It's All in the Heart - Day Eleven

In between work crises and bill paying and never ending phone calls today, I’ve been pondering the thought of “love does not boast.” I did some serious heart searching. If I were to describe my problem areas in this love chapter, boasting isn’t one of them. But then, in my ever-paranoid nature, I wonder if saying that I don’t struggle with boasting is boasting.

When I think of people who boast, I think of those who loudly brag. I’m loud. I’ll admit that. But I really try hard not to brag. All day long, I thought hard, trying to imagine any angle that might make me a boastful person – because I didn’t want to leave this phrase and miss out on something that God really wanted me to catch.

Finally, this evening as I went through the checkbook AGAIN to try to find where I’d subtracted wrong, it came to me.

In our Sunday School class, we’re studying the Sermon on the Mount. And right now, we’re in the middle of all those sections about how it doesn’t matter if you haven’t actually murdered someone – if you were angry in your heart, it’s the same as if you murdered. Or it doesn’t matter if you didn’t actually commit adultery – if you looked at someone lustfully, you might as well have done the deed. For several Sundays, we’ve munched on donuts in the youth room and tried to get to the bottom of what God really evaluates.

Tonight all of that came together for me as I thought about boasting. It may not matter that I’m not an out loud boaster. It may not matter that I don’t brag about my house or my car or my job or my degree or my paycheck or my looks or my writing or my scrapbooks or my cooking (and believe me, not all of those things merit bragging!!). So what if people can’t hear a boast? If I’m boasting in my heart, isn’t it the same as if I did it out loud? And God has the ability to see the motive in my heart.

Oh boy.

I don’t like admitting to you that there are times when I really do boast in my heart. There are times when I compare myself to someone and I have a bit of smug pride that wells up as I declare to myself that I’m better. Look at what I did compared to what she did. Mine is so much better. Hee hee hee.

But it’s not funny. It’s rather humiliating actually. That ugly little monster was hiding where I didn’t even see him. I may not verbalize it, but I sure do need to work on not even thinking it.

I wouldn’t say it’s my biggest downfall. There are certainly other things in this chapter that are higher on the WORK ON THIS list. But this is there. And it needs to be addressed when I see it creeping up.

My Own Meaning - Day Ten

Love does not envy. When I think of envy, I think of a consuming desire to have what someone else has. And aside from the occasional wish to have a newer car – primarily an SUV with a sunroof – I don’t really struggle much with envy. The whole devilish “green with envy” thing isn’t much a part of my life.

But I decided to stick with the thought, because I figured God had something in there just for me. Something I needed to learn.

I turned my thoughts more toward jealousy. In some ways, the word doesn’t seem much different from envy, but for me, jealousy conjures up more of a possessive thought. I’m very jealous of people’s time – I want them to spend time with me and not others. In fact, one of the hardest adjustments I have when my friends get married and have kids is learning to share them with their husbands and children. I still want my time with them. I get jealous at work when I perceive that someone else is more liked than I am. Boy, now I’m starting to sound like a little rat!

But when I looked that word up, that’s exactly what I found. Not a little rat. But the possession factor: “a state of fear, suspicion or envy caused by a real or imagined threat or challenge to one’s possessive instincts. It may be provoked by rivalry…a zealous desire to preserve an existing situation or relationship.” Yep that’s me. Might as well have my picture plastered next to it.

And therein, I discovered, lies my own personal lesson on the love chapter. I’ve noticed lately – not proud about it, but it's true – how fearful I am in loving others. I hate rejection (who really likes it?) and I really am fearful always of people leaving. And not being a fan of change, every time a relationship does take a turn of some sort, I absolutely cringe, imagining – knowing – that it’s over. That I wasn’t enough to keep that person around.

I’m red in the face even admitting how many two year olds I’ve been jealous of, because I felt like I needed to compete with them for the attention of their moms who were MY FRIENDS FIRST. There has to be therapy for this sort of thing.

I can see how the jealousy issue can ruin friendships and cause them to be anti-loving. Where love should be is suspicion and speculation and contemplation and analyzing and worrying and fear. Which brings me to the verse God reminded me of this afternoon: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” (1 John 4:18)

For me, anyway, a jealousy-free love of my friends is a fear-free love. If I loved without envy (jealousy), I would love freely. I would love with much more abandon and much more joy. I would have more time to devote to drinking in the beauty of my friendships if I weren’t so busy calculating moves and motives that probably don’t even exist.

So I don't know if any of this was the actual reason that little phrase exists in the Bible. But for me, today, it's what it has meant.

An A-Ha! Moment - Day Nine

I received a comment on yesterday's post about giving myself credit for taking on this project...positive reinforcement. A very appropriate comment, I think, because last night after I went to bed, I thought back over the past 8 days of this experiment and realized all I'd talked about was how hard it was and how much I fell short of the goal.

So this morning, as I considered the next part of the chapter - love does not envy - I found myself drawn back into the patience and kindness couplet again. Perhaps it would not kill me to extend this chapter toward myself. I'm not sure how that works out when I get to the part about "love is not self seeking" - but I'll worry about that later.

In truth, the verse in Matthew that says "...and love your neighbor as yourself" has always bothered me. I hope it's not too disrespectful to say that about Scripture. Because the truth of the matter is, I treat my neighbors a whole lot better than I treat myself. The positive self-esteem line of thinking has never been my forte, and because of that, I constantly set very high expectations for myself and do not show myself any mercy when I fail to achieve what I think I should. I've gotten into trouble for that on more than one occasion with my friends who hate it when I cut myself down. I don't do it intentionally - I don't do it to get compliments in the other direction - I do it because...I just do. I just always have.

