I have one requirement for the elusive fella:

He'd better be up for dance parties and hair-balls.

My Ragamuffin Heart

The sun is sifting down below the up-thrust of pines across the cotton field. Silver clouds stretch greyhound-shaped across a pure blue sky, trying to outstrip the dusk that will overtake them with a Midas touch and spin them into gold threads. I have spent the afternoon reading aloud a good novel to my younger sister while she practices drawing portraits. My seven year old sister, Grace, was baptized today with ten others. After church, my cousin and I went out to lunch--the cousin I scarcely see anymore, since we both took up the professional life. He paid, though he knew I didn't expect it. For dinner this evening, we have leftovers from Dad's birthday: the most delicious sort of leftovers. My trench-coat smells of adventure, or maybe it is only last night's bonfire.My sisters and I have saved our portion to eat at another bonfire tonight: sourdough bread toasted over open flames, pork tenderloin crisped over a wood fire. Perhaps my cousin will come over. Perhaps we'll have one of the Good Old Times. It's cold tonight and October is reckoning. Yesterday, I saw one of my girlhood friends and her new, velvet baby. In three short weeks my beloved older brother is marrying my best friend.

Grace abounds; overflows; caresses; shouts.

But am I content?

I wish I could say yes, without telling a lie. I am thankful for all these blessings--recounting them now, I am ashamed at the discontentment blotting this beautiful, autumn page. But if I am going to be entirely honest--and how am I to be credible if don't?--than I have to tell you that my heart is weak tonight. Tonight, my heart looks at all this and thinks, "Yes, it's very nice, but it's not what I want most." What do I want most? I hesitate to ask myself this question because I know my answer and I know the right answer, and they're not the same. Not tonight.

Tonight, what my heart wants most is a husband.

There. I said it. Be shocked if you want, or agree with me. Tell me that isn't where I will find my fulfillment. I know this. I know this deeper than deep down in my soul. But for all the knowing, it doesn't mean that I don't want it. And the reason I want it so badly, is this: my heart doubts He can do it. My heart doubts that God can overcome the details of my desires vs. current realities. My heart doubts. I've finally said it. I laugh, like Sarah, at the idea that God could do it. I tally up on burned fingers the number of ways in which I'm not good enough, pretty enough, clever enough, talented enough, attractive enough, busy enough, traveled enough, holy enough to even come close to thinking there's a chance I'll win the heart of any man, if I knew of a man whose heart I wanted to win. It isn't easy to write this here for all of you to see. I would much rather put a brave face on, be the sensible woman I usually am, and say I'm perfectly content with my admittedly beautiful life. Tonight, that's not where my heart is.

But there's this thing about hearts, a secret I learned by rote a long time ago. A secret whose import I haven't bothered to understand until now. Now I think I understand what it really means. Funny, how seven words can change from meaningless to meaning so much in an unholy moment, made holy by the revelation. "The heart is deceitful above all things." Deceitful. Lying. Cheating. Unfair. Dishonest. My heart is all these things. Tonight, my heart tells me that God can't do it. GOD. The same God who made this entire universe, who, this March, turned an unsuspecting me from unemployed to having a precious job, who has acted like the best sort of romantic and caused two of my favorite people to fall in love with each other, who has given me the gift of having a house in a quiet corner of the country where I can see the sunrises and sunsets each day and the stars like crystal-shards at night. God can't do it. Or He won't. Or can't and won't. God isn't going to do it, my heart says. It thinks it is right.

My head knows this isn't true. My head hardly ever wavers from a circumspect course. But heads can't feel and hearts can. They can hurt like hell. Hearts can throw back their heads and howl and blur away the blessing from the moments, steal the breath, beat the temples with an almost physical blow. Hearts can speak louder than any thought, and their words are poison. A head, in this situation is useless. My soul is another matter. It is quiet tonight. So quiet, I almost worry I have killed it in my perversity of spirit. Thank God that's theologically impossible. "What's up, Soul?" I wonder. "Can't you crush my heart with some grand dose of spiritual common sense? My head's on your side, but my heart's over here standing on a chair with his head thrown back, shrilling. My ears hurt. My body hurts. My heart hurts."
Still, my soul is quiet. It's a little unnerving. I go out to the front porch to breathe in the sunset, breathe out the poison, breathe in the chill air, breathe out the doubt and pain. I bring my heart, kicking, screaming, digging its fingernails like bloody half-moons into the tops of my hands. "God," I whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I my heart doesn't believe you. I need you to take this and show me how to quieten it. Show me how to believe again. I am so sorry."
And then my soul lumbers to its feet at last--I feel relieved, as if I really had killed it--and puts a heavy, clumsy hand on my heart. Heart, fitful, fretful, fractious child that it is, kicks a little. Screams once or twice. Bites the hand. But the hand is calloused in the best way, accustomed to the throbbing of my deceived heart. My soul remembers, suddenly, the set of words that have fed me this weekend:

How precious is your lovingkindness,

O God!

Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Your wings.

