tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33487823829898723622024-02-19T18:16:57.408-06:00Confessions of a Clay PotRather than be tempted to hide my failings, I thought it would be healthier for myself, and more entertaining for others, to share them.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.comBlogger158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-61627933984262226912017-10-31T08:58:00.003-05:002017-10-31T09:08:38.748-05:00Gen X Saved Halloween!I know I had my say on Halloween a few years back, but I just felt the urge to chime in again today. Central Iowa Trick-or-Treats on "Beggar's Night," which precedes Halloween by one day, so this morning my newsfeed was a scroll of adorable kids dressed like dragons and ninjas and Jedi. Some of the boys had cool costumes, too! *wink* Seeing all these joyfully smiling faces (despite a miserably windy, 38 degree evening), I was just a little overwhelmed by the way we took Halloween back for this generation.<br />
<br />
Do you remember when we were kids, and they were bringing X-ray machines to McDonald's so kids could get their candy checked? Do you remember how our parents were so afraid of neighborhood terrorism that they went through every single piece of our candy to make sure the wrapper was intact (and stole half our peanut butter cups while they were at it)? Do remember when home-baked goodies and apples quit showing up in our loot?<br />
<br />
The mailbox-smashing, and the fire-setting, and the fear of the occult, coupled with some bizarre claims about razor-blades and pins - which I've since read were never substantiated - cloaked Halloween in a mantle of fear.<br />
<br />
But last night, the porch lights were lit. The kids were bundled. We collectively went out into the neighborhood and <i>we took candy from strangers.</i><br />
<br />
All you good people did that. You who taught your kid a joke and reminded them to say "thank you." You who bundled up and braved the cold to keep them from crossing the street in front of cars. You who lit your porch light and laughed at terrible jokes. You who trusted your neighbors enough to put an entire bin of candy on your porch with a sign that said, "Please take 2." You, delightful soul, who gave out peanut butter cups.<br />
<br />
My kids don't even realize Trick-or-Treat was once on the media-frenzied, fear-driven, safety-first chopping block. They don't even realize that the reason malls and churches started offering Trunk-or-Treat type events is because parents were once so afraid that their neighbors were trying to poison the children.<br />
<br />
Well done, Generation X. There's not a whole lot we get credit for. But I think we can claim this victory. We took Halloween back. May we continue to be careful what we decide we need to be afraid of.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i style="background-color: white;"><span class="verse v15" data-usfm="JOB.11.15" style="-webkit-transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); box-sizing: inherit; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">Then your face will brighten with innocence. </span></span><span class="verse v15" data-usfm="JOB.11.15" style="-webkit-transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); box-sizing: inherit; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">You will be strong and free of fear. Job 11:15</span></span></i>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-526845646484077972017-10-04T11:02:00.000-05:002017-10-04T11:29:36.000-05:00Good grief?I don't want to rehash details or re-traumatize anyone about the events of this week, but this is a convergence of bad news that I just cannot quite comprehend. And it is such an odd combination of broad, distant trauma and very immediate trauma.<br />
<br />
Monday: Vegas. I won't say more. You already know.<br />
<br />
Then on Monday night I witnessed a motorcycle/bus accident that, although things turned out OK for the motorcyclist, left me with mental images I won't recount to you, but which cannot be erased for me. I've always feared being the first car behind a motorcycle accident.<br />
<br />
Tuesday, school was called off for a local suburb due to texted threats, spreading rumors and fear around the entire city.<br />
<br />
Now today, an elementary school in my community has an unplanned day off due to a suicide on the playground that apparently happened overnight.<br />
<br />
And I just grieve. I just. Grieve.<br />
<br />
These calamities are poised to happen across our country on a daily basis. Every day, I live in a world of angry men with automatic weapons, un-helmeted motorcyclists, mean-spirited hackers, and (how can we be surprised?) despondent young people.<br />
<br />
In a sense, today is really no different than any other day. These events didn't fall from the sky this week. And yet they've converged in a way that makes this grief so heavy I carry it like ankle weights, making every move a little harder and a little more draining.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlJO6y74CWCgHsfeH9Z4njMVw1j55tX9MUo2Fd0QnmG1-V4YqSz7VhrIfi5SQlwyG5LlnmKQTg08LsY7V4nnrXO1xssKW_TSklTHWAC_wXtxaHVV0PB9KtuMxkDxrQXLeGTI7AP179s4/s1600/letmycryforhelp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlJO6y74CWCgHsfeH9Z4njMVw1j55tX9MUo2Fd0QnmG1-V4YqSz7VhrIfi5SQlwyG5LlnmKQTg08LsY7V4nnrXO1xssKW_TSklTHWAC_wXtxaHVV0PB9KtuMxkDxrQXLeGTI7AP179s4/s200/letmycryforhelp.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
And I am asking God, "what are you showing me?" This is the world I live in every day and I know it, but it didn't make me sad like this last week. Today it does. Instead of stuffing it, or wallowing in it, I'm trying to ask God right now, "why do I have to feel <i>so much</i> all at once?"<br />
<br />
I'm starting to see a crack of light in the darkness; a calling being born from this burden of grief. I'm hopeful that this sorrow will reveal something I couldn't have discovered from just knowing these issues were out there; something I had to feel my way to understanding.<br />
<br />
I'm hopeful that if that is true for me, it might be true for others this week. What is God showing us? How will we respond?<br />
<i><br /></i>
<span class="verse v1" data-usfm="PSA.102.1" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: italic; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="nd" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">Lord</span></span><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">, hear my prayer! </span></span><span class="verse v1" data-usfm="PSA.102.1" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: italic; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);">Listen to my plea! </span><span class="verse v2" data-usfm="PSA.102.2" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: italic; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">Don’t turn away from me </span></span><span class="verse v2" data-usfm="PSA.102.2" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: italic; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);">in my time of distress. </span><span class="verse v2" data-usfm="PSA.102.2" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: italic; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);">Bend down to listen, </span><span class="verse v2" data-usfm="PSA.102.2" style="box-sizing: inherit; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><i>and answer me quickly when I call to you. </i>Psalm 102:1-2</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-29268121206689469212017-07-29T10:42:00.000-05:002017-07-29T10:53:28.112-05:00I'm glad my kids are learning how to fight.<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="6rfnr" data-offset-key="e6uin-0-0" style="color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="e6uin-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">My kids got into a heated conversation on the ride home from camp last night. Our little denominational church camp has a culminating week each July that eclipses the rest of the summer, in terms of attendance, excitement, and testing the capacity of the septic system. They call it "Camp on the Rock."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have not attended it, but I've experienced it vicariously for enough years to have a pretty good idea how it goes. The kids learn dances to contemporary praise songs that even the boys join in and love; they hear teaching twice-a-day; they spend some recreation time every day doing the normal camp-stuff like throwing rotten food at each other in a giant food fight and chasing each other around in the dark with glow-bracelets; and on Thursday night, they witness a reenactment of the crucifixion that puts them face-to-face with the reality of what Jesus did for us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Both girls had a super week and were inspired at how God was on the move for them and others, but they had really different perspectives. One was grappling with the theology of the messages and feeling uncomfortable that there wasn't enough Grace offered to balance all the messages about Sin-and-Sacrifice. The other strongly disagreed and was convinced that she and other young people really needed direct instruction about how to live faithfully as Jesus' disciples, which was the point of the Sin-talk, she felt. Not to condemn them, but to encourage them to live out their faith.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="45arv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">It got a little heated and uncomfortable at times - exhausted teenagers after all and both very confident and articulate about matters of faith. But it was so beautiful, to me. Because both of them were so passionate about what they had experienced. Both were deeply affected by what they believed God was telling them and how that will apply in their daily lives in the coming year. That alone was such a gift to witness. I saw them owning their faith and their experience - and motivated to make their beliefs real and applicable. I saw the Holy Spirit at work in them and through each of them, impacting the other.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3sbsl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Aside from that - and this was hard - they also had to practice holding each other's perpsectives in contrast to their own, accepting the difference, and loving each other. That, my friends, was very hard. That's hard for adults, let alone exhausted teens.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3sbsl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">When our faith is so central to our identity and we feel the weight of eternity hanging on what we understand and believe about God, who Jesus is, and what we are supposed to (or not supposed to) do about it, it is so hard to give someone else space to make their own journey. It is so hard to accept that where God is calling me may not match right up with where and how God is calling you - even when we just spent a week dancing to the same music and hearing the same Word.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3sbsl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">But that is, I believe, a big part of how the church is supposed to work. Not as a chorus in unison, but as a chord of harmony. Because both my kids, ultimately, were singing a song about Love. God's love that sanctifies and transforms. And how we who've experience it can best let it shine for others. And we just don't all have to shine the same way.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3sbsl-0-0"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 18px; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one—as you are in me, Father, and I am in you. And may they be in us so that the world will believe you sent me. </i>John 17:21</span></span></span></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-3908564759801057622017-07-23T22:31:00.003-05:002017-07-23T22:34:57.463-05:00I misplaced my cell phone...One of my friends posted a meme a while back that said, "I still have a landline, or, as I like to call it, a cell-phone finder." I laughed, of course, because who doesn't spend a few extra minutes a week, hunting for their device? But, I thought with pride, one thing I don't do is call my cell phone. Keys and phones. I keep track of those. Better than I keep track of my kids, some days.<br />
