I woke up this morning at 5:30 without my alarm. It's a strange thing, that. There's a bit of a storm whipping about outside, and there seems to be new snow falling. It's falling fiercely, and I can actually hear it tapping upon the window. No gentle snowfall, this.
I have my Johanna in town, and she is fantastic as a house guest. She's one of my beloved cousins, and her presence here is another reminder of how very thankful I am for the family within which I find myself. We have a treasure here, in this heritage.
Jo and I are looking forward to connecting for a few days. We have so much to catch up on. We'll solve all our troubles, and then move on to solving the world's troubles. We'll stay up too late and listen to music, we'll eat and drink, and watch the snow.
If you're really lucky, I'll pull out that camera and finally take some pictures.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
kissing the third decade of life
I have added a kissing song to this playlist on my blog. It is my favorite kissing song; which is to say, that if I were to be kissed, I would want it to be by a man who made me feel this song from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.
"Possession" is what it's called. It's quite evocative.
You might hate it.
That's ok.
I was thinking about kissing tonight... For some reason.
Long ago, in a galaxy far..... far....... away, I was 20.
When you are 20, you are invincible. Life is unfolding before you with the fascination of a well written sitcom. The world is your oyster, or some such ridiculous notion.
When I get to Heaven, I am going to ask God why He worked things out such that human beings make critical decisions when they are in their 20s; invincible and deluded.
It's a terrible age.
There's the question of career. Of marriage, or live-in, or whatever they're doing these days. There's babies. It's a realization that one has grown up, and one didn't become anything.
There's mistakes and triumphs, neither of which are distinguishable from the other for decades.
It's a very hard thing to be in one's 20s.
But it's harder, I think, to be a decade or two beyond that, and have to observe the recent arrivals to that decade of life, stretch their still-wet wings and attempt to fly.
But fly they will.
We did. Indeed, we do.
To the 20-somethings that I love: Fly. Aim your view to the sky and soar.
Happy new life J&C
Here's to adventure, beautiful eccentric J
D&R and the beautiful girls
B&C my girl and hers
A with a future and a hope
T&T and little dynamite in a new home
I raise a toast to you.
"Possession" is what it's called. It's quite evocative.
You might hate it.
That's ok.
I was thinking about kissing tonight... For some reason.
Long ago, in a galaxy far..... far....... away, I was 20.
When you are 20, you are invincible. Life is unfolding before you with the fascination of a well written sitcom. The world is your oyster, or some such ridiculous notion.
When I get to Heaven, I am going to ask God why He worked things out such that human beings make critical decisions when they are in their 20s; invincible and deluded.
It's a terrible age.
There's the question of career. Of marriage, or live-in, or whatever they're doing these days. There's babies. It's a realization that one has grown up, and one didn't become anything.
There's mistakes and triumphs, neither of which are distinguishable from the other for decades.
It's a very hard thing to be in one's 20s.
But it's harder, I think, to be a decade or two beyond that, and have to observe the recent arrivals to that decade of life, stretch their still-wet wings and attempt to fly.
But fly they will.
We did. Indeed, we do.
To the 20-somethings that I love: Fly. Aim your view to the sky and soar.
Happy new life J&C
Here's to adventure, beautiful eccentric J
D&R and the beautiful girls
B&C my girl and hers
A with a future and a hope
T&T and little dynamite in a new home
I raise a toast to you.
Here it comes
It's snowing again today. We are rumored to be expecting some crazy amount, like 6 inches. I can just see the worthy folks in the transportation department running in circles throwing their hands in the air, exclaiming "What shall we do?! What shall we do?!"
It's beautiful.
Has it occurred to you that the God of Creation already knows what is going to happen in your life today? He is simply crazy about you, so that stuff He has on your agenda is bound to fall into one of two categories. Either it's designed, like surgery, to eliminate something that is hurting you. Or it's a gift, designed to thrill you.
The whole surgery thing really stinks. Perhaps a spanking is a better analogy. If the baby reaches for the outlet on the wall, you smack his little hand, because the sting you cause him is far less painful than the hurt he'll feel if his little, gooey fingers get in there. God does that for you and me, if we are His. In fact, the Bible says that it's proof that we're His; the whole discipline thing.
Then there's the gift part. This is cool. He never, ever gifts me with anything from the tool department from Sears. No, His gifts are always more like Tiffany's. The snow, the sunrise, the boys, my lace, the pink couch. His Presence, His voice....it puts me on the edge of my seat, to tell you the truth. What will He do here today? Something, for sure.
It's beautiful.
Has it occurred to you that the God of Creation already knows what is going to happen in your life today? He is simply crazy about you, so that stuff He has on your agenda is bound to fall into one of two categories. Either it's designed, like surgery, to eliminate something that is hurting you. Or it's a gift, designed to thrill you.
The whole surgery thing really stinks. Perhaps a spanking is a better analogy. If the baby reaches for the outlet on the wall, you smack his little hand, because the sting you cause him is far less painful than the hurt he'll feel if his little, gooey fingers get in there. God does that for you and me, if we are His. In fact, the Bible says that it's proof that we're His; the whole discipline thing.
Then there's the gift part. This is cool. He never, ever gifts me with anything from the tool department from Sears. No, His gifts are always more like Tiffany's. The snow, the sunrise, the boys, my lace, the pink couch. His Presence, His voice....it puts me on the edge of my seat, to tell you the truth. What will He do here today? Something, for sure.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Understanding Women 101
I was on my way home from the store the other night.
I had a huge bag of dog food in the car for M's beloved canine.
Now, obviously, with a strapping teen-ish boy at home, there was no reason for me to consider carrying in this big ol' bag.
So I called the boys."M', do you have shoes on, honey?" It was late, and he could have already been in bed.
"No." He's a boy of few words.
"Oh.....well, I have this big bag of dog food to carry in, and....well....nevermind, honey. I'll be right home, I'm just around the corner."
I hung up the phone and started chuckling to myself. I am a woman, as you know. This means that my words don't always say what I mean. So, as I drove, I was working this into a teaching opportunity. I figured that I would present this to M' as one of those valuable tool that would help him with women for the rest of his life. I would tell him that when a woman turns down help so as not to inconvenience him, he mustn't believe her.
What I had really meant on the phone with him was more like, "Honey, I know you are all ready for bed, and it's a lot to ask, but would you mind getting on shoes and a coat so that you can carry this heavy bad in for your mother?"
Well, I pulled in to the driveway. Guess who was waiting outside in his PJ's and his coat and shoes to carry the bag in for me?
I smiled, big.
I told him what I had been planning to teach him, and he rolled his eyes. "Mom," he said as he hoisted the dog food, " I learned that a long time ago."
I had a huge bag of dog food in the car for M's beloved canine.
Now, obviously, with a strapping teen-ish boy at home, there was no reason for me to consider carrying in this big ol' bag.
So I called the boys."M', do you have shoes on, honey?" It was late, and he could have already been in bed.
"No." He's a boy of few words.
"Oh.....well, I have this big bag of dog food to carry in, and....well....nevermind, honey. I'll be right home, I'm just around the corner."
I hung up the phone and started chuckling to myself. I am a woman, as you know. This means that my words don't always say what I mean. So, as I drove, I was working this into a teaching opportunity. I figured that I would present this to M' as one of those valuable tool that would help him with women for the rest of his life. I would tell him that when a woman turns down help so as not to inconvenience him, he mustn't believe her.
What I had really meant on the phone with him was more like, "Honey, I know you are all ready for bed, and it's a lot to ask, but would you mind getting on shoes and a coat so that you can carry this heavy bad in for your mother?"
Well, I pulled in to the driveway. Guess who was waiting outside in his PJ's and his coat and shoes to carry the bag in for me?
I smiled, big.
I told him what I had been planning to teach him, and he rolled his eyes. "Mom," he said as he hoisted the dog food, " I learned that a long time ago."
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Drink Deeply
There's these times when God is silent. All is hushed, cold. The "dark night of the soul" that leaves me fearful and doubting. I hate when that happens.
Then there's those times when He speaks. The whisper; the "gentle zephyr." Those times when I can inhale His Voice and find strength to be refreshed.
And then there's times like now.
Like drinking from a fire hose.
There seems to be far more than I can consume, and I do not want to miss a drop. Here I stretch wide my soul to contain all that flows from the Throne of He Who would fill me beyond capacity. I can't afford to miss a Word.
It's the strangest thing, as a human in this world. Do remember the story of the prophet's assistant in Scripture? This guy, for whom God removed whatever blinders were in place, and he could suddenly see the Truth. Remember him? All of a sudden he could see this vast army of God, surrounding the earthly army who was seeking to attack them. He must have been filled with awe and wonder! He certainly had no more reason to fear! They were safe, as the army fighting for them was far greater than that of their enemy.
"He Who is in me is greater than he who is in the world..."
"Lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help; my help cometh from the LORD!"
(Spell check hates it when I quote from the KJV. It's must more poetic and descriptive than any other translation, though. Don't you think? I would totally speak like that all the time if my limited intellect would allow me to. I'd sound like a Shakespearean Princess, huh?)
I digress.
