Well-favoured

I'd actually forgotten about this until I was reading the story of Jacob and Leah/Rachel yesterday morning, but I think it bears repeating.

You know how the Bible describes Rachel as well-favoured? Well, that word "well favoured" is usually coupled, in the Bible, with the term for people who were a little stockier, or chubbier, or whatever word you choose to use.

The cattle in Pharaoh's dream, the one Joseph had to interpret, the one where they were fatfleshed? Yeah, well-favoured cattle.

Remember how the prince of the eunuchs in Daniel's time was worried about them eating the pulse instead of king's meat, because they'd get too skinny? Those kids were well-favoured.

Does that mean Rachel fell in that category? Not per se, however, I thought that was pretty amusing.

I'm not sure this bears any significance upon my daily life, or yours, but it made me grin as I read it in my Bible reading. Nice.

Going nowhere fast

At my prompting (I chose the parking spot), my brother got stuck in the snow on Monday night. But we didn't realize this until long after we'd parked (I was already in bed, which means it was at least 9:00) when he was trying to head over to my grandmother's, and wasn't able to move the van.

Oops.

I heard the sound of nothing being accomplished (you know the sound; wheels spinning, an engine roaring), bounded out of bed, threw some boots on, and went to go help him. Now, here's the best part: I had some version of the flu and wasn't feeling well, and he had some sort of cold/fever and was vaguely delirious, and rather weak.

So I told him to drive, I'd push. I wasn't ready to faint, at least. So, pushing and pulling, shoveling (with an honest-to-goodness garden-variety shovel) and shoving, we got out. I knew it was taking a long time, but it wasn't until my mom showed up (my brother and I had been the only ones in our family at home--everyone else was away being useful at my grandmother's) fearing for our lives, that we realized that almost an hour had passed as we had struggled to get the van out. My mom had tried to call me (believing me to be in bed and available to answer the phone) and getting no answer from me (any of the four times she called) and since my brother hadn't materialized, she decided it was high time to come home and see what ailed us. Ironically, I gave the van the last needed shove just as she came up the driveway to meet us, and we could have had my brother to my grandma's within 10 minutes.

As it was, we all went back in the house, cleaned up (my pajamas were totally covered in muck from the spinning tires, ew!) and went to bed. I'll say one thing for the experience--all that running around sure did put me into a deep sleep that night!

Songs in the night

While my mother and I were discussing sleep (and lack thereof) recently, she made a rather cute comment which I shall endeavour to recount. We were discussing the trials of insomnia (oh, my favorite) and my mom was sort of indignant that I should find it a trial in any capacity.


"At least you have something to think about!"

By that she meant that I was a Christian, and when I'm awake in the middle of the night, I don't have to lay around (lie around?) worrying about the end of the world, or my finances, or anything like that. Rather, I can have some quiet time to spend with my Father in Heaven. I can pray, review memorized verses (which is usually pretty futile, since my poor memory plus a sleepy fog equal no recollection of things I may or may not have effectively learned), and do other profitable things.

So good point, mom, and thanks. At least I have something to think about!

Wordy nerdy

I love words. Have I ever said that before? Because I do. As does my whole family, actually, which has greatly amused our current company. We keep a dictionary in the dining room and use it with great frequency during meals to check definitions and pronunciations and the various etymology of words.

Last night, sitting around in the living room, we started discussing the pronunciation of a certain word, and I realized that we didn't have a dictionary in the living room. What a terrible oversight! I promptly told my parents that we needed to rectify the situation, at which point my mom most cheerfully told me that at least I could get my exercise this way. Fine then--I marched to the dining room to look up our word. After which I took a detour to my bedroom to collect my OED so we could properly research the word.

This was when our befuzzled guest amusedly blurted out that he'd love to watch us play word games. Oh, trust me, it's not as fun as it looks.

First of all, we usually belabour the point (whatever the point may be in the various word games we play) excessively. We discuss whether the verb can be pluraled or singulared, and everyone has a vehement opinion on the matter. Nice.

