Alison, MSW

So, I officially finished graduate school on Monday at 3pm. Some of my classmates said it took a while for it to sink in for them. Not for me. My teacher dismissed the class and I immediately turned to Mary Catherine and gave her a high five and I hug while yelling, "We did it!" I then took to jumping up and down the hall and out into the parking lot. Then, I called my parents and my friend, Amy, to let them know and also ask them to please call me either Master Alison or Alison, MSW at least for the day or week or month if thus inclined. I mean, really, ten thousand dollars and hundreds of hours later, I want those three damn initials to be recognized.

That, however, is kind of where the fun stopped. I mean, I have been counting down the days for a month now, but now that I'm done, I feel, to be totally honest, a bit depressed. I have studied and been in school for 19 out of my 25 years of life. That is, umm, the majority of my existence. So, now, I'm done with school. I might get a further degree or a different degree in the future, but it's not in my five or ten year plan (which I don't actually have, but makes me sound like I'm a great thinker-aheader.) It's really been a let-down actually. I left my internship one day and school the next, just like I always do, except now I don't go back. I feel like there should have been fireworks or a special meal or something. I guess I could go to graduation except that seems like punishment at this point, but the whole closing ceremony is probably what I'm looking for. I just refuse to put on another one of the stupid pointy hats.

So, I woke up today and really didn't want to get out of bed. (Bad sign) And it's funny. I mean, I have been waiting for months to just have a few days with nothing to do and now that they're here, I just feel bored and stuck. I wish I could just be happy with my situation in the moment.
I'm thinking to myself: You could paint. You love to paint and you need to finish the peony.
My response: Nope.
I'm thinking to myself: You could go work out. The beach trip is coming and you want to look good in that swimmy.
My response: Hell no.
I'm thinking to myself: You could study for your licensure exam. That's a great idea.
My response: Are you crazy? Don't I deserve a freaking day off from studying?
I'm thinking to myself: Well, fine. Be that way.
My response: I will. Hhmpf.
(Little while later).
I'm thinking to myself: Well, we're not getting anywhere. What would you tell one of your clients?
My response: I would tell them to do something truly enjoyable. Something, anything worth getting out of bed for. Relieve and remove all expectations and tasks. Take care of yourself for just a few hours.
I'm thinking to myself: Man, good advice. Oh my goodness, that's it! I want to go berry picking!

And thus, I fly out of the bed, find the nearest strawberry farm on line and off I go to Hayden, AL. I had the most wonderful time picking strawberries outside in the warm air surrounded by all the other 70-90 year olds who also go strawberry picking in the middle of the day. It was truly delightful. And afterwards, I came home and made strawberry jam that is, if I may say so myself, delicious! What's wrong with taking it straight, I ask? Nothing, I reply.

So, although, the sadness has not totally passed and may not for a while, today has been fine. Depression is interesting to me now. It is no longer a strange entity. It is no longer frightening. I don't relish it's arrival, but I do know that it will pass in time. The more comfortable I can be with my feelings of sadness, the quicker they will pass, it seems.

***Side note: I do not hear voices nor do my thoughts really speak back and forth to each other. I can simply recognize the rational side of myself and the emotional side of myself and help them work together.


Little Pieces of Heaven


My sanitizing station and first jars of jam


Luke. Hoping for a dropped berry.

here I rest

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.

purple

Anne Lamott writes, "It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox, full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up i found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools-friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty-and said, Do the best you can with these, they will have to do. And mostly, against all odds, they're enough."

I have to say a hearty amen to that. Tomorrow I attend my last day of graduate school. I cannot believe how long and how short this process has been. I remember filling out the dreaded applications, I remember getting the envelope that was too big to be a rejection letter, I remember my first day of orientation, I remember looking around at my insightful new friends and wondering when the friendship process had actually happened, I remember writing more BS for papers than some people could shake a stick at, I remember surviving four hellacious months at Cooper Green (something I am truly proud of), I remember the first time I closed the door and sat with a patient wondering what on earth we were going to talk about for the next fifty minutes, I remember when suddenly that fifty minute period became far too short and I, surprisingly, wanted more time with my patients, I remember the first time a patient cried in my presence and I wasn't sure I was ready to go there, I remember, I remember, I remember.

