Kid stories
Oh wait, I don't have kids. But what do I do when everyone I know starts talking about their children? I start talking about my dog. Really, he's almost human, so people shouldn't be offended. In fact, he communicates to me and understands me better than Ryan sometimes! (Determine for yourself what that says about me and/or Ryan...) So yesterday I woke up to Ryan saying goodbye to me, as he has to leave for work before I even have to get up. I gave him a kiss, a smile, and (only if he's lucky) a wave from bed and turned over to cuddle with my sweet little boy. But he would have none of it. Seeing that daddy had already left for work, he felt that it was time for mommy to get up too. So, hopping like a rabbit around the bed, he began to bark. And believe me, his high pitched yelp is hard to ignore (sorry people upstairs!). But to Hugo, barking doesn't mean "I have to go outside and do my business" or "I hear noises outside and it could be an intruder so I want to scare them away", it means "Play with me or I won't stop until your ears hurt from my screeching!" And he means it. So I found the chewy we keep on the bed and hurled it out the door into the living room. He leaped from the bed, bounded on the chewy, and brought it immediately back. I was already asleep, and he knew it. So the barking began again. Finally I just got up.
A new thing he's doing is grabbing the tag on his collar. He knows he's not allowed to do this, so I'm realizing it's completely out of spite. He knows if he's doing something bad, he'll get more attention! And he craves attention! He stands just out of arm's reach, looking at you, daring you to try to get him to drop it. But as soon as I reach out to grab it, he hops away (is he part bunny?). So I have to chase him in order to get him to drop the piece of metal in his mouth, the toy that is always just right around his neck. He is such a brat! But it just makes him more endearing. That little face, the daredevil expression, the catch me if you can attitude. No wonder he is so bad! Mommy and daddy are suckers.
At least he doesn't eat his own poop anymore.
Projects and Resolutions
I thought I'd officially write down my resolutions for the Year, even though most people have already given up on theirs. Not to say that I have been faithful about mine, but I am writing them down in the hopes that I will be more committed. Interestingly, they are completely different than the "Projects" I had set for myself when I first began this blog. Does that mean I have finished my projects and have now set my sights on bigger and greater things? Wouldn't that be something... but alas, no, I didn't accomplish even one of those projects, and while they are still on my horizon as things I'd like to do, they didn't make it into the List. 1. Lose 40 pounds. OK, I know this is totally cliche, but I really want to do this. If you think about it, that's less than a pound a week. How great would that be? Also, for those of you who don't know me, I don't think I look like I need to lose 40 pounds. So please don't think that of me. If you looked at me, you'd probably think I only needed to lose 38 or so.
2. Get up in the morning to have daily devotions. I'd be happy with myself if I was faithful in daily devotions anyway... but adding "get up early" is another whole resolution in itself! But after much thought, the morning really would be the best time for me to do this.
3. Post on this blog every week. This resolution is remarkably similar to "post on Venustas every day" under Projects. And if you've visited Venustas lately (which I'm sure you haven't, because I've had zero hits for a while now), you'd see that I hadn't posted since August 3, 2006! But since I have decided to become more lenient about what I post (ie. it doesn't have to be a novel), I am optimistic about this resolution.
OK, now for a Resolution update!
1. So far I have met my first 2 goals, and missed my 3rd. I'm hopeful for this coming weekend though (my weekly weigh-in is on Saturday morning) that I'll be able to meet my 4th and make up for missing my 3rd.
2. I am really getting there with this one! On Sunday, I decided to actually set my alarm early so I'd be able to get up. On Monday, I actually did wake up, and then fell back to sleep. On Tuesday (today), I woke up, briefly spoke to Ryan, and fell back to sleep. I really think I'm making progress. Tomorrow I'll make myself sit up in bed, even if it means falling to sleep sitting up. At least it's a step in the right direction. OH! I just had a great idea! I have an alarm that will play CDs, and I have the Bible on CD! Maybe I could just WAKE UP to the Bible! I am going to have to give this a try and hope I will absorb it through osmosis.
3. Well, I've posted twice in January. This one will make three. Wait, that's not right, I've posted once. So this resolution isn't going so great.
Grace, A Children's Story
It was a week before Christmas and Amy and her mommy had just finished visiting some newly born puppies at a friend’s house. The puppies were so small, but were practically bursting with energy. One in particular had caught Amy’s eye: a beautiful black Yorkshire terrier who always had its tongue out, ready to kiss at the slightest human touch. Amy had held it close, even as it squirmed to lick her face, and had fallen in love. “If he were mine, I would name him Kisses, because that is what he loves to do,” she had said. Amy’s mommy loved the puppy too, but knew that Daddy would take more convincing. “Daddy, I want a puppy,” Amy declared at dinner that night. “You’re too young to have a puppy of your own, honey.” Daddy said, as if he had had this conversation hundreds of times before. “Nu-uh, I would take care of it all by myself. I would Daddy!” “Mommy and I will talk about it later,” he said and Amy knew not to say anything more. She did, however, look imploringly at her mother, hoping maybe this time her daddy could be convinced.
