Throughout my weekend, there has been this statement that keeps coming into my thoughts unbidden. And it is: "I don't think you know what to do with me." It just feels like a statement of fact.
This weekend was gentle and pleasant. Breakfast with "e" at this fantastic breakfast place that gets crazy busy if you don't get there before 9:30 a.m. Yumm. I gave her a mix cd of some christian music I like in order to express that part of me. I don't always know what to do with that part of me with her. She gets it in part being catholic but... Again the line in my head. I don't hide it, I just don't know what to do with it. And as a side note I've just realized how totally hard it is to find any music that talks about my faith that isn't weird. Anyway. Breakfast was lovely. She is lovely. I don't think she knows what to do with me. We are both being really gentle with each other though.
Then I spent $95.00 on art supplies (more than I planned) because this art store was having a huge sale. Woo hoo. I walked out of there with 10 canvas's, four tubes of paint, two new paint brushes, paint pens and a new journal. I know exactly what to do with them. :)
I learned how to make homemade pesto (thanks to mvl!) and made a really really (can i say really again?) really good pesto pasta dish with veggies in it. My friend Lynnae came over and we had the pasta, bread, pino grigio and then chocolate cake and coffee for desert. And we watched Eddie Izzard who I had netflixed. It was fantastico. :) I knew exactly what to do with all of this. :)
Today I went to the church of the pastor I blogged about here. He is the guy who reminded me how many times it says, "do not fear" in the bible. The church is small and young. It has a folk music, homey, gracious feel to it. The church I've been going to is growing really fast and is passionate and dramatic. It has absolutely no idea what to do with me (or anyone gay or lesbian). It felt sweet to be in a church that does know what to do with me. Accept and welcome all of me.
Right now what I'm going to do with me is take myself home, listen to Fernando Ortega (one of the more mellow soothing christian artists) and eat some pesto pasta leftovers. O, I didn't put Fernando on the cd, but I like him.
I really wonder why that phrase comes so often to my mind unbidden, what it means, how true it is. Oddly it helps just to state it. I don't know always what to do with me. Why do we think we should know? What to do with others, with ourselves?
I don't think you know what to do with me! I say.