An Hour Behind in the Name of Fun

This is the wall clock in my living room:

It's one of my favorites. Probably because it’s one of my own designs. But regardless, there’s something special about this clock – other than the fact that it doesn’t have numbers and I’m still able to read it (which, some days, is quite a feat).

The cool thing about this clock is that it doesn’t run on daylight savings time. Well, actually, it probably would, but I never set it ahead in the spring. So basically, yes, it remains an hour behind for a good portion of the year. You might think I did this for some complex experiment. But I gotta admit…it was just pure laziness. I’m short. So taking things off my wall and hanging them back up again doesn’t happen very often. Granted, I have a step stool, but that makes the whole process even more complicated. And I can do the math when I look at the clock. So…I left it. Besides, this time of year, the time is right!

Apart from laziness though…I have another confession. My mom sits in my apartment almost every weekday before work, since we carpool from my place. And she sees the clock. And she’s mentioned it multiple times – the fact that it isn’t set right during the summer. So, of course, I do the daughterly thing and…leave it as is. Just because. I’m not saying I enjoy annoying my mother. I just find a moderate amount of amusement in it.

I sort of do that with other things, too, though. Like the runner on the floor of my office at work. I know it moves with use and gets bunched up on the sides because it’s moved too close to the filing cabinet. But I just want to see how long it takes for my office buddy to move it because she can’t stand its crookedness any longer. Sometimes I rearrange something on a shelf just because I know someone else likes it another way and will continually move it back without knowing I’m the one that’s been moving it…on purpose. I guess I’m just ornery that way.

I’m not saying I’m a prankster. Oh, I enjoy an innocent prank now and then, but I usually stick to the more subtle methods of getting under someone’s skin. (Although I do keep a fake spider around for special occasions.) I need some kind of outlet for my creativity, right?

In the end, I only pick on people I like, though, so if I should ever purposely annoy you, just remember it’s a good thing. Besides, I think God gave us our senses of humor for a reason. If not used, it will surely go to waste...and humor is a terrible thing to waste.


Feel free to leave a comment! Have you ever done something like this?

CHRISTmas Arrogance - Part 3

The Celebration vs. The Blame. 

We’d like to think that just because we (Bible-believers) celebrate the birth of Christ during this season, that we avoid the stress of the holiday, but it’s just not true. We like to ridicule “the world” for their shopping frenzies, obsession with gifts, and stressful (if not downright weird) family dynamics at the holiday dinner table.  But while we’re pointing fingers, we’ve got plenty of leftover fingers pointing right back at ourselves. Even though we like to proclaim our godliness throughout this often-times-greedy time of year, how many traps do we ourselves fall into?

“Look at those folks stumbling over one another for that one good deal. How absurd! Now…where is the shopping list from Uncle Herman? You know we have to get him exactly what he wants or else he’ll complain.”

“Look at all those retailers taking advantage of the holiday season! They’re offering all these obnoxious sales, just to gain more money from people who can’t even afford their rent. Oh, hey, here’s a good deal – I should buy six of those for all the cousins.”

“That retailer only cares about making a buck! They’re taking advantage of ‘Christmas’. It’s despicable! Let’s go shop over at this other store that’s owned by someone who’s having an affair with his secretary instead – at least the store encourages its employees to say ‘Merry Christmas.’”

“Those folks get so stressed out about their family dinners! Look at all that unnecessary food! They could be giving food to starving kids in Africa. Now…do I need to bring rolls or a pie to Grandma’s? Both? Okay.”

The Christmas season can be wrought with perils, whether at the grocery store or family dinners. And we all partake in the stress in one way or the other, whether we deny it or not. We’re not immune to the stress of Christmas lists, family dinners and shopping. We may not appreciate the busy retail stores, but we shop anyway. We may roll our eyes at someone else’s family dynamics, but ours are no different. We may even go as far to boycott particular retailers or traditions, when in the end, our own choices are really no better.

“We” face stress along with the rest of the world. It can’t be avoided – it’s a given. But we don’t have to focus on it. Instead of pointing fingers, we can know that we’re no better, and simply improve ourselves. Yes, we will get stressed out at some point. Yes, we will roll our eyes at certain gimmicks, and we may even shed tears over things that a year from now we find silly. But none of those things should override the celebration.

There is reason to celebrate this holiday season. I celebrate Christ, and I celebrate the holiday itself. But if all I do is blame the rest of their world for their shortcomings, how does that make me look? What kind of an example am I then? I can’t sit around and think of all the things I could complain about. Instead, I need to be thankful for the opportunities I have, spread the love, and enjoy the things that make me smile. That’s what will set me apart. That’s what will make me different. And that’s what will bring me the most peace – not pointing fingers.

To conclude my 3-part message:
Accept “Happy Holidays” as a cheerful greeting. Celebrate what’s worth celebrating. And focus on what’s really important.

Let’s shine hope and love, not arrogance, this season and always.



Did you miss the other segments? Read Part 1 and Part 2.

I love hearing from you! What does your holiday season look like? 

CHRISTmas Arrogance - Part 2

Celebrating Christ vs. Celebrating the Season. 

It’s interesting how Christians bend and twist a holiday to fit their own level of involvement in order to ease their guilt. Let’s make sure we always call it “CHRISTmas” instead of a “Holiday” so we can feel better about celebrating.

Really?

Here’s the thing. Whether we (Bible-believers) like it or not, “Christmas” in our day and age and culture IS a secular holiday. Did you know that Christians chose this time of year to celebrate, simply to combat other pagan holidays? We shout from the rooftops that it’s Jesus’ birthday, when in reality, His birth probably didn’t happen anywhere near December 25th. Besides all that, we are never even told in the Bible to remember/celebrate Jesus’ birth – only His death. We connect all our little silly traditions to Jesus, just to ease our guilt for partaking in something that really has nothing to do with God.

Christmas trees, lights, exchanging gifts and singing Christmas carols – all can be connected in some way to the Bible if we really want to stretch it, but in reality, they have nothing to do with Jesus being born. But we would never want to be compared to the rest of the world, right? We would never want to be associated with heathens. So when we put a blow-up snowman in the yard, it’s because we’re celebrating the birth of Jesus?

That said, is there anything really wrong with celebrating the holiday season just for the sake of celebration? Why do we have to connect it back to the Bible? As always, I’m not saying to compromise beliefs, or partake in activities that are unpleasing to God. But why should we feel guilty about setting up a string of lights for no reason other than we think it’s pretty? I get it that a long time ago there were some people who worshipped decorated trees like idols – but that doesn’t mean when I put up a Christmas tree and delight in something pretty that I am involving myself in idol worshipping. On the contrary, all I’m doing is reveling in memories and taking pleasure in being creative with colored lights, cute ornaments and sparkly garland. (Yes, some people skew the holiday season to satisfy their greed, but that doesn’t mean I have to throw out my proverbial baby just because they made the bath water dirty.)

In my personal life, this season carries with it two reasons to celebrate: The birth of Christ, and the holiday itself. I have separated them, because in all reality, my lights, tree, wreathes, and even gift-giving have no direct relation to Jesus being born. I love the whole peace-joy-love-giving message of the season – but again, though it’s a biblical concept, even the secular world takes part in encouraging such attitudes and behaviors. I love making treats to give away, watching my family open gifts I’ve wrapped, and enjoying the scrumptious cookies and dipped pretzels that automatically come along with the holiday. Once more – all those things have nothing to do with the birth of Jesus. That doesn’t automatically make them wrong. I just can’t justify those things by claiming they are directly connected to the celebration of God’s Son being born.

I celebrate Jesus (whether it be His birth, life, death or miraculous resurrection) by following His commands and trying every day to act like He wants me to act. I celebrate Him during this part of winter by taking advantage of the holiday as an opportunity to talk about Him while others may be more apt to have open minds/hearts.

I celebrate “Christmas” by enjoying decorations, gift-buying/giving, yummy treats, and the smiles on others’ faces. I celebrate the secular holiday for what it is – an excuse to get together with folks, gift gifts (when it would be weird any other time of the year),  and put up pretty decorations.

Enjoy the season for what it is, and enjoy the gift we have through Christ. Let’s not bend the holiday just to make a point or satisfy our need to be “better” than the world. Besides, Jesus came for the whole world, not just “us.”

(Did you miss Part 1? Read it here.)

Do you celebrate Christmas? If so, why? I love hearing from you!

