Alas, here again I come face-to-face with my past.
I fear writing out confessions like this because one-upon-a-time I debated (frothing at the mouth) against those who would dare read, veiw, or consider (reading or indulging in) the Harry Potter books and movie series.
I remember two such occasions very clearly, but undoubtedly there were more.
Honestly, now, the most radical change in my outlook has come from a lack of fear.
To a great degree the reasons we were discouraged from ever showing interest in HP was because of the fear-mongering. "Let your child read HP and before you know it they will become wiccans!"
"HP teaches children the basic lower levels of spells. Soon they will have evil spirits they can command."
"J.K. Rowling is a secret witch. These books are an effort to make more witches and spread demon possession to the rest of the world....." etc, etc
(and no, I dont think any of these are extreme. I have heard all of these in various ways and more)
A second reason, I believe, is due to a lot more faith in myself.
I dont think I am stupid enough to believe that I can replicate spells and try them and turn into a witch.
I dont think I will be 'taken in' by this evil message. I am smarter than that and I am not afraid of it.
What is wrong with reading a novel? Is it 'sin'?
In short, no. There is NOTHING wrong with reading, or with reading books that the world likes a lot, or with reading books that may portray actions and behaviors that you might not indulge in. Like a murder mystery. Reading an Agatha Christie novel wont turn you into a killer any more than reading Harry Potter will turn you into a witch, wizard, or wiccan.
Use your mind. It is your greatest asset and your best organ. Take all advice with a grain of salt. Think through things carefully and make up your own mind.
And live!! Live fully and with joy.
What more can we desire for a good life?
July 31, 2011
July 26, 2011
Troll God vs. ?
Right on the heels of reading a link that my sister sent me about the personality/character of God as opposed to what the common perception of Him is; I got into this comment-discussion on a person-I-know's facebook:
(My comments are #2, 4, and 5. Someone else is comment #3. The original author wrote the first comment and the end responses.)
(If you click on the picture you can zoom in on it and read better)
The people my dad (in his own loving way) called "pew warmers" would probably benefit from these thoughts and reminder.
For me, it was like a flashback to all the terror of my childhood.
I was being over-reactive, but for so much of my life I DID see god as just that: a troll, a control-freak, a selfish self-seeker.
He takes stuff away, just because I like it.
He doesnt want me to be happy or to enjoy things.
I would hide my love and delight because I thought that maybe if God saw he would take it away from me, or kill it, like he killed my bunny when I was young. (the rabbit died from other causes, but I loved that thing like I had loved nothing else).
Whenever something good happened in my life I would fear to enjoy and live it to the fullest because I was possibly elevating it above God. And then where would I be? Back in the grey-colored world of serving Him first and putting aside everything else I might possibly like so that He wouldnt re-call it.
At this point, I cant say for sure what I have decided 'god' is or isnt. I dont know much about him for sure from the tangle of "what-ive-been-taught" that chokes out the sunlight.
The problem with teaching your children that everything you (their parent) believes is correct, is that when one of your beliefs begins to shake, everything comes crashing down.
I was NOT allowed to question my father's theology. He had gone to a prestigious college and had a pastor's degree and a doctorate. He had preached and saved souls on the mission field for 18 years.
When I was (extra-biblically, which does NOT happen, mind you) 'spoken' to by God, my father spent a couple days debating me into silence on the issue.
When a friend I email-debated with for a year or so finally brought me around to a balanced view of Sovereignty vs. Free Will my father cut me off from communicating. (he said I wasnt allowed to email boys because I would give my heart away/fall in love/taint my purity or something like that)
When I dared to look him in the eye and postulate that God would speak to me if He had any special plans for my life and NOT through daddy; my father told me I would need to find a different place to live.
But through this year, I have had faithful friends who have not preached at me or forced me to believe or attend or toe the line. The have encouraged me to believe that God wants me to be happy. And that he gives us good things, and takes his people to a land flowing with milk and honey so that they can delight in it and WITH him.
The frugal, do things the old way, puritanical "suffer to prove your faith and dedication" is much to engrained in me. I was told by many (including a grandmother and brother) that I was running away from trials at home and by leaving I was saying that God's strength wasnt enough for me, or that I didnt have enough faith to endure these little trials. I mean, after all, what is grounding and removal of all communication with the outside world compared to being burned at the stake or torn apart by lions?
I still struggle to believe that God would want me to be happy. To enjoy life.
