life
Shopping for glasses for my husband was a star-studded event.
We met Drew Carey.
Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Elton John.
And John Belushi.
Much of the joy in life is about who’s traveling with you.
If the frame fits…
A cheerful heart brings a smile to your face; a sad heart makes it hard to get through the day.
Proverbs 15:13 The Message
Take your Vitamin C and Smile.
Who travels with you in life? What or who do you have to smile about today?
This is Monday, and I said I would be back around mid-week. Monday is not mid-week, but some things are too important to wait to share. Like this quick Pinterest success story. An idea so simple, so ingenious, so must-do.
Swim noodles cut to size and used to stand tall boots at attention!
Less than five minutes with a bread knife and two worn-out swim noodles resulted in four pairs of boots set upright and ready for winter weather. If only all things in life could be this easy and common sense. Reduce, reuse, recycle!
This idea came from a Boutique Narelle pin. The author measured the swim noodles, cut with a saw, and vacuumed the edges of her boot stuffers, none of which I had to do because of two magic words: bread knife.
She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth. Proverbs 31:19a The Message
These Boots are Made for Walkin’ by Nancy Sinatra.
What are your Pinterest success stories?
Please include links to your pins!
Here’s the 4-1-1 for today:
Stay sane. Stay sweet. Stay tuned…
When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. Psalm 56:3 NIV
Steady My Heart by Kari Jobe. Beautiful. Even when it hurts, even when it’s hard, even when it all just falls apart, I will run to You ’cause I know that you are Lover of my soul, Healer of my scars.
So how’s your week going?
Encouraging perspective from Pablo Picasso.
Leave it to the grand master of artists to frame things up beautifully.
How have you ripened with age?
True story.
Last Friday evening, we were on our way to dinner when a grasshopper hitched a ride on our front windshield. He wasn’t smashed to oblivion like other, lesser bugs. He landed alive and held on.
He surfed through traffic and stoplights with us. As we turned onto the highway entrance ramp, I expected him to jump and fly to the grassy prairie. Instead he remained planted on the glass.
His olive-colored, stick legs stood sturdy as we accelerated to 70 mph. He was motionless, except for his bright yellow antennae waving in the wind.
How strange, how remarkable he would not be blown away.
We exited the highway. The grasshopper rode through another intersection or two with us. Then he sprang into the sky and disappeared to wherever grasshoppers go.
No one told the grasshopper he couldn’t ride on the windshield. No one told him our car is thousands of times larger than he is.
Grasshoppers are referred to in the Bible in two very different ways: as small, squashable creatures and as powerfully destructive creatures. The grasshopper on our windshield was a little of both. Tiny and fearless.
He seemed at ease with his station in life. Apparently, no one told the grasshopper otherwise.
He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth,
and its people are like grasshoppers.
He stretches out the heavens like a canopy,
and spreads them out like a tent to live in. Isaiah 40:22 NIV
Room at the Top by Adam Ant. The ants know; the ants are industrious.
What extraordinary things have you done when no one told you couldn’t or you didn’t know different?
This past Monday was the first time I’ve cried over technology.
Don’t know exactly what happened, but for a short time my blog site went down, refusing to show anything but post titles. If it hadn’t been for Bluehost, it might still be down.
Nick the Bluehost tech guy and I ruled out the GoDaddy hacking debacle. We suspect it had to do with a WordPress update. But who really knows what technology is capable of these days? The more we worked on it, the worse it got.
Alas, I’m a ghost in the machine.
If you’re of a certain generation, you’ll remember The Police album Ghost in the Machine. If you’re younger, I’m sorry you missed it. Just kidding. The Police were Sting’s former band.
My new best friend Nick restored my blog from a copy saved the day before. All I lost was what I’d written Monday and, for a few tense moments, my sanity.
What does that mean, ghost in the machine?
