Only in New York #2: Can you hear me now?

After eleven months of sleeping in a teeny, tiny twin bed that was reminiscent of my freshman year in Brumby, I buckled down this week and decided I need a full-size bed. It's funny the small things in life, like dishwashers, closets, windows that face something other than a brick wall, and of course, full-size beds, that you learn to appreciate from living in New York. Nevertheless, I put my twin bed up on Craig's List (a very cute, friendly posting, if I do say so myself), bought a full bed on Craig's List, sold my twin bed on Craig's List, and called it a day. A day, that is, until I had to finagle the moving process. Having lived here a year, I had almost forgotten what moving single pieces of furniture was like without the joy of SUVs. I worked out an easy peasy deal with the girl who bought my bed, though, and 24 hours later and only one night of sleeping on the couch, I had a moving van scheduled for tonight.

Work was crazy today, so I wasn't able to get out of the office until ten 'til eight. Unfortunately, I had to be at 62nd and Madison at eight, so I did what any good New Yorker would do and hopped in a cab. We sped up 15 blocks, I hopped out, threw the cab driver some money, and was on my merry way. As I waited outside the building where I was picking up my bed, I reached for my phone to check the time...but there was no phone. No worries, I thought, I have an 11.5-lb green monster of a bag, so I'm sure it's in there somewhere. But as I poured out all of my purse's contents on the sidewalk, I quickly realized, much to my dismay, that my phone was nowhere to be found. I had used it in the cab, so there was only one solution - it was still in the cab. Blast.

I ran into the building where I was picking up the bed and asked the doorman if he had a phone I could use. Since it was a long distance call to a 404 number, he was kind enough to lend me his cell phone. That right there is what a good doorman is for, ladies and gentleman...taking care of his peeps and their used furniture buyers. I called my cell phone and waited with bated breath. Would someone answer?! Or would the cab driver drive off into the sunset (or to Queens, whichever came first) with my shiny red Razr phone forever?! I heard a few rings, and then alas!, a kind voice answered the phone. You tell me how lucky I am. Or you don't even have to, because I know. Anyway, the guy on the phone said he and his buddies were heading to Brother Jimmy's on Amsterdam and I could meet him there to pick up my phone. Whew!

The rest of the bed switcheroo extravaganza went flawlessly (and I'm writing this now in my new, improved, larger-than-life double bed), so I was off to Brother Jimmy's to get my phone. I walked, maybe ran, in and stopped dead in my tracks. The place was crowded...who on earth had my phone?...so I decided to hop outside and use a pay phone. (Aside: Did you know pay phones still exist? When is the last time you used one? I think I was twelve. I was glad to see that they still cost 25 cents...I was mentally prepared for the call to follow the 41-cent stamp model and cause me to beg for spare change on the side of the road.) I planned to call my phone again until I realized that the pay phone did not allow long distance calls. On to Plan B. I tried calling the only 212 number I know by heart, my work friend Bridgett, who I thought might actually still be there. But I got her voicemail, the machine ate my quarter, and I was back to square one.

Plan C (which should have been Plan A). I dedided to ask the bartender at Brother Jimmy's if I could use their phone. She kindly gave me her cell phone, and I dialed my own number yet again. Immediately, a table of three guys flagged me down with my own phone, and my Razr and I were joyously reunited. Forever indebted to the kind soul who saved my phone, I sat down and struck up a conversation with the guys. After a few basic questions (Jamie: "Where are you from?" Guys: "Hawaii." Jamie: "You're just visiting?" Guys: "Yep, got here today." Jamie: "How did you wind up at Brother Jimmy's?" Guys: "We told the cab driver to take us to a bar, and this is where he brought us."), I finally sucked out of them that they were Marines in town for FLEET WEEK. That's right, Sex and the City fans, Fleet Week is a real thing, bringing handsome Navy sailors and Marines to New York City every spring. Shut up! I could not believe it. Completely smitten by their service to our country, both in the military and in outstanding civil service to a poor girl without a phone, I decided to make a night of it. They poured me a drink, offered me some chicken wings, and chatted it up with probably the first girl they've seen in months. They were charming little Marines, one from San Francisco, one from Houston and one from Oklahoma. They asked all about life in New York, I asked all about life in Hawaii, and they even told me a cute little story about how in the cab they had made fun of the baby of the bunch for thinking he had changed his phone ring to "Irreplaceable." We had a swell time at Brother Jimmy's until I realized that Dancing with the Stars and American Idol were already on. As not to be up all night, I bid them farewell, gave my many thanks, and headed on my way. Phone in hand, of course.

