Dirty Thirty

In 2 hours, I'm turning 30. I'll admit it, I'm freaking out a little bit.

Lately it seems like it’s a fad to write articles about entering this decade of life. Maybe it’s just because it's happening to me soon, and so they’re actually catching my attention. Either way, they seem to be either trying to make a person feel good about this milestone by listing with over-the-top enthusiasm, all the reasons it’s way better than your 20’s…or, pointing out all of the really depressing things about no longer being in your 20’s. I have definitely been spotting the good and bad myself, and also some things that I’m still not sure how I feel about. They may not be the same for everyone, but they’re definitely true for me. So, while it might be the trendy thing to do right now, here is my list of pros/cons and other tidbits I’ve noticed about turning 30:

1.      Your Christmas wish lists look really different.

This year, mine consists of: a new vacuum and dishes. Woo-hoo, exciting! My “secret” wish list also has two items: no credit card debt, and a husband. Don’t you wish they were that easy to get? Like, you could go to Aisle 5 at the local hardware store and pick up a husband?

2.      There’s no way of escaping the word “thirty”.

I’ve started to realize, when people ask how old you are, even if you’re 29, you still get to start by saying “twenty” which makes you sound younger because no matter what number comes next at least you’re still in your twenties. Where as when the word “thirty” comes out of your mouth, it doesn’t matter whether the next number is a 1 or a 9…you’re still in your 30’s. This bums me out a little bit.

3.      Your social life is dwindling, even if you’re still single – because most of your friends are married and have families.

The few friends I have left who are not married have significant others not to mention busy lives, so I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to go out on a Friday night, and literally texted everyone in my contacts list to try and find a buddy to go out with, but still ended up sitting alone on my couch watching Disney movies all night instead.

4.      You have nice stuff now.

Chances are, you finally have enough dough to get a nicer place, whether it’s a better apartment or buying your first home. And you finally traded in that old, beat up, used POS for a REAL car. You even have art on your walls and matching furniture in your house instead of garage sale items or hand me downs. Hooray!

5.      People actually care what you think.

I have realized that with age and experience, my opinion has started to become more valuable. Recently I was asked to be on a special committee for my church. Because I still feel like I’m 16, my initial reaction was “why would they want me on this team? Why would they care what some kid thinks?” I had to remind myself that I was now an intelligent adult woman, whose thoughts positively contribute to my church community. It was an eye-opener.

6.      You are starting to sound more like your mother than yourself.

Which is probably why people will actually listen to you now. She was always right about everything and much wiser than you’d like to admit.

7.      Everyone looks younger.

I am still young enough that high school and college still don’t feel that long ago for me. I still feel like a teenager myself much of the time. So it boggles my mind when I actually get a good look at these kids – college students look young, high school kids look 12, and Jr. High kids are practically toddlers. Seriously. I had my first real boyfriend when I was 14, and I remember how mature I felt then. When I look at the 14 year olds I work with now in my church, I am horrified that I was even dating at that age. They really are children still.

8.      You are having more and more “freak out” moments where you feel old.

Like when they re-release Jurassic Park in theatres in 3-D and you realize you saw it in the theatre when it originally came out TWENTY YEARS AGO. Also, that kid you used to babysit when he was a newborn is graduating high school now. Yikes.

9.      You understand how your parents can be 60, but feel 30.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw a picture of my parents when they were 30. It was of a party they had thrown at the house – with people laughing, making faces, and the table littered with red party cups in the background. I realized though I would have been about 8 years old at that time, and only saw my parents as “old mom and dad” they were actually the age I am now – young and vibrant. It reminded me they were fun people too, who liked to have a good time, just like I do now. And as they got older, they didn’t feel any different, just like I am experiencing now. I definitely do not feel 30. I feel about 20, and mentally have to remind myself that was a decade ago. So it’s easy to see how that feeling will grow exponentially with age.

10.     You start to view older people as mentors, instead of rolling your eyes at things they say.

In my mid-20’s, I suddenly had quite a few older women in my life who acted as mother-figures, since my own mom passed away when I was 23. While I had matured quite a bit already, and had started to understand these older role models were usually right, I still didn’t agree with or like everything they had to say. Often times, I would have a hard time listening to them because I felt like the age gap was too large and I couldn’t relate to them. This has changed. A year ago I was at a Bible Study sitting at a table surrounded by these amazing women, and my perspective suddenly shifted. I realized what a wealth of wisdom was right there at my feet, to learn from. I no longer saw these women as “old” or “un-relatable”, but wise and experienced women with the heart of a 30 year old, just like me. And I found that I desperately wanted to learn from them.

