Not only did I fly to California last month for a comedy contest at the Ice House – my dream club by the way – I flew there with a 24 hour old brand new hair style. That’s huge for a control freak like me, who has to look perfect at all times.
My girlfriend gave me dreads.
You read that right. Dreadlocks.
I know right? I’m still in shock.
Now, I do not have your typical home grown variety that takes years to grow, but rather the woven with a crochet hook and added extensions variety. In other words I cheated. It took 19 hours in all to go from a redhead with many bands and shades of red and gray, to a blonde with super long dreads. I might have cheated, but I’m okay with that. Yes, I do wash them. I use Castille Soap and I keep them rinsed, they just take 8 hours to dry. And I’m still figuring out the style.
This particular hairstyle speaks a courage that I am still growing into. This is definitely one of those take action and the courage will follow ideas. I’m getting there.
The upside my guitar-player husband is now suddenly married to a blonde with dreads. He is beside himself giddy.
I’ll post pics of the contest later this week. But for now, check out the hair.
(Please note: I am a humorist by trade and this post does not in any way shape or form diss Tulsa Tough or the Divas -for the fans and riders out there- y’all are awesome and I admire you. Preferably from the sidewalk with a cold beer in one hand and a food cart dog in the other, but admire you all the same. )
Life after kids is a trip. Some of my adventures turn into great success – I swam with sharks, earned 30 college credit hours so far, and do comedy for a living(ish) – so there is that, while others are best left on the side of the road or under my bed like my team kit and forgotten.
Do you guys remember when I was into cycling? I traded in my walmart three speed built for Mom bike and purchased a Giant brand road bike. A pretty steep investment for a mom turned cycling enthusiast, but surely it would be worth it.
I became a voracious reader of all things cycling. I even watched races and tried to be interested. Man they are BORING! I rode the River Park trail (turning around at Turkey Mountain because, well Turkey Mountain) and I bravely captained a team for the Tour de Cure, not once but twice. I was certain THIS was going to be my sport. My thing. My avenue to fitness and badassary.
I was wrong.
Hyped up on the cure ride, I wanted more so I joined the Diva’s, bought a kit, had clips put on my pedals and set out to train for the Tulsa Tough. I did ask the guy who installed my clips if they were safe, and he assured me “why yes, my daughter got hit by a truck while in hers and she came right out of them.”
Good to know.
I read that the diva’s were going to start out with a fun 24 mile ride and I decided I needed to pre train before attempting to hang with such aspiring peeps. They said it was a “no drop” ride, but seriously, 10 miles was my personal best to date and most of it was on level ground at River Parks. — 24 “fun” miles with hills was going to take some work. I didn’t want to make an idiot out of myself my first day out so I pre-trained. That wasn’t necessary, but I did not know that at the time.
This was my downfall.
I excitedly put on my gear and hubs and I headed to the River. Team riders from all over nodded and waved in encouragement as we rode the trail. It was awesome. I mean when I rode in mom jeans I was ignored and passed with impunity. In a team kit, riders slowed down, made eye contact and gave me a thumbs up. I was visible and encouraged.
Drunk on their encouragement, I thought, hey lets try the trail with hills.
We were great. That is, until I got over heated and lost my lunch while cresting the hill at Sheridan Road.
Did you know that you cannot unclip and puke at the same time?
I reached a point of such desperation that I looked for a truck to crash into. Failing to find one, I simply crashed my bike into the bushes at the top of the hill and laid there, bruised and bleeding, clipped to my bike and puking until my husband realized I was no longer behind him and came back to get me. That’s romance right there. Okay not really, but he did promise for better or for worse.
Shortly after that I tripped on the beach and broke my ankle (walking even perplexes me some days) and spent 16 months in a boot and knee cart. I did eventually heal with orders to not run or do anything high impact because of the metal now holding my leg together, while disappointing, I’ve come to accept that.
I could have gone back to cycling. I could have taken it slower. I just chose not to. I don’t want to risk greater injury. Riding can actually be a very dangerous sport. Especially on the road. I’ll leave the sport of cycling to the athletes.
I do still ride my $2,000 bike today – trails only – lest hubs makes me sell it, for fun and for free now rather than for props from strangers and I like that. It works for me.
I’m learning that I don’t have to be all or nothing to enjoy an activity. I don’t have to train, I can just ride for the fun of it. I can lay down my competitive spirit and just enjoy the outdoors.
Three shows in three weeks made this introvert exhausted. It was fun though. Here is a short clip from one of them. A group of us did a family friendly show at the Bin and had a decent turn out. Hope we can do that one again. Boy was it fun. The sound is a little wonky, sorry about that.
I recently spent a week in Tampa Florida, doing a Clean Comedy Show at Coconuts Club on St Pete Beech with friends. We had a four day run and after that, Joby, Michelle and I performed at the Ale and the Witch at St Pete Mall. Oh what an incredible week.
I have great memories of St Pete. My in-laws used to live there so we visited quite a bit. That and my youngest was conceived there years ago.
It turns out those “cute name” little drinks they serve on the Tiki Hut bars become verbs instead of nouns if you have enough of them.
Yes my mother in law did that math, giving her second reason for hating me.
Do you know her first reason?
I married her son.
Back to my story.
Someone told me recently that they wish God had given them a gift that allowed them to travel. I didn’t know what to say so I just smiled and hugged her. She’s in the middle of young child season and i miss those days. I could try and explain that, or tell her how i woke up one day, my kids we’re grown and the career i had before I became a stay home mom no longer exists and cutting my husbands meat really isnt an option, but she wouldn’t understand.
