Confused Isolation

Walking through the large, two story mall I spot a small island oasis. Down a short hallway surrounded by stores and busy shoppers is a pretend livingroom. The square carpet draws the boundary lines for this little paradise. Several arm chairs and lounge chairs are placed around the area with tables and stools to finish the effect. Breathing a sigh of relief I settle down in a soft chair under a softly lit lamp and inhale the steam from my hot chocolate. The hurried atmosphere of stress-induced shoppers entering the busy Christmas season fades into the background as I isolate myself within the invisible walls of my shelter.

 How can I be all alone in a virtual sea of people? Yet, here I am, all alone. Others sit in chairs next to me, but no one speaks. Others hurry around me looking toward their next destination, never noticing the woman ensconced in the black leather chair. I am unseen, unnoticed, unobtrusive.

Sitting here in my own little world I understand in a small way the world of Dementia. People hurrying around you, past you, moving on toward unknown destinations while you sit in a comfy chair and watch them pass. Where are they going? you wonder without comprehension. There must be somewhere you should be going too. Now where was it? 

Trying to rise from your chair you are told to just sit and rest, you have nowhere to go. But they must be wrong. There was somewhere you were headed when you sat down here. You are busy too, just like the others; surely you have an appointment to keep.

But you are isolated, even in the middle of all of these people. Confusion clouds the windows of your paradise and the past knocks on the door. You get up to answer, but the door is locked. Surrounded by so many, you feel abandoned, deserted, forsaken, and lonely. A solitary figure hedged in on every side by other people, an island in a stormy sea of darkness.

May God light the way of the dark hallways for all of those in confusion this day.

You Have A Choice, What Will It Be?

I spoke at the Ladies' Retreat this past weekend. The theme was "A Whine and Cheese Event" with the idea being that the Christian life is difficult, and sometimes we may turn to whining, wishing this life were as easy as cheese. But Jesus tells us we will have trouble in this life, and that even He had to suffer. I wrote this story to illustrate the two ways we can deal with Jesus. It's up to you.

 

Malchus, Simon, and James were the original Three Musketeers. They did everything together, including their practical jokes. “Stay behind the bushes until the chariot rounds the curve,” 13 year old Malchus had instructed. James, younger by a year, crouched low, laughing to himself as he imagined Rhoda shrieking in fear. Malchus and Simon whistled the warning from the tree down the road. James jumped out to grab the horse’s reins, but this wasn’t calm Moses plodding along with Rhoda’s chariot. This was a Centurion’s chariot and horse. The massive horse reared and came down pawing. Malchus and Simon ran away as James was trampled under the horse’s hooves. It happened in seconds; it lasted for years.

 

Pain shot through James’ head as he remembered that sunny, carefree day. Distant memories flooded back: his mother’s cries, his sister’s pale, taut face, his father’s angry glare as the doctor left the house. James was now an invalid. He would be carried with all of the other beggars into the temple grounds where a few meager coins might be tossed his way each day.

 

Malchus and Simon still talked with him sometimes, but their lives had gone on without James. Malchus had married Rhoda, and they raised a brood of ten boys, all crazy like their father. Simon was quieter than Malchus, but success had not forgotten him either. Simon was a trader with a fleet of sixteen ships under him. And what of James? Poor, dependent on others, a nothing. James’ nephew, Felix, was in charge of wheeling James to the temple and back home each day.

 

James never asked his nephew to stay and help him into the healing pool waters. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. James could tell Felix couldn’t stand to be near him. Felix never talked as he rolled his uncle to the temple in the morning. Placing some bread and a flask of milk in James’s pocket, Felix would turn tail and run as quickly as he could before the other school kids saw him.

 

Yesterday, just before dusk, Felix had brought an extra portion of cheese to James. It was almost the Sabbath, and James would be expected to stay at the temple so that no one would have to carry him. Sometimes James was allowed to stay home for the Sabbath, but more people came to the temple on Saturday, so tossed coins were more in abundance that day. James couldn’t afford to lose the extra income.

 

So here James sat, chewing on a cheese rind and wincing each time the waters in the pool were stirred. People walking by tossed their coins and kept on walking. Slowly, James stopped chewing and looked up. Someone had stopped and was staring at James.

 

“How are you today, James?” the man asked.

“Same as always,” glared James. “Just sitting here on my golden pallet waiting on the servants to bring me some figs and wine.”

“How long have you been like this?” the young man probed.

“Thirty-eight years. Are you dropping some money or just moving on?”

“Would you like to be healed?”

