Sometime we should sit down and have a big talk. We should look long into each other's eyes and talk deeply about big things. I think sometimes that we talk in greys and light greys and dark greys.
When we talk deeply about big things, we will talk in hyacinth blues and impatien pinks and spring-moss greens; oh, and russets and maizes and lavenders, ...and that really cool dark grey that is almost a blue like a rock in a stream, too.
When one of us says something that the other one doesn't understand, she will say, "I don't quite understand, will you tell me deeper, still?" Then the first will take her heart and put it in the other's hands and then she will understand. Then we can cry and laugh together because we know that we love each other so completely that we just lay ourselves down for each other.
Maybe someday...this year.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Hello, It's Me
Today is Thanksgiving. The turkey has been cooked, and much of it has been eaten. The Lord has blessed Glen and me with a good day of peace and grace with one another and our kids. By this, I don't mean that there have been no conflicts, but these conflicts, I think, have been for our benefit and perfection, and to God's glory.
I take up now the task of clearly and thoroughly conveying how I got from there to here. What better day to do it, or at least to begin it, than on Thanksgiving? What better to be thankful for than for life everlasting and freedom from the burden of sin and despair?
I was born the ninth of ten children (no..eleven, my littlest sister, Dinah Ruth was born when I was 13, and lived only 13 hours: a dear little redheaded girl). From my earliest memories, I was in church. First (that I remember) was a Church of Christ. As I approached ten, the "age of accountability," I anticipated my baptism with enthusiasm. I was very disappointed that my family left that church just before this would have taken place.
While we attended that church, which was about 30 - 40 miles from our home, we spent Sunday afternoons in the homes of other members of the church, and returned to church for evening service. It was a pleasant time to be a child, and I had other "grammies" who loved me and my family. That church, of course was full of sinners and fallen men. In my youth, I wasn't privy to reasons; when we left, we left.
We went to another Church of Christ for a while, and then we had church at home for a period of time. We had communion and everything.
After that, we went to the Methodist church of my mother's family. Here, from about age 12 or 13 I stayed until I graduated from high school. I was active in the youth group, sang in the choir (because I loved certain women who were in the choir), attended Sunday School and church and on Thursday evenings, went to Campus Life (an inter-denominational Youth for Christ group). My best friend in High School went, without her family, to the Baptist church in town. I wanted to get baptized, and I went to her church for that.
Was I converted at that point? I don't know. I know that I was aware of my utter inability to improve myself. I know that I was burdened with the acute awareness of my own shortcomings. I know that I desired to follow and love Jesus with my whole self and my whole life. But... was that the mighty hand of God, or just adolescent self hatred? I really don't know, but I believe that the hand of God was on me, at least from that point on.
I graduated and began college at the University of Michigan, Flint. This is a satellite campus of U of M; a commuter campus. I went one year and dropped. I got a job at a gift shop in a famous tourist town, working Sundays, of course. I continued to try to go to Sunday School and at least part of church in the Methodist church in this town. I soon dropped this attempt because it was difficult, and seemed futile and irrelevant.
Soon after that I moved out of my parents' home and into a trailer with a friend from high school and her sister. From this moment on, I had little or no thought of God. The girls I lived with were faithful Christians.
I quit the gift shop job and got a job closer to my new home. I now sold candy bars, cigarettes, and booze in a convenience store. I was not prepared by my family, church, youth group, or personal devotion to the true and living God for the lifestyle I now found myself exposed to.
I slept little, ate poorly, popped no-doz, and flirted with the guys who came in to buy their beer, cigarettes, and booze. That was what they thought I was there for, and it was easier than being myself. I even accepted a date. A guy named Roger took me to see a movie called "My Bodyguard." Then I took him to meet my family. We then went to his place, and when I refused to have sex with him, he took me home, completely rejected me, and I never, ever heard from him again.
My hope at the time was definitely built on much less than Jesus' blood and righteousness. I could have learned about looking for integrity in potential mates, or recognizing character and speaking my mind with confidence, or not being found alone with a date... But instead I learned what it is that men want, and, why was it that I wasn't in the game, anyways? It is just too hard to play by different rules, unless you are aware that you are actually playing a different game.
So I switched games.
This is much too ugly for me to wrench out of my keyboard. I cannot find sufficient reason to go into details about this, but, since God has allowed it, I am willing to expose my past if it will help anyone.
Suffice it to say, for now, that I strayed further and further from God. I even denied him. At the same time, I sometimes marveled at the pleasures that He created, at His sense of humor (ie: red hair--try getting an evolutionist to explain that one!).
I did not have a rock to stand on. I dishonored my parents. I denied the existance of the God who created me, sustained my very breath, and died for the sins in which I wallowed. I completely humiliated myself for the fickle approval of men. I convinced myself that by doing so, I freed myself from guilt, shame, inhibitions, convention, and ties that bind.
As I look back, I see God's hand in the details. Because of my rebellion and reliance on myself, and not His strength, it was a long, ugly road, but He worked all things perfectly together.
After an ill-advised marriage and divorce, I found myself married again. This time, God graciously opened my womb and gave me a daughter. Then He gave me another. Then, by means not to be exposed here, He put an end to the blessing of children. But these children were a blessing beyond expression, and the blessing of them has not seen its end.
One day, while visiting my parents with my daughters, I was talking to my younger sister. I was surprized to find out that she went to church every Sunday. When I asked why, she said that she wanted her kids to grow up in church.
Yes, growing up in church is a good thing. I would take my kids to church. So after a sufficient period of procrastination, I began the difficult task of choosing a church. I went to the first one (a Methodist church) on Palm Sunday. My daughter wore her only dress, a beautiful white dress handed down from her cousin. One of the ladies cooed over it, and commented that she couldn't imagine what my daughter would wear on Easter Sunday. My heart froze. She never found out!
Next I went to an Evangelical Presbyterian Church that my husband's nephew had gotten married in. I sat down and checked out the pew Bible. NIV...hmm... Don't really recognize Zephaniah, but other than that, nothing suspicious. They had all the stuff that I wanted for my kids, and coffee hour between Sunday School and church. There was a lady who found my kids every Sunday and gave them a piece of sugarless gum. She also came along beside me and helped me learn stuff. She held Bible studies, and she just knew a bunch!
One Sunday, while the preacher was preparing for communion, the words he spoke about the purpose of the table and the warnings about eating the bread and drinking the wine unworthily, were used by the Holy Spirit to convict me. I was unworthy. I was the reason that blood was spilt. I had despised the perfect sacrifice of God, and He loved me. I was undone.
When I got home that day, Glen asked me what happened. He somehow could tell that something was different. He realized more than I did at the time the distance between light and dark. He was afraid that our life together was over. In fact it was. The woman he married was gone, and a new creature had taken her place. From that moment on, God's hand was upon Glen's life, and nine years later, God called him as well.
I take up now the task of clearly and thoroughly conveying how I got from there to here. What better day to do it, or at least to begin it, than on Thanksgiving? What better to be thankful for than for life everlasting and freedom from the burden of sin and despair?
