Adios!

Dear 2010,

You were actually a really great year.  I must say, sometimes I wish I didn't have to learn so many lessons, and this past year was no exception, but in general, you treated me well.

I grew closer to my family, and I deepened my relationship with my friends and the Lord.  You can't really ask for more than that.  There were times when I was down, and days seemed long, and life seemed complicated (2011, I hope you're listening--I hate complications!), but the Lord was always there, providing.

Soon you'll be history, 2010, and, providing the Lord doesn't come first, we'll look back on you fondly.  So thanks for being willing to devote every single one of your 356 days to those of us who used them to enrich our memory banks.

Love,
Me

Another day

I have been exceedingly busy recently, working on some projects which are nearing completion.  I must say, projects are fun to dream about, but the execution thereof is usually trickier than I expect.

Which means...  this morning I woke up at 4:30, worried that I wouldn't have time to finish everything I wanted to get done.  Thankfully, it paid off and I've accomplished a lot!

None of this is very interesting, but since I've been awake since 4:30 I don't think I should be expected to have profound thoughts.

That's all.

Memories

I love memories.  I love the fact that the Lord installed in us the ability to imprint things on our mind--sometimes bad or ugly, but a lot of good, too!  Looking back on things is such an amazing part of life.  And when we got old, sometimes memories are all one has.  And then even the memories leave, but the One who gave us the memories in the first place, and the joy of remembering, He's still there.

Forever is a long time.  Even longer than the supposedly indelible memories we form, He is there.  And it's Forever that gives us hope, and from hope springs those days from which our favorite memories are made.

A little update

The grandparents are doing well, my job is about a day and a half away from being done, and life is good, albeit busy!

I just finished reading Psalms and it made me remember how much I love that book.  I really can't say that there are parts of the Bible I like less or more than others (though there seem to be parts of the Bible I'm more enthusiastic about!) but there's something about reading through Psalms and picturing David at the different stages at his life, sometimes rejoicing, vibrant and secure, and other times writing with a despairing hand.  It feels like an intimate glance at his life, where you learn more about the author than the subject in most of the Psalms.  Of course, about half of the Psalms were written by other authors (Asaph, Moses, Korah, Solomon, some others) but when I read the Psalms I like to picture the shepherd David, growing from boy to King with a pen in his hand and praise on his lips.  I want to be more like David.  Only, well, minus the adultery and Kingdom and enemies.  So....  pretty much I take that back.  Never mind.

Saying good-bye

As much as I don't like my job, there are certain things I'll miss.  For one, my co-worker.  I'll very much miss her.  But I'll also miss some of the clients we have.  Since I've been here for over a year now (lasting longer than most of the 30-some people who have come before me) a lot of the customers are used to me answering the phones and calling them to try to coerce them into making their payments (not as easy as it sounds!).  Being as such, I feel a certain kinship with several of the clients.

On Friday someone called the office to get a quote, and I asked how they heard of our agency, and she said that her niece had referred her, and had been told to ask for me specifically.  I felt a little flattered, I'm not going to lie.  And then today, I called someone to remind them to pay his daughter's auto insurance, and it was someone I'd worked extensively with earlier this year to sort out some problems, and he was all chatty on the phone, asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and we talked for a few minutes before we both had to go back to work, and I realized that I'd sort of miss that:  talking to random strangers and forging make-believe friendships.

But the thing I'll miss the most, more than the people (well, I'll miss my co-worker more, but not our clients) is the library.  It was awesome to have that library (plus, it's the wedding library!) so close, and to have an extra pool from which I could use to satisfy my bookish brain.  I'll miss it.  If I didn't live half an hour away I'd certainly be back from time to time, if only to say howdy to my library.

This isn't to say that I regret quitting.  I honestly feel such continued peace about it, and am thankful for the details that are working out so well.  Hello, new chapter!

The Bible in 50 words

This was another forward I got, but I thought it was a fun read!  I'd love to see a picture book of this...  It would be a good journey through the Bible for youngsters.  And those of us who just love to read picture books!

"God made
Adam disobeyed
Noah flooded
Abraham started
Joseph ruled
Jacob fooled
Bush speaking
Moses leading
Pharaoh balked
People walked
Sea divided
Tablets guided
Promise landed
Saul freaked
David peeked
Prophets warned
Jesus born
God walked
Love talked
Anger crucified
Jesus died
Resurrection morning
Spirit adorning
Word spread
Jesus wed"

Santa and co.

Last winter I was telling my family about how I had only just then realized that the Santa Claus that Mommy was kissing was really the dad, at which point my whole family (with the exception of my dad, who is smarter than the rest of us, apparently) looked askance and, with light-bulb-like realization said, "ohh!!"

Yeah, I'd just never realized what the song had been saying.  I always thought it was an irritating song with slightly naughty connotations.  Then one day I realized, wait!  the dad is dressed up as Santa!  Hence all the references to "wouldn't it be funny if daddy had walked in," or however it goes.

Anyhow, I heard that song again the other day and it made me laugh.

Upside-up

When our family reads the Bible in the evenings, we have some rather odd traditions.  Well, I guess only one truly odd one.  Our Uno-like fashion of reading has mostly been relegated to breakfast readings, and in the evening we do nearly everything regular-type except for the fact that we read with our Bibles upside down.  And when we have company we let them choose for themselves, but we still read upside down, as there's no reason to change just for the sake of company.

So Monday night we had a friend of the family over, and, come time for Bible reading, we explained that we read upside down and he was welcome to join us.  So he did, no big deal, and read quite well.  Afterwards, he told us that he was pretty sure that it was easier, due to his dyslexia (I agree!  You see the word more clearly as a whole, and have less chance to mix up the interior letters).  I had no idea he suffered from dyslexia, but he said that it was so bad he was pretty sure that he would have gotten into Heaven even without getting saved.  : )  This may or may not be an exaggeration, but he and I had an amusing conversation about our dyslexic tendencies.

I've always claimed a little dyslexia.  Try to get me to tell my left from my right and you'd be hard-pressed to get a quick answer.  I mix up words and write backwards and when I look at the letter "s" I still don't know if it's forward or backward.  But I'm pretty sure that reading was just so important in my house that I never got the chance to be dyslexic.  Other kids would have been diagnosed and fretted over, but not us!  When I was quite young (I learned to read by the age of five or something, so it had to have been before that) I remember saying that I was special because I couldn't read yet, and all of my older siblings could, therefore I was special.  My logic has never been all that sharp.

So I'm thankful that reading was just something that we learned to do, somewhat akin to walking and holding a spoon correctly.  I can read just fine (mostly...) and feel that I'm not handicapped in any way.  And the knowledge I glean from reading is well worth the occasional mix-up of "scarred" and "scared."

Plus, if it ever gets confusing, I guess I could start reading everything upside down!

Let it snow!

I love snow.  I hate to drive in it, but in general, those big fluffy flakes that you see outside?  Huge fan.

Only problem is, snow makes me want to be inside, by a fire, reading a book, or possibly napping.  In other words, I don't feel like doing anything whilst it's snowing prettily.

Too bad life always must go on.

How do you know?

Even though I've done many things in my life that I'm sure the Lord OK'd, it's still sort of a mystery to me how exactly it is that we know.  A lot of it has to do with feeling of peace we get when we are poised to do something that it seems He's approving of (this isn't the end of a sentence, I can use a preposition if I need to!), but it's sort of a far cry from an exact science.

I've been praying for quite a while about quitting my job.  Recently a few other work-type options seemed to pop up, and then fall through, and I was sort of left without other things to do.  Now, I've had three jobs thus far, the dental assisting (haha, that was an easy job to land, thanks, Dad), the nannying (it was more like babysitting, actually, but hey, I didn't complain), and the insurance job I have now.  Each one was orchestrated of the Lord--I literally had to do nothing to get them, and they each provided what I need, and worked with my schedule exactly just so.  Before I got my current job, the insurance gig, I felt at loose ends.  The nanny thing was no longer an option (full-time school?  What is that all about?), and my grandmother with whom I had been helping frequently had just passed away, so I would no longer be needed there, either.  I remember frantically looking for a job for a while, till an older woman whom I respect very much told me that I should use my time at home to help my mom.

Good point.  I stopped looking for a job, focused on helped my mom at home (it was the start of Hobby Class season, so there was plenty to be done!), and let the job part rest.  Then, a friend of mine told me that she was shortly leaving her insurance job and that if I sent her my resume she'd get me a job there.  I put it off for a few days, and then sent her the resume, only to get (and start!) the job within a week.  I've been there for over a year, and have known for a while now that my time was pretty much up.  But that left the question, what do I do without a job?  Before I had a "real job" I kept very busy, this much is true (my friends with jobs would frequently say that I seemed busier than they were, which I don't understand, because now with my real job I'm busier than ever, but anyhow, that's beside the point), but I was hesitant.  Did I just quit with no prospects; go back to being a stay-at-home daughter and granddaughter?