Later that night when Amy was in bed asleep, her mommy and daddy decided to have a talk. “Maybe it is time to get a puppy, Bill,” Amy’s mommy said. “They were so cute, I wouldn’t mind having one myself!” “But Amy needs to learn responsibility. If it were to be her puppy, she would have to take care of it. I don’t want to have to always be the one taking it out or feeding it or paying all the vet’s bills.” Amy’s daddy was trying to teach her how to be a responsible person and he knew this would be an excellent way for her to learn, but he wanted to make sure she would take it seriously. “Maybe I’ll write up a contract that we could have her sign. It could list all the tasks that she would need to do in order to get and keep the puppy.” Amy’s mommy looked at him skeptically.
A couple days later, Amy and her parents sat in the family room to talk about the puppy. Amy was so excited and it burst out as smiles and laughter. Maybe she would finally get the puppy! Maybe tomorrow she and little Kisses would be playing together on the floor of this very room! “Amy, I know how much you’ve been wanting to have a puppy, and your mother and I think you may finally be ready to take care of one. But before you get too excited,” Amy’s daddy added quickly as he saw his daughter giggling in her chair, “you must agree to some chores that I have already written down. We will talk about them now, and then if you agree, you can sign this paper.” Although she was still excited at the prospect of a new puppy, Amy’s smile faded a bit. She was confused by what her daddy was saying to her, but could tell that he was very serious. “Number one, you must train the dog to only go potty outside and clean up any mistakes he might make around the house. Number two, you must give the dog a bath at least once a week. Number three, you will pay for one-half of all doctor’s visits including any medication the dog may need.” Amy sat listening as the list went on and on and her heart sank. Her daddy had compiled a list of chores so very long she knew she would never be able to accomplish them all. There was still one hope. If she could just get the puppy in the house, maybe her daddy would forget about the list and allow it to stay anyway. But suddenly her daddy read the last sentence of the contract. “If Amy is not willing or able to accomplish all the above chores, then the puppy will be sold or given away, and will not be allowed to stay in the house any longer!”
At this, Amy knew her desire would not be fulfilled. She would not get the puppy and Kisses would find a different home. Soon tears flooded her eyes, and she began to cry. Her daddy looked startled, but she managed to explain. “Daddy,” Amy sobbed, with tears pouring down her cheeks, “I can’t sign that list. I’d never be able to do all those chores!” With that, she ran out of the room, and headed for her bed. Amy’s mommy and daddy looked at each other. Her daddy looked shocked at his daughter’s response. “I thought for sure she would sign it. I thought she’d sign it without thinking and we’d have to give the puppy away. I thought it would be a valuable tool for teaching responsibility.” “Well, maybe you didn’t give your daughter enough credit,” said Amy’s mommy knowingly as she left to go comfort her daughter.
That night Amy’s daddy could not sleep. He kept picturing his little girl crying from something he had done. But the worst part was that he knew she had acted more responsibly than he had given her credit for. How could he fix this? He wondered. He wanted so much for his little girl to be happy, but he wanted her to understand his actions. Suddenly, he had an idea. The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. But in order for it to work, he had to get up right now and prepare. So he climbed out of bed, and got to work.
On Christmas Eve, Amy woke up early. It wasn’t because she had gone to bed so early the night before. And it wasn’t because she had fallen asleep crying over her lost puppy. It was because she heard a small knocking on the door. “Amy, wake up. Daddy wants to show you something,” came her mommy’s voice from behind the door. Crawling out of her bed, she took her mommy’s hand and was led downstairs to the Christmas tree. Stapled to the wall, Amy recognized the contract her daddy had written, and a sign above it that said “The Law” in large, bold letters. Next to that was another sign that said “Grace.” Amy looked below the sign and saw a tiny ornament that looked like a puppy. The puppy had a sign on it as well. It said “Kisses.” Amy could feel the excitement coming back, but she was confused. “What does it mean, Daddy?” “Come to me,” her daddy said, lifting her up to his lap. “Before Jesus came to earth, people who loved Him had to abide by every rule that He asked them to. It was quite clear to the people that they could not keep every single rule. It was just impossible for them. But when Jesus came to earth, everything changed. Because He came and took all of our sins and failures upon Himself, we did not need to follow every single rule anymore. In other words, we now live under grace. Under grace, we love Jesus joyfully, knowing that He freed us from our burdens so that we can enjoy everything He has given to us. That contract I wanted you to sign was like the Law that Jesus gave to his people. But we do not live under the Law anymore. Because of Jesus, we live under grace.” “But daddy, what does it mean to live under grace?” Amy asked. “It means,” her daddy paused and smiled at his daughter. “It means,” he said again, “we are getting a puppy.”
