Be Still and Know I Am God

How does God speak to us? We learn through the council of His people, through reading His Word, and through the leading of His spirit. In the Old Testament, sometimes people could hear His voice coming from the clouds, and they had verbal, audible conversations. When Moses spoke to the burning bush, he was speaking to God.

God speaks to me a lot through His Word. Lately, I have asked God for direction. This is a time in my life when I could go a lot of directions, and the future is often unclear. For the past few weeks, when I prayed for the solution to an issue, asked for guidance, or simply told Him about my concerns, a certain verse kept coming to my mind:

"Be still and know I am God."

Okay, God. So each time I'd stop, close my eyes, and think to myself, "You are God. Yes, you are God. I am being still now. Okay..."

And then in a few moments, my homework or other responsibilities would call me out of my reverie. Why did He keep asking me to do that? I wanted a solution to my current problem, not to hear that verse again.

Then I went to my church near my university for the first time in over a month. (I was out of state the weekend before, and the previous two Sundays I was on spring break back in my home state.) Anyway, as usual, I sat in the middle section with some of my friends.

My friend pulled out his Bible at the start of the sermon, but he didn't open it yet. And there, engraved on the cover were the words: "Be still and know I am God."

Really?

I chuckled to myself. That phrase had run through my mind numerous times, and now there it was, not just written IN the Bible, but written ON the Bible.

One of my friends asked me the other day how God speaks to people. That's like asking if all people see colors the same way, which is another subject entirely. Every Christian has a different relationship with God, so it depends. One of my good friends told me God has spoken to his heart through songs on the radio. I think that's awesome!

Why DOESN'T God just speak with a great, booming voice out of the sky for all to hear? Well, if it was all perfectly clear and obvious and we could see and hear and talk to God like another person, would we really need faith? Without faith, it's impossible to please Him. And besides, that's simply not how God decided to do it, and He knows best.

Listen to God's whisper. Don't make Him yell...

Almost Left Dressing Room Without Pants On

Yeah. I almost walked out of a dressing room without pants. Oh haha! Melissa, you're such a goober. How silly of you to forget something so important: pants. No, no. I didn't forget. I almost did it on purpose. Why? Well, let me explain.

I have to give you some background story. A few months ago, I was shopping at Plato's Closet, a second-hand clothing store near my university. I was trying on a ridiculously fancy red dress that didn't exactly fit me. I walked momentarily outside the dressing room so I could show my friend Shannon the dress. We joked about how ridiculous it was, and then I went to walk back to my dressing room a minute later. There was someone else in there. Uh... Next thing I knew, I saw some Plato's employees standing behind the counter folding MY clothes, the ones I'd worn to the store, and putting them in little piles. "How much do you think we can get for these?" one of them said.

WHAT IS THIS CONSPIRACY? DOES PLATO'S MAKE ALL ITS MONEY BY STEALING CLOTHES AND RE-SELLING THEM? I went over there and demanded they give back my pants, shirt, and jacket, and then I had to wait in line a second time to put my own clothes back on. Of course it was just an accident.

I was with the same friend, Shannon, today, when we went to the Plato's Closet again, except this time it was the one in Ohio where she lives. I was in the dressing room trying on dresses, ironically enough, when suddenly someone banged on the door.

I instantly grabbed the doorknob and held it. Another time at Plato's Closet, someone walked in on me while I was getting changed. Yeah, I have no faith, respect, or confidence in Plato's employees.

Anyway, a voice said, "You need to get out right now! You have too many items in there, and you've been in there too long."

How did they know how many items I had? I checked the little room for cameras. She had spoken in a commanding, unnecessarily rude tone. "I'm done. I just have to put my clothes back on, and I'll be right out," I responded.

I was trying to hang up the clothes I'd been trying on so I didn't have to obnoxiously leave them in a giant pile on the table when I left the dressing room. And I was trying to finish getting dressed. About two minutes later, she came by and banged on the door again. "You need to get out right now!!" she yelled.

"Uh... I'm sorry, I'm not done getting dressed."

"You need to comply right now!"

"If I walk out of this dressing room right now, I'm not going to have pants on," I said.

"I warned you five minutes ago, and you did nothing. There is a six item limit, and you've been in there for way too long! If you don't get out right now, we're going to CALL THE POLICE!"

I hadn't seen any "six item limit" signs anywhere. You've got to be kidding me. The police? At this point I'm completely serious when I tell you I almost walked out of the dressing room without pants on. They said they were going to call the police if I didn't get out RIGHT NOW, didn't they? Seriously, how funny would that have been? Ha I can just imagine the looks on their faces.

I'd just say, 'Oh, I'm so sorry. I was just scared because they said they were going to call the police!'