I was born the ninth of ten children (no..eleven, my littlest sister, Dinah Ruth was born when I was 13, and lived only 13 hours: a dear little redheaded girl). From my earliest memories, I was in church. First (that I remember) was a Church of Christ. As I approached ten, the "age of accountability," I anticipated my baptism with enthusiasm. I was very disappointed that my family left that church just before this would have taken place.
While we attended that church, which was about 30 - 40 miles from our home, we spent Sunday afternoons in the homes of other members of the church, and returned to church for evening service. It was a pleasant time to be a child, and I had other "grammies" who loved me and my family. That church, of course was full of sinners and fallen men. In my youth, I wasn't privy to reasons; when we left, we left.
We went to another Church of Christ for a while, and then we had church at home for a period of time. We had communion and everything.
After that, we went to the Methodist church of my mother's family. Here, from about age 12 or 13 I stayed until I graduated from high school. I was active in the youth group, sang in the choir (because I loved certain women who were in the choir), attended Sunday School and church and on Thursday evenings, went to Campus Life (an inter-denominational Youth for Christ group). My best friend in High School went, without her family, to the Baptist church in town. I wanted to get baptized, and I went to her church for that.
Was I converted at that point? I don't know. I know that I was aware of my utter inability to improve myself. I know that I was burdened with the acute awareness of my own shortcomings. I know that I desired to follow and love Jesus with my whole self and my whole life. But... was that the mighty hand of God, or just adolescent self hatred? I really don't know, but I believe that the hand of God was on me, at least from that point on.
I graduated and began college at the University of Michigan, Flint. This is a satellite campus of U of M; a commuter campus. I went one year and dropped. I got a job at a gift shop in a famous tourist town, working Sundays, of course. I continued to try to go to Sunday School and at least part of church in the Methodist church in this town. I soon dropped this attempt because it was difficult, and seemed futile and irrelevant.
Soon after that I moved out of my parents' home and into a trailer with a friend from high school and her sister. From this moment on, I had little or no thought of God. The girls I lived with were faithful Christians.
I quit the gift shop job and got a job closer to my new home. I now sold candy bars, cigarettes, and booze in a convenience store. I was not prepared by my family, church, youth group, or personal devotion to the true and living God for the lifestyle I now found myself exposed to.
I slept little, ate poorly, popped no-doz, and flirted with the guys who came in to buy their beer, cigarettes, and booze. That was what they thought I was there for, and it was easier than being myself. I even accepted a date. A guy named Roger took me to see a movie called "My Bodyguard." Then I took him to meet my family. We then went to his place, and when I refused to have sex with him, he took me home, completely rejected me, and I never, ever heard from him again.
My hope at the time was definitely built on much less than Jesus' blood and righteousness. I could have learned about looking for integrity in potential mates, or recognizing character and speaking my mind with confidence, or not being found alone with a date... But instead I learned what it is that men want, and, why was it that I wasn't in the game, anyways? It is just too hard to play by different rules, unless you are aware that you are actually playing a different game.
So I switched games.
This is much too ugly for me to wrench out of my keyboard. I cannot find sufficient reason to go into details about this, but, since God has allowed it, I am willing to expose my past if it will help anyone.
Suffice it to say, for now, that I strayed further and further from God. I even denied him. At the same time, I sometimes marveled at the pleasures that He created, at His sense of humor (ie: red hair--try getting an evolutionist to explain that one!).
I did not have a rock to stand on. I dishonored my parents. I denied the existance of the God who created me, sustained my very breath, and died for the sins in which I wallowed. I completely humiliated myself for the fickle approval of men. I convinced myself that by doing so, I freed myself from guilt, shame, inhibitions, convention, and ties that bind.
As I look back, I see God's hand in the details. Because of my rebellion and reliance on myself, and not His strength, it was a long, ugly road, but He worked all things perfectly together.
After an ill-advised marriage and divorce, I found myself married again. This time, God graciously opened my womb and gave me a daughter. Then He gave me another. Then, by means not to be exposed here, He put an end to the blessing of children. But these children were a blessing beyond expression, and the blessing of them has not seen its end.
One day, while visiting my parents with my daughters, I was talking to my younger sister. I was surprized to find out that she went to church every Sunday. When I asked why, she said that she wanted her kids to grow up in church.
Yes, growing up in church is a good thing. I would take my kids to church. So after a sufficient period of procrastination, I began the difficult task of choosing a church. I went to the first one (a Methodist church) on Palm Sunday. My daughter wore her only dress, a beautiful white dress handed down from her cousin. One of the ladies cooed over it, and commented that she couldn't imagine what my daughter would wear on Easter Sunday. My heart froze. She never found out!
Next I went to an Evangelical Presbyterian Church that my husband's nephew had gotten married in. I sat down and checked out the pew Bible. NIV...hmm... Don't really recognize Zephaniah, but other than that, nothing suspicious. They had all the stuff that I wanted for my kids, and coffee hour between Sunday School and church. There was a lady who found my kids every Sunday and gave them a piece of sugarless gum. She also came along beside me and helped me learn stuff. She held Bible studies, and she just knew a bunch!
One Sunday, while the preacher was preparing for communion, the words he spoke about the purpose of the table and the warnings about eating the bread and drinking the wine unworthily, were used by the Holy Spirit to convict me. I was unworthy. I was the reason that blood was spilt. I had despised the perfect sacrifice of God, and He loved me. I was undone.
When I got home that day, Glen asked me what happened. He somehow could tell that something was different. He realized more than I did at the time the distance between light and dark. He was afraid that our life together was over. In fact it was. The woman he married was gone, and a new creature had taken her place. From that moment on, God's hand was upon Glen's life, and nine years later, God called him as well.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Basking in the Goodness of God
God just amazes me, His goodness, His wisdom.
He is able to do more than we can ask or imagine.
He is able to do more than we can ask or imagine.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
The Princess and The Yogre
AKA: A Really Happy Ending
Once upon a time, there was a princess. She was full of beauty and wisdom. She was friendly and everyone in the kingdom loved her. She was generous and hospitable, and her home was always bussling with guests. She was wise, and many sought her wisdom and confidence.
Then one day, a yogre moved into the kingdom. Like many yogres, when this yogre smiled, it often looked like she sneered, grimmaced, or growled. Because she was a yogre, like her mother and grandmother before her, her countanace was stern. When she laughed, a great "Gur-hoof, gur-hoof, snorrt" could be heard from a great distance, and many in the kingdom slipped silently away upon hearing it.
A yogre knows that she is a yogre, and will generally speak and laugh only with those who do not flee, and let the others go, not wishing to distress them further.
When she spoke, she usually got her words all mixed up, and sometimes made no sense at all. She came from a kingdom much different from this one, and often her speech and manners were misunderstood. She loved this kingdom, though, and so she continued on in it. In it was the air she breathed.
She loved the princess too. From time to time, she would muster up her courage and seek the pricess's wisdom regarding customs of the kingdom. When she did this, she tried really hard to choose her words carefully and not to laugh much so as not to frighten the princess away.
The princess was kind, as well as wise and beautiful, and always stayed long enough to answer the yogre's question. The yogre thought the princess was also brave, for she thought she saw a look of trepidation in the princess's eye whenever they spoke.
Then one day, the yogre, afraid of frightening one of the peasants away, chose herwords frantically rather than carefully, saying in haste, "I love you, don't flee!"
