Author: Jess Boctor

If you give a girl an A record to update, she will be so begrudging at first.

She’ll put it off, and ignore you with deadlines looming. 

It won’t be until she in under the threat of losing all her blog traffic and precious comments that she will do it.

She will log into her webhost’s site, but not remember the records number so of course she has to search through her inbox to find it. It will only take a few moments, she promises!

If you give a girl a few moments to search through her inbox, she’ll realize what a mess it has become! There is no reason for anyone to have 1057 messags in their inbox!

So she will let you know she just has to update her filter settings. Once she opens gmails settings though, she’ll realize she needs to update her labs settings too; and might as well change her inbox theme because trees were so last week, and if she has the settings open she will absolutly want to look at the time displays.

This settings game will go on for quite awhile if you let it. You’ll have to keep her focused and get her back on track with searching for the email from Posterous so she can update her A-records.

The girl promises, she will do just that, but didn’t you know! Google+ settings are now integrated with Gmails. She never did have enough time to get her G+ profile correctly set, and she wants to connect her other accounts so she might as well do it now. If you would just give her the login for her LinkedIn account.

If you give a girl her login for her LinkedIN account, you can be assured the A records aren’t getting updated today. You see, as soon as she logins she will relize that a post with pictures of her and a jet ski incident are now on her PROFESSIONAL profile. It just won’t do! 

So she will log into her Posterous account to remove LinkedIn from her personal blog, which will then begin a heated and repeated internal debate about the value of having one universal blog to which she can post everything, and having many segregated and topic oriented blogs. This debate will rage for awhile as it will be fueled by marshmellows which she found in the cupboard while trying to distract herself from making any real decisions.

So the lesson here is; if you have an A record to update find a boy to do it!

 

Welcome to my afternoon.

Continuing the adventure,

Jess

I love water sports. I don’t get out to do them very often because in general, I’m not very athletic and my family preferred water sports where you stayed nice and dry; like sailing.

I always tried to tip the boat.

So three years ago when Al brought the jet ski up with him to Pismo I was determined to try and ride it. Now, this was a stand up jet ski, one where you have to stand up and stay balanced. It isn’t like a sit down ski or seadoo where if you just hang on and don’t drive balls out (like one blogger I may know) you generally don’t get thrown off the ski and have to chase it down.

But where’s the fun in that?

Back to three years ago; Al brought the jet ski with him and I managed to shimmy into a wetsuit in order to attempt to wrestle the thing. As we put it into the water and Al gave me directions, I decided I would try and take it out past the shore break before attempting to stand up.

It went something like this:

Needless to say, I never got to a point where I could stand up. Or even attempt standing up. After being beaten by 6 foot swells for half an hour I turned around and came back to shore. Where Al promptly hopped on the ski and drove it around like it was a fret board and he was Jimmy Hendrix.

There are few people in the world who I’ve flipped off. Albert is one of them.

Last year, Al broke his foot so no attempts were made at riding the jet ski made.

This year, Al brought out the ski himself; after flitting about the ocean for about thirty minutes he brought it back into shore, “You gonna try it Jess?”

I eye him wearily, I had already begrudgingly decided it would probably be a better idea not to.

“It’s really perfect for it right now. If you get past the shore break you’re fine.”

I smile, “Don’t you remember how that went last time?”

“You’ll be fine.”

I’m sure, dear readers, you can tell how much convincing it took.

So I get in the water, Al gives me a refresher course and I head out to sea. Once again, I am trying to get out past the break water. The first few waves I make it through just fine. I am out to a point where the waves aren’t quite cresting yet, and I am coming up on one which I can’t quite make up my mind about. It appears as though it’s getting ready to crest but hasn’t quite taken on the form of a solid wall. I decided to try and beat it, hoping to simply come over the top and down the back before the wave is completely vertical. I gunned the throttle.

Opps.

It appears I made the wrong decision. As I come up the wave, the ski flies into the air, kicking the back end out and away from me. Somehow I have enough sense just to let the thing go and I sink to the bottom under the wave. When I pop up again the ski is about five feet away from me and rolled over in the wave. I swim over to it, rengage the safety and try to start it up.

Nothing. 

I pull back on the throttle again, still nothing.

Crap.

I’ve tried surfing and had a little bit of success. I’ve now tried riding a jet ski twice with hardly any success. So what’s the harm in combining the two?

