ish to do

To Do This Week:

1) Go to the gym sometime to regain my muscles.
2) Apply for jobs since I am only 38% employed right now.
3) Borrow my sister's weed sprayer so that I can poison a select part of Mother Nature.
4) Vacuum.
5) Organize the disaster storage room at church where we have all of our children's ministries stuff.
6) Plan a luau so I can use the decorations that I have thus found in the children's ministries storage closet.
7) Buy groceries so I can stop eating stale bread and freezer burned vegetables.
8) Get some stuff rolling for summer Bible Club.
9) Take some kiddos on an adventure to Enchanted Forest.
10) Prepare for camp next week.

The Lazy Vegetarian

Here is a really simple dinner meal for when all you ate for lunch was Tillamook Mudslide Ice Cream with hot fudge and whipped cream and you're feeling like you need to redeem yourself.

Directions:
1) Open bag of frozen mixed vegetables and pour 2 cups of it into a bowl.
2) Microwave on high for two minutes. Stir.
3) Eat.

Things Youth Say

I spend a lot of time around many different youth of all ages. We have interesting conversations. 

Me: Are you going to college when you're older?
2nd grader: Probably not, because it's expensive. Instead I am going to own a shop and sell Sponge Bob things.
Seems like legit plans for a 7 year old.

Teen: Do you want to see my ex-boyfriend's mug shot?
Me: Okay.

Annabelle: I wonder how old you have to be to have kids?
(she's 5)

Me (referring to cartoon): Do you even know who Doug is?
Teen: Yeah, come on, we're not that young!

Kindergartner: I think Jesus is the only washcloth that can clean the inside and make you white as snow.
(aaahhh)

         One morning, while we were coloring pictures of Jesus and his friends, a 4th grader says "Hey, want to hear the grossest thing ever?"
          I had my reservations, but a 2nd grade little girl says "Okay, I'll listen." We then hear the grossest story ever. I won't share it with you.

Investigative Dating

            I was in my office organizing files when my assistant, Ginger, came rushing in late.

"Ginger, you are half an hour tardy."

"I know. I apologize. I had a 27 page paper due in my criminology class, and I had to turn it in before 10am."

Ginger is a junior at the local university, and to be flexible for her this term, we don't usually start work till 11 in the morning. This gives Ginger the ability to go to her morning class, and it gives me a few hours to do my exercise routine (just 18 laps in the pool, some kick boxing, and then benching 250 to stay toned).

Ginger has been working for me for about year. She comes to the office (which is conveniently located in the spare bedroom of my house) three times a week to help me with cases. She's very competent.

When the detective agency is slow, Ginger helps me with my work with children, cutting out lamb shapes from construction paper and buying Goldfish crackers in bulk at Costco. See, I am a part-time detective but I also teach children about Jesus four days a week. Once I walked in to teach 8am Bible Club while I was still wearing my fake mustache from an early morning surveillance route. The kids laughed and thought I wore it to be silly. But really I wore it because I didn't want Mr. Delvino to recognize me while I followed him to Wal-Mart.

"Ginger, today I have some lions for you to cut out for the Bible Club craft, I need you to put together an Elijah costume for Sunday School, and then I need you to see what new leads you can pull up for the Teverson case.”

“Okay, no problem. Do you want me to find a beard for the Elijah costume?”

“That would be great. There should be one in the disguise closet.” That’s the great thing about working with children and being a detective. My disguises pull double duty. It’s what I call a good investment.

***

At one o’clock we took a lunch break, and I decided to ask Ginger about what had been on my mind.

“Ginger, what do you think about on-line dating?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. One time I tried it, but the only men who contacted me were 30 years old and lived in Fiji. Thankfully soon after that I met Brian in the student union.”

I contemplated this, then took a moment to look up information about Fiji. It could be a nice place to visit. The reason I had been thinking about it was because last week my best friend suggested I try on-line dating. The reason this would never work out is because potential love interests would be all “what do you do for a living?” and I would say I’m a detective. Then they would get freaked out and think I’m an obsessive person who is going to start following them secretly, which would lead to them not replying to any of my messages and we would never even go on a single date.

Truth be told, I was asked out on a date two weeks ago while doing some investigative work. I had to turn the guy down because at the time he knew me as Darla, a blond flight stewardess from Texas. I couldn’t just meet him for dinner that weekend without the southern twang and golden locks. He would have thought I had schizophrenia.