CHRISTmas Arrogance - Part 1

As I write this, it is Thanksgiving day. It’s the day I start my Christmas decorating, my viewing of classic Christmas films, and really start enjoying Christmas music. I admit it – I can’t wait any longer. It took all the willpower I had not to put up my tree earlier this week. (Don’t judge – I haven’t forgotten the importance of Thanksgiving or thinking on all the things for which I’m thankful – I just get excited about the whole holiday season.) I love this day because it’s Thanksgiving, and because it’s the beginning of my Christmas celebration. Two holidays wrapped up in one.

But as I consider my own Christmas traditions and what it all means to me, I’m faced with several contradictions in our current culture and belief system. I started to write about one, then realized it really boiled down to three major issues:

     • Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays

     • Celebrating Christ vs. Celebrating the Season

     • The Celebration vs. The Blame

And I really can’t write about all three in one post. So today, I’m going to tackle the first point. Later, I’ll post the other two.

Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays. It’s the same argument every year. It’s the rants on Facebook, the emails you must forward, and the unwavering opinion of Christians everywhere that CHRIST is the reason for Christmas, therefore, no one should dare say “Happy Holidays” (and those who do are simply revealing their heathen hearts).

I get it. I’m a Christian. I understand and appreciate Christmas services at church, reading again the story from the Bible of how and where Jesus was born, and being reminded of the importance of the event. If Jesus hadn’t been born, He wouldn’t have lived then died for my sins – indeed, there is reason to celebrate.

But who am I to force my beliefs on the next person? Sure, I want to share the Good News, and give them the opportunity to have a relationship with Christ. Of course! But why in the world would I get offended by someone wishing me “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”? Good grief! I should just be glad that they want me to be happy this holiday season. Just because they don’t say “Christmas” (which isn’t even pronounced “Christ” anyway) is no reason to gripe, growl, complain – or even slap on a smile and pointedly return, “And a Merry Christmas to you!” That doesn’t do anything but show them how arrogant I am to think my kind of celebration this time of year is more valid than theirs.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying not to greet people with a “Merry Christmas.” I do it for several reasons – it’s the Christmas season, I celebrate Christmas, and I hope theirs is a merry one. But the second I wish someone a “Merry Christmas” just to make a point is the same second I join the world in arrogance – it’s the same second I join everyone else in thinking my way is better than theirs. If they’re going to offend me with their stupid “Happy Holidays” then I’m going to offend THEM by wishing them a “Merry Christmas.” Take that!

Even if I’m not being arrogant about it, but I’m still trying to make a point, it totally contradicts the whole purpose of my personal celebration. If I’m celebrating Christ, I should be acting like Him. And while He was very good at making points, I’m not so sure He’d use the name of a holiday to try and make one of those points. I’m not sure He’d boycott major retailers who require their staff to say, “Happy Holidays.” (Does refusing to buy something somewhere really prove to them we’re different, or does it just make us look like jerks?) I’m not so sure Jesus would make such a big deal over the name of Christmas, when the meaning behind it can be so much more important.

I’m not saying to compromise beliefs or join in activities that are wrong.  I AM saying that actions speak louder than words. If you celebrate Christ during the Christmas season, then let it show through your actions. Through your giving. Through your love. Be different. And when someone wishes you “Happy Holidays,” don’t be offended – that’s ridiculous. Return a “Merry Christmas” if you wish, but do it because that’s the holiday you celebrate, not as an attempt to outdo the other person or make a point.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave your thoughts in a comment.

Heaven-Sent Chocolate

Yesterday I received a sign. And it was a glorious one at that. Who wouldn't want proof that chocolate is indeed a helpful instrument during one's workday?

I'd decided to give myself a treat. It was one of those days. You know the kind. All I wanted was to stuff that glorious peanut butter cup in my mouth and savor every delectable moment. I was already fighting to keep from drooling.

As I tore into the foolproof orange package that resisted every gentle attempt at separating the edges glued with cement, my impatience overcame me. I felt a Hulk-ish rage inside of me as I growled and threw all of my arm muscles into the task.

Unfortunately, it was just a tiny bit too much force.

The Reeses cup flew out of that package like lemur who'd just sat on a thumbtack. Only later did I realize that perhaps the candy knew all along what it was doing, and that perhaps it was not by my might at all that it had slingshot itself from its airtight confines.

When the cup landed, it chose a very specific spot on my computer's keyboard (yes, I eat at my desk). The "help" button. And it landed at such an angle with such precise force that it pushed the button, opening up my current application's help screen.

It was during that very moment of hearing a choir of angels somewhere in the distance, I realized this hunk of chocolate, peanut butter and 8,954 calories truly was sent to help me in conquering my day.

I refuse to think my energy after devouring my treat was due to the amount of sugar I'd just consumed. Instead, I choose to believe my heaven-sent candy miraculously gave me a mental and physical boost to propel me through what continued to be quite a day.

In the end, I was victorious. All because I'd chosen a Reeses peanut butter cup as my snack.

I've never had an apple land on my keyboard's "help" button. Just saying.

Wordy Weapons

You've probably heard the old saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." While I understand the meaning, I also know that statement is not entirely true. Words may never cause physical harm, but they can wreak havoc on a person's psyche, which sometimes can even be worse than a physical beating.

Maybe that's why I'm a writer - I understand the importance of words. What comes out of our mouths, or what is typed out in emails, blogs or text messages, is so very, very important. Even the stupid or silly things we sometimes say. One wrong word can be that first proverbial domino in a long line of catastrophic events, one leading on to the next with increasing speed. We can't always predict how a person is going to react to what we say - granted. But that doesn't give us permission to say whatever we want, however we want, without thinking beforehand.

More often than not, we, as humans, speak (or type) "without thinking." The thing is, we DO think. Claiming we put forth words without thinking is claiming our tongues or fingers create communication involuntarily - that we are without blame because we just couldn't help it. Obviously, this is false. What IS true is that we often speak without thinking through everything we say. We think about it, even if it only takes a split second, but what we fail to do is weigh the consequences of our word choices. And believe it or not, it doesn't take much longer to think that far ahead.

Often times, we don't mean to harm the person we're talking to, and we may even be joking. But the knife is still sharp enough to cut. I could list seven hundred, fifty-two phrases and/or situations where words aren't meant to cause harm, yet they do. But I'm pretty sure you already know what I'm talking about, so I'll spare you the task of reading through all of them. My point is, we have to be careful. We should be careful - it's just the right thing to do.

Carelessness has created wounds that take years to heal. We all falter - even me. But I do try. I try to think through what I say/type. I try to think about how the other person is going to feel. Will they get my sense of humor or will they take it as an insult? Will they be encouraged at my attempted praise, or will they be left feeling stupid because my word choice was poor? A backhanded compliment may be a compliment, but sometimes the recipient gets knocked over by the backhand. Will my sarcasm be recognized, or will my intentions be misinterpreted? Will my words spoken in anger really get my point across, or will they just crush my opponent's heart? I may be right, but will pointing it out really improve anything or will it just make the other person feel stupid? Will flippantly calling someone a name be considered funny, or will it only serve to hurt feelings?

We all have mouths big enough to insert our feet every once in a while. And sometimes it IS the other person's fault for believing non-existent insinuations. But that doesn't give us an excuse for carelessness. We are all responsible for what we say and how we say it.

Words will never break bones. But they have the power to break hearts and crush spirits - intentionally or unintentionally. Are you upset enough that you truly want to wound a person that deeply? Are you flippant enough that you truly don't care if your silly comment actually destroys another person's confidence?

There are plenty of places for frivolity. I couldn't exist without humor, and I thrive on sarcasm. I just have to know when and where it's appropriate, and I have to always remember to whom I'm speaking/typing. Encouraging one another is a lot more fun than tearing each other down (whether on purpose or by accident.)

Our words reflect who we are.  Our words give the world a glimpse into our hearts. Who do you want the world to see when you speak?

Ball of Stress

Meet one of my friends:

This is my most favorite stress ball – and I’ve had many different kinds. I’ve got a close second, which has a really soft cover with firm insides. But this particular stress ball not only contains the most pleasing, beaded squishiness, it also has an awesome-feeling, knobby, rubber exterior.

Do you realize just how many different kinds of stress balls there are? They come in all different shapes, sizes and colors. They’re made with coverings of smooth fabric or rubber. Some are foam. Some are gel. Some, like this one, contain a combination of beads and gel. Different densities are also available. Some balls are on the firmer side, while others are really soft. Some of them bounce, while others can be stretched to the max before crawling back to the original shape. But all of them have one thing in common: their purpose.

I used to like stress balls just because they were sort of fun. I have yet to meet a person who doesn’t like some aspect of gripping a stress ball at least a little bit. Nowadays, though, I appreciate these balls in a much different way.

