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| Friday, March 31, 2006 |
| Overstimulated |
Red. The rooms have red walls covered with noisy murals or disturbing bric-a-brac. Even the 2-foot long straws in some of the fou-fou drinks are red. The music blasts through the air and straight into my brain, and I still can’t tell what’s playing. That helps to stimulate an appetite! We sit in the smoking section since the smokers in our party outnumber the nons. No big deal. The glacial air blowing down my back makes me thankful I remembered to bring my hoodie. For a second I entertain the idea of pulling the hood up over my head to warm my ears, but decide it would be childish. The lights are too bright. The feel of the whole place is frenetic. Teeth on edge irritable. The cliché, license-plate-laden table is sticky. In stark contrast, the napkins are clean, white linen.
The food arrives. More red—red beans, red Creole sauce. It’s spicy, satisfying. Please-may-I-have-a-to-go-box, good food. Our dinner conversation, shouted above the riotous groove, covers the gamut: basketball and baseball seasons; superstar athletes and steroid abuse; tattoos and tropical islands; genetic traits and grandchildren; crotch rockets and California highways; childhood memories and church.
It’s an uncommon evening, connecting with family we see only in bright, little bursts of time. Who cares what the surroundings are? |
| posted by Joye @ 12:52 AM |
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| Wednesday, March 29, 2006 |
| The Age of Profanity |
“Let us swear while we may, for in heaven it will not be allowed.”
I can’t say if Mark Twain is correct, but it seems nowadays people must be taking him at his word. We’ve definitely lowered our standards. Case in point is an Associated Press Ipsos poll. Even our nation's president is prone to be a “pottie-mouth.”
Surprisingly enough, almost half of Americans polled confessed to using profanity in conversation, but more than half said it bothers them when other people do it. Why the inconsistency?
Maybe it’s as simple as GIGO, the computer term for “garbage in, garbage out.” (Matthew 12:34b). After all, we are inundated with “colorful” language through movies, television, music, literature, not to mention the internet. Ingesting a diet of anything too much and too often will result in regurgitating the same. What does this say about the sources having the most influence on us?
There is nothing inherently wrong with using foul speech (Romans 14:14). We all use it to differing degrees, from the mild oath to the shocking expletive (although, no expletive is shocking anymore). Even Paul, the apostle, used graphic words when he wrote, “…everything I once thought I had going for me is insignificant--dog dung (Greek- skubalon). I've dumped it all in the trash so that I could embrace Christ.” (MSG) His choice of words vividly conveys the point he wanted to make.
But for some inherent reason, vulgar language seems to assault our aural sense of civility—with some exceptions. The AP report said that “younger people admit to using bad language more often than older people; they also encounter it more and are less bothered by it.” Personally, I think they should be, particularly if they’re followers of Jesus Christ. And for two distinct reasons, one being aesthetic and the other spiritual:
-Swearing is a sloppy way of trying to be emphatic. The English language has the richest vocabulary of any, with over 500,000 words, not including a half-million scientific and technical words as yet uncatalogued. Why then, do so many find it so necessary to sully their speech with second-rate words?
-The biblical entreaty of Philippians 4:8 to let your mind dwell on pure things, lovely things, honorable things, excellent and praiseworthy things. If we’re focusing on GWIGWO (God’s word in, God’s word out) instead of GIGO, will our lips be uttering profanities in casual conversation? Will an unwanted bad habit be replaced by a more self-pleasing outcome?