To have people who love me in my life. I fear always that they will leave or be taken away.
I hide my true feelings hoping that the heavenly troll wont see and brutally destroy.
I want to understand God like Mrs. G does. She came up to me last night, her face glowing, talking about her God who loved her.
Why does this hurt so much? Make me cry?
(My comments are #2, 4, and 5. Someone else is comment #3. The original author wrote the first comment and the end responses.)
(If you click on the picture you can zoom in on it and read better)
The people my dad (in his own loving way) called "pew warmers" would probably benefit from these thoughts and reminder.
For me, it was like a flashback to all the terror of my childhood.
I was being over-reactive, but for so much of my life I DID see god as just that: a troll, a control-freak, a selfish self-seeker.
He takes stuff away, just because I like it.
He doesnt want me to be happy or to enjoy things.
I would hide my love and delight because I thought that maybe if God saw he would take it away from me, or kill it, like he killed my bunny when I was young. (the rabbit died from other causes, but I loved that thing like I had loved nothing else).
Whenever something good happened in my life I would fear to enjoy and live it to the fullest because I was possibly elevating it above God. And then where would I be? Back in the grey-colored world of serving Him first and putting aside everything else I might possibly like so that He wouldnt re-call it.
At this point, I cant say for sure what I have decided 'god' is or isnt. I dont know much about him for sure from the tangle of "what-ive-been-taught" that chokes out the sunlight.
The problem with teaching your children that everything you (their parent) believes is correct, is that when one of your beliefs begins to shake, everything comes crashing down.
I was NOT allowed to question my father's theology. He had gone to a prestigious college and had a pastor's degree and a doctorate. He had preached and saved souls on the mission field for 18 years.
When I was (extra-biblically, which does NOT happen, mind you) 'spoken' to by God, my father spent a couple days debating me into silence on the issue.
When a friend I email-debated with for a year or so finally brought me around to a balanced view of Sovereignty vs. Free Will my father cut me off from communicating. (he said I wasnt allowed to email boys because I would give my heart away/fall in love/taint my purity or something like that)
When I dared to look him in the eye and postulate that God would speak to me if He had any special plans for my life and NOT through daddy; my father told me I would need to find a different place to live.
But through this year, I have had faithful friends who have not preached at me or forced me to believe or attend or toe the line. The have encouraged me to believe that God wants me to be happy. And that he gives us good things, and takes his people to a land flowing with milk and honey so that they can delight in it and WITH him.
The frugal, do things the old way, puritanical "suffer to prove your faith and dedication" is much to engrained in me. I was told by many (including a grandmother and brother) that I was running away from trials at home and by leaving I was saying that God's strength wasnt enough for me, or that I didnt have enough faith to endure these little trials. I mean, after all, what is grounding and removal of all communication with the outside world compared to being burned at the stake or torn apart by lions?
I still struggle to believe that God would want me to be happy. To enjoy life.
To have people who love me in my life. I fear always that they will leave or be taken away.
I hide my true feelings hoping that the heavenly troll wont see and brutally destroy.
I want to understand God like Mrs. G does. She came up to me last night, her face glowing, talking about her God who loved her.
Why does this hurt so much? Make me cry?
July 7, 2011
One Year
I worked Thursday straight through to Tuesday this week.
Every day, nose to the grindstone.
Friday evening I was having serious health concerns, so I went home and slept as much as possible.
I was really glad to see June go. I guess I blocked everything, or work was so busy (it was very busy this weekend) that I didnt have time to remember the events of last year.
Last year, readers, my parents found out about the blog.
Last year, at the beginning of June they confiscated my phone and all access to outside communication.
Last year, they began closing in.
I endured a couple long weeks of this until my respite.
The last week of June we sell fireworks at a roadside tent. We had done it for 3 years previous and last year was our 4th year. They offered me 40% off the net they were going to make if I did the majority of the work. I was excited by the offer, because previously they had paid me only a very small amount.
So I threw myself into it heart and soul. I was there almost every moment of that two weeks (with the exception of going home a couple hours to shower and change and one afternoon I went to a friend's graduation party). I took in the inventory in the mornings, arranged products, greeted customers, sold, checked them out, worked with bad signal on the credit card machine, worked around inclement weather and tried not getting any products wet (gunpowder and all that), and slept there to ensure the product safety.