This past weekend I was in St. Louis.  I was praying about the job situation, because I felt it was just time.  Time to be done, time to move on to whatever else the Lord had for me.  So I decided that I would come home, work a week, and then turn in my resignation on Monday (the upcoming one, the 6th).  Well, on Monday (the one we just had, the 29th), I'd been back at work for about four hours, and all of a sudden I stopped and thought, "Is it now?  Should I quit now?"  Quit, obviously, being code-word for two weeks' notice.  Anyhow, I was in the conference room when I had this thought, and literally stopped in my tracks.  I had no idea what I should do, and actually dropped to my knees on the floor of the conference room, right then and there, and begged the Lord for guidance.  Something told me to wait, so I did.  I got up, finished cleaning off the table in the conference room, and went back to work.

But Wednesday.  That felt like the day.  I had woken up that morning and felt peace.  It was time.  So that day (there's a longer version of the story, but I'll spare you) I talked to my boss and co-worker and explained that I was leaving.  It didn't go so well (again, another story), but the moral of that story is, I'll be here for another two weeks, and then I'll be through.

At that time, I had no idea what I'd be doing.  None.  There are leads on a potential nanny job, but who knows if that'll work out.  I got home for dinner that night, only to hear that my grandfather wasn't doing well, and would perhaps shortly be admitted to the hospital.  We went over and visited with them, and he seemed to be doing fairly well, as did my grandma.

But then yesterday, my grandma had a stroke.  As of right now, I'm not sure exactly what that means for the future, but it means at least some time in physical therapy and other such doctor-related visits.  So we have a grandpa who has kidney failure, and a grandma with a stroke, and a granddaughter who shortly will not have a job.

So I still don't know what I'm doing.  Maybe in two weeks they'll be somehow all better, or maybe they'll be with the Lord.  I don't know what a day will bring forth, but I know that if they still need help in two weeks, I'll be free to help.

It's times like this that make me so incredibly thankful that following the Lord's directives really works.

Anyhow, sorry, I didn't set out to tell this whole lengthy story, but I started writing and this is what came out, so...  well, enjoy!

200

Today is the second day of the month.  Two.  A nice number.  Most especially since today is (drum roll, please) my 200th post!

Can you tell I have nothing to say?

Except that (wait for it!) I gave my two weeks' notice at my job (!) and the Lord immediately gave me something new with which to occupy my time.  I knew He'd provide something.  And I feel peace about it.

So happy December 2, my friends.  May the next two hundred posts find you well, and at peace.

Perfect Peace

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee: because he trusteth in Thee.  Isaiah 26:3

This morning I woke up and felt peace.  It was a beautiful feeling.  I've been a little stressed about a few things recently, mostly work-related, and I've been waking up early the past few mornings, praying before I'm even awake, but this morning I felt calm.  Happy, as a matter of fact.  It's a good feeling.

Black and white

I tend to want things to be simple.  I want something to be good, or bad.  I don't like gray, and I don't like things to be open for interpretation.  I prefer things to be set in stone, done and done, no questions asked.

But... life isn't like that.  Life is full of middle ground.  And, even though there is right, and there is wrong, there are a lot of things that aren't mentioned in the Bible as being specifically one or the other.  And the process of deciding what is appropriate, and what is questionable, is sometimes not the easiest thing.  Wouldn't it be great if our Bibles had magic 8 balls in them, somehow, where we could just ask specific questions?  That would be great.

Thing is, there is a way to know.  Open communication with the Lord, and patience as we await His reply.  He'll tell us, we just have to be willing to lay aside our silly whims and opinionated thoughts and trust Him to make it plain.

Oh, but it would be so much easier if He had specific rules for all this stuff.  I love that we're under grace, but those under-law people?  At least they knew what was what.  They may have done a lot of stupid and wrong things, but they knew when it was wrong.  Of course, then they would get stoned, or stricken with boils, or suffer a famine or something.

Free will is such a bother sometimes.

By the dozen

I won't bore you with my regular introduction of "we have the best family dinners ever," but last week we had a particularly funny episode that I'll recount in part.

So, we were were talking about the old-timey way of hanging people (throwing them up on stakes on a wall, just in case you were curious), and other random things like why my brother and I long misunderstood Ezekiel 4, and eventually we started talking about clocks. This is because we have a heinous clock that chirps, hoots, and makes other bird noises ever hour, on the hour. It's awful. I took the batteries out one time, but my mom actually likes the clock, so she found new batteries and now the clock is as loud as ever. This is fine, as we say, because what makes her happy makes us happy, but during supper we kept hearing it (it ended up being a long supper, so we heard the clock at least twice, and possibly even three times) and it was quite the topic of conversation.

That brought us to the thought that we should manufacture a clock with the twelve disciples on it! By the way, this may seem like a confusing train of thought to you, but we were talking about clocks, and we'd been talking about hanging people, and Judas was a disciple, and he hanged himself... well, somehow this made sense to us.

So anyhow, we had great discussion about how the clock would look. Would it have sounds for each disciple? Like Matthew, being a tax collector, would have clinky money sounds, and John would have some angelic sound, and Peter and the fishermen-type guys would have... fish sounds. Well, we decided that maybe the disciples wouldn't get sounds after all. But then there was the discussion of where we'd put the disciples. Who would get the 12:00 spot, right at the top of the clock? I voted Peter, but there was significant pull for John. Then we questioned if Judas should even get a slot. Maybe we could stick Matthias instead of Judas. My brother, of course, thought that perhaps we could have Judas at the 6:00 slot, and the clock could show the rope hanging him.

My mom wasn't impressed.

After a while we thought maybe we should just skip the disciples (too much drama!) and just do the twelve tribes. Of course, then there's the discussion about which tribe you should leave out (remember, Joseph got two tribes), and then we started all over again.

I Googled "twelve disciples wall clock" later, sure I'd find that somebody had already invented it, and to my surprise, didn't find anything. I looked only casually, but the closest I could find was a Last Supper clock and an old clock in Prague with the twelve on there, but it's an old clock, and not for sale. Also, there's a rock formation in Australia called The Twelve Apostles, and you can get clocks with the rock formation on the face, but that is, in fact, no help at all.

So one day if you wander into a Christian bookstore and see a twelve disciples clock, well, perhaps it was I, who somehow managed to finagle a deal to design clocks. It could happen!

Tomorrow!

Tomorrow, I'll wake up to a breakfast of coffee cake (best EVER), and write a Thanksgiving essay (family tradition. I pretty much write one every day leading up to Thanksgiving, though), and my mom will read my siblings and I the story of the First Thanksgiving. We'll run around the kitchen for a while, trying to make sure everything is in order, and then I'll sit down (Lord willing) with my family, though just a small portion thereof, and eat turkey (well, they'll eat it, I'll abstain due to my extreme distaste of turkey), potatoes, and other such Thanksgiving-ly food, and we'll muse over how much it is that we have to be thankful for.

That's all. Amazing that that one paragraph sums up my favorite day of the year.

Many blessings

Have I ever mentioned how much I love my Sunday School class? Well, I do. They're the best. And, since Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and my Sunday School class is my favorite class, it's no surprise that I have a great story about the two of them together.

Sunday morning, we learned about Thanks. One of the kids had supplied dum-dums enough to supply every single person in the upstairs, all-inclusive part with a treat, and so we all chorused a "Thank you" to him (well, his family, really, as they sent it along with him). This was perfect, as I was going to talk about thanks anyhow.

We spent some time talking about Christ's work on the cross and how that is the best thing to be thankful for. I had new kids, so we spent time making sure everyone knew how to get saved, and then I gave them all pieces of paper and writing instruments (I'm about five, so we all had crayons and markers and such) and told them to write or draw some things they were thankful for. After a few minutes (I was still writing furiously, myself), I said that if they were done, we would each read a few things from our lists. Oh, no, they declared, they weren't done! They kept writing, and writing, and many pages were filled up.

All good things must come to an end, so I finally had them wrap it up, and we all took turns reading a couple of the things we were thankful for. Interestingly enough, three of us (yes, yes, I wrote this, too) wrote that we were thankful for cheese. I like cheese enough to be thankful for it, but I was pretty impressed with the rest of them writing it. We all had fun explaining why we were thankful for certain people, I had the chance to be weirded out by several of their girls being thankful for themselves, I giggled when they were thankful for things like malls and lip gloss, and smiled when they were thankful for the Bible, and Sunday School, and family.

By the time we were done, none of us wanted to leave (partly because there was still some of the pumpkin log I'd made them for snack, but that's besides the point), and I made them promise to say thank you to at least three people later on in the day. Not sure if it'll work, but I think if people can get through their heads the attitude of thankfulness, that their whole attitude of life will change for the better.

All in all, a good Sunday School class. Those girls are the best.

Give thanks!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, ever. As much as I love National Grammar Day and Guy Fawkes Day, Thanksgiving tops the list, every time. First of all, it's a cozy holiday, secondly, it usually involves much family, and thirdly, it reminds me how much for which I have to be thankful. Dear prepositions, I wish I could use you at the end of sentences. Things would sound ever so much better.