But it's fun because, well, our family has a lot of fun when we do pretty much anything. Bible readings, picnics, trips to the museum, home improvement projects (which we are greatly in the midst of in recent days), games--whatever the activity, we tend to enjoy it. So yes, we love word games. We love words. They're not the be-all and end-all of our family experiences, however, since I come by my love of words naturally, yeah, I'd say we tend to spar a little more wordily than many families that I know.

Like I always say, my mom taught me to love and understand words, and my dad taught me to respect the power that words carry. With all that knowledge tucked inside of me, I figure that's why words hold such appeal to me.

Morning morning morning

I'm not a huge morning person, a fact to which most of my friends and relatives will attest. However, no matter how much they still joke about my terrible personality in the morning, they have to admit that I really haven't been my "regular" grumpy self in the mornings for at least a year or two. I've made a concerted effort to not grump around in the mornings. (Oh, and I'd like to point out that my waking-up ability is far stellar than a good portion of people I know, so I certainly have that going for me, sorry, lovers-of-the-snooze-alarm.)

I decided one day a while ago that I was done being grumpy. I certainly wasn't winning friends or influencing people (except to influence them more towards the grumpsterly side of things) by grouching around in the mornings, and I certainly wasn't being a very good testimony to anybody. So in the mornings, when I wake up, I immediately fill my head with three things. One: This is the day that the Lord has made, I will be glad, and rejoice in it!! Two: Lord, help me to have a good day. And three: Lord, help me to do everything I do to the best of my ability.

Mind you, I jump out of bed to turn off my alarm clock, which means I'm usually standing up by the time I get around to thinking all those things, but they're certainly the first things I think. Which, as it turns out, may actually be helping after all. The other morning I was out and about quite early, and I happened to smile at some lady who stopped in her tracks and told me that I had a nice smile, at which point someone else (who I don't really know, they apparently just pretend they know me) told her that I was "always so cheerful in the mornings." Really? Me? Cheerful? In the mornings???

Wonders never cease.

I think it's just because His mercies are new every morning. No matter how early that morning may come, He's always got something wonderful in store for me. It's a good feeling.

All about Love

"If ye love me, keep my commandments." John 14:15

That verse tends to be a good reminder for me. When I do something wrong it doesn't mean that I don't love the Lord any more, but it means that my desire should always be to keep his commandments because I love him. Not out of duty or a sense or moral right and wrong, but rather that I love Him.

I was thinking about love even before work today, where I was informed that it was my duty to "love the plants" so they'll stop dying. I'm supposed to talk to them and remind them that they're doing a good job. Sometimes I can't believe they still pay me.

A moment for reflection

We've all lost someone, or something. None of us remain untouched by the sorrows of death, even if we somehow think that our loss might not be as life-shattering as the next guy's.

We have a guest in our home right now, and he was sharing the most incredible things last night. He recounted how approximately fifteen years ago, he went to a home-schooling gathering to pick up a bunch of children for a time at the gym, and was met by several frazzled mothers. Not thinking anything about it, he joked that if he didn't know better, he'd think they were upset at him. It turns out, they weren't upset, they were worried... for him. The police were trying to get a hold of him, his family was in an accident, and all sorts of doctors were trying to reach him. He rushed in the building to call the doctors. It started out with mostly good news--his son was being released right then. The next doctor reported that his wife and one of his girls were both in surgery, more news later. The last doctor had news about one of his other girls. The doctor had never seen someone survive an injury like that before.

Our friend described how awful it all was; how difficult those moments were. As he was leaving a few of the mothers offered to go with him, or drive him, or help somehow. He wanted to go alone, he told them, but he was very thirsty, and could someone bring him something to drink?

"Can you imagine what would have compelled someone, in my moment of grief, to bring me some vinegar to drink?" He asked us last night.

That's when I started crying. Not just because I know the family, and know the twin of the girl who ended up dying in that accident, but because he made such a good point. To think that Christ, in His moments of suffering, had been brought vinegar to quench his thirst. The disregard of the world, having nothing but thorns and nails to offer, stooped to a place that wouldn't allow the simple kindness of water to quench His thirst. The Man Who was the Living Water was made like the scum of the earth by dying on the cross.

Puts it in perspective, doesn't it?