Perhaps this is part of the Great Love Assignment. Perhaps part of it is about learning to love myself and learning to be kind to myself and learning to allow myself more than 30 days to transform from the Witch of Wal Mart into a loving person.

Jaena, I'm sorry I didn't have time to put the way-to-go-post-its into practice today. I needed the Post Its for notes on my files! :) But I appreciate you calling me on that because I needed to hear it. This is a big task, and I have done some things right. Perhaps I'd be more spurred on to keep sticking with it (although sheer principle will keep me on the path because I'm just that stubborn) if I were more congratulatory about my accomplishments.

Having said that, I will reserve further thought and comment on "love does not envy" for tomorrow. It works out better anyway, because I'm still thinking. :)

Post It Notes Called to Active Duty - Day Eight

Like I said yesterday, I knew this day - this week - was going to be one test after another in the love factor. And starting about 8:13 this morning, the phone started ringing - and it never stopped. The piles o files grew - and no matter how quickly I weeded them out, two seemed to replace every one. It's the week that happens every year - and every year I know it's coming - and every year it surprises me with its craziness and wears me out despite my preparation.

Today my goal was to once again work on "love is patient, love is kind" - the couple. I had grand plans of waltzing into my office and writing out the definition of kind on a post it note and smacking it to my monitor and throughout the day, gushing love to all who encountered me. Unfortunately a downpour on my way into work ended any intentions of waltzing...I rather slopped into work. And there was no time for post it note defining. There was only time for phone call after phone call.

And then about mid-morning, I had a phone call that ended up more like a "Who's on first" conversation than anything else. The sweet (I'm sure) man and I never connected in the same line of thought. At times, I wondered if we were even speaking the same language. Not to mention that I rarely got to complete a sentence before he launched into his next set of words. In frustration, I grabbed the nearest stack of Post It Notes and began writing, "love is patient...love is kind...love is patient...love is kind...love is patient...love is kind." So I guess the Post Its got some work after all.

I'm learning this is going to be much more than a 30 day adventure in my life. I'm apparently the world's slowest learner. It's hard to keep it all straight and today I didn't always remember to do well. But this is always a good reason to try harder tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow - Love does not envy. I wonder what sort of hands-on training I'll get in that department?

Hand in Hand - Day Seven

Today was my day to practice kindness. You know - 1 Corinthians 13:4b? Love is kind?

I figured I would get my workout at church - being a greeter and trying to keep up the energy pace during our special kids' service. Or maybe tonight during the double baby shower after our evening service.

But here I sit...and I didn't greet. The team was well-staffed without me. I sat in the back pew during the special service and had zero energy for anything more than doling out Cheerios to Hannah. And I spent most of the baby shower rocking Liam to sleep - so I came home for my annual date with the Emmys feeling very much like a failure as a kind person. Mostly because I hadn't had - or hadn't sought - opportunities to try.

I thought of people I spoke with - and I was too short with them. I thought of people I passed by without even speaking. And in those moments, I wasn't kind. In truth, perhaps my only times to take advantage of the chance to be kind were the moments when I held a cup of Cheerios for a one year old so she could stick her face down in there and come out plastered with O's, and when I held a bottle for a chubby three-month-old before slowly rocking him to sleep.

But here are a couple of things I've learned today about love being kind. First, I noticed that in this verse, "Love is patient, love is kind" is a sentence all by itself. Those two things go hand in hand. When I'm patient, I'm showing kindness. And when I'm kind, I'll be patient. They're a pair.

Just for kicks, I looked up the word "kind" - and I got this. Sympathetic, helpful, friendly, thoughtful, gentle, pleasant, beneficial in action. And to that, I say, "gulp." Those things are not always my first reactions in dealing with others. Sometimes, yes. It depends on the person. Some people make it easy to be all those things. Some don't. But my job is to be patient...to be kind...no matter what's coming at me.

Thinking ahead to this week, I believe those two words are going to be my theme. Work is going to be full of opportunities to be patient, sympathetic, helpful, friendly, thoughtful, gentle, and pleasant. And just as those two things go hand in hand, they must also go hand in hand with me.

It could be a very long week. But if I work hard - it could also be a very good one!

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Last Sunday, my pastor issued a challenge to everyone in our congregation. The challenge was to read 1 Corinthians 13 every day for a month and see how it changed our lives. I, being a lover of such challenges, accepted what he offered.

It’s about to kill me.

I do have to say, though, that I am learning much more from this chapter than I thought possible. It’s such an often-read, often-written-about, often-preached-on topic that I thought surely everything that could be squeezed from its contents…had been. But apparently that is not the case – at least in my mind. I’m learning all sorts of new things. I had planned to write about that today, but it turns out that I took up writing a mini-column every day on my blog about what I’m learning, so to use this space for that would interrupt my flow. So I guess if you want to know the ways in which I’m learning about love, you can read all about them on the blog.

Meanwhile…I had my first request. I feel like such a DJ. I got an email this week from one of you, wanting to know more about this forty chapter writing project that I’ve been working on. It all interconnects so much that it’s hard to pull out one chapter by itself and have it make any sense without a ton of background, but given that I had my first ever request, I had to find something to make it work. So, for you, Cheryl B., here is a portion of one chapter – the bulk of it. I just deleted the parts that connect it to the chapters before and after. Enjoy!

One of my childhood pastors, Fred Littlefield, once preached about the importance of Scripture memorization. He said that when we put Scripture into our memory bank, God will pull it out at just the right time. I’ve learned the truth in that statement – and beyond it, I’ve also learned that in the spirit of Romans 8:28, God will also work to bring together truths we’ve learned from various sources – if we’re willing to take the time to learn them.