Anyhow, we all know I'm thankful for my family, and my friends, but there's so much else! I'm thankful for the hope of the Lord's coming. May that hope never grow dim in my heart, may I never stop jumping! I'm thankful for the colors of creation, and for snow, and for purple flowers. I'm thankful for road trips, and speed limits that are 65 and above. I'm thankful for music, and singing, and friends with iPods. I'm thankful for the ability to travel, and for travel-sized bottles of shampoo, and for my Kindle. I'm thankful for regular-type books, and words, and the power to imagine. I'm thankful for sunshine, and the Hey Cow game, and for the Game of Three. I'm thankful for new friendships, and old ones, and ones that I don't even know about yet. I'm thankful for my Sunday School class, and for sleep, and for sleepovers on the roof. I'm thankful for the possibility of GFD11, and for Friendly Vacation, and for family meal times. I'm thankful for prayer, and for family Bible readings, and for the fact that my parents pray for me every single night. I'm thankful for my mom, who waves me off to work in the morning, and for my dad, who lets me be as strange as I need to be, and for my brother, who is one of my best friends, and for my younger sister, now my sister in two ways. I'm thankful for my 11 nieces and nephews, and the three wonderful sisters and three wonderful brothers-in-law whom I never see enough but love anyway. I'm thankful for the years I had with my older brother, and the relationship we had. I'm thankful for laughter that makes my side hurt and tears stream down my face, and for sorrow so sharp I can do nothing but cling to my Saviour. I'm thankful for the human ability to love, and hope, and keep believing. I'm thankful that my sins are washed by the precious blood of Christ, and that through Him I am a treasure, a child of worth. I'm thankful for health, and happiness, and comfort.

There's more. But... it's not even Thanksgiving yet. I'll save something for later.

PS I LOVE this holiday!

Seeking: the impossible

So, I'm weirdly picky about certain things (light switches, microwaves, windshield wipers, and silverware settings, just to name a few). But there are some things that I'm particular about in a more haphazard way. For instance, my room is allowed to be messy as long as I still know where everything is. My books are half packed up in boxes (a girl only has so much shelf space!), and the labels leave somewhat to be desired, but I understand exactly what's in each box, so it seems perfectly acceptable to me.

There's one thing that I'm weird about, though, that has no rhyme or reason. I make no secret of the fact that I tend to keep a journal. Perhaps not as faithfully as I should, but I like to keep them full of enough fodder so that if I don't burn them (this is a distinct possibility), my children will have an interesting view of my life. Now, I know some people keep journals in regular notebooks, but personally? I like to think that if I'm going to all this trouble to write down all the potentially interesting parts of my life, it might as well be in a book I like to look at, and one that is Just So.

This means a few things. 1) It has to be spiral bound. This is more for the sake of ease than looks, but I like the look of a spiral-bound notebook better. 2) It can't be plain. There has to be some distinctive feature that makes me want to look at it. 3) The pages can be neither too narrow, nor too wide. If the pages aren't exactly to my liking, I spend inordinate amounts of time in my journal discussing why I don't like the length of the lines. No joke. 4) It can't look too girly, nor too blah, and it can't have anything that would make me laugh at its absurd cover in 10 or 20 years. 5) There are actually other things, having to do with the type of page, the way the lines look, whether or not the first page is blank or lined, and some others. I'll spare you the details.

All that is good and well, but the fact is, there's no such thing as the perfect journal. I refuse to have the same cover more than once (I think I was hit on the head as a child--there's no way this is normal), and I don't like to have the new journal waiting in the wings while I write in a current journal. It makes me feel like the new journal is judging me for being too slow. So I can't buy a new journal until I'm nearly done (or done, if I write too much near the end and lose track of how many pages I have left) a current journal. So that leaves me shopping (sometimes for days on end) for a journal that fits all of my weird quirks. I never find exactly what I want, but, though great perseverance, I usually find something that fits at least a few of my qualifications!

I like to think that I'm particular in this because I don't like to be picky in other parts of my life. That, obviously, is just wishful thinking, as I am hardly perfect and un-picky on other occasions. So anyhow, this all has been on my mind recently as I accidentally finished my old journal and didn't have a new one! I do now (it took about three days, but I got it), but I had to visit many places to find the perfect fit.

In other news, I realize that if I do indeed burn my journals, it will make all this trouble be for nothing. Maybe I'll burn the pages and leave the covers? That might work. Hm.

In His Image

I'm not trying to say that my parents are awesome, or that my siblings are awesome, or that we're all that and a canister of silly string, but the fact is, my parents did an amazing job at bringing up their kids. There is always margin for error, but at this point, everyone is pretty much turning out.

I always marveled at that fact (yeah, I have this phobia of one day having kids and them all turning into little hoodlums who wreak havoc and don't go on for the Lord), and I know many godly parents whose children have turned out less than well. To say the least.

I had always figured that my parents were just really in tune with the Lord when it came to raising kids (they were), and that they used principles from the Word of God (they did), because obviously that's the best help book for parenting. True and true.

But my dad was talking about it the other day and said something that made all the sense in the world to me. He said that essentially, a lot of people try to raise their kids in their own image. The parent sort of wants their kid raised a certain way, for one reason or another, and that's all good and well, but... my parents didn't want kids in their own image. They, through much prayer and patience, tried to mold us kids in the image of God. No sense having a bunch of little kids like them, they'd rather a passel of kids who live in Christ's image.

Somehow, it made me a little less scared of having (and, subsequently, messing up) children. Not much, but some. Kids like me would be a disaster. Kids following in the footsteps of God? I could deal with that.

12.5

Apparently if you spend just 12.5 minutes a day reading the Bible, you'll be done in a year. It's a new, mathematical twist on the old three-chapters-a-day, five-on-Sunday story, but I find it an interesting bit of trivia. That is based on the fact that reading the Bible takes but 76 hours straight through, which seems to me like using generic information. Not everybody reads at the same rate.

Something to keep in mind on those nights when I'd rather slack off.

Not to mention, if I can devote half an hour or more to read some chapters of my latest novel, wouldn't you think I could devote half an hour (or more!) to reading the Word? To spending time in prayer? Yeah, that's what I thought, too. One of my friends and I were talking about this last night, and it really was strange to add up all the time we spend doing other things compared to reading the Bible and spending time in prayer.

Food for thought.

Rejoice with me!

"What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance."

All or nothing

This past weekend I learned a lot. It was a good weekend. One of the things that was excellent and garnered much discussion amongst the circle I run with was some discussion about giving your all to the Lord. The example used was that nobody would ever dream of talking about getting married and say, "Yeah, I'll pledge myself to this person 85%" or even 99%, truth be told. Marriage is supposed to be a 100% effort from both parties, and it seems absurd to think of someone promising just a portion of themself to their spouse-to-be.

But... really? Isn't that what we do to the Lord? We say we'll serve Him, and we do, but... only on our terms. We want to serve him with the part of ourselves we have left after we're done catering to our our whims. The Lord (obviously) deserves more than a half-hearted effort on our part to be His. He wants us, heart and soul, in entirety.

It's easy to want that. To want that relationship with the Lord, where all burdens, all decisions, all choices, are placed on the altar before Him. But when it comes down to it, we're mostly not willing to go that far. To give every aspect of our lives over to the Lord, to leave nothing for ourselves. It takes a complete willingness to give control. A complete willingness to surrender all. I love that hymn, "I surrender all" but when it comes down to it, I'm not able to say that I truly have surrendered my all.

I'm not my own, I'm bought with a price, but for some reason it wrongly feels like a price, rather than a privilege, to give back.

"Love will come to save us, if we'll only call, He will ask nothing of us, but demand we give our all." Lyrics from a great song from the Fireproof movie. They seemed quite fitting for my current thoughts.

And that's all. For now.

Priorities

I know it's sort of lame to totally steal someone elses's story, but I got this in a forward yesterday and really liked it, so I'm doing that lame reshare thing. I guess I have no more ideas of my own. I'm just recycling ideas of others. It's a sad day in my world.

~~A Sunday school teacher walked into his classroom with a box filled with a variety of items. When the class began, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with orange golf balls. At the very top he placed a white one. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The teacher then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The teacher next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous, “yes”.

“Now,” said the teacher, “I want to tell you that this jar represents your life. The white golf ball at the top represents God, your first priority, who must be first in your life. The orange golf balls represent the other important things in life like your family, your children, your brothers and sisters in Christ, your friends; important things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your health, your education, your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else, the small stuff.”

“The secret to a happy and full life is having the right priorities. If you put the sand into the jar first there is little room for the pebbles or the golf balls. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the important things in life.”

“Jesus said…Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” Matthew 22:37~~

See? That wasn't so bad. Now, if only I'd thought of this story myself. =)

Socks

Has anyone else ever noticed that socks are shifty, strange creatures? I don't understand how the one sock can just go off and never return. My white socks find their way onto my Mom or sister's feet, but the ones with patters and colors (which I rely upon to not get taken by family member, who can clearly tell that they're not theirs) are always MIA! What?

Clearly, my socks don't mate for life. What is this world coming to?

Reach

1 Corinthians 12 talks a lot about working together as the body of Christ, and at the end it talks about different positions and abilities that some of the members of the church there in Corinth had. Then, at the end of the chapter, it says, "covet earnestly the best gifts." It segues into chapter 13 (the love chapter, cue the sappy wedding music), but I've always sort of wondered about that last part. I've heard it discussed several times, that we should seek to do our best for the Lord, etc. (I'm sure I'm getting this all wrong, pardon my potential doctrinal errors), but I think it's a funny way of wording it, if you will, that we should covet the best gifts.

