Roses are Red, Violets are Blue…The Bachelor is still stupid.

First and foremost:

Mom, forgive me for having continual side commentary throughout this show as you drink wine and fold laundry.

Mom, sorry for trashing it now.

Here are a few things in this world that really grind my gears. Not necessarily in any particular order.

1.) sex trafficking

2.) genocide

3.) Croc shoes

4.) orphaned children

5) Toddlers and Tiaras. (this is not safe from my blogosphere)

…and you guessed it-

“The Bachelor”

For those of you who have been living under a rock, let me enlighten you.

If my calculations are correct, this show (as well as the Bachelorette) has been on for a total of BA-zillion years. A ba-zillion years of men and women arriving in their gowns and tux ,as if it is their normal attire. Followed by hopping out of a limo to awkwardly say something witty to a stranger. After the parade of uncomfortable sequins and ties, there is this mixer if you will. This array of wine usually draws the mass of women to the pool which ALWAYS has a fire burning seductively right off the side. One by one they attempt to “make their mark” , hoping to out do the last girl. They scramble over couches and wicker chairs to make sure they get to say something that sets them a part from all the other ladies.

It is basically a tornado of awkwardness, low self-esteem, high heals and roses.

Oh the ROSES.

Here, a simple flower becomes a trophy, or a symbol of everything wrong with you.

After having a few minutes of reading off your Relationship Resume,

“I’d make a great mother, I love beaches, and making popcorn. BUUTT I’m addicted to hairspray and have some trust issues. Call my ex boyfriend if you need a reference in the next 5 minutes. OH! You might need to call between the hours of 4 and 6 tomorrow, because that’s when the jail let’s him take phone calls”.

OWWWW!

Sorry, God just smighted me with a lighting bolt for all my judgement.

ANYWAYS, after viewing the scented resumes, or breasts as you might call them,the ceremony begins.

The infamous, dramatic, and yet strangely addicting ceremony.

Observe.

Please jump to 3:15. You will hear the phrase, “what’s-her-butt”. Get excited.

If you notice, there is a lot of anger over one girl coming back into the mix.

A lot of , “If Ben knows any better….I think he has feelings for me too….I think these are real…can we get married yet?…*crying*”. They lash out like cats pushed into a corner, hissing and spitting through their lipstick.

IF you get a rose, you are safe from leaving. If you don’t, He’s Just Not That Into You.

Every week, some girl is eliminated from this rat race to be Mrs. Whatever-His-Name-Is-This-Season.

Eliminated. Every.Week. 

You:”Ashlee, how do you know all of this?”

Me: ” So MAYBE I have watched a few episodes”

You: “Isn’t that hypocritical? I mean, you are basically composing a parody and saying it’s pathetic”

Me:” Ya, well it is”

You:”But you’ve watched it?”

Me: “Doesn’t mean it isn’t entertaining”.

You: ” I think you’re kind of pathetic”

Me: “I just write the blog, but YOU BE READIN’ IT!”

I admit it, I have watched this show. I have had a glass of wine or two with my mother and dissected every nuance about each woman. In between my sarcastic, snide comments I have placed a bet on who I think Mr. Whatever-I’m Rich- Guy should be with.

So before you write me off as a complete, raging feminist,  listen to me when I say this:

-There is something unnerving about this show.

– The competition overrides a relationship

-The idea of a pursuit is tainted.

– I don’t believe I am better than any of those women. 

Why?

Because any person placed in an environment that flourishes with competition, will rise to the occasion. Any person who has something they deeply desire at their fingertips will fight to get it. Any person can justify their actions and feelings to seem more than genuine. Basically, who is to say I wouldn’t become one of these women if I was there?

You: “Ashlee, come on. Isn’t that stretching it a bit?”

Me:” hold on”

Seriously hold on, stay with me. The Survival of the Fittest model can illustrate how species evolve and multiply according to who fought to live.  We naturally compete against one another. We compete to win, to get what we want, to survive. So any good natured human being could possibly become the very extreme of this model.

What is unnerving to me about all of this, is that we naturally celebrate the competition over relationship. This show rips open all of the insecurities and fears and places them on display for the world to place bets on, drink wine, and celebrate when the bitchy girl leaves.

Somewhere along the way, we took what we were created for , relationships, and began competing against others for them.

^The Gospel according to reality TV.