My Christmas Story
Merry Christmas and Ho! Ho! Ho! To Colorado we will go! But in Dallas we're stuck, Much to our bad luck, We couldn't leave 'cuz of the snow.
Yes, that brilliant little limerick sums up nearly half of my Christmas vacation time. But for those of you who want the brutal details, I will put my flair for poetry aside, and enlighten you further with my prose. It all began seven days ago. I was nervous about traveling anyway for several reasons. (1) It would be my first Christmas away from my family, and instead I would spend the holiday with my husband's family, some of whom I had only ever met briefly. (2) The last time I was in Colorado, I became desperately sick (due to the altitude) and my future mother-in-law had the distinct pleasure of cleaning up all my lovely bodily functions. And (3) we were bringing our puppy, Hugo, who would spend a total of 7 hours (with a brief stop in Dallas) in a little carrier, pushed under the seat in front of me. But, despite my misgivings, I found myself at 32,000 feet, with Hugo sound asleep, and I soon followed him.
We reached Dallas without incident. Hugo hadn’t made a peep, and as soon as we got to the airport, I put a “wee-wee pad” down for him, and he went immediately. “Good boy!” Ryan and I cheered. This trip was going so smoothly, no bumps in the road. I put Hugo on his leash, and we all walked toward our gate. The next leg of the trip was the easy one. It was much shorter and Ryan’s parents would pick us up at the other end.
And then we saw it. The word every air-traveler hates to see. A word that brings doom to the hearts of anyone who wants to see their family on a holiday. C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D. It was with shock that we talked to the woman at the gate, who sent us to the ticketing line, who directed us to a phone number we needed to call, who told us to get back in the ticketing line. So there we stood, and our options were bleak. The next available flight was Christmas Eve, due to “The Storm of the Century” that was taking place in Colorado. That was 4 days away, and we were flying back on Christmas Day anyway. “No problem,” the helpful ticketing agent on the phone had said. “We can change your return flight as well!” Ryan had to kindly inform the man, who apparently had never heard of a job with a limited number of vacation days, that that was impossible. Our other option was to get right back on the plane and fly back to LaGuardia in two hours. Two hours later, however, we had moved 10 feet in the ticketing line, with still another 30 feet to go. We weren’t going home that night.
After another hour of discussion and frustration, any option looked better than standing in line another minute! We decided to rent a car and drive the 10 hours to Colorado Springs. Why we thought driving into a blizzard was a good idea, I don't know. Our minds had been fuzzied by the airport bureaucracy.
At first the trip was exciting. Hugo is good in the car, and I enjoyed that we had more freedom than in an airplane. But after driving the first 10 hours in Texas, then into New Mexico, then back into Texas, then detoured off main roads because of snow and ice, then driving on roads full of snow and ice anyway, then finally onto the interstate that brought us through the mountains and into Colorado, I had seen more of southwestern America than I ever want to again, or indeed ever did in the first place.
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By the time we reached New Mexico for the second time, Hugo was going crazy. You know how you look when you start hearing voices in your head? You know how it's hard to hear one because they are all shouting at you at the same time? Well, that's how Hugo was looking. I could practically hear the voices myself! We couldn't take him out, because, being only 3 pounds, he would be toppled into the snow by the wind. And he was tired of sleeping. Ryan was stressed, and I was miserable. But finally, after a grueling 18 hours, we made it.
The relief and joy of seeing Ryan's family was magnified in my mind, because of the harrowing journey we experienced. The snow then seemed a blessing, instead of a curse, as I gazed out their windows at it and at the majesty of the mountains beyond. Then I remembered the reason we had travelled all this way to spend Christmas with our loved ones. The Reason all this majesty graced the land before me, and the Reason all the gifts were piled beneath the tree. And I was overjoyed.
"When they saw the star, they were overjoyed."
Matthew 2:10
Rex is an uncle!
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Our sweet new boy, Hugo, is both Rex's biological nephew and adopted nephew!
