100

I was already planning on writing about the number 100 this morning before I logged on and realized that this is my hundredth post. Nice.

I was thinking about the parable of the hundred sheep. We all understand that the one lost sheep is you or I, or anyone in need of a Saviour, who was sought out/is being sought out by the Lord. We all know about how the angels in Heaven rejoice over that one sinner that repents.

But... what about the 99? Who are they? Do they represent the pharisees from the Bible, or regular-type people who aren't saved (yet)?

And I know it's "just" a parable. As my dad consistently has to remind me, shadows and pictures in the Bible are just that--shadows. Pictures. Not entirely matching up to the reality of the situation. There's no way to have a perfect picture of Christ, because Christ is perfect. Nothing else compares. So that leaves us with fragments of the story, which is fine, because if we could understand the whole story, then God wouldn't be... God.

But I still don't understand who those 99 are. So if you have an inkling of who they represent, please let me know.

Monday

Mondays are amusing to me. While everyone else is grumping around because they're back at work, I grin a little bit on the inside, because I've started the work week, and I'm no worse for the wear.

I was trying to explain that to someone today, and they just didn't understand. Their loss.

What really gets me are Wednesdays. I always feel like I should be so much closer to the end of the week and yet... I'm not.

Just remember, there are no Mondays in Heaven. Or Wednesdays.

Happy (Belated) National Grammar Day

Yesterday was one of my most amusing holiday celebrations. Not that I really celebrate National Grammar Day, but I keep it in mind and tell people, randomly, to have a Happy Grammar Day.

So, to all of those folks out there who say "ain't" and "nothin'," well, I love you anyhow. However, if you are in a possession of a good vocabulary, sound mind, and a grasp of grammar, more power to you. Yesterday was your day.

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.