The awareness that God (Very God!) is here, should fill me with wonder. Indescribable Awe. If only those scales would permanently fall from my eyes, that I could live with that Spiritual sight!
And it's been just like that lately.
I was in a restaurant the other night, totally bursting with glee. It was that God had given me this fabulous gift of remarkable friends and delicious food. The restaurant was filled with Creations of importance, and the food was terrific. The blinders were totally off my eyes, and I was so mindful of the wonder.
I was at a birthday party yesterday, hiding from the chaos with a woman I deeply respect. She was Speaking of Who He is, and His Intense Delight at being recognized in her life. He had lovingly surprised her, and she was telling me the story so that I could be amazed with her. What a gift! He was there, as clear as she was, and... Wow!
I was asking Him a question in the quiet of my pretty pink room, when He filled me up with the answer. There it was, all complete. He answered me! That is a wonder.
O, to live like that! Really seeing Him all around. His army protecting me. His voice saying "This is the way, walk ye in it." His people, not just people, but eternal beings of immense value.
Look for Him today. Ask Him to open your eyes to see what He is doing around you and in you. Live in the Wonder of a Power you can scarcely imagine. Drink Deeply.
Then there's those times when He speaks. The whisper; the "gentle zephyr." Those times when I can inhale His Voice and find strength to be refreshed.
And then there's times like now.
Like drinking from a fire hose.
There seems to be far more than I can consume, and I do not want to miss a drop. Here I stretch wide my soul to contain all that flows from the Throne of He Who would fill me beyond capacity. I can't afford to miss a Word.
It's the strangest thing, as a human in this world. Do remember the story of the prophet's assistant in Scripture? This guy, for whom God removed whatever blinders were in place, and he could suddenly see the Truth. Remember him? All of a sudden he could see this vast army of God, surrounding the earthly army who was seeking to attack them. He must have been filled with awe and wonder! He certainly had no more reason to fear! They were safe, as the army fighting for them was far greater than that of their enemy.
"He Who is in me is greater than he who is in the world..."
"Lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help; my help cometh from the LORD!"
(Spell check hates it when I quote from the KJV. It's must more poetic and descriptive than any other translation, though. Don't you think? I would totally speak like that all the time if my limited intellect would allow me to. I'd sound like a Shakespearean Princess, huh?)
I digress.
The awareness that God (Very God!) is here, should fill me with wonder. Indescribable Awe. If only those scales would permanently fall from my eyes, that I could live with that Spiritual sight!
And it's been just like that lately.
I was in a restaurant the other night, totally bursting with glee. It was that God had given me this fabulous gift of remarkable friends and delicious food. The restaurant was filled with Creations of importance, and the food was terrific. The blinders were totally off my eyes, and I was so mindful of the wonder.
I was at a birthday party yesterday, hiding from the chaos with a woman I deeply respect. She was Speaking of Who He is, and His Intense Delight at being recognized in her life. He had lovingly surprised her, and she was telling me the story so that I could be amazed with her. What a gift! He was there, as clear as she was, and... Wow!
I was asking Him a question in the quiet of my pretty pink room, when He filled me up with the answer. There it was, all complete. He answered me! That is a wonder.
O, to live like that! Really seeing Him all around. His army protecting me. His voice saying "This is the way, walk ye in it." His people, not just people, but eternal beings of immense value.
Look for Him today. Ask Him to open your eyes to see what He is doing around you and in you. Live in the Wonder of a Power you can scarcely imagine. Drink Deeply.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Is that angels singing?
If you scroll to the waaaayyyyyyyy bottom of this page, you will see what music is playing. If you have no idea what I am talking about, then turn up your speakers. I will add music as it comes to mind.
Plus, double click on the ones you want to hear. Seriously! Cool music.
I saw "Mad Money" tonight. I am all ready for my crime spree now. I saw it with Jenine and Patsy.
Jenine the Wise is the hip girl in that movie, played by that girl who married Tom Cruise. She's all funky and with it. Plus, she can dance. She has a heart of gold and is willing to sacrifice herself for her friends.
Patsy is the Queen Latifa girl. She's all hot and down wit' dat. She's all desireable and smart, and her kids are totally her first priority.
I, however, am the snooty choleric you-know-what who wears great monocromatic suits and saves the day. This is because I have delusions of grandure, and also because I was raised to be a snob. No, this is not the right moment to bring up the fact that my clothes are from the Goodwill.
Fun movie.
I was telling my kids that the movie has nothing objectionable in it.
...And then I realized how rediculous that was. No sex, maybe. But the movie, itself, was about theivery and greed. Other than that it was possitively Christian.
Anyone wanna rob a bank?
Plus, double click on the ones you want to hear. Seriously! Cool music.
I saw "Mad Money" tonight. I am all ready for my crime spree now. I saw it with Jenine and Patsy.
Jenine the Wise is the hip girl in that movie, played by that girl who married Tom Cruise. She's all funky and with it. Plus, she can dance. She has a heart of gold and is willing to sacrifice herself for her friends.
Patsy is the Queen Latifa girl. She's all hot and down wit' dat. She's all desireable and smart, and her kids are totally her first priority.
I, however, am the snooty choleric you-know-what who wears great monocromatic suits and saves the day. This is because I have delusions of grandure, and also because I was raised to be a snob. No, this is not the right moment to bring up the fact that my clothes are from the Goodwill.
Fun movie.
I was telling my kids that the movie has nothing objectionable in it.
...And then I realized how rediculous that was. No sex, maybe. But the movie, itself, was about theivery and greed. Other than that it was possitively Christian.
Anyone wanna rob a bank?
On Waiting
D' is playing basketball on this little team thing. He has practices twice a week and a game on Saturday. I love basketball, especially when it's kids playing. Very entertaining.
Last night was team Photos. I had to drive thru a snowstorm to this seemingly random high school where every child in the league was waiting in the hallway with their respective parents. Kara was there with her son, who is also on the team. We huddled on the floor against the wall and watched everyone else waiting.
No one had a clue what was going on.
The children were hyper. You've been in similar circumstances; haven't you? A mass of humanity....waiting. It's like the lines at Disneyland, only with fewer costumes.
Kara and I were jokingly speculating that it could be what Hell is like. Loads of people, aimlessly passing time. Only, Kara reminded me, Hell would be warmer. We were freezing. Therefore, where we were might be worse.
Waiting sucks. Especially when we're not sure what we are waiting for.
God is all about waiting. It's good for us, apparently, much like suffering.
"Those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength..."
"Be still and know that I Am God..."
"Wait on the LORD..."
You know the drill.
A thought struck my brain this morning, like a flash of brilliance. It was in this little devotional called Streams in the Desert. So, don't be thinking that I got all brilliant on my own.
Anyway, the thought was about how very often God has to wait on me. I know the difficulty of waiting on God. Sometimes I have to wait for Him to act, and sometimes I have to wait for Him to speak. Most of the time I don't have a clue what I am waiting for. It's all very trying on my limited supply of patience.
But, it had never occurred to me that God often (How often!) has to stand patiently by and wait for me to follow whatever distraction has caught my eye. There He is, with a whole plan and I get muddled up in something time consuming and useless. So He stands and waits until I am ready to give Him my undivided attention again.
Frankly, I think God probably has to wait for me a heck of a lot more than I ever have to wait on Him.
This is a big realization. If I can keep hold of this thought, perhaps it will give me more stamina when I am waiting for God to do something. Perhaps, (and this may be too much to hope for) but perhaps I'll be more mindful of how I am affecting Him the next time I am tempted to become distracted.
How Patient He is!
Last night was team Photos. I had to drive thru a snowstorm to this seemingly random high school where every child in the league was waiting in the hallway with their respective parents. Kara was there with her son, who is also on the team. We huddled on the floor against the wall and watched everyone else waiting.
No one had a clue what was going on.
The children were hyper. You've been in similar circumstances; haven't you? A mass of humanity....waiting. It's like the lines at Disneyland, only with fewer costumes.
Kara and I were jokingly speculating that it could be what Hell is like. Loads of people, aimlessly passing time. Only, Kara reminded me, Hell would be warmer. We were freezing. Therefore, where we were might be worse.
Waiting sucks. Especially when we're not sure what we are waiting for.
God is all about waiting. It's good for us, apparently, much like suffering.
"Those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength..."
"Be still and know that I Am God..."
"Wait on the LORD..."
You know the drill.
A thought struck my brain this morning, like a flash of brilliance. It was in this little devotional called Streams in the Desert. So, don't be thinking that I got all brilliant on my own.
Anyway, the thought was about how very often God has to wait on me. I know the difficulty of waiting on God. Sometimes I have to wait for Him to act, and sometimes I have to wait for Him to speak. Most of the time I don't have a clue what I am waiting for. It's all very trying on my limited supply of patience.
But, it had never occurred to me that God often (How often!) has to stand patiently by and wait for me to follow whatever distraction has caught my eye. There He is, with a whole plan and I get muddled up in something time consuming and useless. So He stands and waits until I am ready to give Him my undivided attention again.
Frankly, I think God probably has to wait for me a heck of a lot more than I ever have to wait on Him.