"GARR-UF!" the peasant heard the yogre say, and fled to the princess to confide in her how the yogre had frightened her.
The princess said nothing of this to the yogre.
Then one day, the yogre was walking on a kingdom path, enjoying the life her King had granted her, when she saw one of her peasant friends walking across a bridge. The yogre had seen many of the kingdom peasants walking on this very bridge, although not all of them took that path. The yogre smiled and waved a greeting at her peasant friend, who saw her sneer and heard her say, "Wheeeefle!" She quickly turned away. She did not flee, but stayed on the bridge. From then on, though, that skittish look came upon her whenever the yogre came near.
The yogre loved her friend, and began to worry that she was living on the bridge, instead of traversing on it. The bridge was sturdy, but was not for residing on. So, choosing her words ever so carefully, she began to talk to her friend about the bridge.
"Grr-gar-hooph! Warr!" the friend heard her say, and scurried away to the princess to confide in her how the yogre had frightened her.
The princess said nothing of this to the yogre.
Then one day, they came to gates of the City of which the kingdom was only a reflection. They went in, and they knew, even as they were known. Their King wiped away their tears, and they loved one another perfectly.
Once upon a time, there was a princess. She was full of beauty and wisdom. She was friendly and everyone in the kingdom loved her. She was generous and hospitable, and her home was always bussling with guests. She was wise, and many sought her wisdom and confidence.
Then one day, a yogre moved into the kingdom. Like many yogres, when this yogre smiled, it often looked like she sneered, grimmaced, or growled. Because she was a yogre, like her mother and grandmother before her, her countanace was stern. When she laughed, a great "Gur-hoof, gur-hoof, snorrt" could be heard from a great distance, and many in the kingdom slipped silently away upon hearing it.
A yogre knows that she is a yogre, and will generally speak and laugh only with those who do not flee, and let the others go, not wishing to distress them further.
When she spoke, she usually got her words all mixed up, and sometimes made no sense at all. She came from a kingdom much different from this one, and often her speech and manners were misunderstood. She loved this kingdom, though, and so she continued on in it. In it was the air she breathed.
She loved the princess too. From time to time, she would muster up her courage and seek the pricess's wisdom regarding customs of the kingdom. When she did this, she tried really hard to choose her words carefully and not to laugh much so as not to frighten the princess away.
The princess was kind, as well as wise and beautiful, and always stayed long enough to answer the yogre's question. The yogre thought the princess was also brave, for she thought she saw a look of trepidation in the princess's eye whenever they spoke.
Then one day, the yogre, afraid of frightening one of the peasants away, chose herwords frantically rather than carefully, saying in haste, "I love you, don't flee!"
"GARR-UF!" the peasant heard the yogre say, and fled to the princess to confide in her how the yogre had frightened her.
The princess said nothing of this to the yogre.
Then one day, the yogre was walking on a kingdom path, enjoying the life her King had granted her, when she saw one of her peasant friends walking across a bridge. The yogre had seen many of the kingdom peasants walking on this very bridge, although not all of them took that path. The yogre smiled and waved a greeting at her peasant friend, who saw her sneer and heard her say, "Wheeeefle!" She quickly turned away. She did not flee, but stayed on the bridge. From then on, though, that skittish look came upon her whenever the yogre came near.
The yogre loved her friend, and began to worry that she was living on the bridge, instead of traversing on it. The bridge was sturdy, but was not for residing on. So, choosing her words ever so carefully, she began to talk to her friend about the bridge.
"Grr-gar-hooph! Warr!" the friend heard her say, and scurried away to the princess to confide in her how the yogre had frightened her.
The princess said nothing of this to the yogre.
Then one day, they came to gates of the City of which the kingdom was only a reflection. They went in, and they knew, even as they were known. Their King wiped away their tears, and they loved one another perfectly.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I Hear Voices
I hear voices.
Usually it is my own, and that one drones on in my head endlessly.
Tonight, while I was coming home from Bible study, the radio was on, and they were talking about the weather while I thought of something else. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard, "MAMMA ..." My entire skin contracted from the top of my head on down, and I nearly got in an accident trying to figure out what child was speaking so loudly from behind the seat of the pick up truck. Then I realized that it was a commercial aimed at mothers who felt like they were being pulled in all directions, and needed a quick and easy time with the Lord. Upon realizing that, my skin (all of it) having begun to relax, contracted again. I couldn't believe the effect this had on me. It seriously hurt! I was suddenly physically and emotionally exhausted.
Twice, though I have "heard" answers to deep questions. One was about two years ago, I was trying to figure out what to do. I was racking my brain, and, in prayer, asked God who I could talk to about this. "Glen." "My husband?" I responded, "no, no. I know what he will say." "Glen." So I talked to Glen about my (our) delemma. He gave wise counsel; totally blew my mind.
Today, I was thinking about a problem, and wishing that I had Glen on my side about this, just in this one matter. Why doesn't he see things my way? I pray for God's wisdom for him. I honor him. I submit to him. "But do you love it?" "Love what? You told me to submit to him. I pray for your wisdom for him, and I submit to him." "But do you love it?" "No, I pray for your wisdom for him, submitting to him while I wait for you to change his mind." "Love it. Rejoice in it."
God has given me a husband to lead me. He has given me protection, and my children a father to lead them and love them and protect them. I mindlessly ask God to give me joy in submission and then pray for wisdom for my husband while in my heart meaning, "Make him think like me. (just in this one matter)" This is despising the gift that God has given me. It is puffing myself up as the wisdom of God.
God has given me good. I need to love it, and rejoice in it. My deceiptful heart wants to add, "even if I disagree with it," but that is where I was. That is what I repent of. That is what I want to turn away from. That is what creates bitterness.
I need to see with eyes of faith that God has Glen's heart in His hand, and His ways are much higher than my ways, and His thoughts than my thoughts.
Usually it is my own, and that one drones on in my head endlessly.
Tonight, while I was coming home from Bible study, the radio was on, and they were talking about the weather while I thought of something else. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard, "MAMMA ..." My entire skin contracted from the top of my head on down, and I nearly got in an accident trying to figure out what child was speaking so loudly from behind the seat of the pick up truck. Then I realized that it was a commercial aimed at mothers who felt like they were being pulled in all directions, and needed a quick and easy time with the Lord. Upon realizing that, my skin (all of it) having begun to relax, contracted again. I couldn't believe the effect this had on me. It seriously hurt! I was suddenly physically and emotionally exhausted.
Twice, though I have "heard" answers to deep questions. One was about two years ago, I was trying to figure out what to do. I was racking my brain, and, in prayer, asked God who I could talk to about this. "Glen." "My husband?" I responded, "no, no. I know what he will say." "Glen." So I talked to Glen about my (our) delemma. He gave wise counsel; totally blew my mind.
Today, I was thinking about a problem, and wishing that I had Glen on my side about this, just in this one matter. Why doesn't he see things my way? I pray for God's wisdom for him. I honor him. I submit to him. "But do you love it?" "Love what? You told me to submit to him. I pray for your wisdom for him, and I submit to him." "But do you love it?" "No, I pray for your wisdom for him, submitting to him while I wait for you to change his mind." "Love it. Rejoice in it."
