What did it mean when I said yes to Christianity?
Did it mean I'm free to say "Hallelujah" and "Pass the margaritas" in the same sentence? Yes, it does.
But, I opted out.
Am I allowed to post scriptures on my Facebook wall and then pay money for tickets and attend a comedy show that the language would melt the jewelry off my body? Yes!
But, I opted out.
In order to be thrifty and save a buck (practicing my stewardship in this economy) is it okay to stay in and watch all the crude nude-y booty movies I can for the evening? Sure thing!
But, I opted out.
So, basically, saying yes to Christianity means I have freedom to choose what I want. Right?
I can chew a plug and spit.
I can sip a little bit.
I can cover my behind and lie.
I can tell someone I hope they die.
I can bark at you.
I can sing catchy songs about hedonism, as long as it has a
good beat I can dance to.
I can become best friends with a slot machine.
But, what does saying yes to Christianity really mean?
I'm free to hate on you.
I'm free to key the car parked too close to me.
I'm free to take office supplies from my workplace.
I'm free to be jealous of the attention your kids get and charge up my credit cards so mine
will be well supplied and popular and in the clique, like yours are.
I'm free to fudge on my taxes if it suits the situation.
I'm free....I'm free...Jesus made me free. That's right, honey.
One thing I know for sure, Grace comes with the Christianity deal. That means when I choose to do one or all of the above mentioned, Grace turns its' head the other way as if I didn't do it and says, "All is well with Thee and Thine, try to do better the next time." Ummmm.....NOT!
Is that what it means to say yes to Christianity?
What does it mean then? Opting out...it means opting out.
When my debt has been paid and I am free from clauses and stipulations, rules and regulations. I can tell satan & company, that wants me to stay under their iron clad contract, that I AM FREE TO OPT OUT...I am opting out!
Where I exercise my freedom and use my gift of Grace is when I use its' ability to help me to NOT do the stuff that keeps me bound in the Law of Sin & Death. Freedom & Grace helps me to OPT OUT!
Every time I opt out on a deal that will keep me a "free agent", I sing the song "I'm Coming out" by Diana Ross, but I changed the words to "I'm opting out...I want the world to know...got to let it show". I do that because its got a good beat to dance to.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Oh, You're One of Those
Many moons ago, as a newbie to the wife and mother lifestyle, in between teaching dance and choreographing, I thought it would be advantageous to supplement our family's income by selling Mary Kay Cosmetics. Yes, I was a Mary Kay Beauty Consultant.
You know how it goes...you order the kit, you get bookings, a friend tells a friend, you try to conform all you meet to the awesomeness of the products (because the secret of Mary Kay is she bought the recipes/ ingredients list from a tanner that used these ingredients in tanning his hides). But most of all, you absolutely must have stock on hand so you can immediately make an instant trade, cash for product. It is so uncool to get an order and have to wait for it to come in.
This is why I end up at my bank. I'm young, I've never gotten a loan by myself before. I'm nervous. I sit down at the loan officer's desk, I'll call him Mr. Curmudgeon (if you don't know what that means, please Google it before you read on). I hand him my application, he looks at it and says, "Oh, you're one of those."
I was crushed! Why, you ask? Because I thought the same thing he did about salesmen. In reality, I was a salesman.
One of my best customer's husband called me "The Pusher". You see, there is an unspoken language that comes with unspoken implications when your occupation is salesman. Salesman, of course, is not the only word with which we do stereotypical deciphering.
Take...
homeschooled
stay at home mom
unemployed
oh, here's a good one...stepparent.
I've seen the look on people's faces, you can almost hear their thoughts out loud when I say I homeschool my grandkids. Ohhh, poor child, won't they be behind? Disadvantaged? They won't know how to be social. These things have been said to me. A stay at home mom?...gee, how fulfilling is that? As if staying home to rear your children is a death sentence. Being unemployed, as I see it, does not make me an undesirable...I'm gainfully employed and the benefits are stupendous!
The one that gripes my butt, though, is the stepparent one. Every time, through my career as a stepmother to Tangae and Stacey, because someone would say "you don't look old enough to be their mother" many times I would just let it ride. Many times people would go on and on and I would tell them that they were my stepdaughters. Here would come the dismissal. It would be as if you just said, "I am their step (not-valid-not-a-part-of-not-viable-not-necessary-not-a-real-parent) mother."
I cannot count the hundreds of times I would say, "And these are my stepdaughters" and I am not joking, people would say out loud, "Oh." Like, it does not matter that you've helped raise them since they were 2 and 3 years of age and they are now 41 (almost) and 42. Or that you were there for every event in their lives except their births or loved them like a mama would through every situation. It has always been, except for a few exceptions, just like when I was seated in the bank at Mr. Curmudgeon's desk. "Oh, your one of those." A step mother. Not a real mother, you just play one on T.V.
That same feeling that I felt at Mr. Curmudgeon's desk would hover over me. It would crush me. In reality, I AM a step mother. I must accept that stigmas come attached to this word. I remember once when Stacey had spend the night company over, I heard the little girl say to Stacey, "She's not mean at all" with which Stacey replied, "I never said she was." It was just implied, stepmother = wicked/evil. Thanks to all the fairy tales!
I have looked at my being selected to be their stepmother as being hand-picked by God, Himself. For me to "step" in and fill a space that was presented to me upon the marriage to their father. I took the position knowing that I was called from the foundation of time to be their stepmother. God specifically told me that from all the women on the face of the earth, He had chosen me to be their stepmother. I have always considered it a privilege and a great honor to hold that title. Even without the kudos.