We stayed open an extra day because the sales were less than hoped/estimated by the company we contracted for. He only let a couple stands do that, and we were one of the better ones. *pats self on the back
We made another couple thousand dollars and that evening we began the arduous process of packing everything up, final inventory, taking down tables, cleaning (if it is left messy we are penalized), and then counting up the sheets and totaling everything.
Having begun the day around 8am, we finished and I drove a full car home at 1am.
Once home, we unpacked everything that wasnt to be taken back to the warehouse the next day, and put away food, did dishes, and put the sleepy kids who helped through showers and to bed. At 2:30 or so I told my mother I wanted to go to bed. I was covered in gunpowder residue from packing and dust from sweeping. I had accounted for all the products and done all the math. The finished sheets were in order and ready to be taken in at 8AM (just 6 hours away).
She said to wait because Daddy had wanted to run the numbers and 'total' everything. (ie. see how much we made, sales vs return inventory, gross vs net with sales tax, and etc.) I said that I didnt want to (I was too tired), and that we would be doing it in just a couple hours with the company people.
But no, he insisted we do it and he insisted that I be present and assist him.
I was too tired to care. I did not accommodate him with something he was confused about (it was so stupidly easy). He insisted that I spell it out for him and hand it to him piece by piece even though he could have done it himself. Even mother tried to help him and he refused to listen to her/take her help. He wanted to make me do it.
He threatened every trick in the book and I laughed in his face. Literally. When I am overtired I giggle and get very silly. I laughed. I refused to help him and I repeated over and over how tired I was and how I needed to go to bed.
He finally got everything counted up and it resulted in a $500 overage. I looked at my worried mother and told her firmly not to believe it. He got even madder at this, but she helped him recalculate and found a charge he missed. When the second round was finished we came up $1,000 short. Even more upset mother. I, again, told her to not believe the findings.
I finally got downstairs to take my shower long past 3am. And I fell into bed exhausted and set my alarm for 8 so I could be up and dressed in time to go. The next morning, just as I was dressed, I received a text from my father (upstairs) telling me that I was not going and I should not get up.
After running the tent and signing my name on all the forms, it was a childish move on his part. I was still exhausted, so I went back to bed. The rest of the day I went about doing my housework duties and cleaning up from a week of chaotic going and selling. When Daddy got home he ignored me with a frosty cone of silence. I ignored him because I felt that although I may have laughed in his face, I had warned him before we started that I was over tired and needed to get to bed.
We came out only $200 down, and it was our best year in that respect. The next day, (the 7th) I got up later and everyone was doing their own thing in various rooms of the house. On the table I found a sheet of paper with my name on it and a stack of $20s. It calculated the total commission we made, then the net, then my 40% minus a couple hundred for 'being disrespectful' (one of the things he threatened me with the night of the 5th/morning of the 6th). My cut came to about the same amount that I had hoped to make in the first place.
Also, they were going to 'allow' me to still go on the family outing later that month.
When (around lunch time) they looked on the table and noticed the money gone they were distraught and questioned me sternly about it. I told them honestly what time I had come up and taken it. They were angry and wanted me to go get the money and bring it back to them because I had 'stolen' it off the table. I asked how I could steal my own wages and they said that unless it was GIVEN to me, it was not yet mine and I had stolen it.
I never brought the money back upstairs, but they were quite miffed at me for taking it without an official 'giving'(/shaming) ceremony.
It was my birthday, I didnt care. I had the money safely hidden and I had an exit date.
Through helpful friends and a hideaway spot I had been able to receive mail.
Someone had helped me to a pay-as-you-go phone and I had been able to call late at night when no one could hear me or come in and find me with an illegal contacting-the-outside-world device.
My sister had talked with Mrs. G some on the phone after her offer of housing and we decided to take the chance and drive that far in hopes that I would not be chased/followed/found.
The rest of the day was my second best birthday ever.
I had only a couple more weeks to wait out, a big family outing, and then I was leaving.
Every day, nose to the grindstone.
Friday evening I was having serious health concerns, so I went home and slept as much as possible.
I was really glad to see June go. I guess I blocked everything, or work was so busy (it was very busy this weekend) that I didnt have time to remember the events of last year.
Last year, readers, my parents found out about the blog.
Last year, at the beginning of June they confiscated my phone and all access to outside communication.
Last year, they began closing in.
I endured a couple long weeks of this until my respite.
The last week of June we sell fireworks at a roadside tent. We had done it for 3 years previous and last year was our 4th year. They offered me 40% off the net they were going to make if I did the majority of the work. I was excited by the offer, because previously they had paid me only a very small amount.