11.     YOU are now a role model.

I work with the youth at my church quite a bit. In my early 20’s, it was things like chaperoning or volunteering, not necessarily running the show. The older I’ve become, the more I have been pushed into a leader/teacher role. As I approach 30, I feel a much heavier weight of responsibility. I understand there are many young people who are watching me and looking up to me, listening to what I say. I also represent my church by singing on the worship team every Sunday morning. People know who I am and trust me. This also means I need to be more responsible with my life. I have the ability to influence, lead, and teach. This can be very rewarding, but it’s also very scary and requires great care.

12.     You don’t have to be a student anymore…and if you are, at least it's for things you're actually passionate about.

I enjoyed college, but, I’m also pretty lazy. So I’ve constantly said for the past decade how happy I am to not be in school anymore. However, if I do ever decide to go back, it’s going to be for a very specific niche of my choice. No more Gen Ed classes, no more prerequisite courses. Just the meaty stuff. It’s amazing how much more enjoyable and easy the academic journey can be when it’s about something you actually like.

13.     You're pretty sure you know what you want to be when you grow up.

even if you’re light years from getting there, or currently working in a completely different career from your dream and have no idea how you’re going to transition, you probably at least know what it is you REALLY want to do. I learned too late as a senior in college that I should have majored in something else. 8 years later, I’m still working at a job that’s related to the major I DID graduate with, all the while knowing it’s probably not the right fit for me. When I tell people that, they always ask what else I would be doing, and for years, my answer would be that I have no clue. That’s changed. I still have a few different paths of opportunity I’d like to explore, but I’ve narrowed that list down and have finally figured out what I really love and what I’m really good at.

14.     You've finally figured out how to do your hair and makeup.

These high school girls who can do all sorts of crazy things with their hair baffle me. I could barely put mine in a ponytail at that age. And I’m horrified when I see pictures of myself with make up on at that age. What is up with all that eyeliner? Hadn’t I ever heard of a smudge brush? And honey, get an eyebrow waxing kit. I looked like Elvira and Brooke Shield’s love child. As I’ve matured, my beauty skills have vastly improved. I know how to properly contour and shade my eyeshadow. I’m still not great at the hair stuff, but Pinterest is starting to change that…

15.     Your wisdom finally outweighs the mistakes you make.

In my 20’s, I made a lot of mistakes and learned from them. However, I wouldn’t always apply what I learned. I now knew when something was not a good idea, but I would do it anyway. As I approach my 30’s, I’m glad to say I’ve gotten better at this. Not only do I have the self-discipline to say no when I should, I have the wisdom to entirely avoid situations I know are not good for me. I still make mistakes, but I’ve found that when I do, they are smaller, less often, and don’t have consequences as severe. What a relief.

16.     You can afford stuff.

Remember when you used to go to the store with your parents, or with college friends, and see things you want, and think “man I can’t wait for the day I will have my own money and I can buy myself things.” Well, that day is now. Granted, you probably can’t go buck wild…but you fancy eating out today? Go ahead. Harry Potter special edition box set released on Blu-Ray? Put that in my basket NOW. You can even go crazy and splurge once in a while on a new Coach purse, or new pair of Jimmy Choo’s.

17.     Even though you have a steady paycheck, credit cards are still dangerous.

You’re finally almost debt-free, and you’ve proven yourself responsible by making payments on time for the past few years. Guess what that means? More card offers, limit increases, and bucket loads of temptation. Don’t give in.

18.     You really start to not care what people think about you anymore.

Not everyone is going to like you. That’s ok. Haters gonna hate. I have learned that regardless of what I do or say, some people are going to think whatever they want about me, whether it’s right or wrong, and there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ll find that won’t slow me down at all, not anymore. Just smile, brush that stuff off, and keep moving.

19.     My faith is my own.

In high school, many of us went to church because we grew up doing it or because our parents made us. In college, we had other priorities like joining acapella groups and tailgating at every home football game. Now, I go to church because I want to. Because it’s important to me. Because I LIKE it. Because I’ve taken responsibility for my own spiritual health. Because I’m done searching and have decided what I want to believe. Owning your faith is a very powerful and liberating thing.

20.     Health and vitamins are important.

Your body does NOT work the same way it used to ten years ago. Sorry, but it’s true. Accept it. It takes a LOT more effort and care to keep it functioning smoothly now. Go see your doctor and get regular check-ups. Do your homework and figure out what exams you should start getting annually, especially considering your family history. Take a daily vitamin. In fact, get some blood work done and figure out what vitamins you’re deficient in and need most. Eat a better diet. Get regular exercise. Go see a therapist. FLOSS. Be proactive! Your body and mind will love you for it.

21.     You have to be your own advocate sometimes.

You know yourself better than anyone else, and only you know when something isn’t right, whether it’s about your health, your personal life, or a social situation. Don’t let people tell you it’s ok or normal if you know it’s not. If you don’t feel good and doctors keep telling you you’re fine, keep getting a second opinion – or third or fourth – until you find one who will listen to you. If you are getting taken advantage of, working in a dead-end job with no end in sight, don’t let people tell you that’s part of corporate culture and it’s just how the world works – speak up and do something about it. Be prepared for certain times where no one else will have your back but YOU.

