matthew gilliam

Tuesday, June 14, 2011
2:30PM

Word came in that the fair lady of Castle Hill was hot… in the lack of air conditioning sense.

I pointed my trusty steed in her direction, pushed past the obstacles of the surrounding countryside, and promptly got lost in her neighborhood.

In a rare moment of common sense, I called and asked directions.  I rounded the last corner and she waved me in.  And by she, I mean a beautiful princess wrapped in an untucked button down shirt and blue jeans.

Hair pulled back, an over the top smile, …

Natural, authentic, …

Sharp, witty, intelligent, …

A good conversationalist, an eye contact maker, …

Always in reach, physically and emotionally.

“So what’s your story?”  And she told me.

We career traded, carbon-14 dated, got a little philosophical, and even talked about pie.

She’s not hot anymore… in the lack of air conditioning sense.

(Ch. 1.  Ch. 2?)

Don’t read this blog to read me
(as I can’t even read myself sometimes).
Some of this is fiction
(as some of everyone’s life is).
Instead, read this to see yourself.
You’re in here somewhere.

If you found this blog
You probably know me
Which means that I know you
And thus you may be in this blog.

I write about my daily life.
In fact, while we were talking today,
I was probably writing about you in my head.
Weird, huh?

I met a person the world does not revolve around.
She stuck out like a camel snorkeling in a bathtub.
You just don’t see that very often.

“The more you leave your comfort zone, the bigger your comfort zone will become” (Matt Gilliam).

“The turkey was good, even though you cooked it upside down.”

What? It’s not every day I have to figure out the anatomy of poultry… without a head or feathers… before morning coffee. I didn’t see anyone else in their PJs in the kitchen before the sun even got out of bed.

Anyhow, as I enjoy another plate of leftovers, it seems my life is maybe a little like cooking a turkey. There’s been a time or two (or three) when I got my butt roasted because I did something with perhaps less intelligence than the average idiot. Growing up, I distinctly remember someone telling me my actions were, “ass backwards.” We’re not naming names here though, because it is Thanksgiving, and we’re supposed to be thankful for our parents and all. And what does that mean anyway?

But I digress.

So I did some stupid things here and there. Honestly, nine times out of ten, I knew what I was doing. Those people with the creative vocabulary taught me well. I knew I was stepping into a fire with my backside exposed, but I did it anyway. I made my own choices.

All said and done, the turkey turned out good.

There was a point in the cooking
when the capacity of the kitchen
was exceeded by an abundance of Gilliams.

One at the stove, one on the counter, one digging through the frig…

One here, one there.

All within hug’s reach.

Thankful.

Just straight up, it went a little something like this.

I saw her.
She was pretty.
I watched her give my son the allergy shots.
She was gentle and kind.
She knew his medical history well.
Her professionalism seemed personal.

“Hmm… Interesting…”

“No one is more attractive than the man or woman who’s broken of self-centeredness, self-seeking, and self-importance” (Rick Warren).

Got in the truck to go home.
Turned left toward IH 35.

We showed up again the next week.
Repeated the above.
Discovered more prettiness.
Learned her name.
Asked for a doctor’s note.
Made eye contact.
Saw her smile.
Additional prettiness noted.
Got in the truck to go home.
Turned left toward IH 35.

Showed up again.
Repeated the above.
Got in the truck to go home.
Turned right.
Made the block.
Parked in the Loading Zone.
Ran back up to the office and left her a note.

Waited…

She has a boyfriend…

#!@

Ultra dramatic climax to the story: None.

Possible moral of the story:

“The success you don’t achieve is the result of the risk you don’t take” (Robin Sharma).

I’m not really sure what to think about this thought, but I’m thinking about this:

It seems to me that bad is easier to do than good.
Also, the bad guys push and pull, while the good guys merely stand there and say, “Do the right thing now, little Johnny.”
(FYI: My name is not Johnny.)

If bad is Satan and good is God, Satan is loud while God is rather sedate.

Satan has cheerleaders. God does not.

Shouldn’t each side at least be equal.

Perhaps I just need to get my hearing checked… or quit watching the cheer leaders.

Here’s what happens when you violate your marriage but your wife doesn’t know.
She tries to love you, but you feel you don’t deserve it, so you push her away.
You don’t want her to know what you did, so you keep it a secret.
But you can’t hide it from yourself.
You feel the guilt and shame.
You unconsciously keep her at a distance.

Now she feels like she’s done something wrong.

Now what?

A: Confess to the crime. Beg for mercy. Become a better person.

Everyone makes mistakes.
Not everyone forgives.

Less mistakes would be helpful.
More forgiveness would be revolutionary.

“But if I forgive them, they’ll just take me for granted and do it again. I need to tighten the screws here and take control.”

Ahh… control.

And suppose you could wrench down on the screws and force control. Then would you forgive them?

Uhh…

Probably not.

And what if you make a mistake? They should treat you in the same way you treated them, right?

No?

I’m confused.

(This much I do know:

Everyone makes mistakes.
Not everyone forgives.

Less mistakes would be helpful.
More forgiveness would be revolutionary.)