<br />
I have just a handful of places I generally set my phone down, so, unless I'm distracted, a quick glance around the ground floor of the house is all I usually need. Failing that, if I stop and recall what distractions I recently encountered, I'll find the trail of bread crumbs that leads to my phone.<br />
<br />
So, I was tight on time and heading out the door a couple weeks ago when I realized with irritation, that my phone was not in my purse where I expected it to be. No problem, I thought, and told the kids to wait in the car while I ran back in to get it.<br />
<br />
Taking my usual tour of the ground floor of the house, I got more frustrated with each empty spot. My phone was in none of my usual places, so I stopped to recall what had distracted me, realized it had been an all-hands-on-deck, set-your-phone-down-and-help kind of distraction, (briefly felt the sweet relief of justification,) and headed to the site to find my phone.<br />
<br />
I was baffled, confused, disappointed...maybe even a little hurt. Still no phone. I had been so sure that was it.<br />
<br />
I felt the time ticking away, knew I was making us late, and realized I was going to have to break code and call my own phone. Humiliation was welling up in me, but I was relieved to hear its muffled ring. My search was over! Here I come, little phone!<br />
<br />
But I couldn't quite figure out where the ring was coming from, so I started to wander frantically between rooms. It would ring clearly and I would set out in pursuit, only for the next ring to be too muffled to identify.<br />
<br />
I silently cursed my family for their disorderliness and clutter, as I began tearing into couch cushions, crawling on the floor to reach beneath furniture, and upending baskets of clean laundry. Surely someone had bumped, moved, or buried my phone in their own rash attempt to get out the door on time.<br />
<br />
The metronome in my head ticked louder and faster as I carried the wireless home phone in my hand, calling myself over and over again. Why did the ring seem to be moving? Why was it loud when I turned my head to listen, then soft again when I set out after it?<br />
<br />
Suddenly it hit me (it had to be a miracle, this could have gone on all day) I remembered where I had set my phone when the big distraction came. I stopped hunting and reached behind me to pull the phone out of my own back pocket.<br />
<br />
I felt so incredibly stupid for blaming my family that I blushed hot and red, alone in my own living room, and my next instinct was "NEVER tell ANYONE." Then I knew I was going to have to confess about the day I lost my phone in my own back pocket and couldn't follow the ring.<br />
<br />
I was wrong to judge you for using your land line to help you find your cell phone. I apologize. I lose things, too.<br />
<br />
<i><span class="verse v10" data-usfm="ISA.28.10" style="-webkit-transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); box-sizing: inherit; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">You don't even listen— </span></span><span class="verse v10" data-usfm="ISA.28.10" style="-webkit-transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); box-sizing: inherit; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);">all you hear is senseless sound </span><span class="verse v10" data-usfm="ISA.28.10" style="-webkit-transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); box-sizing: inherit; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);">after senseless sound. Isaiah 28:10</span></i><br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-12833233218249324062017-06-12T17:39:00.000-05:002017-06-12T17:45:56.817-05:00Missed OpportunitiesIt's close to quitting time, but I've been wanting to share about this. See if I can be concise. Ha!<br />
<br />
My sister visited me in March and gifted me this really cool red purse. It has a closure mechanism that's more like a mouse trap than a snap, so I get comments and compliments on it, every time I'm out and about. It is a fun connection to my sister because I get to tell everyone who comments that it was a gift from her. The purse itself also has a good story, because of the unusual way she acquired it during her time in Ecuador. But to be concise, I'll have to leave that out.<br />
<br />
Within the first week of having the purse, I was at the Goodwill looking for a blender for a church craft project when a charming, laughing voice came out of no where, "Where did you GET THAT purse?!"<br />
<br />
Before I could even determine the direction from which the voice had come, or that the exclamation was, indeed, about <i>the purse</i>, a very joyful, very extroverted woman was in my personal space, tugging the purse off my arm, marveling excitedly about the beautiful color and unusual design.<br />
<br />
She was so excited, and I was <i>so</i> <i>overwhelmed</i>. I didn't release the purse to her, of course, because who hands their purse over to a stranger at a store? Even if the stranger is incredibly sweet and joyful and complimentary. But I did try my best to answer her questions:<br />
<br />
Where did it come from? A suitcase in Ecuador.<br />
How did I get it? My sister gave it to me.<br />
What brand it is? Fenfeiya.<br />
What is that? I have no idea.<br />
Where do they sell it? I have no idea.<br />
Where have I seen one before? No where. Never.<br />
<br />
It was all happening so fast. She was so excited that a purse like mine existed in the world, and I was so...<i>overwhelmed</i>. I offered that she could take a picture of the label and see if she could find out more from there, already knowing that was going to be a dead end.<br />
<br />
It is <i>the purse,</i> what more can I say? There is only one in the world. And it is <i>mine</i>. No one else can have one, as far as I know. My sister is a one-of-kind. There's only one her, and she's mine; and therefore so is this purse. The only other answer would be to give her my purse, and I just would not do that; I'd only had it a week.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, I was able to get away with my purse. She was really gracious after the picture, grateful I'd suggested it, probably believed she would order the same purse from Amazon that evening, and finally moved on to do her shopping. I finished looking at the housewares and was tempted to take a nap on one of the couches before heading back out to the car. Before I left, I passed her holding up a jacket to herself. It was the same color as the purse. She smiled and asked if she should get the jacket. I said yes, she looks great in that color.<br />
<br />
Once I got to the car, I was still processing this interaction. I had fought my inclination to give this woman the purse the whole time in the store. I had already enjoyed it. People kept thinking it was some expensive designer purse (maybe it is, how would I know?) which really isn't my style to carry. Believe it or not, I don't actually like getting this much attention for my accessories. But it's <i>the purse</i> and she's <i>my sister</i>. And I <i>couldn't </i>give it up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5kE4chTUTFUFB1OGG5Q_o7nAbaXpOFdP2E4c03nLRXYuvPmMVCqGpxH_av4ZMItlyy0nC3UW98ragq7b6mkqv8neuulWdBIgPZ_wIOIQ2IgxyDs9GDGlCO4yatDLEQ9sfQKzHcCNdZ8/s1600/the+purse.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="963" data-original-width="633" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5kE4chTUTFUFB1OGG5Q_o7nAbaXpOFdP2E4c03nLRXYuvPmMVCqGpxH_av4ZMItlyy0nC3UW98ragq7b6mkqv8neuulWdBIgPZ_wIOIQ2IgxyDs9GDGlCO4yatDLEQ9sfQKzHcCNdZ8/s400/the+purse.png" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, we featured "the purse" in a Snap</td></tr>
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<br />
Then it occurred to me: she had a phone. I could have offered to pass it on to her later, when I was ready to switch to another purse. Surely I won't keep this purse <i>forever</i>. Nothing said I had to give her the purse <i>today.</i> But I missed it. It was an opportunity to share and I was so caught up in protecting what was mine that it didn't occur to me until it was too late that there might be another answer. For a few weeks, I said a prayer for the excited lady at the Goodwill every time anyone complimented <i>the purse.</i><br />
<br />
Then after worship last weekend there was a taco dinner and my husband was serious about eating tacos, so we stayed. A young gal sat across from us and I overheard her tell her parents how the message had really hit home for her. The pastor had talked about reaching out to others with God's love and not being afraid to offer a friendly invitation to church when the opportunity arises, even if it seems like they'd never come. She lamented that she had actually had a co-worker <i>ask to come to church with her tonight</i>. And she had told them no, she didn't want them to come; picking them up would have been inconvenient or something like that. She said she knew the message wasn't a coincidence and she wished she hadn't missed the opportunity to share her faith with someone else.<br />
<br />
I waited for her to finish, so I could apologize for eve's dropping and then tell her how I'd missed opportunities to share the Love, too. And how I hoped to recognize them when they were happening next time...but they were about to close the taco line, so instead I reminded myself not to forget to tell her and went back for a second taco.<br />
<br />
The lack of tortillas bred conversation in the taco line and I told myself I had to be mistaken, when from somewhere down the line, a familiar accent, full of joy and enthusiasm began assuring us that they were bringing more tortillas for us. I turned and recognized the woman who loved <i>the purse</i>. It was <i>her</i>. How in the world?<br />
<br />
I sheepishly asked if she was the woman I'd met at Goodwill who liked my purse and she rejoiced and started to hug me and said she thought it was me, but was afraid to say anything.<br />
<br />
Then I got her number. When I'm done with it, she'll get <i>the purse.</i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="verse v5" data-usfm="COL.4.5" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: italic; text-indent: 18px; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">Live wisely among those who are not believers, and make the most of every opportunity. </span></span><span class="verse v6" data-usfm="COL.4.6" style="box-sizing: inherit; text-indent: 18px; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="content" style="box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;"><i>Let your conversation be </i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>gracious and attractive </i></span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>so that you will have the right response for everyone.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; text-indent: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colossians 4:5-6</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="verse v6" data-usfm="COL.4.6" style="box-sizing: inherit; text-indent: 18px; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="note f" style="box-sizing: inherit; display: inline; position: relative;"><span class=" body" style="background-color: #eeeeee; border-bottom-left-radius: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 5px; border-top-left-radius: 5px; border-top-right-radius: 5px; border: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 4px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; display: inline-block; left: 5px; line-height: 22px; opacity: 0; padding: 5px 10px; pointer-events: none; position: absolute; text-indent: 0px; top: 17px; transform: scaleY(0.85); transition: transform 0.5s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93), opacity 0.5s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); width: 200px;"><span class="fr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">:6 </span><span class="ft" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Greek </span><span class="it" style="box-sizing: inherit;">and seasoned with salt.