This is a big realization. If I can keep hold of this thought, perhaps it will give me more stamina when I am waiting for God to do something. Perhaps, (and this may be too much to hope for) but perhaps I'll be more mindful of how I am affecting Him the next time I am tempted to become distracted.
How Patient He is!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Someone Tangible
M' has been saying lately, "I wish you were married." Which always snags my heart. Some days I want to be married so bad; most days I am thankful and content. But when my oldest boy wishes out loud for a dad, it just breaks my heart.
I know what he means. I am all pink and lace, and I tell him not to be vulgar. He wants me to belch the ABCs and take him coyote hunting. I read somewhere that the best mom in the world still can't be a dad. Isn't that the truth?
There is so much in Scripture about God being a Father to the fatherless. I believe that stuff, I do. I can tell you all about how I've seen God do this or that in the boys. But the boys want to toss the football, and wrestle, and rough-house with someone who is less prim and proper than I am.
I struggle with this.
I've told you about it before, but I'm thinking on it again today. It seems so ungrateful for me to wish for a real father for my children when no human could possibly measure up to the God of Creation, as Provider and Protector. God is so Good to us!
I feel like Israel wishing for an earthly King. How that must have broken God's heart! He wanted for them the Very Very Best King....But he relented to meet their demands, and the best He could offer them was Saul.
This, more than anything has quieted my longing to marry again. I would marry, if God brought me a man chosen by Him. If I knew it was His best for me. But if He prefers to keep Himself in that capacity for me, I shall take it as a gift.
It's when my children struggle that I feel the ache.
I know what he means. I am all pink and lace, and I tell him not to be vulgar. He wants me to belch the ABCs and take him coyote hunting. I read somewhere that the best mom in the world still can't be a dad. Isn't that the truth?
There is so much in Scripture about God being a Father to the fatherless. I believe that stuff, I do. I can tell you all about how I've seen God do this or that in the boys. But the boys want to toss the football, and wrestle, and rough-house with someone who is less prim and proper than I am.
I struggle with this.
I've told you about it before, but I'm thinking on it again today. It seems so ungrateful for me to wish for a real father for my children when no human could possibly measure up to the God of Creation, as Provider and Protector. God is so Good to us!
I feel like Israel wishing for an earthly King. How that must have broken God's heart! He wanted for them the Very Very Best King....But he relented to meet their demands, and the best He could offer them was Saul.
This, more than anything has quieted my longing to marry again. I would marry, if God brought me a man chosen by Him. If I knew it was His best for me. But if He prefers to keep Himself in that capacity for me, I shall take it as a gift.
It's when my children struggle that I feel the ache.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Themeless. Like seamless, only different
I have been having a crisis of identity because my blog has no theme.
I have been reading weight loss blogs.
Daily devotional blogs.
Home decorating blogs.
Homeschool blogs.
No one told me that blogs were supposed to have a theme. I sort of write whatever is in my head at the moment. Which would explain why some posts are so lacking in actual content. Someday, perhaps I will be one of those people who operates several blogs. You could just sort of order up for your daily needs:
If I were writing a weight loss blog, it would be positively schizophrenic. One day would be all, "work out, eat less" and the next day would be, "Drink red wine! Eat Chocolate!" I'd have a daily menu, and a calorie counter; and we'd discuss the best hiding places for the Oreos that you don't want the children to find. I'd post pictures of my skinny friend, Kara.
My daily devotional blog would...ok, I could probably do this. This would not be too hard because all that is required is an explanation of what someone else has already written. I would have a photo of a sunset as my header, and there would be Gregorian Chant playing while you read my deep and immensely spiritual musings. And I would have a "donate here" button where you could contribute using your PayPal account.
My home decorating blog? It would go like this: hang lace in the windows. Throw lace on the tables. Drape lace from the piano. Put lace on the bed. It would be a whole lace thing. Seriously. I paint things pink, and then I drape them with lace. No one wants to read about that.
My home school blog? I don't think that it would relate to very many people. How many single moms do you know that home educate? We have a different sort of lifestyle. I am not one of those Usborne book, field-trip-group moms. I am more inclined to throw a second hand A Beka text at my kid, and say, "read this," while I make a list of household chores for them to address while I work. Or blog. Or whatever I do.
And then there's those people who just write wonderful little vignettes about their gently amusing daily life. With photos. Sometimes I do this. I could do it more if I would actually download the winsome and endearing photographs that are still on my camera from early 2007. Or better yet, I could employ my camera today to snap pictures of things draped with lace.
I have been reading weight loss blogs.
Daily devotional blogs.
Home decorating blogs.
Homeschool blogs.
No one told me that blogs were supposed to have a theme. I sort of write whatever is in my head at the moment. Which would explain why some posts are so lacking in actual content. Someday, perhaps I will be one of those people who operates several blogs. You could just sort of order up for your daily needs:
If I were writing a weight loss blog, it would be positively schizophrenic. One day would be all, "work out, eat less" and the next day would be, "Drink red wine! Eat Chocolate!" I'd have a daily menu, and a calorie counter; and we'd discuss the best hiding places for the Oreos that you don't want the children to find. I'd post pictures of my skinny friend, Kara.
My daily devotional blog would...ok, I could probably do this. This would not be too hard because all that is required is an explanation of what someone else has already written. I would have a photo of a sunset as my header, and there would be Gregorian Chant playing while you read my deep and immensely spiritual musings. And I would have a "donate here" button where you could contribute using your PayPal account.
My home decorating blog? It would go like this: hang lace in the windows. Throw lace on the tables. Drape lace from the piano. Put lace on the bed. It would be a whole lace thing. Seriously. I paint things pink, and then I drape them with lace. No one wants to read about that.
My home school blog? I don't think that it would relate to very many people. How many single moms do you know that home educate? We have a different sort of lifestyle. I am not one of those Usborne book, field-trip-group moms. I am more inclined to throw a second hand A Beka text at my kid, and say, "read this," while I make a list of household chores for them to address while I work. Or blog. Or whatever I do.
And then there's those people who just write wonderful little vignettes about their gently amusing daily life. With photos. Sometimes I do this. I could do it more if I would actually download the winsome and endearing photographs that are still on my camera from early 2007. Or better yet, I could employ my camera today to snap pictures of things draped with lace.
Compassion International
I possess not one fiber of compassion within my self. Alas!
For those who have suffered at this alarming deficiency within me, I offer the small consolation that I have none for myself, either.
One of the deepest disappointments of my life has been the realization that every thought within my mind is grandly displayed upon my face.
Harder, yet, to imagine, is that thoughts I have not had, are also grandly displayed there for all the world to see. God has been schooling me most diligently to consider the way that others view me. What are they seeing as they watch the varied contortions of my facial expressions?
I have been told that I am a flirt (when attraction had not crossed my mind) (Ironically enough, I don't seem to communicate interest when I actually am considering attraction. Very inconvenient, that)
That I am annoyed (wait... I often am. It isn't very nice of me, but there it is)
That I am suffering under some one's lack of intelligence (when I am actually considering their thoughts, or formulating my own)
Something has got to be done about my exterior!
A veil seems impractical, though I could do one of those kinds that belly dancers wear. Wouldn't that be cool? It would hide skin blemishes, and I could really play up my eye makeup. I don't know how it would look with blue jeans.
Moses wore that veil for a while to hide the fading Glory. Remember? I wonder what sort of veil he wore? Was it embellished? Or was it like a sheet thrown over his head with eye slits cut out so he could see? It doesn't seem very manly.
God changes us from the inside. It is within one's heart that the fruits of the Spirit well up. I am only just considering that perhaps it is my responsibility to monitor the way that these virtues may show upon my features.
When others look upon a Christian, they should see a vivid portrayal of tenderness and love. Even, compassion. Ugh. Shouldn't there be strength and confidence, courage and truth emanating from the facade of one who represents Christ to the world?
I think that so many of the expressions on my face are self-protective walls which keep the world at a distance. Wouldn't I be more useful to others (and to God) if my exterior showed a vulnerability that allowed the inner work of the Holy Spirit to be viewed by those who have to do with me?
The work on my exterior needs to go way beyond my primping. Have patience with me!
For those who have suffered at this alarming deficiency within me, I offer the small consolation that I have none for myself, either.
One of the deepest disappointments of my life has been the realization that every thought within my mind is grandly displayed upon my face.
Harder, yet, to imagine, is that thoughts I have not had, are also grandly displayed there for all the world to see. God has been schooling me most diligently to consider the way that others view me. What are they seeing as they watch the varied contortions of my facial expressions?
I have been told that I am a flirt (when attraction had not crossed my mind) (Ironically enough, I don't seem to communicate interest when I actually am considering attraction. Very inconvenient, that)
That I am annoyed (wait... I often am. It isn't very nice of me, but there it is)
That I am suffering under some one's lack of intelligence (when I am actually considering their thoughts, or formulating my own)
Something has got to be done about my exterior!
A veil seems impractical, though I could do one of those kinds that belly dancers wear. Wouldn't that be cool? It would hide skin blemishes, and I could really play up my eye makeup. I don't know how it would look with blue jeans.
Moses wore that veil for a while to hide the fading Glory. Remember? I wonder what sort of veil he wore? Was it embellished? Or was it like a sheet thrown over his head with eye slits cut out so he could see? It doesn't seem very manly.