I’ve found my stress balls to actually be quite therapeutic. Obviously, their main purpose is to help release tension, but I have to admit I’m skeptical of just about any tool that claims to do anything. Stress balls though – especially this one – have actually come in quite handy (no pun intended).

When I sit on my couch at night, I squish this little stress reliever. I’ve got one at work for those particularly hard days. When my mind is going too fast or in too many directions, letting my hands fidget with something helps. This spiny delight also makes a pleasant, gravely sound as it’s squished, adding audio to the experience. All in all…I like my stress ball.

I have many methods of relieving stress: walking, working out, listening to music, sleeping, writing, venting to listening ears (including God’s)…the list goes on. Finding a way to relieve stress is vital. Stress kills – literally. Living in stress will break down a body just like a disease. Stress can be linked to high blood pressure, overall fatigue, an increase in stomach acid, and a weakened immune system – just to name a few effects. And believe it or not, stress can be controlled. Getting stressed out is actually a choice – one that most people make, including myself. But it IS possible to control such a thing. For me, attitude is only part of it. The other part is finding some physical activity to help. And sometimes, it’s as simple as, well, squeezing a ball of rubber.

Unfortunately, I think this particular stress ball is growing weak. I’ve used it a lot, and there are several spots that are wearing thin. One of these days, it’ll probably burst while I’m squeezing it, sending beads everywhere, and gelled ooze down my arm. Which is why I'll have to get another one. Because…who wants to live without a stress ball?


I love hearing from you! How do YOU relieve stress? Leave a comment!

My Perspective on Perspective

One of my more overused phrases is something like, “It’s all in perspective.” I say it pretty often, in a variety of conversations about a variety of topics. Because…well, it applies to a lot of things. Actually, most everything.

Perspective really plays a large part in truth itself. I’m not talking about the ultimate truths like right and wrong, God and man. I’m talking about the everyday stuff. The stuff that can seem like the end of the world to one person, yet hardly worth a second thought to another.

Take physical ailments, for example. While one person might complain about aches and pains in their joints, another person may be without limbs altogether and would trade their situation for any pain just to be mobile again. Or take something more simple. It’s not a horrible mess of overcooked glop in your kitchen pan. It’s a science experiment – that proves how not to cook that dish again. Even little disasters don’t have to be the end of the world. That stain on the rug by the front door? Now there’s call for a new rug! Loss of computer files? A lesson learned to back up what’s important.

I’m not saying that things in life aren’t devastating. Accidents. Loss of friends. Death. There are situations that can tear us up inside. But…even in the midst of those situations, good can be found if we really want to find it.

Here’s a few of my own perspective swaps:
My furnace broke. But I got to have a lovely visit (truly) with my landlord that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. My car died about a year ago. I couldn’t afford a new one, but God worked it out, and it was even the kind I actually wanted. I hurt my back. And…I learned the importance of slowing down. I spilled coffee creamer all over my kitchen floor. Now the floor is very clean. My new shirt shrunk in the wash. But I’ve got short arms anyway, so it still fits.

In all reality, perspective is very simply the decision whether to be optimistic and look for the good in a situation, or pessimistic and only see the bad. I’ve got a friend who is obnoxiously optimistic. But then, she combats my pessimism and often helps me see what I really should. (See? It’s already rubbing off on me.) Good can be found in any situation somehow, we just need to be willing.

So take it from my critter child, Nitro.

When that stressful situation comes up, turn yourself around so you can see it at a different angle. You might be surprised at your new perspective when hanging upside down.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

A Leaning Tower of Paper

It wouldn't have been so bad, had there not been a bump. But had there been no bump, there would have been no reason for laughter, either.

It was a dark and stormy night... well, actually, it was mid-morning, the sun was shining brightly, and the inside of my workplace was lit very well also. We do a lot of printing where I work. And when lots of printing is happening, lots of paper is happening, too. When when lots of paper is happening, lots of cutting very large stacks of paper is happening as well.

Thankfully, I'm not the one who does most of said cutting. My office buddy takes care of much of that - at least in this morning's case. When a print job requires more paper - you cut more paper. That's just the way it is. And when a table-height cart is available to haul the paper, that is the obvious mode of transportation.

Imagine, if you will, the cart, which, though a comfortable height, has a surface of only 16"x20" or thereabouts. Not large enough to contain two stacks of 12"x18" paper. So what should one do? Make a single, incredibly tall stack of paper, of course. I believe my office buddy, after creating the stack, used the adjective "Dr. Seuss-like" to describe the leaning, weaving, precarious-to-say-the-least, enormous pile of thick, glossy paper.

I watched. Yes, I chose to watch, not drive the cart. My eyes never left the cart. Or my office buddy's one hand that sat atop the paper tower above her eye-level, while her other hand drove. As any assistant would do, I walked alongside her, ready to lend aid, but surely in a case like this, no help would be necessary.

But see...there's this little slope in the floor where two concrete slabs meet. Call it a bump if you will. It's not enough to stop a wheeled object short, but it's enough to at least give a vehicle a jolt.

Yeah, you know where I'm going with this, don't you?

The cart, in all its splendor, hit the bump full-force. Now, the paper was so heavy because the tower was so tall, which created too much momentum for the cart to stop. So instead of all the paper sliding off the front of the cart, it slid backwards - towards my office buddy.

My ninja-like reflexes kicked in and I lunged for that crumbling mountain of coated, 12"x18" stock. My arm wedged itself between the razor-sharp edges of the paper and my office buddy, whom I was trying to save. In the meantime, both her hands became busy, also trying to stop the mountain's momentum and keep a disaster from happening. The result? The both of us hanging onto the paper, chasing the cart as it continued to move forward on its own - towards a nearby shelf.

A vision flashed before my eyes of us hitting the shelf head-on, then watching in horror as the shelf toppled over into our beloved digital press, crushing it under its weight. Thankfully, my vision did not come true, however, we did run into the shelf. The corner of it, to be precise. Did you know the corner of a metal shelf will cut into a stack of paper and leave a triangle-shaped notch? Neither did I. But, I do now.

So here we are, both still clutching the now almost-horizontal tower, defying all odds along with the law of gravity. We would not allow one paper to touch the floor. No sir! Why? Because we're just that way.

Granted, it was a close call. Because even though we had paper digging into our arms, and muscles that were straining to hold it all together, we were laughing uncontrollably. (Did I mention there were no witnesses? How sad.)

Somehow, I managed to pull my trapped arm out of the mangled mess and begin relieving my office buddy by lifting off the paper, small stacks at a time, and placing them on a nearby table. And yes - we actually did succeed in not allowing one single sheet of paper to touch the floor. And the shelf was fine. And the cart was fine. And we were fine (although we did have a few paper cuts, and our sides were sore from laughing).

So I guess, when you see a bump, you can slow down and ease over. Or you can ram it head-on and bask in the laughter-infused aftermath.

The Scented Aisle

You know the scented aisle? The one with all the scented candles and wax aroma-filled cubes? Yeah, sometimes I venture down there. I just have to be prepared to not smell anything else for at least three hours afterward…since I have to smell each and every scent. Well…maybe not ALL of them, but pretty close.

Personally, I like the citrus scents, no matter the time of year. There’s just something about orange, lemon or lime that pleases my senses. Even now, I took a deep breath, just imagining my favorite fruity scent. Get past those and into grapefruit though, and I move on.

One thing that’s always perplexed me though, is when someone, somewhere, has the nerve to think they can capture the scent of some season or type of outdoor air, or even scenery. Like a beach. Beaches smell like sunburned sand and fish. And sunscreen. Maybe some seaweed. Not like a mix of exotic flowers, unidentifiable perfume and the cleaner you keep under the bathroom sink.

I mentioned a season. Let’s take autumn. Autumn Leaves. Autumn Air. Essence of Autumn. Do you know what autumn really smells like? Go outside and take a whiff. Damp earth (aka: wet dirt). Piles of leaves (aka: decomposing tree parts). Nature at its best (aka: almost-sun-dried earthworms, that emit a scent akin to dying fish). Throw in a little car exhaust and the neighbor’s last barbeque of the year, and there you have it. Autumn.

So where do all these warm spices come in? Oh, sure, you’ve got your Pumpkin Pie Surprise, your Grandma’s Apple Fritters, and Thanksgiving Delights. I understand the connection – some foods are generally made around falltime. So when someone smells them, they automatically think: fall. I get the marketing strategy here. And I don’t mind so much when they name it what it is. Pumpkin. Spice. Cinnamon. But Autumn? Maybe it ought to be Autumn Memories. Or Flavors of Autumn Foods. Or Foods Only Made at Thanksgiving by Great Grandma. That would be a winner, I’m sure.