I surfed the ski into shore.

It wasn’t until I saw Al’s face that I realized how big a mistake I had made.

You see, Al is one of the most laid back and relaxed people I know. I don’t think I have ever seen him actually angry, or if I have ever seen him stress out or have a panic attack. Suffice it to say, if he looks a little worried there is a good chance your life may have recently been in danger.

He was a little worried.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, the ski won’t start.” He clearly doesn’t care about the ski not starting.

“It looked like it landed on top of you.”

I laugh, “Nope, I sank underneath it.”

We pull the ski in and I am greeted by Paul, who just came back from getting his board shorts on.

“Did you get a picture?”

“No! I ran inside to get shorts on, I thought I was going to have to swim after you.”

Aww. Brownie points for being a good husband, but epic blogger fail.

The ski is pulled in and Al gets to work. It becomes very clear there will be no more riding today; something in the engine got fouled up in my unintentional acrobatics.

Tomorrow, however, is another story.

Al gets the ski running again and I take it out again with stern instructions not to try and take the waves head on. I am a little more choosy in my path and I actually make it out past the shore break! Yay!

I tried to stand up twice, but the waters were still too rough to manage it. I spent about forty five minutes seated on the ski practicing steering (important), jumping waves on purpose (fun), and (most importantly) landing the jumps. I call it a win for me.

Of course, then Al got on the ski again.

I managed not to flip him off this time.

Continuing the adventure, 

Jessica

Paul and I are exhausted. We both worked full shifts today, but we dont care. We are speeding up the mountain, a little giddy as we escape. We are running away for an evening, trying to capture a few quiet moments to ourselves. Trying to remember the parts of ourselves that get lost in the rotation of our responsibilites.

Our destination is a restaurant in Lake Arrowhead. It is a small lodge with rave reviews. We slide into the last free table before the grown-ups show up with their reservations. Our waitress is friendly and welcoming. We scan the menu, I giggle at the side note for the brushette “no first dates please!”

This is far from our first date.

Impromptu, I declare to Paul that it is this very fact we are here tonight.

“We’re celebrating our anniversary?”

“Yes, so order whatever you want.”

“Okay, I didn’t know we were doing that tonight…”

I smile, again a little giddy from the speed our life has been going, “When else will we have time?”

So it is decided and our view of the menu changes. We order the brushetta, and a bottle of Black Velvet wine. We both smirk as we order the wine, knowing that since Paul is driving I will be drinking most of it.

Our appetizer comes and is amazing, the way it should be on a night like this. We order dinner, Paul has steak and I order the black cod special. We wait for our entrees and our waitress holds a baby so her mother can eat.

“If I ever own a restaurant, it would be like this. Excellent and welcoming.”

Paul just rolls his eyes and smiles, the way he always does when I have a “new” idea.

Dinner is exceptional. The fish melts like butter and the steak is actually medium rare. The baby is handed off to a new waitress and we order dessert: chocolate gnache for me and coconut creme brulee for Paul. Paul orders a coffee and I sip the last of the wine. We both smile.

We leave the restuarant as the sun is setting over the lake somewhere. We drive along the curvy mountain roads until we can catch a glimpse of it, finally settling into an abandoned house lot. We drop the tailgate and sit in the bed listening to the laughter of a family in the water below us.

The simplicity and serenity begs us to ask questions of “what if’s” and “why not’s.” I wonder when the next time I will be in these mountains as our near future is taking us away to new ranges. I decided it was better not wonder, it was better to enjoy the feeling of the wine and my husbands arm around my shoulders.

As the sunset we began our desent back into Riverside, with windows open and english lads singing. As they sang for an awakening of souls, I let mine dream, trusting the twilight stars and my husband at the wheel.

 

I have begun the very unfun part of moving to Germany: a job search.

You see, the reason Paul and I are moving to Germany is to serve at Mosaik Church which is to say that we don’t want to be a burden to them. No one at Mosaik Church is full time paid staff and as we integrate ourselves into their culture we understand this means one big thing for us, we need jobs.

Last week I found a job which intriqued me. It is a two year paid Fellow program to work with inner-city kids at their schools. It is blend between being a teachers assistant and camp counselor. I am very excited about this opportunity.

What I am not excited about is the application.