Watch the way you talk. Let nothing foul or dirty come out of your mouth. Say only what helps, each word a gift. Don't grieve God. Don't break his heart. His Holy Spirit, moving and breathing in you, is the most intimate part of your life, making you fit for himself. Don't take such a gift for granted. Make a clean break with all cutting, backbiting, profane talk. Ephesians 4:29-31 (MSG) |
| posted by Joye @ 10:51 PM |
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| Tuesday, March 28, 2006 |
| To Have a Friend, Be a Friend |
Lonely? Make a new friend today. Reach out to an old friend. You'll feel better. |
| posted by Joye @ 11:15 AM |
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| Seeing Is Believing |
“It is the destiny of the people of Haiti to suffer.” Former Haitian dictator, Jean Claude Duvalier
Mike is going to Haiti in a few days on church business. We were just there in February of last year. I thought I’d share a journal entry describing my first impressions of Haiti as we made our way through Port au Prince:
“The entrance to the airport was crammed with Haitian men wanting to give anyone a ride. So many men it was difficult to make our way through the crowd. A couple of men insisted on helping with our luggage, and Sam, a mission agency employee and our guide, had to tip them. A uniformed airport employee simply opened the gate for us to leave, and Sam slipped him money, too. Maybe that was for parking, I don’t know.
“Sam rushed us to a smaller airport just a few minutes away to catch a “commuter” plane to Les Cayes, but we missed our flight by 15 minutes. A Peace Corps worker named Jenny, whom Mike knew from previous trips, walked up to the Jeep with her Canadian friend, Reuben (a missionary kid). They climbed into the back seat with me. I’ve teased Mike about running into people he knows everywhere we go, but this is ridiculous! We stopped along the way to pick up a young Haitian woman named Clarice, and the young nephew of a Haitian pastor. With the seven of us in tow we began the 6 ½ hour drive to the mission compound. Sam pulled into a Tiger Mart to fill up on gas and get something to eat. Everyone bought one piece of fried chicken. The electricity went out twice in the short time we stood in line to pay, and an armed guard sauntered around, casually cradling an AK-47 in his arms. Then we began ‘Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride’ through Port au Prince!
“I’ve seen the makeshift hovels of Tijuana. I’ve seen the not-so-easily hidden barrios of Puerto Vallarta. I’ve seen the poverty of the Navajo rez. But I’ve never seen anything like this. The buildings—“ramshackle” doesn’t begin to describe them. Some of the concrete storefronts that, I’m guessing, were once brightly painted and maybe resembled the facades of Mexican architecture are now more like what the evening news shows us of bombed out cities left in ruins. Scores of derelict buildings; skeletons erected and abandoned, never to be fleshed out. People set up little vendor booths in front of them. I guess vendors can set up business just anywhere on the streets. Hordes of booths. Hordes of people. One long stretch of the city was a garbage dump with goats eating out of it and a big, black pig walking along on top of it. Goats and cows everywhere. An occasional scrawny, mangy dog. And people. Masses of people wandering about. Women carried full laundry baskets or overloaded tubs balanced precariously on their heads. People lounged around everywhere. Even after hearing stories of the abhorrent odors of the city, I barely noticed. My visual perception was too besieged to allow my other senses to engage.
“It took us forever to get through Port au Prince. There are no traffic laws, no stop signs or traffic lights. Burned out car corpses are discarded at street corners. We dodged in and out of traffic between buses, tap-taps (brightly painted jitneys), cyclists, sporadic motorcyclists, and pedestrians. We came so close to hitting people several times, but Sam said that the pedestrians are responsible to get out of the way (I was informed later that people do get hit by cars all the time). If we were going to pass another vehicle, Sam honked as he sped on around them. No painted lines, just right lane traffic unless something or someone gets in the way.
“Once we were out of town, the roads were at times virtually impassable, where flooding had planted mountains of dirt and rocks everywhere. There were Chinese U.N. soldiers clad in camouflage gear, leaning carelessly against smallish white tanks as they chatted with Haitian civilians. Neighborhoods are mainly shanty towns built from whatever is available, mostly corrugated metal bits fixed together. More people, always people along the sides of the roads. After dark it was the same. Pitch black night, and still… people walking or sitting by the roadsides. A few random little huts had the dull glow of a single light bulb. More often I saw kerosene lanterns, but very few of those.”
Pray for revival in Haiti. In Him they have hope.
