If thy foot offends thee--

Cut it off!

Just kidding.

But I did step on a toy train the other day (Percy, I believe) and ever since that time, my feet have been uncomfortable to use. And I do mean that. A bruised sole does not feel very nice. If my feet could somehow be wrapped in bubble wrap (which would come with the built-in-charm of having boredom busted at a moment's notice!) or maybe something equally created to take the pressure off my feet, it would be awesome.

It's been making me think, though. Some frightening words, yes. Me? Thinking?

I've been reading through Leviticus (sort of at a snail's pace, due to me actually trying to pay attention to the feasts and diseases and other odd things Leviticus teaches us) and multiple times in the book, it mentions that when offerings/consecration were going on (consecration: another one of my favourite topics!) there was blood put on the ear (the right ear, to be exact. And not just any place on the ear, but the tip of the ear), the hand (again, the right one. Personally, I think this means that left-handed people aren't as sanctified as the rest of us. Which worries me, because I'm sort of confused in the matter of which-handed I am), and the great toe on the right foot (never calling it a big toe again: Great Toe sounds much better!) during this process.

Which, obviously, reminds us to watch where we go, what we do, and what we listen to. I know we sort of pretend that we don't have any control over what goes in and out of our ears ("I heard it on the bus!") but we have a lot more control over such things than we think.

I just ran out of steam (haha, like Percy the train is liable to do). I don't remember where I was going with this except to say that while my bruised foot has been causing me grief, it makes me consider in much greater detail exactly how much my feet mean to me. I love them, I use them, and I'd best watch where they walk. Amen!

*wanders away, humming, "Oh be careful little feet where you go" while trying to drown out the sound of the world all around*

Plans

They always say (but seriously, who is "they"? someone please enlighten me) that when you want to make God laugh, you're supposed to tell Him your plans. Well, I'm not exactly sure how legitimate that is (after all, in the Bible, I'm pretty sure it only mentions the Lord laughing at truly unfortunate souls, like people who belch), but sometimes it does feel a bit as if I make plans and the Lord has to sit me down and explain that I shouldn't have tried to make plans behind his back like that. Good point, Lord.

What I always get hung up on is that I can never decide if that's what's going on ("that" being that the Lord is telling me to halt my plans or put them on hold) or if there are just natural road blocks in the way of something. Maybe I'm having trouble figuring something out because someone throws away my important mail--I mean, realistically, there are some things that just happen.

I think it's mostly about being willing to listen to that still, small, voice, and being willing to submit to the Lord, if His plans really are different than mine.

Wouldn't it be awesome if my plans always aligned with His? And I say "my plans" hesitantly, because obviously by that time they're His plans, through and through!

I sort of miss the days when the ins and outs of my life were determined by my parents. Growing up is so overrated. Where's Peter when we need him?

Bop to the top

I hate money. And I love it. I hate it because it seems to bring out the worst in people, and seems to cause undue worry (or not so undue, seeing as when people stress about money it's typically because they don't have enough). But I like that, well, it buys things. I'm sure we don't need half of the things we have, but sometimes it's just nice to have that extra purse. Disclaimer: I'm not actually sure I've ever purchased a purse. I don't like to spend money on something that feels thusly superfluous.

I just think it's interesting to read about money in the Bible. When the woman in Luke 15 lost her silver coin, she didn't shrug and say, "Well, I guess the Lord is teaching me a lesson about valuing earthly treasures," and let it be. No, she spent the time to sweep her house and find that money (I think I might too, if a tenth of my wealth suddenly got lost).

But we're not supposed to worry about money. Remember the thing about the lilies? They're clothed, and our Father in Heaven will likewise clothe us. But with a limited income, it's hard to view things that way. After all, when Peter needed tax money, he just went down to the water and got it from the mouth of the fish. When we do taxes these days, it's a little more complicated. Add to that the fact that most people pay utilities, insurance, monthly payments on their cars, mortgages, and buy food. Money like that doesn't just grow in fishes mouths.

