I think I ought to start, just for laughs, a misheard ramblings blog to which I might add new entries every now and then. We got our first one today. Katie has the flu and I was offering Jell-O. She didn't like the mental picture of the mess that could make (I usually make red, and that scene is the reason I bought our first carpet cleaner, if you understand). So I was pondering yellow, and yellow Jell-O reminded me about a song, "I'm just mad about Saffron..." Definitely a stupid song, but it came to mind and I was be-bopping to it a little in the kitchen. Tim, a room away, said "I'm just a bladder box Akron?"
Shows how important it is to make sure that the hearer understands the speaker. How many times am I misunderstood so badly in a day and it's not brought to my attention? Another pointer is how useful it would have been not to go into too much anatomy detail with a boy until it's absolutely necessary. (Sigh.)
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The Smell of Death
Leila has started blogging, and it seemed to be in all the buzz tonight at One28. One of her blogs, "Smelly Christians," was about the aroma of life that Christians exude. Andy, her husband, had seen my comment on one of her blog entries and commented to me about it. "Stink on!" he said with his wry smile. We continued to talk about the fragrance of life (and one of the favorite comments among One28-ers is "Stink!") I said to him how it's definitely a stink of death to those who are perishing...which reminds me of the picture that comes to mind with that verse.
I think of a lily. My mother-in-law used to buy us an Easter lily every Easter, and my allergic response would go through the roof. The smell of it was very sweet, especially when the flower was new; I'm not sure which was more overwhelming, the allergy or the perfume. I often put them outside so I wouldn't have to deal with them. But when that flower got old, that over-sweetness turned rank, and who could stand that? It did have an obnoxious death to it.
Our fragrance of life should be sweet. Maybe so sweet that it's hard to tolerate? I don't know about that. But I know that the same fragrance that other Christians would appreciate are the same things that bring hostilities from unbelievers or drive them away. It reminds them of their mortality, of how they know they don't belong to God and they are perplexed as to whether they want to know Him, and they are convicted of their sinfulness. Probably anyone who remembers becoming a Christian also remembers that feeling from beforehand, when Christians were around. It's like being near an old, dying lily.
Later tonight, Barbara, one of the students, was talking with me about it, about the smell of other Christians--and we were discussing how when we're in a crowd of Christians, it's like being in a rose garden--in the middle, after a while, you can't even smell the perfume because it's all around you. But if you're in China among all unbelievers, in all your loneliness for fellowship you might be able to "smell" a Christian a mile off, like you would a solitary rose.
I never thought of myself as a word-picture person...it's kind of fun when it comes along.
2 Corinthians 2:14-16 But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place. For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; to the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life. And who is adequate for these things?
I think of a lily. My mother-in-law used to buy us an Easter lily every Easter, and my allergic response would go through the roof. The smell of it was very sweet, especially when the flower was new; I'm not sure which was more overwhelming, the allergy or the perfume. I often put them outside so I wouldn't have to deal with them. But when that flower got old, that over-sweetness turned rank, and who could stand that? It did have an obnoxious death to it.
Our fragrance of life should be sweet. Maybe so sweet that it's hard to tolerate? I don't know about that. But I know that the same fragrance that other Christians would appreciate are the same things that bring hostilities from unbelievers or drive them away. It reminds them of their mortality, of how they know they don't belong to God and they are perplexed as to whether they want to know Him, and they are convicted of their sinfulness. Probably anyone who remembers becoming a Christian also remembers that feeling from beforehand, when Christians were around. It's like being near an old, dying lily.
Later tonight, Barbara, one of the students, was talking with me about it, about the smell of other Christians--and we were discussing how when we're in a crowd of Christians, it's like being in a rose garden--in the middle, after a while, you can't even smell the perfume because it's all around you. But if you're in China among all unbelievers, in all your loneliness for fellowship you might be able to "smell" a Christian a mile off, like you would a solitary rose.
I never thought of myself as a word-picture person...it's kind of fun when it comes along.
2 Corinthians 2:14-16 But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place. For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; to the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life. And who is adequate for these things?
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Overprotective to a Fault?
Today I was out on the deck at the back of our house and saw 3 neighbor boys, in about 4th and 5th grades, playing air-soft gun games in the park behind us. What bothered me was that there were a couple of boys about 14 years old also, playing them also, who I believe just came in through the park and joined them. It's the second time I saw them there and I don't ever see them in our neighborhood.