As I was walking this evening, the world seemed sharp to me. Sharp as in painfully, wonderfully clear. Spring to me is like looking at God pop up everywhere. I feel like I can see him and smell him and taste him. I like to believe that God is in everything. So, it is not simply a far-off relationship, but one that is all around me. I am filled with the most bittersweet emotions lately. I am coming to the end of something truly remarkable. My time in Birmingham, Alabama has been the most life-transforming, wonderful seven years of my life. I don't know why I need to leave. I can't explain it, even to myself, except to say that I would regret it if I didn't go to Utah, at least for one year. And so, I have made my plans, yet it is not without sadness. The pit-in-your-stomach kind of sadness that makes me wonder if I am doing the right thing. Yet, one of the greatest talents is knowing when to arrive and when to leave and when to return. Perhaps I am learning.

Ah, yes, on to remembering. It is strange to me that my life, my memories are of hundreds of thousands of millions of little moments. Some moments I tell others about. Some I keep to myself. Some of the memories are sharply defined in my memory, others are blurry. Some memories I'm not even sure if they're real or just made up of the stories I've heard my parents tell me over the years. My memories are truly my own. Sometimes that makes me happy: to have this world that only I know up in my brain. And sometimes it makes me sad: because I've had such a wonderful life, I want to share it with others.

So, even though the importance may not translate, I'd like to share a memory. When I was in treatment, art therapy was of great importance to me. It was ever healing and still is. So, I got on this kick of painting irises. I loved them. Painted them everywhere. Still do sometimes. Well, my art therapist told me one day that irises represent healing. (Side note: the literal meaning of the iris is related to the rainbow. I like to think that she was saying the iris represents healing for me as an individual.) Today as I was walking, I came upon the biggest, most beautiful irises I have ever seen. I wanted to weep they were so gorgeous. And that, is one of my memories.

life lessons

I just completed my second and last internship. I have been so anxious to be done, to quit working for free yet, as I drove away I wanted to cry. I don’t know how to express the mix of emotions I feel over being totally exhausted yet extremely sad over my departure. Perhaps I am simply overwhelmed at seeing God work over the past several years of my life and I believe the story warrants another telling.

You see, I met Paul Brown, my supervisor, during my freshman year of college. I left inpatient treatment in August two weeks before entering college. The transition from high school to treatment to college was a rough one. Therefore, I started counseling with a social worker named Paul Brown. He is one of the two most influential counselors in my life. I continued to see Paul for counseling through college and then on rare occasion in the years after I graduated. One day during my first year of graduate school Paul asked me to interpret for him in the ICU of Shelby Baptist. I did and afterwards, Paul and I got to talking about jobs and life and school and he brought up the idea of me being his intern. Now, I must stop here and explain the importance of that moment. You see, going from client to intern meant that I had moved from unhealthy to healthy. I had made an enormous transition in my life. My healing process was long and slow and will never-end. Yet, it was like being told, “Well done, you have passed the test with flying colors. Welcome.”

And so, Paul and I arranged with the school of social work for me to be an intern under his supervision. We started to work together and even though I was excited, I was a bit sad. Change is difficult, even good change. I grieved a bit over the loss of my excellent counselor. I ceased to be a client. I stepped into my role as student, intern, co-worker, and friend. And today, as Paul and I said our thank you’s and keep in touch’s and goodbye’s, I was again thankful that we took the risk of change. Because it was so worth it. I gained a life-long friend and mentor.

And I cannot help but raise my eyes to the heavens and whisper a word of gratitude. Because although Paul and I met under crisis circumstances, God transformed the interaction over a seven year period into such a blessing in my life. I could not have come up with such an elaborate plan myself.

So, what did I learn in this internship? More lessons than I can name.
1. Sometimes, the best way to learn to swim is to jump in the water. It’s definitely the fastest way.
2. Humans are incredibly resilient in spirit and body. There were times I wondered how the body and spirit of my clients had
managed to survive. I heard such horror stories.
3. I ask my clients for a lot. I ask them to be incredibly honest. I ask them to be free with emotions. I ask them to dig deep. I
ask them to let me in. I ask them to work hard. I know more about some of my clients than I do about some of my family
and friends.
4. Laughter is essential. It sustains me.
5. “I don’t know” is a perfectly acceptable response. But, I can find out.
6. I am more gutsy than I thought I was.
7. I have so much more to learn. And I like learning.
8. I appreciate my family more each day. And I am working on loving them better.
9. It is hard to let my clients go and just hope that they will thrive and succeed. They probably mean more to me than I mean
to them. I will remember so many of them.
10. I have to connect with each client about something. It doesn’t matter what they have done, I understand pain.
11. Clients will lash out at me, but that’s okay. It’s not about me. I’m just the closest person. I lash out when I’m hurting too.
Because we don’t function well when we’re hurting.
12. The healing process is slow. And I need to be patient with myself and my clients.
13. I’m scared.
14. I am in the right place.
15. It’s going to be okay.