They are abundantly satisfied with the fullness of Your house,

And You give them drink from the river of Your pleasures.

For with You is the fountain of life.

In Your light we see light.

(Psalm 36:7-8)

The clouds like greyhounds have given tongue to the dark and fall in a heap of golden glory. A long slide of silver light reaches toward where I sit on the cold bricks. My heart is still yelling like an infant, but the tantrum feels strangely futile because of my soul's hand. I taste the words of the Psalmist, say them aloud, bring the promise to my God. I have put my trust under the shadow of His wings, whatever my heart tells me to the contrary. He has promised that I will be satisfied with the fullness of His house, that I will drink from the river of His pleasures, that His fountain is life. He will keep His promises. This I know with the full fury of my soul.
Why, then, won't my heart feel it too?
Why does my heart persist in its shameful refusal to believe?
Then I realize why. Because it has withdrawn into a dark corner, wrapped a blanket of dishonesty about its shoulders. This time, the dishonesty is the very secret I just spilled: that my heart doesn't believe. In the darkness, it can't believe. It can't possibly see the light, because the only way in which it can is through the light of the one it has chosen tonight to distrust. As I whisper these words and force my heart to stand in the truth of the promise, I feel the silver of that sky slide into my soul and shore up its faith. My ears are ringing, and I realize it isn't from an increased pitch of my shrieking heart...actually, my heart is muffled by something strange: a flood of joy. It rushes and foams with the voice of many waters and I can barely hear my heart under the sound. If I look for that ridiculous, lying heart, I know it is still hammering its fallacies, trying to work its way to my steadfast soul. But my soul has been fed by the light, both figuratively and literally. My soul is in fighting trim. It feels like laughing. And just to annoy my ragamuffin heart, he leaves his hand there, just a little longer.

"When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I."

"Hi, I'm Single and I Have Blisters."

Most days I am quite content in the fact that it may be a longgggggggggg time till I get married. Mama always looks at me with mock severity and says, "You have no idea how quickly things can change." She's always right, but that doesn't mean I'm hedging any bets. I have a full life here without a fella. I mean, between work, my family, and my writing (yes, it is a thing that intentionally distracts me from self-pity) would I even have time for a relationship? Can't get much better than painting my toenails blue and watching Once Upon a Time with my sisters, can it?

This is my "Yayyyyy Daddddddd" face.

Not that I'd really know...

Some days it just kind of hits me. Know the sort? The fact that no man in my age-group has ever told me he thinks I'm something pretty awesome, that he wants to get to know me better, that I'm the person he looks for when he walks into a room, that I'm the girl he's been praying for. Whenever I have days like this, I'm hesitant to verbally recognize the yearning because I don't want to set off a stream of, "It's okay, you'll find a guy someday. Just wait patiently on the Lord. He is faithful."
Of course He's faithful. Of course I'll (probably) find a guy someday. But no one said that the boots aren't going to pinch now and then.

Yes, sometimes it gets annoying. Case in point: two more friends got engaged this week. I barely see my cousin anymore because he's got a girlfriend and a new job and chill-time doesn't happen. No conversation goes on at home without turning to someone's wedding plans. Sometimes the Love Bug victim-count seems like it's hacking up there with the Black Plague and I start wondering who slipped the Thieve's Oil into my pocket because honestly, they can have it back. I wouldn't mind catching that plague. If falling in love is sabotage, then I have a death-wish.

I've gotten to the point where I laugh on these days and message my equally-single best friend and together we compare notes about how fabulous we are. Chocolate is good too. I know this feeling of utter....futility isn't going to last. Handsome men will be toads from now till kingdom-come, tiny blondes will probably still rank top on the list of Quickly Married Women, and athletic, rugged, cowboy types will probably still want a wife who will go running (or barrel-racing) with him for the next forevermore. I'll still rumble along cheerily as ever, I'll enjoy my job, enjoy my family, and enjoy playing bridesmaid, florist, hairstylist, cake-decorator, and event coordinator for the friends who are getting married. I'll have adventures and love life and meet people and go to social functions and be me. That's how life is.

And it's good. But life can hurt and I guess what I'm here to say tonight is this: it's okay.

Girls: It's okay that there's an ache under your breastbone and an incapacity to look at another wedding picture in your Pinterest feed. It's okay that you feel like punching the handsome-acquaintance-who-drinks-and-smokes (as your just found out) across his perfect nose. It's okay that you feel like sitting down with a tub of gelato and eating it--all of it--with your best friend or a sister while wishing for a saved, sanctified Captain Hook. It's okay that you let fly a snide remark about the eighteenth saccharine Facebook post in a week from that happily almost-wedded couple. Besides--sugar isn't good for you.

Family: It's okay that we are having a rough day. It's not that we think we'll never get married. We don't think God has left us in the ditch. We don't think we're going to be spinsters, we don't intend to join a dating website ASAP, we don't intend to fall into deep depression, start wearing sweat pants constantly, and adopt another cat. We're very simply getting a blister from walking this far down the road of singleness. We know our lives are precious, that there is adventure around every bend, and that we are blessed.

