Waiting & Watching

The story goes that there was a dude with some kids.  He would be at work, as dudes often are, but when it came time for him to come home from work, his kids would always be excited.  They would be waiting for him to come home, mostly for supper-eating purposes, I imagine.  Anyhow, one of his children, his little daughter, would stand at the front window.  She wasn't just waiting for him, she was watching.

Cue the tears.  I've heard this man tell this story enough times that I can't cue the tears, but it's a nice story and I hope you've been emotionally touched in a way I haven't been in the past ten years or so.

But the story brings to mind (obviously, as is the point) that we are not just to wait for the Lord's return, but also we ought to watch for Him.  Any one of us could think of a number of verses that echo such a sentiment.

But I'd like to pose another story.  It's about a girl, about my age, who works at a day care.  And about how at that daycare there started a young child, 2ish years of age, who really loved his mom.  Which is a good thing for a child to do, but it's rough when kids have never been away from their mom, and then their tossed into a daycare setting.  So this young boy (we shall call him henceforth Jay), every single day he's at the daycare, spends from 7:30 in the morning till 12:30 in the afternoon waiting for his mom to come and get him.  After all, she will be coming, he knows this for a fact.  And indeed, at 12:30, she comes to fetch him.  He was right all along--mommy loves him enough to remember to come and get him after lunch.  Heartwarming, yes?

No.  Not in the slightest.  You see, Jay doesn't just wait for his mom, he watches for his mom.  Every day, from 7:30 till 12:30, he stands with his face pressed against the window, looking for that first glimpse of her car.

Even more heartwarming?  No.  Not in the slightest.  You see, from 7:30 am to 12:30 pm Jay doesn't just wait and watch for his mother.  He SCREAMS HIS HEAD OFF because he's terrified that she's forgotten about him.  He won't play, he won't color, he won't paint, and if it's ever warm enough to go outside to play he just presses himself up against the fence in lieu of the window and screams there while waiting for his mother.

WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THAT.

Jay needs to cool his jets and realize that while he's waiting, he could be doing.  Really, he does.  And, frequently, between 7:30 and 12:30 I (being the featured girl in the story who works in sad earshot of this child) am reminded that you know what?  While I'm waiting for the Lord to return (which had better be soon, that's all I'm saying) I need to be doing as well.  Maybe it's just the Sunday School work, maybe it's reaching out to younger girls, maybe it's giving away copies of Get Lost (bless you, Dannah Gresh, for being the best), maybe it's just helping out around the house or with hobby class.  Whatever the case, let it never be said of me that I was waiting and watching for the Lord's coming at the expense of doing for His glory.

Things I learned in 2014

This year, an abbreviated list (unlike last year's wordy list!), because most of the things I learned were kind of personal.  And you guys are my friends, but let's be honest, this is still the internet.

1)  Life is hard.
2)  God is good.
3)  Seeing a fault in one's self doesn't mean the fault will be automatically fixed.
4)  Spreading wings is a difficult and misunderstood task.
5)  Faith comes by hearing.  And hearing.  And hearing again.

And that's it, guys.  All of 2014 and I came away with but five share-able takeaways.

I'm banking on the Lord coming before next year, just so we're all clear.  I say this every year (every day?) but seriously, this year has got to be our year!

And a picture from an airplane, because it's a picture and I used to pretend I was going to add pictures to my posts, remember?

Raindrops on Roses

Some of my favorite things, in no order, and certainly not a complete listing:

Puddles
Pineapple
Bibles.  I'd probably have 50 if it didn't seem excessive.
Pciture books
Libraries
Bookstores
Actually, anything having to do with books
Appropriately swift internet connections
Bags.  I'm not an accesory girl, but I love purses/bags.
Upbeat music
Also, melencholy music
But only if the music is good.  I super dislike naughty music.
Friends
Bibleing with my friends (you know who you are)
Mail.  When it's for me!  and... not a bill.
Nieces and nephews
Come to think of it, pretty much all family.
Fuzzy things
Speedlimits that are reasonably high.  For instance, not 55 mph.
When the doctor's office has cool magazines (aka, not celebrity gossip, but Bloomberg Buisnessweek or something)
Babies
Fairy tales
Couples who are happily married
Well-behaved children
Traveling
Also, traveling buddies
Also, road trips
Fryingpans (who knew, right?)
And, obviously, the upcoming Rapture.  Yay!

Hola!

