I don't know if you've noticed. Our culture, the sandy environment in which we dwell, is constantly shifting. Most currently I have witnessed the change in wind from the aura of perfectionism to flaw-ism.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, everyone tried to be perfect. They strove to put on the happy face and wear the facade that their life was, in fact, everything they'd ever dreamed of. They did this in an effort to fit in because, truth be told, everyone around them was wearing the same mask and so they were absolutely certain they were the only ones on the block who were, indeed, not perfect.
Lately, however, I have noticed the trend to not be perfect. That is, in this age of social networks and blogging, we have decided to take the masks off (or at least pretend to do so), to wave our freak flags proudly. We're not perfect, we know it, we own it, in fact, we're darn proud of it. We laugh off our flaws and try in vain to identify with each other in our imperfections. In fact, now it's the perfect ones who are looked down upon - they're hiding something, we know it! It was like a breath of fresh air, a sigh of relief: everyone knows I'm not perfect and, guess what, they're not either! Woohoo!
While it seems all well and good to revel in our messy lives - not trying to hide who we really are, we fall into a trap. In not trying to hide our flaws we have also mistakenly come to the conclusion that flaws are okay. Not to say they some aren't. It's okay if I don't clean up my house every day - if I have a basket of unfolded clothes sitting in my kitchen or messy bibs strewn on my kitchen table. That's not a problem. The danger lies in priding ourselves on our internal imperfections.
I gossip. I'm lazy. I'd rather spend time on Facebook than in God's Word.
Those are sins. Slandering God's children, wasting God's time instead of seeking how to put this life He has given me to good use, these do not honor my God. And I should not allow myself to be lulled into the sense of false security sung to the tune of, "That's ok, I do it, too."
It's not ok! We've heard it before - if everyone else was jumping off a bridge . . .
Here's the deal - we who have called on the Lord are called children of God. We are not perfect, no not one (Romans 3:10). And we know that. And it's good to recognize our imperfections, but we need to be spurring one another on toward love and good deeds (Hebrews 10:24), not letting each other off the hook just to make ourselves feel better. Our feeling better is not the goal. We should constantly be sloughing off our imperfections in a never-ending goal of Christ-likeness. We should be sharpening one another as iron sharpens iron (Proverbs 27:17). Don't laugh off my fatal flaws - call me on them! We'll both be the better for it - or so promises the Word of God.
Be holy as God is holy (1 Peter 1:16).
27 August 2009
14 August 2009
Phantom Lip
I had a wisdom tooth removed this afternoon (yes, a tooth, and as my wonderful board game from the 70's purchased for a $1 at Good Will calls it: I had a tooth excavated - seriously? It's not like my mouth is an actual cave!). Anyway, my mouth, or at least one side of it, remains entirely numb. I had my husband pinch my lip as hard as he could earlier (I practically forced him to, he didn't want to cause repercussions such as a fat lip, but I thought it would be fun) just because I couldn't feel it. And now? Now my chin itches. The question is: how to scratch an itchy chin that feels nothing? I suddenly feel bad for amputees (not that I didn't feel bad before, but I now feel a new sort of empathy). Hubby tried to convince me to watch myself scratch it in the mirror, as apparently that's how the amputees solve the problem. I hope it works better for them than it did for me.
07 August 2009
Suckers 'R Us
I don't think I have ever felt the ooze of materialism and wasteful spending any more than I did this past week. I had never before been in a building which was designed with the sole purpose in mind to play on the emotions of expecting mothers and the well-meaning loved ones who plan to dote on this tiny new being.
I'm talking about Babies 'R Us.
It is true, I registered at this spending mecca in the past, before I knew the lions' den into which I was pulling those I love. However, I had never actually set foot in the building before this week. And my eyes have seen the light, or shall I say darkness, that is the baby super-store.
From the moment I entered the parking lot, my over-spending sensors began to weaken. The sight of slightly pregnant women who had just finished filling their registry or new babies being pushed in strollers after their mothers had pampered them began to cause me to swell inside with joy.
Ah . . . babies!
What could be more simple and pleasurable than a tiny human being?