22.     You like sunscreen.

And moisturizer. And basically anything else that you neglected to use diligently the past decade and are now realizing the consequences of. Aka wrinkles.

23.     You are comfortable with your body.

In high school, one of my nicknames was “bubble-butt”. Seriously, it’s like its own shelf. It looks like Jennifer Lopez and Beyonce tried to squeeze into the same skirt back there. I used to HATE it, but the older I have become, the more I have learned to embrace it. College was the first time I was introduced to the concept that many men actually LIKE a meaty derriere. But it was still a difficult idea to grasp, and it hasn’t really been until my late 20’s that I’ve learned to work it. Ladies, and fellow badonkadonks of the world, WERK it. There are plenty of men who like all different body types, including one that is voluptuous.

24.     You love sleep.

I would give anything to go back to kindergarten where naps were an expected and required part of your school/work day. Naps are magical and amazing.

25.     The dreaded 2-day hangover.

It is real. The first day will be entirely spent in a pain-induced haze in bed or on the couch, trying to stay alive. The second day you will finally be able to get up and move around, possibly eat. After experiencing this phenomenon, you will think twice before over-indulging in the dizzy potions at your friend’s BBQ.

26.     You've lost most of the girl drama and you know who your real friends are.

There’s a famous saying that for women, you are gathering friends in your 20’s, weeding them out in your 30’s, and need them the most in your 40’s. I would say there’s some truth to this. In the last decade, I’ve gone through quite a few friends, and my social clique has changed drastically many times. A lot of times, this is because people’s lives are just changing naturally – they move away for their job, or they start a family. Other times it’s because we realized we were different people and needed to part ways. As I enter my 30’s, I am happy to say I can confidently count at least 5 girlfriends that I know will always be there for me, and that I will remain friends with for life.

27.     Dating is no longer just for fun.

In my early 20’s, my approach to dating had much less of a long-term vision. Sometimes you still dated people you knew probably didn’t have marriage potential, just because they were really fun or attractive. As I’ve approached 30, this has changed. Part of it is logistical – being a female, I feel like I have less time to waste as my window to have children narrows. But the other part of it is just learning how to guard your heart, and not want to waste your time or anyone else’s. Just because you meet someone of the opposite sex and you really like them, doesn’t mean you should date them. Sometimes those people are great just as friends. There’s really no point in dating someone you don’t think you would marry. This narrows the playing field A LOT, which can be a good and bad thing. I’ve had plenty of people tell me I’m too picky, but I don’t see it that way – I see it as having standards. Knowing what I want and what I deserve and not settling for anything less. And I think that’s healthy. I’d rather be alone than with someone I settled for.

28.     Wine.

It’s everywhere. The phrase “let’s go wine-tasting this weekend” will become a staple in your social conversations. You will learn things about wine you thought you’d never know. You will start collecting wine accessories. Gone are the hard liquor days, and now you like to CLASS IT UP with wine. Lots and lots of wine. Wine!

29.     Yoga Pants.

They’re wonderful. If I could wear them every day for the rest of my life, no matter where I was going, I would. This guy gets it.

30.     You love yourself more.

Without sounding completely narcissistic, I AM AWESOME. I love me. I’m not always funny, but I laugh at funny things, I am a loyal friend, I kill it in karaoke, I do 5Ks even though I suck at long distance running, and I can name every Harry Potter spell spoken in the books. I love the woman I’ve grown into, who still knows how to act like a kid. I am more confident about myself now than I’ve ever been, and I’ve learned it’s ok to geek out over things I’m passionate about.

Well, there you have it – my list about turning 30. And would you look at that – there happen to be 30 items. You would think I planned it that way… ;-)

Closet Compost

Kids have terrible logic. Seriously, sometimes they will come up with the most absurd ideas that no normal adult would ever think of, and their brains will tell them “yeah, do that…that’s a great idea.” It’s really unfortunate. 

When I was a kid, my mother used to hammer this idea in my head of not wasting food. She always used to pack our school lunches for us - brown paper bag with a healthy sandwich option, yogurt, piece of fruit. Never anything good like chips or Dunkaroos (for those of you not lucky enough to attend junior high in the 90’s and have the pleasure of experiencing Dunkaroos, this is what I’m talking about). 

On a side note, sometimes that sandwich option would be of a foreign variety, like Leiberwurst. On those days I would dread pulling my sandwich out. I would try to eat it quickly before anyone could spot the pale pasty colored mush in between the slices of bread I was holding. Never worked of course, some kid would always spot it and loudly ask “ewww, what is that?” (what IS it with kids and their sensitivity to food?!). Once I had informed everyone it was Leiberwurst, their eyes would pop out of their head as they processed the concept that I was willingly digesting mashed liver for lunch. I know exactly how Tulla from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” felt when she brought leftover Moussaka to school. 