Are we merely spirits outfitted in flesh and wandering haphazardly through the mechanics of this world? In my heart I know despite what Madonna says, the material world doesn’t matter. It’s going, going, and someday will be gone.
But I live in the here and now. I breathe the physical. As much as my soul is me, so is my body me. And so is my work, my family, my home, and country, all part of the material world I inhabit. The time and space. The machine.
When the machine’s broken, it’s desperately hard to remember the machine isn’t all there is.
What poor creatures we are, living with one foot in the decaying world of trolls, cancer, and terrorism, while the other stretches for a world yet to be made new.
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 2 Corinthians 4:16-17 NIV
You knew this was coming: Spirits in the Material World by The Police.
Ever feel like a ghost in the machine?
This morning, I accidentally hit publish rather than save.
Subscribers got a preview of a post in the works for later this week. The draft was up on the site for about 52 minutes before I realized the mistake and pulled it.
This is the second time this has happened in my 19 months of blogging. Misspells and grammatical errors, however, usually average one per post. Yes, I proofread, but mistakes sometimes escape me before I publish, catch, and correct.
If you want to see the inner workings of the blog and catch the flubs before I do, you really should subscribe via email or RSS feed.
Now back to the draft at hand. Good day!
Month eight in Wichita. We’ve yet to see a squirrel in our yard. Time to call Fox Mulder.
We’ve seen robins, turtles, rabbits, toads, barn swallows, cardinals, deer, muskrats, herons, and a turkey who crossed the road, but no squirrels.
This wouldn’t be a big deal except we have a dog whose favorite pastime is hunting squirrels. Flamboyant St. Louis squirrels.
Cairn terriers are bred to hunt vermin. Ella was only a few months old when once during a walk back in St. Louis, a squirrel fell out of his tree and landed on me. I screamed. The squirrel ran. My cute, innocent, downy-headed puppy sprang into action transformed. Ella didn’t catch the squirrel, but she treed him and wouldn’t move.
Long before Rally Squirrel gained World Series fame, the squirrels of St. Louis infested the attics of our old houses. They chewed through electrical wires. They picked our young, blushing tomatoes, eating a single bite before leaving them ruined and discarded on fence posts. With ardor, they hollowed out our Halloween pumpkins.
Our neighbor Bob got fed up with them one spring. We’d see the barrel of his pellet gun poking out his second-story window.
The lone gunman shot more than 80 squirrels that year, but didn’t make a dent in the population.
Another neighbor Larry owned an exceptional golden retriever. Yankee was as perfect as a dog can be in both temperament and stature. When Yankee died, Larry posted a eulogy on a tree in the park: “For Yankee, fine dog and companion, who caught 16 squirrels here. You will be missed.”
Our dog Ella never caught a squirrel, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Now she doesn’t have a chance.
I thought of this one night when I couldn’t sleep. It’s the little things like squirrels, forgotten toys, and expired cake mixes that get to me.
In the dark, I could see the outline of Ella’s tiny body curled up on her bed beside mine. How sad she hasn’t chased a squirrel since we left St. Louis. Poor little dog, been through so much.
How much more her owners.
We humans navigate the changes of life, flying and leaping and scuttling through as best we can. We try not to fall, but often we do anyway.
We run for recovery in the next city, job, or relationship. We race away from the sadness only to find it has cornered us and will not let us go without a fight.
The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still. Exodus 14:14 NIV
Counting Crows are a favorite. So is their cover of Start Again: Even though it’s complicated, we got time to start again…
What “squirrels” keep you up at night?
How do you put them to rest?
I’ve been known to stay long past the bitter end, forever and ever, amen. But as I age, my impulse is to run.
Running seems more efficient. The minute the malaise sets in and my gut says maybe everything in this situation (or friendship or outfit or whatever) isn’t going to be okay after all, I’m set to fly. Don’t usually act on it, but I want to.
God in His wisdom paired me prone-to-bolt with a husband who is built-to-stay.