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Untitled - I wrote this years ago
By no means do I have all the answers. Sometimes I get so swallowed up in loneliness and my bed seems my only friend. Sometimes I feel used and hurt and even manipulated. Sometimes I wonder if God is there, and if He is, I wonder if He’s listening. Sometimes, my beliefs seem far from everything that I am, and sometimes I cling to them as if they are all that I am. I long to live life with joy, yet at every turn I find sorrow. The romantic ideas of “living” seem so far from the life that I lead. Deleted emails speak of children living life in a carefree way that adults forget about, famous sayings tell us to “stop and smell the roses”, and people often speak of having a life, but rarely ever living. This elusive ideal – “living” - makes me say “yeah, that’s what I want” but then a minute later I am in a bustle of activity that I don’t want to be doing, but it seems that there are no other options. I find that I get tired of activity and long for the next stage of my life, as I’m rolled through the mundane bustle of everyday activity. I get tired of other people complaining at how much they have to do. Many people say, “Life sucks, but you just have to learn to live with it.” I’m sorry, but I can’t live with that. I often wonder, what these people are going through that I’m not. Granted, my life is good. But I still cannot imagine circumstances in which I would proclaim that this life is so bad, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I am amazed at the difference perspective makes. I am convinced that even through sorrow and despair, that life can still be good. That there can be joy and hopefully at the end of life, it will have been a life well lived. ~ My grandmother was just diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. She is one of the most amazing women I know. Anyone who has met her cannot leave without being touched by her wisdom and love. But her feistiness and spunkiness have also lent to the wonderful life that she has lead; one that has been full of laughter and sorrow, but is ending in great peace. I can’t imagine that’s she’s not scared. And it hurts me to think that she is. But when I talk to her, while I sob on one end, she speaks with comfort to me, full of peace and strength, and not least of all, hope. ~ Who am I to try to reconcile the idea of a loving and good God with the fact that there is pain, and hurt, and even injustice in the world today? I have only lived a relatively short life so far. I have only a little knowledge and even less wisdom. I fail in most of my attempts at self-discipline. (But there is one thing I know, and that I base my entire beliefs upon, indeed, even my very life. And that is that God is good.) Good does not seem to capture the hugeness and vastness of God. It does not seem to describe his infinite knowledge, his perfect capacity for love or even his mercy. But maybe our definition of good is too small. David says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Sometimes this is easy. We are so in love with God that it is almost as if we are tasting His goodness. Life, although it is in no way perfect, is easier somehow. God is in control and His presence is near and sweet. However, times like this are rare and it seems the older I get and the more people I come across, these times are only what children feel as they live their carefree lives. We even look at them enviously sometimes, longing for our childhood, when life was good and God was so clear. But then, if God is good, and life is a gift from Him, then shouldn’t life be good too? Why, then, do we so often feel that it is not? How can we live this life to the fullest and at the end of it, look back with an overwhelming peace, realizing that we did indeed really live?
Philip Yancey asked some of his respected Christian friends the following question: “If a seeking person came to you and asked how your life as a Christian differs from hers as a moral non-Christian, what would you tell her?” As I read through their answers, I began to wonder what I would say. “I feel so unqualified to answer this question. I have seen so little of life and have dealt with only a small amount of pain. Because of this (and hopefully in spite of this), I am tempted to say that with God there is joy. This I believe, however, it is something of which I cannot always personally attest. So, what I would say is that with God there is life, in all senses of the word. Without God, there is no life at all. He breathes it into all His creatures and without Him, there is none. But It goes deeper than that. He promises life to the fullest. In Him, we find satisfaction, fulfillment, and a sense of our own identity. Yes, there are some longings that this world cannot satisfy, but with God, we can enjoy the fullness that life with God can bring.”
There are no answers here. I can only pray that my faith will increase as much as and more so than the trials in life.
Noisy Neighbors
Ryan and I just recently moved into our own apartment. It's small, but cozy. We have all hand-me-down furniture, but it's beautiful. We love just sitting in our new home; enjoying its warmth and each other's company. Often we will dim the lights, throw some popcorn in the microwave, and pop a DVD into our new flat & widescreen TV to bask in its glow for hours at a time, while snuggled together on the couch. But then we hear it: the rattle of the pipes, the high-pitched screaming, the ghoulish yelling, and the eerie music. We pause our movie to listen, our faces terrified by what we are hearing. You see, our apartment is haunted by the worst type of ghouls: noisy neighbors. Our first encounter with our vociferous neighbors was early on one of our first mornings here. I woke up slamming the snooze button to turn off my alarm. Why wasn't it working? I thought. Finally, befuddled and bemused by the non-stop noise and the early hour, I looked around. It wasn't my alarm, nor was it Ryan's. It was coming from above, as if there were no ceiling or floor separating us. I looked at the clock: 5:30am . Nearly three hours before I had to get up. They'll turn it off soon, I naively presumed. Two hours later, I - nearly bald from pulling out my hair - could take it no longer. I stood on top of my bed and pounded on the ceiling. "Who leaves their alarm on for two hours straight, while obviously still in the apartment?" I wondered, frantic from lack of sleep and the most annoying noise in the world being drilled into my brain. Soon, I was delighted and relieved to hear footsteps go and turn off the alarm. I fell back to bed, with the alarm still ringing in my ears.