God has given me a husband to lead me. He has given me protection, and my children a father to lead them and love them and protect them. I mindlessly ask God to give me joy in submission and then pray for wisdom for my husband while in my heart meaning, "Make him think like me. (just in this one matter)" This is despising the gift that God has given me. It is puffing myself up as the wisdom of God.
God has given me good. I need to love it, and rejoice in it. My deceiptful heart wants to add, "even if I disagree with it," but that is where I was. That is what I repent of. That is what I want to turn away from. That is what creates bitterness.
I need to see with eyes of faith that God has Glen's heart in His hand, and His ways are much higher than my ways, and His thoughts than my thoughts.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Tuesday, Fish Dinner!
Today, Tuesday, I was not fish-bait, but a side dish in a wonderfull Fish Dinner with a dear sister.
Soft spoken and tender-hearted, and 17 weeks pregnant, Van arranged to meet me at Planned Parenthood. She is the strong one; she is the brave one.
God is good, and it rained, a steady drizzle. Not enough to get really soaked, but enough to show God's glory.
It is the same sidewalk and parking lot as on Thursdays, but not. The parking lot at 10 or so was sparsely used. A woman pulled in and parked and got out. The words stuck in the back of my throat and she walked to the building. So far I have only uttered a friendly "Good Morning" or two. She returned immediately to her car. We asked if they were closed. She said that they open at 10:30.
While we waited we talked, getting to know each other better, and sharing the courage that we gave each other. Three young-looking black people got out of a car, two girls and a boy, but would not respond to our greeting. We moved around to look at the smoking area, where on fine days, those who are waiting for their appointment will sit and smoke, or eat and apple, or read a novel. It is like a place appointed by God to sow seed, or draw them or call them or snatch them from the flames. When it rains, though no one sits on a stone bench and smokes.
We found that when we stood in the alley, they could turn away from us to walk to the door, and thereby ignore us easily. When we stood on the sidewalk, near the privacy fence, we could greet them as they approached the door, and they could see, from their natural periferal vision, that we appeared to be friendly and harmless. To respond to us, in this position, they had to go out of their way. They had to turn, in the rain and come to us, instead of to the door of Planned Parenthood.
I was amazed to see the glory of God in the rain. I was amazed to see a young woman, walk past the entrance and approach us when we called to her. Her claim to not be pregnant and not here for an abortion was her acknowledgement that she knew what we were about. It was her "Peace, peace." We learned from her.
I was amazed to see a young man whom we saw go in alone, turn away from his car, which now was only three feet from him, to approach us and accept an information sheet. He did not offer an explanation about his presense there, and we did not ask. We learned from him.
I was amazed each time someone, in the rain, went out of their way to come to us.
I was amazed when Van called me later, for she stayed when I had to get back to work, and told me that a young woman, with an umbrella and a satchel, whom I had seen go in, but missed the opportunity to speak to her; came out and talked with Van. She listened as Van told her that she herself is 17weeks pregnant. She even waited (if I understood her correctly) while Van called Car, and asked where the Crisis Pregnancy Center is.
God is amazing, and I extol His wondrous works.
I was going to include a neat document that David (Mr. T) in our church created to hand out on campus, but I couldn't get it to stick. I made copies and we handed them out today. It was a very good thing to have, I think. It was something for them to look at while we fumbled for something to say. They were read intently on occasion.
I am greatly encouraged.
Soft spoken and tender-hearted, and 17 weeks pregnant, Van arranged to meet me at Planned Parenthood. She is the strong one; she is the brave one.
God is good, and it rained, a steady drizzle. Not enough to get really soaked, but enough to show God's glory.
It is the same sidewalk and parking lot as on Thursdays, but not. The parking lot at 10 or so was sparsely used. A woman pulled in and parked and got out. The words stuck in the back of my throat and she walked to the building. So far I have only uttered a friendly "Good Morning" or two. She returned immediately to her car. We asked if they were closed. She said that they open at 10:30.
While we waited we talked, getting to know each other better, and sharing the courage that we gave each other. Three young-looking black people got out of a car, two girls and a boy, but would not respond to our greeting. We moved around to look at the smoking area, where on fine days, those who are waiting for their appointment will sit and smoke, or eat and apple, or read a novel. It is like a place appointed by God to sow seed, or draw them or call them or snatch them from the flames. When it rains, though no one sits on a stone bench and smokes.
We found that when we stood in the alley, they could turn away from us to walk to the door, and thereby ignore us easily. When we stood on the sidewalk, near the privacy fence, we could greet them as they approached the door, and they could see, from their natural periferal vision, that we appeared to be friendly and harmless. To respond to us, in this position, they had to go out of their way. They had to turn, in the rain and come to us, instead of to the door of Planned Parenthood.
I was amazed to see the glory of God in the rain. I was amazed to see a young woman, walk past the entrance and approach us when we called to her. Her claim to not be pregnant and not here for an abortion was her acknowledgement that she knew what we were about. It was her "Peace, peace." We learned from her.
I was amazed to see a young man whom we saw go in alone, turn away from his car, which now was only three feet from him, to approach us and accept an information sheet. He did not offer an explanation about his presense there, and we did not ask. We learned from him.
I was amazed each time someone, in the rain, went out of their way to come to us.
I was amazed when Van called me later, for she stayed when I had to get back to work, and told me that a young woman, with an umbrella and a satchel, whom I had seen go in, but missed the opportunity to speak to her; came out and talked with Van. She listened as Van told her that she herself is 17weeks pregnant. She even waited (if I understood her correctly) while Van called Car, and asked where the Crisis Pregnancy Center is.
God is amazing, and I extol His wondrous works.
I was going to include a neat document that David (Mr. T) in our church created to hand out on campus, but I couldn't get it to stick. I made copies and we handed them out today. It was a very good thing to have, I think. It was something for them to look at while we fumbled for something to say. They were read intently on occasion.
I am greatly encouraged.
Monday, November 06, 2006
My name is So, and I'm a Sower, and I work at a Button Factory...
AKA: Just Tell Me
There once was a button-maker, who made fine buttons. One day she was asked to make zippers. She was one who would help where she could, a lovely woman, so she aggreed. She was given the fabric necessary to make the zippers, and the little metal pieces to make the teeth, and was told to have five of them done in a week. Although she had made a zipper or two on occasion, it was not her specialty, and these ones seemed very complicated, but she was determined to her best, so she worked and worked. She was not going to finish the five zippers in time, so she accepted help from a zipper-maker friend who zipped through the remaining two in no time. When the button-maker gave the zipper-maker her zippers, they were found to be incorrectly constructed, and the zipper-maker had to take them apart and remake them. She refused, however, to tell the button-maker of the error. She thought it would hurt her feelings.
There once was a button-maker, who made fine buttons. One day she was asked to make zippers. She was one who would help where she could, a lovely woman, so she aggreed. She was given the fabric necessary to make the zippers, and the little metal pieces to make the teeth, and was told to have five of them done in a week. Although she had made a zipper or two on occasion, it was not her specialty, and these ones seemed very complicated, but she was determined to her best, so she worked and worked. She was not going to finish the five zippers in time, so she accepted help from a zipper-maker friend who zipped through the remaining two in no time. When the button-maker gave the zipper-maker her zippers, they were found to be incorrectly constructed, and the zipper-maker had to take them apart and remake them. She refused, however, to tell the button-maker of the error. She thought it would hurt her feelings.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Shake your little fist you little man.