Fine then. If a man doesn't work, neither shall he eat. But it's not just about food and raiment these days. We live in houses, we send kids to college, we put gasoline in our cars. Could we get by without those things? I guess. I mean, plenty of people live in cars or under bridges due to the whole lack-of-money thing. Plenty of other people choose to live in motor homes to avoid mortgages and utility bills.

I'm not saying it's wrong to live in a house (personally, I love my house. And my bed. And the fact that I have a closet). I'm just saying, though, that it bothers me that money is such a prevalent issue with, well, everyone. What's the most irritating, however, is the people who have "enough money" (code word: more money than I'll ever have) who worry about money. I certainly don't approve of spending money frivolously (unless you want to send me on vacation, in which case I recommend spending money lavishly, thank you), but it rubs me the wrong way when people with money begrudge sharing that money.

I spend money on a budget. A certain amount (read: most) of my money goes towards my ahh-I'll-have-a-mortgage-one-day fund, and another amount (read: a small amount) goes towards my ehh-I'll-spend-it fund (which, by the way, mostly funds my weekly baking sessions for my Sunday School class). I think my problem is that I judge too harshly. When I see people struggling financially and know that there is at least one area in their life in which they spend money needlessly, I always sort of quirk an eyebrow and think, "But if you just..."

Which is terrible. I have no place to worry about why people are or aren't spending money. Plus, I sort of OD'd on Larry Burkett back in the day, so I think I know all the pat answers, but since I really haven't had to live them, it's not worth much.

Moral of story? Money is complicated. The end.

One toe at a time

Trust can be the scariest thing ever. Trusting another person with a secret/your life/that heirloom vase is something that humans just don't want to do. Personally, I find it difficult to trust anyone, even to the point of withholding parts of myself from those who love me the most. The idea of knowing that someone else holds that power over me... it's enough to make me feel entirely too vulnerable.

I know it's sort of ridiculous to think that way. After all, if someone loves you and/or has an ounce of kindness, they wouldn't betray your trust, correct? But sometimes things just happen. Sometimes we find ourselves revealing secrets that aren't ours to tell. My theory is that everyone trusts someone. Sure, I think, I can tell so-and-so anything, right? And I can, and they won't tell anyone else. Anyone else, that is, except for that one person that they trust to keep secrets. Who, in turn, trusts yet another person (but he/she would never tell anyone!) with that secret.

And most people don't purposely set about to air other people's laundry (dirty or clean, either way) for all to see, but, as I said, often it just happens. And, as I like to say, the only way to keep a secret is to not tell it in the first place.

If I were to hold things inside, nobody would have that power over me. But that brings it all back around to trust. If I form carefully constructed walls around myself, I'll never experience life as it was meant to be lived. Not to sound too cliche, but if I surround myself with walls, I'll miss out on feeling the wind in my hair, miss out on all but few brief moments of sunlight. I'll even miss out on the sights and sounds that would be blocked by such a wall.

Life is meant to be lived. I'm not sure how much pain we were really intended to experience (that whole sin/free will thing: ick), but I do know that it's only when you trust those around you that you'll grow closer to them.

Like with the Lord. You know as well as I do that if we just let Him do His perfect work, and trusted Him with our every circumstance, not only would our lives go more smoothly, but we'd draw ever closer to Him.

So I dare you to take that step of faith. Tell your sister something you wouldn't normally tell her. Stop worrying about what tomorrow will unfold, and rather give it over to the One Who holds tomorrow in the hollow of His hand.

And if you can't take a whole step, well, try a toe. Not all of us have the ability to jump into the water. Personally? I like to ease myself in, one toe at a time.

The Game of Three

I made up a not-very-thrilling game once that I like to call The Game of Three. Essentially it's a good way to spend time with someone that you don't have a lot of small talk with which to occupy yourself. I like to play it with people I haven't seen in a while, or people I don't see often, because it makes us (said person and I) feel as if we're catching up on one anothers' lives in the most fun way possible. All you do is take turns asking questions in groups of three, and see what happens.

It goes as follows. Let's say I begin. "Dear So-and-So, what are your three least favourite foods?"

"Well, Jo, I prefer to never eat beets, dog, or goldenrod. As for you, what three things would you like to do before you die?"