Anyway, we’re getting away from my original story here - kid logic. So obviously, my lunches were leaving something to be desired, and usually it was the fruit that I chose to forego the most often. However, since it was so well instilled in me to not waste food, I would always save it and put the fruit, still wrapped in the brown lunch bag, back into my backpack. The thing is, my mom would get upset if she knew we hadn’t eaten our entire lunch. So as I rode the bus home, I would constantly be faced with the sudden panic of what to do with my leftover fruit. My mom had a habit of checking our backpacks occasionally, so I couldn’t leave it in there. My solution? I would walk in the door, rush to my room, pull the brown bag from my backpack, and quickly shove it in the back of my closet – right on the middle shelf where my tshirts hung and created a nice dark corner perfect for hiding items from plain view – before throwing my backpack down in its usual spot next to my desk.  Something told me this was a good idea. 

Now here’s where the problem really starts. This would happen several days in a row, and sometimes, I’m ashamed to say, a couple weeks in a row, and suddenly I would have a growing stash of brown lunch bags containing rotting fruit piling in the corner of my closet. Ah yes, the plot thickens. Someone might ask, “why wouldn’t you just tell your mom to stop packing fruit in your lunch? Or throw it in the trash right away? Or throw it away before getting on the school bus?" Those, of course, are all reasonable responses. Apparently I was unable to come up with any such plan. No, my kid brain telling me to create my own personal closet compost system sounded much better (on another related note – this is not my only experience with hoarding produce – check out my Pumpkin story here). 

My panic at the possibility of someone finding my food stash would keep me at edge at all times. I would look for moments to clean out my hoard, ideally when my mom was out of the house and it was the morning of trash pick-up day. Or worse, sometimes I would forget all about my stash, and discover it in the most unfortunate way – by digging for a long lost article of clothing and plunging my hand instead into a soggy lunch bag with mushy fruit. Sadly, more often than not my worst fears were realized. Inevitably, my mother (who I’m sure you’re now starting to realize REALLY liked to stay in my business) would be rooting around in my closet and uncover my little secret. 

One particularly awful time, I was in another room of the house when I heard the bellowing from the depths of my closet and immediately realized what had happened. You’d think after being caught a few times that I would have found another method of disposal for my fruit waste, but no. In that instance, there were a few weeks worth of bags on the shelf, and the rotting fruit had soaked through the bags and left a beautiful apricot-colored stain on the shelf for all posterity. After having a painful, tearful conversation/argument with my mother about my fruit storing habits, we both retreated to our bedrooms to process the emotional exhaustion we were both feeling – my mother mostly frustration, and me humiliation. 

That evening I happened to be reading another 90’s kid staple - Chicken Soup for the Soul, the Kid’s Version – and I came across a most relateable story – “Green Salami”. I searched the internet to find an online version of this story, and was met with success – you can read that story here. As for how it related to me, well, if you read it, it will be obvious. I was comforted to know that I was not the only child weird enough to hide food in their bedroom, and I felt the need to clear my name with my mother by presenting her with the story. I entered her room and announced I needed to read her something, and proceeded to narrate the story from the book. 

About halfway through, I noticed my mother biting her lip, and trying not to laugh. Maybe it was the roller-coaster of emotion we had both just experienced, but I found the sight gave me the giggles as well. By the end of the story, we were both laughing so hard I could barely breathe and had to keep pausing from the story in order to continue reading, and my mother had tears streaming down her face. Please don’t ask me how a story about hairy sausage brought a bit of healing to our uncomfortable encounter that afternoon, but that’s exactly what it did. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that we were not the other mother-daughter relationship to have this experience. It certainly provided a fun memory that I still remember to this day.

Geocaching, Sombreros, and Trundling, Part III

Miss Part I? Read it here

Miss Part II? Read it here

Full of Mexican food and high on life (or on sugar from the flan), we left the restaurant in good spirits and in the mood for adventure (aka trouble). I don’t remember how or why we ended up where we did, but I remember driving along a dirt path and seeing a bunch of discarded tires laying on the side of the road. The boys had a hankering to haul some of them up the nearby hill, and roll them down the side. So, we started gathering tires. 

Being as they were pretty heavy, we finally got the brilliant idea of roping them to the back of our vehicle and driving them most of the way up. Which is how we ended up driving the van up the side of the mountain, with 3 boys hanging off the back of the car, “riding” the tires on the way up. 

Once we were at the top of our destination, we occupied ourselves for a short while, flinging the tires off the side of the mountain and watching them roll all the way down. This easily segued into rock trundling, which is another favorite pastime of geologists, and is just a fancy way of saying “throwing small rocks and boulders down the side of a mountain”. We started small, finding individual rocks to throw, as heavy as we could lift. Then we started working together to dig out larger boulders and push them down the side of the hill. 

