East Nashville is for beards

Today (which was actually a few days ago, since I never finished this post)  is one of my best friends' birthday, and we celebrated at a pizza place called Five points pizza in East nashville.  I normally don't fancy pizza, but this was amazing.  I ordered the special of the day called the "Bianca" something...or something bianca (I forget, but it had the name Bianca in it) and it was with ricotta cheese, spinach, roasted garlic and roma tomatoes; perfectly thin and juicy, literally dripping with melted cheeses and garlicky goodness!  I ordered a side of their house marinara sauce (for an upcharge of $0.75), and I must say, it was a darn good slice of pizza.  If you're ever in town and find yourself in East Nashville (which you should if you like seeing beards, dog-walkers, movies on the lawn, and eclectic art displays) Five Points Pizza will not disappoint your stomach...no matter how hungry you are or are not.  Yea, I know, I really liked the bianca slice...or should I say my slice of Bianca :P

Five Points Pizza booth

There is just something so endearing about having just enough money (aside from what you store in the bank for emergencies...which just means you're sort of stingy, and by "you're" I really mean "me") for a good slice of pizza and cup of joe with friends that tell you about their dogs, their dating lives, and of course the annoying people they encounter at their jobs.  Not that we are annoyed at anyone, not at all.  We love everyone. Ok, that was intended as sarcasm (which most of you probably picked up on), but re-reading it I realize it may make us sound snobby like we think everyone is annoying, and that we're these cool cats.  I'm allergic to cats.  I meant that we do find people annoying, like a guilty pleasure, but we vent in a sort of playful way like tossing water balloons at each other, if that makes sense.  I don't condone gossiping, though I find myself having to smack my mouth more than a few times when I catch myself doing it out of habit or some strange idea that it's okay so long as it's entertaining.  But here's to pizza, birthdays, and water balloon fights.

       East Nashville is just such a fun little area to walk around in, granted you steer clear of the ghetto parts as all cities have them in the nooks and corners.  Nashville in general is inhabited by hipsters, but East Nashville seems to harbor the more "dirty-bearded", the hippie hipsters, but they're also just the more content, the more merry, and more relaxed than the central hipsters.  Most of the coffee shops and restaurants in East Nashville carry a cool vibe, like Barista Parlor (a coffee shop built into an old farm storehouse) and the Wild Cow (a vegan joint  where all the workers are tatted up with neon hair and mustaches and or equally wild hippie attire.  I've probably mentioned the Wild Cow several times now because it's one of the only vegan places that also has such a fun and chill atmosphere.  Not to mention their nachos and buffalo tempeh are amazing! --those are two separate dishes).

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       I was reading today and came across this line, something like "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in everything consider others more significant than yourselves."  I had to let that soak in for a while before I could really put the pieces of those instructions together.  To let go of what I want; more money, more clothes to feel pretty, adoration from boys, recognition from intelligent people, perfection for myself and from others toward me, haha, clearly this is more honest than I'd like to or normally would share).  Trying to do things that would help other people sounds so ... nice.  At first glance it seems counter-intuitive, that to let go of my ambitions and things I want seem ludicrous to attaining my own happiness, but there is something mysteriously beautiful about helping someone other than yourself that conjures up a joy and a meaningful moment.  What is life if not for meaning and joy?  Then what is meaning, and what brings about deep joy?  I am searching for these things, and sometimes I find them, but most of the time I am looking for them in my selfish ambitions and vanity, and when I do I'm left almost completely depleted of any joy or meaning.  The thrill of a paycheck or a hot date always vanishes in a short time frame, leaving nothing of meaning to sustain joy, but when I take time to love someone by buying them lunch or listening to their story and sharing about Gods love for them, I find myself growing and developing an understanding that I take with me like engravings on my heart; embroidering the highlights of my story, my life.  I am but a branch and Jesus is the vine that lets me live, apart from Him I wither and cannot produce anything of sustenance.  

Five Points Pizza would really hit the spot right now... le sigh. haha.  I am about to head out to a friends' dinner party, so arriving with a pizza filled tummy would not be very nice.  ;)

searching for God knows what

I read a book by that title, by Donald Miller, but this has little to do with that (I would say nothing, but the book probably touches on similar sentiments for which I am using that same title).

