Here's Your Sign

Ever have someone tell you, “Here’s your sign,”? Coined by comedian Bill Engvall, this is not a term of endearment. On the contrary, it’s used to point out an individual’s stupidity - or in the most gentle of cases, to point out an obvious or dumb remark.

I paint my kitchen lime green and display it proudly. A visitor asks me if I like that color. Um, no, I chose a color I hated so I could cringe on a daily basis. Of course I like it - that's why I chose it. "Here's your sign."

Let your mind wander. I’m sure you can think of plenty of instances where you could have used that phrase on someone else. Or...maybe you deserved to be given your own sign. I think we all probably need our own stash of signs to keep on hand for those rare moments when our brain and mouth fail to communicate properly.

Then there’s the types of “signs” that aren’t so literal. The types of signals we look for every day to help us determine actions or choices. Often times we ask God for these signs as we hunt for answers in a very muddled and mixed-up world. And sometimes...we wait too long. We are so intent on finding that one particular sign that we fail to move. We sit and ponder and watch and wait, when maybe we just need to get off our duff and do something. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to every situation. There are times we need to sit and wait until a certain path is made clear. But there are also times when we just need to make a decision and move. There are times when certain decisions may not make or break our futures, let alone affect the universe as a whole. Therefore...

As long as you don’t think it’s going to send the universe as we know it into upheaval, and as long as you’re confident you’re not destroying your future or someone else’s future as a whole, it may be time to get off your duff and move. Only you know if the time is right. But just in case all you needed was a sign, there it is.


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Creepy Tunnels

There it is. The light at the end of the tunnel. See? It does exist!

Well... it's not really a tunnel. It's a drain pipe connecting two quarries where I fish. And it was broad daylight, so the contrast really isn't that great. But I felt creative nonetheless.

Actually, staring through that pipe kind of reminds me of some of my own recent hiccups in life. This tunnel is kinda dark. Just a bit creepy. Rusty. Obviously wet. Slippery. And it's a bit of a jaunt to the other end. I can see the other side. I see more water, sunlight and trees. Looks pretty nice. (What the picture doesn't show is that I could climb up over the top to where a walkway is, and never have to worry about going through such a pipe. But that would ruin my analogy.)

Thing is, to view this kind of picture - or to get to the other side (had I not given away the secret that I could walk up and over) - the route is through the tunnel. No matter how icky, damp or creepy it is, that's the way out.

Often times in life, I find myself in the middle of a tunnel before I've even realized what's happening. Then I'm stuck. I can't go back, and going forward stinks. But sitting there in the rusty water doesn't do anything but get me wet. Sometimes going forward is the only option - even when that light at the end isn't visible. There are times when sitting still is the answer. But more often than not, moving - in any direction - is the only way to get through a tunnel. Every once in a while, we have the opportunity to see the tunnel before we get there, and we choose to go up and over, rather than through. Those are blessings. Most of the time though...yeah, we end up in that tunnel without any options, other than to simply keep moving and hope that it's a shorter distance to the end than it appears.

I'm so thankful that God provides me with an everlasting light that I can always cling to at the end of any tunnel. But I still get stuck. I still panic. I still get claustrophobic and probably whine a whole lot more than I should. But this picture reminds me to keep going even when I'm too tired, too grouchy, too sad, or too stubborn. I should make it my computer's wallpaper.

...On second thought, it really isn't all that pretty of a picture. But I can reference this blog post whenever I want...


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Sopping Wet, But Warm

This cute little guy is Dynamite. I took this picture a little over a month ago, the same day I brought him home. A coworker had sent a message out to the staff that he had an orphaned kitten, and...well... I couldn't say no.

As soon as I got Dynamite home, I gave him a much-needed bath. Needless to say, it was quite a traumatic experience for such a tiny fella, and not exactly the most pleasant experience for me. But we both survived. I took him out on the porch to dry off in the sunshine when I caught this priceless expression. He was so miserable being so wet, and so tired, but he was loving the sunshine. Despite his dislike of bathing, he obviously felt better afterward, and thoroughly enjoyed the warm sun.

Going through some tough stuff lately, I wonder how much I actually look like Dynamite in this picture. Frazzled, wet, tired, and at the world's mercy. And yet...there's sunshine. Despite everything seemingly going wrong and pulling me down, even if I feel like crap and I don't want to get up in the morning...the sun still shines. God still has His arm around me. He still has everything under control - even when I feel like a drowned rat. He has already seen tomorrow and is already there waiting for me to simply continue in faith. He's got this, even when every ounce of control is ripped from my grasp.