I am on AOL. When I sign on, I have this welcome screen that gives me headlines. That's how I keep abreast of what my culture is up to. AOL gives headines... one day the headliner assured us not to worry if you are not a
perfect parent. Your binging and lying and cheating will not have an
adverse effect on your kids; let them see it; let it all hang out,
baby. It is who you are. (I wish I had the article to reference,
because I'm sure you're saying that I must be mistaken.)
It occurred to me that in the '70s, the trend was moving toward blaming
your parents for all your character flaws. Anything from shyness to
aggressiveness; from anorexia to obesity; from murder to suicide could
be pinned on your parents. They overly protected you or they neglected
you or never left you alone made you go on family vacations, or made you wear hand-me-downs, or they abused you or never disciplined you, or made you clean up your plate. So you can't seem to love another person, or you can't stop using
people, or you can't control your spending or eating or lying or sex
drive.
Then in the late '90s it came to be "understood" that most if not all
character deficits were biological or chemical in nature. So things
like alcoholism, rage, all-consuming drive, are chemical imbalances. Also other things fell into this category where a person is deemed inculpable because of a chemical that is present or absent in the brain.
In the single digits of this century, the natural flow of this
reasoning shifted the "deficits" to "diversities". The idea is almost
that there is nothing that is wrong, but if there were something that
was wrong, it could not be your fault, because it is your make-up...the
way you were made. Homosexuality is the primary poster child of this
reasoning. It is clear that it is the way you are made.
The way you were made? By your parents? no, it is not their fault,
because if it were, then you would be responsible for the way your kids
turn out. (this is really funny...)
The way your were made? By whom? By God. It's not your fault, it's
His. (shake your little fist you little man.)
Psalm 2
1 Why do the nations conspire [a]
and the peoples plot in vain?
2 The kings of the earth take their stand
and the rulers gather together
against the LORD
and against his Anointed One. [b]
3 "Let us break their chains," they say,
"and throw off their fetters."
4 The One enthroned in heaven laughs;
the Lord scoffs at them.
5 Then he rebukes them in his anger
and terrifies them in his wrath, saying,
6 "I have installed my King [c]
on Zion, my holy hill."
7 I will proclaim the decree of the LORD :
He said to me, "You are my Son [d] ;
today I have become your Father. [e]
8 Ask of me,
and I will make the nations your inheritance,
the ends of the earth your possession.
9 You will rule them with an iron scepter [f] ;
you will dash them to pieces like pottery."
10 Therefore, you kings, be wise;
be warned, you rulers of the earth.
11 Serve the LORD with fear
and rejoice with trembling.
12 Kiss the Son, lest he be angry
and you be destroyed in your way,
for his wrath can flare up in a moment.
Blessed are all who take refuge in him.
perfect parent. Your binging and lying and cheating will not have an
adverse effect on your kids; let them see it; let it all hang out,
baby. It is who you are. (I wish I had the article to reference,
because I'm sure you're saying that I must be mistaken.)
It occurred to me that in the '70s, the trend was moving toward blaming
your parents for all your character flaws. Anything from shyness to
aggressiveness; from anorexia to obesity; from murder to suicide could
be pinned on your parents. They overly protected you or they neglected
you or never left you alone made you go on family vacations, or made you wear hand-me-downs, or they abused you or never disciplined you, or made you clean up your plate. So you can't seem to love another person, or you can't stop using
people, or you can't control your spending or eating or lying or sex
drive.
Then in the late '90s it came to be "understood" that most if not all
character deficits were biological or chemical in nature. So things
like alcoholism, rage, all-consuming drive, are chemical imbalances. Also other things fell into this category where a person is deemed inculpable because of a chemical that is present or absent in the brain.
In the single digits of this century, the natural flow of this
reasoning shifted the "deficits" to "diversities". The idea is almost
that there is nothing that is wrong, but if there were something that
was wrong, it could not be your fault, because it is your make-up...the
way you were made. Homosexuality is the primary poster child of this
reasoning. It is clear that it is the way you are made.
The way you were made? By your parents? no, it is not their fault,
because if it were, then you would be responsible for the way your kids
turn out. (this is really funny...)
The way your were made? By whom? By God. It's not your fault, it's
His. (shake your little fist you little man.)
Isaiah 29:16
You turn things upside down, as if the potter were thought to be like the clay! Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, "He did not make me"? Can the pot say of the potter, "He knows nothing"?
Isaiah 45:9
"Woe to him who quarrels with his Maker, to him who is but a potsherd among the potsherds on the ground. Does the clay say to the potter, 'What are you making?' Does your work say, 'He has no hands'?
Romans 9:19-21
19 One of you will say to me: "Then why does God still blame us? For who resists his will?" 20 But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? "Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' " 21 Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?
Psalm 2
1 Why do the nations conspire [a]
and the peoples plot in vain?
2 The kings of the earth take their stand
and the rulers gather together
against the LORD
and against his Anointed One. [b]
3 "Let us break their chains," they say,
"and throw off their fetters."
4 The One enthroned in heaven laughs;
the Lord scoffs at them.
5 Then he rebukes them in his anger
and terrifies them in his wrath, saying,
6 "I have installed my King [c]
on Zion, my holy hill."
7 I will proclaim the decree of the LORD :
He said to me, "You are my Son [d] ;
today I have become your Father. [e]
8 Ask of me,
and I will make the nations your inheritance,
the ends of the earth your possession.
9 You will rule them with an iron scepter [f] ;
you will dash them to pieces like pottery."
10 Therefore, you kings, be wise;
be warned, you rulers of the earth.
11 Serve the LORD with fear
and rejoice with trembling.
12 Kiss the Son, lest he be angry
and you be destroyed in your way,
for his wrath can flare up in a moment.
Blessed are all who take refuge in him.
INTREPID
Intrepid...another cool word.
—Related forms
intrepidity, intrepidness, noun
intrepidly, adverb
—Synonyms brave, courageous, bold.
—Antonyms timid.
—Synonyms brave, courageous, bold.
—Antonyms timid.
’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
And to take Him at His Word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
And to know, “Thus says the Lord!”
in trep id –adjective resolutely fearless; dauntless: an intrepid explorer.
[Origin: 1690–1700; < L intrepidus, equiv. to in- in-3 + trepidus anxious; see trepidation]
—Related forms
intrepidity, intrepidness, noun
intrepidly, adverb
—Synonyms brave, courageous, bold.
—Antonyms timid.
adj.
Resolutely courageous; fearless.
[Latin intrepidus : in-, not; see in-1 + trepidus, alarmed.]
intre·pidi·ty (-tr-pd-t) or in·trepid·ness n.
in·trepid·ly adv.
intrepid
adj : invulnerable to fear or intimidation; "audacious explorers"; "fearless reporters and photographers"; "intrepid pioneers" [syn: audacious, brave, dauntless, fearless, unfearing]
—Synonyms brave, courageous, bold.
—Antonyms timid.