I'm not working today, and my heart is suddenly finding it has time to examine things that aren't perfect.  My old wooden floors that need cleaning,  the strange and ominous gaping hole in the wall behind our toilet, the cockroaches I've seen (which have since been "terminated' by the pest control yesterday, but which still haunt me and taint the perfection of our very imperfect apartment), the fact that I've not yet published or submitted a single piece of my writing, that I'm not dating someone ridiculously handsome who loves The Lord with a fiery passion and loves me perfectly, that I have a list of books I still have not gotten to, that I have to sew a button on my favorite pair of shorts, that my hands have become very dry from washing them so many times at work, the fact that I'm 26 and compared to SOME of my friends appear to be behind, the fact that I still have not taught myself to crochet, that I've not yet been to Rock Island or Cummins Falls or even just Chattanooga, that I miss my dog linus (even though I never really took good care of him and he never really got potty trained),  that ....this and that and him and her are all just things and people scraping away at my attempts of painting a perfect portrait of what would be called "My Life".  I could go on mentioning the rust in my sink, the passive aggressiveness in me toward people who don't do simple etiquette, my landlord who has not returned my phone calls and text messages about this months rent since we were told we would get a discount for the leakages, and how tired I am, confused about whether or not I'm actually hungry, and how I miss my family and friends back in California, but I won't keep going.  I'll stop.  

       I can't seem to keep up with perfection.  I know my worries and anxieties stem from wanting perfection, and it's ludicrous to allow myself to think that perfection is possible, because nothing and no one is perfect except God.  I am searching for things and people of perfection, when really what I should be searching for is God, because He is perfect.  So where does one start when searching for God?

       I've read the bible, I've prayed, I've talked to spiritually mature people, and I've cried out to the whirring silence of my room for Jesus to reveal himself to me.  I mean, is everyone as lost and confused and broken as I am?  When I'm not busy with work, not succumbing to addictions and bad habits, not talking to a friend, not dating anyone, not starting a new project, and not sleeping, I am here.  In the comfort of my room (or sometimes in the comfort of a coffee shop or park), I am quieting the mindless things, the meaningless things (which begs the question of what is truly meaningful?), and I sit and ponder...and almost always my thoughts start pointing to all the things in my life that need repair or that could be better.  What a strange and immediate response to my attempts at deep reflection.  

       So here are some things and people I am most assuredly thankful for:

1.  I have such a spacious and beautiful room, with the help of my dad and Home Depot I love how my room makes me feel at "home"

2.  I have a number of best friends that I know would help me in a moments notice (you even know who you are!)

3.  I have three sweet potatoes all baked and ready to eat waiting for me in my kitchen.

4.  I live in Nashville, in a great area, near even greater people, and my church.

5.  I'm not super ugly, I mean, I'm not very discontent with what I see in the mirror

6.  I have really great parents, and a really strong relationship with my mom

7.  I'm not allergic to something that would make my life sad (like grass, or coffee, or pears)

8.  I have work that pays the bills and some nashy thrills ;P

9.  I've got good teeth

10.  I don't have acne.

11.  I've travelled to several different countries

12.  I've never really been in want or in debt

13.  I have had very kind and generous managers/bosses in the past and presently

14.  I found a great rug for my room, probably perfect in my opinion

15.  I have some cute dresses

16.  I'm thankful for ears to hear music, arms and legs to dance to music, and eyes to see how silly everyone else looks when they do the same

17.  I'm thankful for epic views, mountains, waterfalls, the sky right before the sun goes down, the sky right before the sun comes up, and when the air smells minty.

18.  My Prius :)

19.  the moments I am surprised by God's love and goodness (like when I find a great parking spot or make a new friend just when I needed one, or bite into the most wonderful juiciest white peach)

20.  I'm grateful that my life is filled with good people, good things, and God.

I found peace already, granted I know the uneasiness of my wants/lack of perfection will scratch at my mind again, it's important to remember all of the good things that fill my life.  That life is more than myself (my looks, my money, my accomplishments and the number of people who know what I've done, haha).  I strive (sometimes in agony or pain) for good things, and in that striving I am learning and shaping my character into being more like Christ,  who is perfect in every way.