As I sat in the prayer chapel for week number three, God reminded me of that as He brought to my mind sections of truths I’d learned here and there over the past weeks – months. Amazing how something I’d read or heard or experienced at so many different stopping points could suddenly all lump together and make sense.

It began with my ring. I sat in the chapel waiting on my first lesson of the day, and in my fidgety nature, I began twisting the ruby ring on my left hand ring finger. Not until later that night, after consulting my journal, did I realize that this particular day was my 100th day of wearing that ring. God knows how much I love anniversaries like that, and I appreciated His tying in a lesson about the ring on such an important day for it.

At the beginning of this year, I began studying Elizabeth George’s book, Beautiful in God’s Eyes. I mentor a friend from church and together, Olivia and I had been delving into Elizabeth’s findings on the Proverbs 31 Woman. I wanted Olivia to know how to better grow into such a woman, as she was already doing, and I wanted to make sure I got on track in being that woman, as I wanted to become a blessing for my someday husband – not a pain in his neck.

The second chapter of the book focused on Proverbs 31:10, which says, “Her worth is far above rubies.” Elizabeth said “The rich red ruby is truly a unique gem, and because of their rarity, large rubies even surpass diamonds of equal weight in value!” I had no idea! I always credited diamonds with being the gem of choice in value. That day, as I read that chapter, I decided to find a ruby ring and wear it on my ring finger until the day my husband proposes to me – as a reminder to me that I have value in God’s eyes – and as a reminder to work hard every day to become a woman of even greater value for my currently elusive husband.

Because I read that chapter in January, my friend, Kari, suggested that I watch for Valentines Day jewelry sales in the weeks to come, and I might find a ruby ring in my price range (which wasn’t very high). I thought it was an excellent and easy idea, so I kept my eyes on the newspaper flyers…and came up empty. Apparently at least in my area of the world, ruby rings never go on sale. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets – all of that gets the markdown, but not rings. At least not ones that would look good on me.

And then – two weeks before Valentines Day – one jewelry store nearby ran an advertisement for a ruby ring – small and classy – right at the top of my price range. There would be an extra charge for sizing if necessary. I took one look at my chubby ring finger and rolled my eyes. I wondered what “extra charge” translated to in dollars. Nevertheless, I made my way to the store with coupon in hand, on the appointed day of the sale and asked to see the ring. The lady pulled it out of the case and slipped it on my finger. A perfect fit. I wrote the check and walked out with my new ring proudly displayed.

Later that day, God pointed out to me that He can ordain even ruby rings. A perfect fit of the perfectly priced ring. And then He pointed out that my ring is comprised of three hearts – two on their sides pointing into the large one in the middle. The symbol of a marriage – two hearts in love with God at the center.

One hundred days later, I sat in the chapel, twisting the ring on my finger, remembering a day in February when I made a vow to become worth more than the rarest gem in honor of the husband I haven’t met.

Love is Patient. Bekah is Not - Day Six

I knew today was going to be a doozy. I thought that maybe - just maybe - since the focus on patience day came on a Saturday, it wouldn't be so bad. I was wrong.

As you may know (from last week's column), sleeping in is my number one priority on a Saturday. If you have kids, you probably want to hit me right now and make some remark about how that will be a thing of the past once I have kids. I know. I've heard. (and heard...and heard...and heard.) But the thing is - I don't have kids right now. So I sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

This morning I was just thinking of stirring - not quite yet to the eye opening part of stirring, but awake - when I got a text message. Was I up? Uh...no, but sorta. Angela wanted to stop by and use my sewing machine. I told her that would be fine and was about to tell her that she'd be greeted by my bedhead when she got here, but just then the phone rang. It was Amber. Would my house be available later if she needed to stop by for a couple of minutes with her kids? Sure!!

So that meant I was up. Up and taking a shower - and making the bed - and cleaning out the litter box. For a few short minutes, I grumbled under my breath. It's Saturday. It's not even 11. It's my day to sleep. No one should be up at this time.

Love is patient.

Gulp. Yes it is. Okay. Refocusing. So then came the bout with the sewing machine. I only sew about twice a year, so each time, I have to get out the instructions to see how to wind the bobbin and thread the machine. As I worked...and worked...and worked...and messed up...and messed up...and messed up, I muttered to Angela, "I got the award in Home Ec, you know." She said to me, "You did?" "Well yes....in Human Development. Clearly this is why I didn't get it in sewing."

But love is patient, so I worked my way through that delay without punching the machine.

And then I went to Wal-Mart.The trip where the lady in the pink shorts (who should not have been wearing shorts) walked way too slowly down the aisle and because of the busyness of the store, I was stuck behind her. Love is patient with her outfit and her speed. The trip where people didn’t know that you should always walk to the right of the aisle. Love is patient with people who make you move to sides of the aisle that you principally object to using. The trip where people insisted on walking slowly down the center of the parking lot aisle and also blocking prime parking spots with doors hanging open on vehicles and carts being unloaded. Love is patient in a place where driving should be slow anyway and it wouldn’t kill you to walk from the far end of the lot.

Following that, there was the trip to the Dollar Tree, where I contended with two young mothers and their combination of five children. The kids were loud and all over the store, and the mothers used less than appropriate language in correcting them. Love is patient with kids who don’t know any better because clearly their parents are not teaching them any better. And then there was the line behind me as I checked out – the line that grew with no other cashiers to help shorten it because the two remaining employees chose that time to have a rather heated argument one aisle over. Love is patient with the cashier I have who is doing her best to take care of my shopping as quickly as she can.

Love is patient. And at heart, I am not. But I'm learning.