Isaiah 28:16
So this is what the Sovereign LORD says: "See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation; the one who trusts will never be dismayed.
Isaiah 41:9-11
9 I took you from the ends of the earth,
from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, 'You are my servant';
I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
10 So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
11 "All who rage against you
will surely be ashamed and disgraced;
those who oppose you
will be as nothing and perish.
Jeremiah 8:9
9 The wise will be put to shame;
they will be dismayed and trapped.
Since they have rejected the word of the LORD,
what kind of wisdom do they have?
’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
And to take Him at His Word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
And to know, “Thus says the Lord!”
Monday, October 23, 2006
Three Point Underdogs
The Marching Mustangs were three points short of going to State Competition this year.Seemed like this year three points dogged us. Three points lost on a technicality... Three points behind Such-a-burg... Three tenths ahead of So-and-so-ville.
But we could dwell on the negative, or we could just take a deep breath and say that this was an exciting Marching band season, and that the kids went through a batch of growing over the last several months.
This year the upper classmen stepped up in a way that is unprecidented in the last 5 years of Edgewood Band. This year Seniors and Juniors were expected to, and did take responsibility that was previously discouraged for them. They failed at times, but they made the attempt.
This year's Edgewood marching Mustangs had spirit and intensity right up to the very end of their season. They worked harder than they have in a while and loved band better than they have in a while.
Low Brass friends...
sharing spit and sweat and poney tails...
More Later...
Thursday, October 19, 2006
So, why don't we do this?
I Corinthians 11
Each time I come to this passage of Scripture, I wonder, "Why don't we do this?" I remember quite a few years ago, I listened to a John MacArthur sermon where he talked about the culture of the time, and I emailed "Grace to You" and asked how we can tell when a passage of Scripture is to be interpreted through the lense of culture and when it should be taken straight up. I explained that I was trying to live a life of faith and integrity before an unbelieving husband and two young daughters whose eyes were wide open. I got a very nice, vague email back; and the next time I came to this passage, I wondered, "Why don't we do this?"
When I started this blog, on the premise that I would ask the questions and that Godly, and wise brothers and sisters would answer them, one of the first questions I asked was, "Why don't we do that?"
In the meantime, those two little girls grew up, and the husband was drawn by the Holy Spirit to the Throne of Grace; to the Cross, where his sins were forgiven and he became a new creation in Christ. (Halelujah!)
Recently, with one of my daughters, whose eyes were and still are wide open, I had a talk about why Christians do some things that are in the Bible, and disregard others. Guess which passage was brought up. Yes, I Corinthians 11.
A couple of weeks ago, my husband asked me to open the Bible and read to him a passage that he would tell me. I did, and he had me read to him I Corinthians 11:1-16. He didn't ask me, "Why don't we do that?" Instead, he asked, "Rachel, why don't you do that?"
Whoa! Well, that's getting personal! I don't do it, because we don't do it. That is the long and short of it.
Well, that was a turning point for me. Glen clarified the issue, that I need to obey God, and follow where He leads me.
It acually was more of a halting point, where I sat and thought, and talked to other people and read USA Today articles and Googled and prayed.
Then I came to the point where I had it settled in my mind, but I had to work out some practical issues. I asked the cousel of a wonderful woman in my church. She is elegant and eloquent, and her cousel is well thought out. I was concerned about not making this a fashion statement, and having nothing on hand to start with, I wondered about whether to make it pretty or plain, about matching outfits and so on. She remembered that she had been in the habit of wearing scarves when she was involved in the opera, so when her heart was convicted of this, she just started using those, because she had them on hand. I don't sing opera because, well, I can't; I don't wear scarves because I am not very elegant; I don't wear hats because when I wear a hat of any kind, I look like my brother; I sometimes will wrap a towel around my hair when I get out of the shower, but I don't think that would be appropriate.
So, I checked out my stash of remnants and messed around with shapes and sizes. I bought more remnants, and covered and tied and looked in the mirror and sighed. A beautiful young woman who recently got married in our church sometimes wraps her hair up in pretty cloths. She looks wonderful. Nothing I put on my head looked wonderful. I did this for two weeks.
While praying one night, the thought came to me that if I waited to obey this strong biblical admonition until it looked cool, I would never do it. If I waited until I wasn't afraid, I would never do it. If I waited until I even completely understood God's mind on this, I would never, ever do it; and then in another six months, or maybe a year, I would come across this passage again, and wonder, "Why don't we do that?"
I praise you for remembering me in everything and for holding to the teachings, just as I passed them on to you.
Now I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God. Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head. And every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head—it is just as though her head were shaved. If a woman does not cover her head, she should have her hair cut off; and if it is a disgrace for a woman to have her hair cut or shaved off, she should cover her head. A man ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God; but the woman is the glory of man. 8For man did not come from woman, but woman from man; neither was man created for woman, but woman for man. For this reason, and because of the angels, the woman ought to have a sign of authority on her head.
In the Lord, however, woman is not independent of man, nor is man independent of woman. For as woman came from man, so also man is born of woman. But everything comes from God. Judge for yourselves: Is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head uncovered? Does not the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him, but that if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For long hair is given to her as a covering. If anyone wants to be contentious about this, we have no other practice—nor do the churches of God.
I Corinthians 2-16
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
There is Hope
I was wrong. There is hope, and it is amazing. This is one of those times when God actually reached into my heart and gave me His peace, which passes all understanding. He washed me with His Word, and gave me a hug from the inside out.
I have to admit that last Wednesday night in Women's Bible I got very discouraged. A man's third greatest need is an attractive wife?! His first greatest need is sexual fulfillment. It was articulated that a man is always a glance or a click away from other, adulterous images. His wife is the only safe, fidelitous image that he can have in his mind, so make it good, sister.
I know that I could spruce it up a bit, but come on!
As much as we think something sounds like it makes sense, or fits our experience, we need to look at it through the lense of Scripture.
On one level, I want to get indignant and say that the man has some responsibility to maintain his own vessel. I know though that that is beside the point and we are not looking at him, but at me. Besides, that argument sounds much better coming from a vibrant, voluptuos vixon. From Mrs. Frumpy, it loses impact.
More than anything, this thought occupied my mind: "I couldn't compete with those images and young beauties when I was 26. These 20 years has not given me the edge." Am I to perm and dye my hair and put on fine clothes? I also was painfully aware of my lack of fashion sense. I'm not elegant. WOE; how I have cheated my husband of an attractive wife!
You can see the despondency into which I slipped.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him for He alone knows my heart. Praise Him for His thoughts are higher than my thoughts and His greatness is unsearchable. There is nowhere that I can go, but He is there!
On my way home from work, I sobbed, "How can this be... (and He began to answer me out of the the whirlwind, and through His precious Word) ...that as a woman gets older, and fatter and wrinklier and stiffer, how can it be that her husband will rejoice in the wife of his youth...that her breasts will always satisfy him and he will be captivated by her love. (from Pr.5)
And God said, because I said so. And He called to my mind Sarah, whose child I long to be. Abraham was afraid for his life because of her beauty, but it was the beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. He talked to me about how He has the hearts of men and kings in His hand. He brought many scriptures to my mind and washed me, and I rejoiced.
