Commentary

Once I invited my best friend and her brother to come to church with me. Someone or other had told me that to invite friends to church is a good deed done unto everyone, and God. So, I invited them because I wanted to do a good deed. And, you know, she's my best friend, I want her to be a part of my life in that way. 

My family and I picked them up. They walked down their front steps and I thought, "They are too dressed up." I mean, I'm all about Sunday best, I guess, but I was only in fifth or sixth grade--I knew nothing about women's suits for preteens and that's what my friend wore. Her brother wore something similar. They were matching. They're not twins, but for a second I thought they were.

Church was church. I barely remember what went on. I remember I decided to sit in the third row, and I remember my best friend's brother kept asking when we were going to eat because he's hungry. I shrugged. 

Then we had communion. And my best friend's brother was like, "YES! FOOD!"

But it was only one small cup of grape juice, and one teeny tiny piece of matza bread. He downed both as though he'd never eaten and asked me, "Can I have more?" 

I did my best not to laugh. 

Then one of them dropped a book. 

I don't remember being embarrassed, but my parents were. My parents, before church began, asked, "Are you sure you want to sit in the third row? So close to the front?"

"Duh, we always sit there."

I think about the way people act in church. Then about the way people act outside of church. 

Sometimes in public places children will throw embarrassing fits- well, the children are fine, it's the parents who are embarrassed (well done, kid). And most onlookers will mumble, "Get your kid under control." or "What bad parents." or "That kid needs to be spanked." or "That kid is spoiled." 

Such unnecessary commentary. 

Sometimes in public places people trip over nothing. Onlookers will laugh and/or tease. Perhaps trip over nothing, too, cheeks burning red, eyes looking everywhere but passersby. 

Then behavior in church...

I am church kid, but I'm not a church kid. Let me put it this way: I did not grow up knowing 'Jesus' as the right answer to everything. I was unfamiliar with how to act in public situations, and though adults perceived me to be a quiet kid my parents knew otherwise. 

I laughed very loudly. 

I spoke loudly. 

I made faces loudly. 

I was just loud. 

I inspired many passersby and onlookers to comment on or about me. I inspire commentary. Some might say I deserve commentary. I mean, somebody's got'a tell me I'm doing something wrong. Yeah. Right. 

Today is the first Sunday of the month- most churches have communion on the first Sunday of the month. 

Another fun fact, I've been attending this church consistently for a couple months now--super new for me. (Note: this church is different from the one I mentioned above.) When I visit a new church I tend to be very skeptical. Not like, "Oh, is this church going to convince me to believe in God. Again?!" I am just skeptical by nature; analytical and jaded. I am really jaded. I am amazed at how jaded I am.

Today I partook of communion and reflected on the past communions in which I did not partake. I wondered why I didn't partake. 

In one church I visited several times over an extended period, the church had its congregation come up to one of two tables where rested the cups of juice and plates of bread. I did not partake because I was a visitor, and didn't want to stand in line with people I assumed would look at me funny. 

Augh.

Some communions in which I did not partake I hadn't spent enough time reflecting on my sins. Even though I was told ahead of time we'd have communion the following week, I didn't spend the following week reflecting on my sins. And I knew that to partake of communion with an impure heart would doubly damn me.

Right? 

Well, however I thought way back when, I missed the point of communion. 

Whatever communion means to you, it doesn't just mean the elements of the Last Supper. It's not just the bread and the wine. Nope. Now, I'm no linguist, but I don't think it's a coincidence that word 'communion' and 'community' have the same beginning 'com'- with; a sharing (dictionary.com). 

Whatever communion is to you, it is not taken in solitude. It is taken with others. And as much as any community relies on individuals, individuals too preoccupied with their role in the community are likely to overlook actually acting out that role. 

I am not saying that my not partaking in communion disrupted others, but I did prevent myself from, you know, communing. 

I was so worried with what an onlooker or passerby would think instead of reflecting upon what the elements of bread and wine represent. Worried I didn't spend enough time in self-loathing...I mean reflection.

I partook communion today more thankful for Christ's death and resurrection than I was worried about people's perception of me even if I tripped over myself, don't appear to be able to raise kids, dropped a book on the floor of a silent auditorium full of people, or asked if more juice and crackers were coming round. 

