Being Cool is Overrated

I'll admit it--sometimes I'm driving kind of fast, windows rolled down, blasting Mozart's 40th Symphony, feeling like I'm pretty cool. Then I see a copper and snap out of it. No, not really cool. But actually I'm very thankful for the willingness to be uncool.

In fact, my life pretty much depends on me knowing that I am not hip, slick, and "all together." Sometimes I bemoan being a basket-case, but then I remember the alternative. That would be, for me, running amok in a state of delusional grandeur (picture Homer Simpson in the "Land of Chocolate"). There are lots of people who can pull it off, who can handle life well, or at least look like it. I kind of feel sorry for them.

I can recall when all this began, this knowledge of "cool," for me. I was in seventh grade, in a new school where I met my new best friend, Jade. Up til that point I had been listening to Liza Minnelli and the Carpenters, wearing plaid polyester pants, and not plucking my eyebrows. My world was about to go through a major transformation.

Jade taught me about Levi's, Alice Cooper, and the Columbia Record Club. With the assistance of that membership, it didn't take long to make up for lost time. Soon I was sewing more denim into the bell-bottoms of my dragging-on-the-floor jeans, hanging out my second-story bedroom window smoking Marlboros, making "suicide" from my parents' liquor cabinet, lying on the floor of my room, head jammed between two speakers cranking Ted Nugent, carving boys' names into my arms, and you know, all that cool stuff.

I also learned how to lie to my parents, which was necessary to keeping up all my cool activities. I would sneakily wipe off my eye makeup before I went home from school, and say I was going to "Junior High-Jinx" at the YMCA, when we would really be out prowling the neighborhood smoking...etc. I also learned how to steal, and was proud of how good I was at it. Before long I began having boyfriends, which made me feel even more supernatural. I was on top of the world. I decided at this time that getting good grades was for nerds and although I had to work at it at first, I got the hang of acting, and becoming, really dumb.

Well, this could be a really long story but suffice it to say: being cool never got my anything but trouble. And the trouble was not the glamorous affair I had romantically envisioned. In the end, it's like a movie that you're acting in for yourself. Nobody else cares. For a while other "cool" people want to hang out with you if you're being properly "cool." But if you decide to do something they don't approve of, or if they get bored with you...well then.

But the real reason I'm glad I'm not cool is that I had to fall apart. I had to do this to begin my life again. But then, even after that, I had to come to the end of myself. I had to find what I was searching for, and sometimes avoiding, my whole life. My pastor said on Sunday, and I've heard it said before, "There is a God and you're not Him." I knew he was going to say it. I say it to myself a lot.

Pie in the Eye

After being on a special diet for health reasons for over a year and a half, not to mention a lifetime of trying to lose weight, I have suddenly, inexplicably, shed five pounds. So my first thought was, "I wonder if I have cancer?" I just read a friend's facebook post. She quoted a woman whose funeral she had just attended as saying, "I would rather have cancer and know Christ as my Savior, than be healthy and have no faith" I would agree with that statement.

I never used to think much about cancer because it didn't "run in my family." Now it seems to run everywhere.

I spent a lot of time doing yardwork today. I have a pretty bad headache from 'overdoing it.' So let me work my way around to my title here.

Back when I had my first batch of kids (boys) they, like my current brood (boys), along with my husband, loved the Three Stooges. Ugh. Well obviously I am not a boy. Anyway, I guess that's where they became acquainted with the concept of getting a pie in the face. But they never said it that way. They would say, "pie in the eye." Hahaha, now that's funny! They were so cute. One of them just turned 25. He's the apple of my eye. The pie of my eye--the fresh-picked blueberry pie of my eye! I posted the above photo on my facebook and labeled it, "fresh-picked blueberry pie," so of course my funny friend wanted to know where she could fresh-pick a blueberry pie! That's a little homeschool mom humor.

This morning in my Bible I was reading Proverbs 7:1-3

My son, keep my words
and store up my commands within you.
Keep my commands and you will live;
guard my teachings as the apple of your eye.
Bind them on your fingers;
write them on the tablet of your heart.