I gladly step back and let the real parents have their roles, their names, Daddy, Momma, I'm happy to be called Jeanna, Tangae and Stacey's stepmother. I don't take it as a slam or a demotion to be listed as one, even when our culture negates any positive meaning to the name stepmother, 'cause God and I both know that I relish and revel in the fact that...yeah...stepmother, I'm one of those.
You know how it goes...you order the kit, you get bookings, a friend tells a friend, you try to conform all you meet to the awesomeness of the products (because the secret of Mary Kay is she bought the recipes/ ingredients list from a tanner that used these ingredients in tanning his hides). But most of all, you absolutely must have stock on hand so you can immediately make an instant trade, cash for product. It is so uncool to get an order and have to wait for it to come in.
This is why I end up at my bank. I'm young, I've never gotten a loan by myself before. I'm nervous. I sit down at the loan officer's desk, I'll call him Mr. Curmudgeon (if you don't know what that means, please Google it before you read on). I hand him my application, he looks at it and says, "Oh, you're one of those."
I was crushed! Why, you ask? Because I thought the same thing he did about salesmen. In reality, I was a salesman.
One of my best customer's husband called me "The Pusher". You see, there is an unspoken language that comes with unspoken implications when your occupation is salesman. Salesman, of course, is not the only word with which we do stereotypical deciphering.
Take...
homeschooled
stay at home mom
unemployed
oh, here's a good one...stepparent.
I've seen the look on people's faces, you can almost hear their thoughts out loud when I say I homeschool my grandkids. Ohhh, poor child, won't they be behind? Disadvantaged? They won't know how to be social. These things have been said to me. A stay at home mom?...gee, how fulfilling is that? As if staying home to rear your children is a death sentence. Being unemployed, as I see it, does not make me an undesirable...I'm gainfully employed and the benefits are stupendous!
The one that gripes my butt, though, is the stepparent one. Every time, through my career as a stepmother to Tangae and Stacey, because someone would say "you don't look old enough to be their mother" many times I would just let it ride. Many times people would go on and on and I would tell them that they were my stepdaughters. Here would come the dismissal. It would be as if you just said, "I am their step (not-valid-not-a-part-of-not-viable-not-necessary-not-a-real-parent) mother."
I cannot count the hundreds of times I would say, "And these are my stepdaughters" and I am not joking, people would say out loud, "Oh." Like, it does not matter that you've helped raise them since they were 2 and 3 years of age and they are now 41 (almost) and 42. Or that you were there for every event in their lives except their births or loved them like a mama would through every situation. It has always been, except for a few exceptions, just like when I was seated in the bank at Mr. Curmudgeon's desk. "Oh, your one of those." A step mother. Not a real mother, you just play one on T.V.
That same feeling that I felt at Mr. Curmudgeon's desk would hover over me. It would crush me. In reality, I AM a step mother. I must accept that stigmas come attached to this word. I remember once when Stacey had spend the night company over, I heard the little girl say to Stacey, "She's not mean at all" with which Stacey replied, "I never said she was." It was just implied, stepmother = wicked/evil. Thanks to all the fairy tales!
I have looked at my being selected to be their stepmother as being hand-picked by God, Himself. For me to "step" in and fill a space that was presented to me upon the marriage to their father. I took the position knowing that I was called from the foundation of time to be their stepmother. God specifically told me that from all the women on the face of the earth, He had chosen me to be their stepmother. I have always considered it a privilege and a great honor to hold that title. Even without the kudos.
I gladly step back and let the real parents have their roles, their names, Daddy, Momma, I'm happy to be called Jeanna, Tangae and Stacey's stepmother. I don't take it as a slam or a demotion to be listed as one, even when our culture negates any positive meaning to the name stepmother, 'cause God and I both know that I relish and revel in the fact that...yeah...stepmother, I'm one of those.
Friday, September 23, 2011
The Twinkle Poof Theory
I live in the Bible Belt. Living in such a responsible-sounding titled region, however, does not make one automatically Bible savvy. No, farrrr from it. You see, as I live and go about my life here, what I observe my fellow Bible Belt homies (that would be my brothers and sisters in the Lord) doing is the mixing of their personal beliefs together with what the Bible declares as It's own beliefs. Here is a lighthearted example:
There's a group of good ole boys standing around at a good ole Southern social. They begin to get into topics of the Bible-kind like sin, saints, and salvation (in the South, the weather, politics, and Jesus are popular topics). Upon further discussion of what it takes to get 'saved' and into Heaven, one pipes up and declares that if you're good enough then that's all that matters. One states that they've rededicated their life, again, and does that off and on to keep the slate clean, that should do it. Another blurts out, "Naw, naw here's the God's-honest-truth...you have to believe that Jesus is the Son of God...and that He died...and was buried in a tomb...and three days later He rose from the dead...and if He sees His shadow there will be six more weeks of basketball!" Righttttttt......
There is one unspoken belief I encounter over-n-over-n-over-n-over, e-v-e-r-y-d-a-y. I call it The Twinkle Poof Theory. Again, remember, this is ALWAYS unspoken, NEVER voiced out loud. We, (as in the consensus) believe that God is a fairy godmother. Yes, with wand and everything. Now, with that belief comes all kind of notions like He comes at our beck-and-call, He's obligated to furnish our every whim, He must overlook any and all actions that resemble disobedience, rebellion, and lack of sensitivity to moral uprightness, aaaaand He is only to remember when we got saved, and use the 'Grace Clause' whenever we have a flesh-out party (which I call sin, but shhhhh...that's a taboo word around these parts). Yep, just like the good ole fairy godmothers in fairy tales. Notice that fairy godmothers are written as fable characters, God does not operate on the belief system of a fable. But, people like the idea of the fairy...she never requires you to change to get the benefits of..."The Wand".
