I sometimes resent the idea that the Bible calls believers sheep. You will never hear cheerleaders yelling, "GO MIGHTY SHEEP!!". Sheep have few natural defenses and lots of natural stupidity. Lambs are cute, but even more helpless. I am a Lamb, and today I was sheepish. When my older son was a teenager, he would sometimes arrive home after school halfway through an argument with me that I didn't even know about. I'm not crazy about arguing, although I do it rather well, but if I'm having an argument, I would at least like to be let in on it. I have also had this experience with my husband who will sometimes play both parts, filling in what I am thinking and saying for me. Eventually, he will notice my silence and I tell him that if he is going to play my role, there is no need for me to participate.
Today it was my turn. Our youngest son has been without employment for a couple weeks. He already has a job lined up, but wanted to finish some side work first. Side work for an auto mechanic involves autos. Since the only place he has to work on them now is our garage, the side work is stacked in our driveway making it look like we are having a perpetual party. Our son has been working on them, but he is cramming an eight hour shift into two or three days and I started stressing about it. Today my little sheep brain began playing worst case scenario about all the things that could go wrong if he didn't start the other job soon, and I mentally delivered several renditions of the same lecture. I am not a worrier by nature, and I must not do it right because some people make it a calling and I don't enjoy it at all.
So this afternoon, in walks the object of all my concentrated efforts, who tells me he has a call in to the guy with the lift truck to help move his tool boxes because he is starting the new job this week. Then he tells me about his financial plan which includes all the good stuff we taught him and that he'll be back tomorrow to work on cars. What a gyp! All that good lecture material wasted. And me, sheepish, but so thankful for the silence of the Lamb.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Good Hair Day
I thought that in the two weeks I would be off work following my knee surgery, I would be doing lots of blogging. This has not been the case. Apparently, my knee bone is connected to my funny bone. Tuesday I had a good hair day, literally, that part was going right. I felt okay and could walk reasonably well, for someone new to Earth who had just recently discovered there was such a thing as walking. But I skipped BSF that morning because three inches of snow had fallen the night before and I was worried about getting to the church, not in my car, my snow tires work well. I was worried about getting from the parking lot into the building. My knee was not strong enough for the fine movements involved in balancing on slippery surfaces and Connie + crutches + ice seemed like a formula for disaster.
But Tuesday is shopping day--not for me, my knee was not strong enough to shop for me. Tuesday is the day I shop for a shut in. A woman who has been doing things her own way for 88 years and is not about to change. DJ is not the most particular person I have known, but she is number four. Since preparing a list for two weeks worth of groceries is not her own way, I gamely offered to shop on my lame leg as soon as the snow melted. As I drove the motorized cart through the store that day, buying groceries that weren't even for me, I was having a bad hair day. A woman who worries on an Olympic level, who refuses to leave the door unlocked for me to get in with the groceries because she thinks getting startled might break the hip she had surgery on 12 years ago, is perfectly fine with me, her treasured friend, limping through the snow with her groceries 6 days after surgery.
Whatever blessing I might have gained for this sacrificial service to the Lord, was surely lost in the mental complaining I did afterwards. The thoughts inside my head were in much worse shape than my leg. Fortunately, people can only see the outside, and my hair looked terrific.
But Tuesday is shopping day--not for me, my knee was not strong enough to shop for me. Tuesday is the day I shop for a shut in. A woman who has been doing things her own way for 88 years and is not about to change. DJ is not the most particular person I have known, but she is number four. Since preparing a list for two weeks worth of groceries is not her own way, I gamely offered to shop on my lame leg as soon as the snow melted. As I drove the motorized cart through the store that day, buying groceries that weren't even for me, I was having a bad hair day. A woman who worries on an Olympic level, who refuses to leave the door unlocked for me to get in with the groceries because she thinks getting startled might break the hip she had surgery on 12 years ago, is perfectly fine with me, her treasured friend, limping through the snow with her groceries 6 days after surgery.