Dynamite is twice as big now, and he does not appreciate baths any more than that first day. But we get along great. Even though I put him through getting clean, he loves me and I love him. As long as he's got his sunshine, he's good. And as long as I've got my sunshine - literal or figurative - I'm good, too.


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Roses are Red, Days are Too Busy...

"Take time to stop and smell the roses." That's a phrase I've been familiar with almost all my life. I've never been able to understand people who are always on the go. Busy, busy, busy. Too active to actually stop for just a few seconds and smell the proverbial roses. I've always been quite content with a slower lifestyle. A quieter one. A lifestyle that allows for early bedtimes, naps, and hot baths - leaning towards being an introvert helps, I'm sure. I know some people are not busy by choice. There are families to care for, jobs to do, and responsibilities stacked to the ceiling. I get it. And I've got my own set of responsibilities that keeps me on the go as well.

Lately though, even with a very slow lifestyle (in some people's eyes), I find myself caught up in a routine that feels way too fast. Way too busy. Way too stressful. I've realized that stopping to smell the roses may not actually have all that much to do with literal time. I've got more time to spare than most of the people I personally know. Yet even I look at he clock and find that the day has simply melted away, leaving me with a long list of things I never accomplished.

I wonder if, perhaps, I've simply been ignoring the roses. It's not that I don't have time. It's that I've been too focused on the things that stress me out, rather than the things that have the potential to relax me. Stopping to smell the roses takes all of two seconds. Tops. I know this because I pass by several rose bushes every time I walk into my parents' house. If the breeze is blowing just right, I hardly even have to pause to be able to smell them.

The point is, I'm aware the roses are there. Whether my body pauses mid-stride or not, my subconscious takes a brief breather (no pun intended) to allow my olfactory system to absorb the sweet scent, and for that split second, my spirit is calmed.

Busy to the hilt or not, there's always "time" to stop and smell the roses. Because, in reality, it doesn't take any time at all. Yet it still provides a quiet moment in time to just be. Breathe. And remember the little things in life are the best.

Maybe the "roses" in your life are kind words from someone else. The sunshine on your face. A smile that lifts your spirits. All we have to do is be open to accepting those tiny blessings for what they are - blessings - and we have essentially stopped to smell the roses.


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I Love All Her Faces

It’s time again for me to bring up one of my critter children. Not because I’m a crazy cat lady (yet) but my one cat seems to have a way of teaching me life lessons when I least expect it.

Ever since she was a tiny kitten, she’s lived up to her name, Nitro.

Whether she presents herself as a Christmas gift,

steals my heat,

or takes over my television remote control,

she’s my best bud. I’ve often said that I believe God gave me Nitro just to make sure I smile every day. She likes to grab moving blankets,

hang upside down,

attempt the impossible,

sit at the dinner table,

ship herself to exotic destinations,

and take up residence in my bathroom sink.

No matter what, even if she destroys any attempts on my part to get some work done,

(and no matter how innocent she tries to look)

I love her.

One thing that has been impossible for me to capture in a picture is how Nitro acts when she wants something (whether food or just attention), especially when I get home from work or when I get up in the mornings. Somewhere along the way, she developed a habit of jumping up into my arms (from the floor or nearby furniture). At first, I was surprised by her behavior, but it was cute, and even though half the time it just meant she was hungry, it felt like she loved me and wanted a hug – and her purring just added to my own pleasure.

What I soon observed was most special though, was how she was jumping on me. I realized that not only was she aiming at my chest (rather than the ledge of my shoulder), but she was not extending her claws either. She was aiming herself at me, fully expecting me to catch her. Once caught, the purring would start, and she’d give my hairline a wet grooming, whether it needed it or not. She had complete faith that every time she jumped, I’d catch her and hold her.

Eventually, I stopped and thought about Nitro’s behavior and how it compares to how I should be with God. It’s hard to trust someone I can’t see – I admit it. I love God with all my heart and I follow Him and have faith in Him. But it’s not always easy. Sometimes I want to do things my way. Or I don’t really have enough trust that He knows what He’s doing with my life. I extend my claws to hang on – just in case He really does let go of me. Or maybe I don’t jump at all, scared He won’t catch me.

But the truth of the matter is, if there is only One I can ever trust, it’s Him. I fully believe He will never let me down. And as such, I should always feel brave enough to leap into His arms, fully trusting that He will not only catch me, but He’ll never drop me. That’s just the way He is.

