I've never been comfortable with my size, but I had accepted it. And because I'd accepted it, I'd stayed at more or less the same weight.
For twelve years.
Twelve years of giving up. Twelve years of thinking I couldn't do it, so why try? Twelve years of fooling myself into thinking I was "less" than I was...in more ways than one.
Then one Sunday I noticed a friend of mine who had lost a considerable amount of weight. I talked with her about it and found out the details, since I'm always curious to know how other people accomplish what I never could. And I thought that was the end of it.
But then something happened.
Remember when I said God sometimes tears the veil from our eyes to let us see truth?
Two weeks later another friend came up to me and told me that same person who had lost all the weight was starting a support group for people who wanted to lose weight. She thought it was a great idea, and so did I. She said she was going to join it. Then she asked me if I'd join it, too.
And absolutely knocked me for a loop.
You see, I had been hiding my weight so well from myself that I honestly thought I was hiding it from others as well. I thought that no one else knew how overweight I was. That no one thought I weighed as much as I did. That everyone saw me as the "slightly heavy but still OK" person that I saw looking back at me from the mirror. As it turned out, I was wrong.
I was the only one that was fooled.
I mumbled something about having to get back with her, then disappeared into the crowd. I was devastated. I knew then that the "real" me was what people saw. The "real" me, with the size 18 pants. The fat me. The worthless me. The failure me.
Even when I came to grips with what I had become, I still fought. "OK God," I said. "I'll go to the first meeting, but if it isn't something I think I can do, I'm not going back." The rebellious two-year-old temper came out in spades.
And God? He patiently led me, as a good parent does. Let me throw my tantrums. Let me get it out of my system. Then He gently said, "That's enough. Let's get to work."
In January of 2006 I went to my first meeting. I reluctantly signed the agreement of resolution which stated that I would follow my eating plan without deviation for six weeks. Six weeks. After that I could quit, after showing God and everyone else I couldn't do it. That I would fail once again.
Only a funny thing happened.
Six weeks came and went, and I didn't quit. I didn't fail. I stuck with it. And I went on.
Now, I won't lie to you and say it's been a bed of roses. It hasn't. And for the past few months I haven't been sticking to it like I did in the beginning. I still have the rebellious attitude when it comes to exercise, and I haven't lost all the weight I could. I plateaued, and that set me back both mentally and physically.
But I'm not quitting.
As a matter of fact, I renewed my resolve to get to my right weight just this past week. I'm back on track. I'm moving forward.
I've lost weight and size in the past year. I'm nowhere near what I want to be, but I'm a lot less than I was. The 226 lb. woman of 2005 is gone. In her place is a much slimmer, much wiser woman.
It isn't easy, but it's necessary. Both for me physically, and for me as a child of the King. Now both of us want what is best. Now both of us believe it can be done. Now both of us are committed to learning how to achieve the goal. I'm not alone in this. I'm working with my own "Personal Trainer," and we're making progress.
And we've got a long way yet to go.
Philippians 3:12-14
I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. (NIV, emphasis mine)
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Just Weight
My husband is in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies.
He's been wanting chocolate chip cookies for the past week. He's been after my daughter to make them for him, but she was less than enamored with the idea. He knew I would flat-out refuse to do it, and poor Son has no clue where to even begin.
So as I write, my husband bakes.
Now, y'all may think I'm just the worst wife in the world for not getting up off of my hiney and getting into that kitchen. You may think by refusing to make cookies I'm visiting cruel and unusual punishment on my family. You may even think I should be stripped of my wifely and/or motherly stripes. But before you pass judgement, let me explain.
My family on my father's side has always been heavy. OK, forget the politically correct terminology. My family on my father's side has always been FAT. Not just a little fat, either. They were obese. And it runs in the family, right on down to yours truly.
As a child I was always heavier than the other kids. Not overly so, but enough for the rest of the kids to make fun of me. In junior high I grew into my weight, but I was never small. In high school, at 5' 4", I weighed 135. It was an acceptable weight for me at that time, but it turned out to be the lowest of my adult life.
I gained 30 lbs. with my first pregnancy, and it never came off. I went on every diet imaginable for the next three decades, and managed to gain an additional 60 lbs. Granted, there were two more children born during that time. And at one time I did lose enough to hit the weight I was at after the first pregnancy. And I stayed there.
For a while.
But every time I lost it, I gained it back. Not only did I gain it back, but for every pound I lost, I gained half again as much. I was finding it hard to breathe, hard to walk, and hard to convince myself that nothing was wrong. I couldn't continue living that way.
If I kept going down the road I was on, I couldn't continue living....period.
I had been living in the denial stage we fat people get to when we think there's no use trying anymore. We live with the pain of trying and failing for so long that failure becomes a way of life for us. We accept it. We know that the weight won't stay off no matter what we do, so we just give in and accept ourselves as we are. Don't get me wrong, though. Acceptance in no way means that we LIKE the way we look. It's just a way of dealing with it.
I could look in the mirror and see the reflection of someone slimmer. Oh, it was ME alright, but a me that my mind altered. Because, let's face it, NO ONE wants to see themselves as fat. I could accept the pseudo-me that looked back from the mirror. I could dress her reasonably well, take her out places, even deal with slim and fit friends without comparing myself to them.
And then there were the ugly times. Times when God tore the veil away from my eyes and let me see exactly what a mess I'd become.
One of those times came at church one Sunday.
And I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. You'll just have to "weight" until then.
Psalm 146:8
The Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
He's been wanting chocolate chip cookies for the past week. He's been after my daughter to make them for him, but she was less than enamored with the idea. He knew I would flat-out refuse to do it, and poor Son has no clue where to even begin.
So as I write, my husband bakes.
Now, y'all may think I'm just the worst wife in the world for not getting up off of my hiney and getting into that kitchen. You may think by refusing to make cookies I'm visiting cruel and unusual punishment on my family. You may even think I should be stripped of my wifely and/or motherly stripes. But before you pass judgement, let me explain.
My family on my father's side has always been heavy. OK, forget the politically correct terminology. My family on my father's side has always been FAT. Not just a little fat, either. They were obese. And it runs in the family, right on down to yours truly.
As a child I was always heavier than the other kids. Not overly so, but enough for the rest of the kids to make fun of me. In junior high I grew into my weight, but I was never small. In high school, at 5' 4", I weighed 135. It was an acceptable weight for me at that time, but it turned out to be the lowest of my adult life.
I gained 30 lbs. with my first pregnancy, and it never came off. I went on every diet imaginable for the next three decades, and managed to gain an additional 60 lbs. Granted, there were two more children born during that time. And at one time I did lose enough to hit the weight I was at after the first pregnancy. And I stayed there.
For a while.
But every time I lost it, I gained it back. Not only did I gain it back, but for every pound I lost, I gained half again as much. I was finding it hard to breathe, hard to walk, and hard to convince myself that nothing was wrong. I couldn't continue living that way.
If I kept going down the road I was on, I couldn't continue living....period.