Don’t ask me why this activity is so entertaining. There is just something about watching the rocks gather speed and momentum and barrel their way down the side of a mountain, obliterating anything and everything in its path along the way. And the larger the rock, and the more effort it took us to get it moving, the more exciting it was when it flew down the hill. We would yell and cheer as they tumbled their way down to the bottom. 

Then, we discovered it – the mother lode of all trundling rocks. A perfect sandstone sphere, it sat there glowing in the rays of the setting sun, beckoning us. It must have been about 6 feet high and wide, and perched perfectly in a starting position at the edge of the cliff – all we had to do was loosen some of the rocks around the base. You could sense our excitement in the air. 

We got to work and suddenly realized this was going to be a much more arduous task than we first imagined. This rock wouldn’t BUDGE. Too much of the base was buried in the dirt, and no matter how many rocks we loosened, it seemed like it wasn’t helping. Too eager to give up right away, we kept at it. 

30 minutes later, we were still working on this stupid boulder, and had officially passed the point of giving up and were now hell-bent on digging this thing out. It was one of those situations where you had already invested too much time and effort to give up, and there was no going back. With the sun down and us quickly losing our light, we worked at a feverish pace, all five of us digging away. 

Occasionally we would stop digging and all push together, to see if we could get the rock to move. Every time, we would count to three, hold our breath, and push, anticipating the feel of the rock shifting under our hands. But, nothing. 

We worked until the last bit of sunlight was gone, and on a moonless night in the desert, it was pitch black out there. At some point somebody brought up the elephant in the room, which was even if we somehow finally got this rock to move, it was now too dark to even watch it roll down the hill. We didn’t even care. We were not leaving this mountain side until this thing moved. 

My arms aching, I took a break to hold the flashlight, while the boys hacked away at the bottom of the rock, the metal from their rock hammers flashing in the light as they raised their arms, sweat flying, and a crazed look in their eyes.  

Finally, it came time to test the rock again. This time, I inched my way up a neighboring rock, with my back flat up against it, and my feet on the boulder so I could push with all of my leg strength. We counted – 1, 2, 3…and pushed. This time I felt the rock give underneath my feet. There was a communal gasp from everyone as we felt the rock lift, then settle back into place. We were close! You could feel all of us now quivering with excitement and anticipation. I even recall hearing someone say the phrase “this is like foreplay!” We tore at the rock with renewed fervor, knowing the time was near. 

Finally, one last push. We knew this one was going to be it. In a moment of hushed silence, we pushed together, and felt the rock move forward and tip over. Then we saw one of the coolest things I can remember – the boulder striking other rocks as it charged its way down the mountainside was causing it to spark and was sending streaks of flying yellow sparks into the air the entire way down the mountainside. It was a magnificent sight we would have never been able to see unless it was pitch black outside. 

The darkness also intensified all of our other senses, and we could feel the vibrations under our feet and hear the boulder crashing into everything else, until we heard the final loud BOOM of it hitting the bottom, echoing through the desert canyon like a gavel. It was glorious. 

I have so many memories of geology trips, with plenty of others containing much more exciting circumstances than these. But they are still hard to compare with this first trip. The five of us had bonded over geocaches, sombreros, and trundling. We shared new discoveries and experiences together. It taught me that you don’t have to be in an exciting place to have fun – you can be in the middle of a dry desert, with shady restaurants and tire-littered dirt roads – but as long as you are with good friends, you can have a blast. 

Geocaching, Sombreros, and Trundling, Part II

Miss Part I? Read it here

After 2 days and 3 nights of camping and hiking in the desert, we were hot, sweaty, dirty, and tired. When we were finished packing up camp, our professor announced that him and the TA’s were taking one of the vans and that we were allowed to take the other on our own, in case we wanted to stay in town for dinner. This was probably an unwise decision on his part, if he had known us a little better – an invitation for us to get into more shenanigans. 

However, we set off, excited about the prospect of being on our own without supervision (hey, we WERE only college juniors, can you blame us?). Since I had spent a short time living in Barstow when I was young, I told the boys I had memories of a Mexican restaurant from my childhood, one with food so glorious it made you want to weep. Meals that tasted like there were beautiful Spanish women in colorful flowing skirts dancing on your tastebuds. I raved so much about this place, I talked the boys into going there for dinner. 

Since I couldn’t remember the exact location of the restaurant, we had to drive up and down the main strip of the city a few times before finding it. Luckily, it’s a small town. I swore that we would know it as soon as we saw it, because the restaurant from my memories was a magnificent pueblo-style building with bushes of gorgeous flowers bursting through every window, and hand-painted murals of Spanish art on the walls. So, when we finally pulled up at the small, run-down, faded building with the word “Rosita’s” feebly painted on the side, peeling off in places, that should have been my first hint that my 6 year old imagination might have exaggerated slightly. 

