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
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
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
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
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
Sunday, May 3, 2009
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
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
Friday, May 1, 2009
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)
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
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
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