“Well of course I would, are you crazy? I don’t suppose you would like to hang around and help me in the water,” scoffed James.

“Pick up your mat and walk,” the young man quietly said.

 

And that was it. A prickly feeling began in James’s toes, and like the needles the doctors had used, pricks of pain sent fire through James’s legs. Suddenly, James felt a strength and power that he remembered from his boyhood. Almost involuntarily, James bent his legs and jumped from his pallet. Scooping the bedroll up in his arms, James took off leaping ecstatically down the corridor toward the great gate he had so often been wheeled through.

 

Suddenly, James was stopped by a young Pharisee dressed for the Sabbath. “What are you doing carrying your things on the Sabbath, Man?” scolded the Pharisee as he grabbed James by the arm.

“The man who healed me said to take my mat and walk. It’s not my fault,” James said haltingly.

“What do you mean “healed” you?” questioned the religious student.

 

And from there James told his story, of a practical joke gone wrong, of 38 years of misery and loneliness, of frustration and fear, and then unexpectedly, healing strength.

“Who was this man who healed you?” the Pharisee questioned, but in James’ desire to escape the temple grounds, he had not asked the man’s name.

 

Dropping his bedroll, James made a quick escape and headed off for home again. But it wasn’t to be. Just as he rounded the corner, he bumped into Malchus and Rhoda. They were bringing their new grandson to the temple for his dedication.

 

“James? Is that you,” Malchus bellowed. “What happened? How can this be?”

Staring at Malchus and beautiful Rhoda surrounded by their children and children’s children, James couldn’t take it. He bolted and ran the opposite direction. Grabbing hold of a cart handle, James stood panting trying to catch his breath.

 

“So you have skipped walking and gone straight to a marathon, I see,” laughed the stranger who had healed James.

“Who are you and what do you want?” James glowered at the man.

“I want only to heal your heart. You must forgive the sins of youth and move on with your new life. Stay in the temple and worship the Lord. Sin no more.” And then the crowd around the man engulfed him again as people called out, “There he is! There is Jesus!”

 

That was the last straw. James had heard of this man. How dare he lecture James? Hadn’t he just spent 38 years of his life looking up from the ground at everyone else? James would turn Jesus in, that’s what he would do. That would teach him! Sin no more, huh? It wasn’t James who had sinned, it was Malchus. Malchus had stolen Rhoda away from James along with his entire life. Let’s see what this Jesus fellow has to say about that!

 

Finding the young Pharisee, James approached him and named the man who had restored James’s strength. It was Jesus. James was taken into an inner room, one he had only glimpsed before, and given a tray of meats and breads. Tell us all you know, they began, and soon a plot began to take shape.

 

Meanwhile, Jesus moved on with the crowd. They were laughing and bumping into each other as the noonday sun began to beat down on them. Stopping to drink some water, Jesus was jostled by the crowd.

 

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

Laughing at Jesus’ remark, Peter said, “In this crowd you want to know who touched you?”

 

But Jesus wouldn’t let it be. Furtively glancing around the crowd his eyes fell on Susannah. She was hiding her face beneath her head dressing, but her frightened eyes quickly dodged up to the man standing in front of them all. Slowly Susannah stepped forward. “It was me,” she whispered. “I touched your cloak.”

 

The crowd hushed and Peter and Thomas grabbed hold of her arms to see what Jesus would do with this forward woman. But Jesus only tenderly asked why she had touched him. The gentleness in his voice gave her the courage to speak further.

 

“My husband and I wanted to have a baby so desperately, but the children always died before they could see the day,” Susannah explained. “Finally, the last child was too much for me. I have hemorrhaged for twelve long years now. My husband has been kind, but I know that he needs an heir. I have spent all my money on doctor’s bills and advice, but nothing helps. I thought if I just touched your cloak, surely such a holy man could heal me. As soon as I touched your robe I knew I was better. My whole body was strengthened and energized. I am sorry I tried to take away from your power. Please forgive me,” Susannah pleaded.

 

“Dear woman,” Jesus said. “It is not my power but your faith that has healed you. Go in peace.”

 

Both James and Susannah received healing from the one they called Jesus, but they responded very differently. One turned Jesus over to the authorities; the other turned herself over to Jesus. Will you give in to bitterness and despair, or will you accept the healing that Jesus offers? He heals all; the choice is yours.