A Braid Gone Bad - Day Five

I'm exhausted. I'll admit it. Not just exhausted because it's the Friday of a long week. Not just exhausted because it's 11:30 and time for bed. But exhausted because the attempt of putting together the three parts of love that I've studied this week did not go well today. I was in tears before 8:30 even showed up. Everything and everyone that could get on my nerves...seemed to. It wasn't long before I didn't even bother to torture myself (which is what it felt like) with reminders of being loving in all I said and did.

I was reading a blog earlier today - Deb Wuertley's blog. She was talking about her daily routine and how the amount of time it takes her to do her daughter's hair depends on the style - and French braids take the longest. Boy do I remember the days of French braids. If you didn't know me prior to my senior year in high school, let me just tell you that I had enough hair on my head to make approximately 412 Locks of Love donations. Okay so that might be a slight exaggeration, but I had HAIR. It was long, and it was thick. That translates to "it was up out of my way in the summer." My friend Cyndi (fellow lotsa hair girl) taught me to French braid my own hair and I was so excited to learn it. I became an expert at quickly braiding my hair. But then there were days. Days when I had to start over four or five times. Days when I hated my hair and would have shaved it all off had a razor been nearby. And on those days, I'd have to put my elbows down on the dresser, mid-braid, to rest, because my arms ached from being up so long trying to get the stupid braid to look right.

That's how I felt today about 1 Corinthians 13 and the great love assignment of 2006. I was trying to braid these three strands I've been studying...and I just got so tired. I hurt and ached and got sick of trying to make it work. I wanted to forget it and rip that page out of my Bible and just study around it. (Not really - for those of you who might find even such a suggestion offensive.)

It's hard to love people when it doesn't come naturally to you, and it's Friday morning of a long week with little sleep, and you don't have your normal caffeine to start your day. And frankly, I didn't want to do it.

I thought maybe because I failed, God would keep me in the first three verses for another day. Apparently not. Apparently now I get to venture into verse four...and the dreaded phrase: Love is patient. I'm sure tomorrow being Saturday will in no way make that an easier lesson. But as I head into the beginning of the famous list that is the bulk of this chapter, I realize how important those braided strands are to the list. In what I say...in what I know and think...in what I do....there must be love. And tomorrow at least...that love must be patient - in my words, in my mind, and in my actions.

It's Not So Much Today...It's Tomorrow I Dread - Day Four

Today was "doing day." My focus in every action was - am I doing this in love? And I was surprised to find the day not as difficult as I imagined it would be. Perhaps it was because I didn't have any appointments on the books. Or because the phones, though busy, were not filled with people who tested my patience to the limit. (Patience is the start of verse four, so perhaps they're all waiting for that day to arrive.)

In fact, I very much enjoyed talking to the people who called today. Many were old friends from last year who are just now calling for their first round of information for the upcoming year. We caught up on summers and plans and that sort of thing.

I had lunch with a friend...staff meeting did not take as long as it has been known to take...I got a free coffee after work...an unexpected gift card for my Mary Kay party...even Kaegan is extra friendly tonight. It's been a good day. And I find it's easy to do in love when people are "deserving" of love and all is right in the world.

I thought perhaps because "doing" is what I do, it just came more naturally than the first two things I had to learn about. But I think instead that it was just a good day. Not every day has to be challenging. A good one can hide among the rest.

So I was poised to move on to verse four - which I dread, by the way. Any phrase including the word "patient" is not going to be my friend. I can tell you that right now.

But tonight while I talked to one of my friends, I said something that just wasn't kind. And she called me on it. She said, "Bekah, that wasn't nice." I said, "Oh, I know." That has haunted me ever since.

So I think God has put the brakes on moving on to verse four. I think instead what I get to do is revisit verses one, two, and three together. Tomorrow's assignment is to work on my speaking, my knowing, and my doing - and in all three - be meaningful, be something, and be favorable in the sight of God and man. Oh boy.

Dare I even wonder what my Friday holds?

A Curse Comes Before A Blessing...Right? - Day Three

Today the whole experiment has seemed little more than a dreadful curse that has settled over me and spread to those around me as well. However, I do not like to use the word "curse" when discussing the teaching I'm receiving from God, so I will say that this must be a blessing on the way that only seems like a curse right now.

After what I read yesterday, I kept repeating to myself, "Don't be nothing. Don't be nothing. Be full of love." I tried to see each person I met with and talked with on the phone as a child of God. I tried to remind myself that each one is only trying to make an easier path for her child or a better life for himself. It was a challenge that I have to admit I did not meet with grace each time. I did slam a door. Granted it slammed a little harder than I intended - but to intend at all made it a "nothing" moment. I did have one small moment of parking lot rage in the Wal-Mart parking lot - against a driver who was probably only trying to get home for lunch. How was she to know I was on a strict schedule to purchase five copper flower pots at the Dollar Tree?

And as I sat down to read verse 3 tonight, I found this: If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Well, being the pain-hating packrat that I am, I was fairly certain that this verse had little bearing on my life. It must be there for someone else taking the pastor's challenge.

Then I noticed that this verse is about doing things. I've read about speaking and knowing - but this is about doing. I'm a Martha to the max. I'm a do-er. I'm a card-making, scrapbook-compiling, yard-mowing, cooking, errand-running, cat-feeding, baby-sitting, taxi-driving (okay not for a job, but you know what I mean) frenzied fanatic. Doing is what I do. Need someone to pick up your mail while you go on vacation? I'd be happy to. Need a batch of brownies for the board meeting? I'll make sure they arrive on time. Need a place to crash when you pass through from out of town? My guest room will be awaiting your arrival.

But if I don't do in love - there's no point.

And you know the scary part? This is doing season at work. I can so feel experiment central permeating my office tomorrow. I need a masseuse.

