From the Outside Looking In

By Nichole Giles

Every so often, I have a day when I feel like a bug under a microscope, the rest of the world watching my every move, waiting to see what I do next. Most assuredly, I have no idea what it feels like to be famous, or have paparazzi following me everywhere I go so they can speculate on what I could possibly be doing at the grocery store. (Um, buying groceries, duh!) But still, there are times when I feel the crushing weight of glaring, squinty-eyed people who are just waiting to jump on the rumor train.

Not that there’s any reason, mind you. I’m as boring as they come. But some people will find things to talk about even when you’ve done nothing more than change your hair color or bought new shoes. For example:

Says one lady to another:

“Uh. Did you see those shoes she wore to church on Sunday?”

Second woman nods. “Um, hm. I did. They must have cost at least fifty dollars!”
First woman scratches her chin. “And her hair! She must have had it done by an artist the last time she was in New York.”

Second woman shakes her head. “No, too recent. Must be L.A. I wonder how she affords to look like that.”

First woman leans in for a classic gossip whisper. “I heard they inherited an enormous amount of money from a long lost dead relative.”

Second woman leans to meet the first halfway. “Well, I heard the husband’s related to royalty of some obscure country in the Caribbean. So that must be true.”

First woman rolls her eyes. “How would it be to have millions of dollars and never have to worry about money again?”

Second woman fans her face. “Oh, I’ll tell you. I’d be wonderful. Don’t you wish you could fit in her shoes?”

(Disclaimer: The previous scenario is totally and completely made up in my head, but resembles conversations I’ve eavesdropped on periodically. Okay, I admit it, I’m an eavesdropper!)

Don’t you ever wonder where people get that kind of information? When I was in junior high, one of my teachers constructed an activity where she’d give one student a piece of information, then have that student whisper the information to the next student, who then passed it on, and so forth, until the very last person in the class had received the message. Every single time, the end message bore no resemblance to the beginning information. Funny thing, isn’t it?

And if the beginning message was inaccurate in the first place—say, the person doing the passing on got their information by standing outside the living room window and watching things transpire inside—no one is safe.

From the outside of the glass, an observer might see two people running around, screaming, and then falling to the floor wrestling. That observer would probably be inclined to call the police and report a domestic disturbance.

But from the other side of the glass, the same person might have witnessed a family playing something like hide-the-cell-phone, the “it” person running through the house screaming, “I got it! I got it,” and then other family members tackling him or her to the ground to wrestle for the final phone rights. No domestic disturbance there.

It’s all about perspective.

As easy as it might be to pass judgment on a person because of the size of their house or the type of car they drive, where they shop or how they chose to dress, ask yourself when was the last time you stood inside that house? Spent time with or even talked to that person? If you have a question, don’t you think you should go ahead and ask rather than speculating on the hows and whys of things?

Maybe the owner of the house can afford it because he or she has five jobs. (Not impossible, by the way.) And maybe the car wasn’t as expensive as you think. Maybe the person shops sales—refusing to ever pay full price—so his / her family can afford better quality goods. And maybe they dress well because someone in the family spent lots of years working retail, taking fashion merchandising classes, and studying the art of fashion expertise.

Or it could be the other way around. Maybe the family chooses to live in a very small house because by doing so they’re able to escape the drudgery of being obligated to pay the bank every month. And maybe they drive an older car because it’s dependable and gets good gas mileage. Perhaps they shop at thrift stores and big box chains because they truly like the treasures they find there. In fact, maybe the hunt becomes more intriguing for them—especially because the seasonal merchandise is limited and finding the right sizes requires skills and diligence. For some people, style is a state of mind, and they’d rather be comfortable than trendy. But they have the things they need, and are by no means poor.

Do you ever wonder what people are really thinking when they look at you? (Or scowl, or sneer, or smile, or wave?) I used to. Really. I used to wonder, and worry about those very speculations. Throughout my life, I’ve been on both ends of the spectrum. I’ve overheard rumors about myself (Yes, people, rumors ALWAYS get around to the people they’re about) that have claimed I inherited large amounts of money…(he he) and other rumors claiming I had no grocery money and was starving to death—which, by the way, is how I got so skinny. And did you know I suffer from an eating disorder and an exercise obsession? (Ha ha, again.)

Anymore, though, I’ve come to understand that I can’t control the thoughts of others. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Really, why does it matter what they think anyway? As long as I know the truth, and as long as I’m happy with myself (and my husband and children) what does it matter what anyone else thinks? Unfortunately, someone will always think badly of me, and someone else will always put me on an undeserved pedestal. And it’s okay. Because when I get to the end of life, the thoughts of those people won’t matter nearly as much as what I think of myself, what my husband and children think, and what God thinks.

In the meantime, I’ll try to remember the same about the people around me. I don’t know their circumstances or the reasons behind their choices. And it’s none of my business, anyway. Thank goodness! I have my own custom picked issues. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

Picture Tag

By Nichole Giles

I've been tagged. My friend Heather Justesen tagged me in a game where I have to post the sixth picture in my sixth folder. Here it is:

This is the Royal Caribbean Monarch of the Seas. We took our kids on a three day Baja cruise in 2005, and that happens to be my sixth folder. This would have been taken in July (I think the 7th or 8th) 2005.