As quirky as Nitro can be, (she’s playing in a couple cardboard boxes as I type this, and doing a good job of making me laugh) she also, unknowingly, teaches me about life…if I’m willing to stop and take a closer look.


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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?

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.


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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!

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.

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.



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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.

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.

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.

It's Gotta Get Worse

My mother: "Go clean your room."
Me: "Okay."
[an hour later]
My mother: "What have you been doing?! It looks worse in here than when you started!"

Yeah, true story...on multiple occasions. Actually, the same scenario has happened even more times, in a variety of atmospheres. My office... my apartment... my car. I may have outgrown my mother telling me to clean my room, but what hasn't changed is the fact that often a bigger mess is created before any progress is seen. (I was going to post a picture of one of my messes but...I decided to keep you from that unnecessary horror.)

Of course, cleaning is often times made more difficult by my critter children. That neatly stacked paper? Prime target for a kitty dive bomb off the table. That garbage sack waiting to be filled? A perfect hiding spot! (Until it moves unexpectedly, then becomes the chamber of terror from which said critter must escape by means of frantically tearing through the bottom. So much for using that bag.)

While I want to blame my cats for making my messes even worse, the responsibility really falls on me. But...in my defense (and in finding the ultimate excuse), I've found it quite necessary to create a bigger mess before I can really clean. Necessary, as in I can't clean until the chaos is dragged out into the open and I can sort through it. What are floors for? Sorting piles of paper, books, lone socks, dust bunnies and a few unidentifiable objects. Sometimes a stray potato chip even appears from under a couch cushion (aka: spoiled food vending machine).

Thankfully, I have the wherewithal to keep cleaning past the point of chaos so I can actually accomplish my task...eventually. Interestingly enough, I've also realized there's something to be said for cleaning out the crud in my life. In order to do so, the nastiness has to be dragged to the surface and dealt with before I can overcome it and get rid of it. And while I may not have virtual critter children running around my mind and making it more difficult, my own pride does a pretty good job.

If I really want to be honest, I hate cleaning. I love the end results, and sometimes I get to the point where a particular mess is driving me crazy enough that I have to clean it...but the act of cleaning really isn't my favorite pastime. Neither is soul-cleansing my favorite activity. But both are necessary...unless one wants to be a slob inside and out for their entire life.

So go embrace the mess. And if anybody asks, just tell them you're cleaning. For without a worse, there would be no better.

That Place in My Soul

Remedy Drive. I thought I knew the name of the band from the radio, perhaps, but that was about all I knew. Friends were going to see them perform at a Faith and Family Night at a county fair not too far away, so that really was my motivation for going, more than the music. Of course, before going, I hit the Internet and looked up Remedy Drive on Youtube so I'd at least have an idea of what I was getting into. I liked what I heard, and figured the concert would probably be pretty good.

After seeing Remedy Drive in person, if I were asked to use only one word to describe them, I would use "passion." Wow. Much of that passion came from Dave Zach, the lead vocalist. I'd been watching him for quite a while already, as his brother was the lead for another band, Arrows and Sound. Dave had energy even when he wasn't performing. He helped Arrows and Sound set up, watched from the sidelines with his phone (he seemed to be taking pictures or videos), came onstage for a special part in one of the songs, and hung out nearby, totally enthralled with watching. I don't know what was going through his mind, but his body language suggested he enjoyed watching his brother on stage as much as he enjoyed performing. Later, his brother in Arrows and Sound barely made it through thanking Dave for being there and supporting him because he was so emotional. I felt the brotherly love was real and not just a show.

When Remedy Drive finally took the stage, it was pure energy. It was loud, and it was fun. Enthusiasm and passion overflowed from the stage and into the audience. Even after a handstand on the keyboard, jumping up onto the drum set and leaping off, Dave kept going. I was impressed with his stamina. And his message. He spoke of the mission of his heart - to chip away at child trafficking and slavery. He admitted that it wouldn't be abolished completely, but that it could be chipped away at little by little, offering hope and freedom to the oppressed. As he spoke, again, it was passion that I saw and felt.

During one song, I found myself closing my eyes and allowing my soul to be enveloped by the sheer wall of sound. It was loud. Loud enough to drown out the world. Loud enough I could feel the bass reverberating in my chest. I felt myself in a place I didn't want to leave, where nothing around me existed anymore. Even amidst that deafening bombardment of noise, there was peace. I found myself in a place I should find more often, within a world full of noise. Perhaps it is not noise to my ears, but noise to my soul. The devastation. Hurt. Hunger. Need. Chaos.