 

 

Ladies' Retreat

I attended the church Ladies' Retreat this weekend. It was nice to talk with everyone in a more relaxed environment. At church we are being pulled by time commitments, kids, outside activities, etc., so I don't always get to really touch base with how everyone is doing.
The guys were left home alone and seemed to do well. I was VERY pleased that the kitchen was clean when I got home last night. What a wonderful gift.
Captain was happy to see me, too. Evidently it was a terrible weekend for him. He wanted his "mommy". He whined and cried the whole weekend, terrible mournful howling. I got to experience it this morning when Hubby left for work before the rest of us. Hubby is headed out of town in a couple of weeks for his own sort of retreat, so I guess I will get the full effect of crying then.
Retreats are a great way to find a little balance in your relationship with God, especially if you aren't in charge of the retreat! Finding an entire weekend or even a few days to get away can be quite the feat, however. I often spend my walking time singing and praying, looking at nature, and asking God what He has to say to me. Those 30-60 minute retreats are what keep me sane.
Yes, Boys, I AM SANE!!

Beautiful You

Medium hot chocolate, no whipped cream, in a "To Go" cup. Fifties tunes are playing today as I make my usual order. #1 has college classes MWF this semester, so I take advantage by dropping him off on Wednesdays and then working alone for a couple of hours at the local coffee house.
I have started to recognize people that frequent this shop.
The dark haired man who always sits at the tall table on an equally tall stool appears to be a lawyer. Behind me sit two Hispanic men who converse in a couple of languages. They always have their computers going, so I guess they are here on business. A few ladies sit at the front tables away from the guys. I choose the table between the men because it is small enough for one and sits by the windows. I like looking out as I contemplate how to write a particular phrase.
Although the music changes each Wednesday, sometimes folk, Willie Nelson, or Eighties Rock, the place still feels the same: homey and safe. Decorative plaques display sayings about coffee- I Drink Coffee for Your Protection- but others have sayings that contemplate a better way of living. Find a Reason to Smile. Good Friends Are Good Drinks.
The one that really causes me to think is the one in the bathroom mirror. A two-inch, calligraphic square says, You Are Beautiful. Imagine looking into the mirror everyday and hearing, "You are Beautiful!" Not just told that, but understanding the truth behind it, the sincerity.
I'm sure at this point you are expecting me to tell you that God thinks you are beautiful, that He wants you to be with Him for eternity He is so sincere about your beauty. While that is true, it probably won't make you feel or believe in your own beauty. I can't make you believe it; no one can but yourself. And the only way I have found to believe it is to continually read His word and see how sweetly and lovingly He looks at me.
Whenever I leave the coffee house I smell like it for a few hours. "You've been to Coffee Shack," sniffs #2 as I walk in the door. Sitting in God's Presence is like sitting in the Coffee Shack. You start to recognize friendly faces, you enjoy the music, your mind clears, and you feel refreshed. God's odor clings to you for hours afterward, a gentle reminder that you have been in His presence, and He has found you to be Beautiful.

Filling My Belly or My Heart?