If a stranger's commentary shouldn't matter that much to me, how much less should the lies I tell myself matter? (So much less.)

Trust me, I am all about growth and criticism, but seriously, neither of those should ever encompass the God who made commentary and tripping over nothing possible. That's probably why I've never thought 'Jesus' was the right answer. It felt too broad, and no one ever cared to explain the details of that breadth. 'Jesus' is not the equivalent of 'abracadabra'. 

Because of-.

So, my feet hate me. Like hate me. If my feet had individual hearts, theirs would be pounding with thoughts of murder and anarchy. But, as they say, Mind over matter. Let's be real: my feet didn't hurt that badly that I needed to stay in bed the rest of the day. I wanted to go to Philly and I wanted to visit the MoMA.

Besides, I was enduring self-chosen punishment for poor footwear.

Cute shoes do not a comfortable walk make.

Seriously, though- adorable shoes, and more durable than I expected! 

Do you know how to use a mirror? What's it for? 

A couple weeks before today I'd written this blog post where I wrote, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it." 

Whenever I watched 'What Not to Wear' I completely empathized with those who had to go into the 360 mirror. Holy-. 

"Is that what I looked like while talking to him?!"  

Well, yes.

And no.

Should I approach a mirror I might straighten my posture, brush aside a curly strand of hair from my forehead, double check my complexion; etc. But that's my facing the mirror directly. If I stood on top of the mirror, or if it was directly overhead, or shaped like the Bean (Cloud Gate) in Chicago. Would I like what I see? 

Because to see something I don't expect could be daunting.

Have you walked into the 'Infinity Mirror Room'? (I haven't, but I'm told it's surreal.)

Because it starts out like this,

and ends up,

Does anyone really know how large this room is? What do you mean I can't walk further out?

Mirrors offer a great place of illusion. (I'd say delusion, but I'm not psychologist.)

Two days ago was not my first time in Philadelphia. Yesterday was not my first time in NYC. A few scattered weeks ago was not my first time in the Greater Scranton-Wilkes Barre area. Last January and December was not my first time in the Philippines, or China for that matter. I visit Niagara Falls and Toronto often enough, I'm surprised I haven't made a rut in the ground...but that would be why I pay tolls. 

It could be because I am sentimental that traveling is surreal to me. 

When I look around places where I have been, I recall what I did there. I, in the future (so to speak), recall what my past self (so to speak) was doing. I think of who I was, and who I am now, and am generally shattered by emotional, mental and physical (no, I still haven't got a six pack) transformations that I hadn't see growing below the surface. 

I had looked in mirrors and reflections seeing no change--I mean, save my pixie cut--hating the immobility of my life and person. "Why haven't I changed?" I'd croon.

But like watching paint dry and seeds break free of dirt, I did change, just change that was out of my control. 

(Always out of my control, aren't you, God?) 

No, I didn't exactly look like that when talking to him, but I did. 

As far as I am aware, I haven't undergone plastic surgery, so I look like the 23-year-old version of my 5-year-old version. I have some things about myself that I don't like (who. the hell. doesn't?). But if a reflection is dependent upon the angle from which you view it, I don't have his eyes. What he sees is going to be different from what I see. 

It just is.

Passers-by aren't going to know that I my feet are killing me because I don't act like my feet are killing me. I haven't told anyone. Haven't put it on a poster-board asking for donations for new shoes (FWP, much?) because scaling the MoMA's walls, and wandering around Philadelphia's Center City meant more to me than my pain...ish. 

Ha, I did mention it once or twice to a few people, but I still ran up Rocky's steps :D

Because outside Center City and the MoMA are homeless men and women and children who don't directly benefit from my touristy monies. 

Like this BuzzFeed: New York on Instagram vs. New York in Real Life. Neither is an entirely tru depiction of New York- it's not that bad, and it's DEFINITELY not that good, but why should that matter? Just let it be. Enjoy all the angles from which you can view these places, and those that send a shiver down your spine- maybe that's a call for you to do something about it. Because a reflection depends not just from the angle, but also he or she who views it. 





My sentiment is daily breached when I move from one place to another. I miss certain places not generally because of the place, but because of the people that were there with me. I mean, now every time I listen to Ed Sheeran's "I See Fire" I am transported back to the Philippines (I can even smell it). How's that? Because I listened to it 165+ times on repeat while I was there.