In my soul is the only One who can give me that calm. That peace. That place where only I can go to escape, rest, and accept that free gift of sanctuary. It's there because He loves me, and because my life is in His hands. Without it, without Him, I would never survive the noise of the world.

The concert was fun, made possible by good music, fantastic lemonade, great friends and soul-soothing sounds. Not getting nearly enough sleep last night after a long drive home was well worth it.

Good Friends and Cadavers

I'm not generally fascinated with roadkill. Actually, I'm usually quite put off for many reasons. Germs, stench, and I like animals, so I hate seeing them dead alongside the highway. It bothers me if I hit critters as small as squirrels, and I will brake for cats and dogs. That said, sometimes the species on the shoulder can be intriguing.

This morning, I was running late. I'd gotten up late, I'd left my apartment late, and I still had to stop for gas before actually heading to work. I wasn't far out of town when I met a familiar oncoming car. What was strange though, was that they stopped, turned around, and went back to a nearby gravel intersection. As I drove on by, I realized my friends were getting out of their vehicle to look at some particular roadkill. Normally, my practical sense kicks in and would just as soon keep me driving so I could make it to work at a reasonable time. But this morning, something in me wanted to change things up a bit. So I pulled over and turned around.

Because of my decision, two cool things happened. One, I got to see my friends whom I hadn't seen in a while - how fun is that? We had a brief chat and shared some laughter. And two, I got to see a bobcat up close and personal. Granted, it was dead, but since it wasn't too marred by the accident, it really was fascinating. Enough so that I took a quick picture (which I won't share here, but if you want to see it, let me know) as proof that bobcats in our area really do exist.

After I got back in my car and once again started for work, I began thinking about all the little opportunities I probably miss every day, just because I don't want to take two minutes to stop what I'm already doing. How many times have I missed out on something neat, just because I "didn't have time"? Or what kinds of opportunities did I leave behind because I was in too much of a hurry?

They say "it's the little things" that make life worth living. I wouldn't want to live by that theology alone, but I will say it is the little things that keep me excited to be alive, and I think God gives us those little things to keep us smiling and keep us focused on things outside of ourselves.

Life's too short to just keep on driving. Stop and turn around once in a while. You might see something neat. Like a dead bobcat.

I'm Loud

I was told yesterday in one of my martial arts classes that I'm loud. Granted, this individual meant it as a compliment, as she has to work hard at speaking up loudly when leading a class. I laughed, of course, but it did make me stop and think. Maybe I've just had a lot of practice trying to help others understand me clearly, but I usually blame my volume on the tone of my voice. I believe it just happens to be the right kind of tone that carries well. When at work, if I get even a little excited over something, others at the far end of the building can hear me. (Which is quite a feat, seeing as though I have several deaf coworkers.)

I talk loudly. I laugh loudly. Thankfully, I'm generally surrounded by people who don't mind a bit. They love me whether I'm shattering glass with sound waves or not. Not everybody appreciates loud volume though. And in these instances, actions are more important than words.

I try to act just as loudly as I speak. It isn't always easy, but I act much more loudly than I used to. And my reason is simple. I don't want anyone to question who I am or what I believe. I can talk, scream, yell or blow a whistle as loudly as I want about whatever topic or issue I want, but when it really comes down to it, those around me will be covering their ears and paying attention with their eyes instead. I may be boisterous, but do I really have passion? Do I have the guts to act on what I proclaim? Am I praising loudly with my voice, but lending no support? Am I complaining at the top of my lungs, but taking no action? I hope that's not the case.

To state the obvious cliché, "actions speak louder than words." I guess that means if I've got a loud voice, my actions are gonna be really loud. And I'm okay with that...as long as my actions are something I'm not ashamed of. I've got to be aware of who likes to listen to me, and who would rather watch me instead of hurting their ears. I've got to be willing to not only say, "This is who I am," but act like the person I am. And when that happens, I won't have to say anything. Which will save my vocal cords, and listening ears.

My goal is to live loud and live real. (There is a time and place for quietness. But even quiet actions speak volumes.) Besides...living quietly isn't nearly as much fun as being so obnoxiously loud that the enthusiasm becomes contagious. And who doesn't want to spread a joyful, excited, energetic contagion?