After weeks of waking up to non-stop alarms and pre-teen temper tantrums, of plumbing that literally runs right next to our TV, and the yip-yappiest dog (yes, I invented that word) I have ever encountered, one of them decided to take up the trumpet. Yes, the trumpet. An instrument that hardly sounds good played well. After several days of us thinking that someone up there had an incredibly bad cough, we realized it was actually someone practicing their music. With cringing faces, Ryan and I stood, horrified. Now it is my belief that I can always be useful to those around me, and help them by teaching valuable life lessons. On this occasion, I thought it would be extremely helpful for this insolent individual to learn what good trumpet playing sounded like. So feeling very pious, I sat down at my computer, double clicked on Miles Davis, and turned the volume to the max. Laughing at my cleverness and noticing the delinquent trumpet had stopped, I basked in the triumph of my victory.
* * *
I'm so tired. I was up all night because my little girl has the flu. She finally fell asleep around 5 this morning, and I fell asleep a few minutes later. Unfortunately, I forgot to turn off my alarm so we could both sleep in - no way she was going to school this morning. Anyway, I woke up about 5 minutes ago to a banging on my floor. At first, I thought my daughter had fallen off the bed, but the banging continued. Finally, I realized someone downstairs was banging on the ceiling! That's when I realized my alarm was going off. It must have been beeping for quite some time, but I just hadn't heard it. I understand that may be annoying to people around me trying to sleep, but maybe they should realize there are extenuating circumstances sometimes.
The other day, I got home to find my daughter crying outside as she tried to play her trumpet. I couldn't figure out why she was standing out in the cold, when she was supposed to be inside practicing. Then she told me she had been practicing, as I had told her to do, but someone had started playing trumpet music really loudly. She said she couldn't concentrate, but I knew there was more to it than that. Someone was insinuating that they don't want to hear a little girl practicing her trumpet, and they wanted to shut her up. I was fuming when I went upstairs. I'm so tired. And I'm tired of neighbors who just don't understand what it's like to raise two children by myself in a small apartment. It's very hard. I'm doing the best I can. But right now, I'm just tired.
I do what I can.
It’s October, do you feel it? Even if I weren’t looking at my calendar at this very moment and seeing “October”, I would feel it. Even apart from the weather, and the earlier fading skies, I think I would know. Apart from the colorful leaves falling from the tress and the sound they make as the wind rushes them along the pavement, apart from the cool air and the smells of wood-burning fireplaces, apart from sitting in my warm home, clad in snuggly pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and reading, while the light dwindles outside, I would still know. Though all these wonderful things make up the month that is October, there is more to it than that. Can’t you feel it? When I walk outside and realize what month it is, I recognize a warmth and a humility growing in me. It isn’t joy or happiness, but neither is it depression or sorrow. There is only one possible explanation. It’s magic.
Now I know some of you recoiled at the word. “Oh no,” you thought. “Is this more of her Harry Potter nonsense?” Most certainly it is not. It is my love for the Season and I am telling you, that through my many years of experiencing this powerful emotion that only occurs at this time of year, “magic” is the only word I have come across that adequately describes it.
From the colorful leaves falling from the tress and the sound they make as the wind rushes them along the pavement, from the cool air and the smells of wood-burning fireplaces, from sitting in my warm home, clad in snuggly pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and reading, while the light dwindles outside, there’s magic in the air this time of year.
It’s a time that causes people to dive into their homes, close their doors and turn on the heat. Yet by no means can we stay inside. There are holidays to prepare for, families to see, and presents to be bought. But isn’t that the best part? We come out of our hibernation, all of us bundled up so tightly it no longer matters how we look. We’re all buying presents, shopping for turkeys, enjoying decorations, singing holiday songs; the holidays bring people together. In doing so, however, there is sadness, remembering those who have passed, remembering loved ones who cannot be there with us. It is a time when emotions are raw and exposed. There is great joy, but there also is grief magnified.