I had been living in the denial stage we fat people get to when we think there's no use trying anymore. We live with the pain of trying and failing for so long that failure becomes a way of life for us. We accept it. We know that the weight won't stay off no matter what we do, so we just give in and accept ourselves as we are. Don't get me wrong, though. Acceptance in no way means that we LIKE the way we look. It's just a way of dealing with it.
I could look in the mirror and see the reflection of someone slimmer. Oh, it was ME alright, but a me that my mind altered. Because, let's face it, NO ONE wants to see themselves as fat. I could accept the pseudo-me that looked back from the mirror. I could dress her reasonably well, take her out places, even deal with slim and fit friends without comparing myself to them.
And then there were the ugly times. Times when God tore the veil away from my eyes and let me see exactly what a mess I'd become.
One of those times came at church one Sunday.
And I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. You'll just have to "weight" until then.
Psalm 146:8
The Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Be Still and Know
You know, sometimes I just want God to hush.
I have a son who has a hard time being quiet. No matter what he's doing, no matter where he is, he just has to make noise. It could be his fingers drumming against the table. He could pretend to play trumpet, and make the noise without the instrument. He could hum, snap, beat out a rhythm, talk, sing, make kooky noises with various parts of his body, or do any and/or all of the above.
I love the kid. I truly do. But he drives me absolutely NUTS sometimes.
When we're in the car, everyone else will be quiet, thinking their own thoughts, dreaming their own dreams. Everyone, that is, except Son. He's trying to find new ways to make noise. New ways to make sounds. New ways to imitate instruments, birds, dogs, cats, wind, motors, guns....
And it never ends. No matter what you threaten or do to him, HE JUST WON'T STOP.
This is not conducive to sanity in any form. It's kind of like the infamous Chinese Water Torture. Or the Energizer Bunny. Or taxes. Never ending. Always there. Nonstop.
It's also like God.
God has a really irritating habit as well. When He wants me to do something, write something, call someone or go somewhere, He WILL NOT STOP telling me until I actually do whatever it is He has in mind. He keeps giving me that nudge, pushing me to do what He wants me to do. And the more I resist, the louder He gets.
Sometimes I wish He'd just hush. Be still. Leave me alone to do what *I* want to do. But He has other ideas.
You see, when GOD makes noise, you can bet there's a good reason. Unlike my son's vocalizations and cadences, God has a purpose. And usually that purpose has to do with me obeying Him.
Oh, I can pretend to ignore him for a while. I can refuse to listen. I can make excuses and I can conveniently forget what it is He's told me to do. But HE doesn't forget. And in the end, if I refuse to obey, it usually ends up that I lose not only the chance to do so, but the blessing as well.
That's why you're going to hear about some of my more personal struggles in the days to come. He wants me to open up and share my heart, my life, and my faith. It's a scary thought, but if I've learned anything about His nature, it's this:
Even if it does drive me nuts.
John 9:31
We know that God listens only to people who love and obey him. God doesn't listen to sinners.
I have a son who has a hard time being quiet. No matter what he's doing, no matter where he is, he just has to make noise. It could be his fingers drumming against the table. He could pretend to play trumpet, and make the noise without the instrument. He could hum, snap, beat out a rhythm, talk, sing, make kooky noises with various parts of his body, or do any and/or all of the above.
I love the kid. I truly do. But he drives me absolutely NUTS sometimes.
When we're in the car, everyone else will be quiet, thinking their own thoughts, dreaming their own dreams. Everyone, that is, except Son. He's trying to find new ways to make noise. New ways to make sounds. New ways to imitate instruments, birds, dogs, cats, wind, motors, guns....
And it never ends. No matter what you threaten or do to him, HE JUST WON'T STOP.
This is not conducive to sanity in any form. It's kind of like the infamous Chinese Water Torture. Or the Energizer Bunny. Or taxes. Never ending. Always there. Nonstop.
It's also like God.
God has a really irritating habit as well. When He wants me to do something, write something, call someone or go somewhere, He WILL NOT STOP telling me until I actually do whatever it is He has in mind. He keeps giving me that nudge, pushing me to do what He wants me to do. And the more I resist, the louder He gets.
Sometimes I wish He'd just hush. Be still. Leave me alone to do what *I* want to do. But He has other ideas.
You see, when GOD makes noise, you can bet there's a good reason. Unlike my son's vocalizations and cadences, God has a purpose. And usually that purpose has to do with me obeying Him.
Oh, I can pretend to ignore him for a while. I can refuse to listen. I can make excuses and I can conveniently forget what it is He's told me to do. But HE doesn't forget. And in the end, if I refuse to obey, it usually ends up that I lose not only the chance to do so, but the blessing as well.
That's why you're going to hear about some of my more personal struggles in the days to come. He wants me to open up and share my heart, my life, and my faith. It's a scary thought, but if I've learned anything about His nature, it's this:
He ain't goin' NOwhere, so I'd best behave.
Even if it does drive me nuts.
John 9:31
We know that God listens only to people who love and obey him. God doesn't listen to sinners.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
In Which I Learn Why Being a Grandparent Is So Much Fun
It was a good Thanksgiving.
Cutie got her first taste of cranberries, and she believes she'll wait awhile to do that again, thank you very much. However, the sweet potato casserole went over like gangbusters. She ate it and ate it and ate it some more. Let me just say this about that, without going into graphic detail....
I'm oh, so very glad that her parents will be the ones changing THOSE diapers.
Ahem.
Because y'all? That's where being a GRANDPARENT becomes oh, so very sweet. Oh yes, it does. And here's another place where that happens...
As you can see, Grandpa makes a great pillow for a little girl. And Nana got her turn, too, before Cutie woke up. As I told my daughter-in-law, this is the thing parents of teenagers miss the most about their children being little.
The very most.
And then, there was the annual Cutting Down of The Christmas Tree today. Every year we go to the same tree farm in a little town about 30 minutes north of here. We stumbled into this farm one year when we were dating, and have been loyal customers ever since. We took the older kids there when they were teenagers, and have taken the younger kids there from their first Christmas on. Now we're passing on that tradition to the next generation.
Little Man enjoyed the trip immensely, from the haywagon ride up the hill to the field where the trees were...
...to helping Dad cut down the tree.
And then, of course, he had to help Mom and Dad drag the tree back to the haywagon...
And afterwards, a little playtime was in order.
Because, after all, when you're 19 months old you have to take a break from the old folks every now and then. And where's the cowbell when you need it?
All in all, from a grandparent point of view, it was a very good holiday. Very good indeed.
Psalm 128:6
and may you live to see your children's children. Peace be upon Israel.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Martha, Martha
I am alone.
I say these words behind a deep, drawn-out sigh of contentment.
I have been up and going since before 5:00 a.m. today, and I am just now trying to wind down. It was a good day. It was a day with an immense amount of work to do, an immense amount of food to eat, and immense relief that it is almost over. It was a very good day.
My home, for all intents and purposes, is fairly clean. Cobwebs are gone and dust has been banished. Lunch and the time spent with my mother and sister and her family was sweet. Dinner here turned out much better than I thought it would, and leftovers were surprisingly few. Twenty-five people were here for the evening meal, including my almost two-year-old grandson and my nine-month-old granddaughter. We were surprised by an additional four members of the family we thought would not be able to make it. My ninety-one-year-old mother-in-law was here after coming through an illness which will leave her weak for some time to come, and she is spending the weekend with us as part of her recuperation.