Monday is my long working day, and now that we are in the "Research Paper Unit" it meant the hour and half long class went for three hours yesterday. I try to meet with each kid individually and give them guidance and encouragement, but it means a long afternoon for me.
So when I trudged in the door at 5:00 yesterday evening the dog was ecstatic that the family was back in the house. He jumped all over the boys begging for attention and love. I, on the otherhand, ran for the bathroom, a place long ignored while I reviewed papers with students.
Once the boys were checked out by Captain, he went in search of me. Hubby laughed to tell me the path Captain took racing from one room to the next in his search. I wasn't in the livingroom, office, kitchen, laundry room, dining room. Finally, he greeted me as I emerged from the restroom. He shook and wagged and wiggled his way into my lap and hands, so happy to see me. I felt like a Rock Star.
I hurried into the kitchen to start dinner's side dishes. There was a 4-H County Council meeting at 6:30, and we needed to head out the door in an hour. I had placed a roast in the crockpot before I left for school, and the aroma had hit me as soon as I walked in the door. MMM, delicious, and I was so glad I had started dinner that morning! Of course, poor Captain had been smelling the roast all day long, and I am sure he was hoping for some crumbs to drop his way. The ham bone in the middle of the roast was Captain's treat as he ate on the rug in the corner.
We had a sit down dinner and then quickly combed our hair and brushed our teeth before heading out the door once again. Captain headed off with Hubby for the nightly walk while I raced the kids to the next thing. When I returned at 8:00 I was able to get in my walk, and then I had to take care of the kitchen.
The plates and dishes were still on the kitchen table. Rice still sat in one pot on top of the stove, and traces of brocolli clung to the other pot. I opened the dishwasher door to start piling in the dirty dishes, and Captain raced over to see what goodies he could lick off the floor level dishes.
That is a nasty habit he came to us with and it has been very difficult to break him of it. I try to keep my leg near the door so he is deterred a bit, but I do have to walk around the kitchen to get to other items. Captain took advantage of my movement and his tongue took to licking. It had been a long day and I wasn't too happy with the little guy at this point, so I scolded him in an unpleasant voice. Hubby, working on taxes in the livingroom, came to rescue the poor pup from the mean and nasty lady.
After I had the dishwasher loaded and closed, I went to open the livingroom door and let out the whining dog. He raced to the kitchen and instantly sagged as he saw the dishwasher was closed. I began washing the rest of the dishes in the sink, and Captain lay down by my feet. I'm not sure if he really wanted to be near me or if he just thought some food might show up.
Jesus was teaching a large crowd by the Sea of Galilee. They were hungry and nothing was to be found except five small barley loaves and two small fish, but Jesus was able to turn it into a feast for thousands. He continued speaking, teaching, and healing, and then he needed a break. The people left him alone for a while, and his disciples headed across the lake for Capernaum. The next day when the crowd couldn't find Jesus where they left him, they raced around the water's shore to the village of Capernaum. Finding Jesus the people began questioning him, but he wasn't fooled.
"You are looking for me not because of the signs and wonders that you have seen, but for what you can get out of it. You liked having your belly filled for a while, but I can give you so much more. Sit at my feet, not just at my bread basket," Jesus scolded them. (John 6)
I wonder why I follow Jesus sometimes. I know I pray for physical blessings, food, shelter, healing, but I also pray for things I don't have to have but would like to have. Am I just following Jesus for his breadbasket, or am I really following at his feet?
Finishing up the dishes I headed into the living room to catch up on some email and other work. Hubby had my computer working on the taxes, so I went in his office to use his computer. The dog followed me and sat down by my feet, pushing against me for attention. I absentmindedly stroked his fur and then went back to work. Sitting for a brief moment, Captain walked over to the garbage can under the desk to see if there were any goodies stored away in there. Hmmm. Perhaps he isn't ready to sit at my feet any more than I am at Jesus' feet. Lord, help me to sit still and listen, not just gorge myself on your blessings.

A Little Dizzy Spell

Saturday I awoke about 7:30 and headed to the bathroom. All was right in my world, and I climbed back into bed to spend some quiet time alone. By 8:00 my world had literally turned upside down. It was vertigo.
The room was spinning faster than a tilt-a-whirl, and my stomach was flopping around like a fish out of water. I thought that it was probably fluid in my ears since I had been feeling it sloshing in there for a couple of days previously. I tried Sudafed to decongest it all, but no luck.
Then, I thought, perhaps, a heating pad would be helpful to dislodge the fluid and make everything stand still. Walking down the hallway to the medicine closet wasn't too difficult if I kept one hand on the wall, but plugging in the heating pad was another story all together.
I bent over to the floor level where the outlet is, and wham! the floor raised four feet. I swear I was about to lose my cookies and land on my head. I twisted around and flopped onto the bed not to move again for several hours.
About mid-afternoon I was feeling well enough to talk on the phone for a bit, so the first one I called was my father-in-law. I needed to apologise for thinking he was a sissy all these years. He often suffers from little dizzy spells called vertigo. I always thought, Oh just get up and move around. It'll go away. I am sooo sorry, Big Pap. I didn't understand. This is not a "little dizzy spell", this is get off the roller coaster and toss your toenails dizzy!
Dramamine seemed to help a bit, or at least I was sleeping so hard I didn't notice it anymore, and today I am much better. I am still light-headed and my ears keep popping, but I won't get pulled over for drunk driving.
There are so many times that we just don't understand people because we haven't experienced what they are going through. Here in the South the race issue has befuddled me because I didn't grow up around it. I want to say, "Just move on." In fact, for some people moving on is much more difficult than that.
I hear people denegrate those who use "Entitlements", but I am one who lived in government housing, used food stamps, and was aided by WIC. I know the embarrassment of standing in a long grocery line and pulling out the food stamps. Yes, there are people who abuse the government's help, but for some of us it was/is a moment in time for which we are grateful for the help.
I am sure there are many other times that I have reacted poorly, either in thought, word or deed. I hope that when I discover my error, like in my little dizzy spell, I will always be sure to apologise for my lack of compassion. I just hope I don't have to learn anymore lessons the hard way!! I hate roller coasters!!

