Seeking Him Together

Shortly after I began my blog, I joined a blogger Bible study, Seeking Him Together. I barely knew how to post the button on my sidebar and I'm still fuzzy on linking etiquette. I was also confused about what book we'd be studying (the Seeking Him Together button wasn't enough of a clue for me) Therefore I began the study about a week behind everyone else. My plan was to race through the first part to catch up to the pack.

The introductory lesson defined the study- it's on revival. Page 18 tells of the countless joys of walking closely with and seeking God: rebuilds a desire for God's Word, prayer, praise and obedience, repairs broken marriages, removes bitterness, fear and worry, refreshes the spirit, renews the mind and reforms the life. The first question after all that was, "Which result of revival do you particularly need and desire to see in your own life?" After reading the choices over and over, I decided on "reforms the life" because that would sort of cover it all. Next....

Lesson 2 topic: humility. First question, have I ever known someone who was truly humble? Yes, I know someone. She always thinks of others before herself. She takes the low road and never seems to be trying to impress anyone. She's a good listener and has imparted wisdom to me with her words on several occasions.

Moving right along, I read a few stories illustrating pride vs. humility. The Day 5 page marked the end of lesson 2. There I found a two column list of 30 one liner characteristics of proud people paralleled with 30 one liner characteristics of humble people. I was to read the proud descriptive and the humble one across from it and circle the one that best described me. Easy enough.

First one- under Proud people.... "focus on the failures of others" and under Humble people...."are overwhelmed with a sense of their own spiritual need" Hmmm. I hoped I didn't focus on the failures of others, but why were personal examples of what this looked like quickly piling up in my memory. I studied the humble choice again. "Overwhelmed with a sense of spiritual need", "overwhelmed", "overwhelmed". I wasn't sure I could describe myself as being overwhelmed with my need. I know I need the Lord, but a more accurate description would be "sometimes forgets how much she needs the Lord". Between the two choices, I honestly identified more with the proud.

After nine more consecutive proud picks, I got to #11. Proud people..."have a drive to be recognized and appreciated" and Humble people...."have a sense of their own unworthiness; are thrilled that God would use them at all", I laid the pencil down. This pattern was not pretty.

Reading the remaining 19 comparisons was like walking through one of Disney's dark forests where the scary trees come alive. Roots and branches from the dead oaks of pride were slithering toward me and twisting tightly around my wrists and ankles subduing my pursuit of revival.

As of today, I'm still chopping my way out of the forest. Life has been presenting me with one opportunity after another to practice laying down my pride in exchange for humility- all week long. With Memorial Day providing that extra day off, I expected a walk in the park from Tuesday to today. But getting here was a sweaty, uphill climb. Maybe the view from the top will be enlightening. I'll let you know when I get there.

I flipped ahead in the study guide and I'm already anxious about upcoming chapters on Honesty and Repentance - working on it, working on it- I glimpsed hope in Lesson 5 when I saw the title, 'Grace: God's Provision for Every Need'. I'm pretty sure I'm going to skip ahead to Lesson 5.

I thankfully reside in the grace of God. I need to live there and He promises me that home. I'm completely persuaded of the truth of God's Word, of His love for me, of his sovereignty and that His ways are higher than my ways. I know he is working in my life to mold me into something He can use and I think He sometimes uses me now, even with all of my imperfections.

One of the study questions for this week asks what part of scripture has been most helpful to me thus far in understanding what revival means in my life. I'm undecided. I'm even more at a loss to answer the second question about what we can do to create greater freedom in the Body of Christ to be honest with each other. All I know for sure right now is God loves me and He's working with me and waiting patiently, while I learn to work with Him. Seeking Him Together is his current tool of choice for chiseling off a few more chunks toward completion of the good work that He began in me years ago. I will continue to seek Him.

What's Your Answer Wednesday

1. What is your favorite word?

Oxymoron. But there are sooo many fantastic words. I also like to make up my own words sometimes.

2. Do you cut out coupons but never use them?

You can bet if I cut them out, I will not use them, yes, that is correct.

3. Do you wear perfume?

Not usually. I also can't stand anything on my neck- no tags from shirts, no necklaces- usually.

I'd love to expound, but it's too late, I have to go to bed- again, in lieu of blogging *sigh*. I was just quickly checking in to read a few and found this on Lidna's blog, so am practicing participating. Hope I'm linked properly.

Heidi

Blogging

I like blogging. If I had a day to myself to do whatever I wanted and if I could get past feeling guilty about all the other things I should be doing with my time, I'd make myself a cup of half decaf/half loaded coffee with cream and honey and blog. I might type for hours. I might stay up into the wee hours of the early morning plunking out thoughts on my blog. I might write until the cows come home.

My mom used to say things like, see you when the cows come home. I imagine this to be what my grandmother said to my grandfather in the olden days when he left for work in the morning, just after he put the cows out to pasture. The cows would always come home about dinner time, because they would feel that strong urge to be milked. Grandpa would always come home about dinner time, because he would feel that nagging pang of hunger. He'd also need to milk the cows. But when I say I might blog until the cows come home, I am talking about the old dried up Bessies, who are way out in the field with their red hats on partying the night away. I'm never ready to stop blogging, not even when it's time for dinner.

As it is , I find there are many tasks at hand that a responsible, home educating, working mother must do and they don't include blogging. I find myself looking for ways to blend blogging into the tasks. For example, I recently put water and rice on to boil for dinner and went downstairs to simply write the beginning of a new post. I figured I had at least two or three minutes before the bubbles began to roll in the pot, when I would then need to run upstairs and turn the burner down to low so the rice could simmer until done. That would gain me about 40 more minutes. It seemed like a workable plan. But when I logged in to my dashboard, I saw that many of my bloggies had posted new material and I began to click on one after another to read the new posts. I figured only about two or three minutes had passed, but when I ran upstairs to turn down the rice, I entered a room full of smoke. The water had long ago boiled out of the pot and the black rice was stuck to the bottom. I opened all the windows as fast as I could and turned on a fan, but I.T.-ologist was very suspicious when he came in. He wondered what we were having for dinner. Well, I told him, it wasn't rice.