ugh

I'm very dissatisfied with religion and church right now because there doesn't seem to be room for questions. I made the point in my former Biblestudy that I think searching is such a beautiful part of our spiritual experience. I am so glad that I walked away from what I was taught as a child so that I could turn and fully experience God in a uniquely personal way. However, I didn't feel that my comment was met with much enthusiasm or even understanding. It's just that I think we all may be worshiping the same God, we just worship Him in different ways. Or it's just that I've never experienced a relationship that wasn't ever-changing, so why should I expect one from the Lord? I mean, I know that He loves me and I love Him, but there are changes and new conversations and experiences and these things change the way I view, interact, and experience the Lord.

I think Sue Monk Kidd writes it well in her book 'When the Heart Waits,' "Frankly, the folks who frighten me the most are those who are dead certain about everything, who have all the answers and no questions. Have we Christians forgotten the transforming value of a question? When we extinguish questions from our lives, there's little if any developing consciousness. We block ourselves from new truths and possibilities."

I think it might help Christians to be more open to possibilities instead of always being right. I'm not interested in having a conversation with someone who is always right and will not listen to anyone else. I'm interested in an exchange of ideas and information. I'm interested in knowing what is important to someone else and then having my say. I'm tired of the "Either I'm right and you're wrong or I'm wrong and you're right." There are more options than this.

Paolo Nutini

At the wedding last evening, one of the other guests (my parents' age) asked me if I have any prospects. I looked at him and said in all seriousness, "I already have a job in Utah." He looked at me. I looked at him. And then, the aha! moment. We weren't talking job prospects, we were talking men. And, thus, my favorite conversation starter took off and was carried on by at least ten other people in the room. I always leave an event like this, one where well-meaning loved ones try to catch up on my life in short conversations, feeling a bit frustrated. Please ask me anything except, "So, is there someone special in your life?" Yes, I want to retort, I've got Jesus and my Daddy and my Mommy and my roommate, etc.

I told my parents this at lunch today and Dad suggested that I just say, "Nah, I've just decided to trade in a meaningful relationship for sleeping around." He's right, that probably would shut people up.

What is normal?

The other day, Paul (my supervisor) and I walked down the steps of the hospital from the second to the first floor and out into the lobby. At that moment, I heard, "Hello?" I looked at Paul with some alarm and asked if he had heard that. You see, I'm always afraid that I'm going to become victim to the things I study about and am witness to on a regular basis, namely a psychotic break. Luckily, Paul said, "yeah, I hear that." Thank goodness. We waited for a moment and then again heard, "hello?" There was a woman stuck in the elevator and she was ever so politely trying to get someone's attention. If that had been me I would have been a bit more deliberate in my attempts for help as in "somebody puullleazzz get me the fuck of here!"

So, Paul and I leave the hospital and hop in the car to head to the office. All of the sudden, I hear, "Hello, hello?" Seriously. I look around (a bit frantically) while Paul calmly stares ahead at the road. Ahhh, then I realize Paul's phone that he puts in it's little carrier on his hip has accidentally dialed someone and he doesn't realize it. So, the little voice is indeed coming from his phone and it turns out to be his brother actually. Thank goodness. Another day of sanity.

I don't understand

We have something in social work called the unholy trinity. It describes three things in youth that are signs of something not good...depression, personality disorder, etc. The unholy trinity is as follows:
1. encopresis (releasing personal waste in inappropriate places/times; enuresis is releasing urine in inappropriate places/times)
2. cruelty to animals
3. lighting fires

I am currently working with a young woman with a multitude of problems. However, the most notable may be that she enjoys kicking her dog and hearing it cry. There is a total lack of remorse for another living being. I cannot imagine kicking my roommate's dog, Luke, without feeling absolutely terrible.

However, after hearing about the teenage girls who beat one of the friends while videotaping the incident, I see we have bigger problems on our hands. I honestly cannot wrap my mind around this tragedy. How do several young men and women convince themselves that this is okay, moreover, that it's a good thing to do? And I have yet to see a single tear or feeling of guilt. How does this happen?

I've listened to hundreds of sermons. But there are phrases that stick out to me years later. My pastor from home once stated, "I accept that this is unacceptable." I agree.

what's your POA?

I have just finished reading Eric Clapton's autobiography. He writes about his recovery from alcohol and drugs with such clarity and honesty.