Of course, I still have to smell them all, hoping that one of these days, I’ll sniff something that actually does smell like garden mulch with a hint of car exhaust. Not that I’d buy it. I can go outside and smell that. But at least they would have gotten it right.

Until then, though, I think I’ll stick with the no-nonsense scents. Like Lemon. Or Mixed Berries. (Did I mention all those linen scents never smell anything like my own fresh laundry?) But as I leave the scented aisle, I’m sure the one thing that will never change is the lavender and some foreign spice semi-permanently adhering to my nostril hairs.

If you’re in Walmart and you hear a sneeze…it’s probably me. But it’s not contagious. Unless you brave the scented aisle as well.

The Complexities of a Cyborg Invasion

At first glance, I might think this has something to do with some alien machine ready to invade the planet. But then once I realize I recognize those green knobs, I feel safe again.

The inside of this digital press is only viewed by me for one reason: a paper jam. Obviously, since I took this picture, I recently experienced one of those jams. But then, I suppose, without that frustration, I’d never get a view like this and imagine we’re being taken over by cyclops cyborgs…with green levers.

From the outside, the press seems pretty simple. You push a few buttons, put some paper in a tray, and viola – it prints beautiful pictures. Or creates booklets. Or postcards. Or anything else. But other than a couple screens and trays, it really looks simple. It’s a big gray box that produces color prints.

Once you open up one of the doors though, a whole new world is exposed. There are those green knobs and levers. Gears. Wires. Rollers. Hidden compartments where paper particles like to dwell as they set off sensors that insist there’s still a jam in there somewhere. There are sharp edges that get caught on inquisitive fingers. Hot surfaces. Warning labels. Springs. Screws. And things that have no name with mysterious functions.

The simple machine suddenly becomes a complex giant, which can be intimidating to say the least. The technology taken for granted is suddenly respected for all its intricacies – even more so when the service man has to be called because you can’t find the problem in the maze of mechanisms.

So often, more than just printers or copy machines are taken for granted. I’m talking people. We think we can look at a person, size them up after one conversation and assume their life story, or even just their personality. But the fact is, they’re no more simple than all those wires, knobs and invisible hot surfaces that are only found by sticking your hand into the dark abyss. People, of all things, should never be taken for granted. They’re made up of preferences, quirks and past experiences. Multi-faceted personality traits, moral standards and hidden secrets. Broken hearts, sharp minds and fears no one else knows. Under the simple exterior lies a multitude of mysteries.

Nobody should be taken for granted. Ever single person is complex, no matter how simple you secretly think they are. You’ll never accurately size up a person at a glance, come to the right conclusion after only a handshake or be able to predict their behaviors after only one encounter. They’re too complicated for that. And it’s a complexity that should be respected. Explored. Investigated before assumptions are made.

Besides…you may find out they’re actually a cyborg.


Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts. I love hearing from you!

The Truth About Me and Church

I might as well admit it. I don’t really like church. Oh, I go every Sunday, don’t get me wrong. But I gotta tell you…it’s really not my thing.

I’ve been shy for as far back as I can remember. Even in groups of kids my own age, I was uncomfortable. I knew well how to socialize with just about anybody – I just didn’t like to. As I got older, I learned I liked being alone more than I liked being with people - even friends. Sure, I still had fun hanging out with my few closest friends - it wasn’t like I hated it. But in all honesty, I liked my alone time. If I had to be with people, I preferred just a few…if not only one or two. Present a group activity, and I’d probably hide in the corner while battling an upset stomach and sweaty palms.

Once a teenager, I felt a little better about socializing…in small groups. It wasn’t so bad. But I only had a couple people I’d actually call friends. Those I’d actually talk to outside of social activities. Going on a trip to Colorado with a dozen or so others to a huge youth event was the farthest out of my box I’d ever been. I had a great time and I’ll always be glad I went. But being around all those people was the ultimate discomfort.

The truth is, I still lean more towards being an introvert than an extrovert. I’ve gotten really good at mingling in a crowd, getting out of my shell and making my surface look like it’s my favorite thing in the world. My insides, though? They’re still that kid who would rather go push myself far enough into a corner that my presence would go undiscovered.

And thus…church. Where there are people. Lots of them. And my insides still want to run and hide. Every Sunday morning, I have to push myself out the door by thinking about what makes me want to go. Things like my friends. I’m pretty picky, so those I’ve got, I love dearly. I love seeing them. I love getting hugs from them. I love sitting with them during the service. I love knowing we’re more like family than friends.

I also go to church because it keeps me on track. I have a hard time studying by myself at home, even though I’ve got at least two Bible verses delivered to me every day, whether via email or my smart phone app. Sunday sermons give me a chance to listen, learn and grow just a little bit more, spiritually. God is my priority, so even if I didn’t have those few faces I wanted to see every week, I’d still somehow manage to get over the sick feeling in my stomach and walk into the church building. He’s just that important that I know I need to get my boost to last me through the week.

I also like singing. And though I often sing along to the radio in my car, there’s something I like about singing praise songs in church. I just enjoy that part of worship, and I’m sure it helps that I simply love music in general.

There are a lot of things I dearly love about going to church. But it doesn’t change the fact that I really don’t like it – all those people. All those strangers. All those eyes. A lack of places to hide. But I go anyway because I love the benefits. As much discomfort as I feel, the relationships (with God and friends both) are more important. So I swallow my weekly fear, walk though the doors, and allow myself to smile as I focus on the benefits. If I didn’t, I’d sit at home alone. Which I’d also like…but eventually…I think the quiet would be too much, even for me. And I’d rather not find that out the hard way.

God's-eye View

This is just a fun little piece taken from Smatterings of an Analytical Loner for this October Friday.

I remember when I originally wrote this, it was very fun because of both the perspective of the tiny main character, and my enjoyment of autumn.


God's-eye View

Weeee! The thrill! The excitement! Oh my, the drop! The wind rushing by my face, the cool, scented air tickling my nose... There’s nothing like it in the world!

Crawling out to that thin ledge, I looked down, down, down. It seemed to go on for miles. I almost didn’t have the guts to go through with it. Oh, but the thought of soaring high on the breeze was enough to make my antennas twitch.

I latched onto that dry leaf as if a hurricane was coming. I thought we’d never take off. But one good gust of wind, and whoosh! Away we went, I and that ruby red maple leaf.

I know, leaves aren’t something to toy with. They can pile up and bury an ant like me if he’s not careful. But riding one like this? I’ve never felt so alive.

Up, up, up, higher and higher towards the sky we went. I gazed down on rolling fields, rich and golden, bare of harvested crops. There were orchards filled with rows upon rows of luscious green apples. The fragrances were like no other. It was as if the season was suddenly condensed and wrapped up in a tiny package just for me. My mouth watered at the thought of spicy cider.

I flew over a pumpkin patch and dreamt of sliding down those prickly vines. Indian corn hung from someone’s porch - a perfect place for hide and seek. Mmm, I think I smelled a pumpkin pie.

My eyes became slits as the leaf picked up speed, rushing over a crystal brook. I gazed down upon trees of gold, bronze and orange. Some looked as though they had been set ablaze as their red leaves boldly proclaimed their beauty against the sun.

The magic carpet I clung to so tightly took me above the forests, over meadows and through streets that rang of children’s laughter as they ran through piles of their own leaves. I ducked, barely missing the branch of an old oak.

Spinning around and around, the world became a kaleidoscope of browns, yellows and tufts of stubborn greens. And finally...finally, the ride began to slow. My nerves were racing. I could hardly catch my breath. Grasping the edge of my leaf, I guided the aircraft to the edge of a wide open meadow where locusts and crickets sang their final songs.

The world seemed so still as I finally stopped. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes could see only the tall grass towering in front of me. But spying a tree just a few hundred yards away, I could swear I saw another leaf just starting to fall. Maybe I could make it in time. God’s view of autumn was worth a second go.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Enjoying the Sweat

I recently heard a phrase that went something like this: “Nobody enjoys exercising anyway.” I don’t remember the exact conversation, but it was emphasized that there really was no enjoyment in exercising. In the results, perhaps, but certainly not the activity.

I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that maybe I found another area in which I’m an oddball. I have to admit…I like exercising. I like sweating. I like feeling my muscles burn as they strain to keep up with my determination. Of course, I enjoy the results of exercise the most, but I do actually enjoy the activities that make me sweat and get my blood pumping.