Dear 2011,

Welcome.  I just wanted to let you know that I am expecting great things of you.  First, that I don't see much of you.  The Lord has promised that He is surely coming soon!  Woohoo!  Secondly, I trust that I learn to trust and obey.  I was considering that song the other day and realizing that my faith leaves somewhat to be desired.  Thirdly, that my walk might be worthy, leaving others with the knowledge of Christ.  Like Moses, I want my face to shine.

Thank you Lord, for another year.  Whether or not you come during these next 12 months, every day draws me closer to You.  Each day is a gift.  Thank You.

Jo

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

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. =)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Back to Up

I mentioned the Disney/Pixar movie Up a few weeks ago, and I was pondering it the other day. And today, I guess.

A fact about me: I'm not romantically attached to anybody in any particular way. Thankfully. =) One day I might be ready. Moving on.

So here's the deal: sometimes I wonder if love is worth it. That quote from Tennyson, the one that goes, "'Tis better to have lost and lost/ than to have never loved at all," always struck a nerve with me, if that makes any sense. Sometimes I'm convinced that love isn't worth it. First, look at the percentages of marriages that don't last. Oh, and pause and consider the number of marriages that have lasted, but as a technicality, because the marriage itself hasn't held up internally. Then consider the people who aren't in marriages yet have crummy relationships.

And that's just marriage. Don't get me started on the games people play before they get to that point.

Sure, marriage seems scary and like a lot of work. This much we all recognize. But what scares me worse than that is the thought that one day, after you've worked through the agonizing parts, and come out stronger on the other side, blah blah blah, if the Lord doesn't come... well, that spouse (or you, whichever) is going to die. Raptured or dead, those are the only options. Doesn't that sound cynical? News flash, I am sort of cynical.

So we've determined that I'm cynical and that marriage seems big and scary. What does this have to do with Up?

For those who have seen the movie, they will immediately remember the first 11 minutes of the film, wherein a touching story is shown of the life of Carl and Ellie, a couple who went through a lot (death of a child=supposedly one of the worst things that can happen to a person, though I don't know from personal experience), and lived life to the fullest. Until Ellie died. Bummer.

But it was so sad! And even at the end of the movie, when I knew that Carl was happy and hanging out with his newest pal Russell, it was sad, because I knew that for every day Carl was enjoying his favorite activities with Russell, it must have hurt him, because those were Ellie's favorite places, too.

Odd to consider this in such depth, but I'm sort of an odd duck.

So there we have it. Loving and losing sounds frightening. Everyone says it's worth it, but this girl needs a little more convincing.

How delightful

Our family is reading in 2 Samuel during morning readings, and I loved a verse in chapter 22, verse 21 says something about how the Lord delivered David because He "delighted in him." Isn't that the coolest thing ever? I think it's awesome that David could say with such assurance, "Y'know what? The Lord delights in me."

I think verses about delight are cool in the Bible. I was just memorizing this verse from Isaiah the other day, and it said to let your soul delight itself in fatness. I thought it was pretty amusing, but nobody else did, I don't know why.

But verses about delight are such fun to read, for some reason. I love reading about people in whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and how the Lord delights in His saints, et cetera. I think I just like to hear the word "delight." But just think: we delight in what the Lord has given us, and He delights right back at us.

Enough to keep one smiling till the rapture, don't you think?

An earthly home

I'm pretty sure that most young girls (maybe not most, but some, be among them) know that sure, earthly things are only temporal, but wouldn't it be fun to have your own house to decorate with these swell most-and-rust-will-certainly-corrupt type objects? But moth-and-rust aside, honestly, it's a fun thought.


I'm not saying it's really that fun when it comes down to it, of course, especially since most newly married young ladies tend not to have an overabundance of money to spread around for useless things like fun-shaped bookcases and turquoise spatulas, but the idea is a fun one. For instance, I've always wanted walls painted with that chalk-board paint, or maybe the dry-erase paint, so you could just write all over your walls. Wouldn't that be so awesome for a kid's room? Terribly messy on the carpet if you went the chalk route, but overall worth it, perhaps.

Sometimes I wonder what life must be like for people who aren't expecting the rapture. It's not that I avoid life down on earth in deference to the rapture (I have a job. In insurance. 'Nuff said.), but it's something that crosses most of my thoughts.

For instance, my parents are going away this weekend, Lord willing. Half of that Lord willing is acknowledging that something could happen to them or their car and they might not go, but half of it is simply acknowledging that the Lord could come, um, now. I love pondering that!