As I crossed the threshold, my senses were overwhelmed with baby . . . calm music playing overhead which made me want to rock a baby to sleep (in a brand new glider sold on aisle twelve), soft baby pinks and blues decorated the racks of tiny sweaters and leggings (on sale!), I could smell the baby powder (aisle 2, next to the baby wash) and my fingers longed to reach for the soft plushness of the yellow baby blankets (which would fit perfectly into that beautiful new crib!). I saw complete matching sets of bouncers, play-yards, strollers, high chairs, car seats - everything in a young life that must coordinate because, heaven forbid the Pack-n-Play not match the baby carrier!
The registry section, an entire corner of the store, was outfitted with helpful sales associates and plush chairs for the expectant mother (so as to not exacerbate the swelled ankles, I'm sure). All angled precisely so as to allow an ample view of the necessary goods the store is there to provide.
As I shopped for a needed booster seat (purchased with a gift card which was nearly a year old, much like my little cutie), I was nearly poisoned by the toxic un-necessities of portable placemats, designer wipes covers, decorative potty training seats and tiny sandals which perfectly matched the design I had been searching for for myself.
Never did it become more real to me, though, the dangerous nature of this place, than when I began to check out. This is when I discovered that no one is actually expected to purchase anything for themselves in this wonderland. No. The sole purpose of this establishment is to suck dry the wallets of those who would only spend exorbitant amounts of money when they can justify the spending for someone else and to convince mothers-to-be that this "stuff" is necessary and will be an appropriate display of affection from those they love best, but who, also, would never dream of owning something so over-priced unless it were a gift, which somehow makes the process of spending way too much for something the child won't even remember owning (or sleeping in or riding in or playing with) all okay. Normal, in fact.
And, thus, I watched the older woman in front of me in line pay $50 for a diaper bag (for her new grandchild, most likely). Which, while cute, was a bag. A bag to hold diapers (and other necessities, it's true). An amount which, were it to be spent on any other bag, would seem a waste, but because it's for the baby somehow seems just fine.
Then, when it was my turn, I was asked (a question required to be asked or I would receive a free drink . . . from where, I wondered? The decaffeinated coffee bar in the back that I must have missed?) if I was purchasing from a registry. No. Did I want to take advantage of the free gift-wrapping service. No, thank you. Oh, and here's my receipt, gift receipt included, have a nice day. As if it's completely absurd to believe that I was actually purchasing a product for my child that would, that very afternoon, be covered in cheerios and uneaten vegetables, rather than re-gifted or returned for the purposes of buying the cheaper model at Wal-Mart and pocketing the difference.
At this point, I ran for my life from the jaws of the monster, vowing never to return or register there again. Until, you know, my next child comes along and this store happens to be the only one carrying the print for those crib sheets I just have to have . . . even if they are a little more expensive than the ones elsewhere. Someone else will buy them for me, right?
I'm talking about Babies 'R Us.
It is true, I registered at this spending mecca in the past, before I knew the lions' den into which I was pulling those I love. However, I had never actually set foot in the building before this week. And my eyes have seen the light, or shall I say darkness, that is the baby super-store.
From the moment I entered the parking lot, my over-spending sensors began to weaken. The sight of slightly pregnant women who had just finished filling their registry or new babies being pushed in strollers after their mothers had pampered them began to cause me to swell inside with joy.
Ah . . . babies!
What could be more simple and pleasurable than a tiny human being?
As I crossed the threshold, my senses were overwhelmed with baby . . . calm music playing overhead which made me want to rock a baby to sleep (in a brand new glider sold on aisle twelve), soft baby pinks and blues decorated the racks of tiny sweaters and leggings (on sale!), I could smell the baby powder (aisle 2, next to the baby wash) and my fingers longed to reach for the soft plushness of the yellow baby blankets (which would fit perfectly into that beautiful new crib!). I saw complete matching sets of bouncers, play-yards, strollers, high chairs, car seats - everything in a young life that must coordinate because, heaven forbid the Pack-n-Play not match the baby carrier!
The registry section, an entire corner of the store, was outfitted with helpful sales associates and plush chairs for the expectant mother (so as to not exacerbate the swelled ankles, I'm sure). All angled precisely so as to allow an ample view of the necessary goods the store is there to provide.