God changes us from the inside. It is within one's heart that the fruits of the Spirit well up. I am only just considering that perhaps it is my responsibility to monitor the way that these virtues may show upon my features.
When others look upon a Christian, they should see a vivid portrayal of tenderness and love. Even, compassion. Ugh. Shouldn't there be strength and confidence, courage and truth emanating from the facade of one who represents Christ to the world?
I think that so many of the expressions on my face are self-protective walls which keep the world at a distance. Wouldn't I be more useful to others (and to God) if my exterior showed a vulnerability that allowed the inner work of the Holy Spirit to be viewed by those who have to do with me?
The work on my exterior needs to go way beyond my primping. Have patience with me!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Where have you been, my bloggerly friend?
I know that I have not written you in days. I beg your forgiveness!
The fact that I did not win the Nester's exquisite tassel threw me into the depths of inconsolable despondency, from which I have only now emerged.
Just kidding.
I was suffering the black death, and therefore unable to form coherent sentences. Now that my sinuses have cleared sufficiently to allow me to breathe from my nose for several blissful minutes each hour, I feel better able to communicate. A whopping cold can reduce one's intellect to the single digits faster than you can say "Nyquil."
The weekend was eventful despite my best efforts to rest.
My son, D', played a fabulous game of basketball on Saturday morning, and won.
The eldest, M' went hunting Saturday morning, and killed beasties for our culinary delight. Pheasant, as a matter of fact. Here in Idaho, we raise our young'uns to kill the pretty birds. There's a cookbook called "Kill it and Grill it," which I think I shall invest in. There's tricks to making wild game edible, and I need a little help in this department. The pheasant? Not so tender.
Sunday morning, we went to church. This is always an event in our family. I, as you know, attend a small house church, so the pilgrimage to an institutional setting is not a weekly event. The message was fabulous. I only recognized one song during the musical portion of the service, which was a disappointment to me. Does anyone sing hymns any more?
Of course, we had house church last night. It was sort of an Isaiah/Green Bay themed evening. We discussed our lesson during half time and the 3rd quarter. Is that wrong? Who scheduled that game during our church time, anyway? The good news is that I will not be terribly overwrought over the superbowl, now that Green Bay is out of the running.
And now we're into Monday, already.
Every moment at home all weekend has been spent making a mess, and going back to bed. Therefore, my house is a shambles. My goal for the day is a cardio-house-cleaning.
Have a delightful day, please. I intend to!
The fact that I did not win the Nester's exquisite tassel threw me into the depths of inconsolable despondency, from which I have only now emerged.
Just kidding.
I was suffering the black death, and therefore unable to form coherent sentences. Now that my sinuses have cleared sufficiently to allow me to breathe from my nose for several blissful minutes each hour, I feel better able to communicate. A whopping cold can reduce one's intellect to the single digits faster than you can say "Nyquil."
The weekend was eventful despite my best efforts to rest.
My son, D', played a fabulous game of basketball on Saturday morning, and won.
The eldest, M' went hunting Saturday morning, and killed beasties for our culinary delight. Pheasant, as a matter of fact. Here in Idaho, we raise our young'uns to kill the pretty birds. There's a cookbook called "Kill it and Grill it," which I think I shall invest in. There's tricks to making wild game edible, and I need a little help in this department. The pheasant? Not so tender.
Sunday morning, we went to church. This is always an event in our family. I, as you know, attend a small house church, so the pilgrimage to an institutional setting is not a weekly event. The message was fabulous. I only recognized one song during the musical portion of the service, which was a disappointment to me. Does anyone sing hymns any more?
Of course, we had house church last night. It was sort of an Isaiah/Green Bay themed evening. We discussed our lesson during half time and the 3rd quarter. Is that wrong? Who scheduled that game during our church time, anyway? The good news is that I will not be terribly overwrought over the superbowl, now that Green Bay is out of the running.
And now we're into Monday, already.
Every moment at home all weekend has been spent making a mess, and going back to bed. Therefore, my house is a shambles. My goal for the day is a cardio-house-cleaning.
Have a delightful day, please. I intend to!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
On Why I Homeschool
- A superior Education
-Close family bonds
-minimization of peer pressure
-Every event is an educational opportunity. Grocery shopping? Economics! Chores? Home Ec! Skiing? P.E.
-My children can sleep late. I can nap.
-I have readily accessible slave labor
-My children appreciate Bach and Beethoven
-They have read Tolkien, Lewis, and Shakespeare
-They've been exposed to Spanish, Latin, Sign Language, and proper English
-We never miss school because of sick days, snow days, nor teacher in-service days
-We totally miss school for skiing, spontaneous vacations, and mental health days
-But the #1 reason that I home educate? I really, really like my children. If there were more than 24 hours in a day? I would totally spend it with them.
-Close family bonds
-minimization of peer pressure
-Every event is an educational opportunity. Grocery shopping? Economics! Chores? Home Ec! Skiing? P.E.
-My children can sleep late. I can nap.
-I have readily accessible slave labor
-My children appreciate Bach and Beethoven
-They have read Tolkien, Lewis, and Shakespeare
-They've been exposed to Spanish, Latin, Sign Language, and proper English
-We never miss school because of sick days, snow days, nor teacher in-service days
-We totally miss school for skiing, spontaneous vacations, and mental health days
-But the #1 reason that I home educate? I really, really like my children. If there were more than 24 hours in a day? I would totally spend it with them.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Truth, in Love.. or a good, swift kick
I love people who speak their mind. I mean, agree or not, you can sure respect that sort of person.
People who try so hard to please everyone within earshot absolutely drive me nuts.
Yeah, I know. It's because I am like that.
Jesus never seemed to be real worried about making friends. Not really into people pleasing, that One.
He did, however, make a real point of speaking truth.
Jesus would not have been all that popular around here. Of course, his world killed him. What else are you gonna do with a mouthy perfect man who calls the religious leaders "white washed tombs"? He was name-calling there. Saying that these pompous Church folks were all pretty on the outside, but there was decay inside. "Something rotten in Denmark" to quote the Bard.
You see, Jesus didn't mince words when it came to unrepentant sin.
Remember that part in John 8 where Jesus tells the folks he's speaking to that they are "Liars"? He says that they are "of their father, the devil." Can you imagine saying that to someone?
Me neither.
Sometimes, it may need to be said.
I think we, as a people, are all mixed up when it comes to confronting sin.
We smirk when we should blush.
We look the other way when we ought to confront.
We condemn when we need to love.
Confusing, touchy, and deeply personal stuff.
Jesus was a mind-reader and a heart-reader, and we are not. I can't tell at a glance whether you are sinning because you are raising a fist at God, or if you are sinning because you are fragile. So, I have to be very very careful. But, I may not use that as an excuse to avoid confronting sin.
How to proceed? As though I will be the next one confronted. That lends some perspective, and a very healthy starting point.
People who try so hard to please everyone within earshot absolutely drive me nuts.
Yeah, I know. It's because I am like that.
Jesus never seemed to be real worried about making friends. Not really into people pleasing, that One.
He did, however, make a real point of speaking truth.
Jesus would not have been all that popular around here. Of course, his world killed him. What else are you gonna do with a mouthy perfect man who calls the religious leaders "white washed tombs"? He was name-calling there. Saying that these pompous Church folks were all pretty on the outside, but there was decay inside. "Something rotten in Denmark" to quote the Bard.
You see, Jesus didn't mince words when it came to unrepentant sin.
Remember that part in John 8 where Jesus tells the folks he's speaking to that they are "Liars"? He says that they are "of their father, the devil." Can you imagine saying that to someone?
Me neither.
Sometimes, it may need to be said.
I think we, as a people, are all mixed up when it comes to confronting sin.
We smirk when we should blush.
We look the other way when we ought to confront.
We condemn when we need to love.
Confusing, touchy, and deeply personal stuff.
Jesus was a mind-reader and a heart-reader, and we are not. I can't tell at a glance whether you are sinning because you are raising a fist at God, or if you are sinning because you are fragile. So, I have to be very very careful. But, I may not use that as an excuse to avoid confronting sin.
How to proceed? As though I will be the next one confronted. That lends some perspective, and a very healthy starting point.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Move toward the light
You know me, I am always faithful to share the joy when I've got that goin' on. Today, I would like to spread a little misery.
Just a tiny bit.
I am dying on account of the cold I have. It may be the bubonic plague; I think it's too soon to tell. I have this throat thing. Not like strep throat, where swallowing is agony, more like recently-intubated throat. I am sore from the middle of my tongue to the branches of my bronchial tubes.
I awoke at 2 am with the realization that I was sick, and the knowledge remains. I feel very sorry for myself. Truly, I knew that sharing my pain with you would help.
You are such a comfort.
You know one thing that people will not possibly say at my funeral? "She was such a quiet girl." Pretty much anything else would be fair game.
Just a tiny bit.
I am dying on account of the cold I have. It may be the bubonic plague; I think it's too soon to tell. I have this throat thing. Not like strep throat, where swallowing is agony, more like recently-intubated throat. I am sore from the middle of my tongue to the branches of my bronchial tubes.