"At that moment, almost of their own accord, my legs gave way and I fell to my knees. In the privacy of my room I begged for help. I had no notion who I thought I was talking to, I just knew that I had come to the end of my tether, I had nothing left to fight with. Then I remembered what I had heard about surrender, something I thought I could never do, my pride just wouldn't allow it, but I knew that on my own I wasn't going to make it, so I asked for help, and getting down on my knees, I surrendered.

Within a few days I realized that something had happened for me. An atheist would probably say it was just a change of attitude, and to a certain extent that's true, but there was much more to it than that. I had found place to turn to, a place I'd always known was there but never really wanted, or needed, to believe in. From that day until this, I have never failed to pray in the morning, on my knees, asking for help, and at night, to express gratitude for my life, and most of all, for my sobriety. I choose to kneel because I feel I need to humble myself when I pray, and with my ego, this is the most I can do.

If you are asking why I do all this, I will tell you...because it works, as simple as that. In all this time that I've bee sober, I have never once seriously thought of taking a drink or a drug. I have no problem with religion, and I grew up with a strong curiosity about spiritual matters, but my searching took me away from church and community worship to the internal journey. Before my recovery began, I found my God in music and the arts...In some way, in some form, my God was always there, but now I have learned to talk to him."
-Eric Clapton

It was only when all of my own POA's (Plans of Action) failed time and again, that I finally turned to the one resource left. The resource that called me to let go of all power and plans and actions. The resource that called me to trust and be ever present with my God. Because although it is just a drink or a pill or a spoonful of food, these inanimate things have a kind of power over addicts that is baffling. I cannot explain to you why food has had such a strong effect of my life. I truly believe my brain reacts to food differently than other people's brains. I believe that the brain of an alcoholic reacts differently than other people's brains. I thought it would be disastrous to admit that I am indeed "powerless." Yet, it has given me such freedom. Not that I don't still mess up at times. But, it's a choice. I can leave my addiction at the feet of Jesus or I can pick it up and try to control things once again. And you better believe, after that recent day, I have laid it back down. Carry on with your work, please Jesus. I've got a life to live.

I'm surprised that I keep writing about my recovery from eating disorders. It is something I have kept personal and hidden for so long. I'm not sure what the change is about and I don't wish to broadcast myself. I am just grateful. So grateful.

Marital Bliss

Have you ever stopped to ponder the 'how is married life treating you' question? Because I have definitely been known to ask that when I spot a recently wedded couple friend of mine. It's one of those awkward, slightly inappropriate questions that we ask because we don't know what else to ask. I'm not going to say, 'how was the honeymoon?' Nope, don't wanna know. But, the mere 'how is married life treating you' question could lead to a lot of uncomfortable answers.
'The sex is unbelievable.'
'The sex sucks. Booooring.'
'Surprise, we're pregnant!'
'He's driving me crazy.'
'Worst decision I ever made.'
'Ugh.'
'This is not my idea of Cinderella.'
'We're so happy. I had no idea life could be this blissful. Oh, Alison, I hope you find that right guy so that you can be as happy as I am.'

I feel like I'm ranting a lot lately about things I don't like and things that make me uncomfortable. But yet, writing about these things makes me smile. Because we all have the awkward, strange interactions that we shouldn't be having, yet just can't seem to avoid. It makes me cringe in a good way.

For the love....

Things that make me feel awkward:
1. Lingerie showers. I hate them. I will not be having one. Someday that is.
2. Bachlorette parties. Although I have never been to one, I have been witness to them. I always feel extremely sorry for the woman running around drunk with a veil and condoms taped to her head. And her friends (also drunk) seem to think it's extremely funny. Why? I know not.
3. When people talk about "trying" to get pregnant. Why not just go ahead and say, hell yeah, we're having sex like rabbits and no protection to boot! I mean really. That stuff should be on a need to know basis. As in, only the doctor needs to know. Not a random stranger.
4. Women's enormous beach bag purses. What do they carry in those things? Weapons, 5 course meals, a baby, what?
5. Talking to my dad about any boy who isn't my brother. I mean really, he's my dad. I'm his daughter. Someday I'll just announce that I'm getting hitched and ask him to show up.
6. I'm sure there are scores of things that make me feel weird. But, that's all for now.

here it is

So, I know that I constantly write about social work and all things related. But alas, I am a social worker and it is my blog, so I guess I'll write about whatever I damn well please. Ah yes, another cuss word.