</span></span></span></span></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="verse v6" data-usfm="COL.4.6" style="box-sizing: inherit; text-indent: 18px; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="note f" style="box-sizing: inherit; display: inline; position: relative;"><span class=" body" style="background-color: #eeeeee; border-bottom-left-radius: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 5px; border-top-left-radius: 5px; border-top-right-radius: 5px; border: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 4px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; display: inline-block; left: 5px; line-height: 22px; opacity: 0; padding: 5px 10px; pointer-events: none; position: absolute; text-indent: 0px; top: 17px; transform: scaleY(0.85); transition: transform 0.5s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93), opacity 0.5s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); width: 200px;"><span class="fr" style="box-sizing: inherit;">4:6 </span><span class="ft" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Greek </span><span class="it" style="box-sizing: inherit;">and seasoned with salt.</span><i style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-indent: 18px;">so that you will have the right response for everyon</span></i><span style="background-color: transparent;">Colossians 4:5-6</span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="verse v6" data-usfm="COL.4.6" style="box-sizing: inherit; text-indent: 18px; transition: background-color 0.75s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93);"><span class="note f" style="box-sizing: inherit; display: inline; position: relative;"><span class=" body" style="background-color: #eeeeee; border-bottom-left-radius: 5px; border-bottom-right-radius: 5px; border-top-left-radius: 5px; border-top-right-radius: 5px; border: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 4px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; display: inline-block; left: 5px; line-height: 22px; opacity: 0; padding: 5px 10px; pointer-events: none; position: absolute; text-indent: 0px; top: 17px; transform: scaleY(0.85); transition: transform 0.5s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93), opacity 0.5s cubic-bezier(0.42, 1, 0.16, 0.93); width: 200px;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuNu-hQVR8M-oEmlWHN2Ftg8MAhCcBqW2X0y9t1mYgdEF8N2hP7g3kcRb7TKFxGg9AH_peC0xI-Ay9dVkyN-Jf0Q4QDP0_VdSd3bDQM1cZpaDLaKkob_ZY-Sc9CfAEwPe9JCo7yrihoU/s1600/the+purse.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuNu-hQVR8M-oEmlWHN2Ftg8MAhCcBqW2X0y9t1mYgdEF8N2hP7g3kcRb7TKFxGg9AH_peC0xI-Ay9dVkyN-Jf0Q4QDP0_VdSd3bDQM1cZpaDLaKkob_ZY-Sc9CfAEwPe9JCo7yrihoU/s320/the+purse.PNG" width="180" /></a></span></span></span></span></i></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-86363099019781739042017-05-22T18:26:00.000-05:002017-05-22T18:26:22.840-05:00Give the woman a seat!I recently heard a church story that I've found myself repeatedly mulling over and thought I'd share with you. I guess it's a story about outsiders and insiders, and welcome and invitation, and resurrection. It's a story that showed me a blind spot.<br />
<br />
At a church on Easter Sunday, a visitor arrived late and there wasn't a seat left in the sanctuary, so she was asked sit in an overflow area. She angrily cussed the ushers before heading to the overflow.<br />
<br />
My first reaction was a gut check. Who comes to church on Easter and cusses the ushers? Who comes late to church on Easter? What could possibly be more offensive? Those poor ushers didn't sign up for that, did they?<br />
<br />
Despite my initial shock, grace prevailed as I next concluded that this was an incredible opportunity for that church. Surely, this woman was unchurched. She probably uses raw language in her daily life; she probably gets what she wants or needs by being insistent. Yet somehow, she saw some ray of hope that led her to visit a church on Easter. How cool for that church, to have the opportunity to shine a light into this woman's life, even if it was from the overflow.<br />
<br />
Then someone else's reaction to this story truly humbled me. Who, if anyone, needed a seat in the sanctuary on Easter? So many people who were occupying seats already knew about God's love. So many people were soaking in the Easter celebration, who <i>already had</i> Grace. Why didn't anyone offer that woman a seat?<br />
<br />
Wow. Yes. Of course. Why didn't I see that?<br />
<br />
I know how obstacles stand in the way of faith. I've been at plenty of church executive board meetings through the years, pushing for better parking lot access, for gentler sayings on the church sign...I even passionately considered switching my attendance to Denny's at one point, because of the many ways they removed the hardest obstacles and made my family feel invited on Sunday mornings.<br />
<br />
But I'm realistic. There aren't very many churches out there running out of seats. Not even on Easter. Yet when it comes down to it, I had to examine my heart. Would I give up my seat in the sanctuary on Easter Sunday to an angry visitor? Are there ways, if I look at the hard spots in my heart, I am directing people to the overflow? How am I clinging to the comfort of my own faith expression at the expense of others who don't yet know?<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; text-indent: 18px;"><i>“When you are invited to a wedding feast, don’t sit in the seat of honor." </i>Luke 14:8</span><br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-80646848107589749692017-04-10T12:11:00.001-05:002017-04-10T12:11:21.468-05:00I find people exhausting...and yet compelling.OK, so it's been a while. I don't know why today is the day that I felt called to resume blogging...but here I am.<br />
<br />
I'd try to catch you up on all my follies from the last few years, but I think you and I both know I will come up with plenty of new ones to keep you shaking your head. I'm bunking my perfectionism and typing right into Blogger, hoping that without editing I'm still understandable. You and I both know I need more polish and less words, but oh, well.<br />
<br />
So on to my confession:<br />
<br />
I just got a reference to a workshop called "Connections Matter." [http://www.connectionsmatter.org] I signed up to become better informed about the role that human relationships can play in mitigating the longterm effects of trauma. It's a subject of intense interest me, in part because I'm a front-line worker in the business of transformation: helping the hurt, wounded, broken, and sinful grow into healed, whole, redeemed, and beloved Children of God. And in part, because it's a path I'm trying to walk myself!<br />
<br />
I love that researchers like Brene Brown and organizations like Connections Matter are finding ways to validate and quantify for us how invaluable we are to one another. One of the things they keep finding, that is especially inspiring to me, is how <i>little</i> it takes to make an <i>immense </i>difference in someone else's life. I needed to hear that today. So maybe I'll repeat it for you:<br />
<br />
<b>It is especially inspiring to me, is how <i>little</i> it takes to make an <i>immense </i>difference in someone else's life.</b><br />
<br />
You see, people overwhelm me. I'm an introvert. I thrive best in small company, or structured interactions. The narthex of our church on Sunday morning during fellowship time, where any of these hundreds of people can approach me at any moment with a complete myriad of topics, suggestions, questions, or needs -- that is without a doubt, the absolute hardest part of my job. A huge crowd and no structure. I need a nap now, just from mentally going there.<br />
<br />
But those same people, as I am bringing their faces to mind or looking out at them from the platform during worship -- I am filled with love and prayer. I know there is need in each of them and long to see God move in life-giving ways on their behalf. I long for them to know -- each one personally -- how beloved and valued they are. How clear the mark of their Creator is on each one of them.<br />
<br />
When I get caught up in my feelings of <i>responsibility</i> to love my neighbors, I need God to call me back to humility. God is there all the time, bridging the gap between my social limitations and the deep, deep love for people that is God-in-me. I have to trust more, to rest in that more. And then I hear these amazing statistics and affirmations: just <i>one</i> dependable and caring adult can offset all the factors that put traumatized kids at-risk. It doesn't even have to be a relative.<br />
<br />
Did you hear that? <b>Just <i>one</i> dependable and caring adult can offset all the factors that put traumatized kids at-risk. It doesn't even have to be a relative.</b><br />
<br />
You know what that tells me? God <i>is</i> there. Filling the gaps. No act of love or kindness -- no heartfelt prayer for grace and hope -- comes back empty.<br />
<br />
So we can make our communities stronger in these really simple ways: holding the door for someone at the store, listening to a young person tell their whole story without interrupting, inviting a coworker out for a cup of coffee.<br />
<br />
I often shake my head at God, who filled me up with so much love for others, and then failed to provide me that gregarious, extroverted personality that could make that love impactful. But when I think that way, it's all about <i>me</i>. And you don't need more of <i>me</i>; you need more of the <i>perfect</i> love the fills my gaps.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">We love each other because he loved us first.</span></i><br />
1 John 4:19Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-20228633076440839012015-12-10T19:51:00.002-06:002015-12-10T19:51:22.721-06:00<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Brian took the lead on the family Christmas letter this year, putting together one of his fun CyWalker Productions trailers. If a picture's worth a thousand words, this 1 1/2 minute video is a twelve page letter. So take a look at some of our highlights from 2015.<br />
<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/otK8MeO9ULA" width="560"></iframe>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-3585297006774611052012-12-23T14:56:00.002-06:002012-12-23T14:56:46.014-06:00I don't like donuts.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was
Sunday, and we were all loaded in the car after church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad joyfully announced, “Hey, kids!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re going to go get donuts!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My siblings responded with the gratifying
celebration my parents expected, while my face dropped and I said, “But, I don’t
like donuts.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom had a cold tone to her
voice, as she doled out the most underused parenting phrase ever, “You <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are going</i> to eat a donut, Emily, whether
you like it or not.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120101131538/smosh/images/b/b2/Pink_frosted_sprinkled_donut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120101131538/smosh/images/b/b2/Pink_frosted_sprinkled_donut.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can only
imagine how frustrated my parents were, when I sat at the table poking holes in
my donut, the way my sister and brother poked holes in their beets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the overwhelming powerlessness of
being told that I could not get up from the breakfast table until my glazed
donut was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If only it could have
been a slice of toast, or a bowl of broccoli, but no, it was a donut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dread.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I really don’t
know what’s wrong with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I empathize with
the exasperation of people around me, when they kindly offer me a token of delight,
only to find that I’m not delighted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wish I could somehow muster a sincere appreciation for fried dough and icing,
but I just can’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that I hate
donuts anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was a kid, I
really hated them; I had to choke them down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, I eat them with the same tolerant disinterest I feel when I eat