Later, over grilled chicken and vegetables without rice, I.T.-ologist curiously wanted to know if the burning of rice had anything to do with my blog. This is not the first time I felt sort of busted- caught red-handed blogging, like it was a crime or something. I mean I'm not sneaking into the closet for a little swig of hooch- that would be wrong, right? But sometimes I feel like I have to silently disappear into the computer room and then pop back out and iron shirts, as if I was doing what I should be doing all along. Blogging feels almost wrong, but it isn't, right?

Sometimes I worry that my followers will be disappointed if I don't blog something new for them to read every day or so, like other famously successful bloggers I read do. I must post for the fans, I tell myself. But then it occurred to me that my 17 followers may actually have other things that interest them besides reading my blog. They may actually have other things to do.

In reality, I just have all these blog posts whirling around and stuck in my head, because there isn't enough time in the day to take care of business and pleasure and still blog. So, here it is 12:31 a.m. and I want to keep blogging, but I have to go to bed. My poor, adoring husband has pretty much given up on ever seeing me again.

What is this madness?

Can anyone relate??

Another Maavelous Day in the Suburbs

I once thought the perfect life would be the one lived in the country on a few acres of land with an old farmhouse and a barn full of animals. Our family never made it to that grass is greener on the other side place. However, one of my sisters lives in the country. As it turns out, that isn't the best location for making a killing off treasures that have been retired to closet or attic. Mainstream suburbia is where shoppers lurk, searching endlessly for deals. Every couple of years or so, sis yearns to swap stuff for cash. So, she brings all of her junk to my garage. Fashionista and I add a few items and wa-la- we take advantage of this life in the suburbs-with a garage sale.


Sis is always trying to entice garage salers to our sales. She believes large merchandise has the best road appeal and will draw people in. This year she ran an ad on Craigslist announcing we'd have a sofa set for sale, but she didn't actually have a sofa set to sell. Not wanting to disappoint, I decided to sacrifice our Lazy Boy hide-a-bed and a loveseat-the family room furniture. While sis and Fashionista heave hoed the seating out to the garage, I dreamily leafed through the IKEA flyer I'd just received in the mail. Surely I'd make enough and we'd update the look of the family room. Just to be sure, I added to the sale two pet rabbits complete with hutch and extra cages.
On Thursday at 4:00 pm the garage door lifted and we were open for business. We were trying something new-a night before the real sale preview sale. We got about three customers and $1.50, but then nothing. Nobody else. The neighbor across the street came wheelin' in from work, so I asked him, "hey did you see our sign?" He wasn't sure, "Does it look like a bunch of duct tape on a stick?" Lackadaisically, we'd stuck our pathetically small signs on pencil thin garden stakes with knock off duct tape from the dollar store. Also the weather was a bit blustery.

The Malibu and I retraced the sign route. I found duct tape flapping in the wind on metal skewers, but the garage sale signs were missing in action. One message remained, but every time the breeze picked up it did a 180 around the stick indicating the sale was being held on Broadview Drive one minute and Hollyhock Street the next.

That was enough garage sale for one evening.

Sis and I regrouped and decided to play a board game with her kids, Outside the Box, his girlfriend and Fashionista. Gathering in the family room, everyone looked around. Outside the Box verbalized what we all were thinking, "What are we gonna sit on?"

Friday morning we woke revitalized. I.T.-ologist had sawed the ends of two inch wide, flat, wooden sticks to a point, so we could easily drive them deep into the ground. We used larger, brighter colored poster board, thickened the font and taped the living daylight out of the backsides of those signs with reinforced packaging adhesive, securing them for life to the pointy sticks.

I hammered those hummers a foot deep into the earth's crust at every crossroad within a two and a half mile radius of our driveway. Just like Jimmy John's- the success was in the signs. A steady stream of shoppers flowed in and out of our garage all day.

Sis did the happy feet dance when her high ticket item- the rocker from Crate and Barrel- sold. The event turned bittersweet when suddenly there was a rush on rabbits. I'd been looking for a loving home for those little fertilizer factories for about two years, ever since I decided to join the working world. Sadly, I no longer had time for the cuddly bunnies. The first interested party asked me how much they weighed, but what I heard was: will they feed a family of four? No deal. Finally, after three more no deals, a 13 year old girl, who lived on a farm held the lop earred furballs, hugged and kissed each and proclaimed her love for them. To my delight she bought both Pudge and Margo, their hutch, 4 cages, 2 nesting boxes, food supply and water bottles paying me three times what I asked for the lot. Now that is what I call a deal.

Sometimes the deals are too good to be true. In our garage the dividing line between what is for sale and what isn't is made unmistakable by I.T.-ologist. He builds temporary walls to cover shelving where his tools are stored and hides his remaining valuables behind a barricade of boards toward the back of the garage. After that he disappears. I think he gets a little scared when we have these garage sales- probably because a few years back before one of our sales, I asked him if he had anything he wanted me to sell for him. He said I could sell that one weedwacker. "How much?" I asked. He said, "Cheap." I looked around the garage, spied a weedwacker and put it out in the driveway to attract male buyers. The very first guy on the scene asked, "How much for the weedwacker?" I said, "One dollar." His eyes dilated and he grabbed it, smiled and gave me the buck. It's heartwarming to make someone's day like that.

Later after work, I.T.-ologist decided to whack a few weeds. He asked with a slight tremor of lip, "Where's my weedwacker that was hanging on this hook right here?" I said I sold it. Cheap. One dollar. Come to find out, I.T.-ologist had recently taken a weedwacker out of some guy's trash thinking he might fix it one day. The other weedwacker- he had just purchased on sale at the hardware store for $99.00. You'll never guess which one I sold.

This year's mishap was not so costly. I.T.-ologist phoned from work. I asked him about the wheelbarrow full of firewood he'd put in the driveway. How much should I sell that for? He reminded me of the mom and pop operation out by the entrance ramp to the highway. There, grandkids sell bundles of wood, less logs in number than were currently in the wheelbarrow, for ten bucks. So, considering the value of the wheelbarrow, we should get at least $10 for the whole shebang. No problem. I hung up. Then I went downstairs to grab a few more math books to sell. When I got back out to the garage I couldn't see the wheelbarrow. I said to my sister with real fast words,
"Where'sthatwheelbarrow!"

She smiled proudly, "I just sold it!"

I gulped, "how much?"

"Two bucks!" Another happy customer.

