othersomethings.com

First impressions of people are almost always wrong.

Granted, some folks claim (and rightly so) to have good instincts about others, especially upon first meetings, but that could be chalked up to a number of things that don’t necessarily mean you’re first impression was correct.

That isn’t really my point though. I was thinking about how informative it would be if we knew what others first impressions of us were.

If, when I met someone, instead of them saying “Hi, my name is…nice to meet you” they said “Hi. You look like _______ type of person.” or “Hello, are you feeling very _______ right now?” based on their initial impression of me.

Or even 5 minutes after meeting someone new, and talking to them about normal chit-chatty stuff, what would they say about you that they’d learned in that 5 minutes?

I think we would learn A LOT about ourselves if we knew that information.

None of us are the sum of what we present in meeting someone for the first time. We’re on good behavior (usually) with polite greetings and nothing terribly deep shared. But the shallow surface things we share are still a part of us, and are a part of what that person sees upon meeting us. Sometimes it’s a “Nice day, isn’t it?” which tells you nothing about the person other than that they are enjoying the day, and are in an optimistic mood. Sometimes upon greeting, a joke is shared, which tells you that person appreciates a light-hearted encounter and also a little about either their interests or their particular brand of humor.  Sometimes they respond to a “how’s your day?” with “not to bad.” or “so-so.” which I find myself saying often enough, and it makes me wonder 1. am I just saying that cause I don’t want to commit to a good or bad day? and 2. does that person now think I’m a debbie downer?

I can think of a specific instance of this, a guy at the grocery store checkout always has this conversation with me:

“How was your weekend?”

“Not to bad.”

followed with either an “Oh?” (waiting for me to say “well, my daughter was sick” or “yeah, just doing chores, etc.”) OR he asks…”Do anything fun?”

And to the fun question, I almost always reply “not really.” without thinking about it, because who has time to inventory their weekend while typing in your debit PIN?

Except last time he asked me this, I actually paused and thought. Yes, I did do something fun. I had some REALLY GOOD PIZZA. So I told him that, and it turned into a conversation that lasted several minutes.

Because I actually thought about it that time. And it’s completely possible that he remembered me every time he asked me about my weekend before (although I doubt it), but now…he knows me because of the pizza conversation, and voila. I left a good “first” impression.

I really wish I could say I’ve left good first impressions with most people I meet daily. But I know that’s not true. And I wish I could hear what those actual first impressions are, because there is nothing like seeing yourself in a mirror for correcting yourself.

I have more thoughts on this, but it gets tangent-y so I guess I’ll end my thought here.

Do you remember your first impressions of me? (blood relations excepted.)  For educational purposes, I’d be interested in hearing them. And if I can recall my first meeting of you, I’d be happy to share what I thought of you.

Whoever said Sunday mornings were easy was NOT an evangelical Christian with the obligation of assembly.

Growing up, Sunday mornings were inevitably stressful with the putting on the nice dresses, making sure everyones hair is in place, don’t forget your bible, we’re already 5 minutes late for Sunday school, etc.

A few years ago, they were personally stressful due to how much responsibility I felt on any given weekend. I created the content about to be shown to the public, was in charge of it’s presentation, and often also had some duties in stage playing ye old piano or guitar. It’s no wonder I felt simultaneously exhilarated and suicidal.

(yes, I am making a small joke about suicidal behavior. So sue me. Oh look, a joke about libelous behavior! She won’t stop!)

But seriously, I know folks across the country are right now watching as their hard work is unfolding in front of a congregation of people, feeling the anticipation, and when something goes wrong, the stress. I know a few people right now sitting behind expensive pieces of electronics, hoping the next few seconds are as smooth as the last, as they wait for the tipping point to arrive. There is a tipping point in every service, when you can breathe easily and know that it’s all good.

If I had to be the one standing on stage delivering a commentary on the Gospel and it’s meaning, I assure you suicide would be no joke in this post. I would be in great danger. I have deep respect for the men in my church who are willing to address the crowd on subjects that require careful handling. And to do so with passion and urgency is a testament to the power behind their subject matter. So a little stress from a pastor on a Sunday morning is completely understandable.

Today, my Sunday morning isn’t stress free, but for reasons so different it seems I’m living someone else’s life compared to my past experience.
I am sitting on the couch this morning, not attending church. The guilt from breaking the rules of my childhood is strong, (you go to church no matter what.) but it seems the decision is made for me without my input on too many occasions. Logistics and circumstance are often stronger rules than ingrained ethics.
Shannon is a gigging musician. He earns our daily bread by keeping odd hours (gig til 2am, and again at noon) and I appreciate his dilemma. And since we’re a one car family, the decision is made for me.

Sometimes the decision is made by a one year old. Who gave her deciding powers in this home? Sometimes her nose decides for us. Sometimes her lungs. Sometimes her ears. How weird, right? Although lately that hasn’t been the case, I feel somewhat justified in keeping her with me on Sunday mornings instead of putting her in the nursery. As inconvenient as it can be, Easter was her last bout of sickness. A stark contrast to her every 3 weeks routine (go in nursery, miss next two Sundays, repeat) so I’m more than willing to keep her with me.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.

It is what it is.