We were too hungry to complain, so we went in, sat, and ordered. That was when I recalled a vague memory of celebrating someone’s birthday in this same restaurant when I was a kid. I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to potentially prank or embarrass one of my fellow classmates, so I told the table I had to use the restroom, and set off for the kitchen to speak with our waiter. 

After informing him one of the gentlemen at my table was celebrating his birthday and would like to be surprised later, I was halfway back to the table when I bumped into my friend Rob, who had a mischevious look on his face. Knowing Rob as the trickster of the group, I figured he was up to the same thing I was, so I let him in on my little secret. We agreed who the victim at the table would be. 

After our meals were settling in our stomachs, and everyone at the table was peacefully reclining in their chairs, I was all aquiver with anticipation for our “dessert”. When our waiter finally approached us and asked who the “birthday muchacho” was, Rob quickly pointed at our friend Jim. Jim, thinking this was entirely Rob’s fault, pointed the finger right back in Rob’s face. Luckily I was there to back Rob up, and there was a moment of blind panic on Jim’s face, as he realized he had been duped. 

Suddenly, a trio of costumed waiters appeared. One slapped a giant sombrero on Jim’s head, one was sporting a tiny guitar, and one a set of maracas. They proceeded to dance and sing the Mexican Hat Dance around our table, while Jim sat there looking ridiculous, the tiny pom-pom balls swinging off the edge of the hat and into his face. It came so far out of left field, that I thought I was going to pee my pants laughing. 

As their song came to a close, the mariachi wannabes told everyone at the table to lean in for a picture, and they snapped a Polaroid. I don’t know who has it now, but I still wish to this day I had a copy of that photo. Lesson learned: it seems like the more remote/random a restaurant, the more likely they are to have some silly tradition for celebrating a birthday. And the more friends you are with, the higher the chance someone is bound to rope you into dealing with it. Always carry your own camera. 

Stay tuned for Part III...

Geocaching, Sombreros, and Trundling, Part I

Halfway through my freshman year of college, I changed my major from Astronomy to Geology. The reason for this was completing my first physics course and realizing I would have to take NINE more. I’m not sure why I chose geology exactly, other than the fact that I liked volcanoes and shiny rocks and always had a rock collection when I was a kid. My mom laughed when I made the decision to switch and used to say I could never make up my mind between the heavens and the earth. 

It was a great decision, though. There is something magical about geologists – we are down to earth people who love camping and drinking beer. What’s not to love? On a side note, you should check out the Uncyclopedia's definition of a Geologist some time – it’s great (be sure to read the sections titled "Geologists in Popular Culture" and "How to Spot a Geologist"). 

Some of my best (and worst) memories are of my college geology field trips. There were only 4 other people in my major in my year, and they were all guys. I tended to prefer the company of boys at this point in my life, since I enjoyed living drama-free, so this was a bonus. Jeff, Jim, Ryan, Rob and I were immediately close friends, and our class trips were always a blast. 

I will always have a fond place in my heart for our first trip together – to Rainbow Basin outside Barstow, CA. As soon as the five of us were set loose on our own, our attention span quickly wandered from structure mapping to goofing off and checking out our surroundings instead. 

Our first major discovery was up on the edge of a thrust fault we had to hike our way up. Taking a rest at the top, we found an old bobcat lair that had been abandoned (atleast, we were pretty sure it was). Wondering how deep it went, the boys lowered me into it (I’d say they forced me to do it but I more likely volunteered myself). I could stand at the bottom of the hole with barely my head poking out. Threatening to leave me there forever, the boys scampered off and went exploring a few feet away. 

After a few moments, I heard a voice say “hey guys, someone left a box up here” and the boys came back carrying a small Tupperware container. Curiosity outweighing their desire to leave me in the hole, they got me out and we gathered around the plastic box. Upon opening it, we found a small notepad, and a collection of odd-ball objects. After flipping open and reading the notepad, we learned we had just discovered our first geocache. 

Geocaching is basically treasure-hunting for adults. It is an outdoor recreational activity where you use GPS (Global Positioning System) to hide and/or seek containers located on public land. These “caches” are sometimes filled with fun objects and can be used as a “trading post” – take an object, leave an object. 

For five college students, this was a discovery magnificent to behold. An entire world of fun had just opened up for us. We all took an object from the box, but having nothing to leave, we scrounged through our school supplies and pooled the following bootleg items for the next lucky finders: a ruler, a couple pens, keychain, stickers, and hand lens, all courtesy of the USC Geology Department. Which of course, is how we came up with our official Geocaching Team  Name: Bootleg Tour. Thus began a legendary mission and beautiful journey to discover as many geocaches as possible on our geology field trips. 