All these emotions pass through me, causing a deep introspection as I pass into the cool air. For many years, I have felt this glee and anticipation rising in me when the months turned cold and I have long wondered why. Is it because I will no longer have to deal with the sweat filled months of summer? Is it because I am a night person and have more energy when it turns dark? I eventually discovered the only thing that makes sense. It is in anticipation of the Holiday. Something in me stirs that I only feel once a year. Something that tells me this Season means something. This is real and I should pay attention. The chill in the air, the holiday decorations, the shoppers filling parking lots and malls – it all reminds me that we are somehow in this together, we are all doing the same things and put here for the same purpose. This realization brings a sense of urgency and humility in my life. “There’s not much I can do,” I think. He’s not calling you to change the world, is the answer.
It’s almost November and I feel it even more. There’s magic in the air. And I do what I can.
Screwtape rip-off
My Dear Wormwood,
By your last letter, I can see that you are making slow, but steady process. That, indeed, is the best kind! If you had sent me a letter that delighted in your recent conquests, I would know that her repentance must not be far behind. You need to make sure your charge does not see her slow descent towards hell. I noticed many areas where you should concentrate your efforts, but I will begin enlightening you with only a few. The first and most important is her love of food, specifically chocolate. You may think that this is more to satisfy her disgusting physical desires, but this can be more spiritual than you realize. I hope that you realized that many times when she sits down to eat, it is not out of “hunger” but for a different need. You must feed these desires! Any time you see her feel anxious or lonely, convince her that all she needs is a little morsel; just a small treat and she will feel better. Don’t you see? In this way, she will never feel the need to sit down and pray, as long as she has a physical taste to soothe her.
Another wonderful aspect of your charge is her want of striking out when she is feeling hurt or insecure. What an easy job you have ahead of you, Wormwood! Find out who is in charge of her husband and coordinate. When her husband says anything, however small, convince her that she is the victim and therefore has the right to lash out at him. It won’t take much work because she is already very insecure, yet quick to rise in anger. Don’t even worry when you see her think “I must control my temper. It is something I need to work on.” It is so much in her nature she will not be able to change it. As we all know, the road leading here is paved with “good” intentions.
Now for areas where you must get her to change. Number one: Do not let her write on her so-called “blog”. This is dangerous in many ways. It causes her to become introspective and think about deeper things. You might say that mainly she tries to write humor, but any type of writing will cause a person to think – and that they must not do! That is when the Enemy will whisper to them, and they will hear it more easily. Fill her head with distractions! Don’t give her time to write! Have her husband watch TV or play loud music. Anything so she cannot hear the whispering. The “blog” is also dangerous because it is something she actually takes pleasure in working on. How disgusting is this “pleasure” that the Enemy created! Never let her take pleasure in anything she is doing. Whenever she is happy, or moved, or enjoying something simply for enjoyments sake - that is dangerous territory. We must take her pleasure and distort it. Make her feel obligated to write. Make her feel that there are certain things she should and should not write about, which will take her pleasure away. Do you not see how she cries when she hears beautiful music? Do you not see how she laughs with her friends and giggles with her husband? Do not allow these things because they are gifts from the Enemy! Any pleasure that the Enemy allows in the lives of these horrid creatures is only useful to us if we can distort it. If you allow her to experience pleasure in its purest form (ie. before we have gotten to it), she will feel closer to the Enemy. It is then that you must watch out, because she may move into praise and prayer. At those points, you will have no access to her at all.
So you see, my dear Wormwood, you have a lot to learn. Continue to work on her slowly, do not let her sense your presence. Update me regularly and I will be able to help you. But remember, if you fail, I will have nothing to do with you.
Sincerely, Screwtape
Counting Towards Something
I learned some very important things about myself recently. (As I am sure the anticipation is killing you, I won't bore you with some long introduction and far-fetched allusions.) I have learned (1) that everything I do has to matter in some way, and (2) that I like fantasy fiction. The latter should not have been such an epiphone to me, especially considering how much I enjoy LOTR and Harry Potter, but it was. It was my husband who suggested it. We were riding in our car and I was listening for the umpteenth time to The Two Towers. He kept asking questions and I, proud of my vast LOTR knowledge, answered in the longest and most complicated way possible (I wanted him to be impressed). Then he said it: Amy, I really don't understand your love for fantasy fiction. "Fantasy fiction? I don't love fantasy fiction! Only losers like fantasy fiction, you know, like trekkies." He looked at me knowingly. Well apparently, I am a loser. So, in my pain-staking quest to find and accomplish new projects, I am going to try reading some new books in this genre and see if indeed I am a loser. Now to explain my next stop on the path to self-enlightenment. You may think that the statement "Everything I do has to matter" is some way of expressing my need for meaning in my life. Well, on a deeper level, that is true. But let me give you some examples on a not-so-deep level.