There’s a strange sort of satisfaction in trying my hardest at a physical activity. Granted, half the time I bite off more than I can chew when it comes to straining my joints or my back, but I still do what I can.

The other day, I was lying face-down on the mat during my kickboxing class. I’d just completed one of several exercises (which means six rounds of as many reps as I could do) and there was a part of me that wasn’t so sure I’d be able to complete the rest of class, let alone walk away when it was over. Or even survive at all. But as I pushed myself up and saw a puddle of sweat where my forehead had been, there was a bigger part of me that found satisfaction.

I finished class with higher numbers than expected (and I did manage to not only walk of the mat, but drive to work without collapsing behind the wheel). I was exhausted, but…it felt good. It wasn’t just the aftereffects though. It was the fact that I’d survived. I’d pushed my limits, sweat til my shirt was soaked, and at one point thought my muscles would probably burst at the seams. But the fact that I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do – that’s what made it enjoyable.

Exercising is tough. No doubt. And hard stuff usually isn’t fun. I won’t lie – there are mornings I don’t want to even roll out of bed, let alone go to a kickboxing class. But nine times out of ten, I’m glad I went because I really do enjoy it.

So for those of you who hate the act of exercising and only do it for the results – I’m sorry. I wish you could enjoy it like I do. Call me weird. I like to sweat. (And shower. Don’t worry – I don’t forget that little task either.)

Sometimes the hard stuff can be enjoyed more than we think. Like life. I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, but if I do, I’ll be sure to share that here, too.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Foggy with a chance of inspiration

I've struggled to blog lately. Even with all of my kitty adventures, ninja episodes and spider attacks, formulating words in a manner others would enjoy has been rather difficult. I blame it on a lack of inspiration. A lack of time. The weather is to blame for an awful lot of things that happen in my life, too, by the way.)

The thing is, some days, I'm just too overwhelmed to pour out any more of...me. I'm empty. I've spent the day performing my job, driving, talking, thinking, planning, imagining, holding my tongue, and worrying - much more than I should. When I get home, I flop down on the couch, pet my purring kitty, and fall asleep to the sound of The Andy Griffith Show on the television.

Not every day is like that, granted. I have days stuffed full of energy and inspiration that carry me from 5:45am to 11:00pm. Generally speaking though, it's usually 6:10 til about 9:00pm and I'm ready to crash. So fitting in a new blog post that will make people laugh or think in any way, shape or form can simply take too much energy.

This past week has kind of been like a very long, stretched-out, "one of those" days. I used to have a poster on my wall of a tired-looking bulldog. The text read, "It's been one of those days all week." That's been me since, oh, Monday afternoon. No tragedies. No mass trauma. Not even any real emergencies. Just a lot of little, itty-bitty things piled one on top of the other.

Included in those little things was an inner voice - one that kept telling me there was no point. No point in trying to do my best any more. No point in doing what I liked. No point in trying to go beyond what was required of me. I was tired. Simply tired of being and thinking at all. Yesterday was the worst. Nothing seemed to go right, and to top it off, my spirits were too low to handle it. It's a good thing I didn't have any comfort food around my apartment last night, or it would ALL be gone.

This morning, things felt just a bit brighter. Not so many things broke, I wasn't (quite) as tired, and I had the energy to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It helped, knowing that tonight I was getting treated to a fish fry, courtesy of my brother and his wife, but for whatever reason, my spirits simply didn't feel as heavy.

Later, I read a friend's blog post and realized that my "issue" was more widespread than just me. I realized that I needed to open my eyes just a bit more and start thinking clearly again. I wasn't the only one battling life. While caught in my miserable fog, I forgot the key factor to finding clarity - I've got Someone fighting for me. I've got God in my corner. Part of my week - my fog - was due to a spiritual battle. I'm not saying that satan deliberately caused paper jams or corrupted my computer files - but I'm sure he had a hand in how I felt -  what my emotions were doing. He was the one whispering to me that there wasn't any point in driving forward any more. And I had forgotten this. I'd become so focused on ME, that I hadn't stopped to think about the One who was there for me.

Duh.

No matter what was going through my head when everything seemed to be going wrong, I should have remembered to just quit thinking so much and remind myself that I matter to God. He cares about me. Loves me, even. I'm worth far more to Him than I realize, even when I mess up. He's got a purpose for me here, even when I'm too tired to see it. He cares about me enough to have lifted the fog this morning, even though I was slow on the uptake.

This knowledge doesn't always make the battle easier. I still get super tired. But it does make the battle more hopeful. God will win out in the end. Lots of ick can happen in between, but He's got this. I may die for my faith one day - who knows? I may suffer a gruesome fate. But for me, that's not the end.

I need to work on thinking of these things more. When the fog starts to settle, even if my emotions are off the charts, I need to remember God's in my corner, and I need to talk to Him instead of just myself and that inner voice that likes to lie to me.

The blog post that started this whole train of thought is here:
http://auggment.me/i-hate-your-blog/
As far as I'm concerned, his post today had great purpose just for me - but I'm sure it will reach many more.

I hope you have God in your corner like I do. If not, hit me up. Let's talk.

Have a blessed weekend.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts.

What's in a smile?

Ever wonder what the deal is with smiles? I mean…think about it. They really aren’t that pleasant to look at. What’s with the whole turning up the mouth thing? The muscles in the face contract to draw up one’s lips. In a really enthusiastic move, one can even control their lips in order to expose their white protrusions of enamel. And we like this because…? Not only do we enjoy seeing someone’s gaping mouth, but it can actually be contagious. Does anyone else see the oddity in this?

No matter how gruesome the actual gesture of a smile may actually be, there’s something about it that we all like.

Something magical happens when we smile. And when I say “magical,” I mean something that seems to have been supernaturally created – which I believe to be the truth. It makes me wonder about the very first smile. Whose was it? Did Adam smile when he saw Eve? Or was it Eve who first smiled? When their first child smiled, was it just as contagious as babies’ smiles are today? Was smiling something that was automatically understood as good and positive, or was it an expression that was created then passed down through the generations?

When you think about it, most facial expressions are odd. We’ve learned how to read quirked eyebrows, furrowed brows, scrunched up noses and narrow eyes. We’ve learned and mimicked them so well that they come automatically to our own faces, controlled by emotions. Yet even as we have learned these subtle signs so well, eyebrows can be misinterpreted. Eyes can be deceiving. Even a frown doesn’t always mean one is sad – they might simply be concentrating. But I dare say that a smile is the least likely expression to be misinterpreted.

When we see someone else’s smile, it evokes the purest form of delight. We take pleasure in seeing others’ pleasure. A smile can bring comfort. It can ease pain. It can make us laugh. It has the power to soften hearts, greet another without words and offer the most genuine encouragement. The greatest ability though, is when one smile leads to another. No other expression is so contagious.

It makes me wonder why, if we hold such power, we do not use it more often. If a smile can truly do all those things – which it can – why are we not spreading this contagion more often? A genuine smile never hurt anyone – the wearer or the recipient. So what’s to lose?

Smile at your neighbor. The waiter at the restaurant. The school bus driver. The old lady you see in the store all the time. The child you pass on the street. You friends. Your family. Your coworkers.

Sometimes it’s not easy to smile. But the most incredible thing of all is that when we give the gift of a smile, we actually receive a portion of the blessing ourselves.

Spread a little love. It’s a win-win for all involved.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Complainer Me

Some days, the complaints come all to easy. Actually, there are days when complaints exist solely to make one feel more miserable than they already are. I've had days like that - when for some reason, feeling miserable seems like a better option than working even harder to be positive. Why this strange phenomenon happens, I'll never know, since it really doesn't make much sense...but we all do it at some point or another.

This morning, I hit the snooze on my alarm three times before I finally dragged myself out of bed. My back hurt, my cats were being needy, I barely had enough time to shower, and I couldn't find the clothes I wanted to wear. I was downright grouchy, and I wanted nothing to do with the world. Maybe it had something to do with which side of the bed I got up on. (Although the way my bedroom is arranged, there really is only one option.)

My self-inflicted miserable mood continued on the 45-minute drive to work. I really tried not to be grumpy, though. I mean...sort of. I turned up the radio... enjoyed the sunrise in my rear view mirror... Okay, so maybe I didn't try all that hard. But that was just it. I didn't try. It was me. It wasn't my circumstances that dictated my mood - it was my decision whether or not to be miserable.

Granted, when I got to work, my body still ached, I still felt like I needed at least three hours more sleep, and the pile of work awaiting me appeared to be as large as Mount Everest...or as deep as the Grand Canyon. Take your pick. But at some point, I paused. And I really, genuinely tried to think of a legitimate reason to be grouchy. Funny thing was...I couldn't come up with anything.