I could tell her don’t rush this season, it’ll end soon enough, cherish those days. I could tell her that all I really know how to do is be a wife (its all I’ve done for 25 years)and while that isn’t a bad thing really, I’m in a new season with no clue how this is going to turn out. Not better or worse, just new. And that’s okay.
Besides, it’s not like God said to me, “Go! Though shalt now be a comic.” It’s was more like a whispered, “follow me.”
So I follow the whisper.
How did I get here? This place where I can travel with friends and tell jokes. I still think it’s a dream some days.
Truth is though, I can sum it up in one word: FAILURE.
That and of course GRACE.
So I guess that makes two words really. I never was good at math.Which really messes with my name it claim it friends who want blessings in return for right behavior.
Yes, hard work, faith, and other things come into play here. But there is really more than that going on in my life right now.
I can still remember my lowest point ever in my life. My dream of working in a church fell to pieces around me due to spiritual warfare. And the Non Profit I worked for closed it’s doors. I stood on the precipice of “now what” and shook in my boots.I also went on meds and spent three years in therapy, so you know. I wasn’t firing on all cylinders for a while. My hobbies back then included wrapping myself in a blanket, chain smoking and staring out into the abyss that is my back yard.
I LOVED that life. I didn’t want to let it go.
The pre therapy one I mean not the abyss. That would just be weird. And sad.
As much as I hated that time, and as painful as it was – the most amazing blessings have unfolded as a result. A stranger came along, grabbed my hand and put me to work for her promoting her events. I took one small step after the other until I learned how to breathe again. I went from there working larger events and helping plant a church. Each step, each choice to say yes beget more things and more opportunities. And so, I pulled up my bootstraps, leaned into God with everything I had, put one quivering foot in front of the other, and with the help of a delightful mentor I learned to say yes to the Holy Spirit.
Didn’t realize I was saying no until she pointed that out. Note: Never use the words “I could never do what you do, I’m just happy to be here” to a Spirit Filled woman – she will start praying over you and well — you’re toast.
She suggested an experiment – she wanted me to spend one year only saying yes to where I am invited. Don’t knock on a single door and then watch God work. Let’s see what He thinks about these so called limitations you think you have.Now I don’t always recommend that because we can get too complacent sitting around waiting for God to move. I still moved – I said yes to things I never would have said yes to before because I was so busy. And I learned to say no to the things and places I didn’t belong.
I started writing again and I remember wanting to write a series about life after kids and pondered her advice to say yes to everything I was invited to even if it made me throw up from fear. The result? I made amazing new friends, learned that I can too stand up for myself after all, that fame means nothing to me (Hey my husband AKA “Guitar man” opened for Mitch McVicker remember? Cool yes, but Mitch isn’t a rock star and never wants to be – best lesson ever), worked production for some amazing christian artists who aren’t rock stars either. I’ve even invited a few of them to come to my church and perform. I also rode a horse through the jungles of Belize, swam with sharks, and started doing stand-up (which is a huge stretch for a story teller like myself.)
Every single thing a blessing. I’m not a name it claim it girl. I don’t throw God’s promises back in his face, rather I thank him for today and go on. Now some people are really good at reminding God his promises. It’s just not my way. it’s not our relationship. It’s not a theology I understand even though it is a popular one.I wouldn’t go around demanding my parents, family, or friends do really spectacular things for me just because I’m so awesome. They’d call me an entitled brat if I did that. So, I don’t treat God that way either.
The only way I can describe the past few years is it feels like I’m in the middle of this passionate love affair with a God who’s yes trumps every no I’ve ever been told in my life.
No you can’t join this church, you’re just a kid.
No you can’t be on the this board, it’s already full with charter members.
No you can’t be a deaconess (I don’t care if you took the classes already) you weren’t raised Lutheran.
No. No. No. No.
Here bring cookies to the funeral.
Jesus didn’t die for me – or you – to be relegated to sitting in a pew on Sundays and being told that’s all you deserve because you are an adult convert. Which is a common occurrence in some older churches. I know this: Jesus lives so that you can have abundant life.
God’s YES will ALWAYS triumph a world full of nos.
That is pretty cool.And if someone is telling you otherwise – they are lying. So when somebody asked what I did to deserve this or that event, (and they usually do) I honestly answer “Nothing.” I tell the truth about who I am and what my accomplishments are – and my goals. I don’t embellish (because getting found out is easier than people realize) and I trust God with the journey. I could run around and “work” my connections and strive to arrive more quickly, but that’s exhausting. I’d rather take my time, make friends and learn. I’m enjoying the journey.It doesn’t matter what any of us do for a living really. No one is “more called” than some one else. No job is more important than the other. The hand is just as important as the foot.
Remember Mitch? – That man travels to small churches, cut up blue jeans, shirt, bare feet (much like Rich) and plays his heart out for God – not stadiums. I LOVE that. And even so – his job isn’t any more important that the janitor who takes time to talk to troubled teens, or the gal at the check out counter who smiles every day – or the corporate executive — They all matter to God. We’re all called to live life by a God who adores us not for our “here is how I’m going to bless you today Lord” lists quickly followed by an open hand wanting something back as if he were a vending machine – but because He created us and he’s mad about us. Oh that we could love him back not because he’s Santa handing out wishes and accolades based on our own perceptions of righteousness and entitlement, but because he’s God. Would that not just be the bees knees right there?
NOTE: No clue why my formatting is messed up. But thank you for reading. Have a great day peeps.
I broke my right leg two years ago this week just walking on a beach. I required two surgeries to straighten my tibia and was laid up for over 16 months. Even after that, doc said no riding for a year. Well guess what — the year is up! I’m clear to ride again. Hang on y’all. It’s going to be fun!
And to be clear, no that is not me in the video. I just like the video. And the song.