To Be Continued...

Read Part II here!

Wear Your Sunscreen, Kids...

This weekend it was about 110 degrees in Bakersfield. Luckily I didn’t stick around for it – I got the heck out of dodge and went to the beach where it was a beautiful 75 degrees all weekend. But it did remind me of a story…

I didn’t wear my first real bikini until I was 15 years old. I’m sure I had worn them when I was a baby or a little girl, but those don’t count. I’m talking about, itty-bitty, triangle-top, string bikini. Mine was blue with white-polka dots and it had a tiny Winnie-the-Pooh on it.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, and I was on summer vacation with my best friend, Jessica. It was our last hurrah together, since my family and I would be moving to Bakersfield that fall, and we would be separated. They had invited me on their family trip to Mammoth Mountain, and I was pretty darn excited.

Since Jessica and I were the epitome of obnoxious teenagers at this point in our lives, all we were interested in doing while surrounded by the glory and splendor of the mountains (besides doing our hair and makeup), was tanning by the pool. So that’s what we did. And of course, like a typical teenager who doesn’t need to worry about her skin because she has naught a wrinkle yet, I wore no sunscreen. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was slathering oil on my body like a 50’s greaser.

(Here is a picture of me in the offending bikini. Please don't be creepy because I posted a pic of myself in a bathing suit.) 

A few hours after our tanning session, I already noticed that my skin was feeling uncomfortable and was turning a startling shade of red. Especially the tender skin around my…uh…décolletage…that had never seen the sun before. A few more hours, and I noticed skin puckering and swelling. This could not be good.

I’m not sure what happened overnight, but by the time I woke up the next morning, the blisters on my skin had hardened and cracked in places on my chest. I became aware of this upon trying to roll over in a half-asleep state in the early hours of the morning, and practically falling out of the bed in pain. My movement only made it worse – some of the cracks had started to bleed. It was AWFUL. Most nights I could barely get to sleep, and would just lay awake in bed, moaning in agony.

(Here is a pic of me trying to get into a jacuzzi a day or so later. You can see the look of immense pain on my face, and that was just from the hot water on my burned legs. Please notice the magnificence of that tan line from my shorts, by the way...)

Now imagine me trying to explain to my best friend’s parents what was wrong with me and why I was in so much pain. Of course her mom wanted to look at it to make sure I was really ok, so that added to the awkwardness. Since anything more constricting than a baggy t-shirt was painful for me to wear, I had to go bra-less for the duration of the vacation.

(Here's a closer look at my chest. Still hard to tell, but that white spot in the middle is where only one layer of skin peeled off. The darker red areas are where about three layers came off. Ouch.)

As soon as I got home from our trip, I visited the doctor (another awkward moment), who proceeded to tell me that I had suffered third degree burns on my body and yelled at me for not getting it taken care of sooner. He then gave me an ointment that I had to smear on my cleavage several times a day, that smelled like a bad mix of motor oil and old people, and stung when I put it on. The whole thing was very traumatizing and painful.

(To emphasize my point, here is another pic of me in immense pain). 

Luckily, there was no scarring, and I haven’t had any skin cancer scares or anything like that. Needless to say, I learned my lesson: Fair skin + High Altitude Suntanning – Sunscreen = Burned Boobs. I’ve been wary ever since, about exposing any skin that hasn’t seen sun for a few months. I can’t imagine how the people in the nudist camps do it.

900m to the Sea; 40,000m to the Ocean

Last Sunday at my church, we commissioned two missions teams - one to Poland and one to Romania. It reminded me of my own mission trip to Poland three years ago. Though it might sound cliche, going on a mission truly is a life-changing event. Mine was no exception. I have so many wonderful memories from our trip. When my team arrived back home, the church asked if someone would write an article for our monthly bulletin - I gladly obliged. The following is the article I submitted for our church, titled "900m to the Sea; 40,000m to the Ocean": 

On July 21^st, 2010, St. John’s Lutheran Church waved the F.I.S.H. mission team farewell as they boarded a plane for Poland – excited, nervous, and eager. On August 3^rd, we touched back down on American soil as 5 very exhausted, touched, and changed women.

Teaching a week long English-Bible Camp to 30 children was both everything we expected it to be and full of surprises. Here are 7 of the most important things we learned during our trip:

1. When the mission training manual tells you to start getting in shape early, they mean it.

People in Poland like to walk. A lot. On your feet 6 hrs a day during camp? That doesn’t stop them. They’re ready for a stroll through town afterwards, a walk through the sand dunes later that afternoon, and a relaxing hike through the woods before dinner to round out the evening.

We learned this lesson right off the bat during our first evening in Slupsk. We headed out with the Pastor and his wife (9 months pregnant, mind you!) for what he promised to be a quick 900 meter jaunt through the woods to see the Baltic Sea. Two hours later, sweaty and exhausted, we reached our goal. We refused to believe we were looking at the Sea, insisting we had walked at least 40,000 meters and were now looking at the Atlantic Ocean instead.