In a Server's shoes

3am and 8 whole bananas later…

...I'm really into bananas these days....

       Tonight was probably the most intense night I have ever had as a hostess.  We had a packed out house (I work part time in a semi-upscale restaurant downtown) both inside and outside on our patio, a total of about 120 people.  Then it started to rain, and when I say rain I don’t mean a little drizzle or even a steady dripping, it was pouring HEAVILY.  We had to move everyone inside, re-set tables faster than humanly possible and somehow MAKE ROOM for 40-50 people inside.  Lots of waiting, lots of complaining, and several “It’ll be about 10-15 minutes more” and glares later, we managed to fit everyone from the outside inside our already crowded place.  One table of 14 kept saying they were in a rush to catch a show and wanted their check asap........and split 14 ways (each with his or her own drinks and appetizers), really?    Another table apparently thought it would be ok to yell and be rude to our manager who did nothing wrong (Poor sweet Micah, he’s not only one of the best managers I’ve ever worked for but one of the most genuine and kind people I have ever met in my life) over something that was really not worth getting angry over, because clearly at this point we were doing the best we could after an unexpected slaughterhouse of rain that forced everyone inside making the place pretty crowded.  People were demanding impeccable service, and we were doing our best to deliver.  If you’re not very familiar with the service industry, keep in mind the following:

1.     A host/hostess IS NOT A SERVER, they do not take drink/food orders, bring your tab, or have authority to give discounts

2.     You are not your servers’ ONLY table, so be patient when things like a sudden downpour force sudden changes

3.     TIP WELL, most places do not pay minimum wage hourly for servers (In Nashville servers make $2.13/hour + tips, so basically their income is based off of your tips—suggestion: tip at least 20% of your total bill)

4.     Servers are not slaves, if you need something ask politely; being rude is never pleasant.

5.     If you’re splitting a check KNOW that it will take a little longer to do the itemizing, so expect to wait a bit, especially if you have a big group, and even more especially if the split is not EVEN.

6.     Don’t make a mess on your table, touching half eaten food is gross, so lets try and keep it on the plates.

7.     Most importantly, BE NICE. Please.  It just makes things better because you never know if there are things going on that are causing someone to break apart in subtle ways.

It’s on nights like these that I realize a gym membership is unnecessary, and having gloves and/or hand sanitizer would be great.

I'm exaggerating.  A gym membership needs to be got. haha.  I'm going to apply next month at the Y. :)

Weird discovery, but my palette has become increasingly happy to horseradish sauces.   Horseradishsauces, say that five times fast. 

I wonder if fried bananas dipped in horseradish sauce would be tasty?....well, frying would require too much work over the fire, having to heat oil, which usually ends up on my face...so...it will remain just that...a thought.

Oh and one more quick random note:  these lovely chaps are by Imogene + Willie, a nashville local store where everything is made on site. :)  Very pricy, but very chic and classy.  I'd say one splurge would definitely be memorable if you're in town.

JmeGrey

"So there's that..."

       Spiders fall like little ninjas in the dark.  Out of nowhere, they appear like deadly assassins with a mission to use their prickly legs to cross major personal space.  Nashville insects are in full bloom.  I'm becoming a stronger person since there is really nothing I can do, but stand, walk, sit, and run with bugs all around me, running into me, buzzing by my ear, getting caught in my hair, and sometimes (very rarely) biting me.  They're not so bad, so long as it's not a cicada.

       (I wrote this in my notebook a few days back):
       I don't know what scares me more:
Being presently ok (maybe even happy) and not feeling like I need Jesus OR  pain and loneliness impelling me to desperately need Jesus.

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A confession:

1.  I was grocery shopping at the Kroger (if you're unfamiliar with this market it's along the lines of Alberstons/Ralphs), and they have those snack stands where you fill up a bag and pay by weight, and as I meandered through the isles I ate a few of my dark chocolate covered raisins.  I feel terrible.  It won't happen again, and I doubt I could go back and somehow offer compensation for my ...I hate to say it, ...stealing!! I'm sorry...to myself, because it's the little things like these that will chip away at one's character and integrity.  I feel monstrous.