“I don’t know, Detective Rossen. Maybe you should try it. I mean, what’s it hurt to at least take a look?”

“Ginger, how many times do I have to remind you? You can call me Joelle. And I guess maybe you’re right. Messaging unknown, attractive men found on internet websites never got anyone kidnapped for human trafficking or anything.”

So that evening I spent three hours looking at profiles of men who fit my search criteria. I did this instead of spending time prepping my Bible Club lesson, and I went to bed without showering because it was so late. That just goes to show that on-line dating sites suck up all your productivity and personal hygiene habits. I was pretty sure the Lord was not pleased with my decision to put profile trolling before my responsibility of preparing an engaging, well-planned, age appropriate, spiritual growth-based lesson for the children who live in a neighborhood where 75% of all the city’s drug houses are located within two blocks of the school.

The next day I put aside all thoughts of singleness and becoming a 40 year old cat lady who wears blue velour stretch pants and focused on the job that Jack Teverson hired me to do: spy on his employee candidates.

Jack is president of a company called Biomed International and he is looking to hire a few new employees. Mr. Teverson is very picky about the people he hires, especially after his 2006 incident with a Japanese finance manager who caused the company to lose two million dollars.

Right now I am investigating Jack’s top three candidates. I do things like rifle through their trash (because a person’s garbage can tell you a lot about them), follow them to work, interact with them while in disguise, call them pretending to be a computer technician in India, and interview their dry-cleaner. I’ve been compiling a file of their full profile for the past three weeks. After a lot of observation, I told Jack Teverson not to hire Kareem Larson because he frequently refers to himself in the third person, which is sign of douchebaggery. And nobody wants to hire a jerk.

So now I’m focusing my attention on Colby Delvino and Kirk Patrick. You might say to yourself  “why doesn’t Mr. Teverson have any women on his top candidate list? Is he chauvinistic and sexist and oppressive?”  Jack did have several women on his list. I just eliminated them. I’d tell you why, but that’s confidential. Trust me though, it was a good decision.

What was on my list for today was to attend Kirk Patrick’s hair cutting appointment. I was hoping to gain a lot of useful information from this short event. First of all, the type of place a person gets their hair cut can tell you a lot about them. For example, do they go to Supercuts or a fancy salon down town? Do they go to a traditional barber shop with the white and blue spinning thing and a quartet, or do they have their mom/wife/girlfriend give them a haircut?

It’s also known that people are gossips in a salon. Either the hairdresser tells you everything she knows about everybody in town, or you spill all your business and complain about the people you know. When I go to get a haircut, I’m a listener. Or I’m content just to sit there in silence. One time I had a stylist who told me all the intimate details of her personal life and the break up with her boyfriend. I didn’t even know her. Another time, I went to a salon in my hometown and heard all the mom-age gossip from the other ladies in there getting highlights and perms. I never went back, but that was mostly because the hairdresser didn’t even blow dry my sopping wet hair. Just cut it and said I was done. I had to go to a meeting looking like a drowned rat.

My point is, this was going to be a very telling moment for Kirk. Either he was going to complain and gossip, or he wasn’t. He was going to get his gray covered or he wasn’t. Through my technological abilities, I was able to access Kirk’s on-line calendar and discovered that the appointment was for two o’clock at The Wild Hare. I conveniently made an appointment for myself at the same time to get a Keratin deep conditioning treatment. At first I dropped my jaw when the receptionist told me it was going to be $80, but then I remembered that technically this appointment was work related, so I could write it off on my taxes as a business expense.

While I was eating a vegetarian, protein-rich lunch, I decided to visit Match.com again and look a little bit more to see if the love of my life might be a 35 year old man in Fiji. I really wasn’t having any luck. All the guys had scruffy, unkempt beards, or they were balding, or they were missing teeth. “Ginger, is there a way to filter this site so that people who horrify me don’t keep showing up?”

Ginger stopped eating her noodles and came over to take a look. “Joelle, you’re looking at the Marion County Inmate roster. Those are their mug shots. All of those men are criminals.”

“Whoops.” Turned out I had like five open tabs and got my work research mixed up with my love life. I decided to get off-line and review the files I had for the Teverson case.