And it reminded me of how God has told us that we are 'the apple of His eye' (Zech. 2:8, Deut. 32:10). And here I am told to keep his teachings ("law" in KJV) as the 'apple of my eye.' I love the imagery. Could anything be more beautiful? We are invited to such an intimate relationship with the One who has made all things. And He doesn't want it to be 'casual.' He wants it to be all-consuming. He wants to be the apple of my eye!

Happiness

I remember back in the 70's there was a book called "Happiness is a Warm Puppy," written by Charles M. Schultz. On the cover was a picture of Lucy, squeezing the life out of a hapless Snoopy. The pages were filled with cute illustrations of Peanuts characters and short heartwarming definitions of "happiness," such as finding the right puzzle piece, etc. A nice little booklet.

Today I feel happy. I am really thankful for that. As I type away here it is twilight, a very pleasant summer evening, filled with the sound of cicadas buzzing and the smells of fresh air and orange tea. My husband is upstairs giving the kids their baths, after having spent the day together as a family, just poking around the house. There were minor projects accomplished, the workroom finally got straightened out, some weeding was done, laundry put away. There was also fun with the kids, playing games and watching them attempt to master the pogo-stick and roller blades. Altogether enjoyable.

I have been spending more time with God lately. I am so busy with new opportunities He has given me, which I know I cannot handle, that I have been driven to my knees early in the morning pretty much each day. And so I am blessed, content, in a really good place. Recently I told the Lord that I just needed peace, but also mentioned I was kind of bummed I really hadn't felt joy for a long while. I was actually thinking at the time I might never feel it again...Wrong. :)

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.--James 1:17.

Comedy is the Best Revenge

Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.--Rom. 12:19


In our little town, which is on the cusp of suburbia and farmland, there is an annual event. For anonymity's sake I'll call it the "Hayseed Gala." It is three days long, usually late in July, consists of carnival rides, food vendors, craft sales, and two nights of really loud cover or tribute bands. Oh yeah, and a beer tent, quite necessary in provoking enthusiasm for said entertainment.

While I many times question why more culturally relevant themes are not explored at the "Hayseed Gala," say, square-dancing, or some local bluegrass... Nope. Just 70's bands. Ugh. I once tried to get a fine art show started, but sadly, after sitting in one of those planning committee meetings, I don't think I could ever do it again. So, it is what it is. Interestingly, this whole thing is set up right in the middle of a neighborhood. There is a field, which many houses (including mine) back up to, and this is the venue for the annual "Hayseed Gala."

I really didn't have a problem with it, until one morning two summers ago, I walked out my back door to find the back of the stage set up not 50 feet from my house!!! This was not the normal positioning of the stage, which had always been in the middle of the field, AWAY from peoples' homes, as one would only find reasonable. I went, um, kind of ballistic. In fact the "Hayseed Gala" committee happened to be out there at that moment and I guess I kind of let 'em have it. Big mistake. I learned that you don't mess with the "Hayseed Gala" planning committee.

The show went on, and trust me, it was louder and more horrible than anyone can explain. I was infuriated, as a tax-paying citizen, that I would be imposed upon in such a ridiculous manner--especially because the stage DID NOT HAVE TO BE THERE. I purposed not to let that ever happen again. Indeed I was told that it would not.

May I just say that with the ensuing events of the next year, complaining and pleading and letter-writing and phone-calling and even *grimace* "Hayseed Gala" planning committee meeting attending (my husband went) we got nowhere. They plunked that stage down right in my back yard again last year. Even though it could have been moved back to its original spot. They gave me some lame story about fire lanes, but they just put something else right where the stage used to be. It was not an issue of safety. It was an issue of small town politics.

Ironically, last year they had this whole big thing about how they wanted to honor military personnel, and my son was coming home for a family reunion after serving for a year in Afghanistan. The only time we could schedule this reunion was during the "Hayseed Gala." It would have been okay to do it then, except for the unbearable noise level caused by the stage being within spitting distance of my deck. You can close your windows, turn on your A/C, cover your ears with pillows, but you still will not even be able to hear your own thoughts in this house once the bands start up.