After the sale, we counted up the money. We were only $20.00 short of what our calculations told us we should have in hand. Not bad. (bookkeepers we are not) Sis and I split the loss. Everyone else who had contributed items to the sale got their fair share, except I.T.-ologist who got almost his fair share.

Remains of the day boxed up for Goodwill, I waved good-by to sis and the kids as they drove off. Time to relax. But just inside the back entryway, my eyes fell on a purse that did not belong to me. I quickly phoned sis, "you forgot your purse." She turned around, sped back, picked it up and I waved good-by again. Five minutes later I was answering the ring-a-ling. Sis again. She mumbled something about being out of gas.

"Yeah, me too," I sighed into the receiver. These sales are exhausting. But then:

"No, Heidi, my car, we ran out of gas at 36th Street. It's right by a farm, but the guy who lives here says he only has diesel," she sounded helpless.

Everyone else in this family had gone off to do their own thing. I was looking forward to the time alone- to blog. But sisters do not leave sisters stranded on roadsides. Good thing I didn't sell the red plastic gas can. I drove to the station, filled 'er up and headed to 36th . Gas in her tank, kids belted in, I waved good-by for the third time and made tracks back to my house.


I added up the day's values:
Loveseat $35.00
Math books $15.00
Rabbits and gear $30.00
Lazy Boy hide-a-bed $65.00

So, we'll watch television from the floor for a while. Doesn't matter- because it was another maavelous day in the suburbs.

Heidi

Moving On- the Greyhound Bus

This is my third attempt, since the beginning of this week, to let blogfriends stick one eye to the peephole of my world.

Monday, I got the pictures up, but couldn't continue for the flow of all that water I've been drinking for the 30x5 was falling out of my eyeballs.

Tuesday, I arranged the pics and bits of text the best I could, but when I hit "publish post" the words weren't underneath their appropriate pictures. Besides, as I proofed it, the blur returned; I knew if anyone commented, I'd just cry, so I took it down after about two seconds.

One very on top of her game blogger- my writing hero (guess who she is) actually SAW it in the two seconds it was up AND posted a comment. I was shocked! But that comment fortified me and I went to bed dry eyed. Are the people who live inside this computer real, because they are really, really nice folks.

So, here's basically what happened. We drove to the Greyhound bus station. Here's Pilgrim, who shaved his head to mark his momentous departure. And loving sister, Fashionista and supportive brother, Outside the Box (I know you're thinking isn't Pilgrim really Outside the Box? Yes he is. But I named him Pilgrim for reasons that will probably become obvious over time as I post on)- anyway- here they all are in the back seat of our Malibu. I.T.-ologist is driving, I'm tearing an empty kleenex box to smithereens with my teeth and taking this picture.

Here on the left I am phoning my dad, who wouldn't be caught dead on a Greyhound bus. He's assuring me that Pilgrim will be fine and that I will see him again soon. He tells me he, himself, took a bus to somewhere once after high school graduation. Fascinating. I didn't know that. So, I guess everything will be alright then.

We arrived about 2 hours early. Pilgrim wanted to be sure to have time to get his ticket. It was being held at the window. So, we had plenty of time for a family photo session. Security came by to ask us what we were taking pictures of, he noticed we had a tri-pod. We explained that our son was going to California and we didn't know if or when we'd ever see him again, so we decided to get a few souvenir shots of the fam. He said you have to purchase a permit to take artsy shots in the bus station. We convinced him our shots would have no re-sale value whatsoever. Please do not send me money to purchase any of these pictures.

Let me take this kodak moment to tell you that Pilgrim is the most unconventional, compassionate and passionate person I know. His dream right now is to go back to a church he visited in California last year, hook up with their mission to Africa team and head out to an orphanage there to minister to children through performing arts. Yep, he's a filmmaker/theater guy with solid beginner training in both areas. College evokes images of classrooms and pencil to paper techniques of which Pilgrim is not fond. He will learn in the field by living and doing. God has great plans for Pilgrim- in fact, his legal name means 'called by God'.

There was a lot of time to wait or cry, whatever you happened to be needing to do. Time to hang out on the floor of the Greyhound bus station and not think about the socio-economic chasm between those who take the bus and those who fly.

And then it happened. The Greyhound bus drove up. Pilgrim hugged us all, picked up his stuff and......

So long for now, Pilgrim. I love you!

Mom

Jimmy John's

Real time friend, Best Bets, lives up to her blogname. On her blog she gives tips on how to save $ at the grocery store, when to get a free lunch at KFC and where to find full sized menu subs for a dollar. Thanks to her, Fashionista and I took part in a feeding frenzy at the grand opening of a new Jimmy John's gourmet sandwich shop on Saturday.

The parade of locals waiting for $1 subs numbered somewhere in the 30's, so we were a bit skeptical about how long it might take to get our lunch. But this franchiser was prepared. Employees worked the line, asking customers for their orders, writing selections on post-its and giving instructions to hand the sticky note to the cashier when we got up to the counter. We were out of the freezing Michigan mid-May temperatures and inside the toasty sandwich shop within five minutes.

We pushed in just as Elton John blasted over the stereo- "she's got electric boots.. (while Fashionista and I simultaneously burst out with) ELECTRIC BOOBS!" (I had told her about a comment on 2nd Cup of Coffee's funny post on butchering song lyrics) Yeah, people sorta looked, but it was a sandwich party in there. We blended in. Jimmy Johnny's plastic gloved hands were shoving meat and cheese into buns lickity split. Lettuce was flying. But customers were not impatient, the key to success is all in their signs.

Right off the bat, there's the, 'Want a faster sandwich, make it yourself ' sign. I think people respect that; mom's sure get it and it defines the necessary level of expectation. Next, learn about the low carb option of the Unwich, your sandwich of choice minus the bread. How do you eat that? Read another sign. 'Don't unwrap it, don't unwrap it, do not unwrap it...' Simple. (It's a lettuce wrap, so unwrapping it would be disasterous) 'Want onions, say "loaded", want hot peppers, say "with pep"'. All confusion eliminated, the patron is well prepared to order.

My favorite sign is the one that says something to the effect of, 'okay, so our sandwiches are not really gourmet and we aren't even French, but our subs are tasty, so let's go with that....' Honesty is hard to come by these days. I like it. JJ is a fun place to get a sandwich. And why not, after all, as the sign will tell you...