"I Hate My Purse," by Nora and Jamie

I just finished reading Nora Ephron's book I Feel Bad About My Neck. My sweet aunt gave it to me, and I loved it so much that I read it in one sitting. I suppose this is no surprise considering she also wrote When Harry Met Sally and You've Got Mail, my two favorite movies, as well as Sleepless in Seattle.

One chapter in the book was entitled "I Hate My Purse" and began like this:

"I hate my purse. I absolutely hate it. If you're one of those women who think there's something great about purses, don't even bother reading this because there will be nothing here for you. This is for women who hate their purses, who are bad at purses, who understand that their purses are reflections of negligent housekeeping, hopeless disorganization, a chronic inability to throw anything away, and an ongoing failure to handle the obligations of a demanding and difficult accessory (the obligation, for example, that it should in some way match what you're wearing)."

Nora Ephron proceeds to rant and rave about (surprise!) why she hates her purse, and it got me thinking about my own. Although I have fifteen purses in my tiny closet (yep, I counted), I actually only use one. It is a beat-up, ink-stained, dirty-from-the-subway Large Nylon Foldable khaki green Longchamp Tote, and it contains...my life. It is roughly the size of a piece of carry-on luggage and, according to my bathroom scale weighs 11.5 lbs. Despite its size and weight, though, I carry this bag everywhere, all the time. I justify the 11.5-lb green monster because I don't have a car, so everything that used to live in my glove compartment/console/floorboard/trunk of my car now needs a new, safe home in the City. Makes sense, right? Right.

However, when my friend Nora (because even though we have never met, I am certain that we will be friends some day when we bump into each other at Starbucks) ranted and raved about hating her purse due to its pack rat-inducing chaos, I couldn't help but think that maybe my green monster of a bag contains a few things that I just don't need. So, I dived in, dumped everything out on the floor, and took inventory of just what exactly had accumulated in the scary dark depths of my bag. What follows is a long, excessive, slightly embarrassing yet completely truthful account of the mess that I carry around with me every day.

- My wallet. Imperative.
- Keys, also imperative.
- Cell phone. Quite frequently gets lost in the depths of despair.
- Bluetooth headset. Have not used since I moved to New York.
- iPod. Currently has a dead battery, though, making it essentially worthless.
- Sunglasses.
- Digital camera. Also with a dead battery, although it's been dead for at least three months.
- Umbrella. Red with a large "OK!" magazine logo on it.
- Lipstick. Clinique Tenderheart, in case you're curious.
- Lipliner.
- Red Brighton compact mirror
- NIV Thinline Bible. Navy blue with "Jamie L Martin" on the front. :)
- Journal. Moleskine, of course.
- Seven pens. Four of them blue Papermates (my favorite). Three of them Gallery Church pens. Oops.
- This week's New York magazine, with an almost-completed crossword puzzle. Good thing I had those seven pens.
- Box of Ricola Spearment Breath Mints. These are awesome...chewy like gummy bears. Awesome.
- Doublemint Mintcreme mints. Not nearly as awesome as the Ricolas.
- Four Ricola mints. Runaways from above box. Or a box from December. Who knows.
- Not For Tourists 2007 Guide to New York City. Highly recommended for navigating through the West Village.
- Pack of pink and white kleenex with a cursive J. Ripped up and gross, though, so I just threw them away.
- Benefit Some Kind of Gorgeous compact.
- Cover Girl Buff Beige liquid powder compact. Because just one compact isn't enough. Obviously.
- Rosebud Strawberry lip balm.
- Burt's Bees lip balm. Because just one lip balm isn't enough. Obviously.
- Empty Vitamin Water energy bottle.
- Morning State EP from a concert three weeks ago.
- A yellow earring. Yes, A. Because I lost the other one.
- Pair of gold earrings. Great success, I have two earrings that match!
- Spare keys.
- Empty Advil bottle.
- Deodorant.
- Hair claw.
- Empty box of UGA mints. Really cute tin, though, so I don't want to throw it away.
- Easter card from my grandparents.
- A toy giraffe. Used to have sentimental value 'til I killed it in the depths of despair of my purse.
- My cruise ID card and ship map from our recent Liberty of the Seas adventure.
- 27 loose business cards. 23 are my own, one is a sales rep's from Radar magazine, one is the nice woman from New Jersey's who I had brunch with on Saturday, one is Sarah Armstrong's, and one is the cute boy's that I met on Saturday night. ;)
- Ticket stubs from Putnam County Spelling Bee, Spring Awakening, Legally Blonde, Morning State (see above EP), Blades of Glory, Waitress and Dreamgirls. Please note that I saw Dreamgirls on Dec 27.
- 8 receipts, 3 name tags from past work events, 2 Chick-fil-A BOG cards (worthless in NYC), 4 expired Metro cards, 3 passes to Shrek 3 (went last week), an old Air Tran boarding pass, a fortune cookie fortune that reads "A window of opportunity won't open itself," a program from Ginny's play "John and Jen," and multiple other items that are essentially nothing more than TRASH.