Ahhh, the Wand. God does not do Bibbidy-Bobbidy-Boo y'all. He does not wave His wand at your special requests that do NOT line up with what HIS belief system states.This is where it gets tricky for us that try to mix God's oil thoughts and our vinegar thoughts. We pull out the 'Grace Clause' and abuse it to death. Here is our interpretation of the Bible Belt-ers 'Grace Clause' :
"I, as a saved individual, can and will continue to do what I want, when I want, like I want, and when my dumb decisions get me stuck with consequences with no regard to what God has documented in His covenant, I will holler...'graceeeeeeee!', and I will fully expect for everyone that is my friend on Facebook to pray me through my situation by asking God to look over why I am in this situation in the first place and wave His Mighty Wand in my direction and it will be all over, and all better, and that nasty ole thing that has disrupted my life will depart from me and I will continue forth with my same ways as before, thus saith I, the saved individual." (I, the saved individual, will determine the usage of the 'Grace Clause' as deemed necessary.)
This path of thinking is like trying to fit God into our fairy godmother make-believe wand-waving ideas instead of us fitting into His Kingdom reality. Our hope is that God will go ahead and co-depend with us as we continue to just 'be who we are and we can't help our flaws' instead of calling out to Him and asking Him to be loving and kind and forgiving and help us to change our belief system and help us to stop mixing our concocted confused beliefs with His. He would be overjoyed to aid you and grant you that prayer...without even the use of a wand! He's seems to be very cool like that.
I have a tendency to haul people unceremoniously into the reality of the way God's does things and the way He thinks, to get them to face their denial and self-deceit. There are just SO MANY theories that have to be addressed and proven out, like the one I like to call the Be-ings to W-ings Theory. This is the theory where my Bible Belt homies believe that when they die and go to Heaven, they will turn into angels. I will unceremoniously take that one on, too. But that is for another day, for my work seems to never be done, and shall never be as long as there are saved individuals around who believe that our future generations will have larger thumbs because of texting so much. Um...that would be the Theory of Evolution...
There's a group of good ole boys standing around at a good ole Southern social. They begin to get into topics of the Bible-kind like sin, saints, and salvation (in the South, the weather, politics, and Jesus are popular topics). Upon further discussion of what it takes to get 'saved' and into Heaven, one pipes up and declares that if you're good enough then that's all that matters. One states that they've rededicated their life, again, and does that off and on to keep the slate clean, that should do it. Another blurts out, "Naw, naw here's the God's-honest-truth...you have to believe that Jesus is the Son of God...and that He died...and was buried in a tomb...and three days later He rose from the dead...and if He sees His shadow there will be six more weeks of basketball!" Righttttttt......
There is one unspoken belief I encounter over-n-over-n-over-n-over, e-v-e-r-y-d-a-y. I call it The Twinkle Poof Theory. Again, remember, this is ALWAYS unspoken, NEVER voiced out loud. We, (as in the consensus) believe that God is a fairy godmother. Yes, with wand and everything. Now, with that belief comes all kind of notions like He comes at our beck-and-call, He's obligated to furnish our every whim, He must overlook any and all actions that resemble disobedience, rebellion, and lack of sensitivity to moral uprightness, aaaaand He is only to remember when we got saved, and use the 'Grace Clause' whenever we have a flesh-out party (which I call sin, but shhhhh...that's a taboo word around these parts). Yep, just like the good ole fairy godmothers in fairy tales. Notice that fairy godmothers are written as fable characters, God does not operate on the belief system of a fable. But, people like the idea of the fairy...she never requires you to change to get the benefits of..."The Wand".
Ahhh, the Wand. God does not do Bibbidy-Bobbidy-Boo y'all. He does not wave His wand at your special requests that do NOT line up with what HIS belief system states.This is where it gets tricky for us that try to mix God's oil thoughts and our vinegar thoughts. We pull out the 'Grace Clause' and abuse it to death. Here is our interpretation of the Bible Belt-ers 'Grace Clause' :
"I, as a saved individual, can and will continue to do what I want, when I want, like I want, and when my dumb decisions get me stuck with consequences with no regard to what God has documented in His covenant, I will holler...'graceeeeeeee!', and I will fully expect for everyone that is my friend on Facebook to pray me through my situation by asking God to look over why I am in this situation in the first place and wave His Mighty Wand in my direction and it will be all over, and all better, and that nasty ole thing that has disrupted my life will depart from me and I will continue forth with my same ways as before, thus saith I, the saved individual." (I, the saved individual, will determine the usage of the 'Grace Clause' as deemed necessary.)
This path of thinking is like trying to fit God into our fairy godmother make-believe wand-waving ideas instead of us fitting into His Kingdom reality. Our hope is that God will go ahead and co-depend with us as we continue to just 'be who we are and we can't help our flaws' instead of calling out to Him and asking Him to be loving and kind and forgiving and help us to change our belief system and help us to stop mixing our concocted confused beliefs with His. He would be overjoyed to aid you and grant you that prayer...without even the use of a wand! He's seems to be very cool like that.
I have a tendency to haul people unceremoniously into the reality of the way God's does things and the way He thinks, to get them to face their denial and self-deceit. There are just SO MANY theories that have to be addressed and proven out, like the one I like to call the Be-ings to W-ings Theory. This is the theory where my Bible Belt homies believe that when they die and go to Heaven, they will turn into angels. I will unceremoniously take that one on, too. But that is for another day, for my work seems to never be done, and shall never be as long as there are saved individuals around who believe that our future generations will have larger thumbs because of texting so much. Um...that would be the Theory of Evolution...
