I’m constantly wishing I was better at blogging. My blogging is at best, sporadic, and at worst, neglected. I truly enjoy it and find it cathartic. One of the problems I run into is my inability to come up with content. Most of the stuff I blog about is where my life is that moment. I found myself blogging during good and bad times but with the bad always wanting to have an element of hope. My dear friend Stephanie encouraged me to blog even when I don’t have hope and to write once a day. I’d thought about doing a Confession of the Day every day for the month of February anyway so her encouragement sealed the deal. My confessions will be shallow, deep, honest, raw, true, and hopefully sometimes humorous. In true Rachel Mueller form, I’m showing up two days late to the party, so here are my first two confessions:
Day 1 – I hate ham.
Aside from burnt bacon on rare occasions, I hate pork. Honey baked Ham, sliced ham, pork chops, scrambled eggs and ham, pork roast, pork loin, etc. I don’t know what spurred my hatred of all things pig, but somewhere along the line, I started to despise it. The same thing goes for Jello.
Day 2 – “Home Run”
Dear Internet, I’m about to share one of the most embarrassing moments of my.entire.life. Worst of all? It was self-inflicted. No surprise to anyone, I’ve always liked being the center of attention. Now let me just pause here to give you a moment to pick your jaw off the computer screen. Shocking, I know. Okay so back to me wanting to be the center of attention. Growing up I had a tendency to do things other kids did because I thought I could do them better just to have the spotlight. Case in point: When I was in the third or fourth (or maybe fifth…) grade I had a mild obsession with the song “Home Run” by Geoff Moore and the Distance. It was on a WOW Worship CD my mother had. We listened to the song on repeat one summer. To be honest, the song moved my young self in a way that I thought is was a call to arms for all Christians. I truly believed this song would end hunger, poverty, and war. SO naturally when I saw a very graceful talented peer of mine perform an interpretive dance to a Twila Paris song (if memory serves me correctly), I thought, ah ha! I can combine three of my passions – “Home Run,” my two years of dance lessons, and being on stage! I quickly asked my Sunday School teacher if I could perform in one of the following Sundays. She naively agreed, having no understanding of my lack of skill and desperation for the spotlight. I was thrilled. I went home, cranked the stereo and practiced my dance moves to the song over and over again. No one bothered to mention my dance moves changed every time the song repeated. The morning of the big show and I had a basic (and I use that word generously) grasp of the few dance moves I would perform in the 3:54 song. I had skin tight grey biker shorts, a baseball tee (probably Cubs), baseball cap, and hot pink plastic bat in tow. It was my moment to shine. I got up there and danced my little heart out… making it up as I went along. My brother (who was often a forced spectator in my humiliation) was sitting in the back, face in hands, knowing I was committing social suicide. Not only for myself but for him as well. Years later I found out my parents threatened him within an inch of his life if he laughed or encouraged the mocking that subsequently followed my debut. The best part about the entire situation (aside from the pink bat)? I made a second appearance a few months later. Oh yes, dear readers, I made up ANOTHER dance to another equally cheesy Christian song in front of all of my peers. Except this time, I was dressed in red, white, and blue and waved an American flag. And I wonder why I spent most of my life eating my lunch in the bathroom….