Green Arrows

I'll never forget my big sister telling me once, "I know God loves me when I get a green arrow." You see, she hates to drive. I mean HATES. And even more than her loathing for general automotive operations, she hates left hand turns. She used to detour around the city making right hand turns until she finally reached her destination. But inevitably, she has to take a left turn. And when she did, she saw God in that glowing green light directing her safely across the intersection, like God saying, "Go baby, go! I got this. Traffic is stopped just for you."

**Disclaimer: This statement was made several years ago. Since then, my sister's driving has improved. Her loathe has since decreased to a general dislike, but the lessons I learned stuck with me.**

Through this, I learned several key pieces of information:

1. We all have out own "left turns." These are the things we try to avoid, sometimes going way out of the way so we don't have to face them. They are people, problems, and situations we can't stand to think about, let alone approach. But eventually, we have to make the "dreaded left turn." In the midst of all anxiety, we just have to do it.

2. Green arrows are God's graces. When we finally decide to let our guard down, be vulnerable, and face our fears, God can step in with that precious green arrow. By avoiding it all together, we never give God the chance to be God. We have to make the first step, and then let God guide us safely through the intersection.

3. We don't always get the green arrow. In those most difficult times when all we want is the go ahead to coast right through, sometimes we have to wait, think, consider, judge and trust not only God, but ourselves. And although we don't always get the green arrow, we ALWAYS get God.

4. God is in the little things. For my sister, it was the green arrow. For me, it is the way the air smells right before the rain, the way the sun shines through the clouds, and laughter, dear sweet laughter!

I pray I never get so caught up in the big things that I miss these little things. And I pray you find your little things that continually bring you back to God. I pray you dwell in them and savor them. There are so many out there.

Your green arrows are waiting. Go find them. Go find God. I promise, He's looking for you too.

Road Rage(ahol)

Homer (Simpson, not the epic writer) said, “I’m a rage-aholic! I’m addicted to rage-ahol!”

Well, I am addicted to road rage-ahol. Yes, sadly, I’m a road rager. Most of the time outside an automobile, I can keep my anger in check, but for some reason behind the wheel, all logic ceases and I become a mindless machine fueled by anger as my car is fueled by gasoline. I mean, if everyone was as phenomenal a driver as me, then it wouldn’t be a problem. At least that is my rationale.

To delve into a little “Angela psych,” I think I do it as an anonymous outlet. I can yell, slam the steering wheel, cuss, all the while the object of my anger is unaware and ultimately drives away, my rage trailing behind them in a cloudy haze of dust and exhaust fumes. And it’s over. I can vent, get it out, be the center of my world when I usually feel like an outsider, and be done with it. No consequences, no confrontations, no hurt feelings.

Occasionally, in the midst of such outbursts in my car, I catch myself. I realize how ridiculous it is, that it’s not worth the increase heart rate, take a breath, laugh, and move on. And sometimes, I say things I’m glad no one else can hear. Today, I said one of those things. Now be prepared. I didn’t think before I spoke. I just reacted and these are the words that came spilling out of my mouth in my latest rage-ahol incident.

“Hurry up and go, BEAN HEAD!”

I erupted in laughter as suddenly and intensely as the anger that had flooded me seconds before. Seriously, who says bean head? And if you are going to say bean head, would you really want to do it in red-eyed, ears-steaming anger? I repeated aloud, as not only a statement, but a question: bean head!?, followed by another burst of riotous laughter. When I came to, I had been sitting at the stop sign while there was no cross traffic. When I glanced in my rear view mirror, I could have sworn the guy behind me said “Go, bean head!!” I gassed my maroon beauty, made my left hand turn, and as I drove away, I saw a haze of anger in my rear view mirror and I felt a smile spread across on my face.

Airplane Blog: Random Scribbles from Heaven

As I coast in this great man-made bird miles about the stable ground I love so very dearly, especially now, I am reminded of my mortality. Yes, I am trying to tame my irrational fear of imminent death. I focus instead on the amazement of this great feat of flight and am suddenly struck by something so obvious. Perhaps the sheer obviousness is why I often miss things, but my thought is precisely: Someone once dreamed flight was possible. Even in the midst of raging skepticism, someone fought for this. And here I am, floating on wings of metal, clouds, and air currents, farther above the earth that I would prefer to be, living in someone else’s dream. Because they imagined, I can experience. Heaven is right outside my plexiglass window, reflecting in the sun-soaked cottony clouds. Somewhere in the midst of my thoughts, I am no longer afraid, only amazed. Then I realize one more crucial piece of life: I want to dream that big. I want to imagine that great. And I am the only one stopping myself…..