Monday, August 22, 2011
Jesus On My Tee
There was a day that I used to think that the whole Jesus thing was corny, hokey even. Those are the only words that I can think of to describe how I viewed watching people be all spiritual. The Bible covers, the bumper stickers, the t-shirts, the conferences, the pens/pictures/paper weights/posters, etc. with printing on them with quips about Jesus. I don't know, but I truly think it was my aversion to mass marketing Jesus. I just thought it was totally unnecessary. Now, understand that I'm totally aware that no one can hear the Gospel unless someone preaches it. I just had my O on how I thought it should be done.
I suppose my concept was a more simple approach...just live Him in front of everybody and use words if they were needed. I still can't get a picture in my mind of Paul wearing a "I Saw Jesus and it was a Blinding Sight to Behold" t-shirt, or the disciples handing out "Bray if you Love Jesus" bumper stickers to put on your donkey's rear, or coffee mugs with "He's Stronger Than Your Coffee and He's Stronger Than Your Caffeine Addiction" printed on them. It was a major turn-off for me. Not because focus was being put on Jesus, not at all, it just seemed like the merchandisers were hawking their wares in the temple for a buck. I certainly didn't want to be a part of an embarrassing situation where Jesus would have to show up in here and turn over the marketplace tables and call us all thieves! Using His image but not living His image.
I knew from my early childhood and from being raised in Church, all the Bible stories. I distinctly understood that Jesus was not happy with the buying and selling aspects. I guess I just gleaned from that, that Jesus did not have a problem with the product itself, but the heart of the people selling it. It was just mindless everyday in and out business to them. They didn't leave their tables to go inside where Jesus was, they waited outside and sold a "form of godliness".
Okay, so I don't even own a product with a single scripture stamped on it at that point in my life. But I had Bibles galore, and Concordances, and stacks of teaching cassettes (CD's later), books on numerous topics, and confession sheets for faith building. I am a hardcore Word junkie. My Bibles are heavily marked, dozens of notebooks filled with thoughts and prayers, worship music in every CD player that I own, TV channels that preach the Word whenever I'm ready. I have stacks and stacks of these things, bookshelves filled to capacity! Here's the one-two punch...in essence, there is absolutely no difference between my past disagreements with everything printed on something and buying the notebooks, CD's, and books. It's still a heart thing.
Jesus does not care if you read the entire Bible through every year and study His Word 5 hours a day and pray for three and wear your W.W.J.D. bracelet and quote Psalms 91 daily and then never do a thing to give Him away! He does not take joy in Jesus hoarding, Jesus buying, Jesus selling, or Jesus business. He wants us to have a Jesus relationship...with Him...personally...everyday. When I do that very thing I won't want to hoard Him, I will want EVERYONE to have Him! I will want to give Him away, not sell Him to someone for a dollar.
Again, I have an understanding that it cost money to get the word out about Him. That's why I don't really have the ickiness I used to have when it comes to putting His name out to the public anyway the public will see it or hear it. It is a form of giving Him away, so to speak, "...freely you have received, freely give" (Matthew 10:8). Boiling it down, having a merchants heart vs. having a ministry heart is THE difference between me having my tables flipped over and attention called to the intents of my heart and Jesus walking up to my table and asking for Himself an "I AM" t-shirt. That would definitely ROCK! He IS THE Rock! But that's for another t-shirt.
I suppose my concept was a more simple approach...just live Him in front of everybody and use words if they were needed. I still can't get a picture in my mind of Paul wearing a "I Saw Jesus and it was a Blinding Sight to Behold" t-shirt, or the disciples handing out "Bray if you Love Jesus" bumper stickers to put on your donkey's rear, or coffee mugs with "He's Stronger Than Your Coffee and He's Stronger Than Your Caffeine Addiction" printed on them. It was a major turn-off for me. Not because focus was being put on Jesus, not at all, it just seemed like the merchandisers were hawking their wares in the temple for a buck. I certainly didn't want to be a part of an embarrassing situation where Jesus would have to show up in here and turn over the marketplace tables and call us all thieves! Using His image but not living His image.
I knew from my early childhood and from being raised in Church, all the Bible stories. I distinctly understood that Jesus was not happy with the buying and selling aspects. I guess I just gleaned from that, that Jesus did not have a problem with the product itself, but the heart of the people selling it. It was just mindless everyday in and out business to them. They didn't leave their tables to go inside where Jesus was, they waited outside and sold a "form of godliness".
Okay, so I don't even own a product with a single scripture stamped on it at that point in my life. But I had Bibles galore, and Concordances, and stacks of teaching cassettes (CD's later), books on numerous topics, and confession sheets for faith building. I am a hardcore Word junkie. My Bibles are heavily marked, dozens of notebooks filled with thoughts and prayers, worship music in every CD player that I own, TV channels that preach the Word whenever I'm ready. I have stacks and stacks of these things, bookshelves filled to capacity! Here's the one-two punch...in essence, there is absolutely no difference between my past disagreements with everything printed on something and buying the notebooks, CD's, and books. It's still a heart thing.
Jesus does not care if you read the entire Bible through every year and study His Word 5 hours a day and pray for three and wear your W.W.J.D. bracelet and quote Psalms 91 daily and then never do a thing to give Him away! He does not take joy in Jesus hoarding, Jesus buying, Jesus selling, or Jesus business. He wants us to have a Jesus relationship...with Him...personally...everyday. When I do that very thing I won't want to hoard Him, I will want EVERYONE to have Him! I will want to give Him away, not sell Him to someone for a dollar.