I have to admit that last Wednesday night in Women's Bible I got very discouraged. A man's third greatest need is an attractive wife?! His first greatest need is sexual fulfillment. It was articulated that a man is always a glance or a click away from other, adulterous images. His wife is the only safe, fidelitous image that he can have in his mind, so make it good, sister.
I know that I could spruce it up a bit, but come on!
As much as we think something sounds like it makes sense, or fits our experience, we need to look at it through the lense of Scripture.
On one level, I want to get indignant and say that the man has some responsibility to maintain his own vessel. I know though that that is beside the point and we are not looking at him, but at me. Besides, that argument sounds much better coming from a vibrant, voluptuos vixon. From Mrs. Frumpy, it loses impact.
More than anything, this thought occupied my mind: "I couldn't compete with those images and young beauties when I was 26. These 20 years has not given me the edge." Am I to perm and dye my hair and put on fine clothes? I also was painfully aware of my lack of fashion sense. I'm not elegant. WOE; how I have cheated my husband of an attractive wife!
You can see the despondency into which I slipped.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him for He alone knows my heart. Praise Him for His thoughts are higher than my thoughts and His greatness is unsearchable. There is nowhere that I can go, but He is there!
On my way home from work, I sobbed, "How can this be... (and He began to answer me out of the the whirlwind, and through His precious Word) ...that as a woman gets older, and fatter and wrinklier and stiffer, how can it be that her husband will rejoice in the wife of his youth...that her breasts will always satisfy him and he will be captivated by her love. (from Pr.5)
And God said, because I said so. And He called to my mind Sarah, whose child I long to be. Abraham was afraid for his life because of her beauty, but it was the beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. He talked to me about how He has the hearts of men and kings in His hand. He brought many scriptures to my mind and washed me, and I rejoiced.
I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Eph 3:16-21)
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Marching Mustangs in Regional Competition
I am so caught up in this. I might consider this trip to Jeffersonville High School as just another competition, but it is not. It is the end of an exciting season, or the climax of it.
When I get back, I will post the results and, hopefully, pictures (in color).
I will also write about some things that I need to write about:
See you on the other side of ISSMA Regional Competition!
When I get back, I will post the results and, hopefully, pictures (in color).
I will also write about some things that I need to write about:
There is Hope (thank you Erica)
Children
Response from Bloomington City Councilman
A Good Wife
See you on the other side of ISSMA Regional Competition!
Friday, October 13, 2006
Throwin it Down!
Here is my daughter Lydia and her peeps. It's in black and white because Mom doesn't know how to use Lydia's camera. (...or because it's twice as cool in black and white!) This was at Ben Davis last week. It was the first time this year I saw the show from the stands while they were wearing uniforms. Kinda cool. I will put in more pics later (I hope).
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
No Hope!
...and it just keeps getting worse!
Men's top five needs:
1. Sexual fulfillment.
2. Recreational companionship.
3. An attractive wife.
4. Peace & quiet
5. Admiration.
I just can't win.
Men's top five needs:
1. Sexual fulfillment.
2. Recreational companionship.
3. An attractive wife.
4. Peace & quiet
5. Admiration.
I just can't win.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
If you give a mouse a cookie...
Second verse, same as the first...
Some time ago, I bought some ziplock sandwich bags, only to find out that they were snack size. I wondered at the store why there were more of them in the box than the others for the same price. When I got home and opened the box, the reason was suddenly clear.
I started using them to make up individually portioned snacks and dessert treats to keep our portions in perportion. It was working quite well, but I had bought a certain type of cookie that didn't go over very well. The last of the pretzells were gone, and I had no more of the snack bags. I thought that all the snacks were gone, until I bought some more cookies and pretzels and bags and went to package them up. When I got the designated shoe box down from the refrigerator, I found, to my dimay, a snack baggie with two of the nasty-cookies in it. There was a bite-shaped portion missing from it, and the bag was torn suspiciously.
For just a moment, becuase of the shape of the bite, I wondered who would have taken a bite out of that cookie (which was nasty-old) and then ripped the bag open from the bottom to put it back...odd.
Sometimes you have an epiphany; they usually make my scalp hurt. Suddenly I saw that the way the bag was torn, making a small hole through which, not a big bite, but rather small nibbles were taken in an ark to form the shape of a bite. A-a--ahhh! It must be a mouse.
I showed Lydia, who smiled and rolled her eyes. I left a note with the cookie for Glen, wanting him to experience the same epiphanal sensation, I just hinted, "Who would have taken a bite like this?" His response was, "There's no mouse poop."
Well, there's just one way to find out, then. Watch the milk, because when you give a mouse a cookie...
BTW: The rest of the cookies went into the refrigerator. Holly spotted the mouse on top of the cupboard last night while burning the midnight oil. It was fast as lightning, and, she reluctantly admitted, cute.
Some time ago, I bought some ziplock sandwich bags, only to find out that they were snack size. I wondered at the store why there were more of them in the box than the others for the same price. When I got home and opened the box, the reason was suddenly clear.
I started using them to make up individually portioned snacks and dessert treats to keep our portions in perportion. It was working quite well, but I had bought a certain type of cookie that didn't go over very well. The last of the pretzells were gone, and I had no more of the snack bags. I thought that all the snacks were gone, until I bought some more cookies and pretzels and bags and went to package them up. When I got the designated shoe box down from the refrigerator, I found, to my dimay, a snack baggie with two of the nasty-cookies in it. There was a bite-shaped portion missing from it, and the bag was torn suspiciously.
For just a moment, becuase of the shape of the bite, I wondered who would have taken a bite out of that cookie (which was nasty-old) and then ripped the bag open from the bottom to put it back...odd.
Sometimes you have an epiphany; they usually make my scalp hurt. Suddenly I saw that the way the bag was torn, making a small hole through which, not a big bite, but rather small nibbles were taken in an ark to form the shape of a bite. A-a--ahhh! It must be a mouse.
I showed Lydia, who smiled and rolled her eyes. I left a note with the cookie for Glen, wanting him to experience the same epiphanal sensation, I just hinted, "Who would have taken a bite like this?" His response was, "There's no mouse poop."
Well, there's just one way to find out, then. Watch the milk, because when you give a mouse a cookie...
BTW: The rest of the cookies went into the refrigerator. Holly spotted the mouse on top of the cupboard last night while burning the midnight oil. It was fast as lightning, and, she reluctantly admitted, cute.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Tuesdays; Fish Bait
You might remember that I said that I would go to Planned Parenthood on Tuesdays ...
Well, every thime I have been there on Tuesday, there has been an opportunity to speak to someone; without exception. Last Tuesday I didn't go. I decided that if I wasn't going to get out of the car and speak when an opportunity was presented, then I wasn't going to go, because that would be blatent disobedience. Why go, after all if I am unwilling to do what I am called there to do?
Have I forgotten?
All that God has taught me at Planned Parenthood?
...and more?
Unwilling... Disobedient... Afraid of man rather than God... Fish bait.
If God has called me there, then I go. I have nothing to say, and that's the good news. God, forgive me for those for whom you had a message, and I did not deliver it.
Where is it that we are told that we are equipped for every good work?
Where is it that we are told that in our weakness, His strength is made perfect?