So if the Lord doesn't come, and I marry a rich-type guy, stop by my house... who knows? Maybe I'll have sweet-looking bookcases everywhere!

The Funeral Planner

In days gone by, I used to go to school. "Go to" being the operative words in the statement, but we'll worry about that another day. Anyhow, I had three delightful friends, all of whom I've almost entirely lost touch with since those days. Life comes at you fast.

Anyhow, one late evening we young ladies were discussing the ins and outs of our future lives. One young lady, named Chrissy, was supposedly looking for "James from British" on a map, and could never find him. I'm pretty sure, in this highly preposterous story we were making up, that she died from lack of food and water, so intense was her search for this place named "British" on the globe. For those who are confused, I actually have a slide show explaining the story in all its glory, should you care for a gander.

The point of this little tale is that I decided (uh, "decided" being the operative word) that my lot in life was to become... The Funeral Planner. Actually, I'm not going to lie, I'd still like to have that job--go visit terminally ill children, chat with them about their likes and dislikes, get a feel for their parents, figure out a funeral fitting for a child (you know, balloons, candy, Bible verses read by best friends instead of pastors, that sort of thing) and then be responsible for organizing it once their sickness has gotten the best of them. It may sound morbid, but it actually sounds like a job I'd like.

Moving on, however, to the fact that I tend to think about funerals a bit much. I don't entirely have the details for mine down yet (I'm getting there) but I actually do ponder it sometimes. Well, not a lot, since I figure the rapture will have long since happened by the time a regular person would have needed a funeral, so it's more like a little thing I sometimes wonder about.

For instance, my funeral can't be boring. Nobody likes a boring funeral. If that ol' speaker rambles on for even one moment about the funeral of their own dearly departed mother (who is known to none in the audience), then he has failed, and someone should tackle him. My funeral should be about, I don't know, the Lord? That's what I'm thinking. If they're talking about me, it should be in a sort of off-handed "isn't it great that Joanne loved the Lord and was saved?" type of way. If they want to tell precious little stories about how one time I picked up someone's hankie with a smile on my face, fine. But really? It's not about me, people, it's about the One who made me. And happened to graciously welcome me into His Home, even though I really wanted to be raptured instead.

Stipulation number two. No congregational singing. I mean, seriously, none. I've been to only one funeral where that worked out well, and they had instruments, so it hardly counted. But if it has to be done, sing at the graveside, but not in the funeral home, please. I'd like for random friends to sing, if songs are needed. If there has to be a congregational singing of "Praise Him for all that is past, and trust Him for all that's to come" for the sake of my mother, that's fine, but only because I love my mom a lot. Otherwise, friends of mine who are good singers may sing. Oh, and a friend who's not such a good singer, because I promised her. But only if she really wants to, otherwise I'll spare the excessive singing.

I want an open casket. Unless I've died a vicious death that included animal paws or very large vehicles, I figure my face can handle it. I don't like closed-casket funerals. Weird, I know.

At the visiting hours, I want background music playing. Not boring type, but nothing crazy. Like... that Chris Rice CD with piano hymns? That's a good one. No classical music, though.

I want my friends to have a say in who my pall-bearers should be. My brother is an obvious shoo-in, but my parents and friends should confer and decide who the others should be. I think a lot of times random people are selected. So not cool, people, we're talking about a dead body in a wooden box--only special people should get to carry that!

I liked the open-mic format they had at my brother's, however, if anybody were to do that at mine, we'd need a larger funeral home. I'm just saying.

There are more things, but I just realized that in light of all the funerals that have been going on recently, this most likely isn't the appropriate time to be sharing this with the world. Guess the rest of my funeral plans will have to stay hidden away in my stash of papers. I didn't even get to whom or what I wanted my in-lieu-of money to be donated. So many things that the rapture will preserve us from having to figure out. Isn't that a joy?

Joseph & co.

The other night our family was having a Bible reading (I like to call it "pre-BOB," a Saturday night gathering where we sing BOB-related songs and read BOB-related verses, etc.) and I got to rambling about Joseph, and we had a rather rousing (not exactly Bob-related) discussion about him and his life.

This is Bible Joseph, just in case that hasn't come across yet.

I was just pondering a few things.