"Be raptured, have a family, go to Jerusalem. And who would you pick to be your three bridesmaids/groomsmen, if limited to just three?"

You get the idea.

Clearly, it's not usually that polite between myself and the unsuspecting person with whom I am playing, and it can get downright noisy sometimes. Trust me on this.

The thing is, though, it's very difficult to play the game with someone who is a concrete thinker. The concrete thinker feels as if he or she must answer each question entirely correctly. They're not satisfied to simply list three books that they really, really like, but they have to think until they're almost entirely sure that their three books are their favourites. They're not content to state their three pet peeves until they're sure that those three pet peeves are categorically the most important ones in their life.

Personally, I just say the first three things that come to mind. What three things do I hope to NOT do in the next year? Drugs, have any of my limbs amputated, burying a loved one. Now, there are likely other things I would prefer to avoid for the next twelve months, but that's just what tumbled from my tongue first.

So if you find yourself awkwardly helloing someone you haven't seen for a while, make sure to play The Game of Three when small talk has run dry. You'll find yourself learning a great deal about the other person. And, who knows? Maybe you'll learn a little bit about yourself.

Right on

I'm right-handed. Mostly. Sometimes I write backwards and such, and I never know the difference between my right and left hands, but everyone tells me I'm right handed. Which, interestingly enough, means I probably chew more often using the left side of my mouth.

I'll have to check that out.

But that reminds me: did you know that your left lung is smaller than your right lung? That's just so the heart has a little more room, but still, how cool is that?

When I hear things like thing I just find it so remarkable that people often don't believe in the miracle that is life. How could we just happen? There's no such thing as uber-smart robots just falling out of the unknown and being able to function at the level of humans. Any level, really. I just don't understand.

Whatever the case is, I know I'll be paying far more attention to which side of the mouth I use to chew from this point forward. Who knows, maybe it'll confirm that I'm secretly left-handed after all!

And a day for Earth

This morning I realized that it was Earth Day. Not like that's too crazy, but I realized that Earth Day marks that I've been blogging for more than a year now. Last Earth Day I said pretty much all that needs to be said about this event, so I won't bore you with another round, but I did, of course, take the time to google Nancy Pelosi just to make sure she didn't happen to use another not-entirely-real verse from Isaiah. I honestly can't get over that.

Pardon.

Anyhow, It's funny how certain things can remind us that time glides ever onward. For instance, it's hard to reconcile myself with the idea that I've been blogging for a year. Not like I've done it entirely faithfully (summer=not even close), but it's been here. And I just realized the other day that I'm coming up on ten years as a faithful (mostly) journaler. I used to journal here and there when I was much younger, but it's only ("only" haha) been the last ten where I've written frequently.

But time is strange. I've been working at my current job for six months now (I've already surpassed the average time of how long most former employees worked here by a fair amount, which tells you something about the job, let me just tell you), and I realize "hey, six months flew, I bet it'll be a year before I know it!" Oh, if I lasted a year, by the way, there would only be three other employees amongst the 35-some employees who have worked at this job who will have worked longer than I have. Most are lucky to last for three months. The last lady lasted for four days. Correction, four mornings. She wasn't even working all day.

I have digressed.

I think the older you get, the less time means. Thirty Year Fixed Mortgage? No problem. My child will be finished school in just another 14 years? Sweet. You only have to be 55 to qualify for some senior discounts now? I'm nearly there!

Um, I personally am not nearly there, I'm just making a point.

But time means little once you realize how much has already passed you by. It brings to mind the fact that we can't change what has passed, but only live for Christ in the minutes and days to come. Everything will pass away (did you hear that, Earth? you too!) but it's what is done for Christ that remains.

Only one life, t'will soon be past, only what's done for Christ t'will last!

Best left unsaid

Our family dinners tend to be sort of an open form for chaos. I don't mean that in a bad way, and in fact, our family dinners are pretty much the best ever. Sometimes, however, my brother and I get a little too chatty for my parents' tastes.

