Marian Jordan - The List

Copyright 2009 by Marian Jordan

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

978-0-8054-4671-5

Published by B&H Publishing Group

Nashville, Tennessee

Dewey Decimal Classification: 248.843

Subject Heading: CHRISTIAN LIFE \ WOMEN \ YOUNG WOMEN

Unless otherwise designated, Scripture quotations are from the Holman Christian Standard Bible, copyright 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003 by Holman Bible Publishers, Nashville, Tennessee; all rights reserved. Other Bible versions quoted are noted as The Message, copyright 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson; NASB, New American Standard Bible, copyright The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995, used by permission; NLT, New Living Translation, copyright 1996, 2004 by Tyndale Charitable Trust, used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers; New Life Version, Copyright 1969, 1976, 1978, 1986, 1992, 1997, Christian Literature International, P. O. Box 777, Canby, OR 97013. Use by permission; and NKJV, New King James Version, copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Dedication

This book is lovingly dedicated to my precious friend

and mentor in Christ, Tonya Riggle.

Thank you for choosing Gods List.

Ive learned what it means to glorify God,

to seek first the kingdom, and to dance with Jesus

because of your faithful example.

Truly, you are a woman after Gods own heart.

INTRODUCTION

The List

This is your life, are you who you want to be?

SWITCHFOOT

My girlfriends were given strict instructions:

No party.

No gifts.

No balloons.

No singing.

No cake.

And definitely, no candles!

Like harsh daylight to the sleep deprived, candles were a glaring and dreaded reminder of the very thing I was hoping to forget... my big-fat-incredibly-horrible... birthday.

You see, I was desperately trying to ignore my birthday. Ignore is quite the understatement; amnesia would have been welcomed! Toward this goal, I plotted a clever (if I do say so myself) escape-the-horrid-birthday-blues strategy. No, I didnt drink myself into a drunken stupor. No, I didnt max out my credit card. No, I didnt invite my friends Ben and Jerry over for a weekend of comfort bingeing. My idea was sober, slimming, and oh-so-cunning. Genius, really. I surmised: If I quietly leave town and dont allow anyone to throw the usual birthday bash, then I can simply pretend like that frightful day isnt happening. Then maybe, just maybe, I wont have to face the crushing reality that I am yet another year older.

Like I saidbrilliant.

Right?

The boycott-my-birthday plan took shape, and I jetted off to a faraway destination with woe is me as my anthem and a knot in my stomach so large I feared I would be charged for extra baggage. The plan was perfect. Perfect, that is, until I boarded the plane and realized Id taken myself with me. Girls, heres a word of advice (and this ones for free): it doesnt matter where you go or how far you try to run, your problems always go with you.

So, what was my problem?

Why was I dreading the arrival of my birthday like the arrival of a maxed-out credit card bill? Normally, Im a party girloh, in the Christian sense of the word, of course. Im all about a celebration. I L-O-V-E the cake, the confetti, the candles, the no-really-you-shouldnt-have birthday treats... the total girly giddiness of being the birthday girl.

But not this year. Instead, I shrank from the limelight that came with being queen for the day. Instead I wanted to slip off into anonymity and hide from the spotlight. You see, Id just endured a brutally tough season on the personal front, one that I called the wilderness, and my looming age change had the potential to send me scurrying back into the wild. Therefore, I didnt even want to acknowledge my birthday, much less celebrate it.

I found denial to be a lovely option.

My angst wasnt about getting older per semy anguish was more the result of unmet expectations. I always imagined my life would look different by this age. So instead of being a cause for celebration, my approaching birthday was now a cause for mourning. It screamed at me, mocked me, and tortured me with its looming largeness. And somehow, the most powerful emotion I experienced in those days wasnt fear or sadnessit was shame. Shame? Yes, if I am flat-out honest with you, I must admit that I was horrifically embarrassed. I felt like something was terribly wrong with me because my life didnt turn out like my expectations. I was single... and this was NOT my plan. I felt like a big failure and a total loser because I hadnt met certain criteria I had set for myself back in junior high.

Yep, I said junior high. Remember those painfully awkward years of braces, growth spurts, and hormone surges? It was then as a wise and mentally stable teenager that I formed the expectations for how my adult life would turn out.

I can picture it nowmy thirteenth birthday party. Girls, this was not just any party, this was a slumber party. Oh yes. We thought we were so cool renting Grease and watching Michael Jacksons Thriller video over and over. By this point, I was definitely aware of the fact that boys did not have cooties, and I was absolutely IN LOVE WITH Rick Springfield. I know, I know, who wasnt?

The evening consisted of slumber party basics: consuming large quantities of pizza and Coca-Cola (not that awful New Coke, of course), toilet-papering houses, and like the totally most important event of them all, creating the List.

Dont sit there reading this and pretend you, too, havent created the List. Perhaps your denial is more a case of confusion than it is an outright disagreement. Lets say for arguments sake, you are confused about this thing called the List. Please allow me the honor of refreshing your memory.

The List goes by many names. Some may call it the big life plan, or in some circles it has been known as the what-Im-gonna-do-when-I-grow-up agenda. However we title it, at some point in our formative years, every one of us made our own List.

I know I made mine. With a gaggle of junior high girls gathered in my parents living room, we discussed the all-important issues of body development and boys, danced along with Danny and Sandy, and fantasized about our marvelous futures. We had BIG plans... and my plan went a little something like this:

Number 1. When Im sixteen, Im going to start driving. Ill get my license and a fabulous car. Look out Lufkin (Lufkin, Texas, that is, the small town where I and the List originated).

Number 2 . I will graduate from high school. FREEDOM! And I do mean freedom... from parents, from acne, from bad-hair days, from mean girls, and from bathrooms shared with multiple siblings. I always knew that if I could just get out of Dodge, everything about me would change. Sudden metamorphosis. Hello? Have you ever seen an ugly sorority girl? So, armed with my high school diploma, a clean slate, and a sunny new outlook... oh, the places I could go.

Number 3. Then I will go to the college of my choice, in an exciting location, where I will make lifelong friends. I, of course, will pledge a sorority. Make the deans list. Meet and date the big man on campus. Become sweetheart of his fraternity. Get pinned. And make my parents proud as my father escorts me onto the football field as homecoming queen of the university. Good times.

Number 4. After graduation, I will land a killer job and work on my fabulous career. And though my college sweetheart will beg me to marry him, Ill say, Im way too focused on my career right now, I cant even think about marriage until Im at least twenty-four. We break up. And this breaks the poor chaps heart.