The thing that really got my attention was that they were all urging one of the younger boys to leave our neighbors' back yard and go out into the park to play their games, and he didn't want to go. They wouldn't let him remain, but started ridiculing him.
I believe I have something of a reputation for being a bit over-protective of my kids. My belief is that if I err on the side of over-protective, I'll make less mistakes than if I don't protect them enough, and then my kids might not be the subject of a news story. It's hard to know exactly how much is the right amount--unless you know enough about the kids in the neighborhood where they play. On our street, most of the kids' parents see them for dinner time and that's about it. Some of the kids I think I know a little better than their parents do, just because they don't have to conform to parental standards until the parents are there to watch, and I see them in their less guarded moments. It can be sobering.
Anyway, protective me got moving and went three doors up to notify the father of the boy who didn't want to go into the park. He was also concerned and went and brought his son home, who I believe was relieved. The strange thing was that even though these neighbor boys are constantly together, the father didn't even know where the other family lived, 4 doors away from him. His son has actually gone camping with the other family, and both families have lived here at least 3 years.
As it was getting dark, and the remaining 2 neighbor boys were still out there with the older boys, I thought maybe my next-door neighbors didn't know what was going on in the back. I went over just to make sure that they were aware of the situation. The mother is usually polite, but today, though she didn't say anything specifically hostile, I could tell that she was insulted that I could imply that they weren't keeping a close enough eye on their kids. She said that her husband was in the back (he wasn't; he was up the street); and that one of the boys was the other neighbor's brother--he wasn't--we didn't recognize him; the boy wouldn't have been so hesitant to go into the park; his brother wouldn't have been so unkind as these boys were; and the father wouldn't have so gladly dragged his son home.
I don't know. I think I'll stay my over-protective self, at least with my own kids. I have to figure out the boundaries a little better with one set of neighbors though. Maybe I live in the past, a time gone by, when people wanted to know where their kids were and with whom; maybe I'm just dense and my kids need more freedom to associate with the world unhindered, as it seems so many do. The way I see things, though, I don't think I'm ready to buy that yet.
The thing that really got my attention was that they were all urging one of the younger boys to leave our neighbors' back yard and go out into the park to play their games, and he didn't want to go. They wouldn't let him remain, but started ridiculing him.
I believe I have something of a reputation for being a bit over-protective of my kids. My belief is that if I err on the side of over-protective, I'll make less mistakes than if I don't protect them enough, and then my kids might not be the subject of a news story. It's hard to know exactly how much is the right amount--unless you know enough about the kids in the neighborhood where they play. On our street, most of the kids' parents see them for dinner time and that's about it. Some of the kids I think I know a little better than their parents do, just because they don't have to conform to parental standards until the parents are there to watch, and I see them in their less guarded moments. It can be sobering.
Anyway, protective me got moving and went three doors up to notify the father of the boy who didn't want to go into the park. He was also concerned and went and brought his son home, who I believe was relieved. The strange thing was that even though these neighbor boys are constantly together, the father didn't even know where the other family lived, 4 doors away from him. His son has actually gone camping with the other family, and both families have lived here at least 3 years.
As it was getting dark, and the remaining 2 neighbor boys were still out there with the older boys, I thought maybe my next-door neighbors didn't know what was going on in the back. I went over just to make sure that they were aware of the situation. The mother is usually polite, but today, though she didn't say anything specifically hostile, I could tell that she was insulted that I could imply that they weren't keeping a close enough eye on their kids. She said that her husband was in the back (he wasn't; he was up the street); and that one of the boys was the other neighbor's brother--he wasn't--we didn't recognize him; the boy wouldn't have been so hesitant to go into the park; his brother wouldn't have been so unkind as these boys were; and the father wouldn't have so gladly dragged his son home.
I don't know. I think I'll stay my over-protective self, at least with my own kids. I have to figure out the boundaries a little better with one set of neighbors though. Maybe I live in the past, a time gone by, when people wanted to know where their kids were and with whom; maybe I'm just dense and my kids need more freedom to associate with the world unhindered, as it seems so many do. The way I see things, though, I don't think I'm ready to buy that yet.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Are You One of a Kind, Too?
Yesterday I posted about Hamburger Helper and how I prefer to cook...but I don't mean to tread on toes! I realize everyone has their different way about them, some better ways than others and none of us has a monopoly on the good ones (and, praise God, nor the bad ones!). I do have a knack probably for saying things that do step on toes--so sorry if they're yours! It's okay if you like serving H.H. every night of the week. I don't care!