I've always sort of been that girl who wonders what she should do with her life. I always wonder if what I'm doing is all I should be doing. I feel strongly that I should be occupying until the Lord comes (it's been a while since I mentioned how much I'm looking forward to the Lord coming. So allow me to say it again: WOOHOO!!), but there don't seem to be specific guidelines in the Bible about what we're supposed to be doing.

I know that whatever my hand finds to do, I'm supposed to do it heartily, as unto the Lord. Sadly, this seems to include work. (Dear work, I don't seem to want to work heartily. Sigh.) I know I'm supposed to be living my life in such a manner that even under a microscope, people won't have something bad to say about Christians (yeah....), and that above all, I should keep Christ as my goal.

So, back to this whole "whatever my hand finds to do" thing. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd love to really make the effort to reach out and do more. I'd love to cheer more people's days (I smile at people on the freeway on my way to work every morning. It might sound stalkerly, but people seem pleasantly surprised to see some very-clearly-singing-with-the-radio girl turn and give them a big ol' grin at 70 miles an hour), I'd love to be able to deepen my friendships (there are some people I've been "friends" with for years but am only now really getting to truly know them. You know who you are!), and reach out and make new friendships (I have a pen pal!! It was the most random pen-pal happening ever, that started with a random letter to a summer camp and a crudely-drawn family tree that bonded my new friend and I) (PS if you know other people who like to email and/or write letters (I hope to keep postal workers everywhere with enough work so that snail mail won't even have the option to die. Take that, email) then let me know, seriously, because, in case you haven't noticed, I love to write!) (also, I love parentheses. I have used too many today. Perhaps I should give up parentheses as my New Year's Resolution?) (Nah).

That was a long paragraph.

So anyhow, I just feel like as a Christian I can be doing more. More to encourage those that don't have the Light of Life living in their hearts, and more with other members of the Body of Christ. After all, the Lord is coming very soon. We might as well do the most with the time we have!

PS (or PPS? I guess I already used a PS in my post. Then again, can it really be a post script in the middle?) I clearly have had too much sugar today. There is no way a person without outside influence would be using such great quantities of parentheses. Or short sentences. La, la, la. Maybe I'll go hum, or dance a jig. Just kidding, I can't jig. (did anyone else ever think that Jiggy Nye, the bad-ish guy from the American Girl series Felicity, was a weird name? I did.) Or dance. Or stop writing, apparently. Maybe it's time to go bombard my friends with another round of long emails. Clearly I have a lot to say. =)

Daughter

I was going to start out by saying that doing a study of the word "daughter" in the Bible is really interesting, but then I realized that I'm in no position to talk, because have I really looked up all 327 times in the Bible where it uses the word daughter? Uh, no. A lot of the mentions are really generic ones "who was the daughter of some guy out of Bethel, etc." but there are many cool times where it references daughter. A lot of times the daughter in question was an actual biological daughter (Jephthah, for instance, cried about his daughter), but often it's almost like a term of endearment.

Like all those cool verses in Zechariah (and other places in the Bible, I just happen to fancy the ones from Zechariah) about the Daughter of Zion. Maybe it's just because of that song Todd Agnew did based off those verses (it used to give me shivers, no joke), but I love the imagery. "Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion; shout, O Israel; be glad and rejoice with all thy heart, O daughter of Jerusalem." Good stuff.

But I got on this little tangent because I was thinking of those times in Ruth when Naomi called Ruth her daughter. I know, I know, she pretty much was, that whole in-law thing, but when you read the book of Ruth, the term "daughter" comes off as a caress. A small word that shows how much love and care Naomi had for Ruth. "Sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matter will fall."

Maybe it's because it's one of those stories we romanticize, so maybe there's nothing cool about Naomi called Ruth her daughter, but it has always charmed me. Of course, Boaz called Ruth daughter, too. That's a whole different ball of wax.

Well. This was random.

My Father's Shoes

Last night I had dinner at my grandparent's house. My whole family (all of the unmarried parts, at any rate) was there, as well as two of my aunts and an uncle. We also had another close friend of the family, and it ended up being rather a party-like situation. But then, of course, we got sidetracked (long story) and started reading poetry. Not like Robert Frost-type poetry, but poetry my aunt has written.

All was going well until we had my dad read a poem called "My Father's Shoes." It's a poem my aunt had written for one of my grandpa's birthdays, and it was just one of those poignant poems that make you cry, because my grandpa's health is failing, and it was just that kind of poem. Well, we didn't all cry. My aunts and dad did, along with my mom and my grandpa. But my grandma? She was in one of those jovial moods and would not be deterred. Every time someone shed a tear, she made a joke. When my grandpa started telling a story about one time when he thought my aunt (the poem-writing one) had died (she was little and swallowed something sharp), he was in tears and my grandma was just serenely saying, "Well, I never saw him cry so much. He really thought you were dead." and just carry on eating like it was no big deal.

Honestly, it was hilarious.

As badly as I felt for those shedding tears, the dynamic between the all of them was just so funny. And there was no way to sober my grandma up. When my grandpa told this story about some girl who held her little sister in her arms as she breathed her last (he was in this weird let's-talk-about-sad-things mood), I asked when that was, meaning how long ago. My grandma just goes, "When? It was when she died!" And that was that. I couldn't even pretend to be solemn any longer.

But it was sort of sad. How many more times will my family be sitting around like that? Even my immediate family is at risk of changing, due to the increasing ages of those of us not as yet married. So, even though I took sides with my grandma and we just laughed our way through dinner, I wasn't quite as jovial as she.

All good things must come to an end though. Except Heaven. That's one good thing we can all count on lasting for, well, an eternity!

The Waiting Game

We play many games. Twister. Dating. Monopoly. Some games we like (Guess Who?, Scrabble, Bejeweled) and some we don't (... Monopoly and dating are two that come immediately to mind). And a lot of parts of life we refer to as games that probably aren't (for instance, dating. Not really a game. I just get tired of what I call "the dating game" amongst youngsters who treat it carelessly, hence the less-than-fuzzy feelings I'm feeling towards it right now), like, for instance, waiting.

We all wait for this or that. Some people wait for the mail, some people wait for a kind word, some wait for a grandchild, and some wait for the eyebrows to grow back. All kinds of things. But I was thinking about waiting last night, as I was listening to Air1 (they have some crazy songs, but I like them mostly). They played a song called "For Those Who Wait" and it's by a band called Fireflight. Now, I'm not wholly certain what the song is about (though it did have words about a "waiting game" which is why I'm suddenly calling waiting a game), but I think it mostly has to do with waiting on the Lord. I think. I don't know. I was driving, and sometimes I pay attention to the road instead of the music. Weird, I know.

Anyhow, the bridge of the song went along the lines of "the pressures make us stronger, the lessons make the difference, the struggle makes us hunger." Something. I guess I could look up the lyrics. No, I'm feeling lazy.

As much as we don't want to wait, it's so helpful for us to wait. And there are so many helpful, and healthy things we can do while waiting (again, this waiting is for anything, be it the pizza delivery guy, that upcoming concert, or for your passport to come). And I think that's the way it was designed to be.

Do you remember the story where Saul was waiting for Samuel to come, but he didn't show up for a whole week, so Saul just sort of up and did some sacrifices, and then when Samuel came (like five minutes later, of course), he confronted Saul about he'd stepped out of bounds and done the sacrifices himself. Well, Saul's answer was that he felt obliged to for a bunch of reasons (the bad guys would get him, the people were scattering), so he just did it.

Please note, I am not an exact translation. Thank you.

So anyhow, Saul just didn't want to wait. So he didn't. And I don't blame him, in a certain sense. I mean, how many of us would just wait patiently for an entire week?! If someone says they'll be at the bus station on Friday, I'm not just going to sit around and wait for him for a whole week, you know? I'd be those people, scattering, and I'd probably be Saul, just taking charge and doing the sacrifices for lack of someone better to do them.

Woe is me. What a terrible attitude! They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary, they shall walk, and not faint.

If you want a list of verses about waiting, see Mrs. B's blog for a very good post on the subject.

There's another song (I'm really into this song thing today, hope that doesn't bother anybody) by John Waller called "While I'm Waiting" and it was used in the Fireproof soundtrack (great movie, great soundtrack) and I love listening to it. It just brings to mind that while we're waiting, we should be hopeful, and serving, and patient. "I'm waiting on you, Lord, though it is painful, I will wait."

That's the sort of attitude with which I want to wait.

Sunshine

I love the sunshine. Driving to work this morning I got a little foretaste of what winter is going to be looking like in a bit, and, as sad as I was about winter (bad drivers, huzzah!), I loved the look of the day. The trees had just enough frost on them to look "fuzzy," and the sun was having a hard time coming up (I feel his pain. I hate waking up, too) and everything was misty, moisty, and magical.

There's just something about looking at a misty valley (well, OK, it's not exactly a valley, but there is a distinct valley-like thing near this airport I pass on my way to work) and reveling in the fact that it's by the breath of God that frost is given.

Oh, and I'm reading Job right now. That always makes me love the weather just a little bit more.