"Your mom wants you to eat at Jimmy John's!"

(Fashionista enjoyed a Turkey Tom without the toms and I feasted on Totally Tuna- yummy!)
Good Eats-
Heidi

First Try at Five Faves From this Week

Top Five Faves of the Week in Brief (most can be found somewhere on the blog already)

#5. Tonight Fashionista and I attended an amazing graduation celebration for 12 outstanding home educated- all -their- lives seniors. These kids' bios listing their accomplishments and future plans impressed my socks off. The speaker was excellent; his message was personal and timely. It made me laugh and cry. There were only 12 graduates, so plenty of time for a little slide show of pics featuring each one and the ceremony still didn't seem long. Next year, Fashionista will be one of those graduates and I'll be crying for a whole different reason.

#4. I.T.-ologist and I discovered a unique tourist attraction on the way to Indianapolis. You can read all about it below in the Cows and Hearts post.

#3. A tie between: winning the book Spilt Milk in a drawing on Linda Vujnov's blog. Click on the picture of the book in my sidebar for more on that. And: discovering an error in my math calculation concerning how much H2O I need to drink each day to stay competitive in the 30x5 Exercise Challenge. I was drinking 40 ounces more each day than I needed to! No wonder I was becoming uncomfortably familiar with toilets all over town. I'm feeling better now.

#2. It was pure pleasure making breakfast for Pilgrim at 6:00 a.m. on Monday and Friday, before he beat it on out of here to help a guy hydroseed- working hard for those last few dollars in the face of his Monday departure for the west coast. Again, you can read about it in Cows and Hearts.

#1. Outside the Box is back! We've missed him. More on that below, as well....

(this post is me participating in a fun blog thing, for any readers who wouldn't know that)
Heidi

Cows & Hearts

Last Sunday I was reading my favorite teacher's blog, Easy Street. (I know- sounds like I'm brown nosing) She quoted, "To have a child is to have your heart go walking around outside your body--forever." I've thought about that line a thousand times this week.

February 4th, son #1(age- almost 22) left for the National Outdoor Learning School (NOLS) in Lander, Wyoming. Here he would learn how to survive in various wilderness environments. For this he would gain 14 credits toward one of his bachelor's degrees, the one in youth ministry w/an emphasis in outdoor adventures (or something like that, he created it- the boy lives outside the box). The first 3-week course required telemarking across mountains by day in temperatures averaging 15 degrees F and sleeping on a bed of ice at night. Outside the Box wanted to do this so desperately, he actually paid money to do it. His father and I did not make him do it- to build character or anything like that.

Each day of those initial three weeks, random chills rushed up and down my spine emanating from those snowskiing pieces of my heart. Subsequent sections of coursework included canyon hiking and rock-climbing; both involved maps, a compass, de-hydrated food, sleeping under the stars and my favorite, no restroom. Not even a pit toilet.

Last night, I.T.-ologist and I, filled with excitement, drove five hours to Indianapolis to retrieve Outside the Box from the airport accommodating the cheapest way home. On our way we came upon a tourist attraction that we could not resist. Pictures of cows painted on large, cylindrical milk tanks had been offering fresh cheese and ice cream for miles. But it was the last one that got us- a billboard displaying a young girl with text that read: "...and I got to see a baby cow being born." Really?

We'd make a pit stop to see what that meant. I imagined a calf birthing simulator of some sort. I.T.-ologist guessed it would be a wax museum. Either way, picturing this being portrayed in an acceptable way for classrooms of school children to view... well, we had to see it. We walked briskly to the get-your-tickets-here barn. I questioned the salesgirl without hesitation, "you don't have real cows giving birth here, right?" She surprised me. They did, "There might even be one being born right now!" Amused by our shock, she didn't ask us to pay. She slipped entrance wristbands on each of our forearms and told us to hurry to the birthing barn. Quickly we made our way past a talking cow in a dress, who was wearing eyeshadow and earrings. She was sitting on a swing above our heads telling how milk makes its way from the dairy into home refrigerators. Videos of the process played on either side of the pathway. We spied the birthing barn and picked up the pace. The sign there said, "Sh-h-h, quiet, birth in process." Inside the door, what did we see...

...a floor to ceiling glass enclosure, an enormous fishbowl, with two gigantic live cows inside. Two slimy calves covered in mucus rested on thick beds of straw next to each mother. One mom even had afterbirth gunk hanging out of her....(um, sorry). We had just missed it. Concrete bleachers faced the encapsulated stage. I slowly climbed the steps, mouth hanging open, eyes on the birthday calves. I was astonished!

The adjoining room housed four calves, all born that day according to the signs on their individual pens. Some were still wet. No cows in sight there. Mothers were gone. Separated from their babies, when? minutes? hours? after giving birth?? Very different from pieces of a mother's heart walking around the earth is her entire heart being ripped from its aorta.

Outside the Box is home now; my heart is restored. Temporarily. See, I have this other son, 19 year old Pilgrim. This is what he said to I.T.-ologist and me two weeks ago:

"Mom, dad, I'm taking a Greyhound bus to the west coast. I'll live with Friend- Who -Already- Went and...."

That's all I heard before I hit the floor.

Below is a picture of what happens with teenaged calves who tell their cow mothers the same thing Pilgrim told me. I hope my son finds equal enjoyment in his venture, even as my heart flips each time I think about where these pieces will be walking around.

Piece Out-
Heidi

Remember What?

Garden weeding would be lonely if not for all my talking to myself . It's not a situation of split personality, it's how I remember what I forgot. For instance, I walked out to the backyard, spied the dried, spikey leftover blooms on stick stems from last year and decided gardening gloves would be good. So, I hiked up the stone steps into the garage and grabbed the gardening shears. I went back down the steps and began to snip, snip, snip. When the pile grew a foot high, I leaned over to pick up the mess and:

"Hey, where're my gloves? I know I grabbed those gloves."

I looked all around the dirt and under the snip pile. Hmm. I layed the shears on a railroad tie ledge and trotted up the stone steps into the garage. There they were. Right on the garden glove shelf.

"Good grief."

Back down the steps, picked up the pile, hauled it away to the compost area behind the fence. I reminisced out loud:

"Just last night we were saying we should start planting, but if my memory serves me (a line drive) I think I remember reading that the threat of frost in Michigan is not past until after Memorial Day..."