It's bad enough that we frequently reminisce about the days before we understood Ezekiel 4, question exactly what every colour of scab and hair in Leviticus 13 means, but Monday night at dinner we spent an inordinate amount of time discussing Judges 19.

For those who don't recall the story, it's the charming little tale of the time that the Levite and his concubine spent the night in Gibeah, and due to some terrible treatment from the men of that place, the concubine died. Ahem. Anyhow, the Levite realized that he should stand up for this wrong (or something), and decided to prove a point. So he took the dead concubine, cut her in twelve pieces, and sent her via messenger to the twelve tribes of Israel, hoping to incite righteous anger. Or something. That he did, and by the time all was said and done, thousands of Israelites had given their lives fighting for the cause. This, of course, inspired the whole Rock-of-Rimmon passage, which is a story for another time.

So the discussion my brother and I were so animatedly having was that matter of exactly how the woman would have been divided. For instance, if the arms/hands were divided into three pieces, then you wouldn't have need of the legs/feet to be divided into three pieces. Perhaps the larger the tribe was, the larger the piece was?

Anyhow, my parents didn't seem to have much appreciation for our highly spiritual discussion, and shot it down. But seriously, the quandary is remarkable!

It brings to mind the age-old discussion from Revelation 13 about the heads and horns/crowns. How can seven heads have ten horns/crowns? Which heads get the extra horns/crowns? Is it symmetrical, like the heads on either end and the one in the middle get those extra horns/crowns? It's just so confusing.

But, these are things that don't really make a difference in the long run. There are many, many other things in the Word of God I should be spending my time considering.

Like, you know, whether or not the lions in Solomon's temple were real or not. Always a good one.

One hundred twenty-five

For some reason I noticed that this is my 125th post, and instead of just smiling and carrying forth, I decided to see what interesting things are associated with the number 125 and discovered that the Pantheon was built in the year 125! I'm not sure why this seemed so interesting to me, however, the thought of one day soon seeing such an old place (Europe this summer, huzzah!) struck me as awesome.

So, I had to write that, instead of something witty or profound. Ah, well, I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to hit upon the witty or profound anyhow.

Also in the year 125 a Christian by the name of Thamel was martyred, along with his sister, by the emperor Hadrian. Huh.

Yamaha has a bike, the Zume 125, that is, according to the reports, "amazing." It looks sort of weird to me, but gets up to 89 mpg, so I guess you can't argue with that.

In May of last year the STS-125, was the NASA space shuttle that was the last one sent to service the Hubble Space Telescope. What I thought was cool about this was that I read about the wake-up music that they play the crew aboard these spacecrafts. Apparently each day a different track is played at the start of each day, typically chosen by the family of the specific crew members. On this particular mission, the song God of Wonders (by Third Day) was chosen and played on the fifth day for mission member Michael Good. Nicely done, Michael Good's family.

Five cubed, obviously.

Opus 125 was a symphony by Beethoven, which ended up being his last complete symphony, in fact, and the first symphony ever to use a chorus. Who knew?

In my Bible, page 125 has the last part of Numbers chapter 7, which is very long and repetitive. When our family reads it together for Bible reading, we each take a "section" and try to read it in one breath. After a while all the spoons, lambs, kids, bowls, and fine flour ends up jumbling together into a mass of words. I've tried for years to set that portion to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas (due to it being the twelve days the princes came and dedicated the alter), but you have to sing terribly quickly to get that accomplished.

And finally, penal code 125 is the code they use for speeding. Good to know, I'm sure.

London

I've been listening to Brandon Heath's song, "London," pretty much non-stop this week, and now I miss London. It's silly, because it's not like I've been there a billion times (in fact, unless you count camping out in the airport, I've only been there once), but there's something about listening to that (somewhat sappy) song about snapping pictures of Parliament and Big Ben ringing and standing by the River Thames that makes me reminisce about the amazing time I had there one year with my two best friends.

It wouldn't be the same if I went back, I'm sure, but it was one of those trips that I won't ever forget. Unless I get dementia, or maybe Alzheimer's.

Other than that, though, I pretty much expect to remember it!

How's my driving?