Every time I read a book, I record all its information (author, pages, publisher, whether I took any notes or quotes from it, rating - my own personal, and very complicated system - and any comments I may have, etc.) on a spreadsheet. Otherwise, it's like I didn't even read the book and I have to read it again in order for it to count.
When I watch TV, I often find myself wishing that everything I watch was included as part of the Niellson ratings. I want what I watch to be counted and measured and reported, otherwise, watching TV is totally pointless.
I will not run without my Nike+iPod kit. Otherwise, my run is not counted and it is as if I haven't run at all. Do I think about the health that is improved or the waistline that is shrunken due to a run that perhaps hadn't been counted? No. I just won't run unless it is recorded into my computer.
I have a list of projects that I want to complete and published it right here on this blog. Apparently the feeling of accomplishment is not enough for me. I also must have it recorded somewhere that I am working on it and have finished it.
I also have a very detailed spreadsheet of anything that I want to spend my money on. If I cannot cross it off that list, the purchase was pointless.
Had enough?
Unfortunately, a set-back with all these points is that I am also quite lazy. Now if I could find a way to make laziness matter in some way, I'd be golden (perhaps a spreadsheet detailing hours of laziness and quality of that time as compared to other laziness times taken?).
Once again, my sweet husband was the one who made me realize this (If I had known I'd learn so much about myself through marriage, I'm not sure if i would have gotten married in the first place. But that's a topic for a whole different blog post.). As I contemplated the amount of laziness accomplished this past weekend, I realized it just isn't fulfilling. I need more. I guess I thought everyone felt like this (if I'm one way, then I just assume everyone else is as well). Well, I was trying to explain this to Ryan when I realized he had no idea what I was talking about. Eventually, however, he understood - or at least pretended to very well - and became much more sympathetic. Once again, I find myself with a project - to find something to do to make my time matter. It just has to, at least for me, because otherwise, life is pointless.
So, whether this is indulging my life-long dream of writing a LOTR encyclopedia or getting more involved in music or children ministries at church, the point is: I am on a quest to find something. (I welcome any suggestions - can't promise to do any/all of them.. lazy, remember?) I'll keep you updated.
Remember? The Alamo
Ryan and I have decided that we need to adopt some better habits. For example, we now eat our dinners at the table instead of in front of the TV. This has been life changing in several ways. One, I do not watch nearly as much TV as I used to. Two, I don't snack in front of the TV at all. And three, the most important of all, I always remember the Alamo. What does this have to do with us eating at the dinner table? you may ask. Everything. Because there, perched on the wall next to which our table sits, is a beautiful cross-stiched image of the famed building, with those famous words stiched beneath. Needless to say, the picture is not my mine. It made it to the wall for two reasons: Ryan's dad made it for him when Ryan was young, and the frame matches the table. Nevertheless, the words have been fused in my brain and now every day I am obliged to remember the Alamo.
Unfortunately, I didn't know much about the Alamo as I have never had to remember it before, so I did a very small bit of research. It's an interesting story and if it hadn't been so depressing, I might have read more, or even watched a movie depicting the events. The gist of it all is that many Texan men fought at the Alamo for freedom, and died for it.
Now, every night as I eat, I think about the cost of freedom and what my life would be like without it. Seemingly, this is exactly why the phrase "remember the Alamo" was first uttered. However, as it was for the freedom of Texas and not America in general, my life probably wouldn't be so different. I am not from Texas, I've never been to Texas, and I don't really care much about Texas (I am sorry, all you Texans). So there I sit, pondering, wondering, and feeling, well, mostly depressed - that picture staring at me, challenging me to think of anything but an event that has absolutely nothing to do with me. "I know," I mutter with submission (in my head, of course. I don't want Ryan to know I'm crazy.). But every so often, in the deep recesses of my mind, I escape the call of the picture and realize the tedium in remembering the Alamo every single night.
In Costume
My husband has a blog where he and some of his friends from college spout off about their various political opinions, among other topics. I am not an avid follower of politics like these guys, and therefore have never before posted on their site. Until today. Today I had a few things I wanted to say, but I knew that they would not listen or respect what I wrote. So I posted under an alias. Oh! the freedom I felt! I could say whatever I wanted and no one would ever be the wiser. Not only did I post once, I posted 4 times! Unfortunate as it may be, these gentlemen appreciated the comments left by a stranger (interestingly enough - a man) than if the comments had been left by their friend's wife.
These events led me to start thinking about Shakespeare and his commentary about the freedoms of being in costume. One of my favorite Shakespeare plays is "As You Like It." In the story, the main character- Rosalind - puts on a disguise and only then is able to truly talk and get to know the man she loves.