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Cheers to iced coffee with almond milk!

I'm blogging at the Frothy Monkey, which is down the street from my place, and it's always buzzing with high-waisted young things, cut-off shorts and caramel leather bound feet.  It's a nice place to relax over a cup of iced coffee (ask for almond milk with it!), maybe have a yummy sandwich (like "The Ned"!), and see familiar faces as well as nice faces you'd like to be familiar with.  haha.  I suppose there's no way to write that without sounding creepy, but I mean it in a very friendly platonic way.  This place is buzzing with creatives, eclectic students, moms-on-the-run, and struggling writers.  It makes me feel at home.  Also it's strange to think about, but I have come to recognize that I'm really not a common face to come by, so the places I frequent must remember me pretty easily; I'm probably mentally noted as "the asian girl". haha

       Sorry I'm trying to think of what I could write to entertain, amuse, give rise to deep thought, or something along those lines, but I'm coming up with nothing, of course...when I'm ready to spend hours conveying the thousands of things, people, and thoughts that smash into me on a daily basis they suddenly halt and wait for me to be inconvenienced by them.  I'm tired, I have an interview in about an hour and a half, and my mind is just telling me I need to use the bathroom.  .....Actually, if I'm honest maybe I have tons of things to say that I know will be wind to an ember, but most of it, if not all, makes me too vulnerable.  hmmm....

hmmmmm!!!!

hmm...

I don't like to think about my current situation too much, how confused I am, lost, and lazy.  I'm not very physically lazy (which could be arguable), but I'm mentally lazy, or rather I make an effort to stay away from truly evaluating my actions and outcomes.  This is especially apparent when I'm alone on my days off from work or after I have a long conversation with someone who does good things in service to those people and things that benefit from their help (for example my friend works for a company that volunteers and financially helps support a non-profit called Thistle Farms - www.thistlefarms.org).  When I talk to people like that I usually leave feeling very selfish and wasteful of my life.  This is a very convincing conviction that I need to change, it's like how we have pain receptors to help us keep our bodies from further harm, my distaste for my own selfishness tells me I'm living incorrectly and need to make some adjustments.  So where do I begin?

I could, I will start ....something small, something doable....geesh, I can't even come up with ONE small adjustment to my selfishly saturated lifestyle.  I suppose that in itself is exactly why I'm writing this.  I'll start by recognizing my clutch for control and comfort.  A bad hair day or an hour of constipation seems like a mountain of distress for me, when in reality there are people who suffer from major hair loss and chronic GI disorders.  So the moral of the story is that no matter what my circumstances are, there's never anything a prayer and ruthless trust won't take care of, and the rest is a choice of being grateful for all the good things I do have (that I hardly take notice of) since feeling bad or sad doesn't do anything, might as well cheer up and set my sights on what I can do now to help one someone.  Little steps toward the right direction is the goal here.

-On finding my child-like Joy again

Jme Grey.

HIPSTER in Nashville.

       Nashville is hipster town.  Literally, everywhere I go I see people with mustaches, beards, fitted jeans, tattoos, and white teeth (yes, that's my definition of hipster in a nutshell haha).  Hipsters dress well to look like they are worn and tattered, but tend to be pretty hygienic.  I rather fancy the trend, and mind you there is a stark contrast between a hipster and a hippie.  I won't go into details there, but it's aesthetic appeal without the stench (for the most part).  HOWEVER, people here, and probably most everywhere, avoid or dislike the word "hipster" almost as much as the word "obese".  I'm one of them, since I'm often labeled as a hipster, and I usually always deny it because really if I could have my way I'd wear things more closely resembling a jedi knight or a pillow; square shaped and soft.  But alas, I frequently wear high waisted shorts with a shirt partially tucked in, mostly out of convenience in holding my tummy in, giving me a "mom-butt", but that's considered "hipster".  I have straight across bangs too, and that's also considered "hipster".  So either I start wearing shorts that give me a muffin top and grow out my bangs or ....actually I'd probably still be labeled a "hipster" because I'd look so unkempt that it would be cool in an ironic way.  There's just no escaping hipsterdom if you live in Nashville, well I suppose if you go to Vanderbilt you're exempt. ;p

