No, My Life Ain't Perfect

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  Someone recently commented about her Facebook friends and their sunshiny status updates. God is good, life is great. Couldn’t be happier. No troubles, no disasters. Just living everyday without getting a scratch on them. She asked, “Do people really have those kinds of lives? If so, I must be doing  something wrong!”

I chattered away about how “of course people don’t live like that.” They only put the good things in their life on display. Who wants to read about the bad? Who wants the world to know about their struggles and heartache and rejection they face on a daily basis?

Somewhere along those lines, I realized I’m one of those people. Really, how many depressing status updates of mine have you read? Do you get the impression my life is perfect? (Hold on until I can stop laughing…)

No, my life ain’t perfect. I cry on a regular basis. Hey, even the sight of a pot holder can bring up memories that send me sobbing. Pain and confusion run deep below the surface of my heart. Doubts about what in the world I’m supposed to be doing freeze me with fear at times.

I’m not happy with my weight (who is?), there’s my knee injury that gives me trouble at the oddest times, and there’s the adult acne battle going on for a number of years. My eyeglasses are twice as thick as your grandmother’s. I don’t have a car or much gas money. Most of my clothes are given to me by my “personal shoppers” as I like to call them. (I hate shopping anyway)

Then there are those disasters. I can joke that I live life in the breaks I get between crisis’s. I could recount the ones just since January of this year, but I don’t want to write that long of a post.

I love my family more than anything and would drop my heart’s desire in a breath to run to their aid. And that’s what I do. My writing journey has been put on hold so many times in the last two years, I’d have to take off my socks to count them. But that’s okay. I know it’s all in God’s timing and I’ve seen it work out perfectly again and again.

Oops. There’s that perfect word. But what does the scripture say? But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. James 1:4. (NKJV) Perfect in this case meaning mature. I like the sound of being mature and complete. That’s what God wants my life to be, and what I strive for everyday.

Still, my life ain’t perfect and I hope neither here on my blog nor on Facebook and Twitter, does my life seem that way to the outside observer. But now, at least, you can consider yourself an insider into the life and times of Sarah Elisabeth.

 

For Him,

Sarah Elisabeth

 

Facebook Works—Five Tribes Story Conference

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The Graceful Entrance

My mom and I arrived in Muskogee too late for checking into the hotel before the reception started, so we drove straight to the Five Civilized Tribes Museum. Please note: I was in my comfy four hour driving clothes and hadn’t put on make-up yet. Or plucked that one pesky chin hair.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, who else had just arrived? Tim Tingle, international Choctaw author and storyteller, and event co-coordinator. He waves and comes over to the car. I hold the tweezers inconspicuously. He insists we make him feel better for being casual and waits by the car to walk inside with us. So much for slapping on some make-up.

Recognition

But how did this man, who we’ve not seen since last year, recognize and call us by name? Facebook, of course. We connected with him and several others after meeting at the conference last year. Not a lot of conversation between us on there, but he’s been keeping up with my writing/storytelling and my mom’s filmmaking.

Once inside, Tim (he insists we just call him Tim) starts engaging in other conversations. I slip back out to fix up a bit. My mom and I then ascended the stairs to the reception area with the elegant white table clothes covering a dozen tables with chairs. I was in denim shorts and too frazzled to take any pictures.

We drop our keys-n-such on one of the half occupied tables as we head to dip up plates of refreshments. Upon returning to the table, before I could set my plate down, the lady across from me asked, “Aren’t you Elisabeth?”

Uh, okay. “Yes, well, Sarah Elisabeth.”

She shook her finger knowingly. “I thought it was you. We met last year, I’m Francine.”

I instantly recognized the name. “Francine Bray? With the Choctaw pony conservation thing?”

Facebook at work again.

Next to join our table is Greg Rodgers, who mentored under Tim Tingle for four years and is now quite an accomplished author and storyteller himself. Hadn’t seen him in a year either outside of, you guessed it, Facebook.

“Hey Lynda and Sarah. How are y’all doing? Saw the picture of your first storytelling. Congratulations!”

The next day, as he moderated the first panel discussion, Greg did special recognition of three or four authors, storytellers and professors in the audience. I was shocked when he included me.

It Works

Greg was after me all through the conference, trying to get me to the mic to tell a story. I wish I had had one prepared.

Facebook. It keeps your face in front of those you want to remember you. So choose a good profile pic.

 

For Him,

Sarah Elisabeth