Again, I have an understanding that it cost money to get the word out about Him. That's why I don't really have the ickiness I used to have when it comes to putting His name out to the public anyway the public will see it or hear it. It is a form of giving Him away, so to speak, "...freely you have received, freely give" (Matthew 10:8). Boiling it down, having a merchants heart vs. having a ministry heart is THE difference between me having my tables flipped over and attention called to the intents of my heart and Jesus walking up to my table and asking for Himself an "I AM" t-shirt. That would definitely ROCK! He IS THE Rock! But that's for another t-shirt.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Grass is Always Greener in a Magazine
I must confess, I have gotten involved with something that I can't seem to stop. Just like any one else, I didn't see it to be a problem. It wasn't a danger or any thing like that. It was not hurting anyone, I would think. I just knew I wanted to do it more and more and it always left me feeling that I wasn't satisfied or the next time would make me feel better or exhilarated even. But it never did. After participating with my behavior I would feel unfulfilled, frustrated even.
I suffer from, Perfect Home and Garden envy. It does not help that I subscribe to magazines that constantly reiterate to me of my imperfect surroundings. They taunt me in the same 'nanah-nanah-boo-boo' fashion as the playground bully would do. Nanah-nanah-boo-boo is a melodious song that's interpreted as 'look-at-what-you-ain't got'. It's a harsh reality...my house, my yard, my table, even the food in my refrigerator does not look like a photo shoot in a magazine.
Look at all those photos of shiny happy people standing in their newly built or upgraded pristine kitchens with their 5.2 children all gathered around the island and the size 4 mother is in the process of making freshly squeezed lemonade from the trees she grows out back in her luscious fruit and vegetable garden where she bottles and sells her very own unique lemonade that paid for her mansion on the 25 acre farm where her husband is a lawyer and on weekends he hobby's as a cattleman and they breed and sell blue ribbon cows that sell for $10,000.00 a head and he is known by all of his colleagues as "Marlboro Man" as he is quite handsome and tough and gritty and very hands on with the children and is supportive of his wife's business adventure. Whew! I'm tired. I do not measure up!
I look around my home and see crooked books on my bookshelves, things stacked in the floor, and dog hair rolling down the hall like tumbling tumbleweeds. What a big letdown. If I could somehow take photos of my house, photoshop them to perfection, blow them up and we could just step in and out of the still shots like Bert, the children, and Mary Poppins did with the sidewalk chalk 'drawerings' (what the British call art). I don't know, but that seems almost as obtainable as a house and yard that is in a state of immaculate perfection at all times.
When I review my symptoms after exposure to the greener grass on the other side of magazine & TV's fence, I know that I know that I know that I've been had...I have fallen for the old "comparing myself amongst others" routine which I know is not wise to do. It's like the bug that can't help itself...it's drawn into the light that zaps it. I shut a magazine feeling the zap of 'you madam are not one of the elite'.
Understand that it's not the magazines fault, the feelings I have when I close it's brightly colored of the current season's delicious eye candy and meticulously staged covers. No...it is mine...it is mine. To allow what I see to cause me to feel out of league with the rest of the homeowners of the world whom I know, ALL have magazine worthy homes and gardens. Don't you?
This dream to have a picture-perfection home has caused me to stand still and make note that there will ALWAYS be someone else out there smarter, richer, thinner, more educated, more gifted, more organized, and seemingly to have it all. But when the photo shoot is over and the camera crews and stagers go home, what is real life really like for the flavor of the month? The beaming smiles dim, dust floats through the air and settles on the coffee table and the kids put their dirty hands on the freshly painted door trim that they had painted just for the photo shoot. Yeah...I know life is real and it rots.
So why stand stand here and look at someone else's greener grass when I have my own green grass to tend to...even if it is over the septic tank. Immaculate perfection is so overrated.
"We're not putting ourselves in a league with those who boast that they're our superiors. We shouldn't dare do that. But in all this comparing and grading and competing, they quite miss the point." II Corinthians 10:12 MB
I suffer from, Perfect Home and Garden envy. It does not help that I subscribe to magazines that constantly reiterate to me of my imperfect surroundings. They taunt me in the same 'nanah-nanah-boo-boo' fashion as the playground bully would do. Nanah-nanah-boo-boo is a melodious song that's interpreted as 'look-at-what-you-ain't got'. It's a harsh reality...my house, my yard, my table, even the food in my refrigerator does not look like a photo shoot in a magazine.
Look at all those photos of shiny happy people standing in their newly built or upgraded pristine kitchens with their 5.2 children all gathered around the island and the size 4 mother is in the process of making freshly squeezed lemonade from the trees she grows out back in her luscious fruit and vegetable garden where she bottles and sells her very own unique lemonade that paid for her mansion on the 25 acre farm where her husband is a lawyer and on weekends he hobby's as a cattleman and they breed and sell blue ribbon cows that sell for $10,000.00 a head and he is known by all of his colleagues as "Marlboro Man" as he is quite handsome and tough and gritty and very hands on with the children and is supportive of his wife's business adventure. Whew! I'm tired. I do not measure up!
I look around my home and see crooked books on my bookshelves, things stacked in the floor, and dog hair rolling down the hall like tumbling tumbleweeds. What a big letdown. If I could somehow take photos of my house, photoshop them to perfection, blow them up and we could just step in and out of the still shots like Bert, the children, and Mary Poppins did with the sidewalk chalk 'drawerings' (what the British call art). I don't know, but that seems almost as obtainable as a house and yard that is in a state of immaculate perfection at all times.
