Tonight I was at work and I got caught up in this conversation between two of my coworkers about how they were planning on hesitantly and awkwardly spending Father's Day.  One girl was planning on taking her dad to the boats, "that way we can both go our separate ways once we get there; he can go off to the roulette tables and I can go play black jack or something," she said with a clever grin, knowing it is all for the sake of disguising the true nature of their relationship behind faux closeness and an outing "together."  The other girl had not even talked to her dad since her wedding over two years ago until they began exchanging emails a couple months ago, which was a correspondence she lamented initiating because of its prequel to both Father's Day and his birthday, since she feels the weight of the obligation to do something for him but cannot bring herself to genuinely celebrate him.  For both of these girls, sending a card was out of the question because there aren't any out there that say "Happy Father's Day... you bastard," or, "If there were more dads like you... the world would be an F'ed up place." 

I was enthralled by this conversation for so many reasons, but chiefly because I was sad for them and yet thankful that my own dad really is worthy of celebration.  Truly, my dad is amazing and I am realizing what a rare thing that is in this world, and especially in this culture.  To have a strong, loving father is an incredibly powerful thing.  The statistics aren't friendly for kids raised in single-parent homes, but my family was an exception to the rule not only because Dad wasn't alone in raising us (it took a village...) but also because he is an exceptional man.  Once when I was in college I was talking with this professor-friend of mine (a man I have always deeply respected) and it came up that I didn't have a mom, and immediately he stopped and said, "your dad raised you by himself?"  "Yes, me and my brother and sisters," I replied.  "Wow," he exhaled and leaned back in his chair, and with a look of amazement and admiration continued, "he did a great job."  To this day I claim that statement as the best compliment I have ever received.  Really it was a compliment to both of us, and ever since that time I have considered differently what it really means to "honor your father..."  Sure, he is an imperfect man, but I wholeheartedly believe that if there were more dads like mine... the world would be a better place. 

"An unmarried woman is concerned about the Lord's affairs: her aim is to be devoted to the Lord in both body and spirit."

When I read this the other day with fresh eyes my first inclination was to be a bit convicted and even embarrassed.  I mean, substitute the term "unmarried woman" with "Ashley," and one might think the author of this verse is a liar.  At least that's what I would think a shameful majority of the time-- I get so distracted and impatient and selfish and deceived.  Then something liberating occurred to me: these words were not penned to give a command or heap condemnation, they were meant to make a statement of privilege.  An unmarried woman gets to be devoted to the Lord-- the one who created the world and everything in it, the one who knit together every detail of her and loves every inch of her, inside and out, with unceasing faithfulness-- instead of worrying about pleasing an imperfect man with domestic chores, a sunny disposition, or sexy underwear.  She's the lucky one.  Suddenly I am thankful and hopeful.  Today and every day I am called to be single, my passion is single-- I get to be wildly devoted to the Almighty, in body and in spirit. 

God, grant me the grace to be wholly yours.

It was the strangest thing: last night I was sleeping and dreaming crazy things (as usual) when my world was rocked.  Literally.  My bed was shaking back and forth and the room was rumbling as if I were inside a storm cloud.  I was pretty sure it was an earthquake (it was) but I was half asleep, after all, I've never been in an earthquake before, and not to mention this is Missouri.  So with a little room for doubt and a little time, I was just as certain that it was a byproduct of my overactive REM as it was an actual earthshaking experience.  That was the most interesting thing to me-- that I could so easily and quickly explain away or forget something so intense and moving, that is.  Of course this got me thinking about life and human nature and how huge things can happen in an instant, yet from that moment on we are in a process of forgetting what it was really like.  We can box it up in words like shaking or rumbling, but after a while the memory of what it really felt or sounded like will be so hazy that if someone were to try to convince us that it was just a garbage truck driving by and emptying nearby dumpsters, they might just succeed in making the experience void of significance.  It really is tough to be certain of that which is questionable, however real it may ultimately be.

I have recently made a hilarious discovery: if you happen to find yourself in the market for a television, all you have to do is tell people that you don't have one and they will instantly inundate you with offers to give you one. 

Every now and then it comes up that I don't have a TV* and usually the second thing out of a person's mouth-- after the initial response of shock and awe-- is to ask, "do you want one?"  I can think of two reasons for this: 1) people think it is inhuman and un-American to not have a TV, and thus they feel they are doing a good deed by providing you with the basic, unalienable right to one as if it were food, water, or shelter; and 2) people usually have an extra, perfectly good TV just sitting around their house or somewhere in storage because this is, after all, America.  Usually the reason people have extra TVs sitting around is because they have unnecessarily upgraded to bigger and better models and have more TVs than rooms to put them in, but they still feel they can't get rid of the older ones because 1) once upon a time they cost a lot of money, and 2) nobody else wants them because everybody has the same predicament whereby they don't have room for a new TV unless it is bigger and better than their current model.  As you can see, people everywhere are just dying to give away TVs.

*Now, according to Stuff White People Like, the number one reason a white person would not have a TV is so that he or she can say "I don't have a TV," and feel really hoiler-than-thou.  I have to disagree, however, because the number one reason I don't have a TV is because I know myself better than to think that if it is readily available I won't spend at least twice as much time as I should sitting in front of the silver box, disengaged.  Feeling like I'm better than everybody else is merely the second biggest reason I don't have one.  And for the record, I still watch TV sometimes.  I just don't have one. 

The other day at work someone came along and said something along the lines of, "who put these pitchers here... [blah, blah, blah, something about mats]?"  Then I looked up and said, "What was that?  It was probably me.  Did you say pitchers?  Oh yeah, that was me.  Sorry, I learn by making mistakes."  As soon as the words came out of my mouth I knew that was a profound statement.  And immediately I figured that I must be learning a lot lately.

There is a great moment in You've Got Mail when Joe Fox asks the question: Do you ever feel you've become the worst version of yourself? 

I do.  Definitely.

Lately it seems like I just cannot win.  Whatever decision I make is the wrong one.  Whatever I say comes out wrong.  That which I want to do, I do not do, and that which I do not want to do, I do.  It's not pretty.

The good news is that at this point when I find myself at the bottom of the barrel, all I can do is throw up my hands and laugh.  "Whelp, here I am.  This is me."  It's almost liberating to be so nakedly imperfect.  It's like the pressure is off.  Or something.