1. Did Joseph ever check in on brother Simeon while he was in prison? I mean, I think if I were Joseph and my brother was just down in the dungeon, and if he missed his family as much as the story indicates, that he would have found some sort of way to get updated on him. Maybe he would have had his Steward make sure that Simeon was well cared for? That Steward, by the way, must have been soo confused about the goings-on of Joseph's life. Seriously. Oh, plus, I would think it would have been super easy for Joseph to check out prisons himself. I mean, he'd been a clever prison-keeper back before his Zaphnathpaaneah days, right? So it would stand to reason that nobody would question if he wanted to poke around in prisons whenever he wanted.

2. Speaking of that. Didn't any of the farmers wonder why in the world they were handing over a fifth of their crops to an ex-con? I think I would have wondered, quite honestly. My brother was rather surprised that I brought this up at all, since Joseph was number two in the land and all. True, brother, but you'd think they'd at least have some moments of doubt or worry or something.

3. I'd think at least some of the wives would wonder why they had to uproot and move to Egypt of all places (you really want our children to be raised in that heathen land, honey?) but my mom thinks they would have been glad to be closer to the corn. I still think they'd have at least one disgruntled wife between the all of them.

4. I liked how Pharaoh had known Joseph for about five minutes and decided that he was the person "discreet and wise" to run the whole Project Survive Famine. Yes, he interpreted your dream, but you don't know much about him other than the fact he'd been in jail.

I'm stuck on this whole jail thing today.

Ah, well. Nobody knows. Maybe nobody ever bothered with these things in those days ("these things" being the moving-to-a-heathen land, visiting-my-brother-secretly, bringing-food-to-an-ex-con things), I don't know.

Ohhhh, but one more thing. Did Simeon (it was Simeon, right?) grow to respect the person Zaphnathpaaneah was while he was imprisoned in Egypt? Did he know what was going on in the land? Hear many current events? I just wonder if he respected Joseph without even knowing it was him, you know?

Heaven will be sweet. For a million reasons, but one being that I'll get to finally find out all this stuff. I've got some questions for Amos, too, actually. Soon!!

Give Thanks!

I just love Thanksgiving! If I had to choose just one holiday to celebrate for a whole year, Thanksgiving would be my top choice--even over Guy Fawkes Day! It's not because I love the food (turkey, blegh), but because it's so... cozy! In a way that no other holiday is, Thanksgiving is without pretensions, I feel. Sure, it's a super shopping signal--but that's just because Christmas is around the corner. Black Friday is more about Christmas than Thanksgiving, in my opinion.

Thanksgiving is what it is: about giving thanks. There's no crazy gimmick, no bunny or fat dude or cupid, there's just family and turkey. How much better could it get? (Well, minus the turkey it could be better, but this isn't the time for me to be worrying about such things.)

Plus, I've been super encouraged recently about how awesome the assurance of Heaven is. Here's the deal--no matter how difficult our times on earth may be, no matter how much we don't feel like giving thanks, we can still rejoice, because it all ends in GLORY! Doesn't that just make every day a million times better?

So this year, if you're not feeling thankful for anything at all, just remember, no matter what trials we may experience, it'll all be worth it in HEAVEN! Even so come!

Of apples and trees

We had supper the other night at my grandparent's house. The food was delicious, the fellowship was wonderful, and the conversation... familiar. Familiar, because it was the same conversation we have every time we go. The embarrassing thing? I haven't even memorized it yet.

I love it, don't get me wrong, I just appreciate the humor of the whole thing. What happens is we talk about this and that--what various family members are up to, who's studying up on what Biblical topic, what we feel about chiropractors or torture chambers--and then, all of a sudden, we're talking about Israel. And that's fine, truly it is, I love all things Israel. What makes it so familiar is that the conversation almost always goes the same way.

My grandpa talks about how Israel is being protected only by the hand of the Lord, and how nations are retarded to try to fight against Israel. My dad backs this up with recent news items about countries who want to attack Israel. They talk about American politics for a moment, then revert back to all the points in history wherein Israel was protected in miraculous ways. Anyone who's had a meal with these guys has no doubt heard at least some of the stories. 90 Minutes in Antibe being a fairly popular one. They also talk about the times when the Israeli soldiers would stand out in the open and always hit their guys, while the enemy always missed them. The time when Israeli planes came to a Russian airfield and managed to knock out all the actual fighterly planes, and somehow miss all the decoy planes is a good one, too.