I have always been scared to be painfully honest on a public space, but why not tonight? Today was a difficult day for me in the food world. I had several triggers over the past couple of days and I allowed a hole to enter into my recovery in spite of all knowledge to the contrary. And of course, after all was said and done, the abuse of food just doesn't work any more for me. I know too much about recovery to enjoy a relapse. Don't worry. Relapse is an awfully strong word. I know that and I don't take it lightly. I simply ate too much today. On purpose with the hopes that it would ease my anxiety and stress and self-doubt. The problem is food stopped taking care of these things years ago, yet I still sometimes blindly hope that it will still work because the recovery road seems so difficult at times. All the honesty and self-talk and support and blind belief in the Lord. Sometimes I just take things back in my so very uncapable hands and work my magic that always fails me.

Sometimes it's painfully difficult to sit in a room with other recovering individuals and give them support and advice when I feel weak at times myself. And for some reason, my addiction with food wasn't illegal. It wasn't illegal to not eat. It wasn't illegal to eat too much. Drugs are illegal. DUI's and public intoxication will hurt you. So for that, I am grateful. And I am grateful that I understand addiction and I understand recovery. Sometimes I wonder if my family thinks that my eating problems ended after treatment. Because it's still a decision I make every day. I wake up and decide to be healthy or unhealthy. And I used to be embarrassed about that. But, now I realize it simply aligns me with every other person on the planet. Because we each wake up every day and make a crucial decision.

I'm slowly working my way through Eric Clapton's autobiography. He writes, "My family continues to bring me joy and happiness on a daily basis, and if I were anything but an alcoholic, I would gladly say that they are the number one priority in my life. But this cannot be, because I know I would lose it all if I did not put my sobriety at the top of that list. I continue to attend twelve-step meetings and stay in touch with as many recovering people as I can. Staying sober and helping others to achieve sobriety will always be the single most important proposition of my life."
AMEN.
I have heard it said that people become social workers because they are trying to heal themselves. I suppose in part that is true. Helping others has always been a huge part of my recovery. And I suppose I'm always trying to heal the wounds that come along in life. But, I also feel an obligation to give back. I simply could not look back at my life without a crescendo of attention to all that I had been given, all the investments made in me without feeling the call to reply.

soap box vol.2

So, today I watched episodes of Lost and Friends. The women on these shows are constantly funny, strong, beautiful, and painfully thin with perfect biceps. I have decided to write a letter to all shows and magazines informing them that I, representative of women everywhere, demand change. I am tired of photoshop. I am tired of women with perfect skin glaring at me as I buy my groceries complete with ice cream and normal people food. I am tired of it all. For my sake and women (and men) everywhere I demand change.

Last Christmas my family had the ever-painful family photo done. Plus, the photographer took some photos of just me. People, I have seen photoshop and I know why those women look so good. Let me explain. In the first photo I look like me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, happy smile, freckle here, little scar there, etc. Second photo, the lighting dims, the freckle and scar disappear. Third photo, my skin is softened, my teeth are whiter and my eyes bluer. And finally, in the last photo my hair is gently blowing by some unknown whispering wind and I don't recognize myself, but dang, do I look good. Average looking person changed by a few clicks of the mouse.

So, I know the secrets and I am not fooled. I hope I and we can ease off on ourselves and eventually age with grace. Because we are already funny, strong, beautiful, and thin.

I did.

"And did you get what
you wanted from this life even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth."
-Raymond Carver

I couple of years ago when I figured out who Jesus really is to me, I did a painting. It simply said, "you are the beloved, my child." That captures my faith I do believe. I have a bit of a perfectionist mind and I tend to be a bit hard on myself (a gross understatement). Although, I have mellowed out over the past few years, it is still a blessing to rest in the love of Christ. It saved me from a messy life going nowhere fast. And it's fun to think that Jesus really digs me. I am his child. We dig each other.

And although Jesus is my foundation, I'm kinda stuck on the whole one way to heaven thing. I know Scripture back and forth, the way, the truth, and the life. But, do you ever wonder if we all believe in a greater power that could be one and the same? I don't know if I really believe that either, I'm just asking.

Someone asked me if recently if I witness during my sessions. No, I don't. It's not appropriate and in some ways spirituality is too abstract in crisis situations. A lot of my clients need medication now, a relapse prevention plan now, someone to call now. But, isn't my role just Jesus with skin? I'm listening, I'm loving, I'm helping, I'm being tough if needed, I'm providing crisis management. Plus, I don't want to shove Jesus in someone's face. That sure didn't work for me back in the day. It just pissed me off.