Returned to the job.

"Garden shears, garden shears, gar-den sheeears....??"

I walked all around. Passing the time:

"No problem with fellow blogger, 2nd Cup of Coffee's, 30x5 exercise challenge. I mean I move enough in one day to cover the 5 and more. What about that 10 mile hike around the grocery store parking lot looking for my car earlier today? Yeah, I'm gonna win that prize. Oh, there they are!"

Snip, snip, snip... Fashionista arrived on the scene. She's practicing her lines from Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice...she needs help, will I read the cue before her line....okay, sure. Snippers in one hand, photocopy in the other. Snip, snip, "comes, my lord...."

"Don't get it dirty."

"That's not the line."

"No, Mom, my homework, don't get it in the dirt."

"I won't!" Snip, snip, "comes, my lord..."

Fashionista puts on her best medieval. "Make room, and let him stand before our face. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice..To the last hour of act: and then 'tis thought..Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange.....plus 13 more lines that soundeth just like these..................."

Wherefore art thou kidding me?!? I asked her how on earth she remembered all of that! Then cameth my speech:

"Every day I talk myself through questions like why am I holding open the refrigerator door or why am I standing on a chair in the entryway. Almost every night after dinner, I take the garbage can out from under the sink and set it by the dishwasher, a more convenient location for the scraping of scraps off dirty plates. Then I pick up the plates one by one from the counter, each time walking over to the cupboard door under the sink and I open it to find the garbage can missing....duh...."

Fashionista snatched the homework from my hand. I wasn't helping.

The phone rang. Good. I prefer talking to people. I ran in to answer. Missed it. Pushing the play button to retrieve the message, I heard:

"Hello Jane, this is Sandy (nobody here by those names) I just wanted to thank you for inviting me to spend time with your family yesterday (we went to Grandma's yesterday) and for everything you've done for me (can't think of anything). But most of all, I wanted to let you know there is a frost advisory for tonight, so you might want to bring those pretty flowering baskets in, so they don't die. Okay, well, see you later." click

A smile spread over my face for two reasons. #1. Somehow it made me feel good that Sandy Somebody could not remember the phone number of her dear friend, Jane or what Jane's voice sounds like (that was me on my answering machine), and #2. I was right about the frost.

(This story is true and unfabricated for your reading enjoyment.)

Heidi

Banana Bread

When is a banana beyond becoming bread?

I think I have a bloggy who will know the answer- check out her blog by clicking on banana.

This post brought to you by Heidi's Blogschool.

(in other words, I'm practicing my new skills)

My Mother's Day Message

Happy Mother's Day to all the blogmoms! Don't let today be the day you think about the time last week when you snapped at the kids in a moment when they were driving you nuts. Sweep the little misunderstanding you had w/that guy you're married to under the rug. Otherwise, the cards will have an opposite effect. Instead of making you feel like the best mom in the world, they'll cause guilt to rise to the surface like cream, gone sour.

When our kids were young, I had this repeating Mother's Day occurrence. I felt so unworthy of the "you're the best"s, the flowers, the breakfast in bed, because inevitably the Saturday before I'd had a spat with I.T.-ologist over something silly, like where to plant the tulips or how long it took to build the Brooklyn bridge. This caused me to spend the day using my angry voice whenever I opened my mouth. Of course the kids noticed. I would think: this Mother's Day special, it's just too much pressure! I can't live up to it.

Usually, the true cause of my dilemma was my inability to give. I am selfish by nature; it is a mental, spiritual and sometimes physical exercise for me to put others' needs and desires before my own. Well, truthfully, I do a pretty good job putting the kids' needs before my own, but when it comes to everyone else, I have my own best interest in mind. My kids are grown now. I didn't argue with I.T.-ologist at all yesterday. We had a very pleasant day exploring a beautiful gardens and sculpture park- my Mother's Day gift one day early. But I still have to be intentional when it comes to letting each member of my family have his or her own dreams and goals, especially with these adult kids I have- they come up with the wildest ideas. I work daily on stepping aside and allowing God to lead in each of their hearts and in mine.

Here is a reflection I wrote a long time ago on a message I heard at church. I'm trying to carry the principles of it within me wherever I go, every day.

At church last Sunday, someone shared this: we speak of "idols" as being the golden calf or money and material things or anything that becomes first place in our lives which puts God second (or third or fourth...depending on how many idols we serve). But what about dreams and goals- especially the ones we have for others, like our spouse or children??? We can cling so tight to the dream that everything- my happiness, success, perceived reputation- hangs on the fulfillment of the dream.

But the Bible teaches that we are to trust God for everything, for the details of each individual day, that whatever he gives for one day will be sufficient for that day- that He knows what He is doing, that He can do what we cannot do and that He always has our best interest in mind. Sometimes, we think we have a person's best interest in mind, but really it is our best interest we have in mind, whether we can admit it or not. God asks us only to cling to what is good- His good Word, to know Him and to love Him by letting him be the full authority over all the aspects of our life. He asks us to teach our children about him and his love and his word and he asks us to love Him and to love one another as he loves us.

In demonstrating real love for someone, you seek to put their desires before your own. There may be pain involved because human emotion is involved, but the deeper joy is really always there for those who set their anchor firmly in the Rock. My life, my body, my mind- are not my own, but have been purchased with a great price- Jesus' shed blood at Calvary- I do not have authority over my life- Jesus does. Every Christian must learn this for him/herself eventually because only then will he/she be able to enjoy the peace and joy that is available to him/her in all circumstances.

This was good teaching for me this week. I'm letting go of another idol and asking God to help me trust him fully. I'm reading his word, so I'll know him better and I'm seeing how faithful (and just, which can be scary) he is and always has been to those who allowed him to have authority in their lives. Followers of old screwed up right and left, but for those who clung to Him and did not forsake Him, God was faithful to show mercy and love.

Natural consequences can be pretty painful and the Bible tells how it is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God- he is just. But what He does, He does it out of a deep love for his own, though we cannot always see that. If I train my mind to think about my circumstances in light of the love of my heavenly Father and the truth of his Holy Word, it changes me and I am well. It is well with my soul- you know. It's an exercise worth much more than the weekly trot to Curves.