For all of these things, and so many more, I am truly thankful.
At this time last year happiness of this sort eluded me. I was too stressed. Too busy with preparations for a dinner I did not want to host, yet was expected to host as we have done every year since forever, or so it seems. My house was a mess, the relationship I had with my children was barely hanging on by a thread, and I was ready to throw in the towel. Getting ready for the day consisted of me going off the deep end, screaming like a banshee, making life a living hell for those around me as I played Goddess of All She Surveys In The House. Everything had to be PERFECT. Cleaning had to be done perfectly. Cooking had to be done perfectly. Setting up for the dinner had to be done perfectly.
I ended up driving my family crazy. Perfectly.
I had a Martha complex.
In Luke 10:38-41 the Bible tells of a woman named Martha. Martha and I could be twins. Take a look at the passage as quoted from the Contemporary English Version of the Bible:
Martha and Mary
38 The Lord and his disciples were traveling along and came to a village. When they got there, a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home.
39 She had a sister named Mary, who sat down in front of the Lord and was listening to what he said.
40 Martha was worried about all that had to be done. Finally, she went to Jesus and said, "Lord, doesn't it bother you that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to come and help me!"
41 The Lord answered, "Martha, Martha! You are worried and upset about so many things,
42 but only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen what is best, and it will not be taken away from her."
After all was said and done last year, after all the food was eaten and the guests had gone home, I collapsed in tears. Nothing had gone the way I'd wanted it to go. The house was still imperfect. The meal had flaws. The tables weren't something Martha Stewart would have been proud of. My sentences even ended in many more prepositions.
I was feeling sorry for myself in a big way, and continuing to make those around me miserable.
But a funny thing happened. Even if my house was not perfectly clean, even if my food was not perfectly cooked, even if the tables were decorated in a less-than-perfect way......
NO ONE CARED EXCEPT ME.
Let me say that again for emphasis....
NO ONE CARED EXCEPT ME.
And what I cared about was totally wrong.
Because you see, Thanksgiving isn't about perfection. Thanksgiving is just what the name implies. It's a time to GIVE THANKS.
Thanks for a family that puts up with a crazed mother.
Thanks for a family to enjoy both away and here.
Thanks for the time we have to spend with those we love.
Thanks for the food we have to eat, the clothing we have to wear, and the home we are able to share.
Thanks for the young, and thanks for the old.
Thanks for an almost-clean home.
Thanks for love, laughter and really good mashed potatoes.
Thanks for one Lord, one Savior, one little baby, one Easter morn.
And thanks for friends like you who care enough to read the rantings of this woman's heart.
Blessings to you on this Thanksgiving Day, and throughout the coming year!
Psalm 100:4
Enter his gates with thanksgiving; go into his courts with praise. Give thanks to Him and praise His name.
Psalm 69:30
I will praise God's name in song and glorify him with thanksgiving.
I say these words behind a deep, drawn-out sigh of contentment.
I have been up and going since before 5:00 a.m. today, and I am just now trying to wind down. It was a good day. It was a day with an immense amount of work to do, an immense amount of food to eat, and immense relief that it is almost over. It was a very good day.
My home, for all intents and purposes, is fairly clean. Cobwebs are gone and dust has been banished. Lunch and the time spent with my mother and sister and her family was sweet. Dinner here turned out much better than I thought it would, and leftovers were surprisingly few. Twenty-five people were here for the evening meal, including my almost two-year-old grandson and my nine-month-old granddaughter. We were surprised by an additional four members of the family we thought would not be able to make it. My ninety-one-year-old mother-in-law was here after coming through an illness which will leave her weak for some time to come, and she is spending the weekend with us as part of her recuperation.
For all of these things, and so many more, I am truly thankful.
At this time last year happiness of this sort eluded me. I was too stressed. Too busy with preparations for a dinner I did not want to host, yet was expected to host as we have done every year since forever, or so it seems. My house was a mess, the relationship I had with my children was barely hanging on by a thread, and I was ready to throw in the towel. Getting ready for the day consisted of me going off the deep end, screaming like a banshee, making life a living hell for those around me as I played Goddess of All She Surveys In The House. Everything had to be PERFECT. Cleaning had to be done perfectly. Cooking had to be done perfectly. Setting up for the dinner had to be done perfectly.
I ended up driving my family crazy. Perfectly.
I had a Martha complex.
In Luke 10:38-41 the Bible tells of a woman named Martha. Martha and I could be twins. Take a look at the passage as quoted from the Contemporary English Version of the Bible:
Martha and Mary
38 The Lord and his disciples were traveling along and came to a village. When they got there, a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home.
39 She had a sister named Mary, who sat down in front of the Lord and was listening to what he said.
40 Martha was worried about all that had to be done. Finally, she went to Jesus and said, "Lord, doesn't it bother you that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to come and help me!"
41 The Lord answered, "Martha, Martha! You are worried and upset about so many things,
42 but only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen what is best, and it will not be taken away from her."
After all was said and done last year, after all the food was eaten and the guests had gone home, I collapsed in tears. Nothing had gone the way I'd wanted it to go. The house was still imperfect. The meal had flaws. The tables weren't something Martha Stewart would have been proud of. My sentences even ended in many more prepositions.
I was feeling sorry for myself in a big way, and continuing to make those around me miserable.
But a funny thing happened. Even if my house was not perfectly clean, even if my food was not perfectly cooked, even if the tables were decorated in a less-than-perfect way......
NO ONE CARED EXCEPT ME.
Let me say that again for emphasis....
NO ONE CARED EXCEPT ME.
And what I cared about was totally wrong.
Because you see, Thanksgiving isn't about perfection. Thanksgiving is just what the name implies. It's a time to GIVE THANKS.
Thanks for a family that puts up with a crazed mother.
Thanks for a family to enjoy both away and here.
Thanks for the time we have to spend with those we love.
Thanks for the food we have to eat, the clothing we have to wear, and the home we are able to share.
Thanks for the young, and thanks for the old.
Thanks for an almost-clean home.
Thanks for love, laughter and really good mashed potatoes.
Thanks for one Lord, one Savior, one little baby, one Easter morn.
And thanks for friends like you who care enough to read the rantings of this woman's heart.
Blessings to you on this Thanksgiving Day, and throughout the coming year!
Psalm 100:4
Enter his gates with thanksgiving; go into his courts with praise. Give thanks to Him and praise His name.
Psalm 69:30
I will praise God's name in song and glorify him with thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Snow Days
Below is part of the memo we received:
"Target has presented us with an additional opportunity to generate 'buzz' this Christmas season. The vendor they are using to create our joint angel tree promotion has a virtual site of their own called "Snow Days." At 'Snow Days' you can create your own snowflake, add your name and a message (messages can be anything as long as they are clean - that can include bible verses, well wishes, or favorite quotes), and tell your friends about the opportunity. It is a fun, free thing to do during the snowy Christmas season.
