in line at the post office

Man at counter with a crapton of mail flirting with postal worker.
Silently aggravated man.
Too talkative woman.
Guy next to me wondering what I'm doing on my phone.
Random girl blogging (that's me).
Angry man fussing under his breath.
Lady standing too close to person in front of her.
Woman who's going to be late for work.
Woman who is overdressed for the post office.
Woman who brought in her whining child.
The whining child.
Guy who can't even see the counter anymore who's thinking about leaving.

fight for me.

The pastor at my church has promised a message series coming on what it means to be a man. All of the 20-something, single women rejoiced.

This summer really taught me a lot about men - or lack thereof - and the affect it has on the kids who didn't get to choose their dads... their brothers... their male influence.

The boys are lost, trying to figure out what it means to be a man - besides just what they hear in hip hop music (that's all those young whipper-snappers are listening to these days - yes, I am secretly 80). The girls are seaching for someone... anyone... who will fight for them.

I know I am.

Almost every woman I know... every woman you see in a romantic comedy or an action movie... every girl in a story-song... all of us - we want to be chosen. To be fought for. It's not the uniform that makes the "man in uniform" loveable. It's that he's fighting for something he believes in, so maybe he'd fight for me too.

The feminist in me wants to add something here about that it's not that we're not capable of doing things on our own. But let's be honest. I was thrilled to death that one of my guy friends cleaned up the rotting squirrel in my basement so I didn't have to do it. I love when I'm clearly struggling with carrying something and a man offers to help. I like having someone be thoughtful enough to hold the door open for me. I'm capable of doing it. But it's nice to be thought of.

It's what every girl secretly wants.
We want you to take a risk. Step up and ask us out.
We want you to take care of us. Kill the moths. And step on the giant crickets.
We want you to carry heavy things and get off difficult lids. That one is because our hands are probably wet.
We want you to fight for us. Face it. Sometimes we say things, just to hear that you want to be with us.
We want you to lead us. I want you to love Jesus. And to help me follow Him better. I am also bad with directions.

From the girl who's been single her whole life to the recently divorced to the heart-broken to the flirt - hear from us all: please. fight for me.

how quickly we forget.

I guess the "we" in the title should probably just be me. Er. That would be bad grammar. "how quickly me forget. me jane."

One of my friends can't remember names to save his life. Or stories. Some people aren't good with numbers. Some people, not good at remembering important lessons in life. I wish I were one of the first two, but alas.

I am number 3 (see what I did there? a play on the movie? I Am Number Four? Look it up.).

I, like Mater in Cars2, have left a dent in my car as a reminder not to compromise. Because it never ends well. I don't want to go back to the life I was leading - where I was a person that I hate and didn't really know who I was.

But, it's super easy to go back.

What is it about boys that makes girls go so crazy? We fight over them. We get dramatic over them. We let them break our hearts without them ever having invested any ounce of thought into us. We're as silly and dense as we call them. I say "we" because I'm definitely part of the problem. I quickly forget that I don't have to become like anyone else to be "liked." And you know... not just liked... LIKE-liked. (obviously.)

Maybe no one will ever come around that LIKE-likes me. I am a firm believer that I want to be with someone that together, we can do infinitely more for God than we could have done separately. Maybe I'm just imagining there's someone like that out there.

And if I'm being really honest, that sucks.
But if that's life, that's the best plan.

Because I was reminded tonight, my plan is clearly not the one that works. I tried that once.
It's where I got the dent.

frickin' perfect.

I just shattered this mirror. The perfect end to the perfect frickin' week. (note sarcasm)

This has been one of the more difficult weeks, culminating in one of the more difficult days I've had in awhile.

From heart-broken friends, disregarded middle school/high school students to my own struggle with feeling not good enough - it's really been just been... tough. I'm feeling a lot like this mirror right now. A bit broken and scattered.

I'm not as strong as everyone seems to think I am.

give me your eyes

I'm at a conference speaking out about human trafficking and one of the survivors just gave her testimony on how the spiral down a long dark path started. Simple... Her parents were too busy for her and couldn't believe that anything as awful as rape could happen to her. Because stuff like that doesn't happen to people you know... Just people you hear about.

No one heard her out. No one took the time to ask that maybe her lashing out was because she was hurt with no one to talk to. It wasn't that she was a "bad kid" and "not good in school." Its because she was hurting. And no one saw. Or cared.

I want to see through eyes that look past the "bad kid" exterior. I want to see past bad attitudes and rudeness. I want to look beyond self injury or self centeredness. Because everyone has a reason for the way they are. We all are a product of what we've been through. Some of us just hide it better.

second place.

Clouds are rolling in. My bosses are gone from work. I'm showing semblance of being actually caught up for a second on my list of things to do. Mat Kearney is on my Spotify account and I have my silly hipster scarf on.

Time to blog.

I am competitive. At everything. I don't play checkers because it makes me angry when I lose. I don't play Monopoly because it takes too stinking long to win. I don't play BS or Uno because they both make me into a crazy competitive, semi-angry player.

What? I like to win. Don't you?

I don't like coming in second place. At anything. It's pretty much guided the pieces of who I am. I don't like trying new things because I'm not going to be good at them. I don't initiate conversations with my friends because "what if they don't want to talk to me because someone better is out there?" I don't admit when I like someone because it might not work out and then I have to admit that I am second place to whatever other girl took first.

The funny thing is, I actually find myself in second place a lot.

Working with middle schoolers who have little to no filter reminds me that I'm never going to be the pretty, popular cheerleader-type that is their favorite. And I wasn't even when I was in high school. I'm not the best at dancing. I'm really not the best at leading a small group. I'm not the "most fun car ride to the zoo EVER." And I don't have the best, funniest, most relatable stories.

In b-girl(thanks, Homestar Runner) relationships, I've always been the friend. "One of the Guys" is where I'm most comfortable. In high school, college, and even after, I always heard about the girls that my guy friends liked. Gave them advice on what a girl means when she says this... or that, and how to respond. But no matter how good of a friend I might be - I'm still second to the elusive "Johanna" - tall, blonde, swimmer - that every guy seems to die for... who won't even give him the time of day (Taylor Swift wrote a song about that...).

Most days I'm okay with that. But I'm having a hard time in my aloneness with feeling second-rate. Damaged goods. Some other cliche that means "not very good."

Insert some encouraging piece here. I'm sure there's a verse or a line in a song or something to tie a post like this up nicely if you can't handle things not being okay for a second.

At the end of the day, I still hate to lose. But I do. And I get over it.

Here's to second place. And the learning that comes out of it.