So people, let's have grace. Grace with ourselves, our families, and each other. Grace for the God who is leading us on this road that can seem as empty as the Oklahoma sky. It sounds weird to say we need grace for God, because the only grace we have comes through Him. But part of owning grace is acting upon it, and believing with grace that what He says is true takes real courage and doesn't come easily, some days.

I'm single. Tonight it stinks. Tomorrow it'll be a blessing. That's how it goes with singleness as with every other topsy-turvy stage in life. I am so blessed that Jesus has the map to this weird road. I think I'd be tempted to look for a short-cut.

"What's the matter with the men?" - a musical venture

Because it is Valentine's Day and we are all single (and most of you are single) and because we love singing/lip-syncing/the Broadway version of Cinderella, we thought we'd give you a bit of a treat. Suppose we had a variety show: this might be on it...and it's the first take so do forgive us. ;) Hope it gives you a laugh!

Love,

Rachel & Sarah

Singleness According to Period Dramas

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. In case you're wondering, I don't feel morose at all. My first book is hitting the world tomorrow, I've got friends coming in town and a no-couples-party planned for Saturday night...there is dark chocolate in the world and life is always good. No, life isn't always good. God is good and He gives beauty to life and because of that, I'm not pining away. We have a rather funny little thing planned here tomorrow so you'll have to stay tuned. For now: humor! I thought I'd do a post featuring Period Dramas on How Being Single Isn't All That Bad. Get Ready? Get Set? GO!

Mi, mi, mi, mi, miiiiii:

1.
Married people tend to have too much stuff.

"Look, Mater, you can't expect to bring the whole Panjandrum!"

2.
Husbands expect to tell you what to do. 

"A husband would expect to tell her what to do and Emma won't like that, I can assure you."

3.
If married or romantically involved, you are much more likely to catch cold from being exposed to all sorts of inclement weather and/or cotton mills.

"What care I for a cold when there is such a man?" 

4.
As a single woman, you are much less likely to be coerced into squandering your fortune on your lover's hare-brained schemes.

 "They say he sold his soul to the devil. If he did, I don't know what he did with the money!"

5.
And, of course, you don't have the bother of a mother-in-law.

 "Five thousand a year!"

6.
And while unmarried, there are always more chances to meet dashing young men unexpectedly

"You'll just have to live here then. Bye-bye."

7.
And do we even want to mention the fact that while single, there are chances to nurse handsome people back to health and thereby gain their admiration?

"I think I'd like to be a nurse; isn't that a romantic profession? Smoothing fevered brows and then some handsome millionaire patient will fall madly in love with you..."

8.)

As a single woman, you are free to gad about and state your opinions freely, including the fact that you think botany is really quite boring.

"I don't share your opinion!"

9.

While single, you can still dream that--contrary to your own upbringing--you'll marry and end up with enough money to pay all expenses and have a bit left over for keeping a cook.

"Ever since I've come to live with the Boffins, I've been constantly avariciously scheming!"

10.

And, of course, is there really anything as satisfying as spying on and making fun of the couples in your life?

Yeah, didn't think so.

Happy Valentine's Day, Darlings!

Charm and Flirtation: What's Up?

 Lately I've been thinking a lot about flirtation. I don't know; I guess with so many friends and family members pairing off at an alarming rate, there's a certain amount of that going on, and Sarah and I (and a few other friends) have had discussions as relates to what flirtation really is. See, when I was little, I thought flirtation was the blatant thing done by girls like Cynthia Kirkpatrick, the step-sisters in Cinderella, or the girls in my neighborhood who liked to hook their arm through a boy's and slap his shoulder while laughing raucously.  As we grow  up, things aren't always as crystalline as we were led to believe they are. I don't mean things like "God is real." or "Adultery is wrong." I mean that sometimes certain subjects are far more complex than they look at first sight.
 This blatant thing was never attractive to me and from a young age I swore I'd never flirt. I mean, what decent man will find a blatantly flirtatious girl attractive? I reasoned it all out with myself:
If I want a smart man of good character and smart men don't go for floozies, then I shouldn't act like a floozy. Besides the fact that flirtation was, to me, one of the Seven Deadly Sins as a twelve-year-old. But you know what? Innocent little girls grow up. Soon I was 18, 19 and upward, and while my heart in the matter of acting like a floozy never changed, I made some surprising discoveries:

I could charm young men.

Without flirting.

   There are two points to be made here. First off all, I believe that women are most charming when not flirting, so on the one hand, my little discovery is very true and even wise. But there's a second point I'm only just now beginning to realize:

At the heart, are charming a man and flirting with a man much different?

Did you know these gals are called The Bimbettes?

  

  What I mean is this: At the camps I've counseled at, we have a rule against flirting which is a pretty important rule in a co-ed camp of highschoolers. We define flirting as "Acting as if you want the attention of and a relationship with a person with whom you have no intention of starting a relationship." (<--- More or less.) I Googled "flirting" to get some help in organizing these thoughts and the list for methods of flirtation was far more extensive than I'd thought, going so far as to qualify extended eye-contact and banter as tactics used by those seeking to flirt with a fellow. Hmmmmm.