Oh, Election Day

I really can't stand election season. Sorry, America, I'm exercising my right to not vote. Deal with it.

On the plus side, Guy Fawkes Day is on Friday!

Peace, peace (when there is no peace)

I tend to be a person who follows after peace. What I mean by that is that I'm not exactly going to go around picking fights or angering folks at random. I hope. But sometimes my desire to smooth things over is a little extreme.

For instance, if I'm having difficulties with someone, I rarely tell them about it. Literally, almost never would I find myself waltzing up to someone and saying, "Yeah, um, I was offended that you didn't [fill in the blank]." And even with my close friends, whom I love, I don't find it comfortable to tell them that I'm upset about something. I know I'll get over it, so I just say, "Yeah, we're cool," even though NO. YOU'RE NOT.

So I have resolved to be more honest. With my friends, and myself, truth be told, because I say that I'm over something, and sometimes I'm not.

It just feels weird for me to acknowledge that I'm upset about something. I like to be more even-keeled than that. Yuck. But I'll try. For the sake of my friends who do me the honor of being honest with me, I'll extend that courtesy back their way.

Obey

A few weeks ago my family was having a picnic and I had my parents give us kids some "life advice." I just figured that it would be interesting to hear specifics; we see how they live, but I wanted to hear why they decided to live the way they do. It sparked (obviously) some interesting discussions, and then I sort of forgot about it.

But last night our family went out to eat in celebration of two major events (moving here and my dad buying his business) that actually happened in September, but we always forget about it until later in the fall. So yes, it's October, and we're finally celebrating our Family Day of Awesomeness. Or whatever it's called.

So, while we were sitting around, waiting for the food (most specifically, the rolls, which they forgot to give us, and we were all pretty hungry for them, sigh) I thought it would be fun to get some advice from the other side of the family. My little sister (she'll always be my little sister, no matter how old she gets!) is nearly 16 (see? not exactly little any longer), so I asked her to give all of us some life advice. By the time I was her age I thought I had a pretty good handle on things (little did I know...) and thought it would be interesting to get her take on the subject.

She thought for a few minutes, and then came out with one of the wisest things I've heard in a long time. "Disobedience is never worth it." That was all. She just said it as if, well, of course, life advice was her speciality.

Yeah, I wasn't that smart when I was 15.

But it made me think of the verse in 1 Samuel 15, that says that "Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams." Then it continues about rebellion being as the sin of witchcraft and stubbornness as iniquity and idolatry (those verses used to strike a great deal of fear into my young heart, especially as I was wont to be rather stubborn), but I was mostly thinking about the obedience part of the verse.

You know, Saul really thought (so it appears) he was doing the right thing in the chapter--he sacrificed to the Lord from the best of the flocks and such. What's so bad about that? Well, nothing, unless the Lord had asked that you, you know, obey Him specifically. And this was the incident where Saul spared Agag, and later, of course, Haman the Agagite tried to destroy the Jewish race, which didn't work out so well for him, but this is off-topic. Go read Esther in case you need to brush up on how unfortunate the whole sparing-of-Agag situation was.

Where was I?

Ah, yes. So Saul did something that, in and of itself, wasn't bad, but certainly had negative consequences. And I can think of so many choices I've made in life (this is depressing: if I've already done so many wrong things and I'm not even a quarter of a century old, how much opportunity will there be in my life for wrongs to be committed? Ugh) where it wasn't as if I were doing something "wrong" per se, but I knew the difference. There are things that leave a sharp bitter taste in your mouth, and you know you don't have peace. Thankfully, I rarely end up losing my kingdom because of it (of course, I don't have a kingdom to lose. Note to self: find a kingdom) but there are still consequences.

So, maybe if I'd asked my sister a few years ago for life advice, I would have been less biscuit-y in some of my choices.

Maybe I need a shirt that says "Obedience is better." On the back it could say stuff about sacrifice or fat of rams, but I'm not sure that people would understand it. The "Obedience is Better" tagline makes sense in and of itself.

Like John H Sammis always said, "Trust and obey, for there's no other way, to be happy in Jesus, than to trust and obey!"

L8r

I'm really bad at using all that slang-type stuff while emailing. I always figured that it was just because I have a whole qwerty keyboard available with all the letters and it wasn't that hard to type words out in their entirety, you know? There are some words I shorten, but in general, I'd rather type a cheerful, "Later!" than "haha lol l8r" in an email.

So when I got a cell phone I thought that since I was finally closer technology-wise to my peers, perhaps I would magically start typing like them. But it's not easy to remember to shorten words, and sometimes I'll be texting and remember halfway through a word that there's a shorter way of putting it, so I'll delete what I wrote and use the shorter version. By that point, of course, enough time has been wasted that I might as well have just used the word I was trying to type in the first place.

It makes me feel like perhaps I missed out on the gene most people my age have, the one that lets you do stuff like that. And I'm not perfect--I'm a terrible speller, and sometimes say things like "bother" instead of "brother," but that short-hand computer language just isn't something I'm good at.

What I am good at? At least mildly so? Riding a bike and texting. Try it sometime, it's harder than it looks!

Where the heart is

I recently had another birthday, and now, apparently, people think it's high time for me to fly the coop. When I say "people" I mostly mean my group of people at the Y where I always hang out. They find it surprising that A) I still want to live at home and B) that my parents still want me. But I honestly can't imagine just moving out for the sake of it. My family keeps me grounded, and in touch with reality, and I tell you what, I won't find meals or Bible readings as cool as we have it at home!

Last night I was joking around with my parents about them trying to marry me off (we have this whole arranged-marriage thing that nobody finds funny but us), and my mom was saying that they'll keep me for as long as they can. It made me rather cheerful.

And so this morning, as I was going around the breakfast table on my way out to work (I say good-bye to my bother, remind him of what time I'll pick him up from school, kiss my dad, my mom, and then my little sister, and then my mom follows me outside to wave me off. It's quite the process), I was just thankful for my family. They're the best.

Misspeaks

Last night 'round the dinner table we were remembering some particularly funny times when someone has been reading the Bible and spoke amiss. My all-time favorite was when my little sister was just learning how to read and we were reading the parable of the guy who sent his only son and she said, "This is the hair; come, let us kill him, and let us squeeze on his inheritance." And I just laughed. Nobody else remembers, but I wrote a note in my Bible, and every time I come across it I just have to laugh.

Then, of course, were the time when we'd have Bible study at our house for the neighbourhood teens, and every once in a while they'd say something funny. Like once my dad asked what "swine" were (parable of the prodigal son) and one girl said, "they're those, like, pretty white birds?" No, no, those are swans.

At Sunday School once a boy whom I've always thought of as pretty with it was asked what a "pardon" was. "A.... squirrel?" No, Lorenzo, that's not it.

Back to the dinner table. Once, when my grandma was still with us, she was at our house for breakfast and our family reading happened to be in Matthew 11. My grandma wasn't paying much attention (being 93 will do that to you), and so when it came time for her to read she didn't know where we were. So my mom, being ever helpful, started out the verse for her and pointed her in the right direction. "Woe unto thee, Mummy," she said, hoping that my grandma would pick up from there.

So my grandma repeated after her. Verbatim.

"Woe unto thee, Mummy."

We all cracked up, and my poor grandma didn't understand why we thought it was funny. Needless to say, I can't ever seem to read about Chorazin without remembering my dear grandmother saying, "Woe unto thee, Mummy."

I remember someone once mis-reading loaves and fishes as "loaves and smishes." Two words: Church. Giggles.

Psalm 28:7

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song I will praise Him.

Tuna with a side of Smartness

Change begins at the meal table. ~This week's sign at a Church near where I work. I wonder what the sermon's going to be about... I've been curious ever since I saw the sign on Monday.

Anyhow, I talk about our family meals all the time, how fun they are, and how wacky they sometimes end up being. I was pondering this last night as I realized the amount of information we were sharing was of a fairly impressive quantity.

My brother was trying to teach us all this math problem, wherein the answer was about four times the length of the original question. My mom was full of factoids about the 82-year-old woman who got an $1,103 speeding ticket and a postcard that took 64 years to reach its recipient. Of course, she couldn't just say the story, but rather she explained it in math problems--she knew how many miles away the postcard was trying to go (she GoogleMapped it) and figured out the rate at which the postcard traveled to take that long. It was like half a mile a year.

And I just sat there, with my meager knowledge that crocodiles like to soak humans underwater before eating them (if they choose to eat humans, which they usually don't, quite honestly), and that New Hampshire is the only state left without formal seat belt laws on the books. I thought those were some pretty good take-home bits for the day, but my family had me beat.

Another day, another dinner. Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am for my family?

Wing to Wing, Oar to Oar

I found this poem the other day and thought it was cool. As much as I profess to dislike poetry, I think it's mostly a partial truth to cover up that I can't write it myself.