Ephesians 1:18 “I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you will know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints” |
| posted by Joye @ 10:19 AM |
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| Monday, March 27, 2006 |
| Bless My Heart |
Most exciting thing in my day: I had a nuclear stress test today. I was given an injection of thallium, a radioactive dye, and then lay down on a table with a gamma-ray camera above it which took pictures of my heart. (Say fat-free cheese!) The only weirdness was lying there with my hands over my head for 11 ½ minutes. Then I stepped into another room and ran on the treadmill until my heart rate increased by 100%. Are you with me still? I do not exercise. I make a half-hearted (no pun intended, but there it is) attempt every so often, but it’s too uncomfortable, so I quit. So, a fast-paced walk up a “treadmill hill” to increase my heart rate made my lungs feel like they would explode. They never did, but I sure was wheezing for a while, does that count for a little sympathy? The last part of the test was to go back to the gamma-ray camera and have more pictures taken. The end result: my arteries and left ventricle are extremely photogenic, and I can get 9 wallet-size and a free 8x10 for…even better, I have NO BLOCKAGE! Yay, me. Glad that’s over!
Charles Dickens, “Have a heart that never hardens, a temper that never tires, a touch that never hurts.”
I’m still an ol’ softy. |
| posted by Joye @ 4:27 PM |
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| Sunday, March 26, 2006 |
| A Whale of a Phobia |
Did you ever see the Hitchcock film, Marnie? Marnie, played by Tippi Hedren, was the main character. She had a deep, dark secret that caused her to be compulsive and edgy. It caused her to steal. It also caused Sean Connery's character to take great romantic interest (I guess he liked "fixer-uppers") in Marnie. But the most mysterious component of the movie was that every time Marnie saw a flash of the color red, she would become terrified and lose all sense of reason. (I call that a panic attack, but that's another post. Buy a ticket to that one.)
Is there an image that immediately evokes fear in you? I don't mean a still shot from The Nightmare on Elm Street or a graphic photo depicting the horrors of the Holocaust. Just an innocuous, unobjectionable image? Say you were flipping through the pages of a magazine and that image was to suddenly appear on the page, would it cause a tightening or sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach or a slight ringing in your ears?
I've never seen a photo, drawing, or television scene of a whale without having those responses. Especially seeing a whale in the deep of the ocean can induce an uneasiness; an irrational fear. I suppose it would be categorized as a phobia, although I don't have to flee the room like people do on talk shows when they're confronted with their phobias. But, yes, I think whales are frightening creatures. They're big, scary, sea monsters. There. I said it.
I can't imagine that any fear is completely unfounded. It must have its roots in something, even if only a wrong perception in one's mind. My fear of whales is probably a throwback to the first time I saw Disney's Pinocchio at the theatre. I do vividly recall the scene with Monstro the Whale barreling through the deep water, a great menacing leviathan crashing down upon Pinnocchio and devouring the tiny puppet. I hated the movie. I still don't like the story, either. It's creepy.
It seems like an act of wisdom to take out our fears every so often and examine them under a microscope in the clear light of day. Poor Marnie could've saved herself a lot of grief if she had tried that. Some kind of de-sensitization process could've been helpful, like people who go to tall buildings and ride elevators all day long to get rid of their fear of elevators. Maybe I should tack up pictures of whales all over my living room, or induce dreams about whales by falling asleep to the sound of whale songs, or go on a whale watching tour. Maybe Pinnocchio himself could've used de-sensitization therapy. I wonder if, after he became a real boy, he ever woke up screaming in the wee hours with night terrors about whales. And I wonder if poor, old Geppetto was unable to comfort Pinnocchio, because he himself was passed out cold from a night of drunkenness to forget his own whale nightmares... |
| posted by Joye @ 2:19 PM |
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| Saturday, March 25, 2006 |
| The Sky Is Falling |
The sky is falling! We bought Chicken Little yesterday, and I watched it with Lindsay and the minis today. It’s really, really cute. The music is a lot of fun, too. For this family, the sky has never been bluer, since we found out yesterday we’ll be grandparents again around Christmas time!