    I'm really wanting to dig into this subject with you girls so if you're a guy reading this and are getting uncomfortable, sorry. But honestly, I think the guys could take a cue too and I want you to know that we do think about how we interact with you and those little sleight-of-hand tricks that look so pretty are never unintentional. There is nothing that makes me more annoyed than to see a fellow taken in by a practiced flirt. And yet though I don't call it flirting, haven't I done the same? In her most recent letter to me, one of my friends mentioned how she had recently been thinking about how there are more ways than outright flirtation in which a girl can purposely attract attention. Charm. That's what it is; knowing your good points in figure, talents, personality, and purposefully arranging them to have an effect on someone else.

    It's a strange and heady sensation, realizing that you are a grown woman now and are able to have an interaction with a fellow that will insure--though you may never meet again--he will think of you once or twice before entirely forgetting you.

It is an imperial, queenly, ancient power. Every girl comes to this point in her growing-up phase and for those of us who were raised knowing that flirtation is a waste of time and resources, it's a little astonishing. Right about the time I first started realizing I had a small store of this Eve's gift in my arsenal, I was reading An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott and feeling that Polly and I were two souls alike. Then I came to the chapter, "Forbidden Fruit", and realized how much I identified with this favorite heroine with whom I'd grown up:

Polly scoffed at this sort of thing sometimes, but to-night she accepted it without a murmur rather enjoyed it in fact, let her bracelets shine before the eyes of all men, and felt that it was good to seem comely in their sight. She forgot one thing, however: that her own happy spirits gave the crowning charm to a picture which every one liked to see a blithe young girl enjoying herself with all her heart. The music and the light, costume and company, excited Polly and made many things possible which at most times she would never have thought of saying or doing. She did not mean to flirt, but somehow "it flirted itself" and she could n't help it, for, once started, it was hard to stop, with Tom goading her on, and Sydney looking at her with that new interest in his eyes. Polly's flirting was such a very mild imitation of the fashionable thing that Trix & Co. would not have recognized it, but it did very well for a beginner, and Polly understood that night wherein the fascination of it lay, for she felt as if she had found a new gift all of a sudden, and was learning how to use it, knowing that it was dangerous, yet finding its chief charm in that very fact.

   The chapter goes on to describe an evening at the opera with lively bantering between Polly and her set of old friends. An evening Polly deserved, being a poor girl who never has nice things to wear and whose friends arranged a pretty, splendid outing for her own good. An evening, actually, that sounds very pleasant and was complete with a set of conquests under her belt. But at the end of the chapter--a spot I used to skim through, being carried by the innocent fun of the preceding words--I noticed this paragraph:

"Now it's all over and done with," thought Polly as she fell asleep after a long vigil. But it was not, and Polly's fun cost more than the price of gloves and bonnet, for, having nibbled at forbidden fruit, she had to pay the penalty. She only meant to have a good time, and there was no harm in that, but unfortunately she yielded to the various small temptations that beset pretty young girls and did more mischief to others than to herself. Fanny's friendship grew cooler after that night. Tom kept wishing Trix was half as satisfactory as Polly, and Mr. Sydney began to build castles that had no foundation. 

   Here is the problem with "charming" a man purposely or ( as we avoid saying ) when we indulge in a little "innocent" flirtation: I don't think flirting itself--at least, the kind that I've long called "charm" is a sin. It's foolish, wasteful, etc. but I think the worst part of it isn't how it effects us as much as it is causes trouble to the person with whom we are flirting. Of course the floozy sort is the kind talked about in Proverbs that makes women look like gold rings in hog's noses. We're warned against that kind particularly.

   When we're trying to charm, flirt with,  or otherwise get attention from a man 9 times out of 10, we aren't interested in a continued relationship; we're just having a little fun. We want to feel that we are "comely in their sight" and it's a perfectly natural desire. We want to be noticed and we want to make an impression and when we learn to use the little artifices that are in a fresh young woman's power...it's quite lovely. But like Stark messing around with the Tessarect in the lab in that scene from Captain America, we aren't aware of just how powerful our little airs and graces can be. We don't realize that it's actually working and that the gentlemen sometimes don't realize that we're just having a bit of fun. Sometimes our game turns on us and we discover that Mr. Sydney is building castles in the air that have no foundation. The saddest moments are these, when our flirtation, charm, etc. has led to a person taking us seriously. I would never intend to mislead a guy, but if I'm not interested in him and am showing the same exact signs I'd show if I had a burning desire to follow him to the altar, how is he to know?