Think about it. If you were in costume and no one knew it was you, what would you do? I know you've wished you were invisible at some point, why? What is the appeal of becoming invisible? There is a certain freedom in word and deed when no one can connect them back to us.
Unfortunately, my brief encounter with "invisibility" was dashed by my husband's big mouth. But it did start me thinking about perhaps living more more often like I was invisible, except that I'm not. Would I be braver? Would my voice be louder? Would people - or even myself - find that I actually had interesting things to say? Maybe I should start giving it a try.
No! I would never cheat!
Your IQ Is 140
Your Logical Intelligence is
Below Average
Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius
Your Mathematical Intelligence is Genius
Your General Knowledge is Genius
My poor logical IQ. As much as I cheated, I couldn't raise it at all.... :-P
What My Face Says.
What Your Face Says
At first glance, people see you as driven and ambitious.Overall, your true self is reserved and logical.
With friends, you seem dramatic, lively, and quick to react.
In love, you seem energetic - almost manic.
In stressful situations, you seem selfish and moody.
My Linguistic Profile
Your Linguistic Profile: 65% General American English 20% Yankee 5% Dixie 5% Upper Midwestern 0% Midwestern
What I wouldn't choose over chocolate.
In other words, I am going to attempt to write a complete list of things that I would never choose over chocolate. Unless I for some reason have had my fill of chocolate. But I don't think that will ever happen, and has indeed never happened, even though I have been on some serious chocolate binges. OK, here goes:
internet access
work
hair highlights
professional manicures & pedicures
Diet Coke
talking on the phone
buying new purses
paying too much on gasoline
writing lists
going out on Friday nights
office supplies (or office supply shopping)
entertainment news
all my knowledge of economics
any kind of alcohol
seeing new movies
Ned Lamont & Joe Lieberman
Arizona, actually pretty much any "A" state
Duct tape
Harry Potter
My music collection
My DVD collection
President Bush
"America's Got Talent" and "I Love Lucy"
baseball
my Honda
The 20 questions game
kittens
apple pie
OK, after much consideration, that is the complete list. These are the many things in my life that I would never choose over chocolate. There's nothing else. And for those of you who know me well, you will see how much I really love chocolate because of how important some of those things are to me. At the same time, however, I couldn't care less about some of those things. I guess it's up to you to figure it out.
Be Careful...
I wish I could be reminded of my mortality without having to lose something precious. I wish I would cry more at the ends of books and less during corny TV shows.
I wish I lived in a castle and had long enough hair for my prince to admire it, even from my tower window.
I wish I had magical powers and everything I touched would succeed.
I wish I were tall and lean with a wonderful fashion sense.
I wish I hadn’t taken youth for granted when I was young.
I wish I was uninhibited and felt free to explore my wildest dreams.
I wish I was a Broadway singer, with a voice that reached to the rafters.
I wish I could dance freely and not wonder what people were thinking.
I wish I were a fairy princess, with evil stepsisters but a kind heart and my loyal subjects loved me as their queen.
I wish I were a better wife, friend, daughter, and Christian.
I wish I were more like my mom and grandmother.
I wish, when I looked out my window from a soft window seat, that there would be soft rolling green hills as far as my eyes could see.
I wish I were a writer.
I wish my favorite food was broccoli and its all I ever wanted to eat.
I wish Cadbury Cream Eggs were a magical potion that made you lose weight in all the right places.
I wish I was brave enough to star in my own adventure.
I wish my fears wouldn’t overtake me.
I wish I was disciplined enough to achieve my goals.
I wish I knew how to be content and “content” wasn’t such a boring word.
I wish my husband acted just like he does in my head.
I wish my imagination wouldn’t lead me to discontentment or disquiet, but would only come out when I call, with something absolutely brilliant.
I wish I were somewhat good at a lot of things.
I wish I were really good at one thing.
I wish I didn’t have to work, but never got bored.
I wish I could travel mystical isles, attempting dangerous deeds and exhilarating quests, while saving my money to buy beautiful robes and a horse to be my friend and carry me on my journey.
...what you wish for.
Italian Ice
Here is a perfect example of emotions gone awry: Due to the horrendous heat of late, our HR person just brought around Italian Ice for everyone in the building. She came over to my cube and I chose my preferred flavor. "What's the occassion?" I asked.
"Hottest day of the year!" She answered and I laughed. Ha ha ha. (What else is there to talk about in an office but the weather? Thank goodness for extremely hot days and blizzards.)
I brought my Ice back to my desk and looked at it. How sweet, I thought. I'm so excited to eat it. And then I burst into tears.
Like I said, emotions gone awry.