       It isn't necessarily a bad thing to be a hipster, but it's the whole labeling thing that gets to people.  Being a hipster usually means you're your own person, an individual set apart from the masses of corporate contaminates, not to mention stylish in a vintage quirky way, yet the identity has grown into a culture of it's own that there's no escaping it's jaws of clumping.  You are an individual in a sea of individuals who happen to dress like you, talk like you, act like you, and go to the same places as you. (smirk)  So we all know how to have a good time, so what?  Go ahead, call me a hipster, I'll still cringe at the word, as all hipsters should in heed of our individualism, but it won't do any good to defend myself.  It's too all-encompassing to refute.  Talking about it just runs in circles, and I don't have time for that kind of futile expenditure.

Jme Grey.

P.S:  hipster boys are more fun to look at than corporate shirt and ties, so let them be!
     

sinking thoughts and Retail Associates of Nashville.

Being busy with work and social outings allows me to not have to face myself inwardly.  I try to busy my self mentally and physically from the moment I wake so that by the end of the day I am worn and ready to shut it all down.  Now I’m sitting in my room, on my day off, and I begin to shake with a beaming consternation.  My thoughts turn inward, and I’m faced with the question of meaning, efforts, future desires.  All of which stem from a part of me that wants full control of everything in my life, and possibly the lives of others. Not that I want to become some sort of dictator, but that I want for people to be good, I want for myself to be good, and I want the community in which I live in to be good.  The problem with that is myself.  I am not good, at least not all the time, or even most of the time.  And by “good” I do not mean one who keeps their hands to themselves and quietly smiles at the passing people, but I mean good as in always learning and teaching and doing things, exemplifying, radiating, serving and helping.  Being tangibly good in ways that often call for no words.

I am none of that which I desire to be, and it brings in a flood of apathy and dismay, which is why I try to stay so busy.  However, it is not hopeless for change.  I often feel that I am grasping at change with slippery fingers, but if I could just let go and let Christ reign over me then I’d find rest.

      I can’t tell you exactly how I feel in this moment, because my feelings betray my true identity. 

My name is Selah, and I was born on July 18, 2178 with the A protein. 

     Most of my writing spouts begin like that….and pretty much end like that as well. Haha.

Writing a meaningful story with great characters that overcome even greater conflicts, not to mention coming up with such intricate conflicts, takes a lot of work.  I want to so badly be a great writer, but I’m so lazy. …………………….all I want to do is eat, sleep, poop, and maybe see friends, maybe.  Granted that’s just how I feel at this very moment. 

       So since this is a blog about living in Nashville, let me tell you what happened to me on Monday night at M.L. Rose (overpriced pizza place, where fries with your 9 dollar burger are extra, on 8^th), I was sitting in a booth talking to a new friend of mine, when from the corner of my eye I see the waitress come to the table and I felt something hit my butt.  I figured the waitress dropped a pen or a menu, so I look over at her and she doesn’t seem apologetic, so I look down, and lo and behold I see this monster size fly about the size of my hand.  One word: Cicada.  It was a nasty cicada, and I did some research so apparently they’re not supposed to come out til about every 7-14 years, but according to one site that tracks such invastions, Nashville may get some cicada stragglers invading this year (since the last invasion was only a few years ago, maybe 2 or 3)!  Just my luck.   Let me just say that I have an intense distaste for all insects, but this one takes the cake!  It was huge!  Granted my research tells me they are totally benign to humans, they look like overfed mutant poop flies, that if squashed would leak and ooze about a coke can size of blood and guts.  Disgusting. 

      So my parents are rolling into town (literally driving here) and we are swapping cars so I’m in need of a great hand held vacuum to clean up the last 5 years of accumulated trash and debris that have managed to find their way into nearly every crevice and corner of my exhausted sedan.  So I’ve made a few rounds at finding the best price for the highest quality hand held.