He does not easily move. He possesses patient, long-suffering stick-to-itiveness. Comes from growing up on a farm, I think.
There’s a lot of waiting on a farm. You wait for the weather to change. Wait for things to grow. Wait for the prices of your crop to go up. Wait for the costs of your implements to come down. Wait for homemade dinners. Wait for trips to town to get supplies.
In the suburbs where I come from there’s very little waiting. We devour instant gratification. Malls, 24-hour grocery stores, fast food restaurants, extreme makeovers at your choice of salons. Want to satisfy a craving? Change your life today? Walk-ins welcome.
This isn’t a contest between farm and suburbia. There are pros and cons to both. Just like there are times to run and times to stay put.
Mercifully, God is there no matter what.
When the pregnant Hagar ran, she saw God.
When the fugitive Moses ran, God met him in a burning bush.
When David ran, he sang to God Who was with him: I will take refuge in the shadow of Your wings until the disaster has passed.
When Elijah ran from Jezebel, he heard God whisper.
On the other hand, when Miriam stayed among the bulrushes of the Nile, she saw God save her baby brother’s life through the hands of an Egyptian princess.
When David stayed to fight Goliath, this was his battle cry: All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and He will give all of you into our hands.
When Jehoshaphat’s people stayed in the face of destruction at the hands of their enemies, they heard the echo of David’s words: Do not be afraid because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s.
When Jesus stayed and did not run from the Roman soldiers in Gethsemane, He set in motion the work of the cross.
I’m thankful for people in my life who ground me from flight. I like to think they’re thankful for people like me who bid them to fly once in a while.
I’m astounded by a God who remains steadfast in spite of us.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there Your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:7-10 NIV
Me Without You, new from TobyMac.
Are you prone-to-bolt or built-to-stay?
Water park, great equalizer of humanity.
Waves of humans stripped down to the skivvies we call bathing suits. Nothing and nowhere to hide.
The throbbing sun bakes this oasis, this jewel of blue on the drought-worn prairie. We flock to the relief of the pool. We gather at the watering hole: elephant, antelope, crocodile, hyena.
My child, energized by the water and the people, skips between activities. I follow as his guardian and his insurance that he won’t swim alone today.
We begin with the obstacle course. Training for American Ninja.
Children slip across floating lily pads. They scurry and swing along rope webs. They drop and dog paddle ferociously to the finish line.
I observe, taking note of my offspring’s competitive streak. Between his father and me, he didn’t stand a chance of missing that trait, poor thing.
Herds of middle schoolers run together in co-ed packs. High school girls saunter like giraffes in triads, while high school boys buzz in larger, amorphous groups, joking and oblivious to their surroundings.
Tattoos litter bodies. They punctuate skin and recoil like secret sin exposed in the sunlight.
A dragon crawls around a woman’s torso. A cross marks a man’s bicep. A clover nips a lady’s ankle. And on another man’s chest, the infant footprint of his son who now swims beside him, a baby no more.
The hip, young women have accentuated their navels with piercings. Glittery rhinestone stars. All I can think of is how this will look should these girls grow up to bear children. Their tummies bulging with pregnancy, I imagine the star navel rings popping like buttons on shirts. Timers on turkeys.
Soon my child is ready to move on. Bravely I stand, the only person older than 16 in line for the slide.
There are two water slides. The orange closed tunnel and the blue open air. Like closed and open MRI machines.
My child screams with delight as the giant, orange anaconda swallows him whole. Down into its narrow, black throat he disappears. I’m next in line.
I’m usually not claustrophobic, but the tunnel seems too long and too dark. I whiz around curves and pray for light. I wonder if this is what it feels like to die.
A burst of sun and water and the snake spits me out. Has my child survived?
He’s already back in line to slide again.
We traverse the lazy river. We revisit the obstacle course, and I think it must be his favorite thing. Then we see it.
