Happy Thanksgiving...

I'll preface this post with the fact that my family on my mom's side is from middle-of-nowhere Michigan, where most people either work in car factories or are farmers. My Grandpa, for example, did both. They're good, hard-working people, and they like things simple. I love my roots, and I think that they gave me a good start in life. However, after living where I've lived for the last 10 years, I just find it humorous that this was the "nice" (read: only place open) place to go for Thanksgiving in middle-of-nowhere Michigan. 

 This year's Thanksgiving resembled a really bad wedding reception. You know the kind, where you don't really know anyone at your table, the reception hall is crowded, has bad lighting, and the music, well, it doesn't even deserve to be called that, so we'll call it muzak. You get the picture. Actually I wish I had taken pictures. But, I didn't want to offend the relatives.

I'll start with the hall where it was held. First of all, it used to be a roller rink. Yes, a groovin' roller rink. I went to the roller rink when I was in junior high. It smelled like old shoes and nachos.  They must have thought a roller rink was a perfect start to a reception hall. It has a big open room, probably a rockin' sound system to play some hip tunes, and a nice wood floor for dancing.With a few modifications, it could be a good start to a nice banquet hall. However, I'm pretty sure the restaurant that took over this roller rink didn't make many modifications.

They put a good coat of paint on the place. But they installed carpet and painted the pretty wood floor. And I'm pretty sure all the original lighting, was not removed. Not only was it not removed, they actually used some of it for lighting the nice banquet hall. Now that was some interesting ambiance for the evening. There were running lights around the perimeter of the ceiling, you know, for soft lighting. And then when the muzak started going, they used the colored lights on the ceiling to give it a party feel.

Ah, the muzak, where do I start? It was one guy. With a keyboard. And a drum loop. He was mellow. And he was just a little annoying when he was doing Christmas classics. It was when he tried to do something a little more upbeat that he was just laughable. Like when he tried to sing Mustang Sally. With his keyboard. And his drum loop. Oh, and did I mention he had a tip jar? Don't get me started on his tip jar. The only thing I'm grateful for is that he didn't try and do Justin Beiber.

Now, once you got past the decor, it was decent food. And it was nice to see family I only see once or twice a year. So, all in all, it was a very nice holiday. In the middle of nowhere. In a former roller rink. 

Gluttony...

Too much of something. That's how I would define gluttony. Most of us only use that term when we think of the "seven deadly sins," but oh, how much more is it in our lives. I used to only think of it in the terms of excess of food, like in this scene from Lord of the Rings.

However - as grotesque as this scene is, I only recently realized that our gluttony - our partaking in needless excess-applies to so many other things.
So, I'm going to talk about why I quit Facebook.
"What, you quit Facebook?!? How are you surviving?" is the response I've gotten recently.
I really hesitated to write on this, because I feel like people would think was just a pious act, done to flaunt my hatred of technology and self-control over other people. But that is so far from the truth.
I loved Facebook. I loved every status update, photo and comment I posted. I love reading about other people's lives. I love looking at other people's posts. And I miss it. I miss telling people about my day, my thoughts, and my frustrations. But, I had to quit. The service, while a very useful tool, was taking over my life.
The first thing I would reach for in the morning was my phone to check what people had posted on my page overnight. I would think in status updates, figuring out how I could make something funny. Sadly, I still think in status updates.
Tonight, I have nothing to do because no one called me. If I were on Facebook, I could've probably looked up what friends were doing tonight. I miss that connection. Honestly, if it were up to me, I would still be on there.
However, I have an accountability partner that holds me accountable to my convictions, and helped me quit. I gave her my password, and she went into my account and deactivated it and changed my password. Sadly, my self control was pitiful. And when I tried to deactivate my account on my own, I would lose my will and log back in after a mere 24 hours.
Today marks one week since I deactivated my account, and I want to say that it hasn't been the ultimate solution to my time-management issues. However, I have come clearly to define the three reasons why giving it up has made my life distinctly better.

• Time. I feel like I have control over my time on the computer better. Not all things are fixed, but I haven't gotten sucked into the Facebook world. Instead, I'm actually reading useful things on the web, like news and helpful blogs. 
• No-comparisons. I'm not comparing myself to other people. Looking at their pictures or relationships and wishing I had what they had. I'm not jealous of people who have more to do than I do. 
• Not over-sharing. While I'm working on it, I'm not compelled to share every tedious and boring part of my life. I'm seeking healthier, more intentional outlets of my frustration. 

So, yeah, this is just the beginning of this journey Facebook-less. And I do think that at some point I might go back to it. But hopefully, this part of giving it up is showing me a side of life I have forgotten about.

Waiting well...

So, I'm not going to lie. Today was a difficult day. I'm in the midst of starting a prayer group with some single friends to pray for our future husbands, and I honestly didn't imagine it would be this hard to get people to come. So far, I've hosted it for three months, one Saturday morning a month, and only one person has come in that time. Talk about feeling like a loser.
Each time, I prepare my house, and sit and wait.
I know that God calls us to act, and to stand up for good things even when no one follows. And that's my plan. I will continue to prepare, and wait. And pray, and wait some more.
I don't write this for a pity party, I really don't. I don't need the followers. I just want people to have a place where they can come and pray to God for marriage. To cry out to God about their future spouse - that he will be a man who is a leader, and will pursue them, and that it will be in God's timing.
As I've explained my heart for this time with friends who I invite to come, I've gotten lots of mixed responses.
"But, what if God doesn't have marriage in my future?" one person asked.
My response: We all pray for things that may or may not happen. And in those times, when God's answer is no, we grow closer to Him. We acknowledge our dependence on Him. We seek Him. Praying for a husband, and letting God know that we desire marriage is not a bad thing.
Other questions..."But it's such a personal thing to pray for. Why are we praying as a group?"
Well, God calls us to community. We grow closer by praying for one another. Why not pray as a group for each other to find a godly husband? Is it so far fetched to pray in that way? I can't imagine that God would want us to shy away from this subject.
Honestly, I didn't think I was stepping on that many toes trying to pray together for men to come into our lives. We are single. God has created marriage to be a good thing. I'm sick of sitting back and waiting for it to happen. As women, we are called to wait for men to pursue. At least in this way, I am taking my action to God, who, last time I checked was Lord of all. If there was anyone who could find me a husband, I think it would be Him.
Did I mention that I am passionate about this?
So, friends who read this, join me in prayer. Pray for me a husband. Pray for me to be strong in waiting. Pray for me to trust God in waiting. And not only to wait, but to wait well, taking everything to God.