Here’s a picture of our friend, beautiful Briar. She’s really Ian’s friend and co-worker, he’s known her and her family since she was itty bitty. I don’t know her real well, but I’d like to. She has a certain grace about her. Anyway, she just colored her hair, so I took her picture. We were at the tattoo shop yesterday hanging out with Ian, Tiffany, Briar, and Mouse. Maybe next time we’re there, I’ll get a picture of everyone else, but they had so many customers coming in that I didn’t get the chance. If you’d like to read an excellent definitive article on a biblical perspective of tattooing & piercing, find a copy of the magazine called Christian Research Journal, 2005, Volume 28, Number 6, “Under the Needle—Tattoos.” It’s still available to buy.
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| posted by Joye @ 7:19 PM |
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| Wednesday, March 22, 2006 |
| Manna (What is it?) |
See this photo? It's a picture of what we had for dinner tonight.
Mike sat quietly eating his meal, until about half-way through I asked him what he thought. He was silent for a moment longer. He stared at his plate.
“Well?” I prodded.
“What IS it?” he asked at last. Sheesh.
If you can guess what it is by the photo, your prize is the leftover manna. And the recipe. Or maybe the prize will be you get to feed it to the dog. |
| posted by Joye @ 10:08 PM |
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| Image of Christ? |
I should’ve been healed! I would’ve been rich! I could’ve at least felt good!!!!
AP News reports that the Triumph Learning and Worship Center in Saraland, Alabama has Jesus in their midst. The drywall buckled due to water damage after Hurricane Katrina, leaving some bubbling on the wall’s surface that forms the image of Christ with His arms outstretched. A picture frame was placed around the image and believers who have touched the wall report miraculous healings, including no more seizures and improved eyesight.
Curious as to where else Jesus might have been spotted, I went to E-Bay and found Him for sale in:
-a piece of wood for $10,000.
-the shape of a rock for $1,080,000.
-a photo of a cloud formation for $900.
-a stone for $499.
-a red smudge on a five-dollar bill for $3,500.
-a mahogany stained dresser for $10,000.
-some sort of foam material for only $19.99 (“Everyone who saw this took a second look and felt good,” says the seller).
-and for those of us who prefer the Virgin Mary, her image can be purchased in a decorative plate for $4,999 (HAVE MARY MOTHER OF JESUS WATCH OVER YOU AT YOUR DINNER TABLE OR YOUR HOUSE).
I might go for the foam material, $19.99 is such a bargain price to pay to ‘feel good.’ But really, I could just kick myself! I had a chance to make some bucks on E-bay and gave it away! A few years ago, I faux finished a coffee table to look like pink marble. Lo and behold, there was the face of Jesus peeking out at me from the feather finish on one end of the table! Then again, it could’ve been the face of the homeless guy that used to hang out in front of my mom’s sandwich shop. How do all these people know what Jesus looked like, anyway? |
| posted by Joye @ 11:39 AM |
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| Tuesday, March 21, 2006 |
| Aloof |
I’m haunted by Christina Rossetti’s poem, The Thread of Life. In it, she finds her greatest solace in the Bible’s promise of a sweeter life hereafter.
I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
he bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?
There are times when I can be overly dependent on that particular hope myself; when my most frequent prayer is, “Just take me home, Lord Jesus!”
The rest of her poem is somewhat gloomy, as are a lot of Miss Rossetti’s works, but I identify emotionally with much of what she wrote. Today, my bond is to three lines in the first stanza of that same poem:
Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof, bound with the flawless band
Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
What was the oft misquoted line from Greta Garbo in Grand Hotel? “I vant to be left alone.” That’s usually my sentiment as well. But believing that we are who God intended us to be, how do I reconcile my lifelong preference for seclusion with the biblical emphasis on relationship? How can I live the New Testament mandate to love one another (see ‘One Another’ post, dated March 13) while seeking refuge in my home, which I affectionately refer to as ‘The Hidey Hole?”
Alas, I cannot. In his book, Connecting, Larry Crabb points out, “We have all been created by an Eternal Community of three fully connected persons,” i.e. the Triune God. We are created in His image. We need community. I think God must have given me that bent toward solitude, whether by nurture or nature, as a middling “thorn in the flesh.” It provides yet another plumb line in my life to remind me of whether I’m walking in the flesh or in the Spirit. Community does not come easily for me; I have to work at it. Relationships do not just happen to me via a knock on my door or a phone call; I have to give as much as I’m given, and oftentimes more. But I have learned to commit to only as much as is manageable for me, and no more. Perhaps there can be a happy medium.