Honestly, I think this show should upset you a little bit. Why is this normal? Why is the art of pursuit not an art, but a collection?

I heard in a sermon recently at Ecclesia (check it out, http://www.ecclesiahouston.org/) about walking the line of being in the world and OF the world. We should be relevant and not hide under a rock, we should be OUT and MOVING, and GOING in the world. However, we shouldn’t compromise our hearts. Some things just aren’t good for us.

This show is NOT good for me. It taints me. It makes me mean. It makes me cynical.

…And it makes me sad. It is sad that this is how the world views relationships. It is even sadder that some women base their idea of being pursued through this lens. It makes me sad that some of this Reality Gospel about relationships has seeped into my woman brain.

Why celebrate love as a competition? That’s what we’ve been told to do. 

But it’s not what we have to do.

p.s. I still think this show is stupid.

Dreams aren’t just in your sleep

“Hold fast to dreams”

 

A few summers ago, I worked out at this camp in the middle of Texas. Hotter than 3 hells and a few hundred saunas (sound familiar?) there was this great Arts and Crafts teacher. She also moonlighted as a therapist for all of the counselors. We would modge podge or paint our feelings as Karen piled her bleach blonde hair on her head and carved some wood. She is a fascinating woman because she had a deep well of creativity that never seemed to run dry, but then would offer you tea at her trailer.

Before I left, she handed me a water-colored painting of this tree. I was really in a tree phase at the time, as well as sparrows. Basically everything I created involved one or the two. But who are we kidding, is that surprising?

The tree has a drastic darkness and sharp edges that pierce the soft hues of purple and pink around it. But, from one low jagged branch blooms a heart. It fought through the rigid lines and dripped out. Right below it reads the phrase,

“Hold fast to dreams”

At the time, the phrase didn’t mean as much as the tree did. I felt like I was represented somehow in the painting, that my drastic edges could somehow become soft and bear some fruit.

Or some other over analytical crap like that.

Since then, I have been through a relationship or two, had some adventures, been liberated, been constrained, graduated college, got a job, grew up a little….and now that painting is in my classroom.

If you would have told me a year a go that I would be teaching at a middle school in Houston, TX-I may have guffawed a little bit.

Guffaw is like the pretentious way of saying, “shut the eff up”.

I was really into ‘guffawing’ then.

If you would have told me I’d be living with my parents-guffaw.

Sharing a room with my siblings?-guffaw

Not yet famous?-guffaw

Single?-guffaw

You get it. Lots of guffawing.

What’s weird is, I am actually doing just fine. In fact-I’m enjoying it.

That’s when I probably would of said, “Shut the EFF up”.

Needless to say, my dreams a year a go may have been a different kind of fruit. They still came from me, from my branches, and yet I don’t really have that fruit any more.

I think I finally understand what that phrase means. It isn’t just holding on to what you think you SHOULD be doing, or SHOULD be desiring, it’s that you are just hoping. You have desires and passions, so hold fast to the fact that you have some. I always struggle with the fear of not fulling something I’m passionate about. I get worried that I will get tied down to one thing and never explore another.

What if I’m not doing what I’m supposed to?

Am I supposed to pursue this?

But I really like THIS!

Am I complete?

Is this right?

That is absolutely exhausting. 

Why does it always have to do with what I’m doing, not who I’m becoming?

I saw the painting in my class today, and as I was struggling with these thoughts a fog lifted.

I change, therefore so do my dreams.

I don’t say this to divert you from what you love, or even discourage you. But,I believe all the dreams and desires I have will be fulfilled -I just don’t know what that looks like. One day I’m going to change again, and my dreams and desires will shift with it. And that’s OKAY.

Right now, my dream is to love kids and use theater to do it.

I’m holding fast to that.

But I also know I have other facets of who I am that have dreams too.

And I’m holding fast to that.

If God is limitless, than my life should be limitless.

I’m holding fast to that.

The heart of my jagged tree will change, but I will still be that tree. Just the fruit will be different.

And you know what? It may be better. And I’m holding fast to that.

 

 

 

The Mountains to the City: Part One

Wow.

                                                   Have we met?

It’s been so long. I mean, you look great! Have you lost weight? New hair style? There is just something different about you, a new aura, if you will. Yes, that’s it. A new aura.