Popular front has agreed to donate to The Salvation Army based on thresholds. Meaning, every X number of snowflakes created (for free), they will raise the amount they are giving up to $25,000 to be split four ways. Recognizing that once this money has been split four ways, there is less to go around, this is more of an opportunity to generate additional visibility during this time of year in a fun and interactive way.
The site went live on 11/17 and will come down at midnight Central time on 12/31. I encourage you to make your Christmas a white Christmas by creating your own snowflake at www.popularfront.com/snowdays."
Please join me in helping hurting, hungry and homeless people by participating in this program. You'll be doing something good for someone in need without spending a dime! And if you DO decide to spend a dime (or more!), please remember those red kettles which are now out in front of your favorite stores.
And a gold star goes to the person (or persons) who can identify my place of employment! :0)
John 21:18
Jesus said, "Feed my sheep. I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go."
Luke 6:38
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."
Monday, November 20, 2006
Delurk De Blog!
RevGalBlogPals has come up with this gem. It's for all of us, really. We all need encouragement as we write to help us know that what we are doing matters. To let us know that we are heard. To build us up and affirm that we are doing what we are supposed to do with the gift God has given us...no matter what size that gift might be.
In honor of Thanksgiving, please come out of the Lurker's Closet long enough to comment. From now through the 26th of November, whenever you visit a blog, comment. If you have a problem writing a comment, just say "Thank you for blogging" or place a blogstone (o) (The invention of PPB of The Ice Floe) or whatever verbage the Spirit moves you to leave.
Let the Delurking begin, and Happy Thanksgiving to one and all!
1 Thessalonians 5:11
Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.
Hebrews 3:13
But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness.
Hebrews 10:25
Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.
Breakfast of Champions
I make breakfast for my children.
That may not sound like something to brag about, but you should know that it's a new thing for me. I've never been able to do it before. Our schedules used to be such that I left for work while they were still asleep. Now that they've gotten older their schools start earlier, which means I can actually send them off with a good meal to start the day.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had nothing to do with the food my children either were or were not eating for breakfast, other than purchasing whatever product they decided would be something they would actually eat. It was, in this poor way of mine, a way to ensure my children got some sort of breakfast before being thrown to the rigors of a day of learning.
Oh, I had a great excuse. Their father was still at work and wouldn't arrive until after I left to go to my job, so I entrusted the preparation of their breakfast to him. Unfortunately, he didn't always get home in time to make the morning meal, so the kids ended up fending for themselves. To make sure they had something available that required little or no use of the stove, I stocked up on several different products. Cereal, granola bars, breakfast cookies, etc.
When I cleaned out and reorganized the pantry this weekend, I devoted one shelf entirely to breakfast items for the kids. Now they can see what there is to eat on the days I'm too lazy to get up in time to fix their breakfast, and hopefully get rid of all this junk.
Here in the Singer home we are All About the Healthy Breakfast Food, as is evidenced by the plethora of Oatmeal Products we purchase for consumption at the morning meal. Of course, the large amount of oatmeal is second only to the extreme amount of sugar contained in each and every one of these products. Which doesn't count the Pop Tarts. Because, as we all know, Pop Tarts are PURE sugar...and cardboard. We are nothing in the Singer household if not sweet.
Since I've been making breakfast though, the children have been spoiled. These "token foods" are no longer good enough. Nowadays we have pancakes, omelets, French toast, and other things that normal families eat. We have become the Cleavers in this regard, although I have refused to serve boiled eggs in those little cups that June had. I seriously wonder if my kids even know what those are.
All this is to say that God has been good to me in this regard. Because I now get up at 5:45 instead of 7 a.m., I am able to provide my children with a better breakfast than they were ever able to have before. Not only that, but a prayer of mine has been answered in the process.
I've been searching for a way to get closer to my children. At almost 13 and 15, I don't have much time left before they leave home for good. And when they leave home, I want them to remember something good about me. Not that I was the constantly nagging mom who always wanted them to clean their rooms or do the dishes, but something more. Something personal. In getting up in time to make their breakfast, I've found that.
It's in the morning when the day is new that we can sit down together and talk. We can discuss the day ahead or the day past. We can plan. We can find out more about each other, and do it without the tiredness and stress that seem to come later in the day. We can see each other with new eyes, unbiased by chores left undone, homework to finish, or the weariness of the world we seem to carry on our shoulders. We can love each other without anger.
That may not sound like something to brag about, but you should know that it's a new thing for me. I've never been able to do it before. Our schedules used to be such that I left for work while they were still asleep. Now that they've gotten older their schools start earlier, which means I can actually send them off with a good meal to start the day.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had nothing to do with the food my children either were or were not eating for breakfast, other than purchasing whatever product they decided would be something they would actually eat. It was, in this poor way of mine, a way to ensure my children got some sort of breakfast before being thrown to the rigors of a day of learning.
Oh, I had a great excuse. Their father was still at work and wouldn't arrive until after I left to go to my job, so I entrusted the preparation of their breakfast to him. Unfortunately, he didn't always get home in time to make the morning meal, so the kids ended up fending for themselves. To make sure they had something available that required little or no use of the stove, I stocked up on several different products. Cereal, granola bars, breakfast cookies, etc.
When I cleaned out and reorganized the pantry this weekend, I devoted one shelf entirely to breakfast items for the kids. Now they can see what there is to eat on the days I'm too lazy to get up in time to fix their breakfast, and hopefully get rid of all this junk.
Here in the Singer home we are All About the Healthy Breakfast Food, as is evidenced by the plethora of Oatmeal Products we purchase for consumption at the morning meal. Of course, the large amount of oatmeal is second only to the extreme amount of sugar contained in each and every one of these products. Which doesn't count the Pop Tarts. Because, as we all know, Pop Tarts are PURE sugar...and cardboard. We are nothing in the Singer household if not sweet.
Since I've been making breakfast though, the children have been spoiled. These "token foods" are no longer good enough. Nowadays we have pancakes, omelets, French toast, and other things that normal families eat. We have become the Cleavers in this regard, although I have refused to serve boiled eggs in those little cups that June had. I seriously wonder if my kids even know what those are.
All this is to say that God has been good to me in this regard. Because I now get up at 5:45 instead of 7 a.m., I am able to provide my children with a better breakfast than they were ever able to have before. Not only that, but a prayer of mine has been answered in the process.
I've been searching for a way to get closer to my children. At almost 13 and 15, I don't have much time left before they leave home for good. And when they leave home, I want them to remember something good about me. Not that I was the constantly nagging mom who always wanted them to clean their rooms or do the dishes, but something more. Something personal. In getting up in time to make their breakfast, I've found that.
It's in the morning when the day is new that we can sit down together and talk. We can discuss the day ahead or the day past. We can plan. We can find out more about each other, and do it without the tiredness and stress that seem to come later in the day. We can see each other with new eyes, unbiased by chores left undone, homework to finish, or the weariness of the world we seem to carry on our shoulders. We can love each other without anger.