I left for the salon at 1:15 and arrived at The Wild Hare a bit early, so that I could observe Mr. Patrick’s behavior when he first arrived. While reading a copy of Vogue, I peeked out to the side and saw him check in with the receptionist. Then he sat two seats over from me. I made a mental note of his politeness and friendliness towards the receptionist. Just as I was reading an article about Jennifer Lawrence, Mr. Patrick’s phone rang.

“Hey….yes…I told you that deal needs to go through today.”

I perked my ears.

“Have Cindy call Marco… Just make sure it happens…We can recoup the costs later…Okay. Ten a.m. Thursday. Bye.”

“Alyssa?” A hair stylist appeared.

I popped out of my chair. Alyssa was my alias for today. I smiled and walked forward. After getting a cape draped over me, I was led to the sink for a shampoo. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kirk Patrick shake his stylist’s hand.

Once my hair got rinsed, I got to sit back down in my swivel chair. Luckily, Kirk was in the seat next to me, so I had the perfect location for listening in and observing.

“You sure have a lot of hair,” my stylist, Shelby, said as she clipped my locks up to get to the bottom layers.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “My lion mane makes extra work for everybody.” Shelby started to apply some goop to my hair. Then she turned me in my swivel chair to the right and my jaw just about fell off.

It was him. A greek god from Mount Olympus come to earth to mingle with the mortals. I saw the profile of his perfect nose and his strong jaw. I knew I had seen this face before. It was one of the guys I had viewed during my three hours of time spent on Match.com searching for a lover (not a criminal). And here he was, getting his locks buzzed off like he was about to join the army.

Noooo, I wanted to scream. What will my fingers have to run through now? But then I collected myself and remembered that this guy hadn’t even asked me out to coffee yet. In fact, he hadn’t even seen me, as far as I knew, because he was looking forward into the mirror and engaged in a conversation with his hairdresser.

Shelby applied another pile of goop to my hair. And that’s when it happened. I looked into the man’s mirror and locked eyes with him. It was a second of breathlessness, and then he grinned. He let those sparkling white teeth shimmer at me. If you are familiar with Song of Solomon, you might say his teeth were like a flock of goats. If you are familiar with modern dentistry, you might say his teeth looked like four years of expensive orthodontic work, Crest toothpaste, and diligent flossing. I bet he never had a cavity in his life. We were soul mates. Or could be.

I thought about giving a seductive look, but then thought better of it. I remembered a story my friend Leslie told me about how she tried to give guys in college seductive looks. But they would just look at her terrified and turn away. She tested her sultry look in front of a friend and discovered that the look she thought said “come hither” actually conveyed “I am about to murder you.” I didn’t want to scare off my subject, so I gave a small smile instead.

Then I remembered that I was there to spy on Kirk Patrick and not to make passes at perfect strangers. So I turned my attention to the grey haired executive getting the back of his neck shaved. I perked my ears and listened to what he was taking about: his newborn grand-daughter. I took this as a positive sign of his character.

After my deep conditioning Keratin treatment was finished and I had learned ample details about baby Olivia Patrick, I went to the front desk to run my card.

I signed my name on the receipt and turned to leave when the receptionist said, “Oh yeah, this is for you.” She handed me a folded piece of paper.

I opened it up and read:

Have time for a cup of coffee? I’m around the corner at St. Arbucks waiting for you.

“The guy who was just in here left it for you.”

I was hoping she was referring to Mr. Greek God and not 50 year old Kirk Patrick. Cautiously, I walked to the corner edge of the block. When meeting strangers, it’s important to take safety precautions, even if you meet in public. I was wearing my grey lace up boots—the ones with the side zipper, and I checked to make sure my hidden knife was still there. I paused on the sidewalk and applied some lip gloss as well. I stealthily peeked around the corner and into the window to see if I could spot Mr. Patrick. Thankfully, he wasn’t there. Instead I spied the closely shorn head of the physically fit mystery man who was waiting for me. I took a deep breath and walked in.

It’s common knowledge that I am incredibly awkward around attractive men (probably the result of being home schooled or growing up without any brothers), and every once in a while I decide to be brazenly awkward. For example, once I was on a ferry boat traversing the waters from Washington to Canada, and sitting across from me was an Orlando Bloom look-alike. I decided to stare at him a good long while, and when he looked up at me I didn’t look away. My efforts resulted in dinner for one.

I pushed open the door of St. Arbucks and went straight to the counter, not even bothering to look towards the guy. “Can I get a chai latte, please?” I don’t drink coffee. Ever. Mostly it’s because during my time in Colombia I was held hostage on a coffee bean plantation while trying to expose some drug smugglers.