I saw a sign in front of a church on a busy road the other day that read, "How would Jesus drive?" Not quite as catchy as the "And you think this is hot?" or "We may not be Dairy Queen, but we sure do have good Sundays!" but I thought it had a good point--my driving is reflecting the fact that I belong to the Lord.

I know there are those age old questions, "What would Jesus drive," "What would Jesus wear," "What would Jesus eat," "How would Jesus do taxes," that sort of thing, but I like that this sort of brings it down not to just the dos and don't, but to the actual actions of the matter. When I'm topping 70 in the 55-zone (this is in miles per hour, in case you Canadians were thinking I drive terribly sluggishly), am I really acting in a manner that a child of Christ should? When I cut off that guy because he was hogging the left lane and I really wanted in, was that acting in a gracious manner? I'm thinking.... not.

And I know, I know, if I'm convicted, why do I still speed? Uh, good question. Truthfully, it's something that convicts me every once in a while and then slowly my conviction wears down and I'm that annoying lady trying to get into the left lane.

The verse "be not conformed to this world" keeps popping into my head right now. I wonder why that is! =)

As the Lord commanded [me]

I was reading the end of Exodus the other day, chapter 40, to be exact, and I was struck by how many times it's recorded that the Israelites/Moses did everything as "the Lord commanded Moses."

There wasn't any wishy-washy, "As they thought best in terms of engineering," or "they did what was aesthetically pleasing," or anything like that, but they just did it. The Lord commanded? We're on it. Now, we know that through history, Israel didn't exactly keep that up (can you say "every man did what was right in his own eyes"? yeah, it gets a little crazy in Judges), but for this point in time, they did what they were asked.

And sure, we all think that if the Lord came directly to us and requested that we do such-and-such we'd be more than happy to do it just as He asked, but really, if we were honest with ourselves, I think it would occur to us that that's simply not the case. We do what we think is the smartest thing. "Oh, the Bible seems to indicate that we shouldn't do a certain thing? Well, they didn't really have [fill in the blank] back in the days when the Bible was written, so I think we can safely say that we can in good conscience to [fill in the blank]."

Riiiiight.

But it's all good and well talking about what "we" do or don't do, but really, what about me? Now, I'm not trying to be self-centered here, but it bears consideration that I, Little Jo Sleep, should always do exactly what the Lord commanded me.

Ouch.

SO not my home

Some days I just can't even believe we're still here. Not because I'm depressed and can't handle life, but because I miss Heaven. Yes, you can miss Somewhere you've never been. You can miss Someone you've never met. When I consider that one day soon (yay rapture!) I'll be tucked in the Lord's warm embrace, I honestly get Homesick.

When I hear talk of politics and problems, I honestly usually just don't care. This is not my home, I think to myself. When I'm asked why I don't write to my senator to demand that abortions be stopped, I think, but this isn't my home! I'm not trying to hide my head in the sand, but I just don't live here. My heart isn't here. I value this Earth because it's the place I've been placed, but my heart isn't in it. I value the people and lives that surround me because the Lord made them too, but I'm not going to fight for my rights here on Earth. I'm just visiting.

My heart is where my Home is. And my Home is with the One who prepared that place for me on the cross. Earth is nothing but a temporary dwelling. Sorry, politics, you're out of luck.

Bright shining as the Son

Everyone loves something glowy and warm. When we travel through Indiana we pass the Warm Glow Candle Outlet Store, and we just love it. I've only stopped once (the smell was overwhelming and I wished I hadn't), but passing it is better, anyhow. There's a whole wing of the building that shaped like a candle.

That all is beside the point, except to say that I've been thinking of shiny, glowy things recently.

So, Moses. We all know about when he went atop Mt. Sinai to talk to God and he managed to see part of God from the cleft of the rock. Pretty cool stuff, I must say.

But here's what I wonder. When did that warm glow from Moses' face disappear? When did Moses not need that veil any longer? Was it a gradual thing that he didn't notice, or was it abrupt, after the first time he lost his temper after coming down from the mountain? Did the people notice it? Where they secretly glad that they didn't have to see Moses in this supremely spiritual state any longer? and did Moses mourn the loss of that outward display of the fellowship he'd had with the Lord?