I think God came up with this time just for me. Just to answer my prayer. Just to give me the desire of my heart. And what a wonderful gift it is! To be able to converse with a teenager without the rolling eyes or attitude which seems to be germain to the species is something to be treasured.
Even if you lose a little sleep.
Thanks, God.
Lamentations 3:22
God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left. (The Message)
Saturday, November 18, 2006
A Verb Promoting Action
tack·le: v.tr. 1. To grab hold of and wrestle with (an opponent). 2. Sports: To stop (an opponent carrying the ball), especially by forcing the opponent to the ground. To obstruct (a player with the ball) in order to cause loss of possession of the ball. 3. To engage or deal with: tackle a perplexing problem. 4. To harness (a horse). Synonyms: To take upon oneself: assume, incur, shoulder, take on, take over, undertake. To start work on vigorously: attack, go at, sail in, wade in (or into). Idioms: hop to it.
Now that Mt. Washmore has been leveled, at least for the time being, it's time for a new challenge. For some reason or another, I seem to be in a conquering mood, so I've decided to organize the office area. This is no small task. I would post pictures of the area, but I'd hate to be responsible for the retching and nightmares that would surely follow. Suffice it to say I'm in great need of some sort of order in this room.
Heavy construction equipment could accomplish a lot.
In the office area are two bookshelves, each approximately seven and a half feet tall, both crowded to the gills with books, computer equipment, old software, stuffed animals, cords, photos, baskets, and a partridge in a pear tree or six. There is a desk somewhere underneath all the paper, phone books, nail polish remover, photos, boxes and bills.
There are two chairs which have never been reupholstered that date back to my teenage years, inherited from my mother when she got new furniture. There's a large filing cabinet that matches the desk, and that's where the kids have their computer set up. One corner is full of computer parts, notebooks, a boxed Christmas tree, a file box and an exercise machine. A forty-year-old Filter Queen vacuum cleaner graces the middle of the floor. Against one wall is an antique secretary inherited from my father.
No, the secretary is not an elderly woman. It's a piece of furniture. Get serious, y'all.
The office was painted a year ago. I've had drapes for almost a year, sitting in a bag waiting to be put up. There are mini blinds on the two windows, and that has, of course, given me an excuse for not putting up the drapes. After all, the windows are covered, aren't they?
And besides, there's no need to rush into these things.
There is also a light fixture that dates back to the 1970's fashion of.....wait, WAS there actually fashion back then? At any rate, it probably needs to be replaced with something a bit more modern and in tune with the rest of the decor.
Such as it is, that is.
And so, this is my project for the next week. The Great Before Thanksgiving Clean-a-thon and Chuck It If You Ain't Got A Use For It Bash begins tomorrow. I can hardly wait to see what will actually get done.
After my nap, that is. A girl's gotta have her Sunday afternoon nap, you know.
But after that, WATCH OUT WORLD, because I will become a CERTIFIABLE CLEANING FIEND.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Bright Smiles and Warm Nights
I am so excited! I just got a new toothbrush in the mail!!!
Granted, I know this may not be something that would rock the world of your modern, everyday suburban working mom, but it does mine. In a BIG way.
Because it's a God thing.
Granted, I know this may not be something that would rock the world of your modern, everyday suburban working mom, but it does mine. In a BIG way.
Because it's a God thing.
About this time last year I decided my toothbrush was not doing the job I wanted it to do. I have a Crest Spinbrush with two moving heads. Now, it was a step up from the do-it-yourself model I had used for so many years, but there were some things which could be improved. The batteries wear out quickly, the brushes don't move overly fast, and I felt like my teeth weren't getting as clean as they should. Add to that the fact that I'm a coffee and tea drinker, and you've got one unhappy dental combination.
However, on the good side, my Spinbrush did help my tartar problem immensely. Add to that the fact that it cost less than $10, and it had a lot going for it. Just not enough to keep me happy.
So I went in search of greener bristles...so to speak.
After researching other toothbrushes, I decided to set my sites on a Sonicare. But not just any Sonicare. I wanted a Sonicare Essence model. It was a nice, middle of the road model with everything I could ever want or need. For cryin' out loud, the thing has a TIMER on it to make sure you brush long enough! For a tooth-o-phile like me, it seemed perfect.
And stupid.I mean, after all, who in their right mind would spend around $70 on a TOOTHBRUSH???
So the practical side of me won out. I wanted it, but I wouldn't buy it. Because it would be, you know, imPRACTIcal and all. Instead, I put it where all impractical things go.
On my Christmas list.
My mother is notorious for her spending at Christmas time. When we go to her house for Christmas there are PILES AND PILES of presents. Because Christmas is her forte. Christmas is what my mother DOES. She shops all year long for one short 30-minute family unwrapping free-for-all frenzy, and that gives her so much joy she starts all over again as soon as it's over. Because of my mother's penchant for Christmas, I was SURE I would get my toothbrush as a gift. POSITIVE, as a matter of fact.
And I was wrong. Dead wrong. No toothbrush showed its gleaming bristles on that day.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm in my EXTREEEEEMEly late 30's, so that wasn't an earthshattering disappointment or anything. But deep in my subconcious, I knew I still wanted that toothbrush.
Mom and I went shopping recently, and I saw it again. I didn't put it on the list this year, thinking it probably wouldn't get purchased anyway. I actually gave up the hope of getting it. But I still wanted that toothbrush. Stupid as it may seem, I still wanted it.
A couple of weeks ago I got an email from a company I hardly ever work for, asking me to visit their site to particpate in a campaign they were having. "What the heck," says I. "I got nothin' better to do." So I went.
There was a short survey about dental products, ending with questions about Sonicare. I completed the survey, and at the end was accepted into the campaign. I was told I would be shipped the necessary materials and to expect them in the mail. Then I got an email telling me what to expect.
A brand new Sonicare toothbrush. For free. Which I got today. The exact same one I wanted all along.
Isn't it great how God knows the secret desires of our hearts? He even knows and cares about something as stupid as a toothbrush. And isn't it great how God can GIVE us the secret desires of our hearts? Yup, even something as stupid as a toothbrush.
And this isn't the first time He's done this.
For years and years I wanted a house with a fireplace.
There was no way we could afford to move, but down deep I held out the hope it might happen someday. Then my aunt passed away after a long illness. We were offered her much larger house at an unbelievable below-market price. Not only was it bigger than the one we had, but it was much newer. And guess what?
It had a fireplace.
So my plan in all this is to start WANTING the right things. Salvation for my family. To know God better and love Him more. A better relationship with my kids. The really important things in life.
Because after all, if God cares enough to provide a little thing like a toothbrush or a fireplace, how much more does He care about the really important things in life? How much more willing is He to provide those?
I'm planning on using ALL of His gifts in the future, and using them well.
And I'm gonna start by brushing my teeth.
Mathew 7:11
As bad as you are, you still know how to give good gifts to your children. But your heavenly Father is even more ready to give good things to people who ask. (CEV)
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
My Three Sons - Minus Fred MacMurray
I love my sons.