Practicing While Learning - Day Two

August 22, 2006. I woke up this morning (several snoozes into the day), determined to put into practice what I learned from verse one yesterday. And so as I went through this day, I repeatedly slapped the back of my hand, bit my tongue, pursed my lips, and at times even walked away from conversation in an attempt to watch my words and say them with love. I even tried smiling (though I'll be the first to admit it was fake) at someone who irritated me to death and found myself softening as the conversation went on. (What do you know? Maybe it does work.)

I found myself in the middle of several occasions today when I was truly annoyed. Annoyed at stupidity, annoyed at interruption, annoyed because I had so little sleep despite my best efforts, annoyed because I knew a long day loomed...annoyed.

And each time I started to gripe out loud, God tapped me with a reminder that the people on the other end of my thoughts are His children just as much as I am. And though the problems in their world are easily solved in my mind, they aren't easily solved to them. One person today thanked me profusely after I rattled off an answer I can give in my sleep. Only then did I stop to remember that this isn't every day business to just everybody.

Hence verse two came to life before my very eyes. "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing." It wasn't prophecy, but it was knowledge - and to those calling me, it remained a mystery. It was a gift to them that I could explain answers to their baffling questions. But I had to ask myself every time - Am I being loving about this? ICK.

The last word in that verse really got to me. NOTHING. It's a strong word. I'm meaningless and pointless apart from love. It doesn't matter that I know answers. It doesn't matter if I'm talented. It doesn't matter if I'm called to serve God - because If I'm not going to do any of that with love, it's nothing...and I'm nothing.

Tonight I was talking to one of my friends on the phone. We were comparing the life situations of two of our friends. They have different details but the same root problem. And we know just how to fix it - if they'd only listen to us. And then there was this other story I was telling her about a totally irrational line of thought someone had today - and how I knew just what the correct line should have been. Why don't people listen? Well probably it's because we need to shut up and start working on our own problems. But you know - it doesn't matter that we're wise that way (if it really is wisdom) - because if we don't love those people - all our logic is pointless.

I don't want to be pointless. I have work to do. 28 more days. Can I handle this?

The Great Love Assignment of 2006 - Day One

August 21, 2006. Okay so I know I'm posting this a day late, but I got behind yesterday. I had to be at work an hour early this morning, so I had the brilliant idea to be in bed early last night - which I was. But apparently my brain didn't feel sleepy yet, so I was up until the traditional post-midnight hour watching the minutes slowly tick closer to "too early." I should have just gotten back up and posted this.

Sunday, our pastor issued what I have dubbed "The Great Love Assignment of 2006." He preached about how real Christians are loving people - and then he challenged each of us to read 1 Corinthians 13 every day for the next 30 days. I'm always up for a challenge, so I accepted it, even though I knew it was going to come back to bite me.

So August 21 was my first day...and though I read the whole chapter, the whammy hit me in the first verse. It's going to be a long 30 days. Just in case you don't know the chapter by heart - here's verse 1: "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."

Words are my thing. Ever since I could speak...I have been...in paragraphs. And once I learned to write, I wrote in them too. And last week, when I read my weekly chapter in Elizabeth George's book "Beautiful in God's Eyes," she talked all about words and how a woman of worth chooses her words carefully. How she encourages. How she uplifts. How she has obviously never shopped at Wal-Mart. Oh wait. That last part was mine.

But because I do shop at Wal-Mart (and it's not the entire chain I have issues with - it's just the one where I live...or more specifically the people who seem to shop when I do...at a much slower pace) words have become a problem for me. So has eye-rolling. So has sighing. So to be thinking about how my words should exit my mouth and then thinking about how they really do...is a sobering thought.

Yesterday I thought of one phone call I had at work. I had a crying girl on the other end of the line, and that is not highly unusual in my line of work. When I talked to her, I said and did all the right things. I listened, I "awwed," I "uh-huuuuuuhed," and I "I knooooowed." I offered words that I hoped would comfort - and they seemed to. But when I think about my demeanor during the phone call, love was noticeably absent. I did what I did because it's my job. And that's all I really have to do. But what I should have done was genuinely care because someone was genuninely hurting.

I spoke her language. And I spoke it well. I used my words wisely. But I truly did nothing more than make noise. I was just a piece of percussion keeping the beat.

Ouch. It's going to be a long 30 days.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

It has been a Bekah-land sort of weekend. Need I say more? You might be wishing I wouldn’t – but you know me better than that.

Thursday night I stopped by the little gas station around the corner to pick up some chocolate milk for the next day. Friday was a vacation day for me and all good vacation days include chocolate milk at the start. So I wandered in – kind of late that evening – and one of the guys who works there waved at me. He used to work the morning shift – when I used to go in every morning before work for a pop – so I saw him every day. But now he works the overnight hours and goodness knows I have no need for caffeine then.

When I got up to the front of the line to pay for my milk, he said to me, “Where’d you go to high school?” I told him, and he said, “I know more about you than you think I know!” My eyebrows shot straight up on that one. It turns out that he discovered his wife and I were in the same class in high school – and given the odd spelling of my name, he made the connection that I was the same one she talked about when she took trips down memory lane. So we caught up – and he told me that she worked at another station across town.

So…the next morning, I got up and on my way out of town for my small road triplet, I stopped where she works. Now he’d told me that he was going to relay the message to her that I would be coming to visit. Don’t you know that he forgot? So over the exchange of money for my Krispy Kreme, I asked the cashier if Heather was around, and she called her out to the front. Heather said to me, “May I help you?” I said, “Hey!!” As she gave me a totally blank stare, I realized she had no idea a.) who I was, or b.) that I was coming to see her.