I appealed to the committee's "patriotism," asking them to please move the stage (back to where it belonged) so we could have a welcome-home party for my son in our home. They would not. So we had to actually have his reunion at my parents' home. Again, I say, all of this could have been avoided because the stage does not have to be in my backyard!!! It never was before. So you can see how angry this has made me. It is a frustration I feel not just for the 3 days, annually, of the "Hayseed Gala" but pretty much every day. That's stupid, I know. Trust me, I have tried to "turn this over" like a million times. I don't like kind of hating this town.

So, I don't have a hilarious wrap-up for this post. There is no comedic solution, really. I just liked calling it the "Hayseed Gala." The real truth is that I have prayed about this a lot. I have had many ideas about what I can learn from this whole ordeal. It is getting kind of scary having government not really care about its law-abiding citizens as individuals, small-scale and large. But we are guaranteed problems in this life. Jesus said, "In this world you will have trouble...”--John 16:33b. But He was telling this to His disciples who were about to face severe persecution.

And there are other kinds of troubles: sickness, violence, death, destruction. These things make my "Hayseed Gala" dilemma seem awfully insignificant. Today as I mulled this over, I was very thankful to God that He lets me have this problem instead of a sick child, or something really devastating like that. And here is the second part of what Jesus said, "...But take heart! I have overcome the world."--John 16:33b

Computation Equation

Not terribly long ago my husband and I got into a fight. Not a fistfight, a marital spat. I knew we had come to a new place in our relationship when, as we were too angry to speak to each other and went our separate ways for a time, (and we didn't know what each other was doing) he chose to go outside and sharpen my lawn mower blades for me. I chose, in his absence, to practice a song on piano I was learning to surprise him with on Father's Day. I know, kind of like "Gift of the Magi"--somewhat.

I remember back in the day we had made a meager attempt at marriage counseling. We were taught about "fighting fair" and not to use "always and never" statements. I am not a fair fighter. I have a lethal tongue. That is to my shame. It is only the Lord Jesus who could have arranged the circumstances to bring blossoming goodness where there used to be such venomous spite.

Back in the marriage counseling period I was in therapy myself. I did get one really good insight in that psychologist's office. I don't think I even told her about it. It was a mental image I had of what the problem really was. The vision was a vast darkness with unending spiraling tunnels of black and grey. The tunnels, I knew, were what was wrong with me. There was no end to it.

At the time it was kind of a freak out but also in a way depressing. There was no amount of counseling that could get to the root of my brokenness. I didn't know at the time that God was giving me a picture of my sin.

A couple days ago I punched a link in a junk email I knew I shouldn't have. I do not know why I did this. Temporary utter stupidity. Anyway, I immediately ran a scan on my computer and then my computer just shut itself down. Oh no. After all these years of being so careful, I had finally done it. I turned it back on and tried to run the scan again, and it shut down. Argh. This was only 10 in the morning and I knew I would have to wait until my husband got home to deal with it, leaving me in a heightened state of anxiety for several hours.

During this interval I had some time to think. I have recently been lamenting to my friends the fact that I am on the internet far too much. In truth, it has become a sinful habit. Not that I'm doing anything inappropriate--if you don't consider ignoring your kids, your work, your marriage, your relationship with God inappropriate. I had prayed about it several times. I had tried to devise time limits for myself, but that never worked. It was just like a diet. But now, here this thing had happened--I had contracted a computer virus, and I figured that perhaps it was something God had allowed to happen for my good.

I don't like to make huge mistakes without learning something from them. I thought, I prayed, "Okay, what can I take from this? LORD, Please help me because I don't want to make some lame promise like, 'If my computer doesn't actually have a virus I'll only use it for 20 minutes a day,' which is not actually addressing the issue." That morning I knew I should have been spending time with God first, but I was farting around on the internet, with my Bible pushed aside. Now hear this: I was not viewing the situation as God folding His arms looking down at me with disdain. I was rather seeing it as an opportunity He was giving me to flee from the self-created prison of addiction to going online.

And here is the original thought that came to me, I'm pretty sure, not from myself: What if I only used the computer in a manner consistent with honoring and glorifying God? That was it! Perfect! That made it all so very clear. It's okay to shop, but to a proper point. It's okay to email, or even facebook, to some extent. The line does not seem hard to see. I know when I'm wasting time, or money, or my brain. I know when I'm not tending to who or what I should be. THANKS LORD!!!!

