Dairy Queen, 15 yrs. old

I ride a red-hot mountain bike to my shifts at Dairy Queen. Parents, if you want to safeguard your children against delinquency, ensure that they have to ride a wild hog like that around town. Transportation by two-wheeler does not a mischievous adolescent make. I leave my house a half an hour early for my shift at the DQ, having completed the story problem in my head: If Kendra wants to reach her destination three miles away and have both hands off the handlebar and she pedals at a pace of…. [tweet bird="yes"]Coolness: there was no app for that.[/tweet]

After I get my driver’s license, I am occasionally allowed to borrow the mini-van to drive to work. One night, while mopping the floor at DQ, I accidentally hit my head on the corner of a stainless steel prep table. I continue mopping until I see red droplets falling on the floor, coming from my head. I want to go tell my manager that I think I am bleeding but as I approach her, the information and the blood cross circuits and I stand there smiling creepily at her, pointing to my head.

“Why did you squirt Mr. Misty syrup on your head?” my manager asks, slightly annoyed.

My mouth is moving. The words are not.

“Oh my goodness! Oh Oh, sit down. Oh, that’s blood. Okay, hang on, let me call your parents.”

Both of my parents arrive in my dad’s car, wearing their pajamas. One to drive me home, one to drive the minivan home since I am too disoriented to get behind the wheel.

I totally hope my bloody slush story is part of the folklore of the Bay Village Dairy Queen.

***

The official uniform of high school evenings and weekends includes navy shorts two sizes too big and a beige polo with the DQ insignia. Weekdays I wear the navy pleated polyester dress code of my all-girls Catholic high school factory. Either a nun or a corporate queen dictates my high school wardrobe. You should see the fascism I overcome with a pair of socks.

(above: In spite of the fact that I look 9, this is actually my 16th birthday). 

I know teens today are busy texting their bosses GUNNA B L8 as they drive barefoot to Hollister, listening to Howard Stern full blast on XM. But one thing that has not changed is the misguided usage of “teen” as a noun or adjective. Open a Teen Cafe or launch a Teen Scene website and you are a teeny bit going to guarantee no one below the age of 43 will think it is the hippest. And remember I consider myself an authority on these matters, since I am the epitome of high school hip.

The Notebook (aka Facebook was my idea)

I am so smitten with a boy named Myles with soft blue eyes in the eighth grade that my hor-motional body may burst. There is no Facebook profile to stalk in 1993, so I begin what I believe is the first Facebook wall in analog, a page of an erstwhile Social Studies notebook that I devote entirely to writing thoughts and feelings about Myles. Things I observe after he gets a haircut, witticisms he utters during a pop quiz in language arts. The page looks like the diary of a crazy woman, every thought punctuated with hearts and swirls. It is my private graffiti and I write on this page at least once a day. The release feels good. Even as I am scrawling all over the page, though, I am aware that this paper is a complete liability to myself.

On a family vacation, I am suddenly conscious that I am sitting in the middle seat of our mini-van and my younger sister Taryn is in the far back seat where my notebook is. Just before I turn around, I feel the knowledge tightening in my chest that there is nothing else on earth that Taryn could be reading right at this moment than my Ode to Myles.

My instincts do not disappoint me.

My face, hot, my eyes cast down as I grab the notebook from her.

I leave Taryn to digest this collateral damage she has just read.

10 years an #Adventist

This week I celebrate ten years as a baptized member of the Adventist church. I do mean celebrate, I don't just mean mark, commemorate, acknowledge. I take joy in the fact that I joined this church ten years ago. I have never been more sure of anything else in my life. It's true: I was only sure about marriage and motherhood on the other side of it. When I walked down the aisle in the other direction with my new man; when I held that baby in my arms--that's when I knew. This is where I am supposed to be. But when it was time to stand up and do the hard work that being a church member (not just a visitor) requires, I was certain. I was walking in confidence and walking in the steadfast Spirit toward this step.

I made the decision to start the process toward baptism when I was 23 years-old. I didn't really have a steady job, I wasn't engaged, I didn't have any family in the church. I had a promise from a friend that this would be a better life for me: a closer, more sober walk. It's what I needed and I'm so glad I made the decision to get baptized.

This is not to say that it was an easy decision or that the last ten years have been a cakewalk. I have encountered some of the best people in this church: humble givers, servant leaders, courageous thinkers, brave workers. I have also encountered some of the worst of people in the church: conniving, proud, slanderous, gossiping, unfaithful people--and all of those people live in me. I am all of those people. I have been baptized to live an abundant life in Christ and yet I am not always quick to abandon the ugly and selfish that abounds in my own heart.

I now work for the church. I send my children to church schools. My husband counsels people through the church. Sometimes we feel like we live on a compound but I would not change a single detail because we are assured that this is where we are meant to be for such a time as this.

Will we be here in another 10 years? I can't be sure. I do have some hopes for the next 10 years that are pinned to my heart like a kite--ready to catch air but not quite ready to fly alone.

For now, here is a wish list for my church (which includes me).

[tweet bird="yes"]10 Wishes for the Seventh-day Adventist Church [/tweet]

1. That we would spend more time relishing Scripture than we spend debating our interpretations of it. 2. That we would no longer limit our perception of hospitality as simply "being greeted." Was the church clean? Was there toilet paper in the bathroom? Were the pews comfortable? Was a good word offered? All those can be marks of hospitality. 3. That we would raise our children to be Christ's hands and feet. 4. That we would realize that desegregating our church starts with us and that dismantling segregation starts with relationships. 5. That we would not quote Ellen G. White using esoteric abbreviations that no one else understands. 6. That we would realize that all those self-righteous bumper stickers about the sabbath aren't converting anyone; they just make us look like self-righteous bumper sticker evangelists. 7. That we would be on the front lines of radical service everywhere. 8. That we would not align ourselves with conservative, liberal terms but with Christ Crucified. 9. That we would compensate people fairly, particularly women in ministry. 10. That we would continue to call the sabbath a delight. A delight.