Crawl Inside a Pizza Box

This is Jazzy. I lost her last year to the ripe old age of 17. All her life though, she provided me with many smiles and many laughs. My favorite memory of her is that she was a junk food junky. Her favorite snack was pepperoni and flavored potato chips. No joke. Like most cats, she also enjoyed her dairy - cheese in particular -along with bacon, cheetos, sausage, pizza in general, and ice cream - any flavor was fine.

As noted in this particular photo, Jazzy decided to see if I'd left anything for her after downing a small pizza for supper. I can't remember if there really was anything left or not, but I got so tickled at her antics, that rather than shoo her away, I snapped a picture. In all reality though, it captures her junk food personality trait. What's more is that she didn't care. She didn't worry about calories or carbs, or the fact that she had just stuck her whole front half into a pizza box to seek out any mere morsels left behind. Really now - talk about desperate. This kitty had issues!

The more I think about it though...the more I think I'd like to be that uninhibited sometimes. I know I need to watch what I eat, and I'm not gonna throw caution to the wind and abuse my body by eating everything in sight. But every once in a while...what's really the harm in sticking my head in a pizza box? Who cares? Living life doesn't have to be boring. Of course, use wisdom, but who says we can't have a bit of fun along the way? I'm pretty sure God is not a boring God. Just sayin'.

I probably won't literally stick my head inside a pizza box (unless I'm with my brother - he tends to bring out my goofier side). But I might eat the whole thing once in a while. And I'll probably eat that whole bowl of ice cream. And I might just splash through the next puddle I see. Or balance on the curb instead of walking on the sidewalk. Or say hi to a stranger. Maybe I'll even drive with the windows down and the radio up as loud as I can stand it. Next time it rains, maybe I'll go outside and dance in the downpour.

Life's short. Very short. Leaving the pizza box closed might be a good idea sometimes. But every once in a while...stick your head inside. There might be a surprise morsel waiting that will inspire your soul.


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Newsworthy Soapbox

News. I get it. People want to know what's happening 24/7, whether it's next door or three countries over. Humans are curious by nature and we like to know what's going on around us because it makes us feel more in control. The more in control we feel, the more secure we feel. The more secure we feel, the less stress we feel. The happier we are. You get the idea.

What I don't get is the intentional (and constant) intake of sad, gruesome, tragic and downright disgusting stories and images connected to the news. Every. Single Day.

Whether I'm listening to the radio, scrolling through my Facebook homepage or watching television, I am bombarded with the most tragic stories ever told. House fires. Car accidents. Suicides. Bombers. Kids being eaten by alligators. Kids being dragged off by gorillas. Shootings. Mass killings. War. Starvation. Disease-bearing mosquitoes. The list goes on. And on. And on. And on.

If you like watching the evening news, then just stop reading this now, because I'm on my soapbox, and I'm not getting off til I've finished.

I hate the news. With a passion. It's nice to know when I need to be on guard, whether from prairie fires, or a nearby gas station robbery. But why do I have to hear ten different versions of a child being murdered? Why do I have to read, see, and hear all about a car accident that killed three teenagers? Why do I have to witness the horrific images of death and destruction every time I turn on the television or visit my Facebook page?

I despise the news networks and the way they exploit people and stories just to be dramatic. Yes, I'm saddened by senseless killings. Yes, I'm all for being aware of wars around us. Yes, I get it. But do you really need to hold a camera and microphone in front of the mother who just watched her kid gunned down? Do you really need to stand there in the pouring rain and look like an idiot in knee-high rubber boots to tell me that someone got swept away in a flood? Do you really need to show me bloody victims running from a recent bombing? Are you really pursuing the sharing of news or do you just want good ratings for drama? Why isn't the news rated R for violence?

The weather report is about the only thing I appreciate about the news hour. Every once in a while there will actually be some good news or a cute story or an inspirational thought tied in with a news-worthy article, and those I enjoy. The thing is, those are around us every single day, yet the people in charge of the cameras and stories don't find them valuable enough to share. People won't watch that stuff. Their ratings will go down. They have to be on scene at the next tragic event before their neighbor news station so they get the bigger scoop.

I'm not trying to minimize the reality of our ever-worsening world. I'm not trying to say that the lives in the sickening stories shared aren't of value. But in this case...my ignorance really is bliss. It's not even so much that I don't want to be aware - I just don't want all the graphic details shoved down my throat by the reporters who squeeze out every last drop of drama they can. Go watch a movie. There's plenty of action and violence there to go around. I don't need to worry about real life any more than I already do. Don't make me shed any more tears than I already do over pointless murders and children whose lives are ripped apart.

If you like watching the news and you've actually read this far, don't take my opinion personally. If you dig that kind of stuff, then more power to ya. The news is catering to folks who live to know about the next murder, house fire, and car accident. I'm happy to hear about caught criminals, weather warnings, heroes (although it's sad to see the small selection of people the news deems eligible for the title "hero"), and stories of survival. No, I'm not burying my head in the sand - I'm just tired of being inundated with tragedy.