After getting my drink, I went to an empty table that was rather near Mystery Man’s. I sat down. He looked up. I stared into his eyes, which were the color of the sea after a storm, just like Wesley’s from The Princess Bride. He tilted his head to the side and gave a half smile, like he was trying to figure me out. Then he stood up, walked nine steps forward, and sat down right across from me.

“Hey,” he said. “I like your hair.”

Words jumped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Do you know that every time Brad Pitt gets a haircut, he asks for his hair to be swept up, put in a bag, and given to him so that people don’t try to sell it on eBay?”

He laughed. But it was that awkward little laugh, the kind you do when someone tells you their dog died but it’s okay because he chewed on the furniture anyway.

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Peter.”

“What’s your last name? I need to know in case you try to kidnap me later.”

“Johansson.”

“Are you related to Scarlett?”

“No.”

“Well, Peter Johansson, I’m Joelle.”

“Joelle, I promise not to kidnap you later.” He chuckled. “Have you been kidnapped before?”

He was probably joking about the last part, so I decided not to tell him about my time in Colombia. Besides, you can’t just go around blabbing to everyone that you are a private detective. Not only does it blow your cover, but it makes them jumpy.

“So Peter, what’s your story?”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Well, I saw you in the salon like thirty minutes ago…”

“No. Not from the salon. From Albuquerque. We flew from Albuquerque to Portland on Southwest Airlines and you couldn’t put your carry-on in the overhead bin because you were too short and I offered to help you. But you said no, that you could do it. Then your suitcase came tumbling down, spilled open, and some wigs fell out. And you shoved them back inside quickly and told me—”

“—that I’m not a stripper. Yes, I remember. That was you?”

“Yes. I sat in the seat behind you and the whole way I listened to you tell stories to the person sitting next to you, because you were so funny. I wanted to say something to you when we got to Portland, but I lost my courage.”

“You should have posted a Missing Connections ad on Craigslist.” I check the Missed Connections at least once a month, mostly for entertainment value.

“So Joelle, may I ask…If you’re not a stripper, why do you travel with so many wigs?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that. You haven’t even bought me dinner. I can’t reveal all my secrets to you when you haven’t even asked me out on a proper date.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Will you go to dinner with me?”

“Don’t ask me unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it. I want to take you to dinner.”

“Okay. Now I’m getting nervous. What should I wear? I’ve never been on a real-life dinner date before.”

Peter laughed. “You should wear whatever the heck you want to wear. You can wear what you’re wearing now.”

“I should hope not. I’ll probably write about this date in my diary later. I don’t want to record that I wore five year old jeans and my Berkeley sweatshirt.”

“Then wear your favorite outfit.”

“Okay.” I took a sip of my chai.

“Peter?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“I better get going. I still have some things to do for work, and then I have to figure out which one of my wigs goes best with my favorite outfit.”

“For reals? You’re going to wear a wig?”

“Guess you’ll find out at dinner. And besides, who said I’m not wearing one now?”

When I got out of the coffee shop I dialed Jack Teverson. “Mr. Teverson. I have results for you. My recommendation for hire is Kirk Patrick. If you want a full review of the reasons, we can meet next week. I can’t meet today though, I have a hot date to get ready for.”

Recommended reading: Snoop: What You’re Stuff Says About You by Sam Gosling

(un)spoken word

Upon his head they set the thorns

the King of Kings

the Lord of Lords

and in his hands they drilled the nails

while his back still bled

from claws of the cat of nine tails

salt in his wounds, a pierce in his side

it was the sentence to a trial

so wrongly tried

he cried out and said “God, It’s finished, I’m done!”

though he saved the world,

many didn’t believe he was the true One

but when Life and Death did battle

with victory did win

Jesus Christ the risen Savior

seated in heaven now with Him

God the Father

our Lord and Creator

the Master the Maker

the Potter the Painter

Elohim and Adonai

Jehovah God, El Shaddai

The Great I Am

Father, Spirit, Son

the Trinity battles tooth and nail

He won’t quit on us

He cannot fail

so to Satan I say, “Let us fight you to the death!

And let the victor be the one who lives a second life.”  

I say “Let Christ fight you till the death!

