Twilight for Twinkies

     Due to the tendency of union leaders to kill the goose that lays the golden, cream-filled egg, we may be facing a crisis unprecedented in my lifetime--the twilight of the Twinkie, the demise of the Ding Dong. Frankly, the fading of the fruit pie would not have a significant impact on my adult life, eating Hostess snacks is merely another memory of the childhood I have left behind, along with jumping rope and playing tag. These much maligned munchies are condemned for their preservatives and blamed for childhood obesity, the problem with that argument is that kids of my generation ate them on a semi-regular basis and we did not become obese.  When I was in school, each class had one, maybe two, fat kids. It was an unofficial, but long term position, like having a smart boy, a smart girl, a small kid, a class clown, a spoiled brat, a rich kid and a bully.
     The reason we could eat sugar-filled, fat-saturated snacks without building big behinds, is that we did not leave behind skipping rope and playing tag.  The caloric intake is not the problem, the caloric output is.  Back then the homes were small, the kids numerous, and the moms shooed us outside where we would be safe--from them.  Being confined to the house meant you were sick, had just been spanked or were about to be spanked. Be it ever so toy filled, there's no place like house arrest. All the good things happened outside, and most of those required physical activity of some kind.  Back then Wii was "we"--neighborhood kids, playing together like a pack of juvenile jackals. Yes, we were destructive, but that is why we had to run.  Running is good for you, so is climbing and hiding depending on the destructiveness of the game you have been playing.
     So don't dis the Ding Dongs. Calories are not the culprit and, I figure, all those preservatives will enable us baby boomers to live longer. Now it appears some other company will step in to fill our sweet dreams and rescue the Hostess workers from their own union, and the magical bond between their buns and ours will live on.

Cosmic Rays from Space

     I often wondered why, when God wanted to smite somebody, he used something ordinary like plague or hailstones instead of Cosmic Rays from Space. Zapping people seems a lot more spectacular, but God tends to use natural forces he has already created. Supernatural use of natural forces will cause a lot of the suffering in the tribulation as well. He also tends to punish us with the natural consequences of our sins. God had no problem creating everything, but he is economical in its usage. He actually invented recycling.
    It is this tendency of God not to reinvent the wheel that makes me believe that the days of creation were probably 24 hour days. Creation specifics are one of the many disputable areas in which Christians are free to disagree, it is not a teaching essential to salvation. But I believe God went out of his way to include the phrase "and there was evening and morning", with the days of creation to debunk the idea that "day" could mean an unspecified period of time. Both eons of daylight and eons of darkness would kill the plants and animals if they were anything like those we have now.  It's almost like God anticipated the theory of evolution.  "Day" probably means day.
     Likewise, I think "day" meant a 24 hour day even before the sun, moon and stars were created, because God tends to use the natural system he has already set up.  If his intention when he gave us the sun was to establish 24 hour days, he probably set that system up on day one. However, the disappointment that I will only see Cosmic Rays from Space in sci-fi movies, is worth the relief of not having to live looking over my shoulder, waiting to get zapped.
   