Generalists

In Environmental Science we learned a term: Generalists. That might sound like a bad thing to you; I am always asking my writing students to be more specific with their details and descriptions, but actually it is the Generalists that survive.
I was walking on the Greenway a few days ago and noticed a squirrel climbing down a utility pole. The squirrel is a Generalist. It climbs wherever it can, feeds on nuts and seeds wherever it can find them, and survives in many new situations and circumstances. Squirrels drive my father-in-law crazy as they eat up his favorite wildbirds' food, but squirrels have learned which nuts and seeds are safe and which ones need to be avoided.
The coyotes that howl in our back woods are generalists. They have learned to survive wherever they find themselves, eating mice and birds in remote areas or garbage in suburbanites' cans.
Specialists are in danger. If their environment changes too much, they can not survive. They die out because they are specially made for one place and one place only.
I have been wondering lately if I am a Generalist or a Specialist. I was raised in a time when a lot of people knew about illicit sex and illegal drugs, but I was also raised in an area where I was not exposed to those same illegitimate ways of life.
I hear words that make me cringe and can barely hear the true message of the speaker because my ears hurt. I watch dancers perform amazing feats of physical skill and athleticism, but I am unable to enjoy them because I am holding my breath hoping their outfits don't fall off.
My kids would say I am a Specialist, in danger of becoming extinct. But I think I really am a Generalist who has a good idea about which garbage cans to stay out of and which bird feeders are safe.

One Word

Hubby and I have been rewatching the Alias series on Netflix. The evil Arvin Sloane has finally assembled the fifteenth century Rembaldi device, and it gave him a one word message: Peace. Sloane spent 30 years searching, buying, killing, treasoning his life for this one thing, and all he got was a word. He seems to have taken the word to heart and is working hard to provide peace in the world. Buddha said, "Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace."

William Booth, the founder of the Salvation Army, had enough money to send his Christmas Greetings to everyone by telegraph if he only sent one word. His one word? "Others." Sophocles found his one word: "One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is love."

Some people find their meaning and one word in work. "The one word that makes a good manager- decisiveness." Lee Iacocca. Or try Pearl S. Buck's word: "The secret of joy in work is contained in one word- excellence. To know how to do something well is to enjoy it." I chuckled at this one word, "That is now my mission: to provide a European vision of growth, employment, prosperity- in one word, our future." Francois Hollande. Perhaps it lost its effectiveness and amount in translation.

So I have been wondering what is the one word I would say if I only had one word to give the world? Hubby suggested "Love", but too many definitions are entwined in that one word. I love chocolate, Hubby, a warm bed, my enemy, and dandelions. Sort of ruins it, huh?

Of course, many Christians would suggest that the one word should be "God". But I'm not sure that is a good choice either. God created the Heavens and the Earth. Then He allowed the Earth to be contaminated with hatred, disease, vengeance, war, famine. . . Looking at some of the Old Testament accounts of God, I would ratheer He not be my one word.

God is also many wonderful words: compassion, mercy, forgiveness, blessing, present. But how do I say in one word what God really is to me and to the world?

My one word is "Jesus". If there is only one word I can say to give you true life, then my word has to be Jesus. Not the Jesus of movies and myth who is separate from the world. Not the Jesus that looks at me and condemns me in my sin. Not the Jesus that crusaded the world and conquered in his name. No. None of those are the Jesus of the Bible. Those are the Jesus that Satan has lead many to believe in.

I'm talking about the Jesus of the Bible. The Jesus who left God and Heaven to enter Hell, for me. The Jesus who did all that he could here in this Hell to ease the pain and suffering of those he met. The Jesus who took on this Hell and gave his life for it so that I could get out alive. The Jesus who showed me compassion, mercy, forgiveness, blessing. The Jesus who is present in me and around me.

I want my life to be a one word statement: "Jesus".