As I shopped for a needed booster seat (purchased with a gift card which was nearly a year old, much like my little cutie), I was nearly poisoned by the toxic un-necessities of portable placemats, designer wipes covers, decorative potty training seats and tiny sandals which perfectly matched the design I had been searching for for myself.
Never did it become more real to me, though, the dangerous nature of this place, than when I began to check out. This is when I discovered that no one is actually expected to purchase anything for themselves in this wonderland. No. The sole purpose of this establishment is to suck dry the wallets of those who would only spend exorbitant amounts of money when they can justify the spending for someone else and to convince mothers-to-be that this "stuff" is necessary and will be an appropriate display of affection from those they love best, but who, also, would never dream of owning something so over-priced unless it were a gift, which somehow makes the process of spending way too much for something the child won't even remember owning (or sleeping in or riding in or playing with) all okay. Normal, in fact.
And, thus, I watched the older woman in front of me in line pay $50 for a diaper bag (for her new grandchild, most likely). Which, while cute, was a bag. A bag to hold diapers (and other necessities, it's true). An amount which, were it to be spent on any other bag, would seem a waste, but because it's for the baby somehow seems just fine.
Then, when it was my turn, I was asked (a question required to be asked or I would receive a free drink . . . from where, I wondered? The decaffeinated coffee bar in the back that I must have missed?) if I was purchasing from a registry. No. Did I want to take advantage of the free gift-wrapping service. No, thank you. Oh, and here's my receipt, gift receipt included, have a nice day. As if it's completely absurd to believe that I was actually purchasing a product for my child that would, that very afternoon, be covered in cheerios and uneaten vegetables, rather than re-gifted or returned for the purposes of buying the cheaper model at Wal-Mart and pocketing the difference.
At this point, I ran for my life from the jaws of the monster, vowing never to return or register there again. Until, you know, my next child comes along and this store happens to be the only one carrying the print for those crib sheets I just have to have . . . even if they are a little more expensive than the ones elsewhere. Someone else will buy them for me, right?
30 July 2009
Nerves of . . . steel?
It's ridiculous how nervous a person can get. It's 8:45am, the agreement was to play my "featured listener" interview on-air at 9:20am. Ok, not to burst the bubble, but this is a pre-recorded interview, which means, I already did it and yet, I'm sitting here, stomach in knots over listening to myself on the radio. How lame is that? My hands should not be shaking right now (especially not when attempting to type!). This is ridiculous.
It probably doesn't help that I psyched myself out yesterday by reading, by chance (not in preparation, I'm lame, not OCD), an article detailing dumb things said in job interviews. You know it's bad when you read those and half of them you ask yourself, that's not that bad, is it? But, now, in hindset, or I suppose it's foresight at the moment, as the interview is, of yet, still un-aired, I wonder . . . does one mention they haven't done anything but check e-mail all morning and are still, in fact, in their pj's when doing a 10am radio interview? Or is that something social convention says to keep quiet about? Or a former love for J.C. of N*SYNC fame (or infamy) - is that something a mature adult (or one who likes to feign maturity) actually discusses in public? Or should I be hiding that fact in shame?
I suppose only time (3o min) will tell . . .
It probably doesn't help that I psyched myself out yesterday by reading, by chance (not in preparation, I'm lame, not OCD), an article detailing dumb things said in job interviews. You know it's bad when you read those and half of them you ask yourself, that's not that bad, is it? But, now, in hindset, or I suppose it's foresight at the moment, as the interview is, of yet, still un-aired, I wonder . . . does one mention they haven't done anything but check e-mail all morning and are still, in fact, in their pj's when doing a 10am radio interview? Or is that something social convention says to keep quiet about? Or a former love for J.C. of N*SYNC fame (or infamy) - is that something a mature adult (or one who likes to feign maturity) actually discusses in public? Or should I be hiding that fact in shame?
I suppose only time (3o min) will tell . . .
28 July 2009
Help!