And name as king the one who gives eternal life.”

see, we’ve spoken lies

and with the same lips kissed truth

we’ve knocked on hearts

and with the same fists broken through

we’ve pledged vows

but of promises, kept few

we deserve death as payment for our sins

but Christ stepped up and said “I’ll take the bill”

he gave up his spirit at the Place of the Skull

saved us on Golgotha hill

he crossed off my sin

and hung my sin on the cross

I am sought after and fought for

though I was but lost

my Jesus he came

to take away all my shame

to heal a heart full of pain

to cleanse me and disinfect me and make me brand new

it is his love and his light that brightly shines through

the window pane of my soul

he windexed and washed

the dust and grime in my life is gone

and the prince of lies has lost

absent is the heart aching

because my God is remaking

I am no longer suffocating

I used to think that

the breath in my lungs is what brought me to life

but the only oxygen that sustains me is called Jesus Christ.

poor word choice leads to moronic moments

You may chuckle every time you read a "that awkward moment when" description on Facebook or Twitter. I never chuckle at these. Instead, I feel the need to shake somebody, which is not a nice thing to do.

Here are my problems with "that awkward moment when":

1) It's not even a complete sentence. Can't you at least add a few extra words to make it a complete thought? Like, "You know that awkward moment when you realize you're trying to dodge someone, and you both step the same way... twice? " Or you could say "It was an awkward moment when..."  Please, people, if you must use the phrase, at least change it into a complete sentence.

2) Many times the mentioned awkward moment is not even an awkward moment at all. Find a more fitting adjective, people. I pulled some examples from the Twitter machine.

"That awkward moment when you drive past a Kia Soul and there's not a ghetto hamster driving it." This is not an awkward moment. It's a disappointing moment.

"That awkward moment when you finish a math problem and your answer isn't even one of the choices." There is nothing awkward about this. The answers of a math test have never made me feel awkward. A more fitting sentence would be "You know that frustrating moment when you finish a math problem and your answer isn't even one of the choices?"

"That awkward moment when you are scuba diving and see Adele rolling in the deep." This is not an awkward moment. It is an awesome moment.

"That awkward moment when you go through the metal detectors at the airport and your abs of steel set them off." Having abs of steel is not awkward. This is not an awkward moment. It's a proud moment.

Do you see what I mean? There are plenty of other adjectives to use besides awkward. Please use them. I'm going to start calling people out on this, if their poor word choice continues. I know that makes me sound like an anal jerk, but I just don't want you to sound like a moron.

5 Effective ways to stay single for Valentine's Day

Ladies and gents, I've been doing most of these tips for years, and they work. I am never stressing and thinking to myself on the afternoon of February 14th "What should I wear to dinner tonight? Should I straighten my hair?" No, instead I am comfortably at home in sweatpants with my hair up in a tangled mess, watching TV episodes of assassins.

Here is how to stay single:

1) Keep away from places guys go. Be home-schooled with your sister. Live in the boondocks during high school. Go to a college that is 60% female. Become a teacher. These are guaranteed ways to keep those pesky boys away.

2) When you see a guy you like, don't ever talk to him. Don't say hello (he'll think you're being too forward). You can smile if he looks at you, but do your best to ignore him (you don't want to look desperate). If he does speak to you, be sure to mention accidentally throwing your retainer into the garbage or forgetting to feed the 14 cats you have at home.

3) Don't tell your friends if you like a guy. That way they won't know, and then they can like him too and he can go out with your friends instead of you. Saved once again from having to DTR (define the relationship) with him. It needs no defining because you know exactly what it is: it is nothing.

4) Collect Precious Moments figurines. I've never actually done this, but I once knew of someone who did. If you are a college student living in the dorms, then bringing at least half of your collection to display is a really great way to keep those jocks from asking you out on too many any dates.

5) Post really pathetic status updates on Facebook. I try to stay away from this, but I know I've done it once or twice in a moment of weakness. Write things like "He doesn't know what he's missing" or "Sometimes people you love don't even notice you until you show up in their news feed."

Where's Joelle been?

So January was a wash. The writing instinct has just not been in my body lately. I blame it on Pinterest. But rather than post boring things that no one wants to read, I wrote nothing. It's a good thing for you, but a bad thing for me. Because I could have at least drafted something. Worked on something. Been inspired about something.