I read through the application and became dismayed when they started asking to know things like why I wanted to be a part of their program and how my recent volunteer work has been important to my personal development. Something inside my gut tightened at reading their questions.

You see, it isn’t that I don’t have the experience they are looking for. In fact, I have lots of volunteer experience, I did my fair share of running around with the pipeline kids and I have the credentials they want. I just don’t want to have to explain that to them. 

This week as I have been slowly chipping away at the application I realized this sort of stressed-out-afriad-of-institution-rejection-“I won’t do it and you can’t make me”-feeling was very familiar. I realized it was the same feeling I had my senior year of high school when faced with the daunting task of writing college essays. Once again, it wasn’t that I didn’t have the credentials, I just didn’t want to have to stare down that blinking cursor and try to come up with a hook to explain my life. So I did what any rational thinking 18 year old would do.

I applied to one school, as an undeclared major where I knew I would get in and I didn’t have to write an essay.

Go Beach.

It isn’t that I regret going to Cal State Long Beach, I actually really loved that school and met some amazing people there. It is just that because I am nostalgic for the feeling of limitless potential that I wonder what would have happened if I would have dared just a little. 

So here I am again, staring the blinking cursor down. This time I am not giving up the fight. 

Jessica

Paul and I live with a certain amount of dirt in our house. We live 100 yards from a huge construction site, a train runs through our back yard, our house is 75 years old and it is summer time when I like to leave the doors open. Dirt is going to get in the house. Lots of it.

So, between our busy lives, our general dislike of cleaning, trying to spend as much time with friends and family before we leave as possible, and the fact that if we clean the dirt up today it is just going to be back tomorrow (like literally tomorrow), the battle isn’t very high on our priority list. We kind of just live with it.

Until Thursday night.

Thursday night I found out that my landlord would be coming by the house the next morning. I panicked. Literal stomach tightening physical shame and panic ran through my body. You see it’s okay for Paul and I to see the dirt, because we have decided that we are okay with it. I had intended to show the house to our landlord in a different condition.

So as I was trying to sort through my emotions, laundry and clean the floors I started asking myself why I was feeling this way. Paul and I are going to leave the house spotless and repair any wear and tear from the three years we lived here; so why does it bother me so much for my landlord to be coming on such short notice when there is no way for me to check off my to-do list?

God started whispering to me, and He showed me that I have been treating the house however I want and not really paying attention to what the owner might think. Now that I know he is coming though; I am very concerned with what the owner thinks. I realized I have been living in the house like it is mine and slacking off like it’s mine, but the reality is I should have been treating it better because it isn’t mine and I should have more respect for other people’s belongings.

That’s when God convicted me of the real lesson: it goes way beyond a house. I live with a certain level of dirt in my life, because it doesn’t bother me or I am too busy and lazy to clean it out. I tolerate these areas of dirt and mistakenly think it’s okay because its my life.

The truth is it isn’t my life; just the same way I don’t own this house. My life belongs to God. He created me. He is the provider and redeemer of all things in me and I need to treat my life better because it belongs to a king.

Continuing the adventure,

Jess

 

I have an invisible checklist floating in front of my face all the time.

Don’t be fooled, it isn’t a well planned, full sentence thought out checklist. It doesn’t have neat boxes to cross out or even complete meanings behind the items scribbled across my minds eye. Really, it is just the culmination of everything I feel needs to get done before we move. Believe me, I feel it all.

Lately though, I have been trying to change my perspective. I read a tweet the other day which struck a chord with me, “Change your have to’s into get to’s.”

You see, I don’t want to give anyone the idea moving to Germany is a punishment. Some of the things I am and will go through are difficult, but they are all part of the privelege of participating in God’s greater story. I am reveling in the pure adventure of it. The sensation of having a repeatedly given up dream almost within in my grasp is a glorius feeling.

The checklist isn’t.

The checklist is what makes me sigh and look slightly terrified whenever someone asks, “So you’re moving to Germany?”

The checklist is work.

The checklist is an overwhleming lurking pile of undefined “have to’s”.

So I am changing my thinking.

I don’t have to sell all my possesions, I get to sell minimize my life and responsibilities.

I don’t have to divide my belongings among my friends, I get to let them enjoy it while I am away.

I don’t have to get up and go to work everyday, I get to have a job to help provide for our move.

I don’t have to leave my security, family and friends, I get to go on a great adventure.

What do you GET to do?