It got me to thinking about all the ways that God made us unique, and how living where we do and in the time we occupy multiplies the ways we can express our uniqueness. One of my favorite sayings is "Yep, you're unique, just like the rest of us." It's one thing we do all have in common! There are many things about myself that I'm sure are in the one-or-two percentile of people; not all of them would be considered very favorable and being so rare, none would be considered normal. These are some ways I'm definitely on the fringe: I don't wear makeup, as most women do; I homeschool (and I don't mean cyberschool); I don't have pierced ears (well, I did pierce them at 18, but they were allergic to the earrings so I let them heal over instead); I don't like shrimp very well, and I hate crab and asparagus; I don't really care if I ever go to Hawaii, though I guess I'd take the opportunity if it were cast my way. I know there are probably lots more but I can't think of them and I'd probably bore or disgust you if I haven't already.
It shows the great creative power of God, that even from two parents He always makes their children quite unique, no matter how many they have. Even twins will have different fingerprints, if that is all. Usually they have different quirks and spots, too.
My oldest sister Vicki is blonde, thin and nervous; Donald is fit, rugged, crude, witty and boisterous; Allyson is environmental and analytical; Mark made his way through years of college to be a professor, likes to fidget, has asthma, and is balding; then my little brother Greg is crude and likes cigars. In these ways they all differ from me, I think. I haven't tried a cigar since I was three, and I don't think my tastes have changed.
Wouldn't it be interesting to know the ways that we differ, and the ways people we know differ; what makes them most unique? We could have trivia games about the people at church if we were armed with such knowledge--or maybe too much of a gossip fest...I guess the risk could hinder its implementation. It does make getting to know people interesting, especially if you have a high tolerance for quirks.
A gift for appreciating our better quirks would make loving one another easier. There's some saying somewhere about how easy a time I'd have loving people on another shore; the difficulty's the guy next door. Yeah. Can I love my neighbor in spite of the 50 or so air-soft pellets that land in our driveway and clog our drain, and in spite of the dogs that mess our yard, and in spite of his driving 30 mph into our cul-de-sac to get to the end of it, and...yeah. I guess I'd better be able to. Some of those quirks might be better than some of mine.
It got me to thinking about all the ways that God made us unique, and how living where we do and in the time we occupy multiplies the ways we can express our uniqueness. One of my favorite sayings is "Yep, you're unique, just like the rest of us." It's one thing we do all have in common! There are many things about myself that I'm sure are in the one-or-two percentile of people; not all of them would be considered very favorable and being so rare, none would be considered normal. These are some ways I'm definitely on the fringe: I don't wear makeup, as most women do; I homeschool (and I don't mean cyberschool); I don't have pierced ears (well, I did pierce them at 18, but they were allergic to the earrings so I let them heal over instead); I don't like shrimp very well, and I hate crab and asparagus; I don't really care if I ever go to Hawaii, though I guess I'd take the opportunity if it were cast my way. I know there are probably lots more but I can't think of them and I'd probably bore or disgust you if I haven't already.
It shows the great creative power of God, that even from two parents He always makes their children quite unique, no matter how many they have. Even twins will have different fingerprints, if that is all. Usually they have different quirks and spots, too.
My oldest sister Vicki is blonde, thin and nervous; Donald is fit, rugged, crude, witty and boisterous; Allyson is environmental and analytical; Mark made his way through years of college to be a professor, likes to fidget, has asthma, and is balding; then my little brother Greg is crude and likes cigars. In these ways they all differ from me, I think. I haven't tried a cigar since I was three, and I don't think my tastes have changed.
Wouldn't it be interesting to know the ways that we differ, and the ways people we know differ; what makes them most unique? We could have trivia games about the people at church if we were armed with such knowledge--or maybe too much of a gossip fest...I guess the risk could hinder its implementation. It does make getting to know people interesting, especially if you have a high tolerance for quirks.