It's painful to watch a girl working her stuff on an unknowing guy: standing a little too close, blinking a little too slow, speaking a little too crooning, laughing a little too often, working a little too hard. As a girl I can pinpoint a flirt--even a subtle one--straight off. But the guys? They're more easily overcome and no wonder when very practiced Queens are using their talents to their own amusement. I have seen friends (and friends of friends) hurt by a bit of flirtation that they took seriously. "They'd better be more sensible!" the girls cry. But honestly, is it their fault? How are they to know the difference when we treat one and all with the same marked preference? We might pride ourselves on treating all young men the same, just like the Bible says. That might be true as far as bestowing the same level of attention on all men, but haven't we missed the heart of the issue if our version of treating them all equally means flirting with every one of them?

There's actually a new word for that: Flirtationship.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not one of the Don't Have Guy Friends or Never Speak To Men party. But in the past few weeks I've been coming to terms with the fact that like it or not, I have flirted in my grown-up life. Not all banter is flirtation--I banter all the time with my guy friends at church. We laugh, give and take hugs, play games, sing, talk about dozens of subjects, and generally have an awesome time.

But I know I can turn on the charm in my own small way.

You know you can too.

Some girls have a bigger dose than others, but we are all women and we are all gifted with that power.

   It's a brave man who knows his own strength and doesn't use it. It's a brave women who knows she has power and doesn't employ that power in making petty conquests.

  Let's all be a little more careful we're not unconsciously making life hard on the guys in our life. I know I'd be terribly upset if I found out that by pleasing myself and having fun, I'd made one of my friends start building dreams I never intended to help him finish.

It's a courtesy as much as anything. It's playing fair.

It's showing your hand and not leaving him guessing. 

Be natural. I know your natural self is just as charming without the artifice of carefully constructed ploys, and the guys will someday look back and realize you were the one girl they felt entirely at ease around because you didn't leave them jumping to find out what you meant by squeezing their hand or smiling into their eyes all evening. Banter, laugh, have fun. But do it with everyone clear on your intentions. We've had enough of the Bimbettes. 

Cuz I know you need a laugh.

Busyness is never an excuse for anything so please pardon me while I don't make excuses that don't exist...
....
...
....
Anyway.
...
...
....

Right. Now that that's out of the way. I thought I'd give y'all a dose of my laughter. And by my laughter I mean things that have been making me laugh...not...yeah...not that. I love to laugh (isn't that on my profile and About the Lass pages? I think so.) and I love to make other people laugh. I laugh at myself and at other people and I think having a sense of humor is the biggest sanity-saver we've been given in this world. Having friends who possess good senses of humor is the second biggest sanity-saver, and thank God I have both. I literally do thank Him--often. I'm going to sort this post by category so here we go:

Me without You (Singleness)

10 Things to Never, Ever, Ever, Ever Say to a Single Person

I’ve been single most of my life. I have never really dated a lot compared to most of my peers. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest and found myself in a daze of “heart break warfare” complete with sleep binges and nights filled with ice cream topped with my own tears. Sadly, Taylor Swift wasn’t around then to really make me feel understood. But, that was one time and I’m lucky I only had to experience that once. But through my life, family, friends, nail technicians, and even strangers often always find a way to bring up my awesome single life.

 10 Things to Never, Ever, Ever, Ever Say to a Single Person Part Two

9. Have you tried Christian Mingle? Have you seen the couples on those commercials? They wear clothes from 1999 and the guys all have comb overs. 

 I laughed indecently hard over these two blog posts, sent to me by my awesome friend, Katie. Katie is my life-saver and we sent each other things like this to make ourselves laugh and avoid self-pity, lonesomeness, hilarity, bitterness, forlornity, etc. (And I'm only half-kidding when I say this)

 (Excercise/weight-loss) Flubbery

From the Movies and Pinterest Sarcasm & Wit :

Thurrrrr y'go. Laugh, snort, chuckle, snerk. You know the routine. 

(And if you didn't read those single posts, go back NOW and do so.)

Catch you kids later!

I Know This is Crazy But....

At the wonderful, amazing insert-exuberant-adjective-here Transfer conference, we had lots of prayer time. Specific prayer for specific groups of people. Most times I found myself mainly outside the specified group of prayer-receivers, but then Ian McConnell took it into his head to say that he was led to pray for a group of people in the room who were longing to be in a relationship with someone. Those who were single and finding it a little difficult to content themselves with Jesus and Jesus only (quick note: how on EARTH can we not be content with that? Argh.), or those who were in a relationship they knew wasn't what God had for them, and were needing to make a decision. He asked us to identify ourselves by raising our hands so that the people near us could maybe even put their hands on us as we prayed.

There I was, running through my head all the new relationships forming in my groupies (including one of my stable-single-friends. :D) all the things God has been teaching me over the last year, and all the new inspiration He's been fueling me with. "Even so, I totally fit that former category." I didn't want to raise my hand and admit to all the world (i.e. the roomful of 400 Christians) that I struggled often with waiting on the Lord and satisfying myself with His love for me. I didn't want to admit that I could actually stand before Jesus, my Lover, and say that some days I found it hard to be content with only Him. But I knew I needed the prayer, and even if I was the single solitary person who raised her hand, I would do it or perish in the attempt.

I closed my eyes and raised my hand.