When I review my symptoms after exposure to the greener grass on the other side of magazine & TV's fence, I know that I know that I know that I've been had...I have fallen for the old "comparing myself amongst others" routine which I know is not wise to do. It's like the bug that can't help itself...it's drawn into the light that zaps it. I shut a magazine feeling the zap of 'you madam are not one of the elite'.
Understand that it's not the magazines fault, the feelings I have when I close it's brightly colored of the current season's delicious eye candy and meticulously staged covers. No...it is mine...it is mine. To allow what I see to cause me to feel out of league with the rest of the homeowners of the world whom I know, ALL have magazine worthy homes and gardens. Don't you?
This dream to have a picture-perfection home has caused me to stand still and make note that there will ALWAYS be someone else out there smarter, richer, thinner, more educated, more gifted, more organized, and seemingly to have it all. But when the photo shoot is over and the camera crews and stagers go home, what is real life really like for the flavor of the month? The beaming smiles dim, dust floats through the air and settles on the coffee table and the kids put their dirty hands on the freshly painted door trim that they had painted just for the photo shoot. Yeah...I know life is real and it rots.
So why stand stand here and look at someone else's greener grass when I have my own green grass to tend to...even if it is over the septic tank. Immaculate perfection is so overrated.
"We're not putting ourselves in a league with those who boast that they're our superiors. We shouldn't dare do that. But in all this comparing and grading and competing, they quite miss the point." II Corinthians 10:12 MB
Monday, July 18, 2011
Susan's Books Went Up Like That!
My sisters proclaim that I am the official storyteller of our family, or story re-teller I should say, I am not telling fibs but recounting our family history. I guess I have the ability to remember the details that they don't. When we get together for holidays, and the likes, we usually end up reliving one more time, a memory from our childhood. We loved our childhood.
What's really weird is I can remember as far back as being in my baby bed and reaching through the slats to play with the phone beside my parents bed (my bed was in their room). I also remember having my diaper changed on the bed in one of my sister's rooms and I vividly remember the reason I was crying was because I didn't like the dirty diaper and it made me mad to have it on. So yeah, I remember details.
One such detail was the day I saw my sister, Susan, get hit by a car. She was eight years old at that time so that meant that I was four years old. I remember watching her out the window of our home, going down our driveway on Colon Road. The house is no longer there, it was moved to another location because progress and Highway 280 was coming through where it stood. She was walking her way to school at Pinecrest Elementary when out of nowhere comes a car and hits her right in front of our house and right in front of my four year old eyes! Do you know what I did? I ran myself to my babysitter/housekeeper and declared to her, "Susan's books went up, like that!" as I did arm motions to reenact the upward explosion of her books. Not once did I mention her being hit by the car. In fact, my babysitter went back to scrubbing the bathtub, counting it as 4-year-old babble. It wasn't until a policeman knocked on the door was she made aware of Susan's accident. She was put into the hospital with a brain concussion, nothing else major. Wow! Her life had been spared. It has been torn down since, but the crosswalk that went over Highway 280 for walkers and cyclist to cross the highway in safety was built because of that very accident. FYI!
Have you ever been caught up in life where you see what's happening, but when it's processed, your focus seems to be on the 'leaves on the tree' instead of the 'root of the tree'? In other words, you saw only the result of a situation and not what caused the thing to happen in the first place? Over and over you look at the things that keep messing your life up or throws you off your groove or keep getting you down, whatever you want to call it, it's nothing but a diversion. Life says...Hey look this, look at that, look at them, look at those...to get you distracted from the REAL bare truth.
Let me ask you something? If I had marched into the bathroom where my babysitter was and said, "Susan has been hit by a car!" Would I have been judging her? Well of course not! I would have been simply stating an observation. If I had declared, "Susan is going to die because she has been hit by a car!" That would have been a judgment call because I didn't have the right to say that, that would have been my opinion. Later, while Susan was in the hospital mending...if I said to others, "Susan just did all of that for attention, she wants everyone to feel sorry for her and bring her gifts." Would I have been judging her? Yes, I would have because I was stating my opinion on her motive for getting hit by the car.
In the day we live, the decree "don't judge me!" pops off lips everywhere. It's a warning from those who spout it to those who are onlookers to "back off and zip your lips". What most don't quite see is the huge difference between making a true observation and slamming the judges gavel down when it comes to situations that play out in people's lives.
In my time, I have stood in life's windows and have observed people get hit by cars OVER AND OVER again and say to them, "you have been hit by a car" and they turn and walk right out into another street and it happens again. Things are said by them like...it's my job...it's my mate...it's my past...it's that church...it's that person, in reality they are saying...it's THAT leaf and THAT leaf and THAT leaf...never looking at the root, never looking at what hit them or why they were hit in the first place.
So that is what people are calling judging, when a person makes an observation. I'm observing many getting hit by cars and they don't want me to state the obvious! They don't want anyone to say, "your sin has hit you and here is the results...your sin has repayed you...it has dealt you a great blow and your books are going up, like that!" Those are simple observations, not judging your motive for being hit. I don't pretend to know why you do what you, when you do it, or how you do it, that would be speculation. Speculation IS for me to zip my lip and keep my thoughts to myself.
Why do you keep getting hit again and again and again? That's easy...you keep doing the deed. Your refusal to stop yourself will keep giving you the same blow time and again. Leaves on the tree tell you what kind of tree it is so if you'd accumulate some leaves you'll be able to identify what principle you keep violating, because you see, the judgment you keep getting is actually been activated by you. You are the one that keeps indictments coming after you. The gavel keeps coming down and only you can stop any and all of it.