So I threw myself into it heart and soul. I was there almost every moment of that two weeks (with the exception of going home a couple hours to shower and change and one afternoon I went to a friend's graduation party). I took in the inventory in the mornings, arranged products, greeted customers, sold, checked them out, worked with bad signal on the credit card machine, worked around inclement weather and tried not getting any products wet (gunpowder and all that), and slept there to ensure the product safety.
We stayed open an extra day because the sales were less than hoped/estimated by the company we contracted for. He only let a couple stands do that, and we were one of the better ones. *pats self on the back
We made another couple thousand dollars and that evening we began the arduous process of packing everything up, final inventory, taking down tables, cleaning (if it is left messy we are penalized), and then counting up the sheets and totaling everything.
Having begun the day around 8am, we finished and I drove a full car home at 1am.
Once home, we unpacked everything that wasnt to be taken back to the warehouse the next day, and put away food, did dishes, and put the sleepy kids who helped through showers and to bed. At 2:30 or so I told my mother I wanted to go to bed. I was covered in gunpowder residue from packing and dust from sweeping. I had accounted for all the products and done all the math. The finished sheets were in order and ready to be taken in at 8AM (just 6 hours away).
She said to wait because Daddy had wanted to run the numbers and 'total' everything. (ie. see how much we made, sales vs return inventory, gross vs net with sales tax, and etc.) I said that I didnt want to (I was too tired), and that we would be doing it in just a couple hours with the company people.
But no, he insisted we do it and he insisted that I be present and assist him.
I was too tired to care. I did not accommodate him with something he was confused about (it was so stupidly easy). He insisted that I spell it out for him and hand it to him piece by piece even though he could have done it himself. Even mother tried to help him and he refused to listen to her/take her help. He wanted to make me do it.
He threatened every trick in the book and I laughed in his face. Literally. When I am overtired I giggle and get very silly. I laughed. I refused to help him and I repeated over and over how tired I was and how I needed to go to bed.
He finally got everything counted up and it resulted in a $500 overage. I looked at my worried mother and told her firmly not to believe it. He got even madder at this, but she helped him recalculate and found a charge he missed. When the second round was finished we came up $1,000 short. Even more upset mother. I, again, told her to not believe the findings.
I finally got downstairs to take my shower long past 3am. And I fell into bed exhausted and set my alarm for 8 so I could be up and dressed in time to go. The next morning, just as I was dressed, I received a text from my father (upstairs) telling me that I was not going and I should not get up.
After running the tent and signing my name on all the forms, it was a childish move on his part. I was still exhausted, so I went back to bed. The rest of the day I went about doing my housework duties and cleaning up from a week of chaotic going and selling. When Daddy got home he ignored me with a frosty cone of silence. I ignored him because I felt that although I may have laughed in his face, I had warned him before we started that I was over tired and needed to get to bed.
We came out only $200 down, and it was our best year in that respect. The next day, (the 7th) I got up later and everyone was doing their own thing in various rooms of the house. On the table I found a sheet of paper with my name on it and a stack of $20s. It calculated the total commission we made, then the net, then my 40% minus a couple hundred for 'being disrespectful' (one of the things he threatened me with the night of the 5th/morning of the 6th). My cut came to about the same amount that I had hoped to make in the first place.
Also, they were going to 'allow' me to still go on the family outing later that month.
When (around lunch time) they looked on the table and noticed the money gone they were distraught and questioned me sternly about it. I told them honestly what time I had come up and taken it. They were angry and wanted me to go get the money and bring it back to them because I had 'stolen' it off the table. I asked how I could steal my own wages and they said that unless it was GIVEN to me, it was not yet mine and I had stolen it.
I never brought the money back upstairs, but they were quite miffed at me for taking it without an official 'giving'(/shaming) ceremony.
It was my birthday, I didnt care. I had the money safely hidden and I had an exit date.
Through helpful friends and a hideaway spot I had been able to receive mail.
Someone had helped me to a pay-as-you-go phone and I had been able to call late at night when no one could hear me or come in and find me with an illegal contacting-the-outside-world device.
My sister had talked with Mrs. G some on the phone after her offer of housing and we decided to take the chance and drive that far in hopes that I would not be chased/followed/found.
The rest of the day was my second best birthday ever.
I had only a couple more weeks to wait out, a big family outing, and then I was leaving.
July 4, 2011
I will NOT be passed over!