Fighting the Dog

I fought the dog, and the dog won. I fought the dog, and the dog won.
That was the song my little #2 sang many years ago. He was confused about the words to the song, but yesterday I was singing it myself.
We tried keeping Captain in the kennel that used to house baby boy goats and is no longer needed. After a time or two in it, Captain escaped. So yesterday we installed wire fencing around the bottom of the kennel to keep him in. Less than an hour later, the dog was nearly completely through the fence. So we installed a third fence over the first two, this time made with even heavier guage wire. Guess what. Yep, he got through it.
I spent the afternoon and evening in hopeless despair. Captain is only still here because Kelly, our first dog, was the same way when we first got her. She escaped from the old fence, the new fence, and the reinforced fence. She ran away countless times, only to come back when she wanted fed. After years had gone by, Kelly settled down- in her old age!- and we didn't have the same fight on our hands.
That's why I keep thinking it will get better with Captain. He has to get better once he is older, right?
I imagine God looks down on us with the same exasperation. "I told you where to lay your head, now why are you sneaking out the gate?" Tiptoeing back onto the porch at 1:00 a.m. we try to slide back into God's house, but he knows where we have been. He's no fool. Luckily for us, Jesus came first. Because of Jesus God is willing to wait a little longer for our childishness to wear off. Someday we will choose to stay on the Master's porch even when other dogs walk by and wag their tails at us.
-------

By the way, I put a heavy cinderblock in front of the place where Captain gets out, and he stayed in the kennel for about three hours. Perhaps I will soon sing, I fought the dog, and I won!

By Candlelight

It isn't the old septic system that makes my house smell badly; it is age. The house has some funky odors at times because it has been around for more than seventy years. You know how your grandma smells? Well put that into a house.
So I burn candles sometimes. Right now I have a pumpkin spice and an orange and cloves candle burning; pumpkin in the livingroom, oranges and cloves in the kitchen. It makes you feel good when you walk into the house and inhale the refreshing, sweet smells.
But those candles only enhance the house, they don't really help anything. If the lights go out, THEN the candles are helpful, useful. When the electric fails, and the night turns dark, then I want a candle for a completely different reason.
Jesus is that way. When things are going well, with just a little hint of stale air floating about, He is my scented candle that freshens life. But when danger threatens, storms soar down upon my head, and lightning crashes around me, then my Candle lights my way.
Go grab your matches and light your candle now, before the storms knock out the lights and make you crash into the furniture. There now, doesn't that smell better?

Septic Sin

Last week we had a lot of rain, several inches in a few hours. The warning light on the septic system came on, and so we waited. It has done that before when we have a lot of rain. The water table gets so high that the septic system can't drain properly, but after a day or two without rain it rights itself. Not this time.
We waited without feeling too nervous for about a day and half. Then I started pacing in front of the windows looking out on the warning light. Every hour or so I would wander over and check- still red, hmm. Laundry day here is Thursday, and I was too concerned about letting five loads drain into the system, so we skipped it expecting that Friday would come alarm-free. No.
So Friday I went to the laundromat and relearned the ways of the washer-less. You don't use coins anymore; you buy a card that is swiped in the machines and your total is debited. I skipped my shower, made the boys take shorter showers, washed dishes more carefully, but still the warning light remained.
We went out of town on Sunday afternoon for a few days and hoped fervently that the light would be off when we returned last night. Again, no. So this morning I called to get the system pumped. They came out in a couple of hours and pumped out the tank and station, and told me some sad news. I need a new pump. Say ChChing.
But all of my nervousness about the possible ramifications of the sewage backing up into the house made me start thinking about sin. We all sin and try to hide the sins under ground in a sort of station or tank. The sins stay there moldering in a slimey stew until something bad happens, like a flood. Then, suddenly, the alarm goes off. SIN, SIN, SIN! And we pace back and forth in front of the window hoping that the system doesn't overflow into the house. Praying that no one knows about our smelly issues. Earnestly begging God not to let the failure be expensive.
Fortunately for us, the pump on our salvation system doesn't wear out after ten years. We sin, hide it all, and occasionally have to have the system pumped clean again, but we never have to replace it after it is first put in our lives. Jesus is our "Dr. Pumper", and His sweet fragrance refreshes even the smelliest of the septic sinners.

Why A Writer?

"Time for the most favorite part of writing, PROOFING!" #1 sarcastically muttered as he worked on his English assignment yesterday. "Mom, why do you want to be a writer?"
"I like to paint pictures with words," I answered. "Why do you want to be a writer?"
"I don't! I want to be a location scout."
A location scout travels around and looks for places to shoot films. He thinks this sounds terribly romantic and fun. I don't think he would enjoy it after he slept in a strange bed more than three nights. He is a home body, no matter how many times he tells me that he "just wants out of here!"
What did we ever do to make his life so miserable, Hubby asks. I have no idea. He just enjoys being miserable. It is very difficult to be his mother.
It is not difficult to love him. No matter what, I will always love him. Normally, I also enjoy being around him, I even like him. But he does have his moods. I write this for his future wife. Ignore him, buy some new shoes, and move on. He won't stay morose forever.