But she recovered quickly, figured out who I was, and we had the nicest little catch up session there in the back room of the gas station. But here’s the part that killed me. She told me I became the matter of discussion that led her husband to realize he knew me when her daughter developed a fascination with watching Little House on the Prairie. Now, if you don’t know me well, I’ll have to make a slight confession here.

Back in the day, I was a huge Little House fan. Mom had to schedule dinner around channel 23’s late afternoon showing of Little House. I pitched a fit of gargantuan proportion when I had to miss any episode. And for a while (I so cannot believe I’m divulging this information) I even kept my own running episode guide in a pink notebook. Complete with show titles. I know. I know. GET A LIFE. And Heather knew of this obsession because one week when I was on vacation, I knew there were some episodes coming up that I didn’t have titles for, and I requested that she watch the first five minutes of Little House every day to grab the titles for me.

Other people get pet sitters or mail gatherers when they go on vacation. I assign someone to watch a syndicated TV show to get the title for me. I need therapy. However, I will say that it provided a rather amusing pastime for my college roommates. During my freshman year, Little House aired at 8 or 9 in the morning, and they would make me leave the room (where I was getting ready for class) when it first came on until the title would pass – and then they would call me back in. They proceeded to time me to see how long it took me to guess the title. My average was under five seconds – and I rarely missed even a single word of the title. And for as pathetic as that is, I think it’s pretty good.

It all gave brand new meaning to “I know more about you than you think,” though. Frightens me to know that my neighborhood gas station buddy knows this about me.

So anyway. So many other things happened this weekend that made it the sordid conglomeration of events that it was – but allow me to share just one more.

My small road triplet took me about 2 ½ hours away to the home of one of my college roommates, her husband, and their daughter. Christina, Emily and I spent Friday together, and we had a great time catching up. When Andrew came home from work, the three of us spent the evening hanging out, playing a game, and watching TV. When it was time to go to sleep, I joked with Christina, “I’ll try not to sleep in until 11 like I do at home.”

I curled up in the guest room and kept one eye on the clock all night – forcing myself to wake up every hour or so just to make sure I didn’t sleep too late. Around 8:40 in the morning, I decided to get up – I’d heard them all stirring and it just seemed like a good medium time to get up – not too early, not too late. I went into the bathroom, took my shower, did my hair and makeup, came out, strolled into the bedroom, grabbed my cell phone to put it in my pocket, and glanced at the time while I did. 12:40. WHAT?? I yanked my watch out of my suitcase. 12:40. I looked up at the bedroom clock. Flashing 9:23. Flashing, I say!!!! Apparently the power went out…and I failed to notice that tiny detail.

I was so mortified. But I had to get down the stairs to get out the door. Christina was putting away dishes, Emily was chasing Andrew around, and I said, “Uh, hi.” Christina just said, “Would you like a donut or do you want lunch?”

MAMA!!!!!

Friday Favorite #2

I figured if the amount of time remaining until midnight is less than half an hour, it's close enough to Friday to post my Friday favorite.

Tonight I went to a scrapbook night at a scrapbook store. Next to bookstores, scrapbook stores probably make me happier than just about any other kind of shopping arena. Just to be surrounded by paper and albums and adhesive (and I do not SNIFF the adhesive, thankyouverymuch) - it just all makes me very happy.

The bad thing about short crop nights is that you just get going when it's time to quit. So tonight I just took a little project to work on, so that I could leave feeling like I'd actually accomplished something. I cropped all my pictures and rounded the corners so they're ready to go on the page when the time comes.

And therein lies my favorite. The Creative Memories corner rounder. It is the only rounder I've ever found (and I've used several) that does not make my thumb feel like it's about to fall off after punching my 212th corner. I do not wake up the next morning with carpal tunnel thumb. I do not wake up without feeling in my thumb. That alone makes it a winner. But even better - it has the little corner trap. I'm sure they've given it a much more eloquent name - but that's what it is. It's a little trap door that catches all the corners as you punch them off - so they don't go flying all over the table like fingernails in church (SHAME on those of you who do that!!). When the holding tank gets full, you just open it and dump out all the corner pieces - neatly into the trash can, of course - and then you start over!!

I know not all of you are scrapaholics like I am - but if you are, and you don't have this corner rounder - you gotta get it.

The Litter's In Its Box and All's Right With The World

I just got home from Wal Mart with two sixteen pound (each) cartons of litter and one has found a new home in the downstairs litter box. Ahhhh...the sound of real litter pouring in - ending (hopefully) my nightmares of rebellious cats pronouncing their distaste for paper scraps and wood chips. I'm sure it won't be long before Braeya is frolicking in the box which she sometimes feels is her own personal sandbox meant solely for pleasure. In fact, Braeya thinks most things in this house were put here just for her. I'll have to come back to that sometime later and explain it more.

But as I lugged the two cartons of litter out of the Wal-Mart, I discovered that my car seemed to be parked a greater distance away than when I came in...and the faster I walked, the heavier those two suckers felt! So when I got home, I checked out how much they weighed and realized that if I would lose 32 pounds...it would be the same as two cartons of litter that I would not be lugging around every day. It's like when Oprah pulled the red wagon of fat out onto her stage. Weird how 32 pounds seems so abstract until you pick up 32 pounds and realize that would be what you would lose.

This is the only thought I am currently capable of producing - it's been a long day filled with strange questions and a marathon of paperwork. So until I can come up with something more thought provoking - or at least normal - I will stop typing.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

I am officially in Christmas mode. Yes, you read that right. Christmas mode. I’m not sure who is more to blame – Hobby Lobby and its 14 aisles of Christmas décor or the lady who called in on the radio the other day and got on my nerves. Given that I heard the radio lady more recently than I saw the Hobby Lobby spread, I’ll blame her.