oatmeal, or swallow medicine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not
terrible, but I wouldn’t go out of my way for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a good cup of coffee definitely helps
make it feel worthwhile.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before
anyone gives up on me, I do want to be clear that this donut-thing has
parameters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like donuts, but I do
love cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love cheesecake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fudge brownies and chocolate chip
cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ice cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the semi-dessert, semi-side-dish Jell-O
salads people make for the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
most ways, I think I am a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">normal</i>
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for some reason…donuts…uhg.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For everything God created is good, and nothing
is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving,</span></i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> 1
Timothy 4:4</span></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-77767951896737475142012-12-14T16:40:00.001-06:002012-12-14T16:40:53.639-06:00The funny thing about aliens, Mayans, and the end of the world.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Signs</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My husband and I watched it at the drive-in when it came out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were actually parked in the back row, sitting
in the bed of our pickup, under the stars, surrounded by a field of full grown
corn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was deliriously creepy and we
jumped every time we heard a stalk of corn crackle or brush up against
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun to let ourselves
get swept up in the concept of how the world might end, and how human
creativity and resilience, potentially coupled with divine intervention, might
bring about pockets of survivors.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve read
articles about the zombie, Armageddon, end-of-the-world trend, and I find it
kind of amusing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, there have
been seasons of end-times obsession throughout human history; even the Bible
includes such stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there seems
to be more widespread interest and fodder for it, perhaps more pessimism about
our collective future, in recent times – what with the advent of the atomic
age, the mega-storms and floods of our inconvenient ecology, and the nagging
fear that computers might be devouring our souls, even as they edge curiously
closer to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Terminator</i>-like self
awareness.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know
people who spend time and energy pursuing these unfortunate possibilities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wonder about whether the government is
covering up alien abductions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They worry
that the ice caps are going to melt and drown us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They grow garlic to ward off vampires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they arm themselves, sometimes they
stockpile canned goods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they
don’t do anything, except for wring their hands and worry.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought
the whole alien thing through a while back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is what I concluded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
there are no aliens: awesome, there is nothing to worry about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there are aliens: they’re either
benevolent, or keeping to a ceasefire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If they have the technology to travel through space to our world, we
are, by definition, at their mercy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
the government is hiding them from us, they are either complying with an
agreement that is keeping us at peace with them, or protecting us earthlings
from the mass chaos that all the alien-fearing worriers would potentially
incite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way, we’re actually
better off to go with it, than to fight it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, there is really nothing for me to worry about.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now we are reaching
the end of the Mayan calendar, and the world, once again, sits with baited
breath, waiting to see if this is really it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think for most rationally minded, healthy individuals, these subjects
are all a matter of entertainment and diversion, but for the few who are still
feeling anxious, wondering which day might be your last, I have some
suggestions that might bring you comfort, or deeper anxiety:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>You are going to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sorry to deliver the news so callously,
but I hope you’ve been informed of this before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Live each day with the full and transformative knowledge that your days
and minutes are numbered, and it would behoove you to make good use of each and
every one you are blessed to enjoy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
could end for you at any moment.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>The world is not going to last forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, how long or how short it will go on is
not for us to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been a
beautiful, joyful place for humans to dwell, and I, for one, am thankful to
have been born here, and not on Mercury, where my life expectancy would certainly
have been much shorter – even if 12/21 is the end for Earth.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Contemplating and preparing for events that are
out of our control is futile, and distracts from #1.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>If the world ends next Friday, you will not care
on Saturday.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some people
would say that I can be callous about the end of the world, because I have a
Christian faith that asserts an afterlife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For many, the promise of heaven is enough to sooth their fears about
death and end times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I cannot deny that
the Christian promise of an eternal utopia is both appealing, and potentially
soothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, my faith offers me something
else that even some non-Christians, or Christians who feel less certain about
Heaven might appreciate: my faith offers me assurance that I am in the care of
a loving Creator, who intends well for myself and all humanity, regardless of
what absurd trials may challenge us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
my faith offers me a compass in life – an ethical measure and a foundation for
my identity as a child of God – that gives me confidence to choose right and
live meaningfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter what day is
my last, I will come to that moment and know that I have done my very best to
live well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, to me, is the best
possible end to an earthly life, whenever it arrives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will rest in peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dearest wish is for others to go through
life with a similar knowledge and assurance.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It was just before the
Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this
world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved
them to the end.</i> John 13:1</span></div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-72547233216706021542012-12-07T10:49:00.000-06:002012-12-07T10:55:43.956-06:00I was a lousy cook.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I took Home
Ec. in middle school and learned the basics of following a recipe. I knew how to use measuring cups, how to boil
water; I could crack eggs, flip pancakes, and whip up a mean batch of Hamburger
Helper, by the time I headed to college.
But I hated cooking. Along with
various other forms of housekeeping, cooking was a chore I’d felt strapped with
as a teenager, and I took no joy in turning raw ingredients into meals. In fact, I survived college eating at the
cafeteria, or whipping up microwave food, splurging occasionally on spaghetti,
and feeding on snack foods throughout the day.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I
landed in Villach, Austria, after college, and hit the Spar store for rations the
first time, I was shocked. I felt like
Ma Ingalls shopping at the general store.
The boxed dinners I had counted on were nowhere to be
found. Meat had to be requested by the
cut, from the butcher; I didn't know what any of the cuts were called in English, let alone German. The small rows of
shelves were full of raw ingredients – flour, oil, starch. The produce was locally grown, making small, pathetic
piles compared to the enormous, shiny fruits and vegetables I was used to
picking up at the store back in the U.S.
Even the eggs appeared to have been pulled out from under a chicken just
that morning – sometimes feathers or bedding were still stuck to them.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I struggled
to feed myself for the first couple months I lived in Villach. I ate spaghetti three times a week. Cereal and yogurt were daily staples. A fellow teaching assistant turned me on to
Brie cheese on zwieback toast, and I probably ate that twice a day. I was walking several miles each day, back
and forth to work and everywhere else I needed to go, so my pathetic cooking
caught up with me. I was hungry all the
time.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then my
little sister bought a plane ticket and joined me in Villach. While I’d been off at college, getting
educated, she’d been developing her life skills in the school of hard
knocks. I thought, when she asked if she
could come to Europe with me for a few months, that it was going to help her
break out of her stagnation; I thought I was going to help open her eyes to the
bigger possibilities in life and we were going to have a blast, touring the
continent and spending time together.
What I never imagined, was that my sister – still a kid in my eyes – was
going to head into that ill-equipped Spar store with me, and walk down the
aisles putting spices and ingredients into our basket with a deft confidence
that made my jaw drop.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That was
before we even hit the kitchen. It was there
that I truly became her student. She
would grab a few staples and start opening the spice jars to give them a sniff
before adding a bit of one thing, or more of something else. She chopped vegetables and minced garlic. As
she worked in the kitchen, I just watched her and learned. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t need a recipe, and she wasn’t
worried whether every dish turned out Betty-Crocker-perfect. She just used her imagination to build a dish
in her head, what the flavors would taste like together, how long to keep it on
the heat to get it crisp, when to add salt and when to leave it out. Of course, there was no pressure on the outcome:
I was starving and thrilled to eat something besides zwieback. What I got, though, were delicious meals, and
a new attitude. It was fun to cook with
my sister. And after she left, and
later, once I’d come back to the U.S., it was fun to cook on my own.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I learned so
much from watching my sister cook. The kitchen is no longer a chemistry lab,
upon which I expect to be graded.