I read that Dr. John Hannah, a professor at Dallas Theological Seminary, has referred to himself as “a loner who loves people.” I like that description. I tried it on and it fits me like a favorite comfy, old sweater. Size Happy Medium. |
| posted by Joye @ 3:48 PM |
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| Monday, March 20, 2006 |
| DIG UP THE ARK ALREADY! |
It rained a LOT yesterday! I heard we got about 9.5 inches of rain, a blessed occurrence after such a long dry spell and all the wildfires. But we could’ve used the ark at our house. Whenever we get a substantial amount of rain, water collects at the corner of our patio where it meets the house. It got so high it just flowed right in the back doors. Never done that before!
I noticed a little water seepage in one spot in our living room, so I laid a few towels down, and put on my shoes to head for church. But then as I walked down the hall toward the garage, I heard, and felt a “squish, squish, squish” there as well. Uh-oh. Needless to say, I skipped church and spent the evening pushing our wet vac around the house trying to get all the water out of the carpet. Mike came home from church a little bit early to take his turn at it. I bet we extracted at least 10 gallons of… naw, more like 3 ½ gallons of water out of the carpet. Then we set fans on it and set out a container of silica gel to absorb moisture from the air.
Where’s old Noah when we need him?
(All kidding aside, it didn’t turn out so innocuous for Katrina victims, who are still struggling to regain normalcy in their lives. Even though they aren’t in the news anymore, they still need our prayers and support. You can still help. http://www.directrelief.org/ ) |
| posted by Joye @ 11:09 AM |
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| Sunday, March 19, 2006 |
| Stinky Desperado & Surly Pete |
 Thanks, Lindsay, for your rendering of Stinky Desperado & Surly Pete! Wonder what misadventures await these two cowpokes? |
| posted by Joye @ 5:30 PM |
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| Vain Imaginations |
This morning I watched a television interview with a popular author of horror/fantasy books. She has lately returned to the Catholic faith of her upbringing, and has written a work of fiction about the childhood and adolescence of Jesus Christ. Sharing the interview spotlight with her openly gay son, she stated in regard to homosexuality that Jesus didn’t go around ranting about sex when he was on earth, but talked about loving each other. She is absolutely right. But Jesus did “rant” about sin as defined in the law of the Old Testament and as delineated by Himself. In previous interviews with the author, she espoused other of her ideas that reduce Scripture to shades of grey. And so it goes in this world.
God gives each of us freedom to believe and worship as we please, and what abuses we perpetrate upon that freedom!
A.W. Tozer wrote, “Wrong ideas about God…are themselves idolatrous. The idolater simply imagines things about God and acts as if they were true.” The awful truth of it is, we all have wrong ideas about God. We find a way to fit Him into our own understanding. Tozer again, “Left to ourselves we tend immediately to reduce God to manageable terms. We want to get Him where we can use Him, or at least know where He is when we need Him. We want a God we can in some measure control.” We settle for a lesser God. But The God of the Universe can be known.
Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath showed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Romans 1:19-21 (KJV)
…in that they show the work of the Law written in their hearts, their conscience bearing witness and their thoughts alternately accusing or else defending them… Romans 2:15 (NASB)
It behooves us to seek the truth if we desire to know God at all, and not some figment of our vain imaginations. Apart from a biblical worldview, the true God cannot be known. We must not diminish God to proportions we can squeeze into our own “box” simply to accommodate our discomfort with tough realities we find in the Bible, just as we have diminished our society.
Charles Spurgeon, a British preacher in the 19th century, said of our gross misrepresentations of God’s intent, “I have seen the Spirit of God shamefully dishonored by people --I hope they were insane -- who have said that they have had this and that revealed to them.”