I awoke at 2 am with the realization that I was sick, and the knowledge remains. I feel very sorry for myself. Truly, I knew that sharing my pain with you would help.
You are such a comfort.
You know one thing that people will not possibly say at my funeral? "She was such a quiet girl." Pretty much anything else would be fair game.
A Sanctified Self
Jenine the Wise had a comment that has been ringing in my ears since I spoke with her yesterday.
We were talking about Christians who really get our attention. (If you want the truth, it was something about Christians who drink wine and sometimes have a cigar. But that is not my point. And, no, I will not delete that from my post if you think that someone might be offended by my mentioning of tobacco.)
My point is Jenine's comment.
She was saying that these sorts of folks are remarkable because they have not "lost themselves." I often think that losing myself is the point of Christianity, and in a way it is. But the thought that Jesus has us to be useful with our individual-ness is an intriguing thought. What is it about you that makes you unique?
What thrills your soul and delights you?
It could be music, or fine cigars, or a brain for numbers, perhaps a sarcastic sense of humor. God takes us as we are. He winnows out the sin, and would have us changed in that regard. But He does not change our individuality.
My friend (described here yesterday) is a fine fighter. That very part of him is teaching and encouraging, and being used to draw attention to the Person of his Creator.
God made us.
We are here with our foibles and idiosyncrasies.
Those are the things that make us important.
There is no one quite like you. Ergo, there is no one who can accomplish what you can accomplish.
It is a shame, I think, when Christians lose themselves in the quest to become perfect little church-goers. Holy lives are far from boring.
I agree with Jenine the Wise. We must not lose our Selves. It is our Selves that God can use.
We were talking about Christians who really get our attention. (If you want the truth, it was something about Christians who drink wine and sometimes have a cigar. But that is not my point. And, no, I will not delete that from my post if you think that someone might be offended by my mentioning of tobacco.)
My point is Jenine's comment.
She was saying that these sorts of folks are remarkable because they have not "lost themselves." I often think that losing myself is the point of Christianity, and in a way it is. But the thought that Jesus has us to be useful with our individual-ness is an intriguing thought. What is it about you that makes you unique?
What thrills your soul and delights you?
It could be music, or fine cigars, or a brain for numbers, perhaps a sarcastic sense of humor. God takes us as we are. He winnows out the sin, and would have us changed in that regard. But He does not change our individuality.
My friend (described here yesterday) is a fine fighter. That very part of him is teaching and encouraging, and being used to draw attention to the Person of his Creator.
God made us.
We are here with our foibles and idiosyncrasies.
Those are the things that make us important.
There is no one quite like you. Ergo, there is no one who can accomplish what you can accomplish.
It is a shame, I think, when Christians lose themselves in the quest to become perfect little church-goers. Holy lives are far from boring.
I agree with Jenine the Wise. We must not lose our Selves. It is our Selves that God can use.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Meekness
I have heard the word "meekness" defined, as "strength under control." Even though I've heard that, I don't guess I've ever really seen a graphic example of it. Mostly I see strong men who are really nice guys and I think that qualifies. Perhaps it does.
However, I saw "meekness" last night, and it was Dang Impressive.
My friend's husband is a man of action. He is absolutely an amazing martial artist. He is the sort of man that gets things done. Make him mad, and he'd just as soon punch you. Make him glad, and he will serve you in some functional, tangible way. He's intense. He's strong. He has a temper. He has an equal sense of loyalty. He loves fully.
Well, I saw this guy do something powerful, and I struggle to find the words to adequately describe the impression it made upon me.
See, he doesn't back down from a fight. Never has in his life. When I tell you that he is intense and strong and powerful, I am not just using pretty words. This man is tough.
I saw him consider a battle and confront it with prayer. He had that dangerous flame in his eye, the kind that makes you want to never make him angry, and he prayed for the glory of God.
The beauty and power of that awed me.
And it gave me strength.
It was an example to me of our God Whose Power is total. He could send a shock wave through the ages to annihilate His foes, yet He has chosen to tenderly love me.
Meekness.
Incredible Strength rendered yet more powerful by submission to Almighty God.
However, I saw "meekness" last night, and it was Dang Impressive.
My friend's husband is a man of action. He is absolutely an amazing martial artist. He is the sort of man that gets things done. Make him mad, and he'd just as soon punch you. Make him glad, and he will serve you in some functional, tangible way. He's intense. He's strong. He has a temper. He has an equal sense of loyalty. He loves fully.
Well, I saw this guy do something powerful, and I struggle to find the words to adequately describe the impression it made upon me.
See, he doesn't back down from a fight. Never has in his life. When I tell you that he is intense and strong and powerful, I am not just using pretty words. This man is tough.
I saw him consider a battle and confront it with prayer. He had that dangerous flame in his eye, the kind that makes you want to never make him angry, and he prayed for the glory of God.
The beauty and power of that awed me.
And it gave me strength.
It was an example to me of our God Whose Power is total. He could send a shock wave through the ages to annihilate His foes, yet He has chosen to tenderly love me.
Meekness.
Incredible Strength rendered yet more powerful by submission to Almighty God.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Surfing
A robust prayer life becomes a bit like riding the crest of a wave.
Can you just see me? Like that one girl from the movie Titanic, arms outstretched, leaning forward into the breeze.
It's like that on a wave, rather than on the helm of a ship.
There's an exhilarating forward momentum. It's the Power of God pulling me into His Work.
I have a stunning view from this height. A perspective on His Work that not everyone may have.
I stand upon a deafening power that stretches as far as the horizon, and beyond.
Besides, it's heck of an adrenaline rush!
God allows us to participate in a force that is so much larger and more beautiful that we can ever be as one Very Significant Human.
I have been watching God answer prayer like crazy, and it tempts me to believe that I am God's Very Most Favorite Child.
We were talking about self-defense the other day. This is a concept that I believe in, and even teach. There are, unfortunately, situations that require it. However, God reminded me that the best defense comes from He Who is Just and Mighty. He says things like "vengeance is mine, I will repay," and I think He means it.
Prayer is the means by which we line ourselves up with the stuff He is doing. It's where we take those who would harm us, and deposit them at His feet. It's where we make our requests. Then , there's the crest of that wave, as His power swells, and our work is done. We rest and ride, and He launches us into that Future that He has so perfectly designed.
Surf's up.....
Can you just see me? Like that one girl from the movie Titanic, arms outstretched, leaning forward into the breeze.
It's like that on a wave, rather than on the helm of a ship.
There's an exhilarating forward momentum. It's the Power of God pulling me into His Work.
I have a stunning view from this height. A perspective on His Work that not everyone may have.
I stand upon a deafening power that stretches as far as the horizon, and beyond.
Besides, it's heck of an adrenaline rush!
God allows us to participate in a force that is so much larger and more beautiful that we can ever be as one Very Significant Human.
I have been watching God answer prayer like crazy, and it tempts me to believe that I am God's Very Most Favorite Child.
We were talking about self-defense the other day. This is a concept that I believe in, and even teach. There are, unfortunately, situations that require it. However, God reminded me that the best defense comes from He Who is Just and Mighty. He says things like "vengeance is mine, I will repay," and I think He means it.
Prayer is the means by which we line ourselves up with the stuff He is doing. It's where we take those who would harm us, and deposit them at His feet. It's where we make our requests. Then , there's the crest of that wave, as His power swells, and our work is done. We rest and ride, and He launches us into that Future that He has so perfectly designed.
Surf's up.....
Saturday, January 12, 2008
I love martial arts
Please see "I Envy my Beagle" for the new and improved text.
Let it be clear to all that I love martial arts, and that I love my martial arts school!
I have been deputised to ................... any people who ................ (and you know who you are!)
I feel very good about my instructor who says he takes a hard line on those who.............. He is a good man to teach us how to protect and defend! I look forward to using my skills to ................... whenever the need arises. My instructor is pretty serious about keeping a high level of integrity within his school.
Truly, the pen is at least as mighty as the sword!
Let it be clear to all that I love martial arts, and that I love my martial arts school!
I have been deputised to ................... any people who ................ (and you know who you are!)
I feel very good about my instructor who says he takes a hard line on those who.............. He is a good man to teach us how to protect and defend! I look forward to using my skills to ................... whenever the need arises. My instructor is pretty serious about keeping a high level of integrity within his school.
Truly, the pen is at least as mighty as the sword!
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Twilight Zone
I am a magnet of beauty, intelligence, and godly femininity....Freaky married men love me. And man children vomit near me. It's the magnetic exertion that overpowers them to differing results.
I am telling you this story because it is, in fact, so much stranger than fiction. You will know by it's oddness that it must be true. (This isn't about the same .............................. I mentioned the other night. No, this is another one. Hard to believe that there is more than one, but, there it is.)
A man who looked somewhat familiar sat down next to me.
He said "Hello, Kelly. It's been 26 months since I last saw you."
I, who am not so good with numbers, was wondering how a person would know something like that. It was very Rainman.
"Are we keeping track, then?" I asked.
"Well, 25 and a half, if you want the exact number. It was October of '05. Do you think that Soren Kierkegaard was saved?"