But no. I put my pants on before I left. But I was shaken up. Shannon had been sitting outside the dressing room, and she said she had no idea what those employees' problem was. She said the girl had been standing outside the door rolling her eyes and just generally having a horrible attitude.

I got in line to buy the dress and made sure I wasn't anywhere near the two worker who had yelled at me. When it was my turn, I started to tell the cashier about what had occurred. I wanted to know what had happened, and I think they should have given me the item for free because of the absolutely unacceptable way I was treated.

I started to say that I was yelled at and threatened while I was trying to use the dressing room, and this older lady charger over and started yelling at me AGAIN.

"EXCUSE me," she said. "You were told multiple times to get out, and you didn't. You have nothing to complain about."

"I was talking to her," I said calmly, pointing to the frightened cashier.

The older woman scowled. "I'm the manager, and I'll talk to you however I want," she snapped. Then she started yelling at me again about how I was wrong, rehashing the incorrect way I had apparently been using the dressing room, and basically telling me I could shut up and deal with it. Also, she said that I was "suspicious" and might as well have just accused me of trying to shoplift.

I tried to tell her that I didn't know about the six item limit, and I had immediately started to get ready to leave the dressing room as soon as they had asked me to, but she continued yelling and being mean.

"This is ridiculous," I said. "I'm never coming back here again."

She leaned closer and snapped, "I don't care!" And then she started yelling again.

I interrupted, "I'm going to pay for this and leave." I ignored any further comments she made and then left.

I will be calling the company and telling them how their employee, a manager no less, treated a customer. She deserves to get fired, but I don't care if she does or not. I just think I should get reimbursed for the dress I bought because their employees screamed at me and threatened to call the police when I was just trying to use the dressing room.

When I was in the dressing room, I kind of wish I'd yelled, "You gonna call the po-po? You go ahead and call the po-po! See if I care!" That would have been even better.

The Weird Guy from Iowa (Part 3)

This is the third installment of my little story about the transfer student from Iowa. He's out of sorts, thinks too much, and forgets often, but he's a dreamer. Read part one and part two first. :)








When we lost saw the weird guy from Iowa, he had just saved Dana from an unpleasant fate involving a speeding truck...

          “Where are you from?” Dana suddenly questioned.

          “Iowa. I’ve already heard people refer to me as ‘that weird transfer dude from Iowa,’” John replied.

         She laughed. “Well, now you’re that cool transfer dude from Iowa who saves lives… and hopefully plays soccer.”

         With a smile and a glance at Dana’s bangs, which were slipping into her eyes again, John thought carefully about what she had just said. I think I’m okay with that.

          After they went to the nurse and John was bandaged up properly, the two walked back outside into the cold.

          "How many people live in Iowa?" Dana asked, absently rubbing her arms from the cold.

          John yawned. "Well, the population dropped 10% when my uncle died last year."

          Dana laughed. "Good one. I guess that was a dumb question." They stopped walking, and Dana leaned to the right toward the dorm building just a few paces away. "This is my dorm. I have to make a phone call before dinner."
          "Uh, okay. Thanks, uh, see you later." John waved at her awkwardly as she disappeared into the girl's dorm. He turned at the sound of voices from behind him. Soccer practice was over, and the guys on the team were walking down the sidewalk toward the cafeteria and also, inevitably, toward John. He stood up a little straighter. He hadn't actually met any of them, and he wondered which one was Dana's brother. They were all tall and wiry-strong like John, who had the stereotypical soccer build. John's first coach had tried to put him in as a goalie because of his height but had soon discovered that he was much more skilled as a striker.
          What should he say to them? They didn't even seem to see him. He pulled out his phone and pretended to text someone. None of them even appeared to notice him, but the nearest one knocked into him, pushing him off-balance as if he didn't even see him.
          John stumbled back a few steps. The guy who had pushed him just looked at him, stone-faced, then continued walking. Friendly group, John thought. 
         Now it was time for John's favorite part of college ever: finding a place to sit in the cafeteria. Just like high school, the sports teams always sat together. That would be nice. Then he could just sit with the soccer team. They'd already been super welcoming.
        John sighed and put his stuff down at a random table. Maybe someone would come and sit with him. He went to get some food and returned with an expertly made stir fry, some applesauce, and a piece of pie. John was almost ashamed of how good he was at cooking. The first bite of his masterpiece was sitting on a fork halfway to his mouth when a plate hit the table across from him. The plate was filled with pizza.
        He looked up. Yep, it was his roommate, Taylor. Big surprise. He didn't know how it was possible for anyone to survive eating what Taylor ate. John had never seen him eat anything but pizza. "I don't know where the heck Larry and Sear are," Taylor said. In other words, I'm sitting with you because my friends aren't here.
        "I don't know, man. I haven't seen them," John said absently. 
        Suddenly, John's phone lit up. It was her. 
        Taylor saw it, too. The girl's picture appeared on the phone. "Who is that?" he asked. 
        "My ex-girlfriend," John mumbled. "She's awful. Won't stop texting me."
        Taylor snatched the phone off the table, absently chewing a string of cheese that hung out of his mouth. "Wow. Dude, are you eating stupid for breakfast every morning or something? She's hot!"
        "Give me that!" John snapped, grabbing the phone from Taylor's greasy pizza hands. He opened the text. 