There will be a day when what/who we decide to believe and worship (and we do each make that decision in life) will be brought to light. For it is written, "AS I LIVE, SAYS THE LORD, EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW TO ME, AND EVERY TONGUE SHALL GIVE PRAISE TO GOD." |
| posted by Joye @ 1:04 PM |
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| Saturday, March 18, 2006 |
| Indiscriminate Idea (or Random Thought) |
You already know that the word stinking is at the forefront of our collective vocabulary. We dashed out of the house this morning for a spontaneous breakfast meeting, and didn’t have time for our usual ablutions (love that word, read it in a romance novel once).
On the way back home I complained about my desperate grooming condition (or lack thereof), which provided inspiration for Mike. He came up with some cowboy cartoon characters: Stinky Desperado and his sidekick, Surly Pete. Pete is surly because he’s always surrounded by the stench of his cohort. And I could just imagine flies buzzing around Stinky Desperado.
Can you help us flesh out the characters a little? What else can we know about Stinky Desperado and Surly Pete? Too bad I couldn't draw a picture of them. |
| posted by Joye @ 11:37 AM |
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| Friday, March 17, 2006 |
| Stormtrooper |
We went out for a ride on the motorcycle this morning. I knew it would be cold, so I bundled up in layers, pulled my balaclava over my head, put on the biggest pair of sunglasses I own, and donned my helmet. Mike called me a Stormtrooper.
Somewhere along Farm to Market 156, I realized I liked wearing the balaclava and dark glasses under my helmet. It provided a hiding place of sorts. I could see out, but THEY couldn’t see in. It gave me a feeling of anonymity. Maybe even a slight sense of control. No stranger could evaluate me based on what I look like. No one could know my expression and thereby read something into it.
And I wondered if this is how Muslim women sometimes feel, who are required to wear burkas out in public? Does it provide them a sense of protection, blending into a crowd without a second look from male or female passersby? Do they enjoy a sense of secrecy about themselves?
I’ve never spoken to a woman who was wearing a burka, but would probably find interaction quite unsettling without being able to see nuances of facial expression. Would she be smiling? Frowning? No one would know but her.
In the Netherlands, school officials once forbade students from wearing burkas, arguing that non-verbal communication is required to teach the syllabus. A court in New Zealand ruled that women cannot wear a burka while providing courtroom testimony.
In Italy, hiding one's face while in public has been forbidden since 1975. An anti-terrorism law passed in 2005 imposes increased fines and prison sentences for violators of the law.
People want to be able to read a face. They want to make up their own minds (however wrong their conclusions may be) as to what the person is thinking based on the arch of her brow, the twitch of her cheek muscle, or the curve of her mouth. Juries have made convictions based on the fact that the defendant didn’t make appropriate expressions (most notably, Lindy Chamberlain, the “the dingoes ate my baby” defendant).
Even wearing sunglasses can arouse distress. When I encounter someone with a pair of dark sunglasses on, I find myself feeling slightly uncomfortable while engaging in conversation with them. The inability to make eye contact is a little disconcerting. I think them rude if they don’t remove the sunglasses while we talk!
The eyes may be the window to the soul, but if one hides one’s face, there better be a mighty good reason!
Nevertheless, on days like today when the conditions warrant, I’m allowed to be mysterious. I’m a Stormtrooper. |
| posted by Joye @ 4:46 PM |
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| Thursday, March 16, 2006 |
| IMPULSE |
I read a simple short story today. It was entitled, Impulse, by Conrad Aiken, about a young husband and father who ends up in jail and loses everything by acting on an impulse. Keep in mind that the story was written in the 1920's: after a night of drinking and playing bridge (bridge?!!) with some buddies from work, where they tossed around fantasies about acting out whatever random impulses they might have, Michael Lowes decided to carry through with the idea once he left the party. He entered a drugstore, "cased the joint," and pilfered a deluxe safety razor set in a snakeskin box, slipping it into his coat pocket. He was immediately caught and arrested by the store detective and things progressed rapidly until his wife left him and he was sentenced to three months in jail, his reputation, nay his very life, ruined. The end.