The Master Speed by Robert Frost

No speed of wind or water rushing by
But you have speed far greater. You can climb
Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,
And back through history up the stream of time.
And you were given this swiftness, not for haste
Nor chiefly that you may go where you will,
But in the rush of everything to waste,
That you may have the power of standing still-
Off any still or moving thing you say.
Two such as you with such a master speed
Cannot be parted nor be swept away
From one another once you are agreed
That life is only life forevermore
Together wing to wing and oar to oar

Wisdom and such

Solomon was pretty cool (minus the whole wife fetish, but we'll let that go for now). He ended up being a King while young, and really relied on the Lord to get him started... and then sort of let it slip. Again with the wife thing.

But do you remember the prayer he prayed? He requested "wisdom and knowledge," and he might "go out and come in before this people." As a quick aside, I find great hilarity in that verse, but I take it a little bit out of context sometimes, so I won't dwell on that fact too much here. Anyhow, the Lord granted it to him (feel free to brush up in either 2 Chronicles 1 or 1 Kings 3), and all was good for Solomon (well, until the wife thing). (You know, for saying I wasn't going to talk about that I spent an awfully long time talking about it. Strange...)

My favorite part about this whole thing is that as a Christian, I get this stuff in the package deal! When you read Colossians 2 about being knit together in love etc. you find a useful little verse tucked in there (verse 3) that goes, "In whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." Isn't that nifty? Just by being redeemed by the precious blood of Christ we get wisdom and knowledge. It's pretty much the best situation ever.

So when we feel all lacking in the wisdom department (though we all know what James would say!) just remember that we have it. Through Christ we have a direct line into Wisdom herself--see entire book of Proverbs for information about wisdom. For further confirmation, read this book. =)

So when something seems confusing and/or slightly complicated, I like to think about the fact that I have knowledge and wisdom hidden in me. Now if only it weren't hidden so well...

PS, that's James 1:5, in case I wasn't clear.

100

I just realized that this is my 100th post in the year 2010, and I was rather pleased to realize that. All of my deep thoughts about wisdom were thrown out of the window and I decided instead to take a moment and just point out to all y'all that even though I'm terrible at keeping up, that somewhat of an accomplishment, right?

Then again, when you consider that this is actually the 291st day of the year, you might stop to think about those nearly-two hundred days of the year I haven't posted, and then this seems way less cool.

Either way, happy hundredth post to me!

Oxen

One verse that is recited as if a mantra about our house is Proverbs 14:4, the verse that goes, "Where no oxen are, the crib is clean." We don't just quote this because we used to have kids over to our house for Bible study who thought it was somehow appropriate to call our house "God's Crib" because, you know, I guess our house was the hip version of God's house. Not sure why...

Anyhow, we use this verse to stay encouraged when our Sunday School events go a little crazy. Police had to come? This means the crib is used, people, this is fine. Kids are fighting? That means the kids are there, at Sunday School, so that's good. Sure, everything feels like a mess, but it means there's potential, there's an effort, and there's an outreach. Sometimes it's hard to appreciate the chaos, but fact is, chaos means that things are happening! As crazy as things get sometimes, we still prefer the crazy times to the times when nobody even shows up to Sunday School. That happens, by the way. Sometimes each class will only have one or two kids, and all the Sunday School teachers feel quite bereft of our usual Sunday Adventures.

That's mostly in the summer, for some reason. Kids come more during the school year.

And Hobby Class, for instance, where last week I picked up 14 kids, and this week only two. Last week there was more chaos (and more police cars), but I think I liked it better. But numbers aren't what matter, the outcome is what matters: that a child might come to know the Lord Jesus Christ as their own personal Saviour. That's what matters.

So anyhow, if something has you discouraged because the situation seems out of control, just remember the verse we love so well in our household and bear in mind that it's only a mess because you're making the effort. If all else fails, refer to your home as a "crib." All the cool kids do.

Evil, in root form

I rant about money all the time: how much I hate it, hate to spend it, love to spend it, wish I didn't simultaneously love and hate to spend it, that sort of thing. But in general, and especially having the job I have (word to the wise: your insurance will cost less if you have a better credit score!), I'm thankful for what I do know/feel about money.

Before I go on, don't think that I've learned all my money stuff from the radio or work. My family is full of wise people who are awesome at managing money. I have an aunt who saved a bunch of money before she got married and single-handedly put the down payment on their first house. She is held up as a pinnacle of virtue in our household; someone to live up to, if possible.

Back in the day I used to listen to Money Matters on the radio pretty much every day while I was making supper. That, of course, was back when it was actually called Money Matters, and back when Howard Dayton did the show, and back when I had time to make supper. So, back when the show was cool and I had enough time to listen to money management radio shows. By the way, to all of you Dave Ramsey enthusiasts out there, I still like Howard Dayton better. Sorry.

But it was a really good thing for me, I think. My friend mrg and I used to talk about mortgages and loans and other things we didn't really understand, but because we nerdily listened to such money programs, we at least felt mildly comfortable with it all. Even now I don't really understand all the stuff with Living Wills and Revocable Trusts, but at least I know something. Ish.

So I dutifully went out and got myself a credit card earlier this year, just so I could start having some sort of credit history (the whole insurance company mindset does something to me, I tell you what). It's strange to think that you have to spend money to show that you're good at it, I guess, but it's how these things go.

But my dad and I were talking about money the other day, because I'd missed a talk he'd given about money, and I wanted him to fill me in on what I missed, and *drum roll* he was explaining how budgeting is bad. For a second I was quite confused, because that's what I hear on Moody Radio all the time: Have a budget! Manage your money wisely! But my dad has a great point. Most people create a budget based on how much money they have, and work out from there. Uh, as my dad points out, when you do that, you're basically allowing yourself to spend most (if not all) of the money you make. Just live simply, WELL within your means, and save the rest. Well, save and give back to the Lord--also hugely important (also emphasized by Moody Radio and my dad all the time).

But I've been thinking about it recently, because I've been trying to save pretty much all of my money these days, less necessary evils (prizes for my SS class, gas, etc. etc.), and it's sort of awesome to do my online banking and see very very few debit or credit card purchases each month. Woo hoo!

Things that keep me busy

No sooner did I comment to my friend Rachel that I was finally blogging again then I pretty much stopped blogging. To my credit, I've been busy. We passed the anniversary of my brother's ex-birthday, we passed my birthday, I went away for a long weekend (Columbus Day is a holiday in my books!), and in general, have been sleeping a lot.

Being a year older doesn't feel different at all, I'm not going to lie. It never does, but since this was a monumental year, one that required me to renew my license and such, I though perhaps it was as big a deal as everyone said.

Not so much.

Anyhow, it's all good. Each day brings new blessings, each day brings new challenges. Seems to, anyhow. It's a good feeling, knowing that no matter where life takes me, or what it hands me, I've got the Lord on my side. Whom shall I fear? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Oh, Romeo

Fact: I think the story of Romeo and Juliet is stupid. Fact: Taylor Swift's re-envisioning of the story doesn't really impress me. Fact: maybe it's just because I'm not hopelessly romantic enough, but the whole premise is insane.

You meet, fall in love, can't live without one another, and prove it by dying because you can't be together. Juliet, are you sure you knew this guy? It had only been a couple of days (hours?) before you decided you were in love with him. Romeo, you obviously had no concept of.... well, let's put it this way. Juliet was 13, you were probably not too much older, let's just say you were 17 or 18. You had your whole life in front of you, Romeo, but you chose to throw it all away over a girl barely in her teens. Seriously, mister, get real.

I know you both thought you were smart enough to have figured out the world and its many nuances, but the killing.... WHAT? Obviously you weren't saved, because I, for one, have so much more to live for! I have a life in Christ, and I like to think that I wouldn't throw that away over something as stupid as someone you hardly even knew.

In other news, I just read a news article that declared that it was actually scientifically proven that you can fall in love at first sight. Weird.

Library loyalty

I have several library cards, for my several libraries, but there are only two that I really use enough to have memorized the library numbers. I like them both a lot, and really, my primary choice would be the library I grew up with (even though the other library, the one by work, is the one at which I want to get married). Only problem is, practicality has been winning out recently: I've been using my work library most, because I can go there on lunch break, plus, if I put a hold on an item I have a week to pick up the item, as opposed to my other library, where I only have three days.

It's rough! I feel like I'm cheating on my childhood library by using this other one. It's not a good feeling, either. I'd use the other library all the time if I could, but alas, life gets in the way.

On the plus side, I do have a greater selection of books to choose from! Dear Libraries, you were the best idea ever. Love, Me.

Well then

Dear World,

I'm sorry. I was not sleeping, and apparently decided it would be a good idea to write whatever I was thinking. This is why I have a journal, so I'm not sure why I chose to share with the world, instead of myself. Either way, it amuses me, so I've left it.

Love,
Jo

Jumble

Sometimes in my head the thoughts don't come clearly. Especially late at night, when I lay awake and think and I'm sure that if I just thought hard enough, I could categorize my life into neat little boxes, all the beads sorted out separately, so there aren't any orange ones in the purple box, or blue ones with the yellows. It's not possible of course (though hope springs eternal), but life would be more tidy, less bother. Not that life was meant to be a bother, of course, but it sometimes feels like that ride when you were a kid and you're spinning all around and you desperately want to put your arms up in the air, because in the pictures it looks like so much fun when people do that, but you just can't let go of the handle bars, because you're sure you'd fall out. But you can't. You know that.