Jonathan, this is Miranda's mother. I've borrowed her phone because she refused to text you herself. She is coming to visit your college, and I expect you to be welcoming. You're the only person there that she knows, and I know she's so excited to see you! Thanks! Mrs. Sheckletrick.

        Old people always signed their names at the end of text messages. And how in two years had Mrs. Sheckletrick never caught on that John's name was just John, and that's it. It was his Christian name, the one on his birth certificate, and he must have told her one hundred times. She insisted on calling him Jonathan. He wanted to slap her. She was the only person in the world who was worse than his ex-girlfriend Miranda.
        When John looked up again, he noticed Taylor had been talking. Hadn't he seen that John was reading a text message? No...
        "I'd take her out for pizza," Taylor said, then stopped. "Were you even listening to me?"
        "Please take her out to pizza. That would be awesome," John said. He scooped up his unfinished dinner and stood up.
        "My professor? I didn't think you'd advocate bribery for grades," Taylor said, confused.
        John shoved his phone in his pocket. "I've got to go. Interview."
       "Oh, crap! Thanks for reminding me! I've got one, too," Taylor said, spitting a big chunk of pizza back onto his plate.
        John top lip curled involuntarily. He didn't know whether he should ask or run. His curiosity got the best of him. "What interview?"
        "For the last slot in the lobby desk job in the dorm," Taylor answered rapidly, almost starting to answer before John even finished asking the question. "Is that the same thing you're going for? Ha! Great roommates think alike, I guess! But good luck. I've got some pretty legit references!"
         References for a desk job? Taylor was so annoying the interviewers would probably give him the job just so he'd shut up. That was the same job John had been planning to get. Could this day get any more ridiculous?
        The interview was fine, and he made his responses short and sweet since the interviewers had just had to listen to Taylor give a fifteen minutes monologue about his extensive desk work experience, his "awesome people skills," and probably even how many slices of pizza he could eat in one sitting.
        The next day, John intentionally slept through his morning class. He only had one, and the teacher didn't take attendance. So he just went to lunch.
        Yippee. Lunch. So he could sit by himself again. Great.
        When he walked into the cafeteria, he did not see what he expected. In fact, nothing could have prepared him for what he was seeing.
        Red high heels. Miniskirt. J Crew designer mauve top. Perfectly curled hair.
        Miranda. Currently she was standing in the middle of the cafeteria shrieking at one of the workers. She gained more and more attention as she shrieked until literally twenty-five people near her had stopped what they were doing to stare at her. She waved her pink nail polished pointer finger at the bewildered—no, terrified—caf worker.
      "There are NO warnings on these foods! This soup LOOKED like vegetable chowder, but NO. It's got chicken in it! Chicken! What about the vegetarians!? How are they supposed to know!"
       "I'm—I'm sorry. They're supposed to have labels. I don't know why..." the caf worker tried to interject.
       She didn't allow him. "I don't eat meat! EVER! Where is your manager?! This is an outrage!"
       If only Miranda were stupid. Loud, stupid people were often dismissed. Loud, smart people just drew a ton of attention. John wanted to curl up and die. He was embarrassed, and he didn't even have anything to do with the situation. The people around her were laughing or just horrified. She was dressed to the hilt and making a huge scene over what—some chicken in soup?
       Dana was over by the salad bar scooping croutons onto her plate, but she stopped and also watched the scene. John wanted to get her attention, but then he realized he should probably be hiding right now. What if Miranda saw him? Maybe he didn't even want lunch today. He should just leave...
       Suddenly, the worst happened. As the caf worker struggled for a response, Miranda had been searching the crowd for the caf supervisor. Instead, she saw John.
       "JOHN!" she squealed. Of all the terrible sounds in the world, like fingernails on a chalkboard, a baby screaming, or someone's limb getting chopped off, this sound was by far the worst. If anyone in the cafeteria had not yet noticed Miranda's presence, they did now.
       She charged toward John, and before he could do anything, she'd planted a kiss on his cheek and snaked her orange-tanned arm around his elbow. "Thank goodness you're here. Tell these people that their food labels are unacceptable."

To be continued...