This was an unexpected turn in an entirely perplexing conversation. It did serve to remind me, with stunning clarity, of the last conversation I had with this individual. He had impressed himself greatly, at the time, with his own ability to discuss a variety of philosophers and writers. I think it was sort of a flexing of his intellectual muscles. Not unlike an adolescent male strutting before a mirror.
I replied that I did, indeed, tend to think that Kierkegaard was saved.
"Nietzsche, then, we could agree, probably wasn't. And Frances Shaffer; you think he was?"
I'm thinking: Sure, after the whole "God is Dead" business, I suspect that Nietzsche was perhaps not all that Heavenly inclined. Shaffer seems straightforward to me. Why are we having this conversation?
But what I actually said was vastly more intelligent. It went something like, "Oh, look at the time!"
And the boys and I went to the parking lot in rather a rush. D' had to be at basketball, and we needed to pick up his buddy on the way. The same buddy that never ever gets the stomach flu unless he's with me. The sweet boy who, once again, shared the contents of his tummy with the carpet, though this time was at the local elementry school, rather than at my house.
I do not handle this well.
I am just not a vomit person.
I am more of a creepy guy person.
Come to think of it, both sort of trip my gag reflex.
I am telling you this story because it is, in fact, so much stranger than fiction. You will know by it's oddness that it must be true. (This isn't about the same .............................. I mentioned the other night. No, this is another one. Hard to believe that there is more than one, but, there it is.)
A man who looked somewhat familiar sat down next to me.
He said "Hello, Kelly. It's been 26 months since I last saw you."
I, who am not so good with numbers, was wondering how a person would know something like that. It was very Rainman.
"Are we keeping track, then?" I asked.
"Well, 25 and a half, if you want the exact number. It was October of '05. Do you think that Soren Kierkegaard was saved?"
This was an unexpected turn in an entirely perplexing conversation. It did serve to remind me, with stunning clarity, of the last conversation I had with this individual. He had impressed himself greatly, at the time, with his own ability to discuss a variety of philosophers and writers. I think it was sort of a flexing of his intellectual muscles. Not unlike an adolescent male strutting before a mirror.
I replied that I did, indeed, tend to think that Kierkegaard was saved.
"Nietzsche, then, we could agree, probably wasn't. And Frances Shaffer; you think he was?"
I'm thinking: Sure, after the whole "God is Dead" business, I suspect that Nietzsche was perhaps not all that Heavenly inclined. Shaffer seems straightforward to me. Why are we having this conversation?
But what I actually said was vastly more intelligent. It went something like, "Oh, look at the time!"
And the boys and I went to the parking lot in rather a rush. D' had to be at basketball, and we needed to pick up his buddy on the way. The same buddy that never ever gets the stomach flu unless he's with me. The sweet boy who, once again, shared the contents of his tummy with the carpet, though this time was at the local elementry school, rather than at my house.
I do not handle this well.
I am just not a vomit person.
I am more of a creepy guy person.
Come to think of it, both sort of trip my gag reflex.
Free willy
God really cares a whole bunch about relationship. Have you noticed?
I was reading in Isaiah about Cyrus. He was this godless ruler who was used by God. It's funny to me that God would overpower this guy to employ him, but God won't overpower me. I sometimes ask Him to. Because, really? I am kind of a twit. It's as if God cares more about my freewill, because He desires an authentic interaction with me. He maybe doesn't care so much about the freewill of someone like Cyrus whom He just kind of uses to accomplish His Own Purposes.
Has this thought occurred to you? I don't know if it's really true that God values my freewill more than He does that of someone who is not His, but it's an intriguing consideration.
God really wants me to talk to Him
and to think about Him
and to Desire Him.
Which is weird, because He could do so much better than the likes of me.
You know how I always compare this to being in love? I think this is another thing that kind of proves that point.
God wants me to come to Him and to seek Him out simply because I long for Him. He doesn't need me at all. Isn't that like a healthy relationship? Sure, we grow to need each other. But you can't start out that way. We have to be complete people, secure in who we are. That is when we can be successful in other relationships. Kind of ironic, that.
I was reading in Isaiah about Cyrus. He was this godless ruler who was used by God. It's funny to me that God would overpower this guy to employ him, but God won't overpower me. I sometimes ask Him to. Because, really? I am kind of a twit. It's as if God cares more about my freewill, because He desires an authentic interaction with me. He maybe doesn't care so much about the freewill of someone like Cyrus whom He just kind of uses to accomplish His Own Purposes.
Has this thought occurred to you? I don't know if it's really true that God values my freewill more than He does that of someone who is not His, but it's an intriguing consideration.
God really wants me to talk to Him
and to think about Him
and to Desire Him.
Which is weird, because He could do so much better than the likes of me.
You know how I always compare this to being in love? I think this is another thing that kind of proves that point.
God wants me to come to Him and to seek Him out simply because I long for Him. He doesn't need me at all. Isn't that like a healthy relationship? Sure, we grow to need each other. But you can't start out that way. We have to be complete people, secure in who we are. That is when we can be successful in other relationships. Kind of ironic, that.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I Envy my Beagle
I wish that I could howl at the top of my lungs whenever I am feeling the least bit moody. Of course, then I'd grow hoarse, and soon loose my voice, which would make the whole wish rather a moot point. Or a mute point.
Why would I be moody?
There's life situations, which are complex and dramatic.
There's the hormone thing, which allows for approximately an hour and forty-five minutes a month of a well-balanced me.
And there's men, which....duh. Of course I'm moody.
Although, I have just started back to my martial arts classes after several weeks off. There's nothing quite like hitting people, to make a lady feel all sunny and optimistic. It should do wonders for my mood.
Martial arts is my exposure to real life. This goes so far beyond the usual confines of a republican homeschool mom!
(This next paragraph has been edited due to a phone call from my instructor. He was concerned that the ................ I was refering to might be offended. Or it could have been because of that email from .............. that he recieved in concern about ................ Let it be said that I love my martial arts intructor and school. I highly recommend that you come and join us so tht I will have more colorful characters to blog about.)
There are .......... in that class. For real. Nice ............. and not-so-nice .............
I was thinking of profiling some of the oddest specimens, right here for my adoring public to read about. However, some people from my school actually read this blog. So, if I told you about the one individual who ..........................., and says totally ..................... loud things, why that would be insensitive of me. So, I won't do that, because ................... are people too. Right?
Martial arts is an intimate way to interact with people. One gets all sweaty and then gets tangled up with others. One smiles and aims a strong kick to the................ At one's close friend. There's got to be clinical psychological studies done on the friendships of martial artists. It's bizarre. And really a lot of fun.
I have now strayed so far from the topic of my howling beagle, that I ought to change the title. But I won't.
Hello, friends. Wanna fight?
Why would I be moody?
There's life situations, which are complex and dramatic.
There's the hormone thing, which allows for approximately an hour and forty-five minutes a month of a well-balanced me.
And there's men, which....duh. Of course I'm moody.
Although, I have just started back to my martial arts classes after several weeks off. There's nothing quite like hitting people, to make a lady feel all sunny and optimistic. It should do wonders for my mood.
Martial arts is my exposure to real life. This goes so far beyond the usual confines of a republican homeschool mom!
(This next paragraph has been edited due to a phone call from my instructor. He was concerned that the ................ I was refering to might be offended. Or it could have been because of that email from .............. that he recieved in concern about ................ Let it be said that I love my martial arts intructor and school. I highly recommend that you come and join us so tht I will have more colorful characters to blog about.)
There are .......... in that class. For real. Nice ............. and not-so-nice .............
I was thinking of profiling some of the oddest specimens, right here for my adoring public to read about. However, some people from my school actually read this blog. So, if I told you about the one individual who ..........................., and says totally ..................... loud things, why that would be insensitive of me. So, I won't do that, because ................... are people too. Right?
Martial arts is an intimate way to interact with people. One gets all sweaty and then gets tangled up with others. One smiles and aims a strong kick to the................ At one's close friend. There's got to be clinical psychological studies done on the friendships of martial artists. It's bizarre. And really a lot of fun.
I have now strayed so far from the topic of my howling beagle, that I ought to change the title. But I won't.
Hello, friends. Wanna fight?
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Love Thy Figure
I watched the movie The Devil Wears Prada this past weekend.
I learned that I would never make it in the fashion industry, which was really not a surprise.
To make it in the fashion industry, one must always wear carefully applied makeup, expensive shoes, and a size 4.
How am I doin'? I've been seen in pubic un-showered wearing my pajamas and snow boots, with no makeup at all. Frequently. And the 4? Whatever.
One of the fashionable girls in the movie was on a quest to lose weight, and she announced her strategy. She was eating nothing at all, which seems like it would work. When she felt faint, she would eat a cube of cheese. This got me thinking; If I would eat nothing at all, I would have all kinds of money to spend on cool clothes. Either that, or I could finally afford to feed the two eating machines who live here.
Oh, wait, there are three eating machines here.
Once, long ago, I decided that I was going to take weight loss seriously. I decided to learn from the pros. Rather than consulting the fashion industry, which may have actually been more helpful, I looked to the real masters of the game: Anorexics.
Have I told you this story?