Have a great Mother's Day everyone!
Heidi

One out of two

One link out of two- clicking on the title of the Seeking Him Together post takes me straight to Amber's, I think.

Heidi

Seeking Him Together Bible study

A couple of days ago I was reading Breath of Life's blog and noticed a button in her sidebar that read "Seeking Him Together". I clicked on it and learned about a new Bible study blog style that was just beginning. Intriguing. I decided to join. Under the button was some text that said "grab this button", so I highlighted the HTML code (is that right?) and copied it. Time for blog school. I returned to my dashboard with the message in my mouse. All I needed to do now was find the correct box in which to paste, so the button would show up on my page to announce I was joining the study. I did find the box. Pop. The button appeared in my sidebar. Oh happy day!

The preliminary instructions said to blog about why I wanted to join, then link to "Amber's" page to share that with the members of the group. Hmm. Link to Amber's, link to Amber's.... I started clicking all around to see how this might be possible. I get distracted pretty easily. Back at my dashboard, a post from Honey, I Fed the Kids about Happy Pills caught my eye. After I read that, I clicked on some other blog I found there and then another and another... Before I knew it, the clock struck midnight. My brain won't link after midnight, so I went to bed dreaming about the new button I'd put on my blog.

The next day I was back at it. In trying to learn something about linking, I experimented and linked up a post from Brad Huebert at Presence. Voice. Touch. Wow! I was sort of surprised when it worked. A clue to how to link to Amber's...maybe.

In the meantime, His Girl posted a comment asking me if I was still going to be in the Bible study. Well there you go, someone knew I wanted to be in the Bible study. Motivation. Another distraction between linking podcasts found me copying HTML code into a box where I already had some. I was trying to put some sort of clock or something on my page. Anyway it made a mess of my sidebar. I deleted everything, including my Bible study button. Horror. So, I fired up the search engine and drove out into blogville to recapture the lost code with my mouse. Found it. Copied. Re-pasted. Whew! Enough.

Tonight as I was driving around, I found a place on Still His Girl's page (I think) where I could officially sign up for the Bible study. So, I did that. A few seconds later my name was on the roll call. I'm in. Now if I can just figure out how to link to Amber's.

One final pod-cast session at www.ihelpbloggers.com just soaked up all the patience I have left for this task. To this postwoman it looks like linking to Amber's should be available in two options- by clicking on the title of this post or by clicking on some word in this post that should show as a different color from the other words once I hit 'save now'. But it is unlikely that I have done everything correctly.

I want to be in the Bible study because I love discussing the Bible and thinking about what God is trying to teach me. It has been a couple of years since I've been involved in a group Bible study. I'm quite curious about how the blog style of sharing with each other will work (especially for a non-linker). An added benefit will be that I'll learn a thing or two about what is possible in blogspace. I still do not know the name of the book we are using. I hope to find out soon. The first set of discussion questions show up somewhere on Monday. It's all very exciting!

Here goes, hope there's some linkage...

Heidi

Presence. Voice. Touch.: Boys will be boys

Presence. Voice. Touch.: Boys will be boys

Above All

Notice anything different?

The question to the story problem is 4:38 pm. Who got it right? That chiffon cake was baked by my sister's mother-in-law and it was delicious- I licked it off the screen.

My husband, (I need a name for him; bloggers give their story people fake names- okay I.T.-ologist) I.T.-ologist, works hard all day figuring out people's computer problems (I know what you're thinking), thus the name Information Technologist. When he comes home he appreciates a dinner that at least appears to be cooking. It is not too much to ask. I like to cook and he always says, "thanks for dinner", which is very sweet.

Today I managed to get venison stroganoff simmering in my crockpot despite the fact that I slept in late and had a little trouble with Algebra (daughter, Fashionista is homeschooled). Sometimes complex fractions simply will not eliminate their denominators. When Fashionista finally appeared to be on a roll with the division, I grabbed my coffee and headed for the computer. Blog break.

It was about 1 o'clock. (scroll down to see what condition I began in and how it all ended, if you haven't already read it) And what about that cake picture, 'eh?

So, seeing as 4:38 pm was the answer to the story problem and I.T.-ologist gets home about 4:39 pm, I had exactly one minute to run to the grocery store for the whole wheat noodles I knew I needed to accompany the stroganoff. I grabbed my purse, the keys and was just getting to the car when in rolled I.T.-ologist.

"Thirty minutes to dinner!" I smiled through clenched teeth, still stressing from the cake mess on the computer screen and all.

"Okay, " the cheerful reply. I.T.-ologist had a dirt-hauling project to work on outside and the sun was shining.

All the way to Meijer I was fuming to myself over the blasted blogspot gadgets and how they teasingly looked easy to use. Two hundred and seventy three billion blogs with colorful, personalized backgrounds, calligraphy signatures and visual enhancements that make any reader feel like she (or he, I found men blog) could reach out and touch the elements of the post. How hard could it be?!?

Maybe it was my computer. Perhaps I'd been riding around in a tight circle for four hours and thirty-eight minutes on the old gray mare who ain't what she used to be. Yes. That's why when I had twenty-five tabs open looking for pictures and directions and blog support groups, the horse power was just hanging her head low, slogging along and frothing at the mouth.

I peeled into a parking space just as Michael W. Smith showed up to give me a message from the radio.

"Above all powers, above all kings...........Above all wisdom and all the ways of man....You
were here before the world began......You lived to die, rejected and alone....You took the
fall and thought of me....Above all."

Oh, hello God. What? Ah, the blog, yes, the blog is overtaking my life and all my thoughts. Yes. Yes it is.

So, I sat in the car, cranked up the music and sang the entire song loudly. Other cars came and went around me. I saw the people looking at me sitting there alone in my car. I just kept on singing.

Unbelieveable the thoughts that crowd in, the thinks that whittle away at my peace of mind. I'm thankful for that faithful God I mentioned in an earlier post, who doesn't allow me to carve a totem pole out of stupid worries. He stops me. I sweep up the shavings and above all- think of Him.

Later in the evening, I visited my hair-do friend. She has a cozy little home salon and shares my love for Jesus. Talking a lot is part of getting a new hair-do and with her the talk often focuses on the Lord. Such a blessing. And guess what? She has a blog. Her 8:30 appointment didn't show up, so she marched me upstairs while my color (a secret) was setting and guided me step by step through the process of changing my blog template and then making it a little bit more interesting.