The more technology advances, the more aware we are of everything happening in every corner of the world. But sometimes I wonder if that's helping or hurting us. Yes, there is a sense of security (albeit false at times) in knowledge. But I have a sneaking suspicion that if we were blissfully ignorant of just a small percentage of newsworthy items, we might feel just a bit less stress. Of course, I also wonder about the one-sided perspectives and truthfulness of the the stories we hear, but that would be a whole different blog post.


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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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PB&J - You had me at PB

I remember eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as a kid. Anyone who doesn't, missed out, and I'm sorry. I don't recall ever being tired of these simple lunches, and I'm sure my parents were grateful as we survived on a very limited budget.

Now that I'm an adult, this is how I'm spending my lunch break:

Yep, a PB&J sandwich (and Cheetos, of course). When I first moved out on my own, there was one day I packed a PB&J sandwich for lunch, and my mom (who is also my coworker) was so concerned for me. She knew finances were tight as I juggled my income for the first time, and she was worried that that's all I could afford to eat. I had to laugh because though money was tight, my reason was because I liked this kind of sandwich.

And today I'm, once again, thoroughly enjoying the ooey-gooey goodness. (Do I dare admit that I was actually craving this, and that's why I brought it for my lunch today?)

My taste buds and I have a really good relationship with the simple things, besides PB&J. Take mashed potatoes, for example. I like instant better than the real thing. When it comes to macaroni and cheese, I'd rather have the generic brand over Kraft. I love canned chicken. Pasta? Put a little butter and parsley on it, and I'm happy.

I don't need a speech about processed foods - I get it. But I have to admit that my taste buds often do go for the unexpected. (Oh yeah, green beans is another one - I prefer canned over fresh. Go figure.)

I try to eat fairly responsibly, whether talking in terms of quality or quantity, but that doesn't override the fact that sometimes I do crave (and prefer) the "simpler" things. Maybe I like PB&J sandwiches because they're stuffed full of carbs, I don't know, but I think that I just enjoy it because it's quick, easy, and I do like the taste. (And as a bonus, it is cheap.)

I won't eat PB&J every day for multiple reasons, but I do consider it a treat, not a "I have to because that's all that was in my refrigerator" thing. Tomorrow? Who knows? You might find me dipping canned chicken in some ranch dressing. Or eating a whole can of green beans.

If I can't find enjoyment in the little things, I'll be up the proverbial creek when it comes to the big things. And once I think about it...it really is all in perspective, whether we're talking food or circumstances. I can find enjoyment in anything I really want to because I'm the only one in charge of my own attitude.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment. Do you have any weird food quirks? 

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.

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.

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.

Smashed Fingers, Paper Jams and Wet Pants

My day didn't start out well. Actually, I was fine until I was attacked by a door. Being a ninja, you'd think I would have seen it coming, but in my defense, it was dark. There didn't seem to be a need to flip on the light when I was only going to be in there a few seconds. But that was before I was viciously attacked. Apparently the door didn't want to be closed. Oh, but I got it closed, alright. I may have sacrificed my finger, but that door is closed!

Not long after that, this was my view:

This is an angle of the production-line copy machine where I work...from the floor...where I got to spend a lot of time while removing paper jams from all sorts of nooks and crannies. (We don't call it Beelzebub for nothing.) Torn papers, toner all over my hands, and phantom pages. In between that was a bout of forgetfulness, trying to beat the clock and basically feeling like a chicken with its head cut off - although less painful, I'm sure.

I wish that eraser really would fix all the problems. Erase the bad. Wipe the slate clean. Start over. Get those little pink shavings all over the floor. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, I don't think jamming the eraser into the copy machine will actually fix anything. Bummer.

Amidst it all though, I found myself laughing along with my office buddy. It was either that or be depressed, and being depressed is never fun. Of course, it helped when humor lent itself without effort. Like a door on the copy machine opening itself whenever it pleased - really. Or being so befuddled that speech became a real gibberish hazard - albeit hilarious.

Here's the best part of the day though...
I'm very blessed to work in a place where I'm allowed to use the laundry appliances, since I have none of my own. Today was one of those days when I brought a load of dirty laundry to wash. But I don't like putting my workout pants through the dryer, so I usually separate them and put them in my office to air-dry. Sometimes I drape them over the back of my chair. I didn't know my office buddy was going to need my computer this morning.

Imagine me standing in my office doorway as she looked up from my desk (where she'd been sitting for several minutes already...on my clean pants...) with an expression of shock on her face. "Your pants are wet!" Thankfully, I realized she meant the pants I'd taken from the wash, not the pants I was actually wearing. I probably blinked. There may have been a moment of shocked silence. All I'm really sure about is when she realized the implications of her words, our laughter was probably heard all the way at the other end of the building.

After everything the morning threw my way, I'm glad I can still smile, still laugh, and still praise the Lord for another day to be alive...wet pants and all.

Ahh...Tuesdays. Sometimes they beat Mondays. This one did a good job. I think tomorrow I'll bring a flashlight for the naughty door, a sledgehammer to threaten the copy machine, and a caution sign for my laundry room/office.