I know that seems like a lot of questions about something we'll never really know the answer to, but I think it's something worth considering in our own lives. For instance, I should glow. Goodness, I should radiate. But do I? And if there are times when the Lord is able to shine through me without words, how long does it last?

I want to shine bright shining as the Son. Without Him I am nothing, and I want it to show in every word and facial expression I make.

Wink, wink, amen

I just realized that me saying "wink, wink, amen," will be funny to the approximately two people who remember the prayer in which that was said. To the rest of you, I'm sorry. You had to be there.

But I've been pondering recently a rather odd phenomenon. Odd by nature because I don't find it odd. Allow me to explain.

I'm rather old-fashioned at heart. When I say that I don't mean I have an ivory bedroom set with lace bed curtains, but rather that I tend to err on the side of that-was-inappropriate-100-years-and-it-should-still-be-that-way. Which is why it's very odd that I don't freak out more negatively when dudes flirt with me.

Sure, I give them the stink eye (I've perfected it, and taught fellow-sisters how to glare just so, in order to properly discourage the fellow), but I'm not appalled like I think maybe I should be. I was driving home from work this week when an older gentleman decided to pull his car directly beside mine and wave and blow me kisses. I looked away.

However, once I was out of his sight (well, I could still see him waving out the window all the way up the block) I laughed hysterically. He was at least eighty, no joke.

Then (once the laughter had run its course) I stopped to consider that perhaps that shouldn't be funny to me at all. Instead of laughing, perhaps I should have remarked that "a not-so-distinguished-looking gentleman in a rusty-looking horseless carriage shocked me with a scandalous display of blown kisses and outright googly-eyes." I think he was crazy and appalling, but I didn't go home and sob in my journal that I was mistaken for a woman who was interested in a stranger's advances (I can tell you right now, though, my stink eye usually does a lot to ward off those advances).

So what gives? Has it just become acceptable that men act untowardly towards women they've never met? When did that become OK? And why don't I trouble myself about it?

Actually, I think I don't worry about it because there's nothing I can do about it. I certainly don't encourage it (my face of steel and the one-eyebrow lift is enough for them to realize that I don't think it's funny), and I typically don't initiate such things. Apparently there was some time when I flirted with the waiter at a restaurant (I still maintain my innocence), but in general I don't make a habit of waving at strange fellows for no reason.

I just wish I had a T-shirt that echoed my sentiments. What shall it say, "Class Non-Flirt?" I can't decide if that would draw the boys in that we-love-a-challenge way or repel them in that um-whatever kind of way.

To all the hearts I've troubled with my own errors, however, I wish I could apologize. To that dude in the restaurant in Chicago, I'm sorry I flirted. Seriously, I just wanted you to bring me my soup while it was still hot.

Humble Pie

I read an interesting quip this morning. It effectively goes as follows: We should not be humbled by pondering our sins and failures, but rather by the work of the cross and Christ's sacrifice for us.

Tru dat.

I tend to pause, all too often, on my own failures. I've failed more than I'll ever let on (I'm that type of person, sorry), but the fact of the matter is, that's just another way of being self-centered. It's not furthering my relationship with the Lord to think back to the fact that my fleshly self sins way too often. It's not bringing Him glory. It's not doing anything productive, in fact.

So instead I should look more to the cross, and beyond, to the completed work of my risen Saviour. Through His death and resurrection I have been made whole, I have been redeemed, and I have been given a new life. There's no sense looking back through my rear-view mirror, so to speak, and dwell on that old life. But rather look forward through the large windshield in front of me and face my every tomorrow knowing that I come to my knees in gratitude and humility only because His work shines more greatly than my frailty ever will.

I am awed, and humbled, by the Life He lived. And Gave. For me.

Road trippage

I simultaneously love and dislike road trips. I dislike them because they mean you're not there yet (yes, I'm about six), and also because road trips indicate a need to come back home again when the fun is over.

