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!
9/11/14
9/8/14
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.
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.
9/5/14
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.
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.
9/4/14
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.
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.
9/2/14
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.
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.
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