Instead it is an art studio. There
is now such a joy for me in experimenting with ingredients and techniques. I see the cookbook as a guidebook, instead of
a manual, and love looking over a list of ingredients and imagining the
flavors, building the dish in my head and tweaking it to fit the groceries I
have in my cupboards, or the preferences of who I am cooking for. Sometimes everything turns out fantastic, and
my kids rave about how much better my meatloaf is than the restaurant
stuff. Sometimes it doesn’t go as well,
and we serve our dinner with lots of ketchup and barbeque sauce.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But the most
important thing is that my kitchen has become a place of love and joy. I enjoy making the menu and buying the food, I
love to sit around the table with my beloved family and see them nourished by
what I have prepared for them. I think
my sister got a lot out of her visit to Austria – but more than that, I still treasure the
lessons I learned from her.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Anyone too lazy to cook will starve, but a
hard worker is a valuable treasure.</i> Proverbs 12:27</span></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-20218822750551789142012-11-16T17:34:00.002-06:002012-11-16T17:37:27.617-06:00This bacon thing is getting out of hand<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I used to
make turkey bacon and thought it was great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then one week, I ventured off the health-food track and picked up some
pork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve never looked back.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As my kids
get older, and their palates mature, somehow foods they once loved become
suddenly indigestible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The antidote to
this trend, it seems, is inevitably more bacon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First I bought bacon bits for salad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I found myself sprinkling them into green beans, next burgers, then
meatloaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I can’t say for sure, but
I might have sneaked a tablespoon or so of bacon into their oatmeal the other
morning.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Running
parallel to this developing bacon addiction, has been the sudden influx of
widely available, bacon-infused products.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Would my children eat more broccoli, if I had a bacon-scented candle lit
on the table?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would they remember to
brush every morning, if their toothpaste tasted bacon-y?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it’s altogether possible.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not sure
what I was thinking, last week, when I picked up yet another bacon incarnation:
bacon flavored spaghetti sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it
wasn’t because I was making the kids a quick, little pasta dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I took the ultimate risk and added this
absurd concoction to the world’s most amazing, Italian dish – which should
never, ever be messed with – lasagna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know a lot of people who claim to make a fabulous lasagna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me snicker, really, because how can
you possibly go wrong, when you are preparing a dish that is made up of layer
upon layer of pasta and cheese?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But anyway,
you are all going to have to bow out of this informal lasagna competition – I have
it won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now have the ultimate secret
recipe: Bacon Lasagna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids always
love lasagna, but they have never before eaten the whole pan in one meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All hail – bacon.</span></div>
<a href="http://celiasue.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/lens18706178_1319165767bacon-turkey.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://celiasue.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/lens18706178_1319165767bacon-turkey.jpeg" width="196" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m thinking
about weaving bacon around the turkey next week for Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I do, it might be the first time ever that
6 people, most of them children, eat an entire 16 pound turkey in one
meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t committed, but I’m seriously
considering the endeavor.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One note of
warning: Bacon flavored soda pop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
knew it was wrong, but we tried it anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Stick with Bacon Lasagna.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-82047257618647384302012-11-09T21:12:00.000-06:002012-11-10T17:18:03.787-06:00Dear Good Samaritan...<span style="font-family: inherit;">Reading
people’s bumper stickers is a wonderful source of amusement for me – the more
the better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I gain some pithy
insight, sometimes I cringe or groan, but almost always, I am entertained by
what someone choose as their personal message to the world behind them.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As much as I
love reading bumper stickers, I rarely display them myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To me they are kind of like tattoos – there’s
no one, brief message, by which I would want to be defined as a human being –
or even just as a motorist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even those
cute stick families, or an ichthus (the fish shape Christians use to identify
themselves to one another).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both are still
loaded symbols that might convey to someone a disdain for them I do not have,
or a vanity to which I do not subscribe.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes I
am tempted, in my love of back bumper bling, to try to create a collage of
stickers that somehow defies the stereotypes I fear reinforcing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if a put my pro-life “Motherhood is a
proud profession” sticker next to my “Obama Biden 2012” sticker, add a hopeful,
“Jesus loves you,” throw in a cheesy, “smile, it makes people wonder what you’re
up to,” and then top it off with a snarky, “Don’t worry what people think, they
don’t do it very often.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be
kind of fun to add the stick family of Star Wars characters, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would the people behind me at a stop light,
from whichever camp of abortion, politics, religion, contemplation, or Sci-Fi,
be confused and angry, or marvel at my breadth of commitments and sense of
humor?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last week,
someone proved to me why no message can ever stand alone, as a testimony to the
world about who you are and what you are about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My husband had a campaign sticker on the back of his truck, and we came out
of a store to find a note tucked under our windshield wiper.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p></span><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSOmX5S22MZW5IL933vd0x5DtUXOOYQD_WpZOWMxhTgJ6QU135W_0NfuY9hwi7eSJ1BDRDN3i3tot8Q3C0yA2c3f-4_37UhBkSy-_eG6UEyCkO8QNLGymbs9wJ1RUAnD4XJY-QwbsKIs/s1600/bumper+sticker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSOmX5S22MZW5IL933vd0x5DtUXOOYQD_WpZOWMxhTgJ6QU135W_0NfuY9hwi7eSJ1BDRDN3i3tot8Q3C0yA2c3f-4_37UhBkSy-_eG6UEyCkO8QNLGymbs9wJ1RUAnD4XJY-QwbsKIs/s400/bumper+sticker.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps this
person thought they were going to have a laugh at our expense, and I’m sure
they proudly boasted about the pile of these photocopied greetings that they
had distributed during election season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But what does anyone gain from calling someone else an idiot, based on
one, small modicum of information about that person?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are going to call yourself a “good Samaritan,”
I suggest you pull open your scriptures and actually read the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus’ story redefined community,
illustrating that those who agree with you, who publicly claim to operate out of
the same perspective, are often of no value to you in your time of deepest need
– real community has to do with reaching out to one another, past divisions and
divides, and offering our best to one another in every circumstance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Labeling someone “idiot” is in direct
conflict with the story of the good Samaritan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This note
tells me, from this one, small modicum of information I now have, that the writer
is not a faithful, generous servant of Christ, using the blessing of freedom to
build up our country and make the world a better place, but instead a judgmental,
divisive person, who has done their candidate and their Creator a great
disservice, by spreading ill-will in their name.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I would
like to push myself, unlike this “good Samaritan,” to look the past one,
hopefully small, shortcoming I see in this person, and remember there is an
entire person on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d
like to believe that they are actually a good person, with a misguided sense of
humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to hope they will offer
me the same grace when I cut them off on the freeway, forget to use my blinker,
or accidentally swerve into their lane while avoiding a fallen branch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope they can join me in attempting to
offer less judgment, and more acknowledgement of our commonalities.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”</i> Luke
10:29</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-53032297686324870232012-11-02T04:11:00.000-05:002012-11-02T04:11:00.719-05:00I love the High Life Lounge – for serious. I love it.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thepigstail.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/carpet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://thepigstail.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/carpet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this place.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Whether it’s
the awesome collection of beer signs or the wood paneling, I couldn’t say for
sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s the $2 Sloppy Joe, because
everyone knows I hate overpaying for a meal, but the High Life is the dingiest place
I ever loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out with a friend a few
weeks ago, I was taken aback, trying to figure out what was wrong with the
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally the giant fans clued me
in – they had shampooed the carpet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
just didn’t feel like the same place when the shag was fluffy – and didn’t have
Chili-Cheese Tater Tots smeared into the fibers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure it will better by my next visit.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The High
Life is a place where you can order Schlitz without shame, and take down a
deviled egg or two while you enjoy your cheap, crappy bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t disparage the good times available at
the west side’s upscale hotspots, complete with their fancy martini menus and well-dressed
patrons, but if you’re going to pay for a hoity-toity beer, the last thing you
want to do is have it served to you with a napkin around it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why pay for a status beer, and then pretend
you want to hide the label?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You get none
of that at the High Life, a place that feels like you grandparents’ basement,
where you can buy the same brands of beer your grandpa would have stocked in his
basement fridge, and eat the same comfort foods your grandma would have served you
at the Formica table, with the green flowered vinyl chairs.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
grandparents were all strict Baptists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They didn’t have a beer fridge, or a basement hang out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even my high school home was a historic farm
house with a cellar, not a paneled basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe that’s why the High Life is such a comfort to me – it’s the
teenage beer party I never got invited to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And best of all – there are enough other 30-somethings hanging out there
to keep me from feeling how old I am that the décor of my childhood is now back
in style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you all have a similar
place in your town – otherwise, maybe you have some neighbors that will share
their basement with you?</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Be happy and enjoy eating and drinking! God
decided long ago that this is what you should do. </i>Ecclesiastes 9:7</span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-20100720559256466412012-10-26T11:47:00.002-05:002012-10-26T11:48:52.463-05:00I'm into creepy karaoke<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve only
seen it a few times, and at the same place, so maybe there is some karaoke out
there that isn’t so creepy, but so far, for me, it’s one of those train wrecks
you can’t turn away from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like
I’m ready to write a sit-com pilot, based on the recurring characters that show
up and sing their hearts out each week.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s an
assortment of trucker-types: middle aged men who know the lyrics to a bizarre
array of obscure, and sometimes more than vaguely suggestive, songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s one in a flannel shirt with a beard,
who played roulette and sang <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I Want You
Back</i>, all in falsetto (I think he was trying to use his falsetto,
anyway).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then there’s the guy who wears
old grey sweatshirts with team logos, shop teacher glasses, and dad jeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He brings his wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sits there and rolls her eyes, while he perseveres
through Hank Williams and Johnny Cash – he generally hits the final note like a
pro.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s also a round faced guy who looks
a little more ethnic – we think of Guillermo on Jimmy Kimmel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sings pretty decent, and hasn’t made the
hair on my neck stand up with his song choices, but we do wonder if he works as
a parking lot attendant by day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d try
to give you an example of the really creepy fare, but, if you can imagine, not
one of those songs am I otherwise familiar enough with to be able to recount
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Carl, Bob, and Ralph are in a
rotation all night, so if new faces don’t wander into the Bar & Grill, the
Karaoke DJ (is that what you call the person running the machine?) brings up
the level of the show by doing their own number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one guy has a great Neil Diamond
sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty awesome on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They’re Coming to America</i>, but a little
disconcerting on those off the wall Willie Nelson and Whitney Houston numbers
he pulls up.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Two younger
guys (probably the future Carl and Bobs) came in and joined up for some pretty
awesome duets and trios the one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They got the girl who was running the machine to join in for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Life in a Northern Town</i> and they did
such a cool version we were actually looking the song up and adding it to our
playlists the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gave us a
glimpse of why other, perhaps less warped than us, people actually like to come
see karaoke sometimes.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’re going
back tonight for the Halloween Karaoke, and trying to bring some of our friends
down with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They advertised prizes for
best costume, and best costume with song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’re going as cheerleaders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any
good song suggestions, in case I get my husband tipsy enough to sing?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You sing foolish songs to the music of
harps, and you make up new tunes, just as David used to do. </i>Amos 6:5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-38491055213524770012012-10-19T11:29:00.003-05:002012-10-19T11:29:46.825-05:00I love grocery shopping...normally.