Oh, there were plenty things I could complain about, but...why? Complaining and dwelling on the negative things would only feed my misery, not take it away. And while sometimes it is difficult to slap on a smile and pretend everything is great...not everything has to be great for me to be thankful for what I've got. Not everything has to be perfect for me to recognize I'm surrounded by blessings in spite of any negative circumstances.

It's not my choice to have a sore back, to be tired, to be overwhelmed by work, or to deal with any other irritations that pop up during the day. It all happens, and will happen. I won't wake up any morning without some kind of annoyance, something that's gone wrong, or even something more major that hurts my heart. But in it all...I've got a God-given joy that resists death like that ninja spider under the kitchen counter who refuses to die.

I won't always be so determined to attempt having a good day. I'm human, after all. But I do recognize the fact that it's my choice. Circumstances may not be my choice. But my attitude is. Doesn't make it easier to smile - it just makes it possible.

Have a great weekend with many reasons to smile.



I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Simple Favorites

The simplest things are sometimes the best. At least in our memories. As a child, there were many things, of course, that seemed much more fantastic than I’d believe to be today. The size and steepness of the parking lot hill where bicycling and rollerblading took place. The great distance it was around the block. The enormous weight of fish on the end of my fishing line. And my mother’s cooking.

I’m not saying her cooking is any less than what I thought as a child – she’s still a wonderful cook. Nobody else’s food is like hers…especially her chicken and noodle casserole and apple pies. Oh, and her beef stew. And her zucchini bread. And her lasagna. And her cheesy potatoes. Actually…there’s a really long list of favorite meals. What’s interesting, though, is what I remember most as a kid.

I can recall many lunches of a particularly scrumptious pasta dish. It was so tender and buttery and oh, so good. Certainly another one of my favorites – still – even after I found out what my mom’s recipe was. She used any kind of pasta, though often small shells (I always loved that texture). She would cook it like any other, by using boiling water. Once cooked to the perfect tenderness, she would add butter and parsley. And that…was it. In my younger years, I had a dislike for most spices, which is probably why I loved this meal so much. But I have to admit, I was a little surprised to later find out its simplicity.

Another favorite meal was French toast. While the egg-dipped bread itself was always good, it was the syrup I was after. See, my mom made her own syrup. The unique thing was that it was clear – not brown like the typical maple syrup on the store shelves. It was also rather runny, but I didn’t care. It was sweet and it soaked into all the cracks and crevices of the French toast. I do remember my mom seeming to find my compliments amusing, but I didn’t know why until one day it finally registered. Her syrup only had two ingredients: water and sugar.

I have many more memories of delectable meals, but these two recipes are ones that I can still taste. My favorite flavors were the simplest – and often times still are.

I love summer rains. A cat’s purr. Warm sunshine. A crayon-colored picture from a child. A hug. A smile. All such simple things that mean so much.

Often in life, the simple things are overlooked or set aside. But sometimes the most important thing to do is stop and just take a moment to pay attention to the tiny blessings surrounding us every day. They’re there. Always. We just have to take time to see them.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment!

Virtual Stop Signs

When I learned how to drive, it didn't take me long to figure out when approaching an intersection, when I was to apply the brakes. Too soon and I'd stop way ahead of the stop sign. Too late, and I'd send the copilot into the dashboard while screeching to a halt just inches off my target. After a while though, the correct timing became second nature. It was easy knowing exactly when to slow down and/or stop, or when to keep on the gas pedal.

Boy do I wish it was that easy in the rest of my life.

I've had various physical difficulties since I was in high school - mainly with my joints, especially my hips. Not sure why - it's jut the way I'm built. I've got over-extended joints and I'm prone to inflammation. I had the start of arthritis and slight degeneration in my vertebrae before I was twenty. I've incurred injuries through horseback riding accidents, martial arts and over-lifting. Needless to say, some pain has always been involved. It's nothing intolerable, and I try not to complain because I know of others who suffer far worse conditions than I do, but it is a constant annoyance.

Worse than the pain though, is figuring out when too much is too much. I'm a Second Degree Black Belt in Taekwondo. I'm an Orange Belt in Krav Maga. I'm a Blue Belt in Warrior X-Fit Kickboxing. I like taking walks. My full-time job often requires heavy lifting and being on my feet for many hours. I like the tough part of gardening - digging and pulling weeds. The list goes on. All those things are physical things I don't want to give up. I don't want to give up my martial arts, I can't quit my job, and any outdoor activity is too enjoyable for me to just ignore it. But where's the line?

I have yet to figure it out. As I type this, today's Kickboxing class is just starting. And I'm not there. I had another minor bout with my lower back and my hip. I could have gone to class. I could have done some of the activities. I could have done all of them, probably. But without being able to see what kind of shape I'd be in afterward...I decided I better sit this one out. Which I hate! I'm too stubborn and competitive to just think nothing of it. It irritates me to no end. I am so bull-headed, that to think my body can't be as tough as my mind is the ultimate frustration. I inwardly argue with myself - one side says I'm a wimp, while the other side says I'm just being smart.

Somewhere between doing nothing and doing too much is a stop sign. Unfortunately, the exact distance eludes me. Sometimes the stop sign moves, depending on the day and my condition. Sometimes I simply can't see it at all. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend there's no sign. Or I panic and stop a whole lot sooner than necessary.

I'd like to think that I'm closer to figuring out where the line is than I was a year or five years ago. But it's still a tough call. Every time.

I drive 45 minutes to work and 45 minutes back five days a week. I've learned well where to slow down, stop, or speed up. I hope eventually I'll get to the same point with my body - that I'll be able to decide, with confidence, whether to slow down or power through each activity/situation. Until I figure it out though, I may need to focus on the positive aspects of either decision, no matter the outcome.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts or personal experiences.

Caught Unawares

I didn’t want to die. I mean Heaven is a lovely thought - I just didn’t feel I really wanted to leave Earth at that particular moment…in that particular position. You know how sometimes it only takes a split second to envision what the future might look like? Yeah, that’s kind of how this was.

Storms were moving through the area – the kind that come bearing tornado watches, the threat of hail and ear-splitting thunder. Don’t get me wrong – I love thunderstorms. I’ve developed a keen appreciation for pouring rain and long rolls of thunder. This particular evening though, things were just a bit too eerie. The clouds looked downright evil, and my cell phone kept warning me of flash flooding. Thankfully, I was inside my apartment, dry and cozy as could be.

Until I needed to use the restroom.

I usually keep the window cracked open in my bathroom as a source of fresh air since my entire apartment gets stuffy. So as I sat and…pondered…many things, I enjoyed the sound of rain outside. Soon though, I realized the wind was starting to pick up. A lot. A whole lot. I could hear the trees crashing around outside, and I started to feel my apartment shake just a bit.

Where’s my cell phone? I need to check radar. Shoot, I must have left it in the living room. I don’t hear any tornado sirens, but that wind is starting to rumble something awful. Surely this is just some short-lived high wind – nothing to worry about…right?

And as my pulse quickened with just a tad bit of anxiousness (I’d hate to say “fear”), I realized the worst part of my situation. At this point, I really wasn’t even concerned that I didn’t have a basement to go to. I had a closet that also served as a miniature storm shelter, so there was no real problem there. What I realized was the state in which I…sat. And then I saw it. The future.

The vision which entered my mind was one of rubble. My apartment had been demolished by an EF-5 tornado. Debris was everywhere. My cats had been transported to OZ. And me…they found me buried under the rubble…on the commode.

Really now! Who would want to die like that?! I’m sure there have been similar instances throughout history of people being caught unprepared, but not me! I couldn’t die like that. Ninja’s died honorable deaths in grand battles, not deaths brought on while sitting on the potty!

I’m glad to say there was a happy ending. I managed to complete my…task…and exit the chamber of untimely death before anything too drastic happened. Of course, after any panic had subsided, so did the wind. It had knocked a few small branches off the tree outside, but that was about it. No demolished apartment. No rubble. And no headlines in the newspaper about how a poor girl had been caught unawares. (I’ll refrain from any puns at this point.)

The moral of the story?

Yeah, I’m not really sure there is one. Other than check the weather before you answer the call of nature. ‘Cause nature apparently has a sense of humor.



I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment!

The Whole Story

Maybe I'm just overly sensitive when it comes to this topic. Or maybe it's something that really should be explored. Either way, this particular issue has popped up countless times over the past week alone.

We never really know. Ever. Even when we know someone better than we know ourselves, there are still elusive facts that can affect a person's moods and/or reactions. Yet we like to think we know exactly why so-and-so does such-and-such. And we like to talk about it.