Now, since I'm not sure how many people I'm supposed to tag, I'm going to tag Cindy Beck, Connie Hall, and Rachelle Christensen.

Carefully Sincere Words

By Nichole Giles

There are a lot of words that fall off of people’s tongues with ease. Those who’ve been taught to say things like please and thank you in their youth often say it habitually, without ever needing to be reminded. It’s a good habit, as long as you remember to be sincere when you say it. I know people who have become so accustomed to ending a conversation with phrases like “love ya, bye,” that the words have become more of a closing statement than a declaration of feelings. And consequently, the phrase ends up inadvertently being used at an inappropriate time or to a person for whom the words are awkward.

I’ve noticed that adults have a tendency—just like teenagers—to latch onto certain phrases and keep them, only unlike our younger counterparts, our “sticking” words usually aren’t words like “ish” and “random.” I’ve even heard habitual “sorry’s” from people who have nothing to be sorry about. (Okay, I admit, that would be me. “I’m sorry your sister’s nephew’s cat got stuck in the chimney and ruined your great-grandmother’s carpet…”)

We get used to saying words that sometimes fly out of our mouths without thought, and in the process, the words tend to lose their meanings.

Some of the truest, most observant phrases come from children who haven’t yet had time to gather a vocabulary of sticking words. Sometimes the things our children say can be embarrassing to adults and parents because of the truthfulness behind them. But sometimes the statements made by toddlers unknowingly become an example to the adults who hear them.

Last week I went to visit my sister who lives out of state. I mainly went to spend time with her family. They have a newborn baby and I wanted desperately to meet her (and hold her, and snuggle her.) While I was there, my four-year-old nephew invited one of his little friends over to play. As they played make-believe, one super-hero (dressed-up) boy crashed into one super-girl. They hit heads and as a result, tears were shed.

My nephew, Colby, put his arms around his friend and said, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She replied with a sniffle. “I forgive you.”

For them, it was just that simple. And then all was well, and they went back to playing dress-up. As I watched this, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel for life, and apology or repentance to be so simple.

Except, what if it is? Or if it isn’t, what if it can be? We may not be able to control how others will react when we repent or forgive, but we can do our best to be sincere and true when we say certain important words like, “I’m sorry,” and “I forgive you.” “You’re welcome,” or “I love you.”

I wonder…if everyone around me were able to think about the words they say as they say them, how would our relationships be strengthened? Would we adults be able to hear or say the words, “I’m sorry,” and then forgive well enough to stand up, put the past behind us, and go back to whatever we were doing before?

I don’t know, but what a wonderful experiment to try. In 2009, I’m resolving to think through my own words, to listen to the ones spoken to me, and to be sincere in my important statements. Maybe if I start with me, the people around me will make that same effort. Or not. But if I hope to make a change, the best place to start is with myself.

The Spirit Told Me to Speed

By Nichole Giles

Cindy Beck, who is a great friend of mine, wrote an blog a while back about following the promptings of the spirit. Her article inspired me to think back on some experiences of my own.

As I searched my mind, several instances occurred to me. I’ve probably received hundreds or thousands of promptings throughout my life, but a few specific times came to mind, when the still small voice whispered more loudly than usual and I was able to see a result of heeding those instructions.

For example: Just after I turned thirty, I was finally able to talk my husband into letting me buy the convertible I always dreamed of. It isn’t anything fancy, and not very expensive either. But it is impractical, which is why very few families with several children own them.

For me, though, it wasn’t as impractical as, say, driving all over town in a family sized SUV while all my kids are in school. So, while my convertible is something of an indulgence, it gets good gas mileage, and that helps me justify it.

Anyway, we got the car in the spring, and I spent the entire spring and summer driving with the top down—no matter how cold the spring or how hot the summer. That’s why I bought this particular car. One day, I was driving down the freeway—on my way to some appointment or another—and I was in the far right hand lane, otherwise known as the slow lane. I had my stereo up to a deafening volume and was singing along at the top of my lungs, when a glass truck drove up next to me.

Something told me, “Speed up, get out of the way.”

Well, with my music so loud, it’s a miracle I could even hear. But I took a chance and craned my head around to look. Three or four ladders were mounted on the side of the truck. They looked stable enough, but again, I felt a very strong warning. “Move!”

A thought crossed my mind about what might happen if a ladder were to fall on me—going sixty-miles an hour on the freeway—with no roof to protect my head. OUCH! So I hit the gas, speeding past the truck. My heart pounded in my chest like a bass drum. As I slowed my speed again, I happened to glance in my rearview mirror, and watched in horror as one of the ladders fell off the truck and tumbled to the ground where I’d been driving only seconds before. The car behind me slammed on its breaks, narrowly avoiding an accident.

Luckily, that day, no one was hurt. There is no way I could have known that a ladder was going to fall off that truck—except for the whisperings in my ear. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn’t obeyed the Spirit by breaking the speed limit.

I’ve told that story to several people, but it occurred to me today that I’ve never written it down. Strange, how easily we set aside those experiences that strengthen our testimonies and enforce our beliefs.

I have to thank Cindy for reminding me of that incident, because this time, I decided to write it down and share it. And, well, if you see more of this type of story from me in the next little while, I’ll give her credit for those too. It’s a great friend indeed, who reminds you about all the juicy little tidbits of wisdom that are buried deep within your memory.