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love
grocery shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the one situation
where I can spend $120 a week and feel not a moment of buyer’s remorse. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have to spend 15 minutes in the
condiment aisle, considering the pros and cons of, “Oh, man, I love this peanut
butter, but do I really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> another
jar of peanut butter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is my husband
going to say if comes home and finds <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">another</i>
jar of peanut butter in the cupboard?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The one
thing, however, that can quickly ruin an otherwise glorious trip to the grocery
store, is a lousy cart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do, in fact,
often decide which store to patronize, based exclusively on the quality of
their shopping carts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The worst is
Walmart. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shop there only when
necessary, because they have the hinkiest carts in the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to live for excitement to enjoy that
moment when the cart suddenly veers into a rack of glass jars, as one of the
wheels inexplicably decides to stop turning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are usually layers upon layers of filth and grime on the push
handle – the flavor of which apparently pleases my one year old – and the
minute you load the basket with a gallon of milk and a rump roast, the whole
cart pulls to the side and one of the wheels offers a rhythmic hitch to the
rest of your excursion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that doesn’t
even get me started on the child restraint issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would it take to occasionally replace
those plastic latches on the seatbelt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Does my toddler need the opportunity to high dive from the seat to the
tile, while I’m digging through the produce, trying to find one, decently ripe
avocado?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Target, by
far, has the best carts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have the
kiddy carts with the big red seat that allow two kids to ride in style at a
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sometimes go out of my way to
shop at Target, just to enjoy the sweet, smooth drive of their Cadillac carts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, for what they charge for beer,
they can afford to keep their carts nice.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fareway is
really my ultimate favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have a
small town grocer mentality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their meat
counter is renowned for great deals and great cuts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even empty your cart for you at the
checkout, push your groceries out to your vehicle and load them in the trunk
while you stand and watch them, or strap in your toddler. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hyvee and Dahls – it takes over an hour to get
my shopping done, as I have to wade through aisle after aisle of unnecessary
varieties and absurd merchandise, intended to rope me into impulse
purchases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at Fareway, I get what I
need and I get out – in 45 minutes or less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And their carts are always in good, working order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or at least they always were…</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This week,
Fareway failed me miserably.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My toddler
wanted to ride in a "car" cart, so I put her in, but didn't stop to strap
her, because she's always been content in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was already three isles into it (and
therefore a million miles away from the other carts), when she started climbing
out to do her own shopping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went for
containment, but found that the seatbelts in the car were broken, so I was out
of luck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, I didn’t meet my 45
minute shopping goal, because the highlights of the trip included repeated confrontations
over her picking things off of shelves, doing at least half my shopping carrying
a wiggling worm who wanted to escape from my hip, and knocking over a giant
cardboard display full of boxes of tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
good news was that in her attempts to escape me, she only bonked her head
twice, once in front, once in back.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">God bless
the staff at Fareway, though, who never seemed troubled at all by my
ill-behaved little turkey, even when 50 boxes of tea were strewn across the
aisle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After she threw her final
meltdown in the checkout line, when I was ready to push the cart with the broken
straps off a cliff, the sweet older gentleman pushing our groceries out to our
car gave my little terror the warmest smile, pulled out a candy necklace and
said, “Maybe she will like this; thanks so much for shopping with us today.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">OK, Fareway,
I’ll be back – but would you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">please</i>
fix the seatbelts in the car cart?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t
think for a minute I actually rewarded her behavior with candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think you know who deserved a treat after
that shopping trip.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Their chariot wheels got stuck, and it was
hard for them to move. </i>Exodus 14:25</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-10053826671883860312012-10-12T16:17:00.000-05:002012-10-12T16:17:05.929-05:00One dog, one vote<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I generally
hesitate to talk politics, especially because I really don’t think Jesus was a
Republican or a Democrat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see a lot of
damage done to the gospel by Christians invoking their faith in support of one party,
one candidate, or one issue, over the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While I do think that employing our faith in our ethical and political
decision-making is essential and logical, up until this week I thought
one-issue voting was a misguided practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I believed that it was a tool used by people of faith to try and
manipulate one another – as if Christ came to earth to reshape the American
political environment around a single issue – a particular sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That without examining any other aspect of a
person’s life, choices, or faith practices, you could conclude whether they are
truly a faithful follower, exclusively based on their voting record, sounded
absurd to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, of course, changed
in 30 short seconds, when I saw the powerful message I’ve posted here:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KludkYSMi_E" width="560"></iframe><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Many
churches want to tell me how to vote.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Many pundits want to tell me how to vote.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many powerful, well-funded special interests
want to tell me how to vote.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my dog </i>wants to tell me how to vote?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For real?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My dog gets a say in how these elections should turn out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Animal
cruelty</i> is now the single-issue litmus test I should employ for electing
candidates?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Take it easy
– I love animals and Steve King does kinda sound like a creep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also love steak, and I could definitely
see the sport in pelting a deer with an arrow and taking it home for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I absolutely love going to the races and
seeing the swift and majestic horses run, even though it sometimes results in
their untimely demise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, of course, I
don’t support dog fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I definitely
wouldn’t take my kids to watch two animals fight to the death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m not sure how heavy my concern is for
whether pets get included in disaster plan legislation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If my own home were to catch fire, I can
assure you, getting the dog out would definitely be at the bottom of my
"disaster plan," compared to making sure all the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">people</i>
get accounted for; it would, frankly, make me sad if first responders had to
weigh a legal obligation toward my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pet</i>
against getting back to the firehouse and being available to help other <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">humans</i>.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let’s get
real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we are consider the plethora
of issues and problems with which our communities are struggling, when we
confront all the exploitation and injustice that goes on around us, when we dream
of how to make the world a better place – has the propagation of special
interests gotten so out of hand that now even our pets get a say in the political
process, provided they make a donation large enough?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
responded, “The children have to be fed first. It isn’t right to take the
children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”</i> Mark 7:27</span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-14431585958930333122012-10-05T16:43:00.000-05:002012-10-05T16:44:19.807-05:00I broke the seal.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Somehow, the
embarrassment I felt wasn’t nearly commensurate with the absurdity of what was
happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, too many
beers, topped off with a shot or two, does help numb your inhibitions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was 1996
and my husband and I had recently started dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a senior in college and he had just
graduated the spring before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
immediately found himself at ease with my friends, which was really a big plus,
because it made it that much easier to make time for dating when he could just
join right in with my other friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
seemed to take it in stride when we held quiet cocktail parties, instead of
raging beerfests (although he did not get the reaction he had hoped for when he
crashed the Christmas party dressed as Santa Claus).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laughed along, instead of asking to be let
out of the car, when we got carried away with snorting contests on the way to the
bars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he even thought it was funny
when one of my friends suggested one night, as we were heading out to a pub,
that it would be funny if, on the way back, we stopped at a nearby home where
there was a boat parked in their driveway, and took a photo of everyone by the
boat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was not a
particularly unusual night at the pub.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were a couple shots exchanged, and plenty of beer consumed, since
only one of us had to drive home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
actually squeezed all six of us into a 5-seater car, just to ensure that no one
would drink and drive.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One of my
friends frequently repeated a mantra on nights like that, “Don’t break the
seal,” she would say, “Once you break the seal, you’re going to have to use the
bathroom every five minutes for the rest of the night.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How right she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we left the pub to head home, I
thought I would arm myself against the constant hilarity of my friends and the
coldness of the night by taking a quick trip to the restroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt much better as we piled into the
sedan, and my boyfriend offered me his lap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey, guys,
are we going to get the boat picture?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course!”