Here's a litmus test: A situation happens to you and you think or say...Why does this keep happening to me? it's time to look at the obvious and get out of the road so you won't get hit anymore! Paul of the Bible knows this for sure, he's even quoted as saying "Wretched man that I am!" He got hit, too.
So...from this point forward...if I simply state that your books went up like that, remember, I'm just stating what I see, not slamming a gavel down and declaring what you'll reap, that's for the REAL Judge. Honorable Jesus Christ the Righteous, Judge of the living and of the dead.
What's really weird is I can remember as far back as being in my baby bed and reaching through the slats to play with the phone beside my parents bed (my bed was in their room). I also remember having my diaper changed on the bed in one of my sister's rooms and I vividly remember the reason I was crying was because I didn't like the dirty diaper and it made me mad to have it on. So yeah, I remember details.
One such detail was the day I saw my sister, Susan, get hit by a car. She was eight years old at that time so that meant that I was four years old. I remember watching her out the window of our home, going down our driveway on Colon Road. The house is no longer there, it was moved to another location because progress and Highway 280 was coming through where it stood. She was walking her way to school at Pinecrest Elementary when out of nowhere comes a car and hits her right in front of our house and right in front of my four year old eyes! Do you know what I did? I ran myself to my babysitter/housekeeper and declared to her, "Susan's books went up, like that!" as I did arm motions to reenact the upward explosion of her books. Not once did I mention her being hit by the car. In fact, my babysitter went back to scrubbing the bathtub, counting it as 4-year-old babble. It wasn't until a policeman knocked on the door was she made aware of Susan's accident. She was put into the hospital with a brain concussion, nothing else major. Wow! Her life had been spared. It has been torn down since, but the crosswalk that went over Highway 280 for walkers and cyclist to cross the highway in safety was built because of that very accident. FYI!
Have you ever been caught up in life where you see what's happening, but when it's processed, your focus seems to be on the 'leaves on the tree' instead of the 'root of the tree'? In other words, you saw only the result of a situation and not what caused the thing to happen in the first place? Over and over you look at the things that keep messing your life up or throws you off your groove or keep getting you down, whatever you want to call it, it's nothing but a diversion. Life says...Hey look this, look at that, look at them, look at those...to get you distracted from the REAL bare truth.
Let me ask you something? If I had marched into the bathroom where my babysitter was and said, "Susan has been hit by a car!" Would I have been judging her? Well of course not! I would have been simply stating an observation. If I had declared, "Susan is going to die because she has been hit by a car!" That would have been a judgment call because I didn't have the right to say that, that would have been my opinion. Later, while Susan was in the hospital mending...if I said to others, "Susan just did all of that for attention, she wants everyone to feel sorry for her and bring her gifts." Would I have been judging her? Yes, I would have because I was stating my opinion on her motive for getting hit by the car.
In the day we live, the decree "don't judge me!" pops off lips everywhere. It's a warning from those who spout it to those who are onlookers to "back off and zip your lips". What most don't quite see is the huge difference between making a true observation and slamming the judges gavel down when it comes to situations that play out in people's lives.
In my time, I have stood in life's windows and have observed people get hit by cars OVER AND OVER again and say to them, "you have been hit by a car" and they turn and walk right out into another street and it happens again. Things are said by them like...it's my job...it's my mate...it's my past...it's that church...it's that person, in reality they are saying...it's THAT leaf and THAT leaf and THAT leaf...never looking at the root, never looking at what hit them or why they were hit in the first place.
So that is what people are calling judging, when a person makes an observation. I'm observing many getting hit by cars and they don't want me to state the obvious! They don't want anyone to say, "your sin has hit you and here is the results...your sin has repayed you...it has dealt you a great blow and your books are going up, like that!" Those are simple observations, not judging your motive for being hit. I don't pretend to know why you do what you, when you do it, or how you do it, that would be speculation. Speculation IS for me to zip my lip and keep my thoughts to myself.
Why do you keep getting hit again and again and again? That's easy...you keep doing the deed. Your refusal to stop yourself will keep giving you the same blow time and again. Leaves on the tree tell you what kind of tree it is so if you'd accumulate some leaves you'll be able to identify what principle you keep violating, because you see, the judgment you keep getting is actually been activated by you. You are the one that keeps indictments coming after you. The gavel keeps coming down and only you can stop any and all of it.
Here's a litmus test: A situation happens to you and you think or say...Why does this keep happening to me? it's time to look at the obvious and get out of the road so you won't get hit anymore! Paul of the Bible knows this for sure, he's even quoted as saying "Wretched man that I am!" He got hit, too.
So...from this point forward...if I simply state that your books went up like that, remember, I'm just stating what I see, not slamming a gavel down and declaring what you'll reap, that's for the REAL Judge. Honorable Jesus Christ the Righteous, Judge of the living and of the dead.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Pardon Me, Would You Give Me Six Weeks of Your Life?
I've just spent six weeks in the hospital. Not as a patient, but, along with my family and I, providing around the clock care for my mother, who by the way, only went in for a cracked wrist.
We have experienced what I would call a 'tragedy of errors' cause it sho wern't a comedy. The unnamed hospital did their utmost to aid her in every way but could not stop the onset of double pneumonia, a staff infection, blood clots passing through her heart and ending in her lungs on two separate occasions, at which she had no pulse or blood pressure which resulted in a stint in ICU for a week. Those were very close calls. But the medicating that they WERE in charge of was the thing that really almost did her in.