Suffice to say, I could do without ever seeing Scranton again, but one of my best friends lives there. And there, I made better friends.

Because some years ago visiting this place, I had different intentions, and was with different people. Some of those intentions have evolved, and some people have left.  I should not exchange any of these experiences for the world because it somehow brought me where I am today, despite not really having gone anywhere.

Or, it could be that I am psychotic.

Either way, I am not who I was. Because of travel. Because of people. Because of situation. Because of little to no money. Because of everything that catches my eye. Because life.

That's so cool.

How could it be that every day is the same, but I engage retrospect and everything's changed?

Well, now to attempt a couple poems. 

"Just call me Jennifer." or "Reflective Angles"

So, if you're wondering why July and August are bare of blog posts it's because I've been away at camp. I even chose to stay longer at camp.




This morning I went on a quick walk down to the lake. I sat not at its edge mostly because the gate was locked, but from where I sat I had a view well enough to appreciate. I don't know that I was conscious of what I was thinking- I was just thinking, praying my coughing wouldn't disturb the morning air...it did.

Like any mass of water it reflects what is around it,

from my journal today

I wondered what it would be like living in a reflection.

But then I wondered what the reflection must look like from the other side of the lake.

Then I thought, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it."

Which would explain the innate desire to twist and manipulate images when I don't like what I see--I forget I'm viewing it at a different angle than yesterday, or a minute ago. It's still me- it's still the lake- I just happen to prefer one angle as opposed to the infinite number of other angles.




Self-reflection is key to who I am. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to that. I tend to be on the more obsessive end of self-reflection, but there it is- because of this I tend to forgo an observer's reflection of me. Not consciously though, I know I tend to seek out advice and criticism, and yet, I still funnel out all things I don't like to hear.

I accepted this job I have at camp without qualms, save one: "So, are you ready to join us, Jennifer?"

My prospective boss called me 'Jennifer' despite the rest of the conversation calling me 'Justine'. I considered telling him, "It's funny, my best friend's name is Jennifer," but I declined that little anecdote and replied instead, "So...my name is Justine? It is Justine."

"Oh! That- that was a test! Your name is Justine. I am ----. Justine, would you like to come work with us?"

Then I accepted and came without further qualms.

But I was told to have qualms, none of which I will list here because some worries should be kept private. Besides, most of these worries are FWP (First World Problems) which aren't generally problems in the long run anyway. But I wanted to come, needed to- I couldn't really tell you why, only that if I didn't go I would regret it.

I jumped both feet in and though I cringed on the drive down to the camp my experience since then has been, to say the least, encouraging, enlightening, and wonderful. I think all the more so because I came into it without any expectations or plans. I just kind of did it.

 

The above has been my mantra for a bit, given to me by one of my fellow counselors. I kinda, sorta (not really) apologize for the swear word.

Those words resonate with me mostly because I have been far too timid and judgmental. I have weighed balances I don't have; foreseen occurrences that never occurred.To a certain extent, I have pretended to know so many things without really knowing. Why do I do that? 

I don't want to pretend I know things. I don't want to assume I know exactly what you'll be like, or that I know exactly what will happen.

I have worked under the premise that I know nothing, but its twisted its head on me: I knew nothing and therefore knew everything. That's incredibly stupid.

I suppose before I took this job I saw only one thing: I got the job. What else is there to see? As much as I enjoy writing, I was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. One can only have so much time to oneself before one goes insane. Honestly, self-reflection can become psychotic without exterior perspective.

And thus came the newer angles from which I began to see my life.

I speak of taking risks without actually taking them.

I judge and hold onto my judgements more firmly and aggressively than I knew.

And yet, I also adapt to various situations incredibly well without coming across as high and mighty. ...knock on wood.

When did all this happen to me?

Why haven't I looked at myself from this angle yet? Where have I been hiding myself?

Who knew I could be capable of such elementary, childlike bravery?

Who knew I could laugh so loudly and well, and gain so many blessed new friends?

I ask all this and the answer couldn't be plainer, though it is very Sunday-schoolish: God.

Now, moving on! Time to see what's next!




Seriously, though, if the swear word bothers you... :P