And this, dear readers marks the day when 2 Thinks learned 2 things about gadgets.

Stay tuned-
Heidi

Picture of Patience (NOT)

Picture this woman throwing this cake (that she did not bake) at her computer- SCREAMING.

Patience is NOT a quality I possess.

Here's a little story problem for you: If the new blogger, 2 Thinks, sits down at her computer at 1 o'clock in the afternoon with her hair neatly fastened in a bun, spectacles properly adjusted and smile in place, to teach herself how to use one new blog feature- what time will it be when she begins kicking her chair repeatedly while her glasses hang tangled in a snarl of hairs dangling across her angry face, as a picture finally appears somewhere on her new post?

Answer forthcoming.......

Be still and know, however-
Heidi

Link? I don't see no link.

http://bradhuebert.blogspot.com/

I have no idea what this link enclosure thing is. Excuse me while I tear out a few hairs.

Okay, anyway- here is the link.

Have a nice day (yellow smiley face)

Heidi

The Rocks Will Cry Out

Brad at Presence. Voice. Touch. put forth an excellent question, which you can view at the link that might show up somewhere around here when I finish and click on "publish post" provided I put the right stuff in the right box etc. This is an experimental post to help me with the daily learning curve of blogbuild. My goal is to figure out how to use one new gadget a day.

The gist of the question is: If your Christian support network is removed, including people, books like your Bible and all things that serve to sustain you in your faith- leaving only you and Jesus- will you be able to have a dynamic relationship w/Him? If so, what will it look like? If not, why not? (definately go to the link; I hope it shows up somewhere, or go to 'Blogs I follow' and click on Presence. Voice. Touch. for the origional question in the context of Brad's writing)

I appreciated being given the opportunity to think about it: Here is the comment I posted.

"You can have all this world, but give me Jesus."

I would do it and do it more purely. I'd miss my Bible the most, well- maybe my family the most- but if the family remained and just weren't contributing to the encouragement of my faith- it's my Bible I would miss. BUT experience has shown me over and again that the Lord God, the One true Maker of heaven and earth, speaks very clearly to me- makes Himself fully known to me- even when my Bible and the commentaries are not around.

I think it would actually be easier. I'd listen to the pure voice of God. That would always be correct, the right answer- no gnosticism etc. mixed in.

Corrie TenBoom had a dynamic, evangelistic ministry in the confines of the lice infested camp of death. I read that someone had actually smuggled a New Testament in to her- small, tattered, torn- but I know she didn't need it. Without it, God would've given her the nightly words of faith that sustained her and others until their death or release, whichever..When there is nobody or no book there to proclaim the truth of Jesus- the rocks cry out!

He is not limited by our circumstances or our haves and have nots. Truth is more enabled than disabled when human helps are stripped away. Yet the world in which we live does not afford this luxury very often.

God is truly amazing, faithful in every way to pull me back into the fold when I wander to the imaginary greener grass on the other side of the fence (a repeating stroll for me). If this were not true- I would not be typing this.

As Brad asked in his post, "how about you- what do you think?"

Heidi

Two Tan or Not Too Tan

Spontaneity, common sense and I have trouble when we all hang out together. It's that situation where sometimes three's a crowd. Common sense is the first to get left behind.

Such was the case this spring when my daughter insisted on that must have prom look accessory- the even, sun-kissed tan.

No problem I thought, we did the same thing in 1979. I paused for a flashback of bikini clad me in my mother's kitchen tearing off six foot sheets of aluminum foil and dragging them out to the lawn. I laid them out carefully avoiding gritty ice piles that might be there until mid-May in Michigan. A few landscaping stones placed on each corner kept the wind from wisking away my homemade solar tanning blanket. With baby oil rubbed onto every inch of exposed skin, I'd stretch out on the crinkly, tin bed and undo my straps to avoid a tan line that might not coincide with my dress. If I was lucky the weather would cooperate and give me at least 55 degrees with that sunshine. I was modest then, as I am today and made sure my oversized t-shirt was right by my side in case the mailman had a delivery or a neighbor dropped by unexpectedly. It was cold and it was risky, but vanity whispered that sporting a suntan on prom night would make it all worthwhile.

As it turned out, my daughter wasn't talking about anything even close to my vision from 1979. She knew right where the tanning salon nearest to our house was located and she knew they were offering a student rate of $25 for one month of daily tanning visits. I hadn't paid any attention to this subtle establishment, because I would never even consider being a customer there. My daughter's power of persuasion found a hole in my resolve and we drove over to have a look.

With my skepticism dial turned to high alert, the toasty-skinned sweet young thing on duty at the counter didn't help much to edge out my concern over the eery, blue glow emanating from underneath closed doors flanking both sides of the checkout. Spunky confirmed that for $25 students could visit once every day for one month for mere minutes and have a beautiful bronze by prom night. My daughter threw me the questioning eye. This is about when spontaneity and I dumped common sense, thus alleviating me of my fear that this was a bad place where a person's chance of developing disease is heightened just by being in the lobby. I became irrational. Since my daughter still didn't have her driver's license, I would have to taxi her over every day. Sooo, maybe I would go with the if you can't beat 'em, join 'ems - I checked out the price list. The same deal she was getting would cost me 30 bucks. Ridiculous. Spontaneity elbowed me in the side and I handed over my debit card. The price included a shiny set of orange Wink Ease to protect my eyes.

Within three seconds my daughter was gone and I was in dark room #11 staring at a cocoon shaped, tanning bed that reminded me of my George Foreman grill. A little neon timer embedded in the wall counted down the minutes that remained before the ultraviolet rays that I had just paid for would come pouring out of the acrylic bed. I guess I don't have to mention that bathing suits aren't usually worn in these cookers. I could hear crystal clear voices on the other side of the wall. There was a crack between the door and the jamb wide enough for a note written on a piece of cardboard to pass through. Above where I stood, a winding air vent pipe with a 12 inch diameter mouth was staring down at me. It was something out of a Dr. Seuss drawing and I was pretty sure there was a hidden camera inside. Countdown- three minutes.