I don't think anyone reads this anymore. I don't. So that's sad. I never set out to be a blogger with hundreds of readers. The reason I started The Real Pretend was to share funny stories, moments that have really impacted me, and all around goodness. I guess part of the reason I haven't been writing is because there are so many other important things out there that I am trying to do. I'll tell you about one of them:

I started a Saturday Kids Club at my church for the neighborhood kiddos. There are a lot of apartment complexes, mobile homes, and a school within walking distance of the church, and I figured we should take full advantage of our building and use it on Saturdays. I've only got 5 kids so far. But I'm working on it. We've only met one Saturday, so I'm trying to give myself grace.

I thought about doing a Saturday Club in October. Back when I was trying to find a job, I said to God "Okay Lord, if I don't have to work Saturdays, then I'll do it. I will start a Kid's Club." But then November rolled around, I scored two part-time jobs, and I never followed up on my word. I started feeling really convicted about it. Not necessarily guilty that I had told God I would do something and hadn't done it yet, but more like starting a Saturday Club was important. I had this feeling that it would lead to something else, and I was supposed to do this because it was a stepping stone. If I've learned anything in the last year and a half, it is obey God when you hear Him. Obey immediately.

So yeah, I don't get to be lazy and sleep in on Saturdays anymore. But I know what I'm doing is worthwhile, even if it is for just five kids. They matter.

Happy Epiphany!

Maybe you're the type of person who ignites their Christmas tree on New Year's Eve and watches as it burns in a fiery blaze across some field. Maybe you're the kind of person who promptly takes down all Christmas decorations on January first. Or maybe you're the sort of person who leaves their tree and lights up until February. I'm not here to judge.

I'm the sort of person who weeps as they take the ornaments off the tree. I just don't want the Christmas magic to be over, and my house always seems so dull after those little colorful lights go away. I had to undress the tree yesterday for the boy scouts to pick up. It was my last chance. Normally I don't have the boy scouts pick up my tree; usually I just try to stuff it in my yard debris bin. But this year the tree I got was at least eight feet tall, and I knew there was no way the lid would close on that thing. If I didn't get the boy scouts to take that tree, I probably would have had it until May, carefully sawing off pieces at a time and shoving it in the yard debris bin.

I was really reluctant to take down the tree on Saturday, because it was only January 5th. I wanted to keep my tree up until today, January 6th, which is the Epiphany/Three Kings Day. I don't know anyone who celebrates this, but I wish they would. It would make for a really good party. Guess maybe I should move to Spain or something. Let me explain.

First off, did you know that the 12 Days of Christmas are not the 12 days before Christmas, but rather the days after Christmas leading up to the Epiphany, which celebrates when the three wisemen finally got to visit Jesus? So here we all are in America, trying to ring in the new year and be done with Christmas, but it's really not over.

Instead we could be celebrating on January 6th by making a King's Cake and hiding a bean in it. In the countries that celebrate Three Kings Day, that's when they give gifts. Just think if you made it a tradition to give presents on January 6th instead of December 25th. You would save a lot of money on those after-Christmas sales.

I think next year I will throw an Epiphany party and make this a tradition. I've just gotta get those boy scouts to pick up my tree on January 7th.

Shazaam! Bam! 2013.

It seems the year 2012 was kind of a bust for blogging. For whatever reason, I just did not write that much. I'm not going to beat myself up about it though, because writing to fill space is just noise. There is so much nonsense available to read that I hardly think the world suffered because I didn't contribute more paragraphs. But friends, I'm going to try harder to write more often this year--mostly because I want you to know about all the crazy goodness that is happening/will happen.

Life is good and God is good. I did not always believe it to be true, but it is. I am pumped for this year because I just know that things are going to happen. Things I've been waiting for. Things you've been waiting for, and things neither one of us ever thought of.

I want to leave you with a new quote that's been my new year's motivation:

Action always beats intention.

So get off this blog and go do something that matters. Let's check in with each other in a few days. 

--Joelle

the Northewestern Man's hero

I never really understood why men put such high value on a good beard. To me, it was like growing your finger nails out. It didn't really matter. And then @jonacuff posted this picture on Twitter, and it finally made sense.

I was actually impressed. Couldn't take my eyes off it. Instead of wanting to throw the man a razor, I wanted to clap for him.

But if you are a man, I am going to break your heart right now. You can never be like this man. Don't even try. Don't think to yourself my beard is very similar to this guy's. Just a little more work and it will be equal. It won't be. You are not him and he is not you, and I hate to be a dream crusher, but you should prevent yourself from looking foolish. You look more handsome clean-cut.