Any way you look at it, though, there's that thread running through everything, that silver thread that keeps everything bound to reality, and when you stop to sort it out, to try to get your beads on it (which makes no sense, really, because why am I talking about beads?) you realize how strange your life has become. The Lord knows best, we say this again and again, and even mostly believe it, but when you look back you realize that you'd never have chosen what He ended up choosing for you. Your life would have been tidier, with point A coming firmly before point B, and on and on and on it goes through the alphabet, ending with Z for Rapture (which makes sense, because the Rapture is the end of our earthly life, even though it doesn't start with Z at all), but here looking behind you, even if you're only up to the letter I, or maybe J, you can already see that life doesn't follow a human pattern even thus far. His thoughts are higher than ours? That's the only explanation. Plus, you are where you are (I am where I am) and somehow it makes sense. His ways are higher, and they're always better than the best (because only the best gets to be better than itself).

Which leads us to ponder, why don't we trust all the time? because if we can see, even now at the J or K stage of life, that His arms are always carrying us through, wouldn't it make most sense if we like Him do His perfect work all the time? Today, tomorrow, and even on alternating Mondays (though those are hard days due to life being what it is), we should trust. We mostly don't (I mostly don't, but you can judge for yourself what you do, and don't do or trust).

So that brings us back to the beads, all in their little boxes, all mixed up because we sin. All mixed up because we live. Living isn't bad, it's just messy. The peach of on part of life gets mixed in with the maroon, and we just have to face up to the fact that it's OK. That even when we don't sleep (which is often) we'll be OK. That's what concealer was invented for (even if you don't wear it, it's nice to know it's around), and that's what coffee was invented for (even if you don't drink it, and miss it, and sometimes wonder why you gave it up in the first place), and that's why people don't expect much from a tired girl. Somehow this has nothing to do with what I was first thinking of--

--when I woke up. Even though it's the middle of the night. They say wonders never cease. I wish ceasing would be the thing that happens to insomnia.

Some signs I'm getting older

1) I really like cooked mushrooms. I used to hate them.
2) When someone called my office yesterday to say that her husband has passed away, I can this close to crying. It was so sad!
3) I realized I don't like the Disney channel any more.
4) I actually take the time to weigh my options about things.
5) Also, I don't just read everything with words. I just pick the ones that I deem worth my time.
6) I sleep all the time (nothing new, I'm just stating a fact).
7) And (drum roll, please) I even eat raw mushrooms. And (mostly) like them. Ipes!

Ho hum

I feel wholly uninspired. I have some time, and I could write, but... I'm not going to. I'm a bum.

Speak

In the Bible, when the Lord spoke to all those folks in the Old Testament, do you think He spoke aloud? We know that there are times when He came in person form, or when an angel came to send the message. Those times, I'm pretty sure there was audible stuff going on. In those cases it's easy for us to think, "Well, of course they obeyed!" or, better yet, "That was silly of them not to do what He asked--He spoke it plain as day!" But what about when He spoke to Elijah--could Elijah hear it as if someone were speaking to him, or was it more like we hear the Lord today, a knowing in our souls?

When God came to Samuel, we know Samuel heard it aloud. Well, if he didn't, he heard it clearly enough to have thought it was aloud, as shown in the fact that he kept on running to Eli to see why he was calling for him.

In the New Testament we know that while the Lord was on the Earth, He certainly spoke to people, but once He went back to sit down on the right hand of the Father, I think that when He spoke to people, it was in words spoken to their ears alone. Like the passage where Paul begs the Lord to take away his thorn in the flesh, and the Lord simply tells him that His grace was sufficient for Paul. But when Paul was converted on the way to Damascus, I'm guessing Paul heard that voice aloud. Even the other people heard a voice (though it doesn't say what those people heard, exactly).

What I'm getting at is that I don't know if those in the Old Testament had it "easier" than we do in terms of hearing the Lord speak. Bottom line, it's something we have to listen to. His words are there for us to read, every minute, in the Word of God. And if we'd spend a little time being still enough to hear what He has to say, I think we'd hear a lot more. What matters is what we do with the words once we hear them. If we ignore them, as we are apt to do, then what are we accomplishing by listening in the first place? The best idea? Listen, and do. He's got it all mapped out, if only we'll follow His directives.

PS, that's easier said than done.

Ah, for the time

I glumly sit around at work every afternoon and think, "I could be cooking!" It seems silly, I guess, because I know that one day I'll be cooking more than I ever wanted, but I really miss having the time to cook. Every once in a while I'll have time when I get home from work, but we're a rather regimented family when it comes to meals, and when I get home is the time where we sit down and get started, so I usually end up just being there for the partaking, and not the making.

I bake for my Sunday School class once a week, but I've never liked baking as much as cooking "real food," and since the girls in my class mostly just like chocolate chip muffins, anyhow, it's not like I branch out to very much other stuff.

This just came up because I was ogling the Williams-Sonoma website (best recipes ever! Well, best pictures of recipes, at any rate) and wishing I could make some asparagus or something. Guess that means I'd have to, you know, buy some asparagus, but it always seems more fun in the Idea Stage.

Not to say that I've totally moved on from AllRecipes.com, because I'm not about to do that. They're my go-to recipe site, and I shall not be moved!

A penny for your secret

For some reason, people often come up to me and tell me their life story. That's fine with me, I don't mind, but it's just interesting to me, because I don't usually feel comfortable telling total strangers things about me. I even hesitate before giving out my name. My first name! But no, I have people regularly share with me whatever is on their mind, be it their worst family dinner (one example: right after her husband died, one lady's daughter-in-law ruined their Thanksgiving dinner by announcing that she was leaving her husband. He didn't know about it until then), their plans for the next few years (those are less interesting, and usually have to do with owning mechanic shops or opening an art-supply store), or whatever else comes to mind (favorite time of year, best childhood memory, why they wish they had a different car). As I said, I find this stuff interesting.

But in all the things I've heard, I've never heard someone tell me "Now, I'm going to tell you a secret that I've never told anyone else." Maybe I've heard people's secrets (the beauty of it is, since I don't know them, I don't know which part they're telling me is a secret or common knowledge), but in general, I just think I hear lonely people finding an outlet for some words.

There's a project you may or may not be aware of, and whose website I won't direct you to, because there are a lot of rather icky secrets you shouldn't have to be exposed to, but it's called PostSecret. Some guy one time decided to get a post office box and have people mail him their secrets, ones that they've never before shared. Weird part is? They do. He's published several books, keeps an active blog, and gets many postcards from strangers, glad to have an outlet to share their secret.

The concept is compelling, this much is true. Being able to anonymously share a secret? What's not to like?

What brings this to mind is that the library near where I work (the one at which I want to get married) just did a PostSecret event, where you were supposed to submit secrets anonymously. The display hasn't gone up yet, but when I last talked to the librarian about it, they hadn't gotten many submissions. "Did you put a secret in?" I had to admit that I hadn't. In return I asked her about it, and she sheepishly said that she hadn't put one in, either.

So, if it's so cool, why hadn't we put in secrets? Well, I can't answer for her, but I know why I didn't. First of all, say I did have a cool secret. What if someone I knew saw it on the wall, and just somehow knew it was me? I don't have secrets of that caliber, truth be told, which is why I didn't even bother putting one in. Anything I could think to say (and I tried! I put thought into this!) was just... lame. I don't think it's because I live secret-free, because all who know me can attest to my distaste of sharing personal information, but there's no secret stewing inside of me. If you want to know something, you can ask. I might choose to withhold the information from you, but it's not because it's a big national secret, rather that I've chosen not to reveal that particular piece of information.

But we do love our secrets. I love to read other people's secrets, and I sometimes love when I have a little secret of my own. There are secrets I'd rather not have, but that's all part of what makes us human--carrying burdens for ourself, and for others, knowing that your secrets are safe. As safe as they can be, anyhow, in light of our human tendency to spout off at the mouth whenever possible.

But it's sort of a fun thing to do, to ponder what you'd share, if you dared. It's worth pondering, if for no other reason than to make yourself face the secrets you rarely think about. But all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of Him with Whom we have to do. Secrets are kind of meaningless, if you think about it. A nice perk of being a child of God--There's no awkward "well, we've known each other for a while, so I should probably tell you that...." conversation. He knows full well everything you're not telling Him.

There's something about Heritage

I loved Rome. I loved everywhere I went, actually (my layover in Poland made me wish I could live there.... it was amazing), but there was something about Rome. Knowing that Paul used to hang out there, that Nero used to burn it down for fun (well, that was once, but still!), that the Christians in Romans huddled together to read Paul's letter to them... I don't know, it was pretty cool.

Not to mention: the Colosseum. I loved it. There was something about standing in that expansive structure, looking across at the floor (which wasn't as big as maybe I thought it would be), and knowing that the blood of hundreds of thousands of people had been mingled with the sand under the sound of a cheering mob... it was rather moving. Then to think of how many of those were Christians, killed for sport. I wanted to stand there and cry, but there were a bunch of people hanging around, so I didn't.

Also, we went to the catacombs. I mentioned those a few weeks ago, and I must admit, I thought it was well worth the admission price. Standing in the dark tunnels, running my hand across the uneven walls, wondering how many people used to call it home... Again, moving.

