You know how sometimes
you go over to somebody's house, or maybe you're at the doctor's office, or
maybe even the breakroom at work, and there's this big candy dish there? It
usually gets filled around Halloween, but most of the time you will find a
candy dish just about anywhere, and it's often faithfully filled up by whoever
maintains it. Whoever is in the room as soon as the candy dish is refilled gets
first pick of all the good stuff. It's a bummer to visit the candy dish a few
days later, after all the good stuff is gone, and see all the reject candy
sitting at the bottom of the dish with some bits of stray wrapping. Then if
you're desperate for a snack or a sugar rush, you're stuck with all the reject
candy -- like Mary Jane candy. Sorry, but I didn't like that stuff when I tried
it. I prefer Jolly Ranchers, any flavor. Or Tootsie Roll, any flavor. Or even
that plain dollar-store peppermint stuff that's especially plentiful this time
of year. (But not Mary Jane. Yecch.)
Well, I don't have a
candy dish, but I do have a blog. I intend to fill this post with bite-size
nuggets -- and you get first pick! Maybe you won't like some of them. Maybe you
will reject the ones that taste like Mary Jane to you. Or maybe you'll like all
of them and gobble everything up immediately. But I hope you will enjoy, and don't
spoil your dinner!
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I wonder if the same
people who complain about stores selling Christmas stuff in September also
complain about people posting sonogram pictures of their baby on Facebook. It's
the same concept, right? Early celebration?
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A small stretch of road
in my general vicinity is maintained by a local chapter of atheists, according
to a sign posted there. When I drove by it recently, I wondered if perhaps I
should confront these road-maintainers about how the road doesn't actually
exist; it's really just a figment of their imagination. But I decided not to
after all. I think that would be too snarky, even for me.
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I recently received
snail-mail correspondence regarding a 401k that I never had, and I got email
spam in my personal inbox regarding a company website that I no longer have access
to... because that particular company fired me 8 months ago. I was about to
raise a stink about it (it's just inconveniently humiliating), but I was
reminded about how wonderful it is to no longer work for a company that isn't
anywhere close to having its act together. Thank you for proving my point yet
again!
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During recent visits to
the vet, I felt like the doctor was trying to psyche me up for what it's like
to own a really old cat -- that my cat won't be very active and will move more
slowly. OK, I get it. If I had cataracts, I'd probably move more slowly, too.
But doc, you ain't never seen my Macho in full swashbuckling action after
dinner. He puts Errol Flynn to shame.
And I'm getting older,
too. I'm totally OK with Choochie taking an almost-nap next to me while I'm
slouching here typing this. I think all three of us have been very good company
for one another while we've been growing old together.
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I've lived in my
apartment for two years now, so I've gone two years 1) without my own
washer/dryer 2) without cable and 3) without really cooking for myself (except
for cereal, toast, sandwiches, or junk that you can heat up in the microwave
like TV dinners, soups, and hot dogs). Heh. And I'm still alive. How about
that? Thanks, Lord!
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Galatians 5 talks about
spiritual fruit. I've heard pastors talk about how the fruits of the Spirit
take a while to grow, just like how regular fruit like apples, oranges, grapes,
etc., take time to grow. That makes sense. If you try to rush the growth of
your fruit, you could get into all kinds of trouble.
I think the Robertsons
learned this the hard way on a classic episode of Duck Dynasty. Willie bought a vineyard, and he had every intention
of turning it into a fully operational wine-producing wing of his business.
Unfortunately, he didn't do his homework before he made his purchase, and he
discovered that wine is actually produced from a very specific type of grape.
He decided that he didn't have time to wait for the right type of grape to
grow in his new vineyard, so he recruited his family to help him make his own vintage redneck wine with store-bought grapes and sugar.
The results, of course, were disastrous. I believe Jason described the wine as
tasting "like a cross between doe urine and jalapeño juice."
So, don't rush your
fruit growth, and make sure you're letting the right type of fruit grow in the
first place. And I am also preaching to myself.
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Ever since I was
preparing to go off to college more than 20 years ago, I've heard and
experienced all types of reactions anytime I mention the words "writing" or "writer." The
following two examples are my favorites.
Me: "I'm a
professional writing major."
Somebody else: "UGH!
I hate writing!"
Um, thanks for making me
feel socially desirable?
Me: "I'm a
writer."
Somebody else: "Oh!
You must really like to read!"
Um, no, I really like to
WRITE.
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Recently, I took
my car in for some maintenance that turned into several more repairs than I had
anticipated. I was thankful to have been able to pay for it all, and I'm
thankful to still have a car that works after driving it around the Metroplex
for nearly 6 1/2 years.
While the car was in the
shop, the dealership insisted on sending me away for a few hours in a loaner
car, even though I would have been content to hang out in the waiting room
instead. So, I drove a brand-new car for a very short while. I wonder if
perhaps it was just a ploy to get me to see what driving a brand-new car was
like. Although the drive was smooth and high-tech, I intensely missed my old
car. Forget the GPS, the upgraded digital readouts, and the fancy reverse
back-out camera. I missed MY old car. I missed the CD player, the felt seats,
the wider view in the windshield, and the fact that I've spent the past 6 1/2
years making myself comfortable and making tons of memories in MY car.
And while I was driving
around the brand-new loaner car, it clicked for me that God feels the same way
about me. I don't want to replace my old car -- MY car -- with a brand-new one.
And God doesn't want to replace me -- even though I still need a lot of work
and have failed Him plenty of times and have lots of scratches -- with another person. He wants to keep me. He wants me. He has a lot of sentimental
value attached to me. I'm in His family. I'm HIS. So, while I was driving around
town for a very short while in a brand-new loaner car, I received some majorly deep
inner healing.
Hmm. I wonder what my
therapist would have charged for a session like that.
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