we all chimed and the driver headed over to the house in question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all were joking and laughing pretty hard
the whole way, giving me an all-to-familiar sensation that, in the back of my
mind, rebuked me for my foolish decision to empty my bladder before the drive.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When we got
to the boat, we were certainly not the most smooth criminals to ever cross onto
someone’s property, as it took quite a feat to get all of us out of the car and
posed by the boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the mean time, I
found myself succumbing to the kryptonite tri-fecta: laughing uncontrollably,
breaking the seal, and insane Iowa cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Despite the warmth of beer, coursing through our veins, all of us felt
the sharp sting of the bitter cold, and I, in particular, quickly realized that
while my face, hands, and feet were freezing, my thighs were, by contrast,
suddenly quite warm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn’t
even hide what was happening, and there was another roar of laughter as I
squeeked, “Oh, no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m peeing my pants!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To which my
friends replied between chortles, “Oh, no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’re riding home on your boyfriend’s lap!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And, yes, my
boyfriend let me sit on his lap for the, thankfully brief, ride back to our
apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And somehow it didn’t even
feel like a fight to maintain my dignity, sitting on my love interest, wearing
urine-soaked pants.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I see in
retrospect there were many rules for right living I broke that night: “don’t
trespass,” “wear your seatbelt,” and “don’t break the seal!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stupidity is reckless, senseless,
and foolish.</i> Proverbs 9:13</span></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-22589084281868111442012-09-28T06:30:00.000-05:002012-09-28T06:30:03.249-05:00Fair is not fair.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It shouldn’t
take more than a brief glance at the circumstances of life around us to know
that fairness is an illusion we subscribe to, not a reality we can expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a number of ways, both personal and
through my friends and loved ones, I have been repeatedly reminded that life
is, most certainly, not fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unprepared,
ill-equipped teenage mothers populate our high schools, but wonderful,
responsible people with great resources and hearts full of love are somehow
denied or delayed the joy of parenthood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wildly irresponsible drivers make it through red lights unscathed, time
and again, but a young mother loses two of her three kids when her minivan is
run over by an SVU while waiting to make a legal left-hand turn; somehow the
other driver walks free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cancer, fire,
unemployment, heartbreak…sometimes these challenges are brought on by our poor
choices, but all too often they strike, seemingly, out of nowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shake our fists to the sky and lament how
incredibly, indescribably unfair it is.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In these
moments, when fairness shows its fakeness, when I glimpse behind the curtain
and see how illusive justice really is, I take comfort in the story of
Job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a very Hebrew story, because
it does not subscribe to the New Testament, strongly Christian theology that
God must always be “good.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God, in fact,
gives Satan permission to decimate Job’s life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Much is made over the fact the God doesn’t do the decimating; however,
it is clear that God gives consent to Satan’s experiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Job, while refusing to curse God, does do
some pitiful whining.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The part of
Job I turn to for comfort, however, is Chapter 38, when the Lord finally
responds.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From out of a storm,<br />
the Lord said to Job:<br />
Why do you talk so much<br />
when you know so little?<br />
Now get ready to face me!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">God then
asks Job to account for all of creation, “Were you there when I set the earth
on its foundation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I directed the
oceans to stay within their shore?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did
you teach the lions to hunt or the birds to fly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you the one keeping this whole thing going?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God asserts that humanity, Job specifically, is
in no position to judge God, to claim God is wrong, or unjust – or, as it were,
unfair.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I usually
prefer to claim scripture like Romans 8:28, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We
know that God works all things together for good for the ones who love God, for
those who are called according to his purpose.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such passages affirm God’s goodness and the hope
that our difficulties and sorrows are actually God’s own handiwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God’s divine plan, carried out for our good.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But Job
brings me comfort when the trials and hardships are inordinately unfair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When there seems to be no possible good that
could be worth the price I, or my loved ones, have to pay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the world just seems utterly unfair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I know that these hardships <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could not possibly</i> be inflicted by a loving
God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I share, in these moments, Job’s
lament; if I’ve done something wrong, Lord, just tell me what it is, so I can
do better and deserve better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I also
cling, in these moments, to God’s power and authority: God is still bigger than
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only God can judge what is really
fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only God can know how much I can
take.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is God’s prerogative to use me against
Satan – to prove to Satan and humanity alike that God’s people are bigger than
their hurt, that we can have a faith that runs deeper than our blessings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Job, I can beg for a break, I can demand
an explanation, but sometimes the lessons of this life that are sent through
me, and through my friends and loved ones, aren’t even my lessons to learn.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes,
like Job, you can refuse to curse God, you can conscientiously live for a
higher purpose and by a higher code, and God will, inexplicably, still let
Satan take stabs at you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But unless you’ve
seen the storehouses of heaven, laden with hail and snow, you’ve got to live
with the reality that fairness by human standards is not fairness by God’s
standards: and God’s standards always prevail.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I created both you and the hippopotamus. </i>Job
40:15</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-67042133147923651382012-09-21T06:33:00.004-05:002012-09-21T06:33:00.141-05:00My dog is passive-aggressive. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wouldn’t it be great if Naboo would just sidle up next to me and say, “Hey, Em, I really hate it when you ignore me and play with the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How about a little love my way?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even better, when she’s staying with friends, if she could just snuggle up in my friend’s lap and grumble, “You’re nice and all, but I absolutely hate it when Emily drops me off and doesn’t come back for two days. Could you tell her I’m angry and sad?”</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Either would be so much more productive than sneaking away from the baby’s and my tea party to crap on my husband’s shoes (this morning) or, when we were out of town, running directly to the living room to plant a turd on my friend’s welcome mat after a long session of outdoor play.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.myschnauzer.net/graphics/reviews/Cesar.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="129" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently, my next reading project.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am making this confession with the full knowledge that once I do, I may never get free dog-sitting again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I apologize to anyone who has ever kept my dog, because I should have recognized the pattern years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Previously, the mishaps of my otherwise well-behaved and housebroken dog were infrequent and subtle enough to explain away with “perhaps she didn’t know which door to go to” or “darn it, I got so caught up with the kids, I forgot to let the dog out.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the last several months, however, in addition to the two examples above, there was also the circle of urine she peed around me, not once but twice, after I spent too much time away from home over a weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently she thought I was her personal territory.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="http://www.myschnauzer.net/graphics/reviews/Cesar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is now obvious that her antics are not accidents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is speaking without words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Realizing this, it’s up to me to get out that book by “The Dog Whisperer” and see if I can get my own message through to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how you say it in dog, yet, but in English, it’s something like, “Quit sh!tting in the house or you’re going back to the kennel!”</span></div><a href="http://www.myschnauzer.net/graphics/reviews/Cesar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="96" src="http://www.myschnauzer.net/graphics/reviews/Cesar.jpg" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 132px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 567px;" width="62" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For perspective, when a friend of mine got married, his dog pushed his new wife down the stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When that didn’t work, the dog tried to blow her up by turning on the gas stove before she got home from work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I should just be happy that my dog hasn’t hired a hit on the baby.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When that happened, the LORD told the donkey to speak, and it asked Balaam, “What have I done to you that made you beat me three times?” </i>Numbers 22:28</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-8200253149499411222012-09-07T22:51:00.001-05:002012-09-09T21:32:01.455-05:00I've got nothing to confess.Now, this is not to say I have achieved perfection. Only that I don't want to talk about the hurts, frustrations, and trials that are reminding me daily of how truly human I am and how truly broken this world is. I am finding hope and tender mercies every day and am so eternally grateful for the dear friends and loved ones who have offered their help and encouragement.
Thank you for every prayer you've offered and please be patient. I will, almost certainly, do something hilariously stupid by next Friday - so check back then!