This was in the days before Internet was the key to research, or at least before I knew how to use it. I went to my local library (or, as we say in Boise "LIBRARY!" We do, we say it just like that. The sign on the building actually includes an exclamation point. Would I kid about that?) Anyway, I checked out a stack of books on Anorexia Nervosa. My thinking was that if I could study their tactics and mindset, I could finally have the tools to succeed at a challenge which usually sparks fear and trepidation in the hearts of mature adults. After days of reading, and careful consideration, I came to the outstanding conclusion that I do not have what it takes to be anorexic.
At the time, I think I was closer to attaining my twisted goal that I realized. I was totally a size 4 at the time, from the caloric exertion of nursing two babies. (Pause to consider the dimensions of that figure.) And my goal was a size 2. The truth was, that I could fit into some 2s already, I just wanted to be a consistent 2.
I am better now.
That suggestion about waiting 'til one feels faint, and then eating a chunk of cheese? Isn't that called "Adkins"? And, seriously, I'd have to go a month and a half before I'd feel faint. My body is saving up for a famine.
Here's to New Year's Resolutions.
I learned that I would never make it in the fashion industry, which was really not a surprise.
To make it in the fashion industry, one must always wear carefully applied makeup, expensive shoes, and a size 4.
How am I doin'? I've been seen in pubic un-showered wearing my pajamas and snow boots, with no makeup at all. Frequently. And the 4? Whatever.
One of the fashionable girls in the movie was on a quest to lose weight, and she announced her strategy. She was eating nothing at all, which seems like it would work. When she felt faint, she would eat a cube of cheese. This got me thinking; If I would eat nothing at all, I would have all kinds of money to spend on cool clothes. Either that, or I could finally afford to feed the two eating machines who live here.
Oh, wait, there are three eating machines here.
Once, long ago, I decided that I was going to take weight loss seriously. I decided to learn from the pros. Rather than consulting the fashion industry, which may have actually been more helpful, I looked to the real masters of the game: Anorexics.
Have I told you this story?
This was in the days before Internet was the key to research, or at least before I knew how to use it. I went to my local library (or, as we say in Boise "LIBRARY!" We do, we say it just like that. The sign on the building actually includes an exclamation point. Would I kid about that?) Anyway, I checked out a stack of books on Anorexia Nervosa. My thinking was that if I could study their tactics and mindset, I could finally have the tools to succeed at a challenge which usually sparks fear and trepidation in the hearts of mature adults. After days of reading, and careful consideration, I came to the outstanding conclusion that I do not have what it takes to be anorexic.
At the time, I think I was closer to attaining my twisted goal that I realized. I was totally a size 4 at the time, from the caloric exertion of nursing two babies. (Pause to consider the dimensions of that figure.) And my goal was a size 2. The truth was, that I could fit into some 2s already, I just wanted to be a consistent 2.
I am better now.
That suggestion about waiting 'til one feels faint, and then eating a chunk of cheese? Isn't that called "Adkins"? And, seriously, I'd have to go a month and a half before I'd feel faint. My body is saving up for a famine.
Here's to New Year's Resolutions.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Kelly for President
It has not snowed like this here in years. The driveway has been shoveled twice, and it needs to be done again.
The snow makes me very happy, on account of how it hides the yard work I neglected in the Fall. The bushes that I didn't trim, have frozen tendrils of white, where they used to look unkempt. The flowers that I didn't cut back? Totally obliterated by fluffy stuff.
Actually, I've had this random thought just occur to me that could be quite the answer to a particular therapy issue. If you know anyone in the counseling business, you should tell them this, my Grand Idea:
Kids that are "cutters" should be introduced to yard maintenance. There is so much cutting/trimming/pruning involved that the novelty of using sharp objects would be lost in a short time. Do you think it could work? They could begin on my yard.
Once, in the '80's there was a problem with watermelon. Have I told you this story? They were all poisoned, or something rendered them unpalatable. Well, at the same time, there were all these wildfires in California. My baby sister, Kristin, called a radio station and suggested that the watermelons be dropped upon the wildfires. It was a brilliant idea.
Clearly, brilliance runs through my family. It practically gallops.
The snow makes me very happy, on account of how it hides the yard work I neglected in the Fall. The bushes that I didn't trim, have frozen tendrils of white, where they used to look unkempt. The flowers that I didn't cut back? Totally obliterated by fluffy stuff.
Actually, I've had this random thought just occur to me that could be quite the answer to a particular therapy issue. If you know anyone in the counseling business, you should tell them this, my Grand Idea:
Kids that are "cutters" should be introduced to yard maintenance. There is so much cutting/trimming/pruning involved that the novelty of using sharp objects would be lost in a short time. Do you think it could work? They could begin on my yard.
Once, in the '80's there was a problem with watermelon. Have I told you this story? They were all poisoned, or something rendered them unpalatable. Well, at the same time, there were all these wildfires in California. My baby sister, Kristin, called a radio station and suggested that the watermelons be dropped upon the wildfires. It was a brilliant idea.
Clearly, brilliance runs through my family. It practically gallops.
My first thought upon awakening
I was in this restaurant with lovely decor. The food was great and the service was pretty good, too. The proprietress was a fellow blogger that I had gone in to meet. She came to my table to see how I was and how I was enjoying my experience. I explained that I was there because I read her blog, and I wanted to meet her in person. She was very stony-faced, and she walked away. She was decidedly rude. I asked my waitress if the owner was always so unfriendly to her patrons, and she replied, "Oh, no. She knows who you are, she has read your blog, too."
...When I woke up from this, my first thought was, "Geez, I spend too much time blogging."
...When I woke up from this, my first thought was, "Geez, I spend too much time blogging."
Monday, January 07, 2008
Everybody's Doing It
It's early January, and everyone I know is going to do something about their physical selves. I should so totally diet. I could blog about my calorie intake, and my treadmill. I could post before and after photos (!).
Or not.
Today I ate two eggs and two pieces of toast, all with butter. (Is that bad?)
And for lunch there was Bambie-on-a-bun x2 (that's sloppy joe's with venison)
Why do I have double of everything? It's, like, Kelly Squared.
If I had half as much food, would I be half this size? I'd have to jump around in the shower to get wet, if I was that small. Then I'd be truely happy. Plus, I'd have so many small, outdated clothes from the back of my closet to wear.
All single, celebate girls should be so skinny.
Or, I could bake up a double order of dinner.
One of my friends is in a diet contest involving hundreds of dollars in prize money.
Some blog I read is about a woman giving up junk food for an entire year. I need a truffle, the chocolate kind, just to think of such sacrifice.
Seriously, I'd rather eat two helpings of everything wonderful and just excercise a lot.
Oh, wait...I keep not excercising, too. Like, sedentary squared.
I cannot stand myself as a sedentary person. I am seriously mean when I sit still too long. I need to run, or lift weights, or ski, or hike, or kick somebody's arse (which is not the same as saying a-s-s, because that would be unladylike. I only fight, nicely, in my martial arts class.)
I'll go shovel the driveway so as to feel athletic. After work.....
Or not.
Today I ate two eggs and two pieces of toast, all with butter. (Is that bad?)
And for lunch there was Bambie-on-a-bun x2 (that's sloppy joe's with venison)
Why do I have double of everything? It's, like, Kelly Squared.
If I had half as much food, would I be half this size? I'd have to jump around in the shower to get wet, if I was that small. Then I'd be truely happy. Plus, I'd have so many small, outdated clothes from the back of my closet to wear.
All single, celebate girls should be so skinny.
Or, I could bake up a double order of dinner.
One of my friends is in a diet contest involving hundreds of dollars in prize money.
Some blog I read is about a woman giving up junk food for an entire year. I need a truffle, the chocolate kind, just to think of such sacrifice.
Seriously, I'd rather eat two helpings of everything wonderful and just excercise a lot.
Oh, wait...I keep not excercising, too. Like, sedentary squared.
I cannot stand myself as a sedentary person. I am seriously mean when I sit still too long. I need to run, or lift weights, or ski, or hike, or kick somebody's arse (which is not the same as saying a-s-s, because that would be unladylike. I only fight, nicely, in my martial arts class.)
I'll go shovel the driveway so as to feel athletic. After work.....
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Talk to my Agent
I saw a movie this weekend at the theatre.
P.S. I Love You
If you need a good cry, then this is the very movie that you need to see.
I was trying to keep myself composed, as I was surrounded by loads of people. Had I been in the privacy of my own home, I would have sobbed myself right into exhausted hiccups; a snivelling, pitiful puddle. I hate cry movies, usually, but I was in the mood for it that night.
The movie is about a woman whose husband dies after an illness. He left a series of letters to get her through the first year without him.
It was really well done, I thought.
There was one thing, though:
Someone needs to explain to me why she needed to roll in the sheets with some stranger to sufficiently process her grief.
I know I live in a little bubble, because I am surrounded by fellow homeschool moms. My life is quite sheltered.
But, am I so odd, to be taken aback at the way sex is handled in movies?
There are people who are not married, but live together. There are people who meet and sleep together immediately. Prostitution is portrayed as a necessary service to humanity. Sex is the office talk, the party talk, and the locker room talk. Who am I kidding? We talk about it, too, but not as an Olympic event or a competitive sport.