Here’s how it happened. I was listening to the radio at work just like I always do, and on the morning call-in show, a woman phoned who had the deadly combo of a whiny radio voice and a cell phone that only worked ¾ of the time. I listened for about a minute and just couldn’t take it anymore – and I had no idea how long she might prattle on. So in a moment of haste, I turned off the radio and clicked over to my computer’s stored music.

I worked my way through the Gaither Vocal Band and the Booth Brothers – and by mid-afternoon, I completely forgot that I wasn’t listening to the radio – and that it was, in fact, just a list of music playing. And that’s when it happened. The Point of Grace Winter Wonderland CD was up for play, and before I knew it, I was singing along to In the First Light and Breath of Heaven and All is Well while I simultaneously worked my way through my files.

That evening I found myself making preliminary notes for the outline of my Christmas letter, sifting through the Colorful Images catalog for possible return address labels that might coordinate with the cards I have yet to make, and brainstorming where I might strategically locate each of the way-too-many trees I insist upon decorating each year.

But whether or not you think I’m OCD about Christmas (as my sister claims), allow me to tell you the following reasons why I think it is wise to consider Christmas at least this early every year.

1. Gift sales. Yes, yes, I know that the official Christmas sales with accompanying red and white hoopla won’t begin for another couple of months at least, but just think how much you could save on buying gifts if you were up with every season’s clearance sale!! Just this morning when I read the Sunday flyers, I saw a huge discount on one of those obnoxious utility lamps used by people who know how to do industrial work (a.k.a. not me). I bought one for my Dad a couple of years ago. Had I planned ahead that year, I could have saved some bucks! (That would have allowed me to buy more stinking gift certificates which are the only things he ever asks for…but I digress.)

2. A Christmas letter with flair. I realize that most people who write Christmas letters are people with families…kids…who actually have something to report from the previous year. I’m not really sure when I picked up the habit of writing Christmas letters – but I’ve been doing it for a few years now. But every year it’s the same thing. I sit down and stare at a blank screen before typing out “please refer to last year’s letter.” I have even been known to consult the calendar or my endless journals to come up with something newsworthy. Nothing. But not this year!! This year I have a whole list of things that I’ve worked nicely into a theme – so that at least old news can have a new format!

3. Actual participation in festivities. There are some years when I’ve been sort of a last minute girl. Ask my Mom about the year we did all my shopping on Christmas Eve. But my full plan is to have my cards made and my shopping done by Thanksgiving weekend so I can spend that weekend wrapping, addressing, and decorating. Then I have the entire month of December to go to other people’s parties, bake cookies, sing along with all my faves (in the privacy of my home, of course) and sit on the couch late at night and stare at my 16 strands of lights wound ever so strategically through the branches of my main tree.

4. Vacation days are easier to get. Isn’t it fun to divvy up the holiday-time vacation days among all the co-workers every year? There are always the unspoken rules that dictate who gets the time off depending on who got it last year combined with who most recently got to “claim a holiday.” But if you take your days in August and September to prepare for Christmas, chances are, they’ll be much easier to approve!

5. And rounding out my list is something I’ve actually never done and probably won’t ever do – but it is a good thought! You could hang your outdoor Christmas lights now and work on your tan while you do it!! And the thing of it is – if you lived in my neighborhood, no one would even think it strange!

So call me crazy, but on Christmas Eve, when you can’t find the gift you want, you are out of wrapping paper and the stores have closed, and you are sweating in the kitchen while baking the last batch of cookies, think of me. I’ll be fast asleep on the couch – cradled by whatever’s left in working order of the sixteen strands of lights.

A Friday Favorite

My sister, Lori, has an L-List. She took her cue from Oprah who has that favorite things show every year - the show that everybody wants to be on because they get to take home one of each of Oprah's favorite things. Anyway, so once a month, a package shows up in my mailbox and I rip into it, anxious to see what Lori's favorite thing is this time - and of course, try my own free sample.

Well, I have no free samples to give, but I have decided to share about my favorite things too - because what are little sisters good for, if not for copying off their big sisters who copy off Oprah? So, until I get bored or run out of favorites, each Friday will be my day to share a favorite thing.

Tonight was a lazy sort of night. A Friday when my friends had plans and I did not - and maybe that was even sort of refreshing. I came home from work after running a few errands and curled up on the couch under my pink princess blanket to become acquainted with the TV show Northern Exposure. I'd never seen an episode in my life but have on loan the entire first season on DVD, so I began learning all about life in Cicely, Alaska.

About halfway through the second episode, I decided I was cold - which is not a good sign since it's still August, and the air should be able to run at 67 degrees. It was too late to drink coffee, since I don't own decaf and the fully leaded stuff should not be consumed late at night if I have any intentions of sleeping. But I found in my cabinet one scoop of chai left in the bottom of the Tastefully Simple can. I forgot I had one serving hoarded for such a time as this. And though I was too eager to drink and now have no tastebuds functioning on the front half of my tongue, it was so worth it - because that is good stuff.

Nothing beats a chai from a cafe, but in the variety of chai mixes that I've tried, Tastefully Simple wins my vote. So if you've never tried chai, I think you should track down a Tastefully Simple consultant and buy a can of Oh My! Chai.

The Best Laid Plans...

I wrote those of you on my column list and told you that I now have a blog - even though I said I wouldn't...said I couldn't...yet I here I am! And I also told you that today I would add pictures to accompany some of the most recent columns. Rest assured that much effort was put into such an attempt today. Obviously you can tell that much effort led to zero outcome.

No matter how much time I have to put into it this weekend, you can know that I will do my best to find a way to get them on here, once the technical issues have been put aside.