By the end of our trip, we were all jokingly accusing our Pastor of trying to kill us. This apparently tickled him pink, since he shared his new nickname with the congregation during the following Sunday’s sermon. He still lovingly signs his emails to us as “the Killer Pastor from the ‘Ocean’”.

2. Familiarize yourself with the teaching environment (and always look where you’re going!)

Ahh, the first day of camp! Nerves are heightened, impressions are being made. After instructing one of our leaders to take the children to their classroom, we stepped into the hallway to see her holding open a door and ushering them inside. The obedient children quietly shuffled in and turned, waiting patiently for further instruction. It wasn’t until this moment that our bold leader finally turned around and walked in after them, only to suddenly realize…she had just led all of the confused children into the bathroom. Needless to say, she was teased mercilessly for the duration of the trip. 

3. God reveals Himself through the hearts of small children.

When the first day of camp was through, and we released the kids to go, Gregorz was lagging behind the others. He gathered his things, and started to leave, but then stopped at the front of the room, where the words we learned that day were still written on the blackboard. He dropped his things, walked over to the footstool, and dragged it back over to the board. Watching him, one could only imagine what he was doing. Climbing the stool, he reached up to where the word “Christmas” was written, and then, glancing over to see if he was still being watched, slowly circled the portion of the word spelling “Christ”. Climbing back down the stool and replacing the chalk, he gathered his things and, to our astonishment, walked out the door without a word.

Maciek was 8, but he was so tiny he looked about 5. When he smiled, his entire face would light up. We conspired often about how we could possibly smuggle him home with us in our suitcases. The day we learned about Zacchaeus and his promise to change his life, you could see the little cogs turning in Maciek’s head as we tried to explain what it meant for someone to “change”. After some silent thought from the class, he finally piped up and asked a question in Polish. Pastor, who happened to be in the room, looked up and said, “Maciek wants to know what we can do to change our lives”.

Are any further words needed?

4. Missions are about relationships.

If you ask us a few months from now, what bible verses we had the kids memorize, or what vocabulary words we taught them, we probably won’t be able to tell you. What we will remember however, is the way little Maciek’s eyes grew into saucers when he watched us perform the “miracle” of turning water into wine. Or when beautiful Kasia refused to let go during a tearful goodbye embrace. Or how sweet Karina finally allowed herself to open up and professed her love for us on the last day of camp. Or when our translator Dagmara said that us being there was good for her faith too, because she could see how on fire we all were. Or…well, you get the picture.

The ministry of a one-week mission is temporary. The ministries we’ll maintain through the relationships we built are eternal.

5. Heaven must be a very, very large place.

Worshipping with other believers in another country has got to be one of the coolest things that exist. There is nothing quite like hearing the Lord’s Prayer or the Apostle’s Creed recited in another language. Or singing “Amazing Grace” together but in two different languages.

On our last Sunday, we realized we had no less than 5 nations represented within the parish that day: Polish, American, German, Dutch, and Russian. The Pastor asked one from each to come forward, and as we listened to a prayer in 5 different languages, tears fell as God blessed us with a precious glimpse of what heaven will be like someday. It’s easy to forget it won’t just be little ol’ St. John’s from Bakersfield, CA up there. Someday we will all be together – every nation, every tribe – worshipping together. It was enough to give us goosebumps.

6. Your prayers matter.

It would be an understatement to say that this trip was blessed. From the time the team was put together, from the time we did our return debriefing, God had a hand on this mission. Everything ran smoothly, there were no catastrophes or crises. We were comfortable, safe, and forced to stuff ourselves silly with bread, sausage, potatoes, and dumplings for sustenance (horrors!). Satan was unsuccessful at causing conflict or dissention amongst us 5 team members.

I cannot promise any other mission would be the same, but for some reason, God decided to take good care of us on this trip. We attribute this mainly to one thing – the prayers of our friends, family, and Church body. We cannot thank God enough for the love and support we received. Please know your prayers were necessary, invaluable, and appreciated.

7. It’s worth it. 

All joking and fun stories aside, this mission was tremendously impactful. Yes, we did what we came for and the kids learned some English and read some Bible Stories. But what happened in the hearts and souls of everyone we met along the journey is what matters the most. Relationships were made. Discipleship was present. Revival occurred. And changed lives and attitudes resulted. Some people might think that the results of a short-term mission trip are tough to quantify, but you do not need to reap an entire harvest to call your trip successful. Sometimes most of the work is in simply preparing the field and planting a seed. The five of us saw and felt enough to know that God was unequivocally present and working in us all the entire time, and that is a satisfying thought indeed.

Watch a photo compilation from our trip!