We had absolutely no idea how sensitive to medication/drugs/narcotics/chemicals that she actually was until she was administered the first dose of anything. I won't use the names of any of the meds. but I will say they swung from pain killers to anti-anxiety medicine to sleep aids to OTC's that are quite common to use for allergic reactions. She had catatonic reactions to each and everything they gave her. Who knew?
Our days melted into nights that were long and sleepless. And when I say sleepless that means without any sleep of any kind and no shutting of the eyes, at all. The first pill that was given her to help her to rest, sent her into a 3-1/2 day, non-stop, hallucination trip where we tended to children that weren't in the corner, hung invisible things up, and squished bugs on the ceiling with our feet. She insisted that I help her do these things with her. No one could leave her side for a moment, she snatched her splint off along with everything else she was attached to, repeatedly. Because of her strength and flexibility, she would swing her legs over the bed rails and try to get out of bed. She would bolt straight up in bed and say, "Help me". This plea was repeated every few minutes throughout the entire hospital stay. Her pleading haunted me.
During this time we let her doctor go and brought another on board. His new meds. sent her into a 2 1/2 day of the same thing. We went days on end with no sleep, staying on watch, all for one purpose and one purpose only. To keep our mother alive. We stood in the gap for her.
We wrote everything in a notebook, we logged anything and everything that was done to her or needed to be done for her. We asked questions, insisted on action to be taken in certain areas, we made request upon requests and demands upon demands. We had our sights on getting her out alive AND have her comfortable while she was having to be there.
We went to extremely great lengths to save our mother. I have shared only a smidgen of what actually took place over the six weeks she was there. During that time I truly began to understand and ponder on what being an advocate truly meant. We were her advocates. We fought for her very life. And then I saw it...I remembered that WE also had an advocate. It was not the hospital administration, the nurses or the doctors. It was Jesus.
When we were spiritually sick and dying from the cause and effects of sin, Jesus, with everything He had inside of Him, fought for us. He went through severe deprivation and sacrifice to see to it that we were cared for and comforted. That everything that we would need would be provided. He fought for our very lives. He stood by us never to walk away and leave us unprotected. We were worth it to Him. He gave His very life to save our lives. It was an exchange that only an advocate could make.
Upon emerging from this unforgettable experience, I now truly appreciate this aspect of my Savior's willingness to rescue me from death. While I was dying, He sought me out and became my go-between Man. I never knew the depths of this mighty act until I became an advocate myself. I guess that's where the saying comes from, '"Oh....I see!", said the blind man.'
"My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any one sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous." I John 2:1
We have experienced what I would call a 'tragedy of errors' cause it sho wern't a comedy. The unnamed hospital did their utmost to aid her in every way but could not stop the onset of double pneumonia, a staff infection, blood clots passing through her heart and ending in her lungs on two separate occasions, at which she had no pulse or blood pressure which resulted in a stint in ICU for a week. Those were very close calls. But the medicating that they WERE in charge of was the thing that really almost did her in.
We had absolutely no idea how sensitive to medication/drugs/narcotics/chemicals that she actually was until she was administered the first dose of anything. I won't use the names of any of the meds. but I will say they swung from pain killers to anti-anxiety medicine to sleep aids to OTC's that are quite common to use for allergic reactions. She had catatonic reactions to each and everything they gave her. Who knew?
Our days melted into nights that were long and sleepless. And when I say sleepless that means without any sleep of any kind and no shutting of the eyes, at all. The first pill that was given her to help her to rest, sent her into a 3-1/2 day, non-stop, hallucination trip where we tended to children that weren't in the corner, hung invisible things up, and squished bugs on the ceiling with our feet. She insisted that I help her do these things with her. No one could leave her side for a moment, she snatched her splint off along with everything else she was attached to, repeatedly. Because of her strength and flexibility, she would swing her legs over the bed rails and try to get out of bed. She would bolt straight up in bed and say, "Help me". This plea was repeated every few minutes throughout the entire hospital stay. Her pleading haunted me.
During this time we let her doctor go and brought another on board. His new meds. sent her into a 2 1/2 day of the same thing. We went days on end with no sleep, staying on watch, all for one purpose and one purpose only. To keep our mother alive. We stood in the gap for her.
We wrote everything in a notebook, we logged anything and everything that was done to her or needed to be done for her. We asked questions, insisted on action to be taken in certain areas, we made request upon requests and demands upon demands. We had our sights on getting her out alive AND have her comfortable while she was having to be there.
We went to extremely great lengths to save our mother. I have shared only a smidgen of what actually took place over the six weeks she was there. During that time I truly began to understand and ponder on what being an advocate truly meant. We were her advocates. We fought for her very life. And then I saw it...I remembered that WE also had an advocate. It was not the hospital administration, the nurses or the doctors. It was Jesus.
When we were spiritually sick and dying from the cause and effects of sin, Jesus, with everything He had inside of Him, fought for us. He went through severe deprivation and sacrifice to see to it that we were cared for and comforted. That everything that we would need would be provided. He fought for our very lives. He stood by us never to walk away and leave us unprotected. We were worth it to Him. He gave His very life to save our lives. It was an exchange that only an advocate could make.
Upon emerging from this unforgettable experience, I now truly appreciate this aspect of my Savior's willingness to rescue me from death. While I was dying, He sought me out and became my go-between Man. I never knew the depths of this mighty act until I became an advocate myself. I guess that's where the saying comes from, '"Oh....I see!", said the blind man.'
"My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any one sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous." I John 2:1
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