It's always interesting, and about 20 minutes into this hour-long ordeal my grandma falls asleep and my brother and I start conversing among ourselves. But one day (if the rapture holds off for a while longer), no doubt, I'll find myself having a meal with my brother and his family, and he and I will start telling all of his bored children about all the miracles the Lord performed for Israel when they didn't even know it. And they'll roll their eyes and start talking about something else. That's OK, they'll no doubt get a chance to hear it again, if they choose not to listen that time. And again. And again.

All for the sake of posterity

Some people keep journals as a record of their life for the sake of posterity. Others, like me, keep a journal to keep from exploding from the excessive amounts of words inside of them. Honestly, I like my way better, because it seems more interesting, plus, I can write or not write whenever the Spirit so moves me without worrying that a grand-niece of mine might one day wonder what I did on that illusive missing Tuesday. Even better, once I burn my journals, they'll never be the wiser as to the fact that my Tuesday was missing in the first place.

But... should the Lord wait a while before rapturing us, will posterity actually want something through which they might be able to understand what sort of person I was? Not that I think I'm that interesting (because trust me, I don't), but because history is so deeply ingrained into us humans that I feel like somebody should would want to have a part of my life just because it was a life that was lived. For instance, I love to look at pieces of my grandparents' and parents' lives. Mind you, I've certainly never been allowed to look at journals of any of my relatives (maybe they've burned them?) but I like other parts of their lives, like a pair of my dad's baby shoes, a childhood book of my grandma's, my mom's old school projects. I love to look at things like that!

But those things are collected as we live. By virtue of the fact that I was a baby, I have baby shoes (actually, I'm pretty sure we don't have any more of my baby shoes, but since I've never liked shoes I've never worried about whether or not that particular item was preserved in any capacity), and because I did school, I'll have old school papers. The fact that I come from a hugely readerly family indicates that I'll have plenty of my childhood books for my descendants to have. But sometimes I like to write random things that I think would be fun to look back on, should someone care.

But what I wonder, while doing things like this: will anyone really care? Because things about me aren't that interesting, neither do they really have a historical factor. For instance, I have a love/hate relationship with carrots. But such jumbled feelings regarding carrots isn't really something I would care to know about my great-grandpa Harry (I have no idea how he felt about carrots, just so you know). Or is it? My great-grandmother used to love licorice and she would give one piece a night to her kids while their dad (aforementioned Great-Grandpa Harry) was away Bibleing around. I think that's fun to know. But carrots aren't quite as interesting.

For at least 20 years of my life I managed to never break a bone or get stitches--though I'm a klutz, and expect this to change momentarily. But... that's not really interesting. I just wish I had more things from my own past (AKA, more information about my great-grandparents and such), and wish I could somehow create something that would be a part of life right now, in 2009, to show what they (which is to say, posterity) missed by having the misfortune of being born later on in life. I mean, I was around when we had nine planets! I remember the day Pluto got plutoed! Is there a way to portray that, and still be able to burn my journals?

I guess this is what scrapbooking is for. And stories. Maybe the Lord will tarry and I'll grow up and have some younger relative who loves to collect and file away family stories. Or maybe I should collect and file away family stories. I've got enough memorized already--This is the pond where we got our fish, Freddy. This is the pond where mom almost died. This is the silo dad used to climb around on when he babysat grain during harvest. This is the tree under which mom and dad got married. This is garage where dad backed up with the car door open and removed the car door. This is the old couch we used to have in the dining room where all of us kids used to sit on, half-asleep, while we waited for breakfast. This is the typing program we all used to learn to type. You get the idea.

But I feel like those are things that would be insanely boring to collect and preserve. Especially the typing thing. Yet... when my nieces and nephews grow up, will they even know about typing on computers? We laugh to think of things beyond computers as we know them, but my parents used typwriters in school (not that I view that as too crazy--my dad still uses a typwriter at his office, no joke), and I think it's interesting to hear them talk about "erasing" stuff on typewriters and such.

Clearly I go on too many bunny trails to be able to accomplish such things as these. I'd be discussing my parents' wedding tree, and then I'd ramble about how it was so early in the morning... but they got crapes for breakfast, so it was OK... and how one of the groomsmen was so tired he forgot to wear a vest like the rest of the guys... and my dad forgot to wear actual nice shoes, so he just wore his ugly ol' everyday shoes to the wedding... and how the dresses were lovely for that day, but frightfully unattractive to my eyes at current. Which says nothing about the tree under which my parents got married. Which is mostly acceptable, I guess, since the tree just sits around at the park and gets more and more bug-eaten year by year.

I'm not sure why I wanted to write about that tree, after all. It's nearly dead these days. Which doesn't seem nicely symbolic, like I first thought it would. Oops.