I need to go - it's Thursday evening, which means it's time for the Gaither Homecoming Hour on TV. That would make it the point in the week where for an hour, I imagine that I actually know how to sing alto (occasionally soprano) and I sing along. So far, the cats haven't run away, so I must not be doing too badly yet. Tonight they're showing the Israel one, which is one of my favorites, so I want to catch the rest of it! Oh! Holy Highway is the next song, so I gotta go. David Phelps sings on this one, so I especially can't miss it!

Sunday, August 6, 2006

Braeya is safely home following the great declawment of 2006. She almost spent an extra night at the vet’s when a last minute phone call kept me from leaving work on time. I spent the entire rush to the vet’s in near hyperventilation mode, both from the thought of another Braeyaless night at home and from the wonder of what an evening of veterinary hospitality might cost me. Despite my uncontrolled breathing and high pitched screeching on the phone all the way to the vet’s office, I made it with just a couple of minutes to spare.

I was a bit worried that she really wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I mean if I were her, I’d be pretty ticked at me right now. First, I took away her food the night before her surgery. Allow me to just say that eating is the national pastime of citizens at my house. You may not like the options I have, but buddy, you’ll have options. Kaegan did not quite understand why he had to participate in the food fast – followed by the water fast. But I figured they wouldn’t sort out on their own who was allowed to eat and who wasn’t. And then as if the grounding from food and water wasn’t enough, I took her on this fun car ride – to a brand new place full of fun nooks and crannies to explore – and stuck her on the scales. And then – well, we won’t even talk about the ripping out of the nails. So if someone starved me, tricked me into a vacation, weighed me, and then ripped my nails out one by one, I’m not so sure I’d be in a speaking mood just one day later. But Braeya seems to have inherited someone else’s forgiveness genes – so she was purring on high when they retrieved her from the back room.

And that is where the adventure began. They sent me home with list of discharge information (could they not come up with a better title for a document?) which I read in great detail.

The evening after being given anesthetic, your pet is to receive only small amounts of food and water. Offer half the normal amount for the first evening. Yeah. Like Kaegan is going to go for that plan. Braeya will just have to be self-controlled.

Your pet may be uncoordinated or weak following surgery. As if she wasn’t before?? She fell off of everything she tried to climb on! Make sure they are not allowed to navigate stairways, without supervision for the first 24 hours. HA! Try living in a two story house with that rule!

Nausea may be present…vomiting may occur. Girl, you better not. This mama doesn’t do puke.

Make sure your pet has a clean, dry, confined area to rest. Thank goodness it didn’t specify I had to make sure she used it!

Excessive activity and jumping should be discouraged for 10-14 days. Riiiiiiiiight. Hello! She doesn’t respond to “No no, Braeya. No jumping in the house.” And she’s got a brother. Excessive activity and jumping are what she’s all about!

Do not allow your pet to lick the incision area excessively. Braeya has a doctorate in bathing. She isn’t going to go for that at all.

And then of course, my personal favorite. The litter issue. No litter for 10 days. I hauled out the big bag of shredding and prepared to swap out the litter in the boxes (one box upstairs, one downstairs) for the shredding. Of course, I had to keep her away from said activity, because Braeya’s master’s degree is in helping. So I locked her in the downstairs bathroom, pulled the litter box out of the cabinet, dumped it into a kitchen trash bag, swept out the whole cabinet, and filled the box with shredding. I let her out, moved upstairs, blocked off my bedroom, and proceeded to do the same with that box.

Allow me to say that I considered changing trash bags between boxes, but being the world’s biggest cheapie, I decided to conserve trash bags and use the same one for the cleaning of both boxes.

Big mistake.

I carried the rather heavy bag downstairs after successfully swapping out both litter boxes and noticed when I reached the bottom of the stairs that the bag was starting to stretch. I decided to put it down and go get a paper sack to reinforce it so as not to have a mess on my hands. I found a paper sack, picked up the trash bag, and promptly poked a hole in it. Litter poured all over the hallway. I rolled my eyes, put the trash bag down, scouted out Braeya’s presence (safe on the back of the couch), and pulled out the vacuum. I swept up the runaway litter, left everything as it was, and went to the garage in search of something better than a paper sack to put the litter in. I found the perfect box out there, came back in, picked up the trash sack, and riiiiiip – another hole right in the bottom. I dumped the sack into the box, but not before about 1/3 of the contents were on the hallway floor – the heating unit – the blinds – the window sill – my shoes. Please remember this is used litter.

AAAHHH. I got the vacuum back out but noticed more litter falling out of the hose than being sucked up into it. The bag was full. Sigh. I went to the closet for a new bag. None. I pulled Braeya off the back of the couch, stuck her upstairs (ignoring rule number two of the discharge information), and lured Kaegan up there too, because the last thing I needed was him mistaking this mess in the hall as the location of a new litter box and christening it. I drove to Wal Mart (no comment) and discovered all vacuum bags have new (matching, no less) packaging so I had to sprawl out in the aisle and read every box to find my kind of bag. I came home, put the new bag in the vacuum, cleaned up the mess, and carried the box of litter out to the alley. I noticed about halfway through the yard that the box had a hole in the bottom and I was leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail of litter as I walked.

Needless to say, the entire house has received a thorough vacuuming and Braeya probably stood a better chance with the litter in the box than with her ding dong mother’s attempt to try to create a safe environment for her precious tender paws.

Oh and one more thing before I conclude this sorry story. Allow me to just say that a box of trash bags costs $2.43 – making each bag $0.12 each. Vacuum bags cost $5.12, making them $1.73 each. Not to mention the 2 ½ billion dollars I spent on gas driving twelve blocks to Wal-Mart. The moral of the story is: fork out the twelve cents for a second trash bag!