The weirdest thing, though, is how unimportant that seemed to the other tourists. Obviously, if you don't care about Christ, you're not going to care about the Christians who lived and died in His name, but I kept on looking around that great city and thinking: why are these crazy people here? It was crowded and full of other irritating tourists (and 55,000 German kids, thanks to our poor timing) and besides, they're just old buildings. I just couldn't imagine going there just for the sake of going. I was there to see one of the places the Bible happened! And it was totally worth it.

It also made me want to run home and read every book I'd ever read about Rome. I've read dozens of historical novels set in Rome over the years, and now that I've been there I figure I'll appreciate them even more. I haven't taken the time yet, but I have enjoyed reading those New Testament Pauline epistles since I returned. While I have no idea where Paul was under his house arrest, I know that he was there long enough to write some pretty swell parts of the Bible! I just keep thinking, "I was there, where the early Church was when they were still considered early! And where they used to hide out in fear, but sing out in boldness, in the face of all that went on."

I walked some of those streets. They've doubtlessly been re-cobbled, but fact is, it was the same part of the world. That was enough for me.

I'm back!

Tired, but back. I had an amazing two weeks, and now I just want to nap for two weeks. Alas, not so fast, thanks to work and life.

Anyhow, it was a whirlwind of awesome, truth be told. I'll outline the trip later, but essentially I flew out after work on the 30th, was in Italy for a week, and then was in Romania from the 6th up until the 13th, after which point I flew home to a wedding on Saturday, and made it home in time for work yesterday morning!

Like I said: nap needed. At work today I actually spent some time napping on the floor of one of the offices. It was refreshing.

Like they always say, though, there's no place like home!

Happy Travels to me!

As soon as I wrap up at work today, I'm off to ITALY! I've already mentioned this, I know, but I'm pretty excited. I just have to a) not miss my flight b) sucessfully meet up with my friends at the Milan airport c) pray that if I've forgotten something, it's nothing major.

Like it says in Psalm 121, though, He will preserve my going out and coming in. I do a lot of coming and going, so this is a nice passage, but even in general, I love the thought that the Lord watches our every step and guides our ways. He never fails!

I'll hopefully have a chance to let you know once I've come back!

Hasta la vista!

Zzz

It's no secret that I love my sleep, and I need it. It seems a little dramatic to need sleep as much as I do, but it's a true thing, my friends. I need my sleep.

So when I get the chance to go to bed early, say, maybe 7:30 or 8:00, I'm willing to jump for it. Which is why, when my 85-year-old grandpa called me on Monday night at 7:15, I was all ready for bed. When I told him I think he just about choked. Of course, when I arrived at his house to help him garden (why are my grandparents up later than I, and why are they gardening? I don't know) some fifteen or twenty minutes later, he was surprised to see me in real clothes.

"You could have come over in your pajamas, we wouldn't care."

"Uh, your neighbors might mind having a hobo in the area."

He's deaf, so he didn't really hear what I said, but I'm pretty sure his neighbors would rather not see me wandering around in my pajamas. Though their immediate neighbors don't speak any English, so I guess even if they cared, they wouldn't be able to complain to my grandparents. It was the rest I was worried about.

So, I helped them hang some tomato plants, anchor a shepherd's crook, and spray some hibiscus plants for Japanese Beetles. (Would that be hibisci?) Then we sat down for a few minutes, my grandparents and I, and visited, until finally I got tired, and so did they. When I left at around 8:30 we were all planning on going straight to bed.

It's times like this that make me realize why it is that people see me as being such an old person. Then I think, "Yeah, but I need the sleep, so I guess I'll just not succumb to the wakeful peer pressure and sleep anyhow." That's usually when I leave whatever is going on and find a bed. Or some chairs to lay down on. (Lie down on?) The way I see it, He gives His beloved sleep, and I am well in that category. I just appreciate the gift a little more than the rest of you.

Dear Twilight

Dear Twilight,

I know most people love you, and your many books and movies, but some of us are tired of you. I hope you don't think it's rude of me to admit this, but I'm through. When grown women spend time telling people (who don't care) about why they picked Team Jacob, or Team Edward, it's time to take a step back and realize that you're kind of a time waster.

Not to mention the fact that since all the books have been written, these women can't really choose how it ends. I just wanted to point that out.

Also, Twilight, I really wish you'd picked people for your films who didn't look so perpetually unhappy. I realize that since the whole point of your movie and book franchise is, well, dead people, then perhaps you felt like you didn't have a choice, but I think you did. While I've never seen your movies, or read your books, I do bump into you kind of a lot. In fact, Twilight, I see your posters everywhere I go (and that includes all of my favorite bookstores, which feels like kind of a desecration, if you ask me).

When I see these unhappy-looking people you've chosen to portray whatever you're portraying, I can't help but think, "Dude, you obviously need to get saved." "Girl-who-apparently-plays-super-whiny-teenager, you also need to get saved." While I don't doubt that they do need to get saved, I just think it's sad that they look so unsatisfied with their lives. This is why I pray for them.

But that doesn't mean I endorse you, Twilight. In fact, if there's such a thing as publicly not endorsing something, this is what I'm doing.

Also, bumper stickers. REALLY? ON CARS? I feel that there are many more useful phrases I could read on my way home from work, and reading about you was unexpected in a bad way.

So Twilight, this is me, respectfully requesting to not be your pen-pal.

Jo

She said yes

I recently read The Martyr of the Catacombs for the first time in maybe a dozen years or so, and it was way better than I'd remembered it being. Honestly, when I was younger I read it and thought, "Wait, why does my mom like this so much?" but this time around I was absolutely captivated. I'm hoping it's because the story was that good, and not just because (wait for it) I'll be seeing the catacombs for myself in about a week.

(YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!)

Sorry.

But since I've been reading that book, I've been thinking a lot about persecution and martyrs and the such, and I ended up discussing this with my Sunday School class on Lord's Day. We started by talking about Stephen, how in doing his humble work of serving the widows, he attracted enough attention to be killed for his faith. Then we talked about Antipas, who didn't deny the faith. It was here that the conversation got really interesting.

One of the girls knew about Columbine, and Cassie Bernall, so we started talking about that. The girls were interested when I told them that Cassie had been asked, point blank, if she was a Christian. At the reply (which was a Yes), she was fatally shot.

"But... did she have to say yes?" asked one of the girls, "Wouldn't she have still been a Christian even if she'd said no?"

It was interesting to me that she asked this, because I'd been trying to make the same point earlier, in discussing the catacombs and the book, The Martyr of the Catacombs. In the book (and in real life, obviously), the choice was given to some of the under-trial Christians--either sacrifice to the gods of Rome, or be killed for your Christian faith. I had been trying to talk to the girls about what that meant, and whether it was "wrong" to sacrifice to the pagan gods if you didn't mean it. We never got too far with that, until Cassie came up.

Now all the girls had questions. Several of them said that they would always say YES, because it's like a lie to say otherwise. I tried to bring it to more practical terms, asking if they'd feel comfortable speaking up as a Christian among friends, even if you knew you were going to lose your friends (the girls said no problem, they could do that), or speaking up in a job situation, if you knew you would probably lose your job for being a Christian (they're young, but they'll probably do the summer job thing sooner rather than later, so I thought I might as well mention that problems like this don't go away because you grow up).

Most of them kept saying that yes, yes, they'd absolutely say yes, stand up for their faith in Christ. Most.

One of the girls seemed a little more hesitant. "Would it be wrong, do you think? Wouldn't God just forgive you, and you could keep on living for Him?"

There's where it got sticky. Yes, God would forgive you, He's always willing to, but defy His name in preference for something else? Why would you?

"You know... to live."

Another girl kept on saying that it was wrong to even think about saying that you weren't a Christian (even if you knew you'd be forgiven), because then you're not really doing any good for God.

Interesting, but that was one of the points I was trying to make. I asked the girls what being martyred accomplishes. They thought it didn't do anything, nothing but kill people. Then I started talking about the outward display of devotion to the Lord and I think I saw some little light bulbs turn on. We rounded out the class with a discussion of what it meant to be a Christian--what good we could be for the Lord, what our lives even mean if we're not doing anything for Him.

Not bad for a thirty-minute Sunday School class!

That was a scattered bunch of words, but I just wanted to share. The girls seemed so interested, which was really cool to see, since they're frequently easily bored with subjects like not punching each other or something else so "lame." I have an odd bunch.

Anyhow, if you haven't read that book, I would highly recommend it. It was most excellent, and food for thought. Plus, who knows? Maybe you'll get a chance to make it food for thought for those around you, as well!

Yay!

I'm leaving THIS week (Lord willing, obviously), for Europe! Yay!

I'm pretty well packed, but every day at work I keep thinking of things I still need to do or get. It makes me nervous, because I'm pretty sure I'll forget something. Thankfully, I'm traveling with my friends, and my one friend is pretty much the most ready of all people, having any and everything. Well, she used to be. We tease her because she doesn't necessarily have something on a moment's notice these days. Which is sad, obviously. But fine, because less luggage is less back strain.

So huzzah for Europe!

Sorry, I'm a little distracted and excited.