Not that I don't love my daughters as well, but I have this place in my heart where only the love of male offspring can live. Because honestly, it has to be a very strong place. Guards have to be stationed at the door of this residence. The walls are high and the gates are strong. Bars are at every window, and there's a drawbridge across the moat. Yup, the love I have for my sons is kept where it can't escape my heart.
Because really, if it wasn't, I think I might sometimes have to knock them into next Tuesday.
Each of them has their own special triumphs as well as their own special challenges. I'll go into more detail in later posts, but for now here's a short synopsis of each.
Eldest Son was recently married. He is successful in his chosen line of work, owns his own home, and lives a very independent life. We rarely see him even though he lives in the same city. His father keeps in touch by telephone most times, and we are blessed with visits on the odd occasion. Mostly when he wants to borrow something.
Middle Son has been married for several years and is the father of Cutie. He lives about three hours away, but we still manage to see him once every month or so. There are still stories being told of his time here at the homestead. Many of them are not pretty, but all are certainly memorable.
That's why I'm so surprised at the way I'm handling Caboose, the final installation of the procreation story here in our home. Having been through this before you'd think I'd know what I was doing this time and it would be a piece of cake.
Think again.
Because each installment of the male tribe is unique. Each one comes with his own inimitable set of joys and sorrows. Each has his own distinctive quirks and challenges. The fun comes in trying to guide each one to adulthood without scarring them for life...either mentally or physically.
Or ending up in the loony bin yourself.
Thankfully, that didn't happen with Eldest and Middle. Of course, it helped that Eldest lived with his "real" mother instead of with me, his wicked stepmother. And lest you think we had it easy, let me tell you that Middle more than made up for the sometimes-absent Eldest. Oh, so very much more.
This brings us to Caboose. Caboose will be 13 in just a few short days, and he is playing it to the hilt. Puberty has taken his vocal range down to the basement. While he has that nasal tone boys of his age get when their voices change, you can tell that in a year or two he's going to have a resounding baritone; deep, rich and full. That's a good thing.
Another good thing is the personal hygiene situation. We've gone from physically placing him into a tub with water running and blockading the door until he's clean, to being unable to get him out of the shower in less than 45 minutes. EVERY DAY. Our water bill is sky-high. At least the house no longer smells of unwashed boy. That's a good thing.
However, the sass quotient has increased dramatically in the past year, along with the inability to actually MOVE when asked to do something. There is no "hurry up" in Caboose. There is no "do it NOW" in Caboose. With Caboose, there is always later. ALWAYS. And later gets later every day.
When asked to do a chore, he always wants to "just finish" whatever he can find to occupy him other than the chore. When he does finally get to the chore at hand, he takes an eternity to complete it, complaining all the while about how unfair it is and how his sister doesn't have to do this so why should he, and about what bad parents we are for utilizing child labor as a source for housework.
In haste, let me add here that the kid has three chores to complete. Three.
1. Every other week he has to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen after dinner for an entire week.
2. Every Monday he has to replace the bag in the trash compactor. He doesn't even have to take out the trash - he just has to replace the bag.
3. He has to clean the bathroom every other Saturday and help out with cleaning the house every Saturday.
I know, I know. Don't tell me. We're SLAVEDRIVERS.
And to top it off, we don't even give him an allowance. WHAT KIND OF PARENTS ARE WE???
As I said, you'd think I would have this down pat by now. Instead, I find large bald patches on my head from tearing my hair out as I shriek at him to actually do what I told him to do. As I look at it, I do believe Caboose is the most challenging of all three boys.
So what's the point of this little diatribe? Is it that I'm a poor parent and want to share it with the world? Is it that I should just give up and let him raise himself? Is it that I'm too (insert your own word here) old, tired, impatient, verbal, inconsistent, stubborn, strict, or whatever to handle this correctly? Or is it that maybe there's something that God is trying to teach me through it?
I think it's a combination of all of it.
Yes, I want to share my struggles with others. It lets them know we're all imperfect. And hopefully it guides them to One Who Is Perfect. No, I can't just give up. God told me that in His Word. Maybe I am old, tired, impatient, etc. And maybe, just MAYBE, God is really trying to teach me something by this.
Imagine if mothers felt the same about their sons when they were eighteen years old as they did when they were eighteen minutes old. And what if eighteen-year-old sons felt the same way about their mothers as they did when they were toddlers? No one would ever leave home.
I firmly believe God gives us puberty and the years beyond to get us ready for the time when that child of ours, our precious little-baby-turned-part-monster, will leave the nest. By the time that happens most parents are more than ready. Most children can't wait to get out on their own. And everyone sighs deeply in relief when all is said and done.
This is just another instance where I can see God's hand at work. He moves to do yet another thing that I cannot understand, and yet it always, always, ALWAYS works out for the good of this poor ignorant woman. There are so very many more ways He guides us, if only we'll take time to see them!
My hope for you today is that you take whatever situation you're in, look at it closely, and try to find God in it. And when you find Him, tell Him thanks...from me. After all, He does move in mysterious ways.
Sometimes He'll even let hair grow back into the bald patches.
That's just God.
Psalm 16:7
I will bless the Lord who guides me; even at night my heart instructs me.
Psalm 23:3
He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.
Not that I don't love my daughters as well, but I have this place in my heart where only the love of male offspring can live. Because honestly, it has to be a very strong place. Guards have to be stationed at the door of this residence. The walls are high and the gates are strong. Bars are at every window, and there's a drawbridge across the moat. Yup, the love I have for my sons is kept where it can't escape my heart.
Because really, if it wasn't, I think I might sometimes have to knock them into next Tuesday.
Each of them has their own special triumphs as well as their own special challenges. I'll go into more detail in later posts, but for now here's a short synopsis of each.
Eldest Son was recently married. He is successful in his chosen line of work, owns his own home, and lives a very independent life. We rarely see him even though he lives in the same city. His father keeps in touch by telephone most times, and we are blessed with visits on the odd occasion. Mostly when he wants to borrow something.
Middle Son has been married for several years and is the father of Cutie. He lives about three hours away, but we still manage to see him once every month or so. There are still stories being told of his time here at the homestead. Many of them are not pretty, but all are certainly memorable.
That's why I'm so surprised at the way I'm handling Caboose, the final installation of the procreation story here in our home. Having been through this before you'd think I'd know what I was doing this time and it would be a piece of cake.
Think again.
Because each installment of the male tribe is unique. Each one comes with his own inimitable set of joys and sorrows. Each has his own distinctive quirks and challenges. The fun comes in trying to guide each one to adulthood without scarring them for life...either mentally or physically.
Or ending up in the loony bin yourself.
Thankfully, that didn't happen with Eldest and Middle. Of course, it helped that Eldest lived with his "real" mother instead of with me, his wicked stepmother. And lest you think we had it easy, let me tell you that Middle more than made up for the sometimes-absent Eldest. Oh, so very much more.
This brings us to Caboose. Caboose will be 13 in just a few short days, and he is playing it to the hilt. Puberty has taken his vocal range down to the basement. While he has that nasal tone boys of his age get when their voices change, you can tell that in a year or two he's going to have a resounding baritone; deep, rich and full. That's a good thing.