My conversation with the Sears associate went something like this:

“Hi I was wondering if you guys carried the Black and Decker 18 volt power vacuum, a hand held cordless vacuum?”

“No.”

“oh.”

“you said the Black and Decker what?”

“18 volt power vacuum.”

“Hold on.”

“ok.”

(noise that sounded awfully like a lot of rustling and nothingness)

“No.”

“Ok, thanks anyway.”

(he hangs up abruptly)

I also called target on White Bridge Pike and was asked “Are you still on hold?” about 4 or 5 times, which I thought was a strange question to ask the person you had on hold and was un-holding. 

They have the vacuum, after 40 minutes of being on hold and intermittently being asked if I was on hold.  So I’m off to pay the extra 7-8 bucks for the same vacuum I could order off Amazon for cheaper, but I need it now.  Also it always concerns me that I may get some invalid or missing parts when ordering online, so when it comes to electronics I find it’s best to get them somewhere I can easily return them to in such cases.

Ok, it was more like 15 minutes, but it felt like 40.  Also, I just returned from Target and bought the thing, but I got a discount because my mother (good ol mother of wisdom) told me that they probably had a price adjustment policy that would match any competitor's price, and they sure did!  Awesome.  This is one of those rare moments that I'm actually glad for the existence of big corporations, all for a measly 7 bucks, I'm so pathetic.  Yes, when money is scant I become pathetic, which brings me to my next inward struggle of trust.  Ruthless trust would make me more of a beautiful person, yet I'm fretful to let go of any control, even to give a little slack.  He still loves me, and always will, and that's why I will not stop trying to become un-pathetic...for Him.

Jme Grey.

old post (lack of internet) ...a freak out moment and some fun.

It’s one of those moments where you start to freak out a little bit on the inside.  It starts with a thought, a simple thought, like hanging out with friends.  I love having great talks with friends over a cup of coffee or a plate of nutritious food; this thought makes me smile, relationships are pivotal.  Then that simple thought starts to bubble, like when dough rises in the oven, but this time you’ve added way too much of the stuff that makes it rise…(yeast?  Baking soda?), and it turns into a beast of thing that’s out of your control over flowing your brain’s pan size, oozing over the edges and forming weird tumor like extensions (although those are always the tasty parts of such catastrophes, but that does nothing for the point of this metaphor so ignore that).  “Hanging out with friends” sprouts these unsightly extensions of how it will cost money, and money requires a certain amount of income, and that income comes from a job you find more or less meaningful or enjoyable (because life must have meaning!), that job may require more schooling which means more income for tuition, more coffee to study and stay awake, and that income must also support rent, utilities, gas, food, and movie nights, and a gym membership (Because I have this hope that I’ll start working out regularly…someday).

       I begin to automatically try to calm myself down by saying that if worse comes to worst I always have my parents to fall back on to ask for help, because someone with my size of pride could never beg for money at the freeway entrances…not to mention I hate being tan and that would be a lot of sun exposure.  But then that becomes another little gremlin when I think about how old I am to come crawling back to my folks for money, or worse just the thought of asking them for help because I want them to be proud of me and not see the ugly side of me and my struggles; in essence I want to be viewed as successful and shiny in their eyes, their perfect little daughter visiting them with nice gifts and big hugs, and anything less would be pathetic.    All in a matter of seconds I’ve got a beast and a gremlin on my coat tails, they don’t really exist, but I’m panicking because I’m trying to be a step ahead of everything in my life, and I find that I don’t have everything I need in case these creatures do end up chasing me one day …I’m freaking out over things that are actually quite fine in their present states (ie: income, relationships, jobs, hanging out, and family) but I’m creating my own monsters and then telling them to begin chewing the sane parts of my brain.  Why?  Why do I create my own monsters, and then tell them to attack me?  Of course I don’t intentionally do so, but when I begin to worry about things that aren’t even worrisome that’s what I’m doing.  Do I sound like a freaky perfectionist?  Yes.  I apologize, but I’m relieved that I can catch myself right before the fog reaches a cliff.  I walk just a few steps to the edge, but I haven’t fallen.  There have been moments where I had stopped right at the edge, and I remember those moments as well.  They are stark reminders of who I am now, and who I was a week, a month, a year, a decade ago.  I’m standing there, looking down at what I almost did, how I almost ran myself off the edge and into misery….and of my own doing!