Pretty in Pink

I've been "playing" the guitar for about 4 months now. I only know 3 chords and one song that consists of 18 picked notes repeated over. I'm not very good, needless to say. Last night after my failed attempt at writing some awe-inspiring genius for this very blog, I picked up my pink electric beauty. I carefully traced my finger along her curves, admiring her, wanting to make the beautiful music for which she was meant. I wanted to miraculously be able to play and not hear the buzz of the strings from my inexperience. I so badly wanted to close my eyes and let my fingers effortlessly dance over the strings in a blur of perfection. That didn't happen. I wasn't suddenly imparted with knowledge and talent that people work at for years.

It was just me. Angela Riley: amateur guitarist.

All my flaws were blatantly exposed. I couldn't run from them. I couldn't pretend they weren't there. I stared into the eyes of my inadequacies, but for some strange reason, I was so comfortable behind that amazing piece of musical equipment. All my uneasiness and awkwardness of the past four months faded away. And this time as I started to strum, it wasn't too bad. My fingers found the chords more naturally than before. It was easier than last time, noticeably so. Finally, I feel like I am making progress. It definitely didn't happen over night; it was actually work! (Who knew?) But last night, it was worth every blister, every frustration along the way. And even if that sense of immense satisfaction only lasted a few brief moments (precisely 18 picked notes), I know there will be more. I'm so looking forward to that!

Rebel Yell

The big boss is at work today, roaming around, making sure we are doing our jobs properly and efficiently. Yet, there is a twinge in me that needs to blog right now, not because I have anything profound to say, or because I want to inspire any kind of change or revolution in the world. Really, I have nothing to say. But I have to blog. Why? Simply because I am not supposed to, especially since the big guy is here. I’m too sensible to rebel in any drastic way, too reasonable to put anything real at risk, and too logical to do anything based solely on emotion. But blogging at work? I can do that! And that part of me that needs to rebel against societal standards screams, “I come in religiously 40 hours a week, every week. I do everything you tell me. But today, I’m BLOGGING! Today, I break your rules right under your nose! Yeah, take that BOSS MAN!” It’s a small victory, but right now, I’ll take what I can get. (And just so everyone knows how incredibly rebellious I really am…I wrote all this in a fake email and copy and pasted into my blog. Real rebellious, Angela. Real rebellious….)

It's good to be home

Yesterday I walked outside and on the first cool breath of the budding summer air, I fell in love. Again. With my new home. I'm not sure why my soul is so at rest here, even in the midst of personal turmoil, but it is. That smell following a southern rain filled my nostrils. Each sharp inhale was like breathing in pure peace, my lungs expanding as I took advantage of that amazing feeling. I closed my eyes, captured by the moment, the emotion, and that sweet, sweet smell. I can only describe it as total communion with God, nature, mind and body, in sync, on track, and totally in love. THIS is why I am here, why I had to come back. It's so good to be home. Finally home. Finally at peace, at least in that one beautiful moment. I smiled that goofy smile. That I-am-finally-doing-those-amazing-things-I've-dreamt-about-for-years-and-they-are-happening-RIGHT-NOW smile. Or the when-God-gives-you-a-big-hug-wipes-your-tears-from-your-cheeks-whispering-"I've been here the whole time, baby. I'm not going anywhere. Ever."-and-for-the-first-time-in-a-long-time-you-smile smile. Yeah, I smiled like that. And as the cool rainy southern summer breeze caressed my tear stained face, I opened my eyes to a brightening sun, and renewed hope. My heart hurt a little less, my eyes sparkled a little brighter, and I walked away totally, completely in love.

Keeping it Going

I haven't written in almost two weeks. I thought I should write something. Although this lacks the profundity of the majority of my entries, it is still keeping in line with my list. So write I must! Even if today it is only sentence fragments coupled with a big word or two, it is still an effort in continuity-keeping with what I have started. So yay me! :)