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i>Why do evil people live so long abd gain such power?</i> Job 21:7Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-4669349901953055572012-08-31T06:00:00.000-05:002012-08-31T06:00:09.533-05:00Let's burn a book <span style="font-family: inherit;">A few years ago, my kids’ curiosity about childbirth began to surface, so I thought I’d take the birds and bees by the horns. I went out and bought the first two books in a series that offered developmentally appropriate, values based information for my kids’ age ranges and we read them together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The older book included a very basic, but direct explanation of intercourse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought it was a great first step to unveiling the mysteries of life to my older girl without freaking her out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained to her at the time that this was private information, which she should not share with her friends or younger sister. She's been open, since, about bringing me her questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The book for my younger daughter was much less specific about the baby making part of the equation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My big girl did a great job of keeping it to herself. Seeing my middle girl’s shock this week, I knew she hadn’t been told. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just building up the courage to tackle that same reading with my middle daughter, now that she’s approaching that stage of late-elementary curiosity, but the elementary school library usurped from me the privilege of being able to break the story gently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She checked out a nifty book the librarian recommended to her about the human body, and during her free reading time later in the day, she discovered a chapter on reproduction that included a diagram of a penis inserted into a vagina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, when I picked her up from school, the first thing she did was to show me the book and seek an explanation for what was, to her, a pretty confusing and disturbing image.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am, needless to say, livid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I empathize with the school, in that it is difficult to know what is on every page of every book in the library, a diagram that graphic should have certainly been caught by someone along the way – the writer who was aiming to sell the book to elementary schools, the publisher who supposedly reviewed and approved the material, the librarian who with a simple look at the table of contents could have seen there was a chapter on reproduction that should, perhaps, be reviewed before putting the book on the shelf.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, instead of gently introducing these mysteries to my daughter, I have to work backwards from her awkward dismay to reassure her of God’s plans for our bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can take part of the blame for not having covered the material sooner; she could have heard the news on the playground or in the backyard by now, but no fellow school kid was going to explain it to her with the vivid and shocking specificity and credibility that she encountered in that diagram.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We took the book to the principal and the librarian called me back to let me know the review process the book has to go through before it can be pulled off the shelf at her school and the two other elementary schools in the district that also have it in their collection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m hoping no Kindergarteners decide to check it out before they make up their minds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the litigious atmosphere of schools, they did not, of course, offer any apology.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></sup>That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.</i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>Genesis 2:24</span></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-31590022334682946332012-08-24T08:00:00.000-05:002012-08-23T13:47:51.151-05:00Babies are dumb.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We brought our first daughter home from the hospital, pulled her out of the car seat, laid her in the middle of the living room, and told her, “OK, now do something funny.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t have to wait long; sure enough the laughs began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do we find our offspring so entertaining?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because babies are dumb.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24OW0o94Th6Ypu513N6ERHtEEYG4MkiGt0-u3wjgqbChdAB_lsdvH6XPP8KhLk3IUER2MMqPAWWOG_dab1cNA4wtHC5_5u0KO7tM5pcc93i0f8ubsVS5FbFrsO7bVtuV4nnZuh1pXA00/s1600/IMG_3401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24OW0o94Th6Ypu513N6ERHtEEYG4MkiGt0-u3wjgqbChdAB_lsdvH6XPP8KhLk3IUER2MMqPAWWOG_dab1cNA4wtHC5_5u0KO7tM5pcc93i0f8ubsVS5FbFrsO7bVtuV4nnZuh1pXA00/s320/IMG_3401.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My future Mensa candidate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Babies can’t help that they’re dumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t realize that when they hide their face behind the window curtains, laughing with delight at their amazing disappearing ability, the entire rest of their body is still in plain sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t realize that the fuzzy new toy they can’t seem to quite pull into view is the hair that is still attached to their own head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorites: they honestly believe that they can fit on the miniature dollhouse toilet and will try futilely to sit on it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My baby girl topped her sisters this week, on proving my mantra that “babies are dumb.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She got a hold of a bottle of Japanese Cherry Blossom hand sanitizer and dumped it down her face and body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I had no idea how much she’d actually consumed (FYI- hand sanitizer is extremely high in alcohol and only a small amount can give a child alcohol poisoning), and I could smell the fragrance on her breath, we got to make an evening visit to the ER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She showed no signs of inebriation (although that probably would have been funny in only the sickest sense), but we still had to let them do a blood draw to make sure she was OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was excruciating, holding her down for it, knowing that she had no way of comprehending why she was being put through this torture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we had a long wait in the room, while they ran the labs, twice, because they got an error the first time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On top of that, I had to endure the inquiries and suspicious glances of all the hospital personnel, who are legally obligated to report me, if they suspect this happened as a result of abuse or neglect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The labs came back clean; she hadn’t actually swallowed anything at all, for which I am grateful, and certainly not anxious to repeat the exercise.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The very next morning, however, my darling girl discovered a fresh pile of dog poo, ripe for the curious eater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine my surprise when I turn around after only a moment’s distraction to see her hand up to her mouth and a bright green turd between her lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea what dog poop tastes like, so I can’t be sure if it was my dismayed directive or her sensitive palate, but it took only a moment for her to spit it out and there were no teeth marks or other signs that it had actually made it into her mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasted no time in throwing her in the bathtub and thoroughly brushing her teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that a bath was going to do any good at removing dog poop from her insides, had it made it there, but it definitely made me feel better.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My word of advice while I was bathing her, “Sweetheart, if you’re going to gargle sanitizer, do it after you eat the dog poop next time.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, babies are dumb.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Here are some proverbs of Solomon: Children with good sense make their parents happy, but foolish children make them sad.</i> Proverbs 10:1</span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-79115587847829661022012-08-17T11:10:00.002-05:002012-08-17T11:10:25.183-05:00I had to surrender.<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sunday
before last, I was scheduled to preach while the pastor was on vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had agreed to do so well ahead of time and
had even begun to strategize about it a few weeks in advance, wanting to ensure
a well thought out message with engaging, and even humorous, illustrations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sometimes get feedback that I’m too serious
from the pulpit, so I was going to make a deliberate attempt to stay
lighthearted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my honest effort
to be thoroughly prepared, events in my personal life took a turn that week,
and I was not in a good place, when I arrived at church about an hour before
worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My emotions were barely
stifled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unable to look anyone in
the eye, because any sign of compassion might bring my struggle to the surface.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I sat in a
front pew and read back over my sermon, gathering my courage to lead
worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized as the scripture and
message kept piercing my heart, how completely helpless I was to fulfill this
obligation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that some 90-100
people were about to file in and expect worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew from past experience that some of them
would be hanging on my every word, looking for an opportunity to send an
offended and critical email to our pastor, validating their staunch insistence
that women shouldn’t be preaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew that, for all the times in ministry that my personal issues had made my
leadership role a challenge, this was the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was the moment of complete surrender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that I, me, myself, Emily – I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could not </i>get through worship.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I
prayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave it all to the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begged God to take over and use me in
whatever way necessary to glorify him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, in a way I can’t explain, God did just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t plan my prayers, I just walked up to
the pulpit and let it come out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
time I said "Amen," I was thinking, “Weird – that’s not really a prayer I normally
would say.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sermon, thankfully, was
all written out, but even in delivering it, I was constantly struck by the
message of scripture; as if this message I had written the week before were not
my own, but written for me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That Sunday
morning is one I will never forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People love the poem “Footprints” for how it expresses the notion of
Christ’s partnership and support of us, the idea that we could look back and see the times Jesus was actually bringing us through. But rarely do we actually feel his arms
beneath us and know that right then, in that moment, we are being carried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that, my friends, is something I have
experienced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are many hard times when
I’ve fought through on my own, but praise the Lord to know how powerful Christ was
when I was utterly helpless.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">May that be
a blessing I do not have to experience very often. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/shbgRyColvE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>(This was my sermon illustration - thought you might enjoy...)</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Therefore go and make disciples of all
nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the
Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And
surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”</i> Matthew 28:19-20</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3348782382989872362.post-62887871905340625752012-08-10T16:20:00.000-05:002012-08-10T16:21:19.376-05:00We lived too long with rouge furniture.<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s been weeks
since I took the leap and started moving things around the house, in
anticipation of setting the big girls up in the downstairs bedroom, and moving
the master bedroom upstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled
all the toys out of the bedrooms and stacked them in the hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids’ clothes have been in disarray,
shifting from one closet and set of drawers to another; trying to stay one step
ahead of the move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The piles of clean,
folded laundry on the couch grew to become a fixture, because I saw no point in
hauling them upstairs to a closet, only to haul them back downstairs to another
closet when we completed the move.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My attempts
to move the project along progressed to the point of actually moving furniture
a good two weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our small house
doesn’t accommodate much rouge furniture, so getting through the transition
involved living for a time with a vanity and mirror blocking the kitchen hall,
and a very large chest of drawers making its home smack dab in the middle of
the living room.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I no sooner
got the project to that point that my husband saw an open weekend and suggested
we take a break from the moving things around to hold a garage sale – maybe it
would ease the whole mess to eliminate some clutter and lighten our load.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I generally argue for Good Will donations,
over garage sales, but once every ten years, I concede.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did the work, held the sale, and
remembered more clearly why we prefer to make Good Will donations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made a few bucks, probably broke even for
our effort, and still have a backlog of stuff we need to unload.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus – there was still that chest of drawers
in the living room.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then we had
pickups and drop offs for summer camp that occupied much of our free time for a
week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we needed to get the
taillights on the camper to work, so we could have some hope of actually
camping in the thing before winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
the Olympics started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the bills
were due.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then…then…then…</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now that I’ve
thought more about it, I’m scared to count back and even know for sure how long
we’ve been dancing around a chest of drawers in our living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I know for sure is that yesterday,
finally, it found a home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not just any
home, but an insanely useful home, where it not only has quit blocking my view
of the baby when I want to check on her from the kitchen, but where it now
stores, with complete visual anonymity, copious amounts of family clutter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Items that once graced every horizontal
surface of our ground floor are making their way into designated drawers,
offering me such a massive sense of peace and relief that I might even find it
in me to put all those clothes away, and find a better home for the toys.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yep, it was
a real milestone.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Then that time will come when the Lord will
give you fresh strength. He will send you Jesus, his chosen Messiah.</i>
Acts 3:20</span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00358673094045053631noreply@blogger.com2