I opened my eyes, and a grin cracked across my face.

30 or 40% of the other people in that room had their hands raised, each of us with head bent, not wanting to be The One in the room who was admitting to trials with contentment. So many! The guy who looked like he could have any girl at the conference if he just smiled at her. The slender, tan, gorgeous girl with the flowing blonde hair. Me. The guy in front of me. A guy behind me.

And I felt in that moment such a surge of confidence in the newest Adventura God is leading me into. I haven't mentioned it here because I didn't want to announce something I wasn't sure of. But all the lessons I've received over the last months and year, all the conversations with multiple people in my season of life, even the topics touched upon at the Transfer Conference--all these things point with a strong finger to this:

I'm writing a Singles' Book.

Yeah, yeah come on, Rachel, you might be thinking. But here's the thing: This isn't going to be just any singles' book. It's not a 100 Easy Ways to Catch A Man. It's not a Push Through This Season, It's Gonna Be Okay.  The vision God has given me for this book is so much larger and different than that. It's not another Before You Meet Prince Charming, or a So Much More, or a Joyfully at Home, or a Preparing to be a Helpmeet. Those books all have their place, and have taught me quite a lot.

My book will be specifically for those of us who have graduated high school and/or college and find ourselves on the outside of the Wedded-Bliss crowd. It's for those of us who are apparently at least temporarily unable to catch the Love Bug and are not interested in sitting on our rockers waiting for love to come by. It's for those of us who want to live to the very hilt every single moment--not only of "this season" but every season in life. It's for those of us who are dead-tired of going places and meeting people and spending ridiculous amounts of time wondering if there will be anyone there who might fit The Bill.

It's going to be hilarious. It's going to recognize the difficulty of being "entirely unmarried" while we watch our childhood playmates standing at the altar and exchanging vows. It's going to be wild and whimsical (after all, I'm writing it with the input and help of my "crazy single friend" Katie), but most of all it's going to be a clarion call to a purposeful life. It's going to be written by a girl who is in the very throes of what it is to be a single girl with a sole purpose that is entirely contrary to everything the world is throwing at her. I don't have all the answers, but God does, and He's teaching them to me little by little, and this is not so much a How To Do It as it is a plea from one single girl to another to not waste our precious time. We were each placed here with a specific purpose to fulfill, and I'm only interested in discussing how we can fulfill our purpose every moment of every day, husband or not, Amen.

I'm telling you this, not to get praise for myself (goodness knows it's not going to be a New York Times Bestseller!), but to ask for prayer. I need so much prayer. Prayer that I would write what God wants me to write. Prayer that my heart would be gentle and suppliant, and that He will just pour the worship of His glory through my pen onto the paper. Prayer for stamina because I'm sure where there's been a dozen lessons already, God will teach me a dozen more. *smile* I've been planning and digging at the topics, and reading and listening and just living life. And that's what this book about except a great bit fat letter from me to You?

I am hoping to dig tooth and claw into the writing of this book in August, shortly after celebrating my 21st birthday on the 20th of July. :) When it is finished, I am planning to self-publish, though God might have other plans. I just feel like this is a book I am meant to write, to write quickly, and to get out into the world ASAP. We'll see. Hahaha. :)

I hope the rest of you see the irony of me writing a book about my Pet Struggle. But I do feel God is calling me to it, and He does delight to work through our very weakness. Please pray for me, and pray for Katie, and please comment with any particular questions/concerns/issues you'd like to see addressed in The Book! :)

Much, much love,
             Rachel

You might just be single if...

Today on the All The Single Ladies blog party, Meghan challenged us to do either a post with our favorite Pinterest "single" pins, or an amusing story that highlights the season of life we're in. Since this last year has been a really hilarious one in many ways, I have several anecdotes that you might find amusing to hear.

First of all, the topic of Ring-Checks.

Come on now--you know you do it. You see a person and you check their left-hand to see if they're taken. It's not as weird as it sounds when you realize that it's me saying this. And I'm always analyzing everything about everyone, so it's not as if I am husband-hunting my entire life. I just notice things. Including whether that rather attractive fellow across the food-court is wearing a gold band signifying NO VACANCY. ;)
(And for heaven's sake, if you're still taking me seriously at this point, please unbutton your shirt collar and realize that I'm being crazy and single here with a large dose of sarcasm on the side, so please take it all with several grains of salt. Sea-salt preferably, unless you're Jewish in which case it'd have to be Kosher salt. Which is very good on pretzels. Which I can't eat right now.)
Anyway, my sisters always teased me about my ring-checking propensities (I'm sorry! I can't help it!) until the day I finally realized I'm not the only person that does this. I was at a political function last summer with my brother, and we arrived late. Mind you, it was just the two of us attending, and we squeezed in next to these two men who were probably about 30 years old and the sort of Political Fellows who never have dates and have absolutely no lives but the current race. Well, these two chaps started casting glances in my direction, and whispering among themselves while the delegate at the microphone droned on and on. They'd sweep a glance over me and Daniel and whisper to each other, then look at us again and keep whispering. Feeling a little self-conscious, I tried to ignore them, but happened to look over just as the one with the impossibly blue eyes and the bald-spot fastened his gaze on my left hand, then turned to his friend with a confirming shake of his head. I was not taken.
Imagine my relief, then, when the two were called to leave before the speakers were finished and they had a chance to talk to me. O.o

