We Make Plans

When I picture God in a humanly image (because most times He's just to big to put into human forms), His form changes a lot.

Sometimes He looks like King Tritan.

Except, you know, minus the fish tale. (Mer-MAN! Mer-MAN!)

Other times He looks like Morgan Freeman.

Although less so since hearing about this awful ordeal which I hope isn't true.

Point is, I see God as a loving, all-knowing fatherly figure. One who is doting and kind but also knows how to give you a stern eye that makes you slowly climb down from the roof after deciding you could do a mega-jump onto the trampoline two stories below. But also the type to find beauty and humor in small things, like a sassy comment from an old lady or a potato chip that looks like a celebrity.

I don't find much in common with the religions that paint God out to be this wrathful, menacing, unforgiving being. Don't get me wrong, I know God has His rules and standards and I believe He sticks to them. So while I approach God with humility and reverence, I still see Him as approachable, you know? I feel like I don't have to be on my knees every time I pray. (Sometimes you can be desperately clutching your husband's hand during a particularly bumpy airplane takeoff and I think He gets the message just fine.)

Part of my image of God as having a good sense of humor comes from the next up in my series of Martin Idioms. I can't tell you how many times while growing up I heard, "We make plans, God laughs."

Doesn't that image just fill you up to the brim with affection for God, picturing him laughing good-naturedly at us mere humans making big ol' decisions while He has complete other plans for us? Like the time I decided to major in Public Relations and gave it one semester before deciding I didn't even know what Public Relations was. (Don't look at me like that, I know what it is now.) I just picture God having a nice little chuckle, saying, "Aw, bless. She thinks she knows what she's doing."

Or the time that we planned on having a romantic evening in Venice and ended up taking planes, trains and automobiles across the European continent, concluding with a breathtaking view of the world's most romantic city and an incredible story. He's got bigger plans and a better perspective.

Usually Mom or Dad would say this little diddy in a much smaller circumstance, such as a cancelled party or a delayed flight, but that doesn't make a difference in the message I took from it. Sometimes bigger things are at play. Sometimes it wasn't meant to be. Sometimes it makes you feel better inside to absorb those disappointments and view it as a step in what was undoubtedly the right direction for you.

And for the record, I don't feel that God would find this post flippant or blasphemous. I feel like He'd be amused, like a father looking at his small child's finger painting. Not as interesting as a sassy old lady but more serious than a Paul McCartney Frito Lay.

What do you think?

Places, People, Things

Growing up, when my mom had to wake me up for school or another occasion, she would march into my room and sing a song to the tune of Reville, that military wake-up song. The words to the song were as follows:

It’s time to get up, it’s time to get up, it’s time to get up in the moooor-ning!
It’s time to get up, it’s time to get up, it’s time to start your day!

This would usually be followed by one of two sayings. The first was “Up and at ‘em,” which until recently I thought was “Up and Adam.” For years I had a strange vague curiosity as to who “Adam” was.

The other sayings was, “Places to go, people to see, things to do!”

I would usually attempt some kind of go-back-to-sleep tactic while grumbling about Mom’s sunny devotion to being a morning person – a non-inheritable trait, it turns out. So while the wisdom of this bright Martin idiom might not have been evident to me at the time, it’s certainly come to some importance since.

The truth is that I love sleeping in. I love to sleep. I love the feeling of the cool sheets on your skin when you change positions in bed. But Michael could tell you how much I hate being cooped up in the house all day. On a day when we’ve been apart the whole day he’ll tenuously ask me, “Have you been out of the house yet today?” Usually because my mood is directly related to whether or not I’ve gotten fresh air and been exposed to sunlight.

Because the world is out there, breezing by in a unique way every single moment. There really are places to go, people to see, things to do…every single day. It’s so easy to miss them if we’re too lazy or too tired or too moody to appreciate them. We each have one life, and no one knows how long it will be.

I’m as guilty as anyone for taking moments for granted. For watching a marathon of America’s Next Top Model reruns instead of taking a walk or planting a peach tree or painting a fresco. But even now, six years since I’ve moved out of my parents’ home, sometimes Mom’s saying will creep into my consciousness and I’ll turn off the TV or set down the book and go make an adventure of my own.

I’ll get up. And Adam.

Martins Show Up

Technically I'm not a Martin anymore in name. I went the traditional route and took Michael's last name as my own. I am all about Girl Power and womyn's rights and everything, but I just like this tradition. I'm starting a family with him, I want our children to have one name, so I took his. It's the way my family's always done it, so this wasn't exactly headline news. But I did take my maiden name as my middle name to keep with me. I figured that 'Martin' was much more a part of me than my previous middle name and I wanted to keep it.

But even though I have a new last name, I still consider myself a Martin, and have carried the Martin idioms with me into this new world of marriedhood. This is the first in what will be at least a five part series of Martin sayings that my parents taught me.

The first is "Martins Show Up." I was reminded of this gem by a long phone call with my dad a couple weeks ago. He was telling me how sad he was that he'd recently had to lay off a bunch of employees. They were good people who hadn't done anything wrong, just that their business had to let people go to be able to continue operating. After my dad (the vice president of the company) delivered the news personally to the employees, one stood up and thanked my dad for giving the news personally instead of staying locked up in his office behind a big desk to let someone else do the dirty work.

My dad told him that Martins show up.

When I was in high school I played for a soccer team that was probably one of the top four programs in Arizona. I loved the girls on this team. We'd traveled together, practiced a few times a week, won, lost, cried together. I had a managable relationship with the coach and had been with them since I moved to Arizona. But I wasn't getting help from the coach in getting college recognition, so I started guest playing with the #2 team in Arizona in tournaments that my regular team didn't get in to. (Don't talk to me about the #1 team. Is it offensive to call Sereno Nazi-ish? Sereno is a surefire way to kill your love of the sport). I found out that I liked these new girls too, it was a better team that was going to better tournaments and had college coaches at a lot of games. If I wanted to play soccer in college - and I did - this was a better club for it.

My parents and I sat down and tried to decide if I should permanently leave my old team and move to this new one. Not to let my histrionic side go wild, but this was the hardest decision of my life. I'm not kidding, I had nightmares. I didn't want to be a traitor to my old team, but I also didn't want to kiss my college dreams goodbye. I would wake up knowing what I should do, then wake up feeling a different way. In the end, I knew that staying with my old team would be simpler, but going to the new team would be right.

Other girls had left our team before. Normally they'd just stop showing up, or they'd have their mom call the coach and break the news that way. We would always hate it when girls would take this easy way out. My parents told me that Martins show up. It would certainly not be easy, but I owed my team a face-to-face explanation. So on what would prove to be an intensely difficult evening, I showed up at the next practice and told my girls - in tears - why I was leaving for another competing squad. Some girls were mad. Some understood. Some gave me a hug and cried too. Some walked off without saying goodbye.

It was so hard, but I'm glad I did it. It taught me that you can't run from a fight. If you're tough enough to make a choice for an action, you have to be tough enough to execute it with honor.

I hope you don't mind reading about my Martin Idioms. I thought about writing these a few weeks ago but hesitated because I worried it would seem like I'm bragging about how cool my family sayings are. Or whatever. But I couldn't think of much else to blog about lately and decided to go for it. If you're reading this blog, chances are you know me personally so you don't mind hearing about little things my parents taught me. Maybe you have your own family sayings? I'd love to hear about them in your own blog or in the comments.