Making the most of multitasking

I'm afraid some of my neighbors know me as “That Crazy Walking and Talking Woman.” You see, whenever I walk in the evening, I process my day’s events. I think and talk to myself—sometimes audibly. I don’t mean to talk aloud; I just get really wrapped up in my thoughts—and, thankfully, distracted from my uncomfortable sweating.

I especially love walking with another person, so there’s someone who’ll talk back. On an afternoon stroll with my friend Stephanie not long ago, we were so busy catching up on her family and my recent breakup that we sailed through our 20-minute workout.

Receiving grace for my lapses in contact

I opened a book of poetry last evening, and a note fluttered out from the pages.

Eagerly, I unfolded it. For I knew behind the card’s cover of Pablo Picasso’s Old Guitarist were words of love and encouragement from the book’s giver, my friend Emily. But, in the years since receiving her gift, I’d forgotten the note’s simple closing.

“We will always be friends."

Christlikeness in the face of betrayal

Just before Easter, Democratic political pundit and Clinton activist James Carville called New Mexico governor Bill Richardson a “Judas” for unexpectedly endorsing Barack Obama instead of long-time political ally Hillary Clinton. Capitalizing on this infamous name during Passion Week, “Ragin’ Cajun” Carville colorfully implied Richardson's political realignment was a breach of trust tantamount to the disciple’s betrayal of selling out Jesus for 30 silver coins.

After hearing Carville’s comment, I pondered Judas’s shameful act, still the ultimate in treachery 2,000 years later. Scripture doesn’t reveal much about Judas, son of Simon Iscariot. Judas was the treasurer for Jesus’ ragtag band of followers, traveling and ministering with him, walking along the dusty roads that connected seaside to village, marketplace to mountaintop, desert to olive grove, local synagogue to impressive temple. As 1 of the appointed 12, Judas saw Jesus teach with authority, heal the diseased, exorcise demons, raise the dead, forgive the adulterous, celebrate with sinners, walk on water, calm a terrifying storm, even feed a starving multitude.

Tales of a recovering pessimist

I'm not exactly sure when I realized I'd become a pessimist.

Maybe the thought occurred to me when I caught myself saying "Of course" after any unfortunate event—a paper cut, a parking ticket, a pen stain on my freshly dry-cleaned pants.

Or when a guy who showed romantic interest in me turned out to be married, and I told a friend, "It figures. I knew something had to be wrong."

I don't know which of these—or several other—comments tipped me off about my Eeyore tendencies. But I knew the pessimism had to stop.