Second thing that confirms my status as Single is this:

From my earliest girlhood I've made a practice of sending Valentines to all my friends. I mean, none of us grew up in homes with a dating mentality, so we weren't the girls who had a different "significant other" from the age of 12. Therefore, any Valentines fun we were to have we were forced to make for ourselves. Chocolate, cards, everything passed from their hands to mine and vice-versa. This year I sat down to make out my list of who I was sending Valentines too and I stared at the blank sheet.

And stared...

...and stared...

....and stared...

It took me several moments to get two people who were still single that I knew. TWO! When last year I practically hadn't time enough to make the Valentines for all my friends who were with me. Let's give us a nice word picture:

Last year we were Noah's ark about to sink with ze zingle ladiez. This year we might blow away in a kayak. 

No problem with that. It just means that those of you who will get a Valentine from me this year? You're special. You're part of a remnant. We're like...like the people in Red Dawn. Or in The Return of The King. "THERE MAY COME A DAY WHEN OUR COURAGE FAILS! BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY!!!!!"

Number Three would be the fact that I shun Walmart this time of year:

I seriously do. I walk through Walmart and see all the cellophane and chocolate and red roses and I think, "If this is what love looks like, who wants it anyway?" I mean chocolate is awesome. I'm not a fan of red-roses, but the whole end caps and end caps and end caps of cheap stuff and I think....

Really? Really? 

And then I know that I would flip out if anyone bought me chocolate or red roses and then I think, "You're being cynical. Did you know that? You are. You totally are." And then I feel like buying myself chocolate since no one else is going to do it. And I end up buying dark chocolate and salted caramel. (Sea salted caramel--back to the  grains of salt!)

Number Four item that gives a nod to the fact that I'm single is:

My sense of irony. See, all those friends who have found a Someone over the last year and who didn't need my Valentines? They asked me to still make them one. I have a feeling they are feeling a little bit of remorse over leaving their single years behind forever an' always. So my list of Valentines To Be Made is actually a little longer this year than it was last. If that's not ironic, I don't know what is. So I amused myself by writing very very very saucy ditties in their cards (JUST YOU WAIT!) and made myself laugh with devilish glee as I sealed the envelopes. The cards for my Matched friends are awesome. But the cards for my single friends? Wait till they see them. You'll hear howls of laughter from here to Pittsburgh.

Haha. Oh my goodness. I have made myself laugh, and I hope I've made you laugh, and I also hope that you are enjoying this blog party as much as I am! I want you to realize that this week I am totally having fun with my "single state". I don't always think this wryly of this season, and you know I am a deeper person than some of these posts might seem. But sometimes I really think it's great toooooo:

"Let your hair down, hair down,

Get you some of this laid-on back!

Kick your shoes off, kick 'em off,

Get you some of this slow down fast..."

I will leave you now with a few of my personal favorites from Pinterest. Enjoy!

this daring life

What if it wasn't about getting married?

What if it wasn't about waiting?

What if it wasn't about Till Then or Someday?

What if it was simply about embracing life in a bear-hug, hanging on with all you've got, and loving where you'd been placed?

These are questions that have surfaced and resurfaced in my mind and heart this past year as I've watched so many of my friends grow up, marry, pair off, and change. Those of us who aren't paired up with someone tend to think of ourselves as shelf-stock. When asked if we've got a guy we shake our heads, laugh patiently, and say: "Well, not yet."

But I'm sick of living in "yet."

We're all sick of living in "yet." It's as if we feel that our lives and our futures and everything we are is on hold till...then. If I am certain of one thing, it is that God does not mean for singleness to be a purgatory. I've said before that this isn't an endurance test. It's not a desert to go through till we reach the oasis of marriage on the other side. What if singleness is the oasis? What if we laid aside all our expectations of how our grown-up years ought to look and instead dwelt in the moment? In this moment.

Too often we Christian "singles" are in either of two camps:

Pining or Pinging

Pining for a husband (or wife, as the case may be), for the future we want, for something.
Pinging. Pinging off the walls with feministic (or arrogant) energy and self-reliance. With our own plans for our own future because obviously God doesn't have marriage in His plan for us--MOVING ON!

It's my firm belief that there is a joyful, vibrant middle-ground that Jesus has prepared for us and is waiting for us to find. After all, Paul of the Bible is full of praise for the single life. He even goes so far as to say that he wishes more people remained unmarried because--in his personal opinion--it was the better thing. Obviously he was not sitting there wailing for a wife.