I think of things like a little girl who's too shy to try an activity at school. She gets teased or maybe even bullied for it. But no one knows her hesitance is born of abuse at home. I think of things like a man who can't seem to get motivated enough to move on in his life. People look down on him for making little progress. But no one realizes he was put down all his childhood years, and he simply can't muster the courage to try just to fail again. I think of a family who wears less than trendy clothes - sometimes they're not even the cleanest clothes. Other people can't understand why those parents would let their kids out in public like that. But what no one knows is that the father has been out of work for the last six months, and the mom has been cleaning houses just so they have enough money to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day.

As a society - as humans - we are so very quick to not simply judge one another, but to also attain such an arrogance that we think we know exactly why someone else acts the way they do. And when we think we've figured it out, we're just as quick to act on it, whether we talk about that person behind their back, avoid them altogether or believe they need our advice.

We get upset at the snippy checkout girl without realizing her father just found out he has cancer. We roll our eyes at the rude waiter at the restaurant and withhold a tip without knowing his wife just texted and said she was leaving him. We're quick to become angry at the not-so-helpful rep on the phone without knowing her entire morning has been a disaster from getting the kids to school late, to burnt toast and a sick dog.

I'm not saying there is a legit reason for every offhanded comment, temper flare or downright rude behavior. Sometimes there is no excuse. Actually, there's never really an excuse. But sometimes there are reasons we cannot see. And when we judge too quickly and act on our own irritation, we become just as guilty.

Most of the time, we'll never know what has motivated those negative actions or words. We may never see that same checkout girl again, and next time we call to have our cell phone fixed, it will be a different rep. But that doesn't mean we should stop caring. It doesn't mean we should allow ourselves the luxury of getting upset just because if we never have to see that person again, our arrogant assumptions tend to be guilt-free. We still have to answer for our own reactions and words, regardless of whether or not we think we were treated poorly, or someone deserved our harsh response or even gossip.

Our job is always to act Christ-like, no matter if we feel we've been dealt with rudely or not. Whether we've been snipped at, cursed, or passed by an angry driver. Usually, there's no reward in this, other than the satisfaction of knowing that our calm response (or no response at all) has put out a fire, rather than making it worse. And far fewer ulcers are formed as well.

We never really know.

Crimson Raindrop

I thought I might - every so often - share an article/story from my anthology, Smatterings of an Analytical Loner. Some of the writings are fairly recent, while others years old, but most have been left as-is. Today's entry was just a random selection from my book. Enjoy.


Crimson Raindrop

A raindrop descended from the sky, aiming for the parched earth below. Its route was fast halted though, as it hit an immoveable object with force. Spraying into tiny fragments, the drop managed to retain some shape as gravity pulled it to a roughly hewn edge.

The surface was made of dense fibers that the raindrop soaked into, leaving a streak of cool wetness behind. Journeying down, the droplet ran along the rigid lines, searching for the earth to drink it in.

But instead of soil, the drop of water was gradually brought to a standstill. It then spread upon a gentler plane - one that was warm. Life was beating through this hand. Though that life was quickly fading, poured out before the eyes that watched.

Mingling with the crimson flow, the raindrop turned from crystal to ruby as it was once again propelled forward. It rolled down the creased palm, drawing on a strange mixture of anguish and love.

Suddenly the droplet eased over a harsh, cold barrier - a nail, driven through the very flesh that held so much pain. It was a cruel contrast to the forgiveness granted...a tool to bring a bitter end.

The raindrop moved on, once again soothing the skin of the suffering One. It gave fresh life to the pores caked with grime and blood, absorbing the colors that would forever stain its luminous form.

And then...it fell. Another ride down, down to the earth, passing the shape of a Man undeserving of the torture given him. Finally the droplet completed the flight as it splashed onto the dehydrated clay.

No one noticed the faint sparkle before it soaked into the earth, never to be seen again. All attention was on the cross that bore love personified - their Savior come at last, to die at the hands of men.

The scene was never the same after that. Though the shadow of the cross was soon replaced, and though the witnesses moved on, the history remained. If one looked closely, they might find the bloodstains still, proof of the distinction between an everlasting love and an everlasting hate.

Three days later, the sorrow of a hostile end would vanish. But for a tiny droplet of water, the world had looked very different for a brief moment. It would never be the same again. For a brief moment with the Son of God would leave anyone changed forever.

A single raindrop had embarked on a journey not many could take. And it had ended in a way least expected. But to be covered in Christ’s blood was not a blemish on oneself. It was the most precious gift of all.

Thursday Nonsense - The Dreaded Foot Covering

Socks and I have never gotten along. I remember, as a child, refusing to don my socks and shoes to go outdoors. I literally threw fits. I would sass my parents, sit and pout, cry and refuse to put on socks. I didn’t particularly like shoes either, but it really was the socks part that bothered me most. Any kind of socks. Thin ones, thick ones, short ones, long ones or fuzzy ones. It didn’t matter if they were dull white ones, or ones bright with color. I hated all of them. If I would have had my way, I would have spent my life barefoot. Of course, I couldn’t. It wasn’t realistic, and my parents kept working with me until I outgrew the temper tantrums. What I didn’t outgrow, however, was my abhorrence of socks.

I still detest them. I’ve just learned to adapt, and someone my age throwing a fit over something as silly as socks would be…well, awkward. I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s better to have warm toes, or toes that don’t rub raw inside my shoes. And I’ve also learned that the part of socks I hate most are the seams. (Apparently I’m just very sensitive to touch. I hate wearing elastic or scratchy clothing – always have. Loose clothes are the best, and stiff belts or tight shoes are the worst. Don’t ever put a piece of lint in my shoe – I’ll go nuts.)

I now actually wear my socks inside-out. Yep. At any given time, inside my shoes are feet covered in inside-out socks. It doesn’t matter what kind of socks they are. As long as I can have the seam not touching my skin, it’s better. Not great, but better. Now, all of my socks are thin. I can barely stand to have thick socks on, because the seams are thicker. And when I put my shoes on every morning, it sometimes takes several tries before my feet can stand the position of the sock’s seam around my toes.

While my quirk can be frustrating, at least it provides a bit of entertainment. Even I have to admit it’s rather amusing. Maybe one day I’ll be able to wear socks like they’re supposed to be worn. But until then, I’ll just add it to my collection of oddities.

Surely I’m not the only one with a weird clothing quirk.

Judgment by Windows

The other day, while driving, I happened to look over at a particular house I was passing. It was fairly new - recently assembled - and the property seemed to be coming together nicely. One thing that caught my eye, though, was something about the front windows. There were two, not all that far apart, but they were slightly different sizes, with slightly different shapes from one another.

I'm real big on things like straight lines or shapes being the same size when so close together (just a smidge of OCD coming through there...) so of course, it stumped me. My mind was stuck on those windows as I continued to drive. How strange, I thought, that someone would have this brand new house, yet have differently shaped windows like that. Couldn't they afford the same kind of windows so it would look nicer in the front? After all, it was the side of the house that everyone driving by could see. Or maybe they could even have had one big window to take the place of two - after all, they were close enough together that it should be possible. So why did these people choose to have their new house look so odd?

At some point, by brain kicked in, and I realized that most likely there was a wall on the inside of that house, between the two windows. Probably those windows were in two different rooms, so on the inside, it made perfect sense. I'm sure in each room, the window chosen was just right for the space and/or height of the ceiling.

I wasn't going to turn around, drive back to their house, and ask to go inside so I could see. I was content with my new assumption that there was more going on that I simply couldn't see from the outside. Whoever had designed the house knew exactly what they were doing. Just because I thought the outside looked a little funny didn't mean the inside wasn't beautifully made.

And then I thought of people.

Looking Back

Since I live east of the big city, I'm blessed daily not to find myself squinting against the sun, whether going to or from work. And while I love to see glorious sunrises and sunsets, I'm glad I don't have to fight to see the road or oncoming traffic through the bright glare, especially when the pavement is wet or snowy.

Sometimes though, I do wish I was driving into the painted sky, rather than away from it. I've only got three mirrors to give me a back view, and even that's difficult if I'm staying focused on driving. I've often been tempted to simply pull over so I can open my door and stick my head out to look back at the scene God made (just for me, I'm sure).

On a recent evening, I was driving home from a little later than normal. Of course, the sunset was an awesome one, and it was to my back. I kept looking in my mirrors as much as I could, just so I could enjoy it. After all, in a few minutes, it would be gone, and I'd never see another one like it again.