So, it turns out I did not have a virus after all. I had just switched tablecloths and I think the laptop was sucking this one up causing it to overheat--that is my theory. But I am absolutely convinced that it was all happening in God's providence. Here's the proof: Last night, after all this, a friend told me my son had something hilarious posted on his wall. So I checked it out. He had not written anything wrong, but his several friends' comments took it to a place that was, let's just say, not really honoring and glorifying God. As I found myself beginning to snicker, I showed it to my husband, who was like, "gross." Then suddenly, I got this bizarre black error message screen I had never seen before...and I realized that God was helping me again.

My Cake and Your Cake Too

Yesterday I made my kids a batch of homemade chocolate pudding. Today it is gone, and my four-year-old asked me if I could make some more. No sooner had I said yes and he was waving me away telling me to "get to it." (He is so soft and cute that he gets away with this--sometimes, temporarily.) I tried to linger with him on the couch a bit longer (he was watching old-timey cartoons) when he said, giving me a push, "I don't want you."

As I headed toward the kitchen, to get some tea--not to make his pudding, I thought about God, and how I sometimes act the same way toward Him. I want the material comforts to keep on coming, while I put my relationship with Him on hold--as if I were some little despot calling the shots.

I don't know why the Supreme Ruler of the Universe gives me good gifts, why we have flowers and birds and music and good things to eat and health and friendship and love. Beyond this is so much more...but it is all from the Creator's hand. It makes no sense to think things are accidentally wonderful. It takes a lot of work just to get a batch of chocolate pudding right. Really think about that.

The most beautiful story in the whole world is the one of God's redemption for us through Jesus Christ. We want a hero who loves us that much, with a perfect, undying devotion up to--and beyond the point of death; and we have that. You can live a really great life--I do, overflowing with blessings and beauty and love; and it doesn't mean a thing without Christ.

Sewwww Long...Part 2

Well, I finally decided that I really did need a sewing machine, and decided to buy another one. I didn't want to spend a lot, but did want something that would work for my basic needs. So I researched, found one that rated pretty well, and bought it. Even paid up for a case, so the foot pedal wouldn't be flopping around this time.

Do you ever wonder who these people are that rate things inaccurately? And why? I have just about had it with Consumer Reports--they have steered me wrong several times now. As you can guess, my shiny new sewing machine was a piece of junk. I had nothing but trouble with it. Of course I didn't discover this right away, as I often take long hiatuses from sewing. The problems did not become obvious until it was way too late to return the thing to the store.

Aggravation. As if sewing, in itself, was not frustrating enough for me. I began to get angry again. And I got upset with my dad. I love my dad a ton, and it was gnawing away somewhere inside me, to the degree that I really had to take it to God several times. I knew it was dumb; that my problems are so minuscule in the grand scheme of things. I also knew that it was really wrong of me to be mad at my dad, because he is so much more important than a $100 sewing machine--or even two. And it really wasn't all his fault. I did pray.

Anyway, time went by and I began to accept my lot in life as a non-sewer. One would think this should not be difficult as I have already explained my retardedness at the whole sewing thing. But--I love fabrics. I can hardly pass up digging for treasure through those marked-down-to-$2-to$3/yard bolts. And I had actually found something I could do with all these wonderful colorful patterns...make baby blankies. I can't really call them quilts, because they're not, exactly. They are more primitive than that, or at least more incorrectly done. Nevertheless, they are sewn from many different beautiful materials and I had a really great time making them, a couple of times. Before the sewing machine fiasco.

So my piles of lovely pinks and blues, florals and calicos sat and sat. I finally gave away most of them to a friend who actually has a working machine. So I had pretty much thrown in the towel...and then....out of the blue, my cousin Wendy emailed me. She said she had heard that I could use a sewing machine and that she had an old one of her mom's in her garage if I wanted it!! Now, I must clarify here. My cousin Wendy is a sewer, furthermore she is the daughter of Serious Sewer Aunt Sue, who can sew anything from a (real) teddy bear to a tailored suit!! Any old machine of Sue's was NOT going to be a $100 heap of barely functional plastic parts from Target! I trembled with joy. And then I wrote Wendy back....Stay tuned for part three of this cliffhanger.