I love, them, however, because they have the immense potential to be hilarious. I've had some good road trips in my day, I'm telling you. There were road trips I had "back in the day" when I used to travel with a certain pack of people, and we generally chose to drive through the night, for some reason. I was usually voted co-pilot, due to my never having anything pressing the following day, so I got very good at keeping drivers awake.

There were road trips I used to take with my best friends down to Florida every year. For some reason they were never hilarious (though full of the Lord's mercies, due to weather and me not knowing how to drive very well) but they were just... nice. I remember one year we left North Carolina in the morning to head down to Florida and talked non-stop almost the entire way. Ooh, and once we went to Savannah, in honor of Savannah from Savannah. We took pictures with the books and everything.

There's one road trip I took with my best friend wherein we drove all through the night in time to arrive for a morning funeral. We pretty much just drove in our pajamas and did whatever we wanted. Again, it was of the Lord's mercies that we arrived in one piece, due to no gas stations being open (New York is retarded....), but He provided.

And there was the time when we had a van full (too full, actually, we had about three more people than seat belts) of people and were trying to get across the Canadian border. The Lord ended up sending along someone we knew to the gas station we were stopped at before the border (have I mentioned anything about the Lord's mercies?) and we shuffled around and it was fine, but we brought our binoculars so we could scope out a nice-looking border guard whose booth we wanted to hit, and we "spied" at the border, which was hilarious. Same trip, we were coming home and managed to joke around with our border guard. He thought we were pretty funny.

And the time I famously told the border guard (another trip, by the way) that we didn't have any food to declare, only some "samiches." He thought I was either crazy or hilarious, I'm not sure which.

I could have a lot of border crossing stories, but that's not what I'm getting at.

What I'm actually getting at is that I took a road trip with my brother and cousin this weekend, and it was awesome. Some road trips are nice, you know, where there's some talking, some sleeping, some reading, and it's all cool. This one had some sleeping and reading, but the talking was just brilliant.

We were traveling normally until I decided that we just had to play "Hey Cows" from the highway.

Interjection: Hey Cows is a game where you yell "Hey, cows" at a field of cattle, and if any of them look at you (or look like they're looking at you), then you "win." Of course, you don't win anything, and it's not really a game, but it's sort of hilarious if you're in the right mindset.

Anyhow, we Hey Cow'd for a while (and Hey Horse'd, and some other Heys, I forget what) and then started waving at truck drivers, so as to hear them honk. Then we transferred to waving at just regular-type drivers. And then we started making up stories about the drivers we were passing. Then we started talking in accents, and then it was all down-hill from there.

The stories we concocted were over the top. We were suddenly all really old for some reason (I'm not talking 103, I'm talking alive-during the civil war, had a crush on John Quincy Adams, used to live in England when they didn't have cars type of old), and my cousin was a school teacher who rode crocodiles to work every day (you know, the first version of crocs), and taught children nothing but how to dodge the things she threw at them. I had the crush on John Quincy Adams, and when I went to school, I learned useless words like effulgence and erroneous. I'd never been married, but my cousin had been married about seven times (I guess when you're as old as we were, your husbands are liable to die), most of whom she didn't like. Elgin was one of her favorites, and Elgin was pretty famous, apparently, since there was a whole town named after him.

Anyhow, the car was filled with this nonsense for at least two hours, until we arrived (I think my brother was extra-thankful to get there) and had to converse with polity society again. Both of us were talking with a vaguely old-timey accent for sort of a while, but it wore off.

Times like that remind me, though, that even if you don't make the journey about the stopping points (we get gas. And that's all), you can enjoy it none the less. Granted, I'd still prefer to break through the time/space continuum and get there (there meaning everywhere) in about .7 seconds, but I think I'm fine with the journey.

Plus, I'm used to it. I mean, I did travel with Lewis and Clark, after all.

Stop and let me... read

I have sort of a habit of reading a lot. My lunch break is about 3 and a half minutes of eating and 21 and a half minutes of reading. I read in the bank drive-through, I read standing in line to buy boxes at Home Depot. I read when I'm alone, and when I'm surrounded by people. I read in cars, on planes, and on trains. If books were green eggs and ham, and I were Sam, I'd have to give a resounding "Yes" every time I were asked if I'd read it.