Another good thing is the personal hygiene situation. We've gone from physically placing him into a tub with water running and blockading the door until he's clean, to being unable to get him out of the shower in less than 45 minutes. EVERY DAY. Our water bill is sky-high. At least the house no longer smells of unwashed boy. That's a good thing.
However, the sass quotient has increased dramatically in the past year, along with the inability to actually MOVE when asked to do something. There is no "hurry up" in Caboose. There is no "do it NOW" in Caboose. With Caboose, there is always later. ALWAYS. And later gets later every day.
When asked to do a chore, he always wants to "just finish" whatever he can find to occupy him other than the chore. When he does finally get to the chore at hand, he takes an eternity to complete it, complaining all the while about how unfair it is and how his sister doesn't have to do this so why should he, and about what bad parents we are for utilizing child labor as a source for housework.
In haste, let me add here that the kid has three chores to complete. Three.
1. Every other week he has to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen after dinner for an entire week.
2. Every Monday he has to replace the bag in the trash compactor. He doesn't even have to take out the trash - he just has to replace the bag.
3. He has to clean the bathroom every other Saturday and help out with cleaning the house every Saturday.
I know, I know. Don't tell me. We're SLAVEDRIVERS.
And to top it off, we don't even give him an allowance. WHAT KIND OF PARENTS ARE WE???
As I said, you'd think I would have this down pat by now. Instead, I find large bald patches on my head from tearing my hair out as I shriek at him to actually do what I told him to do. As I look at it, I do believe Caboose is the most challenging of all three boys.
So what's the point of this little diatribe? Is it that I'm a poor parent and want to share it with the world? Is it that I should just give up and let him raise himself? Is it that I'm too (insert your own word here) old, tired, impatient, verbal, inconsistent, stubborn, strict, or whatever to handle this correctly? Or is it that maybe there's something that God is trying to teach me through it?
I think it's a combination of all of it.
Yes, I want to share my struggles with others. It lets them know we're all imperfect. And hopefully it guides them to One Who Is Perfect. No, I can't just give up. God told me that in His Word. Maybe I am old, tired, impatient, etc. And maybe, just MAYBE, God is really trying to teach me something by this.
Imagine if mothers felt the same about their sons when they were eighteen years old as they did when they were eighteen minutes old. And what if eighteen-year-old sons felt the same way about their mothers as they did when they were toddlers? No one would ever leave home.
I firmly believe God gives us puberty and the years beyond to get us ready for the time when that child of ours, our precious little-baby-turned-part-monster, will leave the nest. By the time that happens most parents are more than ready. Most children can't wait to get out on their own. And everyone sighs deeply in relief when all is said and done.
This is just another instance where I can see God's hand at work. He moves to do yet another thing that I cannot understand, and yet it always, always, ALWAYS works out for the good of this poor ignorant woman. There are so very many more ways He guides us, if only we'll take time to see them!
My hope for you today is that you take whatever situation you're in, look at it closely, and try to find God in it. And when you find Him, tell Him thanks...from me. After all, He does move in mysterious ways.
Sometimes He'll even let hair grow back into the bald patches.
That's just God.
Psalm 16:7
I will bless the Lord who guides me; even at night my heart instructs me.
Psalm 23:3
He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Attack of the 3 Ayem Blues
Yesterday was Monday.
ALL DAY LONG.
Oh yes. I know you know what I mean. It was one of those Mondays when if it could go wrong, it did. There was caffeine consumed. Way too much caffeine. In great quantity. Lots and LOTS of caffeine. LOADS of caffeine.
And I so deserved every drop.
It actually started out to be a calm day. I got up, got dressed, didn't put a run in my hose (a major miracle in and of itself), and got into the tin-can-on-wheels that is my rental car until my car gets out of the shop. I was running a little late, but that was no big deal. Stopped at McD's for my free McCoffee, and decided to get leaded instead of unleaded since I knew I had a lot to do that day. Got to work, got up to my office, and turned on the computer.
That's where it all started to go downhill.
The phone rang. It was the administrative assistant to the person who was supposed to chair a meeting I had planned for lunch time. "Mr. So-and-So won't be able to make the meeting. I'm so sorry!"
Great. Now I had ten people showing up for a meeting with no leader. Wonderful. I finished the first cup of coffee and went to work.
I made some calls and got someone to stand in for Mr. S&S. While it wasn't the perfect solution, it would have to do. Then I got another call.
"His Singer? Did you have the Executive Boardroom scheduled for today? Someone said there was a committee meeting...." Uh, YES. I have had the room booked for over two weeks. Unfortunately, there was a glitch in the reservation system and my reservation had been lost. Fortunately, schedules could be rearranged and I was able to get the room. More coffee.
Thinking things were sinking and sinking fast, I decided to call the caterer just to be sure everything was set.
You guessed it.
"I am SO SORRY! I took the day off today and forgot to tell the staff about your luncheon!"
Taking a moment to make sure I refrained from screaming incoherent epithets related to the caterer's birth, I calmly asked how he intended to handle the situation. He assured me there would be something edible delivered within the time frame I had originally requested. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
After thinking for a moment about the use of mind-numbing drugs, I instead downed the rest of my coffee and proceeded downstairs to get the room set up. I was confident there would be no more problems. Yeah, sure I was.
When I got to the room and opened the door, I was greeted with a blast of hot air. Checking the temperature, I found it was over 80 degrees.
It was all I could do to keep from throwing myself to the floor in a tantrum that would rival that of any two-year-old child who has been hyped up on too much sugar and not enough sleep.
Oh yes.
Instead, I started drinking iced tea. The caffeinated kind. I stole a fan from the break room and set it to run, opened all the doors and called maintenance. They assured me the temperature would be bearable in no time. An hour later it was still over 80 degrees, and I was starting to panic. The food arrived and was set up, and members of the committee began to show up. Still over 80 degrees. I called maintenance again. They were out of the building running an errand.
The drugs were sounding better and better.
Mr. Head Honcho walked into the room and immediately unplugged the fan. When I tried to explain the situation, he waved me off like an annoying fly. "We have a separate heating and cooling system for this room. It has nothing to do with the rest of the building." With that, he walked over to the thermostat, the same thermostat I had been eyeing for the past two hours, and flipped a switch.
He turned on the air conditioner.
The room immediately began to cool down. People started talking and eating, complimenting me on the choice of menu and caterer. The meeting began, and the stand-in chairman ran it like he was born to the position. It wasn't perfect, but it did just fine.
Once again, God took care of things. All the things. He's good that way, and in so many, many others.
Given the lack of alcoholic beverages, I overdosed on iced tea. With caffeine. You know. To take away that annoying twitch I had suddenly developed.
And so, here I am at zero-before-dawn-thirty, unable to sleep.
But guess what? It's now Tuesday. A brand new day, full of promise. And because I couldn't sleep, I now have tonight's dinner in the crockpot, the dishwasher running, and an entry in Ye Olde Blog. I can get to the polls early to vote. I will get to bed early tonight, and wake up refreshed and ready to greet the day on Wednesday.
And if I can't sleep, I'll be back with a second verse of the 3 Ayem Blues.