Children run to the foot of the great bucket. The alarm bell rings faster and faster as the bucket tips. A torrent of water splashes down on the crowd of shrieking kids. They disappear in the flood. They scatter as the water dissipates and drains away.
This. This is the thrill of the day.
I stand beside my child the next round. We watch the white water crash toward us. Drench us. Wash and cool us.
We are alive. And for a split second this summer, I am a child again.
How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know Him. 1 John 3:1 NIV 1984
What’s your favorite summer memory?
My what a difference a week makes.
First syndicated post, first blogging conference, first trip to New York City in almost 20 years, first opportunity to meet several online blogger friends in real life, first time seeing THE Martha Stewart speak live and in person.
My brain is full to overflowing.
I can quit or press on. Give up or give it my all. Be afraid or be brave. Cave to other people’s ideas of who I should be or reaffirm who I am and continue to be that person. Keep writing in series of lists—my favorite literary rhythm—or learn to break it up a bit.
I’ve been challenged in more ways than I could have imagined a week ago. In the words of THE Martha, it’s a good thing.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God. 1 John 5:5 NIV
Aaron Shust sang the perfect rallying song on the radio as I drove home from the airport yesterday: My Savior, My God.
How have you been challenged lately?
Will it defeat you or inspire you?
This post was syndicated by BlogHer on July 30, 2012.
The ruckus over Chick-fil-A raises the question: Who’s behaving like the hater here?
Chick-fil-A president and chief operating officer Dan Cathy’s recent comments in Baptist Press should come as no surprise. The company is privately owned. In 45 years of existence, their restaurants have never been open on Sundays. They’ve always supported a traditional, Biblical definition of marriage and family.
“We intend to stay the course,” said Cathy in the article. “We know that it might not be popular with everyone, but thank the Lord, we live in a country where we can share our values and operate on biblical principles.”
So, let’s see. They haven’t changed their religious views. They aren’t refusing to serve people who disagree. We’re free to express our beliefs in this country.
Why the uproar now?
Chick-fil-A’s charitable donations were being criticized before the Baptist Press published their story. When Cathy reiterated his long-held convictions, in a religious publication mind you, Chick-fil-A critics were poised to pounce.
Cathy was labeled homophobic. Activists boycotted. Boston’s mayor banned Chick-fil-A from the city. The Jim Henson Company broke ties with them.
Another commentator wants public schools and sports facilities to stop doing business with Chick-fil-A because they support families through non-profit groups that share their beliefs. Are you kidding me?
Attacking a successful company is unlikely to change anyone’s mind. It won’t help the economy either. Plus it’s mean.
My affection for J Crew clothing is well-documented in this blog. The company contributes to causes at odds with my values. Last year J Crew president and creative director Jenna Lyons left her husband of nine years and the father of her son for another woman. Not a decision that lines up with my faith.
I suppose I could stop buying clothes from J Crew, write nasty grams on their Facebook page, insist they be thrown out of malls that have received tax breaks, and start picketing their stores.
But that would just make me a bully who’s missing out on some mighty fine fashion, now wouldn’t it?
Chick-fil-A uses their resources to support and care for families in ways they see fit. That includes contributing to non-profits that share their beliefs.
Speaking from experience, that also includes family activity nights at their restaurants, refreshing beverages for free, and politely carrying trays to tables for mothers like me who have their hands full. Besides, the food is delicious.
I don’t hate gay people. I don’t believe the Cathy family and their franchisees hate gay people. I don’t plan to stop eating at Chick-fil-A anytime soon. I understand if your convictions differ. You can stop eating there if you want.
You’ll be missing out on some mighty fine chicken if you do.
But as for me and my family, we will serve the Lord. from Joshua 24:15 NLT
The Chick-fil-A Song by St. Louis comedian Tim Hawkins with a new verse for Chick-fil-A founder Truett Cathy.
Will you eat mor chikin? (Please mind your manners or your comment will be deleted.)