This has created some rather bad habits, however. For instance, stoplights are one of my bad habits. Around where I live and work, I know exactly which lights are long enough to read at, and which ones aren't. And if I have a book (and I usually do) and happen to be at one of the long-enough lights, I'll read. No harm has been done thus far, due to the fact that I'm usually fairly tuned into to when the other cars begin their trek across the intersection, but I keep on thinking that I should stop. Not just stop at the red light (I do that, trust me), but stop reading while I am stopped.

But it feels useless to do nothing at a light, is my thing. I like to listen to music in the car, but I don't like to just sit and do nothing while listening. I always joke that I'm better at listening to music than I am at watching movies. Thing is, with radio, you can make dinner, and do dishes, and drive, and do other things that require eyes. With a video, you're looking, and that's about it. Unless you knit while you watch. That would be clever.

But back to the book thing. I just find it so aimless to waste quality quiet time just sitting. Hence my stoplight habit. When my brother couldn't yet drive, but really wished he could, I would put him to good use and read without a thought for the road, because my brother would alert me to the green when it came.

For a while I took my sheet of Bible memorization in the car and would work on that during stoplights, but then I kept on trying to read it while I was driving, which ended up being a little frightening.

So if you ever see little ol' me stopped at a stoplight long after the red changed to green, make sure to honk a little. Chances are I'm engrossed in the pages of my current book.

We See Jesus

This past weekend (Easter, good times), there was a lot of talk about making Jesus the focus of our lives. And I needed that. It's so easy it get bogged down in the little things of life, and even easy to get bogged down in the small details of what this particular verse or doctrine might really mean. But you know what? We see Jesus.

He's the Author and Finisher of our faith. The One Who upholdeth all things with His power. The First, Last, Beginning, and the End. There's no variableness or shadow of dwelling in Him, He never changes.

When we stop to realize that, it puts things into perspective. The focus should be on Him, and Him alone. If I remember nothing else for the entirety of today, I still will have been encouraged, because I can remember the simple verse from Hebrews.

But we see Jesus.

To throw, or not to throw

I'm currently (with the help of my brother) packing up my grandparent's house. It's been sort of a large job, and not exactly getting smaller, in addition to the fact that we don't have a lot of time in which to work. But we go over, put in a few hours here and there, and it's a pretty good system.

One thing that we've been doing, that I'm not sure my grandparents really had in mind when they suggested this job to us, is throwing away stuff. Fake flowers? Chuck them. Broken toys? Toss. Things that look odd and we don't know how to label? Adios.

Now, to our credit, we're pretty familiar with my grandparents and their wishes/tastes. When I throw things away I think 1) will they miss this? and 2) would they miss this if they knew about it? I've pretty much decided that using those two simple questions, I should be safe.

But my brother and I have had many interesting conversations about what we'd keep and throw away in our own home, should our parents pass away and leave the cleaning-out job to us. (My brother, just last night: "We'd be able to pay the property taxes, right?" For some reason that struck me as funny.) The thing is, our house has a ton of books. Loads. I don't even know what we'd do with them, or how we'd divvy them amongst our siblings, or whether we'd just pack them into storage. But my brother and I were talking about the books, most of all. The other things in our house, apparently, have almost no relevance to us. We don't like our couches, though, so they'd have to be tossed.

Anyhow, I must admit, I don't intend on ever having to sort through my parent's things, due to the rapture, but I find it interesting to take a step back and ponder what's really important, apparently, to my brother and I.

Books.

I'm not all that surprised.

Ahh, the day of fools

One year on April the 1st I called my friend Deuteronomy and told her that I was "praying about dating" a certain guy we both knew. She fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, and still hasn't quite forgiven me.

So worth it.

Today I wanted to pretend to quit my job, but was afriad it would open a can of worms I didn't want to deal with. I think I'll tell my brother I got engaged or something.

PS, Google's joke is awesome. I took the test, though, and I'm too normal to be a Mars explorer. Bummer. Maybe next year?