Psalm 3:5
I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me.
ALL DAY LONG.
Oh yes. I know you know what I mean. It was one of those Mondays when if it could go wrong, it did. There was caffeine consumed. Way too much caffeine. In great quantity. Lots and LOTS of caffeine. LOADS of caffeine.
And I so deserved every drop.
It actually started out to be a calm day. I got up, got dressed, didn't put a run in my hose (a major miracle in and of itself), and got into the tin-can-on-wheels that is my rental car until my car gets out of the shop. I was running a little late, but that was no big deal. Stopped at McD's for my free McCoffee, and decided to get leaded instead of unleaded since I knew I had a lot to do that day. Got to work, got up to my office, and turned on the computer.
That's where it all started to go downhill.
The phone rang. It was the administrative assistant to the person who was supposed to chair a meeting I had planned for lunch time. "Mr. So-and-So won't be able to make the meeting. I'm so sorry!"
Great. Now I had ten people showing up for a meeting with no leader. Wonderful. I finished the first cup of coffee and went to work.
I made some calls and got someone to stand in for Mr. S&S. While it wasn't the perfect solution, it would have to do. Then I got another call.
"His Singer? Did you have the Executive Boardroom scheduled for today? Someone said there was a committee meeting...." Uh, YES. I have had the room booked for over two weeks. Unfortunately, there was a glitch in the reservation system and my reservation had been lost. Fortunately, schedules could be rearranged and I was able to get the room. More coffee.
Thinking things were sinking and sinking fast, I decided to call the caterer just to be sure everything was set.
You guessed it.
"I am SO SORRY! I took the day off today and forgot to tell the staff about your luncheon!"
Taking a moment to make sure I refrained from screaming incoherent epithets related to the caterer's birth, I calmly asked how he intended to handle the situation. He assured me there would be something edible delivered within the time frame I had originally requested. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
After thinking for a moment about the use of mind-numbing drugs, I instead downed the rest of my coffee and proceeded downstairs to get the room set up. I was confident there would be no more problems. Yeah, sure I was.
When I got to the room and opened the door, I was greeted with a blast of hot air. Checking the temperature, I found it was over 80 degrees.
It was all I could do to keep from throwing myself to the floor in a tantrum that would rival that of any two-year-old child who has been hyped up on too much sugar and not enough sleep.
Oh yes.
Instead, I started drinking iced tea. The caffeinated kind. I stole a fan from the break room and set it to run, opened all the doors and called maintenance. They assured me the temperature would be bearable in no time. An hour later it was still over 80 degrees, and I was starting to panic. The food arrived and was set up, and members of the committee began to show up. Still over 80 degrees. I called maintenance again. They were out of the building running an errand.
The drugs were sounding better and better.
Mr. Head Honcho walked into the room and immediately unplugged the fan. When I tried to explain the situation, he waved me off like an annoying fly. "We have a separate heating and cooling system for this room. It has nothing to do with the rest of the building." With that, he walked over to the thermostat, the same thermostat I had been eyeing for the past two hours, and flipped a switch.
He turned on the air conditioner.
The room immediately began to cool down. People started talking and eating, complimenting me on the choice of menu and caterer. The meeting began, and the stand-in chairman ran it like he was born to the position. It wasn't perfect, but it did just fine.
Once again, God took care of things. All the things. He's good that way, and in so many, many others.
Given the lack of alcoholic beverages, I overdosed on iced tea. With caffeine. You know. To take away that annoying twitch I had suddenly developed.
And so, here I am at zero-before-dawn-thirty, unable to sleep.
But guess what? It's now Tuesday. A brand new day, full of promise. And because I couldn't sleep, I now have tonight's dinner in the crockpot, the dishwasher running, and an entry in Ye Olde Blog. I can get to the polls early to vote. I will get to bed early tonight, and wake up refreshed and ready to greet the day on Wednesday.
And if I can't sleep, I'll be back with a second verse of the 3 Ayem Blues.
Psalm 3:5
I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
I Can't Juggle Any Faster
I have determined that it is theoretically impossible for more than one aspect of self-discipline in my life to go well all at the same time.
Now, y'all know about the struggle I've been having these past weeks with Mount Washmore, the never-ending pile of laundry in my garage. I decided to take it on the same way you eat an elephant...one bite at a time. And little by little, sock by sock and towel by towel, I am proud to announce it is finally, at long last, a fait accompli! It is FINISHED!! IT IS DONE!!
At least for now.
Of course, certain household chores never end, do they? Laundry and dishes come to mind first, but there are a myriad of other jobs that constantly need attention. And added to that are disciplines in my own life that need consideration as well. My inattention to what goes into my mouth and ends up on my hips being one. Another would be my lack of patience with my children. And then there's my failure to complete even the simple act of daily devotions.
So while I may be rockin' in the washer and dryer department, other areas of my life are down the tubes. When I think I've overcome one area of disrepair, yet another rears its ugly head. At my advanced age, I don't have many years left to get this right. I keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again, without a clue as to why or what to do to correct the situation.
If you happen to be reading this and you're one of those "got it all together" people, please note my brilliant green eyes. They become very evident when that jealous monster inside my head meets one of you. Because I have yet to figure out how to be like you; in control, organized, calm, cool, collected, and ready for whatever life throws at me.
The following passage describes me to a "T." I can't help but believe it was written to those of us who know and love God, but still feel as though we fail Him with our pitiful little efforts. I know I fall into that category. Do you?
Romans 7:14 - 25
And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.
I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?
Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is: In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin. (NLT - emphasis mine)
Now, y'all know about the struggle I've been having these past weeks with Mount Washmore, the never-ending pile of laundry in my garage. I decided to take it on the same way you eat an elephant...one bite at a time. And little by little, sock by sock and towel by towel, I am proud to announce it is finally, at long last, a fait accompli! It is FINISHED!! IT IS DONE!!
At least for now.
Of course, certain household chores never end, do they? Laundry and dishes come to mind first, but there are a myriad of other jobs that constantly need attention. And added to that are disciplines in my own life that need consideration as well. My inattention to what goes into my mouth and ends up on my hips being one. Another would be my lack of patience with my children. And then there's my failure to complete even the simple act of daily devotions.
So while I may be rockin' in the washer and dryer department, other areas of my life are down the tubes. When I think I've overcome one area of disrepair, yet another rears its ugly head. At my advanced age, I don't have many years left to get this right. I keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again, without a clue as to why or what to do to correct the situation.
If you happen to be reading this and you're one of those "got it all together" people, please note my brilliant green eyes. They become very evident when that jealous monster inside my head meets one of you. Because I have yet to figure out how to be like you; in control, organized, calm, cool, collected, and ready for whatever life throws at me.
The following passage describes me to a "T." I can't help but believe it was written to those of us who know and love God, but still feel as though we fail Him with our pitiful little efforts. I know I fall into that category. Do you?
Romans 7:14 - 25
Struggling with Sin
So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. But if I know that what I am doing is wrong, this shows that I agree that the law is good. So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.
And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.
I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?
Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is: In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin. (NLT - emphasis mine)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)