       As I stand there, still sweating from the frantic running in the fog, I look at my feet…they’re not touching the ground.  I don’t see the ground, in my mad rush and halt I hadn’t realized that I had collapsed onto the ground, and I see my knees.  My knees?  But I don’t feel the ground.  I’m aware of my body now, and it’s resting, I’m shaking, but they turn into small trembles that eventually smooth out.  I’m being carried.  Then I look up to see the most beautiful face looking right at me and sort of doing this jolly Santa-like chuckle, then turns kindly serious with a smile and says: “well that was quite the run you had”.  He sets me back down on my feet, but my legs feel wobbly, so I clutch onto Him for balance.  And here it, here it begins…I feel it, I want to stop it, but I know there’s no point, as I clutch onto Jesus I am overtaken by a rush of uncontrollable sobs.  The kind that heaves your entire body almost up and off the floor, and I feel relieved and ridiculous all at once, grateful and unworthy, overwhelmed and at peace.  Then he says something to calm me down, He tells me how while I was running he thought we were just taking a jog, and how He was excited to jump the cliff with me because below the cliff was water to be walked on!  Then when I collapsed He picked me up, silly me, weak and fragile me, untrusting me.  Now I see why He was chuckling when I came to in his arms.  I must have looked like a crazy!  He tells me that He knows that about me, He knows everything about me because He’s always with me even in the fog, and especially at the cliff’s edge.  He is always there waiting for me to take the leap instead of collapsing, so that He can show me how amazing it is to walk on water, to run on water!

       I know I can run on water, I know that I can do anything, and that nothing will ever be an issue to get worried about with Jesus since He’s, you know, God, haha, but I’m still wary of it all.  Perhaps I could find some wisdom and reasoning from the truth for being illogically wary, but I’m tired from the running.  Right now all I want is to stay with Jesus, taking breathes of fresh air, being in this moment of immense gratefulness to be apart of His family.  Jesus loves me, this I know….and the rest will have to be more running.

JmeGrey

6.5 days later…

I’m moved in.  Everything went well, I was a mess for no reason.  I worry myself too much. 

       Today is Sunday.

The past week has held some illuminating nights.   One noteworthy evening would be Friday when I got to see Vinyl Thief play again, but this time instead of at an underground basement (for the East Nashville Underground) I saw them at good ol soulshine pizza parlor.  Don’t let the name fool you.  The joint is gigantic with a two story interior and platform style balcony/patio it boasts a stage with room for about an audience of two to three hundred (and that’s just the balcony).   Also comes with a full bar on both levels.

       Vinyl Thief was a blast.  The lead singer Greyson strongly exudes a fresh scent of boyish fun and manly confidence that can’t be denied him.  His voice is strong and melodic and carries well with any ear.  They sound similar to the Cold War Kids, but with a bit more “oomph” and a non stop urge to get up and start dancing!  They have a couple more shows coming up, but you can find out for yourself on vinylthief.com.  Or you know, there’s always google, youtube, facebook, twitter, instagram, etc.  I’m sure one day we’ll have an outlet for something close to actually seeing a band without having to move..oh wait, that’s called television.  #wallE

Me with Vinyl Thief

It’s not that I think television is bad, it’s that I think it’s boring. 

Something that isn’t boring?  Rock Island!  There are tons of nature spots on the outskirts of Nashville that need me to explore them.  Among such treasures are Rock Island (think waterfalls, hiking up mountains to get to waterfalls, and lakes with caves), Cummin Falls (think gigantic waterworld), Minister’s Treehouse (the trend is to think big here, and this one doesn’t exaggerate because it’s a huge treehouse, but moreso a treehotel), and pretty much anything in Chattanooga. Haha.

I’ll bring the details as they come…

Jme Grey