"You shall not see your countryman's ox or his sheep straying away, and pay no attention to them; you shall certainly bring them back to your countryman. If your countryman is not near you, or if you do not know him, then you shall bring it home to your house, and it shall remain with you until your countryman looks for it; then you shall restore it to him. Thus you shall do with his donkey, and you shall do the same with his garment, and you shall do likewise with anything lost by your countryman, which he has lost and you have found. You are not allowed to neglect them." (Deuteronomy 22:1-3, emphasis added)
This passage in my reading this morning hit me right between the eyes. While it may be true that a stray ox or sheep are not anything I encounter in my daily jaunt to the mailbox or my local Wal-Mart, it is also true that I do tend to take more of the innocent bystander's role in various situations rather than the action-person or solution-finder. Most times when I come across an unfortunate situation (such as one described in the next verse: Deut. 22:4) I often think to myself, "Aw, that's too bad . . . I would help, but . . ."
And the "but" takes on various forms: ". . . I really don't have the time," "I don't have any knowledge in that area; I wouldn't be of any help," "I'm sure help is already on the way."
The real truth, however, is that I am scared. I live in my happy bubble filled with happy people that I know and with whom I am comfortable. I would give them anything they needed (except only the shirt off my back in extreme situations as that leaves a girl in a rather awkward/inappropriate state). If I found the ox of a friend, for sure I would return him. But the ox of a stranger? Even with a phone number on the tag, I'm not sure what I would do. I do hate to make phone calls.
What I'm saying is, like many people in our world, I am afraid of the unknown and while I want to help people, I usually find it easier to just look the other way than "butt in" someone else's problems. They can find their own way, I figure.
And yet, the Bible does not so quickly let us off the hook. Not only does it advise us to help our neighbor in need, but we are "not allowed" to ignore it! Yikes! Thus, in walking/driving right on by, I am no longer an innocent bystander, but I have very quickly taken on the role of disobedient child of God. And that is not a role I cherish.
The Word of God is clear, the heart of God dwells in me, I should not deprive his hand of help to any in need. Lord, work through me.
This passage in my reading this morning hit me right between the eyes. While it may be true that a stray ox or sheep are not anything I encounter in my daily jaunt to the mailbox or my local Wal-Mart, it is also true that I do tend to take more of the innocent bystander's role in various situations rather than the action-person or solution-finder. Most times when I come across an unfortunate situation (such as one described in the next verse: Deut. 22:4) I often think to myself, "Aw, that's too bad . . . I would help, but . . ."
And the "but" takes on various forms: ". . . I really don't have the time," "I don't have any knowledge in that area; I wouldn't be of any help," "I'm sure help is already on the way."
The real truth, however, is that I am scared. I live in my happy bubble filled with happy people that I know and with whom I am comfortable. I would give them anything they needed (except only the shirt off my back in extreme situations as that leaves a girl in a rather awkward/inappropriate state). If I found the ox of a friend, for sure I would return him. But the ox of a stranger? Even with a phone number on the tag, I'm not sure what I would do. I do hate to make phone calls.
What I'm saying is, like many people in our world, I am afraid of the unknown and while I want to help people, I usually find it easier to just look the other way than "butt in" someone else's problems. They can find their own way, I figure.
And yet, the Bible does not so quickly let us off the hook. Not only does it advise us to help our neighbor in need, but we are "not allowed" to ignore it! Yikes! Thus, in walking/driving right on by, I am no longer an innocent bystander, but I have very quickly taken on the role of disobedient child of God. And that is not a role I cherish.
The Word of God is clear, the heart of God dwells in me, I should not deprive his hand of help to any in need. Lord, work through me.
23 July 2009
Deals, deals, deals!
I just spent $19.53 at Big Lots - quite a splurge for a couple who will make a special trip to McAlister's for free tea so that one of us doesn't have to pay to try the rumored amazing-ness of said tea. What, then, would cause us to throw our well-planned budget to the wind?
I'm glad you asked.
On a tip from my big sis, we made a little jaunt over to Big Lots (between the free tea and picking up some free road trip listening material from the public library) to check out their DVD deals, and color us excited to find Seasons 1-3 of "The Flintstones" as well as Seasons 1-3 of "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman" (which even the store clerk was stunned to see in our hands when we were checking out - guarantee you he spent part of his paycheck tonight!) for only $3 each! $3! Can't beat that with a stick (especially considering TV on DVD is round 'bout the only TV we do in this here residence)!