Pray, dear one, pray for those who need to hear from God, that the beautiful feet will stand firm; that the seed will be bountifully sown on the furtile soil as it is tilled on Tuesdays.
What's the deal about Tuesdays? My understanding is that on Tuesdays, Planned Parenthood does their preliminary evaluations. Does this mean pregnancy tests? Does this mean pre-abortion counseling? I don't know. I do know that they are quite busy on Tuesdays, and there are no guards, no escorts, and no protesters. Planned Parenthood gets the floor, and there is no rebuttal.
People are faced with their sin and Planned Parenthood whispers in their ears, "Peace, peace." No one plants seed on this furrowed ground. No one proclaims the truth of God when hearts are tender. We wait until Thursday, when the ground has hardened.
Well, every thime I have been there on Tuesday, there has been an opportunity to speak to someone; without exception. Last Tuesday I didn't go. I decided that if I wasn't going to get out of the car and speak when an opportunity was presented, then I wasn't going to go, because that would be blatent disobedience. Why go, after all if I am unwilling to do what I am called there to do?
Have I forgotten?
All that God has taught me at Planned Parenthood?
...and more?
Unwilling... Disobedient... Afraid of man rather than God... Fish bait.
If God has called me there, then I go. I have nothing to say, and that's the good news. God, forgive me for those for whom you had a message, and I did not deliver it.
Where is it that we are told that we are equipped for every good work?
Where is it that we are told that in our weakness, His strength is made perfect?
Pray, dear one, pray for those who need to hear from God, that the beautiful feet will stand firm; that the seed will be bountifully sown on the furtile soil as it is tilled on Tuesdays.
Blog-it-all, anyways!
I thought about making another blog just so that I could do the personal day-to-day stuff so that if someone knew me, but didn't want to hear about my God, they could go there. (I had in mind certain family members, friends, etc.) I could write about sewing flags for the band, or what happened at competitions. I could write about shopping and what a heck of a day I had at work today, and trying to budget and stuff.
And if someone wanted to read about my God, but didn't want to read about how I would respond to life at the BMV, they wouldn't have to. (really can't think of anyne who would only want to read about my theological wrestling matches.) I could write about submission issues and trusting God and struggling with the concept of covenent children.
I could even have a third blog about the really edgy subject of Planned Parenthood. There I could really be alone with my thoughts.
Then I thought that I am who I am, and I am not without Christ. The life I live I live in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.
So, being the one track mind type of person that I am, I am sticking with one blog. This way, when I talk about my struggles with various sins, it is in the context of the things that God teaches me as a soldier in the struggle in this world with powers and principalities, as a mother, as a wife, and as a sister in Christ. In a separate blog, I thought, I might be tempted to make much of my kids, my writing, my hobbies, or (most likely) my love of grumbling against the shortcomings of others.
I couldn't do it (two blogs are too much for me to keep up with) and I couldn't recommend it to myself (two blogs are too much temptation to hide my gods from each other in separate boxes).
I want my whole self to be exposed in one place so that I don't come to think of myself as all right, too right. If only people with this or that interest go to blog A they may not see that what is there is sin, because the root is exposed only in blog B.
Psalm 141:5 for me:
5 Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness;
let him rebuke me—it is oil on my head.
My head will not refuse it.
Yet my prayer is ever against the deeds of evildoers;
6 their rulers will be thrown down from the cliffs,
and the wicked will learn that my words were well spoken.
And if someone wanted to read about my God, but didn't want to read about how I would respond to life at the BMV, they wouldn't have to. (really can't think of anyne who would only want to read about my theological wrestling matches.) I could write about submission issues and trusting God and struggling with the concept of covenent children.
I could even have a third blog about the really edgy subject of Planned Parenthood. There I could really be alone with my thoughts.
Then I thought that I am who I am, and I am not without Christ. The life I live I live in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.
So, being the one track mind type of person that I am, I am sticking with one blog. This way, when I talk about my struggles with various sins, it is in the context of the things that God teaches me as a soldier in the struggle in this world with powers and principalities, as a mother, as a wife, and as a sister in Christ. In a separate blog, I thought, I might be tempted to make much of my kids, my writing, my hobbies, or (most likely) my love of grumbling against the shortcomings of others.
I couldn't do it (two blogs are too much for me to keep up with) and I couldn't recommend it to myself (two blogs are too much temptation to hide my gods from each other in separate boxes).
I want my whole self to be exposed in one place so that I don't come to think of myself as all right, too right. If only people with this or that interest go to blog A they may not see that what is there is sin, because the root is exposed only in blog B.
Psalm 141:5 for me:
5 Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness;
let him rebuke me—it is oil on my head.
My head will not refuse it.
Yet my prayer is ever against the deeds of evildoers;
6 their rulers will be thrown down from the cliffs,
and the wicked will learn that my words were well spoken.
Monday, September 25, 2006
If a woman does not cover her head...
I Corinthians 11
4Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head. 5And every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head—it is just as though her head were shaved. 6If a woman does not cover her head, she should have her hair cut off; and if it is a disgrace for a woman to have her hair cut or shaved off, she should cover her head.
Every time I come to this passage, I wonder... Am I in rebellion? Why can I disregard this teaching and adhere to others? More and more, lately, I am coming to think that to disregard this is rebellion.
People say that this passage is speaking to the culture of the day, and that in that culture, women were claiming a higher place and lording it over their men by shaving their heads. However, this passage speaks not just to the time in which Paul lived, but...
8 For man did not come from woman, but woman from man; 9 neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.
This was the order from the time of creation...
10 For this reason, and because of the angels, the woman ought to have a sign of authority on her head.
...and the reason for the covering of the head from the start.
Because of the angels...
For this reason...
What reason? because woman came from man, and was made for man. That is from the beginning, not in the first century.
...and because of the angels
The angels of the first century? These angels, worshiping with us, and watching us. Would they be offended if they saw how we dishonour our head?
Here's an interesting note:
I Corinthians 11 goes on to say, "14 Does not the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him, 15 but that if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For long hair is given to her as a covering. 16 If anyone wants to be contentious about this, we have no other practice—nor do the churches of God.Matthew Henry says of this passage, "'...The woman's hair is a natural covering; to wear it long is a glory to her; but for a man to have long hair, or cherish it, is a token of softness and effeminacy.' Note, It should be our concern, especially in Christian and religious assemblies, to make no breach upon the rules of natural decency." (emphasis added becausse it comes from a time of men with, and from the mouth of a man with long, lovely locks)
I welcome your input. I do not wish to draw attention to myself, but I desire to learn from God and walk in the way pleasing to Him.
Tonight, while I was trying to find other places that spoke of this issue, I came to Isaiah 2:3 and Micah 4:2
Many peoples will come and say,
"Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,
to the house of the God of Jacob.
He will teach us his ways,
so that we may walk in his paths."
The law will go out from Zion,
the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
Finally, sister, from Isaiah 2:5
Come, O house of Jacob,
let us walk in the light of the LORD.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Tricotta 2006 Marching Mustangs!
Aarg! Why can't I do pictures!!!
There!
There are the Marching Mustangs... It' not just a Tric-otta eye!
There!
There are the Marching Mustangs... It' not just a Tric-otta eye!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)