Yes , yes I know I haven’t been coming around for the last couple of months. Please forgive me, it’s really nothing personal. NO really, it’s not you it’s me. Of course I don’t say that to everyone! Who do you think I am? Geez, no we aren’t breaking up. Seriously, you’re great. Would it make you feel better if I catch you up on my adventures to the Ozarks? Oh, that’s not enough? I guess I could regale you with some tales of Los Angeles. Well, pop a squat and let Ms. Ole holla at ya.

THE OZARKS…..

“I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere! I want it more than I can tell…”- Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

^ Basically, this was my heart’s mantra this past year. Belle sings of a desire to just GO and DO and EXPLORE, and she SINGS which is GREAT. I want to sing loudly in a field of flowers about how I want to get the hell out. OH wait, some of you have probably witnessed me do this. (Facepalm)

Anyways, the work days were beginning to become monotonous. I noticed my feet begin to drag a little slower and slower around school. My usual feisty nature had taken a turn for harsh sarcasm, my blazer of intimidation replaced with baggy sweaters of apathy. Grades? What are those? Lessons? How about,”The Lion King”.

I could feel my days stretching longer, and my patience getting shorter than my height. Needless to say, giving a shit had to be made a priority.

LUCKILY, my lovely friend Tim Stafford had concocted a beautifully, inspired idea, “Dude, let’s go on a road trip”.

In an explosion of joy, I then began prancing down the harsh fluorescent halls, ignoring the teachers mistaking me for a student, skipping and weaving through the awkward PDA of pre-teens singing, ” I WANT ADVENTURE IN THE GREAT, WIDE SOMEWHERE!”.

How, oh HOW had I not decided upon this solution? OF COURSE! I needed an adventure. I needed nature, the road, and no agenda. I forget to feed my spirit, and it had started to rebel. I am a Road Warrior.

All of the sudden, the obnoxious defiance of sassy girls and the inappropriate comments from hormonal boys fell on deaf ears. I stopped being stressed, because what was the need? I knew I was going to go on an exploration, and what made the exploration even better was it was in fall. And I love fall.

Let me explain.

I am a Texan, born and raised. As a Texan, I am accustomed to a climate that rivals 3 hells, and a few hundred saunas. Sweat? No problem. Breathing water? No big deal.  Hurricanes? Yawn.

But when fall rolls around, my heart stirs and is romanced by the beauty of change. I see leaves altar from green or their usual dry brown, to colors that glisten and comfort. Golds, bronzes, reds, and oranges welcome me into their presence, allowing me to breathe in a new, crisp air. God takes the hue palette and re-paints a world that wasn’t there before. I feel new, I feel inspired, and I feel anything is possible. And change stops being so terrifying, but instead God whispers, “Change is just a season, so enjoy it while it’s here”.  He makes it something to awe at, and praise Him for.

As my friend Tim and I drove through East Texas and into Arkansas, we both loudly admired our surroundings. We giggled and pointed , as well as a few swear words to exclaim our feelings towards this Fall around us. That is just how we roll.

Both Tim and I have been experiencing a season of change, he moved to LA to pursue an acting career, and as you 10 know-I am a teacher at a Title One school and living with my parents. Seeing something change so gracefully around us really warmed our souls. We talked about the change, we talked about what we desired from the change, and we talked about the struggle of change. We laughed at it, we appreciated it, and we grew from it. And you know what? Praise God for change. Praise God.

In the midst of chatting about change, or  subjects-most likely something weird and kind of gross, we stopped in Hope, Arkansas.

You heard me. Home of Bill Clinton and watermelons.

Neither of us knew this at the time, but we were quickly informed by the local townies. There was a twinge of shame in our good ‘ol boy, starting running back, sweet as pie, 17 year old waiter at Sheba’s Restaurant as he informed us. He wasn’t talking about watermelons, by the way.

Oh, and did I meet Sheba? NO. Dissapointed.

This restaurant, this town, was basically a spread in ‘Hometown Smalltown Living” magazine. Everyone knew everyone, the employees all high school students, customers getting up to move table to table to visit. A chorus of , “Night Miss Johnson! See ya too-morah at school!” as a  teacher left.

SOUTHERN ACCENT-ACTIVATE! You better believe we had a little drawl the rest of the trip.