I didn't before, but now I hate my purse, too. Sign me up for negligent housekeeping, hopeless disorganization, a chronic inability to throw anything away.

Goodnight.

The choice is ours.

Every now and then, things come your way in life. Things you weren't expecting. Things you didn't ask for. Things you don't deserve.

For some, these things seem to come far too often, and for others, they seem to come once in a blue moon. Either way, though, when things come along in your life that shake you to your core and break your heart, your life is changed forever.

There's nothing like a broken heart. It affects the way you see, the way you walk, the way you breathe. It transcends something mental and turns into a physical hurt. Someone might as well sock you in the stomach, it wouldn't matter. When your heart aches, you feel actual pain through every bone of your body.

The questions inevitably rise, with WHY? surfacing to the top every time. Why is this happening? Why is God doing this? Why me? Why now? Why, why, why?

And then you wait. For an answer. For a quick solution. For an easy fix. For a pinch to tell you it's all okay, it was a dream all along.

And while you wait, you have a choice. The most important choice of all. The choice to decide: Will I follow God, or will I turn my back. Will I choose to follow Him, to bless Him, to seek Him, to trust Him. Or, will I give up. Will I abandon the faith. Will I trust myself more. Will I throw in the towel.

The choice is there. In every crisis, in every decision, in every tear, the choice is there. Will I go out in this world with God, or will I go out in this world on my own?

CS Lewis writes, "Satan's cause is never more in danger than when we, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do God's will, look round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and ask why we have been forsaken, and still obey."

When we feel forsaken, it does not mean that God is not right by our side. When we look around our world and feel like every trace of the Lord and his goodness have disappeared, it does not mean that he is not showing himself to us in a brand new way. And most importantly, when our world is shaken, and our hearts are broken, it does not give us an excuse not to trust or obey...in fact, it gives us every reason to do just the opposite.

Because real faith, deep, genuine faith, lives and breathes in the heartbreaks...in the silence...in the confusion. For these are the times where we are given the choice, the times where it all boils down to black or white. One way or another. My way or God's way.

In theory, the choice is simple. We've been promised that God's way works, every time. No questions asked. The confusion, the fear...it's all an illusion of sorts. The proven reality, whether we understand it or not, is that God is always good. The truth is that the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, and it up to us to choose to say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

The hardships of this world have no power over us or our rattled lives when we choose obedience and faith in the midst of sorrow and silence. God is honored, and we are given peace, strength and courage to press on through the muddled, sinful world in which we live.

This, my friends, is where true joy and peace are found. Not in the calm times or the easy times, but in the times where our world is stormy. Because the stormy times prove that God is bigger than the storms of pain and confusion. He is in control. He offers peace, a peace that passes all our human understanding. He offers joy, a joy that is not contingent on our circumstances. And he offers hope, when all hope seems lost.

The choice is ours.