To add to the excitement I performed the sick ritual I always undertake when I believe I did well with a certain purchase, I looked it up on-line and sho' 'nuf we gots ourselves a DEAL, ladies and gentlemen! The Amazon prices on our new TV specials ranged from $30-$40 for EACH season we procured. Score one for the team!
Thanks for sharing in my excitement - I get a little proud sometimes. All that to say, check out your local Big Lots if you're looking for some good, low-cost entertainment. Now excuse me while I take part in a little Yabba Dabba D-action (I couldn't resist).
I'm glad you asked.
On a tip from my big sis, we made a little jaunt over to Big Lots (between the free tea and picking up some free road trip listening material from the public library) to check out their DVD deals, and color us excited to find Seasons 1-3 of "The Flintstones" as well as Seasons 1-3 of "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman" (which even the store clerk was stunned to see in our hands when we were checking out - guarantee you he spent part of his paycheck tonight!) for only $3 each! $3! Can't beat that with a stick (especially considering TV on DVD is round 'bout the only TV we do in this here residence)!
To add to the excitement I performed the sick ritual I always undertake when I believe I did well with a certain purchase, I looked it up on-line and sho' 'nuf we gots ourselves a DEAL, ladies and gentlemen! The Amazon prices on our new TV specials ranged from $30-$40 for EACH season we procured. Score one for the team!
Thanks for sharing in my excitement - I get a little proud sometimes. All that to say, check out your local Big Lots if you're looking for some good, low-cost entertainment. Now excuse me while I take part in a little Yabba Dabba D-action (I couldn't resist).
22 July 2009
On parenthood . . .
For the past ten months I have been changing diapers, washing baby parts, waking earlier than desired to provide nourishment to a tiny body and clapping with joy at each sign of a new development, such as crawling, which brings this diminutive person closer to being a self-sufficient adult, while at the same time not considering that terrifying future wherein my daughter won't actually be this giggly bundle of cliched joy. And, yet, it is only just beginning to sink in the severity of this new role in my life.
I am a parent.
And as such, my responsibility is not solely to provide for the physical needs of this precious child of mine, but to foster her spiritual and moral development as well. And that's a whole lot more than I ever allowed myself to consider before.
Frankly, it gets tiring. The task of training a little person what is acceptable and what is not is not for the lazy, which, I'll admit, is a category in which I could oft place myself. It would be much easier to simply "let that one go," but this is when I remember, her choices aren't the only ones with consequences. If I "love" my daughter too much to discipline her, or I'm too tired to tell her "no" this one time, where will I find her in sixteen years?
Sigh. Life was much easier before I had to worry about this kind of foresight. But then, it was a little more boring, too. And I know, as the days go by, a couple of well-timed swats and stern "no"s will be quite a fair trade in exchange for a disciplined, respectful and cherished daughter who will one day be able to make choices on her own - and not just any choices, but the right, God-honoring choices necessary to live a purpose-filled life.
What an honor to guide her toward this goal!
I am a parent.
And as such, my responsibility is not solely to provide for the physical needs of this precious child of mine, but to foster her spiritual and moral development as well. And that's a whole lot more than I ever allowed myself to consider before.
Frankly, it gets tiring. The task of training a little person what is acceptable and what is not is not for the lazy, which, I'll admit, is a category in which I could oft place myself. It would be much easier to simply "let that one go," but this is when I remember, her choices aren't the only ones with consequences. If I "love" my daughter too much to discipline her, or I'm too tired to tell her "no" this one time, where will I find her in sixteen years?
Sigh. Life was much easier before I had to worry about this kind of foresight. But then, it was a little more boring, too. And I know, as the days go by, a couple of well-timed swats and stern "no"s will be quite a fair trade in exchange for a disciplined, respectful and cherished daughter who will one day be able to make choices on her own - and not just any choices, but the right, God-honoring choices necessary to live a purpose-filled life.
What an honor to guide her toward this goal!
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