I'm working with three clients right now who lost their fathers to suicide. The repercussions of that are unbelievable. And it's heartbreaking to think that someone would think that the world would be better off without him/her. That life is too much to bear. That there's no one out there.

I don't know why I got blessed with my family. But, again, I can't imagine living life without knowing that my parents love me. I got tucked into bed every night of my childhood. My grandmother listened to me practice the piano and clapped after each scale. My father and I watched Aladdin at the dollar theatre probably 5 times when it came out. My mom let me clomp around in her heels and dresses day after day. I still talk to one of my parents almost daily. The memories are innumerable. I'm feeling sentimental this evening. I've adjusted myself so that I don't feel as much emotion at work. The first month was overwhelmingly painful. But, every now and then, when I'm still, the emotion will creep up and make me want to weep.

it's the end of the world as we know it.

Uh-oh. It happened today. At hour 9.5 of my work day, I just didn't want to listen any more. I have listened and listened and listened for the past 3 months with such joy and love at each moment. But, tonight in group, I may have even shot this one group member a little evil look. I just wanted him to stop talking and let me go eat dinner.

One of my clients asked me a couple of questions about me today. It totally caught me off guard. Rarely does a client ever ask about me and this is appropriate. The session is not in any way about my personal life. But, it was funny. I apologize in advance to any friend who runs into me immediately after work. After ten hours of listening to other people, I am ready to talk about myself. It's true. Melissa actually asked me one night, "Have you been neglected today?" I mean, I was running my mouth. But, as John Mayer is currently reminding me, "Say what you need to say."

international symbol

Usually when I write, I try to write about the deep things in my mind and heart. But, right now all I can think is that I am going to rip the CD's out of the CD player that we have been listening to for the last 3.25 months now at the Counseling Center at Riverchase and throw them into the lake as fish food. Paul put in the Dixie Chicks one day (great choice), but it mysteriously hasn't come back on. Besides not getting paid, another downfall of the internship is not having any say in the choice of music or decor of the office.

You know what's really fun...being offered a job! That's so much fun. You know what's not fun...negotiations of money. I mean, really, who wants to talk about money? Not me. I just want to have money when I need money. So, I guess that means I actually have to talk about money.

Life is a Highway

Ah, hindsight is 20/20. I'm wishing for some hindsight at this very moment. It sure would help with the decision making process. But then again, life just wouldn't be as fun, or as stressful, that way.

So, I have entered into a new position in my family. I am apparently the family resource center. I used to be the problem child with the eating disorder. Now, that position has thankfully come and gone and walaa, here is Alison, the new call-if-you're-having a problem or want to chat or tell a secret girl. I really like it, it's very interesting. Mom calls, Dad calls, Jackie calls, Brad calls. I don't know if I suddenly have a sign on my forehead that says social worker or what, but suddenly people (family and friends) are telling me deep stuff. Or perhaps I have just grown up. Or perhaps all of my treatment and experience has made me painfully aware of different struggles and the need people have to be accepted right here, right now, no excuses. I don't know what has changed, but I like it. We are walking through a crazy world and we might as well walk together.

Today I listened to recordings of Anthony Hopkins and Eric Clapton speaking in AA meetings. They each spoke for about 20 minutes and it was truly awesome. I have a burned copy if you would like to listen to it. They each spoke about the power of God, how they don't understand how the program works, and how they don't ever care to know. They can't do it on their own, so they are simply trusting in something greater than themselves. I love this. I think they believe in the same God as I do. A God so powerful and unassuming and saving. A God who works if you allow Him to work.

I was talking with a friend today who was really concerned about her future job move and making sure that she remained in the will of God. Now, I believe that I am a part of God's will, but the view about choosing the "wrong" job instead of taking the "right" job and suddenly you have missed God's will for the next two years until the other job will hire you back is way to confining in my opinion. I believe that I have been called to social work. Why? Because it suits my strengths, my love for people, my natural gifts, and it makes me happy. I think that we are called to where the longings of our hearts meet our gifts as individuals. I think Christians too often overlook the simple yearnings of the heart in search of billboard answers from the Lord. I'm tired of Christianity simply because I think it makes God too small. I think God is in the simple things, the small things. I think God will use me here if I stay in Birmingham. I think he will use me in Utah. I think he will use me wherever I go. I'm not afraid that I will go to Utah and have missed the boat because somehow I was supposed to know that I should have stayed in Alabama even though I never read that in the Bible and God never put a bumper sticker somewhere telling me to stay. He is bigger than that.