I never did like to brush my hair...

Sometimes I have these little epiphany moments in life wherein I realize that I'm pretty much exactly the same now as I was when I was a child, only, well... taller. Most times these moments strike me due to things I do or say that remind me that you don't cease to be a child unless you're willing to put away those childish things (Paul was way ahead of me). Sometimes I find these childish vestiges of me in old essays, notebooks, or journals of mine, but I recently managed to find a quote from an old school paper of a sister of mine that made me laugh. She had done character sketches of each member of our family, stating how old they were and a little thing or two about their life at that moment (K was sixteen, just gotten her drivers license, C was a baby and just sort of hung around, etc.), and reading mine was like reading something she might have written about me today. It was in the fall of 1996, and this was her perception of me:

"Jo is six years old and in second grade. She enjoys making lunches and singing more than brushing her hair!"

Switch out "lunches" for "suppers" and "six" for "twenty," and it would be as believable now as it was then.

Of course, now I'm plagued with questions about whether or not posterity can get a grasp on what I was really like without having access to the papers and musings of all of my siblings. I've been considering staging a takeover of all relevant papers, but have determined that since the Lord is coming soon, I don't have to worry about such not-entirely-kosher activities. I shudder to consider the full extent of damage I could cause to all of my familial relationships...

Confusion

When people get old, they get confused. It's pretty much a rule. But that doesn't make it any easier for those who have to see it happening. For instance, my grandma just turned 96 the other day, and, although she still lives alone and can do a lot of things herself, she does get confused. But like I said, it doesn't make it any easier to watch, even though I know that it's something everyone deals with.

The other day my sister was over at my grandma's house one morning, and told me that she (my grandma) had climbed the stairs herself and had been looking for something. That was odd, since she usually stays on the main floor and doesn't look for things.

So when I went to my grandma's house later that day, to spend a little time with her before bringing her back to our home for dinner, I was wholly unprepared for what ended up happening.

She had been puttering around, moving things from one counter to another in the kitchen, but that was nothing unusual. She was a very orderly housewife, and she often does cleaning sort of out of habit, even though her cleaning skills are less than stellar. Actually, a few weeks ago she kept on being worried about the kitchen floor. She kept on thinking it was dirty (it may have been, but not visibly so) and actually went so far as to get down on her hands and knees to feel on the floor and make sure it didn't have stuff on it. Thankfully we got her back up from her prayerful position, but it was just sort of an odd happening.

Anyhow, so she had been puttering, and finally I told her it was time to leave for dinner, and I help her put on her coat and she's standing sort of by the door, so I leave for about five seconds to go turn the lights off. I come back and she had taken off her coat. I tell her that it's time for supper and help her put her coat on again, which she promptly takes off.

"Can I get you anything, Grandma?"

"Well, yes," she said, slightly exasperated, "where are the children? I have to go and get the children."

At this point she starts trying to climb the stairs (so that's what had been going on!) and I'm pretty much half out of my mind with worry.

"The children? Grandma, do you mean A-- and O-- and S--? The ones who call you to sing to you?" (my nieces and nephews often called her to sing songs with her on the phone, and she routinely calls them children.)

"No. My children."

I rattled off the names of her own children, long since grown, and she told me that, yes, those were the children she was trying to find.

Like I said, I was basically sick with worry.

So we talk for a while about how her children have their own homes, and they're not upstairs, and finally I try to placate her by asking if she wants to call my mom and ask her about it. She basically charges to the couch (as quickly as one charges, using a walker) and I help her call my mom. I have no time to warn my mom about what's going on, obviously, so when my mom picked up the phone to hear her rather worried mother demanding to know where her children were, my mom was more than a little taken aback. But she rose to the occasion, asking what children she was looking for, and explained that indeed, all of her children had homes, and they were with their own families for supper.

My grandma finally understood, I think, and remembered that her children were indeed grown and married and not upstairs after all. I helped her put her coat back on, we went out the door with no further trouble, and by the time we got to my house for supper, she was completely back to her normal 96-year-old self.

But it frightened me, I'll admit. She does this sometimes, but it's never any easier to see her deteriorate like that. But I guess that's part of what love is--sorrow when one you love is suffering.

Which is just one of the many, many reasons I'm excited for the rapture. Heaven, besides having the Lord (which is the real reason I'm excited, obviously), is also a place of no more sorrow or tears. Won't that be amazing?