I dont usually start with the clips/movies, and definitely not one of this length.
However, if you will simply skip to 5:38 where Eliza proudly exclaims (in part): ".....but I WONT be passed over"
My Fair Lady is one of my all-time favorite movies. Now that I watch it I find the passive-aggressive male authority and the maturing female lead even more intriguing for all the depth of character and their relation to real life.
George Bernard Shaw was a genius.
Anyway, moving on.
I have been feeling 'passed over' all week.
Frequent readers may remember that I was really trying for the bookkeeping position at the grocery store that I work at back in February. Another girl (e.) got the position. Mid-May she told a couple people that she was leaving and going to school the middle/end of August. I waited a bit after the news broke to approach the front-end manager, not wanting to appear over-eager or reckless to job-shop when the position was not even 'cold' as it could be colloquially put.
I came in 30 minutes early the middle of June and spoke to (personnel/front end manager[FEM]) about how I was (still) interested in moving up and asked what I could do to prove my readiness/capability. She said she would need to look through my files and would get back to me later that day. That evening after the store closed she told me that she had not had time and she would get to it later in the week.
I waited a week, and then it was an incredibly busy weekend, so I waited for that to be over. Monday after I was done with work, I asked her if she had had time to look things over and she told me 'regretfully' that the store manager had already approved a transfer from another store as a part-time replacement (e. is full-time). She continued by saying that a part-time bookkeeping slot may come open 'later in the fall', but until a 'posting' (public announcement that the slot was needing to be filled) was approved by the manager, I could not apply/que for the position.
I hate to say bad things about my job. I love it and I get along perfectly with all the employees, and I enjoy talking with customers and helping people and doing all the various and sundry things I do. I have been giving 100% to them for over 9 months now. I have never turned down a call-in/extra day of work or any shift-switch with a fellow employee.
I have come in late only twice in all that time, and I have done my utmost to be the best I could be for them. Again: I love my job.
However: for FEM to tell me that it was the manager who had the last say is a bold-faced lie. I know that and I am probably the least knowledgeable of anyone how workplaces operate. FEM knew that this transfer had applied to work here, and I am sure the manager discussed it with her because the FEM does payroll and schedules and such.
For her to refuse me the job and to refuse me to even 'que' for it is totally mean on her part. She knows darn well what the employment needs on front end are and what jobs are vacated/going to be vacated/need to be filled/are not being filled. it is HER JOB.
But I have learned from all this. I am going to the manager next time, not the FEM. I am going to lay it all out for him plainly.
1) I am dedicated
2) I want this job, and have wanted it for a long time
3) When I was hired, they told me this was my spot
4) I have been your most dedicated employee for 11 months.
5) You yourself have called me in at 7 in the morning (and woke me up) and I came.
6) Last time I asked about this position I was told that it was all in your hands
7) I am very competent and would fill this position perfectly.
8) ...blah blah about my good qualities and the things front end could get from me
I plan on talking to him the week before (e.) leaves. I am NOT letting this get past me again.
Until then I have cut my availability. I have been completely flexible to the point of bending over backwards. Not any more.
I found a job that pays more than cutthroatwage and is managed by someone who was actively recruiting me and mentioned (in the interview) that I was 'supervisor' material and that he wanted me to begin asap. I will begin that in August, hopefully, and work only at the store in the evenings. I might be able to save money and stop living paycheck to paycheck.
I am NOT going to settle for being passed over.
I am NOT going to wait and keep hoping naively that dedicated service and devoted work-ethic will advance me.
I am NOT going to starve and not be able to put gas in my car because I am allowing them to push me aside and barely give me enough hours to call myself 'full time.'
I am NOT going to allow FEM to give me any more stress about money or work or my future.
I will NOT be passed over.
and I dont think I am blaming her too much. I have made endless excuses as to her conduct and I have the gut-feeling that she does not advance me because she does not want me advanced. Either she sees me as a 'good worker bee' or she doesnt want me to be one of her lackeys (ie. bookkeepers).
dont know. I DO know however, that the guy who originally hired me believed in me and in 90 days had me doing everything and trained in everything I could be. The day before they fired him for 'suspicions' he was telling me about how I could start training for bookkeeping the first of the new year.
6 months later I am fighting for just enough hours to pay rent and gas.
I am not whining "poor me, my life is so hard." I am going to change things and I am going to make my life better.
I am not giving them any more than they gave me.
I am sorry, Store. You have ruined your best employee.
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