Bashing Black Friday

     I have to admit, I have already done some online peeking at the Black Friday sales.  I spend a significant part of Thanksgiving Day perusing the flyers, making a list, checking it twice, and planning the itinerary as if we were exploring space instead of parking spaces. Stories of Black Friday shoppers fighting and trampling their way to the holy holiday have given Black Friday sales a well deserved black eye. They are considered by some to be the epitome of ugly American greed. But greed is not what motivates me to leave my cozy bed at 5 a.m. on what is, for me, a work day, so that I can buy my family more extravagant gifts that I could ordinarily afford, it is love.
     Love--and thrift.  In the SILK (Single Income Lotsa Kids) days of my childhood, we lived on the cheap side of the thrift tracks. After graduation, I headed off to Bible college with faith, a student loan, and very little income. As a newlywed, I helped put a broke husband through aircraft fixing school (a modest investment on which I have lived for 33 years).  Then I was the overworked, underemployed mom of three children who were able attend Christian school on Reed's modest income.  I worked part time through some of those years, but my main contribution to the family finances was saving, not earning, money.  Our kids are grown and my husband is established in his profession so we have a more comfortable lifestyle, but I have not retired from my lifestyle as cheap financial officer. I consider thrift wise stewardship of the income God has given us.
     Greed is wanting, and buying, more than you need or can afford. Black Friday sales allow us to buy gifts that our loved ones want or need and still stay within our Christmas budget. My shopping-impaired husband even goes with me, after all, he is used to getting up to hunt in the wee hours of the morning. Finding these bargains was especially important as our children launched from home and needed--OUR stuff.  On one hand, I love getting a good deal, on the other hand, I love sleeping in, on the third hand, I love my children more, but on the second third hand, not enough to shop the dreaded discount stores like Walmart.  We mostly shop at hardware stores, and the hammer holding horde is neither as numerous nor bargain blood thirsty as the Walmart warriors.
     The last thing I want to do is recruit more shoppers to the sales, by all means stay home. Feel free to bash Black Friday consumerism, but don't look down on us stalwart stewards of our discount daily bread, we haven't had our beauty sleep.

If We Prayed It Like We Meant It

Our Father who's parked in heaven,
how often we use your name.
May our kingdom come, our will be done
on earth, if not in heaven.
Give us this day enough bread 

to last through retirement.
Forgive us our sins,

 but we will not forgive those

who sin against us.
You don't have to lead us into temptation, 

we can find our way to evil.
For ours is the whining 

and the wanting and the worry
forever and ever.

Amen

From the Reds to the Blues

    I was disappointed with the outcome of the recent election, of course.  I live in a little bastion of conservatism, most local radio talk shows are channeled to the right wing, the worst accusation in the campaign attack ads was--my opponent voted with Obama.  It gives us a skewed view of the national political climate, not as skewed as CNN, but skewed nonetheless. So I was sad Tuesday night, but not as sad as I was when "Billary" got elected for a second term.  We were studying the kings of Israel in BSF that year and I thought we had willingly reinstated Ahab and Jezebel.  The consolation was that they couldn't rule for decades like Israel's rotten kings.
     But I have learned something in the intervening years that helped me make it through election night, God is sovereign in the affairs of men.  He can use a leader who denies and detests him to work out his purpose just as well as one who loves and obeys him.  In fact, often God goes out of his way to choose an unbeliever to accomplish his will.  Pharoah's oppression didn't stop the Exodus.  Haman's plot to wipe out the Jews not only wiped out Haman, but many of their other enemies.  But my favorite example is Cyrus.  Cyrus was uniquely prophesied by name in Isaiah as one who would rebuild the temple in Jerusalem.  I don't think his name was written in scripture centuries in advance to convince Cyrus, he was an inclusive individual who liked to appease his subjects' god preferences. I think it was written to convince the Jews. I'm sure they were thinking, yes we want to build the temple, but why not choose some nice Jewish boy to lead us instead of this heathen?  For us it would be the equivalent of having a national Christian heritage day declared by Barak Obama.
     Yes, it is a great blessing to have godly leaders, but God is not the least bit frustrated by ungodly ones.  We are, but he is not. The Bible will not be found in the humor section of a bookstore, although there are some funny stories in it, but it does say that God laughs at our puny human plots against him. When God watches the schemes of our world's rebellious rulers, it is not only a reality show, but a sitcom. God thanks us for our cooperation in doing his will, but he does not need it.
     We are called to be people of hope.  I found hope in the record number of people who came out to vote, Americans are, at last, aware that our way of life is at stake.  I found hope that, after all the years of Republican leaders trying to impersonate Democrats, they are returning to their historic distinctives.  But mostly I found hope in the truth that no matter who is president, God is king.  All world leaders will give account to the king. And when those accounts are read, they will be the ones who are blue.

Sheepish

     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. 

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.