A gift for appreciating our better quirks would make loving one another easier. There's some saying somewhere about how easy a time I'd have loving people on another shore; the difficulty's the guy next door. Yeah. Can I love my neighbor in spite of the 50 or so air-soft pellets that land in our driveway and clog our drain, and in spite of the dogs that mess our yard, and in spite of his driving 30 mph into our cul-de-sac to get to the end of it, and...yeah. I guess I'd better be able to. Some of those quirks might be better than some of mine.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Joy and Hamburger Helper
Today Pastor Sean spoke about Ecclesiastes 2:24-26, and the joy one can find in work, when one lives to please God, versus the futility that unbelievers find in their work. He pointed out that it has nothing to do with the type of work, or whether it is difficult or frustrating, or whether one is able to even finish it. Last week covered some of the same topic, during which, by way of example, cooking with home-grown, home-butchered, home-combined ingredients on a wood fired stove in Bible times was more work than today when a cook takes a box with a bag of noodles, a bag of seasonings, and a bag of sauce mix and cooks it on their super-duper electric stove--and yet both can be joyful or joyless depending upon a person's point of view.
This hit a nerve. Pastor Sean was talking to me again; I didn't know he knew my story about Hamburger Helper and the frustration I find in it. You would think that if anything I would be delighted by its convenience, but I am not. I like to cook from scratch (though I don't home-grow yet; I will grow some fruit and vegetables this summer if God is willing, but I doubt that I will ever grow animals for food and/or butcher them), and I don't really relish the idea of sitting down to Hamburger Helper. It's helpful, I'll admit, to have it when I'm unexpectedly kept out for the day and have to make dinner in 20 minutes.
Here's the typical scenario that I find: I might make 40 different dinners in pretty regular succession from scratch at our house, and I enjoy doing that. The process of thinking up a meal that can be made from ingredients we have on hand, finding a recipe for it and adapting it to our tastes and ingredients or to make it healthier; then browning the meat, peeling and chopping the vegetables, making the sauce, cooking the noodles or rice, and bringing everything to be done at the same time and before people are hungry enough to eat my arm...I enjoy the challenge of it. So I make the 40 dinners and don't generally hear any comment from my dear husband in appreciation. I'm sure he appreciates it and means to cast no slur on the meal; however, it doesn't occur to him to say so. But the night I make Hamburger Helper, that stuffer of stomachs necessitated by a stressed schedule, well that night, I invariably get a comment. My husband loves that stuff! I think it brings him back to his childhood when his mother made it. She was a working mom, and back then Hamburger Helper mixes were a novelty dream for the working woman, as for some they are still.
Yes, I think I get joy in the process of the usual making dinner. I'm glad that my husband's comments aren't what I live for, though I like to please him and feed all the family nutritiously. I often thought it would make sense to give up and make Hamburger Helper every night, but I can't picture it happening. Now I think I might understand why God built joy into the other form of cooking. Though I know not everyone looks at it that way, I like to think He sees the value in the variety and the process as well.
This hit a nerve. Pastor Sean was talking to me again; I didn't know he knew my story about Hamburger Helper and the frustration I find in it. You would think that if anything I would be delighted by its convenience, but I am not. I like to cook from scratch (though I don't home-grow yet; I will grow some fruit and vegetables this summer if God is willing, but I doubt that I will ever grow animals for food and/or butcher them), and I don't really relish the idea of sitting down to Hamburger Helper. It's helpful, I'll admit, to have it when I'm unexpectedly kept out for the day and have to make dinner in 20 minutes.
Here's the typical scenario that I find: I might make 40 different dinners in pretty regular succession from scratch at our house, and I enjoy doing that. The process of thinking up a meal that can be made from ingredients we have on hand, finding a recipe for it and adapting it to our tastes and ingredients or to make it healthier; then browning the meat, peeling and chopping the vegetables, making the sauce, cooking the noodles or rice, and bringing everything to be done at the same time and before people are hungry enough to eat my arm...I enjoy the challenge of it. So I make the 40 dinners and don't generally hear any comment from my dear husband in appreciation. I'm sure he appreciates it and means to cast no slur on the meal; however, it doesn't occur to him to say so. But the night I make Hamburger Helper, that stuffer of stomachs necessitated by a stressed schedule, well that night, I invariably get a comment. My husband loves that stuff! I think it brings him back to his childhood when his mother made it. She was a working mom, and back then Hamburger Helper mixes were a novelty dream for the working woman, as for some they are still.
Yes, I think I get joy in the process of the usual making dinner. I'm glad that my husband's comments aren't what I live for, though I like to please him and feed all the family nutritiously. I often thought it would make sense to give up and make Hamburger Helper every night, but I can't picture it happening. Now I think I might understand why God built joy into the other form of cooking. Though I know not everyone looks at it that way, I like to think He sees the value in the variety and the process as well.
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