My newest cellphone, I discovered, has this great feature where all I have to do is give it a shake, and the camera comes on. This came in really handy as I could still keep hold of my steering wheel, while also taking some random shots with my phone. I figured if I couldn't safely turn around and take a really good picture, I might as well catch what I was seeing in one of my mirrors.

It really didn't do the scene justice at all, but it did capture the moment so I could remember one of the many sunsets I've seen and loved.

I've often heard it said, "Don't look back." Sometimes it's meant literally, but usually figuratively. Don't look back. The past is gone. Look straight ahead. Don't dwell on what is gone. While I believe there is much truth in this, I'll also say that sometimes I think it's good to look back. Without looking back, how can we see how far we've come? Without looking at the past, how can we gauge our successes? Or goals achieved? Or circumstances we survived?

The best thing about a mirror is that you don't have to turn all the way around to look back. You can stay focused on what lies ahead, but still see how far you've come. Looking back doesn't mean turning around and going back. Remembering milestones, accomplishments, and survival of trials has the ability to keep us moving forward.

Just because there may be ugliness in the virtual mirror doesn't mean God cannot also reveal to us what is beautiful.

Have a great weekend! And if you want to take pictures while driving... have the passenger do it, or pull over. ;-)


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts.

My Love/Hate Relationship

I hate working out. Actually, I love it. No...I think I really hate it. Well, maybe it's both, once I think about it.

Twice a week, I participate in a Warrior X-Fit kickboxing class. We get to punch and kick the punching bags in all sorts of different ways, and we're put through some incredibly outrageous no-one-in-their-right-mind-would-do-these exercises. It's a great calorie burning, fat busting, muscle building workout that lasts about 45 minutes. Each time I go to class, about 30 minutes in, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die right there on the mat in a puddle of my own sweat. Somehow I usually manage to pull through with sheer willpower, and a bit of competitiveness (I can't allow myself to quit if the person next to me is still going strong!)

As much as my body hates this routine, I have to admit, I've become much more fit. I've lost fat, gained muscle and increased my overall stamina. The class incorporates a ranking system, and I'm up to blue belt (the 7th level), which means the workouts are a lot more intense than they were when I started out, but black belt (the 10th level) is still my goal. Even though I just about die every week, I've been reaping the benefits of long-term endurance.

What I hate more than a physical workout is a spiritual one. And what I probably hate even more than that is the reminder, "trials make you stronger." I hate hearing that. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to admit whatever I suffer may have a benefit at the end, because I'd much rather sit and wallow in my misery, because it's oh so much fun in that dark little hole of mine.

(Sigh)

As I start my week on this dreaded Warrior X-Fit Monday, no matter what my body or my mind is complaining about, I know that Tuesday is tomorrow, then Wednesday, and the week isn't going to stop. It's going to keep going, and so am I. And as much a I don't want to admit it, all the little things I'm going to deal with this week, whether at home or work, are, in the end, going to make me spiritually stronger if I let them. I'm going to gain a little more patience, a little more understanding and probably a little more humility. And some of it will probably hurt, and I'll probably whine a bit before realizing that does no good. Just like I keep going at my kickboxing workout even when my muscles are burning and I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out any second, I've got to keep going in life.

For me, I've got a stronghold that keeps me going, even when I'm weak. His name is Jesus. If you don't have Him as a stronghold, I recommend you do, since it makes life so much more bearable, even during the toughest times, and the rewards far outweigh the discomfort.

So yeah, as much as I hate the whole "trials make you stronger" thing...even I have to acknowledge the truth in it. Every time I stretch a resistance band and sweat pours down my face, I'm getting stronger. And every time my spirit is faced with opposition (and I don't give up), I'm getting stronger.

Some Days...

On Facebook yesterday, I said that some days are like trying to put on a shirt elbow-first. And to be completely honest, yes, I was speaking from experience. Both the experience of an awkward day, and the experience of literally stuffing my elbow through my t-shirt sleeve, only to find my arm stuck in that awkward position and threatening to cramp. It's a good thing I've got short arms, otherwise I may have needed the assistance of someone else, and would have had to show myself in public (looking like a flailing chicken in need of a medical squad).

Thankfully, I was able to pull my arm back through and stick my hand into the sleeve first, the second time around. No one knew how close I'd come to death by contortionism. Or embarrassment. The coroner probably wouldn't have been able to tell.

I've come to accept the fact (though I still get frustrated) that every so often, a day is going to end up just like the literal t-shirt experience. I get up in the morning, everything looks good, then something happens. Everything comes to a screeching halt, and I can't accomplish what I wanted (or at least not as quickly as I wanted). Eventually, something gives. Either I take a step back, reevaluate and go at it from a different angle, I tear through the obstacle like a flailing chicken (and either accomplish the task or simply ruin the virtual shirt), or I risk the shame of my uncomfortable position and ask for help.

In the end, how I react is up to me, and the consequences of my approach should be weighed. Do I really want to ruin the virtual shirt? Maybe there's a reason the obstacle is there. Asking for help really isn't shameful. Simply slowing down and rethinking might solve things. Getting frustrated and flustered only makes things worse - virtually or literally.

The answer on how to get around, through, or over obstacles vary, but if we'd slow down and take time to actually look at any situation, we'd probably be surprised at the possibilities presented. And...the lives of some t-shirts (or flailing chickens) might be saved. I've never seen anyone harmed by slowing down and taking a deep breath before going on.

Have a blessed weekend. And if you get your elbow stuck in your shirt sleeve, please manage a selfie before straightening it out.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts.

Who Are You?

There are certain people I thought I knew fairly well. Until I read what they posted on social media sites, like Facebook.

I’ve heard it implied that what’s posted on social media sites isn’t really the true person behind it. They’re just venting. Feeling uninhibited in that virtual world. Sharing what they think is funny. To get to know a person, you have to see them face-to-face and socialize in reality. I’ve been told to ignore some of what I see, because it’s just a virtual shadow of the real person anyway.

But even if what I see on social media sites is a virtual shadow of the user, have you ever seen a shadow that does not mimic the form of the actual object?  The thing is, what’s shared on sites like Facebook or Twitter is, in fact, a reflection of the users.

A part of me says I shouldn’t be surprised at some of the inappropriate things I see on social media, posted by people I thought lived by higher moral standards. It’s easy to post anything on the fly and not really think about it. But there’s another part of me that says no, I should be surprised. I should be disappointed in some of the things I read. I should hold those people accountable. If they wouldn’t say to my face what they post online, why are they showing it to me to read?

I don’t have to read or watch anything I don’t want to. I can block people, I can skip over certain posts on Facebook or Twitter, and I don’t have to visit blogs. But this isn’t about my personal exposure to inappropriateness, of which I have full control. It’s not even a social media issue. It’s a heart issue.

If one is willing to share an inappropriate post or picture, but not say it out loud, that doesn’t mean it’s just their shadow on the internet. It means the shadow lives at home, and the real person was just seen online while their guard was down. While they were comfortable. If one is willing to use bad language or share inappropriate jokes on social media sites, it is a glimpse into their heart. Just because they’re not willing to repeat it at church or in family settings does not mean they’re free and clear. What they post is who they are. (And if it’s not, then their problem is the chameleon trend people have adopted to take on behaviors of whomever they’re around or whatever platform they’re involved in, be it reality or chat rooms or Facebook. In which case, I dare say they don’t know themselves who they really are.)

Honestly, it all boils down to integrity. If a person I know face-to-face has shown to live a life worthy of respecting, yet what they share online contradicts this, my respect dwindles. I’m not saying I have to agree with or appreciate everything they post. I know I’m only one of their 984+ friends or followers. And I make mistakes, too. But one thing I know – I do try to post things that do not contradict my daily living. Things that do not contradict my convictions or moral standards.

If I knew someone in real life who cursed every other word, told dirty jokes to my face, and was rotten to the core, if they acted on Facebook in the same manner, I would have more respect for them than the people who try to make me think they’re good, clean or even godly people, then turn around and post bad jokes or use foul language on social media sites. The one who posts the way they live has more integrity than the “good” person who lives by double standards.

I’ve gotten to know a lot of people through Facebook, and maybe I take it more seriously than some. But I’m okay with that. I like knowing who it is I’m dealing with. I like knowing what their heart is like so when I see them in person, I won’t be surprised. And in viewing social media sites this way, I’m also holding myself accountable. I think twice before posting. Who am I? These words are a reflection of me. Is this who people see when I greet them on the street, in the store, at church, or at work? Or am I, too, adopting a double standard?

I choose to live with integrity. That means posting online with the same standards by which I live.