I stepped out from underneath the camera, stripped down to my zippity doo das and pushed the "start" button. UV rays flooded the room. I jumped into the human sandwich maker and pulled down the lid. I folded up a long scarf I found in my purse and draped it over my ta tas. Barely safe, I noticed my eye protectors were missing. Up went the top. Off flew the scarf. I fished the Wink Ease out of my jeans pocket, unstuck them from their paper backing, folded them to form a cone and stuck them onto my closed eyelids. Now I couldn't find my scarf. I felt for the floor. I'm not sure why they call these Wink Ease, because there is no winking when you are wearing these little babies. The door to the cubicle next to mine shut, which rattled my room and splintered my nerves. I dove back under the George Foreman and closed the lid. My whole body was stiff with fright. Common sense passed a note through the crack. It said, "What on earth are you doing in there with your clothes off- this is a very bad idea."

I opened the cover slightly to see how many more minutes I had to tan. A door handle twisted and hinges creaked. It sounded like someone was coming in. I yanked the top down hard. Crack. Did I break it? I peeked out. Nobody. The music from the sound system blared. I was still as death; my eyeballs were wide open beneath the Wink Ease. I wasn't sure if my eyes were properly protected, let alone anything else. Boom! I sucked in sharply, more UV rays than air. The lights explode when they turn off. It was over. Top still worked. Darting from the bed, being careful to avoid the video, I dressed in a record two seconds flat. "Reflect that on your neon timer!" I spoke up at the camera. Tossed my hair around a little, opened the door and calmly strode out.

"So, how'd it go?" I casually asked my daughter who was already in the waiting area.

Dropping People magazine on the chair, she and I walked out. Her reply came in a wisp, as if she'd just woken from a deep slumber, "It was great...so relaxing.."

We did go back. For me it was because I'd already paid and I didn't want to waste the money. I didn't mind the idea of being a little tan. But I found it doesn't take much UV time before my skin is pretty dark. Going around town with this shade of brown by the first week of May in Michigan is a dead giveaway that it didn't come from the sun. It's almost embarrassing. I have about six visits left, but I'm done. Overall, my research confirms the note of common sense- copping a tan from ultraviolet radiation at the salon is probably a very bad idea.

This story proves that every once in a while the thinking cap shorts out (see profile "About Me")

Heidi

Note to Readers

At my nephew's birthday party tonight, I was asking around, "okay, who read my blog?" There were a lot of people there, but only my sister had visited the site. She got me thinking about the (former) title of my blog: 'After All, Tomorrow is Another Day'. I've never felt very settled about it and listening to my sister's critique, I've decided to change it. I know you can't just go changing it all the time, but I only have 3 readers. Not too many people will be confused.

You see, when 40winkzzz came over to help me get one set up, we got to the part (the very first part) where you have to choose a title and a URL. I was put on the spot to think of something quick, as I had not really prepared. I thought about Scarlett O'Hara's last line in the epic movie, thought I could build on that and so on...

BUT, as my sister pointed out, Scarlett O'Hara is a pretty awful character. She's extremely selfish, a big heartbreaker and in the end of the movie, I'm not sure there is any real change for the better. I struggle with selfishness for sure, but I think I'd rather not dwell on the negative.

So, I'm changing the title to '2 Thinks to Share', inspired by something my mother always used to say, "put on your thinking cap". I'm going to post under 2Thinks instead of Scarlett, though I'll sign the posts w/my real name (how daring) and even though my URL is still www.isanotherday.blogspot.com and won't match the title of my blog- I'll worry about that later. Maybe someone will show me how to change that without losing what I already have built on this site, as comical as that is, because it isn't much. I'd hate to lose my 3 follower icons though. That would be sad. If anyone is bored and wants to give me some tips on beautifying my site, that'd be good.

I've also changed my settings. I accidentally had them set so that only blogspot accounts could post comments. Now anyone should be able to post comments on my site. I do have the comment moderator turned on, so I'll be reviewing the comments before they post(just following the practice of my favorite bloggers- I figure they know)

Thanks for reading and posting. I'm off to make some new bloggy friends, still trying to learn how to do that too. (This isn't a real blog post, just some housekeeping notes- the real ones are farther down).

Heidi (yep, that's the real one)

Cerebral Warfare

Sometimes I have flaming feelings fighting in my head. Often I have no control over that activity. Regularly I need help from the Lord to settle it all out. Here is a typical, generic example of what I am talking about.

Someone says or does something (probably very insignificant in the scope of everything in the whole world) that makes me mad. A conversation brews in my mind that goes something like this:

"Well.(humph)That's not right. I didn't do that. I'm not like that. I didn't mean that. I don't like her. He drives me nuts. I'll just tell her a thing or two. I'll stand my ground. I don't need to say I'm sorry, are you kidding! It's all his fault. I'll wait it out. I won't give in. I know I'm right..."

This goes on for a while until:

" I can't stand it. It's gone on too long. It's gone too far. I can't think straight. I can't focus on anything else. What can I do? Can I fix this? No,that's impossible. It's not my problem. It's a big problem. It is my problem. Who can help me? Who will be on my side?"

I might rattle that one around for days trying to strategize and choose my allies.

Then:

"Hello, Lord?" big pause "It's me again. You know 'the problem', well, I can't seem to fix it. Do you have any ideas for me? You know how hard it is for me to hear you, so remember to use the megaphone. Okay. I'll give you about five minutes to come up with something. Thanks."

The answers come in different ways. Last time God suggested I use the phone a friend option. The name of the friend was provided- one whom had been faithful in the past to tell me what I needed to hear and not what I wanted to hear. Here's a peek inside my head seconds after I spoke with this confidente.

"I think my ideas are better than everyone else's? Yes. I don't know everything? Okay, so I don't. Someone knows more than I do? Oh. I could learn from Someone? Hmm. I see how that might be true. I don't know how to submit to authority?? No! No, I guess I don't. That's a problem? Oh. I can see how that might be a problem. I focus on negatives? I build up a tower of trouble so high it becomes twisted with untruth? Yes I do. I'm very good at it. What was it I was supposed to read again...think...whatever...oh yes, Philippians 4:8 'Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.' Hmm. (ponder, ponder) I think I've misjudged. I made a mistake. I was wrong..."

From there it's a cake walk. Apologies aren't so bad.

The war is over. No swords, no slaughter, no spoils. Humility is not humiliating. It is victory- possible only by turning to the One in whom the battle has already been won.

Peace-
Heidi