So what is this middle ground? I'm not certain of all the details, but I am certain that it is there. It's a radical, daring idea....living your single years without looking for the "light at the end of the tunnel." I don't know how to do it yet. But I feel God moving in my heart in this way and it's terribly exciting. Daring. Adventurous. If I ever am to marry, I want to look back on this season of unmarried-ness without a single regret. I want to remember it as one of the finest parts of my life. I want to look back on it with fondness when I'm eighty-four and a widow.
After talking to many friends who are in this same season of life and waking up to the reality of this paradox of Pining or Pinging, I am curious and expectant. There's obviously something here. Something God is wanting to teach me, perhaps you, perhaps many unmarried young people around the world. So since I've sat up and taken notice, I've decided to keep track of the things the Lord shows me in this season. I'm writing them down in a rather schnazzy, bling-spangled journal to keep forever and always.

 I'm writing these lessons down as they come with the intention of sharing them with you. That is, if you'd like to hear them. Anyway, hold fast, dear people! This is a joyous, beautiful time of our lives! Don't fret it away. :) Enjoy this daring life while it has been given to you.

Crashing the Pity Party

    Following a wonderful post by Miss Raquel, {yes, I was clever enough to link to the post} I was thinking about Love. What a capricious word "Love" is in our English language. By "love" we English mean anything from Nutella to babies to period dramas, to Sherlock, to Thor, to our guy and our God. We are quick to say the word--indeed, "Love" is probably one of the top words in English vocabulary simply because it has so many definitions.

    As single girls and women we long for the day we will be loved by a good man, and most of the time we are content with God's love for now. Yep. That's the problem. Those two little words tacked onto the end of the sentence. "For Now." Don't lie--you know as well as I do that those two words chase after your thoughts like hounds after a hare.
    I am as guilty as the next woman of viewing this single life as an in-between-time. I seem to view these years when I am unmarried as a "waiting period" as if: "Oh, the Lord's love is good enough for me now until He decides to bring my man along and then...then it'll be over and we'll all run along merry as the day is long."

     But therein lies the whole problem. I've been reading C.S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters and came across a very intriguing bit of correspondence between Screwtape and his nephew:

“You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption 'My time is my own'. Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours. Let him feel as a grievous tax that portion of this property which he has to make over to him employers, and as a generous donation that further portion which h allows to religious duties. But what he must never be permitted to doubt is that the total from which these deductions have been made was, in some mysterious sense, his own personal birthright.” 

     I had to feel convicted over that quote. I, like many others, seem to view my time as my own. I assume that my life as a single woman will come to an end someday, and in the meantime I look forward to that end with great expectation. What none of us take into account is that we don't know which part of the future we will have.

     What  if this "season" is one God has called us to for the rest of our lives? What if we aren't to be married or--and I am not being morbid, just philosophizing--what if we aren't to live as long as we expect? Do you really want to live life as a single woman with your eyes fixed on the horizon, never seeing all the gifts strewn around your feet?

     The thing is, Jesus isn't interested in convincing us to wait. What He wants is for us to fall so completely, unutterably, wholly in love with Him that we don't count moments and hours and days and weeks and months and years. He wants us to be consumed with a passionate love for Him that outer circumstances don't affect our willingness to be His. Yes, even marriage. Because for all the "Love" that we might share with a godly man someday, it won't last. The warm fuzzies will fade. You will discover he's a man after all, and even Mr. Knightley sometimes props his boots in the middle of the good china. Marriage is simply another step of life. A precious one, yes, but no more important in the eternal scheme of things than any other event you experience.

    Sometimes I think I'm guilty of using my love for Jesus {or His love for me} as an antidote. "I love Jesus--I really do. And I'm loving Him so much today that I don't feel anxious to be married at all!" Such a love can hardly be deemed a whole-hearted, selfless, tender affection and devotion to a person. It smacks singularly of selfishness. "I love you till" or "I love you because"--not a bit of that profound way Jesus loves us:

"I love you."

    No reason, no conditions, no expiration date. He loves us simply because that was His choice. And in return we learn to love Him. (1 John 4:19)

     So this is not another post on How To Wait. It's not even a post on Waiting Is Hard. {which sometimes runs closer to my frame of mind} I really want you to understand that. I've written and you've read plenty of posts about Theory. I'm asking for some Practice. Some determination to crash our pity-parties and get going with this beautiful life God has given us. How it must sadden Him and make Him shake His head to see us entirely missing the point of Life.
Life isn't an endurance test!
     It's a privilege. We can't just sit here tolerating singleness as if it was a dry, bony desert we couldn't wait to get to the end of. I'm not writing a Guide Book To The Piteous Desert.
     Instead what the purport of this post is, is a challenge to each of us to build a vibrant, sweet, lasting relationship with Jesus. A relationship that begins today and extends to death and beyond. A relationship that will still be the source of your joy, your contentment, and your peace when {and if} you are married, when the children come, when the children leave, when you're retired, and when you're eighty years old, toothless, and mental to boot. A relationship that is based on His ideas of love--not your idea of an antivenin. Because really...when all's said and done and Jesus is in the equation, who gives a wimpy hairpin if you've got a man?