We were clearly the foreigners, mostly because they hadn’t seen us at Church last Sunday morning. Best catfish I have ever had, some of the best pie, and Justin (the waiter) didn’t even look at me as he handed Tim the check. Tim and I both left all smiles, and felt so much pride in our un-scheduled stop to Conway, Arkansas.

Next time, I’m trying some of that freaking watermelon.

Before leaving Houston, Tim had arranged to Couch Surf to save money and further our road trip experience. This is how it works-you sleep on strangers couches. Straight up. It’s hit or miss, but this community of couch surfers are opening up their homes to fellow adventurers with a free place to stay. Needless to say, we were a little nervous whether or not this was hit or miss.

We got a bulls-eye. As we pulled into Tina and Jason’s driveway, we had no idea we were pulling into a bed and breakfast. They had snacks and coffee ready for us, as well as honest, good conversation. If you don’t know me, you should know these are a few of my favorite things.

Tim and I were engulfed in hospitality, and through some of that honest to good conversation, found out that Tina and Jason were also fans of Jesus. And you know what? We went to church together on Sunday. We also all went to a coffee shop , and I played some music to a few college students at a local campus. We just lived life together for a little bit. We enjoyed meals and their beautiful, floppy dog.

God is limitless, therefore our expectations should be expected to busted through. Expect the unexpected.

In the midst of breaking bread, Tim and I wanted to climb a mountain. Not just climb, but explore, and sing, and drink in the beauty Arkansas had in store for us. If you weren’t aware, Arkansas is severely underrated.

On a Saturday morning, we laced our shoes, packed our water, my uke and our sense of adventure and headed to Mt. Pinnacle. As we parked, we surveyed the different routes we could take. We dare not take the noob route, because we aren’t noobs. We are explorers! We are adventurous! We are slightly stupid!

As we began our journey, we were forced to stop several times. Everything looked like a painting, and every thing was never the same.

As we climbed, we suddenly felt a trembling in the earth. The rocks shuttered with fear, I could feel my knees start to tremble and I braced myself against a tree. Tim clung to a boulder. Did our pleasant trip suddenly become Jurassic Park? If a Tyrannosaurus Rex was coming our way, I didn’t have a Jeff Goldblum around to make a witty comment about our life ending. A bear maybe? Oh God. My mom warned me about bears. If it’s a bear than I’ll just run, or fight like Buffy, or run, or cry or-

It was a man. A large, bear like man who barreled through the forest like he lived there.Pretty sure he was wearing a fur pelt, but you might call it chest hair. As he ran down the rocky path, he growled out an attempted pleasant, “Excuse me”.

We officially became noobs in that moment. Apparently in Arkansas, they breed mammoths and call them ‘men’. Tim may have whimpered.

As we continued to climb, my usual upright position became animatistic as I started to continue on all fours, and stretch as far as my body would allow.

I am  Pocahontas. “Can you paint with all the colors of wind?”

We had now found out why this route wasn’t for newbies. However, I enjoyed and relished the challenge. I was climbing a mountain! I was getting scraps and bruises and breathing in crisp, clean air. I was in a playground of nature, and I was becoming more determined to get to the top.

< But then there is this. I had to stop to look back down to see how far we had come.

“Change is a season, enjoy it while it’s here”

Tim and I would stop every once in a while to gaze out onto the Arkansas landscape. It became not so much a stop to rest, but a stop to admire.

When we finally got to the top, we gave each other a best friend high-five, and then just sat.

“Be still, and know that I am God”

That didn’t last long.

Tim decided that doing push ups on cliff was a sufficient celebration, and suggested for me to sing. Honestly, I didn’t know what to sing at first. There was so much beauty around me, how could I bring anything of value? How could I even offer my little uke playing and meek voice compared to the roaming hills and astounding colors?

Finally, I let my worship flow out of my mouth. At first a whisper, but soon an unbridled sound of joy.

My own limitations had stopped me.How could I NOT be joyful? I had no limits, I was living in freedom, and I was seeing a hand crafted miracle from the top.

I really believe we aren’t designed to be stagnant. We can’t live in constant routine, because Creation itself is not routine. Yes, it has seasons and cycles, but it doesn’t make it routine. No leaf ever changes the exact same way, and neither do we. 

For that, I am so thankful. 

So sing! Change! Embrace the struggle, and then rejoice when God brings a new change.

Because it’s a season, and it isn’t here forever. And who knows, maybe you just need a new color.

(Stay tuned for more adventures)