Mostly, it seems that sex is the point to life and relationships on film. It's the reason that people go out in public, and the reason that they meet new people, and the reason they do everything they do.
Why do people bother to get married at all? Seriously, I wouldn't if I could just go off and, er...you know..., any old time. (Not that there are any offers, but, you know, theoretically speaking.) I wonder if marriage will become obsolete?
I am struck by the way that Movies, and probably television, define the way that such a crucial element of humanity is handled in our minds and actions. Do you suppose that a large part of the populace believes the message sold on film? Do you suppose they think that sex is so important that it must be had at any cost? That's a lie. It will fragment your souls, to pursue it as recreation. It leaves destruction and brokenness in it's wake.
Let's make a movie about a gal whose husband abandons her, and she determines to be obedient to God's Word, and so she goes for ten years or so without You Know What. Let's have this movie show what a struggle it is, but how God blesses her. And I can star in this movie. Sort of Type Cast. How would that be?
No one would pay to see that movie, would they?
Maybe they would.
Maybe it would be such a rarity, that they would line up to see our version of how this could be. Like Ripley's Believe it or Not.
P.S. I Love You
If you need a good cry, then this is the very movie that you need to see.
I was trying to keep myself composed, as I was surrounded by loads of people. Had I been in the privacy of my own home, I would have sobbed myself right into exhausted hiccups; a snivelling, pitiful puddle. I hate cry movies, usually, but I was in the mood for it that night.
The movie is about a woman whose husband dies after an illness. He left a series of letters to get her through the first year without him.
It was really well done, I thought.
There was one thing, though:
Someone needs to explain to me why she needed to roll in the sheets with some stranger to sufficiently process her grief.
I know I live in a little bubble, because I am surrounded by fellow homeschool moms. My life is quite sheltered.
But, am I so odd, to be taken aback at the way sex is handled in movies?
There are people who are not married, but live together. There are people who meet and sleep together immediately. Prostitution is portrayed as a necessary service to humanity. Sex is the office talk, the party talk, and the locker room talk. Who am I kidding? We talk about it, too, but not as an Olympic event or a competitive sport.
Mostly, it seems that sex is the point to life and relationships on film. It's the reason that people go out in public, and the reason that they meet new people, and the reason they do everything they do.
Why do people bother to get married at all? Seriously, I wouldn't if I could just go off and, er...you know..., any old time. (Not that there are any offers, but, you know, theoretically speaking.) I wonder if marriage will become obsolete?
I am struck by the way that Movies, and probably television, define the way that such a crucial element of humanity is handled in our minds and actions. Do you suppose that a large part of the populace believes the message sold on film? Do you suppose they think that sex is so important that it must be had at any cost? That's a lie. It will fragment your souls, to pursue it as recreation. It leaves destruction and brokenness in it's wake.
Let's make a movie about a gal whose husband abandons her, and she determines to be obedient to God's Word, and so she goes for ten years or so without You Know What. Let's have this movie show what a struggle it is, but how God blesses her. And I can star in this movie. Sort of Type Cast. How would that be?
No one would pay to see that movie, would they?
Maybe they would.
Maybe it would be such a rarity, that they would line up to see our version of how this could be. Like Ripley's Believe it or Not.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Marching to my Beat
Do you realize that your age always marks the end of the year, and not the beginning? When you turn 40, you are done being 40? When you are 41, you are beginning your 50th decade. Weird, huh?
I was thinking, just today, that my life runs in these cycles that are roughly a decade each.
The first decade of my life was spent within an intact family unit.
You know... mom, dad, sister. 1970-1980
The second decade was a broken thing...involving heartache, step-people, half-people, and the like. 1980-1989ish
(College sort off took place in here, and was a parenthetical reprieve. I lived with my wonderful and amazing GrandParents for that. It was like a vacation from Life Itself. And sometimes I even went to class.)
Decade #3 was married me. If decade 2 was heartache, then 3 was unfathomable anguish. 1992-1999, although the divorce wasn't final until '01 or '02.
Decade #4 has been peace and serenity. It has been me and my boys. This has been the 2000's.
It occurred to me today that I may be in for a change. If destiny keeps her rhythm, then the next year or two should bring something new. Seriously. Isn't that a cool thought? I, for one, am on the edge of my seat.
Any guesses?
I was thinking, just today, that my life runs in these cycles that are roughly a decade each.
The first decade of my life was spent within an intact family unit.
You know... mom, dad, sister. 1970-1980
The second decade was a broken thing...involving heartache, step-people, half-people, and the like. 1980-1989ish
(College sort off took place in here, and was a parenthetical reprieve. I lived with my wonderful and amazing GrandParents for that. It was like a vacation from Life Itself. And sometimes I even went to class.)
Decade #3 was married me. If decade 2 was heartache, then 3 was unfathomable anguish. 1992-1999, although the divorce wasn't final until '01 or '02.
Decade #4 has been peace and serenity. It has been me and my boys. This has been the 2000's.
It occurred to me today that I may be in for a change. If destiny keeps her rhythm, then the next year or two should bring something new. Seriously. Isn't that a cool thought? I, for one, am on the edge of my seat.
Any guesses?
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Do the Amish drink?
My Friend Lisa was working at getting into a bottle of wine the other night. New year's Eve, actually.
The corkscrew broke.
Now if that isn't real frustrating, I don't know what is.
Lisa came to the rescue with one of those double pronged things that sort of straddles the cork; do you know what I mean? You wedge it in on either side of the cork and then twist and pull. Sometimes it works.
She called it it an "Amish wine opener."
The corkscrew broke.
Now if that isn't real frustrating, I don't know what is.
Lisa came to the rescue with one of those double pronged things that sort of straddles the cork; do you know what I mean? You wedge it in on either side of the cork and then twist and pull. Sometimes it works.
She called it it an "Amish wine opener."
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Speeding
I like to drive really fast. It's sort of a shameful love of mine that I keep firmly under control. It is frowned upon, you see.
Yesterday, I drove fast.
My sweet friend, Kris (not KJP) was in the car with me. We were on this sledding comedy of errors which involved 5 cars, unfamiliar territory, and one family who wanted to get away from us. My assignment was to catch up with a car which had fled at a high rate of speed in the style of a California driver. A Driver who did not wish to be caught.
There was hardly any ice on the road, and the twisting mountain terrain was not that daunting, to an experienced Idaho driver.
I went fast.
Really fast.
Kris and her white knuckles wanted very much to catch up with car #1, but she wanted me to do so within the speed limit.
This was not possible.
I did catch up, though. While blarring Collective Soul. If one is going to break the speed limit, one should do so with the sounds of Collective Soul.
But the funny part began as we caught up to car #1.
Kris had something to say to him, and I don't think it had occurred to her that he might not want to hear it. I thought she was going to dive across my body to lay upon my horn. She didn't. Instead she forcefully insisted that I should flash my lights.
When Kris issues a command, people usually obey. I did. The driver ahead didn't.
Perhaps he didn't know what flashing lights from a speeding car are telling you.
So she began to rummage about in my vehicle looking for paper on which to write a message to display in my windshield. As if he might glance in his rear view mirror and say, "Oh, look, literature."
At this point I began offering helpful suggestions to rile her up. I offered to speed up, for instance. Or to pull alongside so that she might bang upon his tightly shut window. Or to flip a U-turn and go back after our friend who was going the other direction. She didn't appreciate my help.
In the end, we were unable to get his attention. We went sledding with three of the other cars in our party.
It was cold. And the speed from the sled was no rush at all compared with the thrill of chasing a California Driver!
Yesterday, I drove fast.
My sweet friend, Kris (not KJP) was in the car with me. We were on this sledding comedy of errors which involved 5 cars, unfamiliar territory, and one family who wanted to get away from us. My assignment was to catch up with a car which had fled at a high rate of speed in the style of a California driver. A Driver who did not wish to be caught.
There was hardly any ice on the road, and the twisting mountain terrain was not that daunting, to an experienced Idaho driver.
I went fast.
Really fast.
Kris and her white knuckles wanted very much to catch up with car #1, but she wanted me to do so within the speed limit.
This was not possible.
I did catch up, though. While blarring Collective Soul. If one is going to break the speed limit, one should do so with the sounds of Collective Soul.
But the funny part began as we caught up to car #1.
Kris had something to say to him, and I don't think it had occurred to her that he might not want to hear it. I thought she was going to dive across my body to lay upon my horn. She didn't. Instead she forcefully insisted that I should flash my lights.
When Kris issues a command, people usually obey. I did. The driver ahead didn't.
Perhaps he didn't know what flashing lights from a speeding car are telling you.
So she began to rummage about in my vehicle looking for paper on which to write a message to display in my windshield. As if he might glance in his rear view mirror and say, "Oh, look, literature."
At this point I began offering helpful suggestions to rile her up. I offered to speed up, for instance. Or to pull alongside so that she might bang upon his tightly shut window. Or to flip a U-turn and go back after our friend who was going the other direction. She didn't appreciate my help.
In the end, we were unable to get his attention. We went sledding with three of the other cars in our party.
It was cold. And the speed from the sled was no rush at all compared with the thrill of chasing a California Driver!
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