Whatever blessing I might have gained for this sacrificial service to the Lord, was surely lost in the mental complaining I did afterwards. The thoughts inside my head were in much worse shape than my leg. Fortunately, people can only see the outside, and my hair looked terrific.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
A Tale of Two Toilets
For years the toilet in our master bath had a crack in it. Because the crack was superficial, we didn't bother to replace it. Frankly, a toilet with a crack on it seemed only fitting. But when we needed to replace the flush pump for the second time in a couple years, we decided to dump that idea and aspire to a new throne. Aside from the tiny toilets you see near a school's kindergarten class, I have always thought of toilets as a one-size-fits-all item, like Snuggis, only way more useful. But good fortune smiled upon our cracked potty when I found a Costco coupon for a small tank, dual flush, tall toilet. I wasn't sure about the other features, but I realized a tall toilet might help counteract the increasing gravity that has accompanied my increasing age.
Where is Al Gore when you need him? No one is sounding the alarm about the global gravity crisis. I have no hard data, (but neither did Al Gore) and I have noticed an alarming increase in gravity the closer I get to the floor. It gets worse every year, yet the U.N. does nothing, but then, that's what they are there for. But there is something I can do, I can buy a tall toilet. In our miniature, master bathroom, now the only victim of the gravity vortex is the soap.
One problem solved, another created. I cannot seem to reprogram my knees to adjust to toilets of different heights. At first, I found myself landing abruptly on the tall toilet. Now, having gotten used to it, I keep landing abruptly, shall we say, short of the runway on the normal sized toilet in our main bathroom. I did not realize until now that part of the fearful and wonderful way our bodies are made includes toilet- tailored sitting. This is a minor inconvenience compared to serious matters like the gravity crisis, but still a tall tail tale worth telling--at least here, where the expectations are low.
Where is Al Gore when you need him? No one is sounding the alarm about the global gravity crisis. I have no hard data, (but neither did Al Gore) and I have noticed an alarming increase in gravity the closer I get to the floor. It gets worse every year, yet the U.N. does nothing, but then, that's what they are there for. But there is something I can do, I can buy a tall toilet. In our miniature, master bathroom, now the only victim of the gravity vortex is the soap.
One problem solved, another created. I cannot seem to reprogram my knees to adjust to toilets of different heights. At first, I found myself landing abruptly on the tall toilet. Now, having gotten used to it, I keep landing abruptly, shall we say, short of the runway on the normal sized toilet in our main bathroom. I did not realize until now that part of the fearful and wonderful way our bodies are made includes toilet- tailored sitting. This is a minor inconvenience compared to serious matters like the gravity crisis, but still a tall tail tale worth telling--at least here, where the expectations are low.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Eternity in Our Hearts
Ecclesiastes 3:11 says "He (God) has set eternity in the hearts of men." I understood that verse in the sense that I cannot imagine my own extinction. I cannot conceive of not existing. I also think of that verse every time I stand at a graveside saying goodbye. An innate sense of right and wrong tells me we are not meant for this, we were not created for goodbyes. But I heard a message from Ecclesiastes last week that stressed another side of having eternity in our hearts, the knowledge that, no matter how much we achieve here on earth, death will claim all. Wealth, fame, accomplishments, all will be left behind. The king carries no more beyond the grave than the pauper. Eternity can be a bitter weight to carry in our hearts.
Eternity is only a comfort to those who know where they will be and who they will be with. It is like the aroma of Christ in 2 Cor. 2:15, 16--to the saved, it is the fragrance of life, to the unsaved, the stench of death. It is our nature to both long for, and fear, eternity, for only eternal life can give this earthly life significance. It is God's nature to use both the fear and longing to drive us to him. In the heart he transplants into his children, eternity fits perfectly.
Eternity is only a comfort to those who know where they will be and who they will be with. It is like the aroma of Christ in 2 Cor. 2:15, 16--to the saved, it is the fragrance of life, to the unsaved, the stench of death. It is our nature to both long for, and fear, eternity, for only eternal life can give this earthly life significance. It is God's nature to use both the fear and longing to drive us to him. In the heart he transplants into his children, eternity fits perfectly.
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