She Said Yes

She said yes to him. It took a while. He had waited patiently. Every day he hoped she would see him for who he truly was: the one who would love her the best. He was jealous for her. Would tear the world apart to find her. He wanted to be the only.

They started out just friends. Went to the same Sunday school. Spent some time talking together. He would tell her stories and she would ask him questions. She thought it was like every other relationship. He would disappoint her and she would disappoint him. She broke promises she made. He would stop speaking to her.

But it wasn't really like that. He never stopped loving her, no matter what she did to him. He was always there, waiting outside the door, waiting for her fits of rage to subside. She didn't know, and he wouldn't tell her. He wanted her to love him on her own. He wanted her to choose him.

She grew up and went to college, and for a short while, they weren't on speaking terms. That's what happens after high school, right? People grow apart. He wasn't going to give up though, even if she wouldn't answer any of his calls. She wrote mean things about him in her journal and tried to block out what she knew was the truth about him.

One day he sent her a CD. She listened to it once, twice, a third time. It was then that she decided she wanted him back. The music had changed her. It had reminded her of the truth. She gave him a call and they patched things up. He took her back immediately.

Things were okay after that. There were the usual ups and downs, the roller coaster ride of relationships. After a while though, things started to spiral downward. He didn't show up when she needed him to. She felt all alone. She knew he had a caring nature, but she started to believe he cared about everyone but her. Pretty soon, she only looked for what was wrong with their relationship. She tried convincing him they should end it. He could go love someone else then.

But the truth was, he couldn't stop loving her. The truth was, he knew in his heart that they would end up together. And he wouldn't give up. "I will wait one year or I will wait five. Or even fifty if I have to. You decide." That's what he'd say. "You think a lot of things about me that aren't true. But one day you'll see me in a different way." It used to infuriate her. She wasn't convinced.

One day though, she was in a bad place. She called all of her friends, but none of them answered. Her family wasn't there either. She needed someone, and she didn't know who else to call. He picked up on the first ring. She blubbered all her problems to him. He showed up with warm arms and chocolate chip cookies. "Listen to me," he said gently. "I want you to do something for me. Do you think you could do something for me?"
"I guess maybe," she said.
"Let me love you. Look for the good. Just try it."

And then there was the day that she said yes. He popped the question, unexpectedly. People might have thought she was crazy. "Look how he's treated you" they might say. "Do you really think things will change?" She figured they had to. It had never worked when she asked him to follow her life plans. Maybe she should do this. Say yes. Commit, even if it was hard. It was the only thing she hadn't tried. It wasn't even necessarily that she wanted to say yes. It was that she knew she couldn't say no.

"You don't have to," he said. He made it so easy to back out and take the easy road. But she knew he cared. She knew he wanted this. So she fought for it. She said "yes, and I will change what I do to make you the first priority."

"But do you really want me?" he asked. "Do you want to love me now for reals?" He gave her time to decide in her heart. Her heart knew. In fact, her heart was burning for him. They weren't meant just to be casual acquaintances or long term friends. They were meant to be in love.

After some time passed, he told her "You know that time when we were fighting? When you thought I didn't care about you anymore? That broke my heart. I never stopped loving you. I knew you cried tears at night, and I wanted so badly for it to be me. I wanted it to be me with the salty pillowcase. I wanted it to be me with all the hurt. But you had practically given up on us. You wouldn't let me take any of it. I had to wait for you to reach the bottom, the very deepest pit of your soul."

"It worked," she said. "It totally sucked, but it worked. I don't want to ever do that again."

"I know," he said. "But you're mine. You're mine, and I love you, and that will never change. I will love you forever. I love to see you wake up in the mornings, and I smile when your hair gets all tangled up and you lose bobby pins in it and find them two days later, and I adore the way you care for children, and I want to be with you every moment of every single day. And then when the days end, I want to be with you forever after that. Someday I'm going to get you the most beautiful house painted with so much turquoise, and there will be typewriters everywhere and so many books it will put Belle from Beauty and the Beast to shame."

"I need you to know something," she said. "I don't think I've told you this before."
"What's that?" he said. But he already knew what she was going to say.
"You're mine," she said. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine. And I love you. I love you and you're mine."
He smiled. "I'm so glad you said yes."