Mulling the story over in my mind for a while, I tried to decide what I felt about this guy- compassion? Contempt? Indifference?
I still haven't decided. Even though he had the impulse, he didn't have to act on it. Most people usually have pretty good control over impulses. If they didn't, wouldn't chaos be the norm? Wouldn't we be ruled by anarchy?
James 1:14-15 says, "but each one is tempted when each one, by his own evil desires, is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death." (NIV)
It seems there's a process involved in acting on the sort of impulse defined by Aiken-
1. the impulse (enticement)
2. the entertainment of the enticement in his mind (temptation)
3. the urge to carry out the temptation (desire)
4. the planning out of the desire to fruition (birth of sin)
5. the actual execution of the deed (sin)
6. and for the unsaved man, sin leads to death.
I like Paul's solution to the whole predicament, especially as it's written in The Message:
"We use our powerful God-tools for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ." 2 Corinthians 10:5
Michael Lowes needed some powerful God-tools! I would've enjoyed the story more if he'd descended to his depths and then found redemption. Like Jean Valjean. Now theeeere's a story! |
| posted by Joye @ 12:05 AM |
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| Tuesday, March 14, 2006 |
| Sonic Boom |
I was sitting in my car at a Sonic Drive-In today. The noise pollution was cacophonous: the roar of a jet engine rolled across the sky above; Mick Jagger reassured me over the restaurant sound system that “it’s aaall riiight, Jumpin’ Jack Flash is a gas gas gas;” two fellow customers shouted in discord at the kiosks and the kiosks shouted back at them; the pulsating percussion of someone’s car stereo provided the beat for an angry hip-hop artist rapping about “goin’ outta control;” and there was the constant din of passing cars along the street. I paid the carhop for my diet Dr. Pepper, raised my car window, and drove away, escaping with my hearing fairly intact.
I wonder how many decibels were in that entire auditory assault. Are we all going deaf?
Some friends shared recently about the camping/hiking trip they take every year in Minnesota. They told of how treacherous it is—carrying their canoes up steep inclines through miles of portage between lakes; suffering a species of fly that hovers just above the ground and can chew through socks to bite their ankles. But they said it’s by far worth all the misery when they reach the heart of their destination, where in the quiet solitude they can even hear the beat of their own hearts.
What might that quiet solitude be like? The thought of it makes me uneasy. I think the most silent experience I’ve ever had was during a week on a Haitian island, where there were no cars, television, phones, nothing. But I was continually around people, and the beautiful songbirds and ocean breezes blowing through the trees, along with the occasional bleating of a goat in the distance, added sound to the surroundings. It wasn’t dead silence, it was more like a joyful noise!
Now, at the end of the day, I sit in my living room typing out this blog post. I hear the ceiling fan whirring above my head. Stinking Sanders (see Feb. 28 post, "He Stinketh") gently sighs from his pillow across the room. The clock ticks ever so softly on the mantel. It’s not so bad. I guess I can bear the risk of city living; the sporadic attacks of clatter and clamor. Maybe I’ll stick a pair of earplugs in my purse whenever I go out.
“Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.” Psalm 98:4 |
| posted by Joye @ 12:38 AM |
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| Monday, March 13, 2006 |
| One Another |
Love one another. John 13, 15, et al.
Be devoted to one another. Romans 12:10
Honor one another above yourself. Romans 12:10
Edify (to instruct and improve; teach or persuade) one another. Romans 14:19
Accept one another. Romans 15:7
Admonish (counsel, warn, instruct) one another. Romans 15:14
Greet one another. Romans 16:16
Have equal concern for one another. 1 Corinthians 12:25
Serve one another in love. Galatians 5:13
Bear one another’s burdens. Galatians 6:2
Bear one another in love. Ephesians 4:2
Speak truthfully to your neighbor—you are members one of another. Ephesians 4:25
Comfort one another. 1 Thessalonians 4:18
Encourage one another and build each other up. 1 Thessalonians 5:11
Be kind to each other. 1 Thessalonians 5:15
Spur one another on to love and good deeds. Hebrews 10:24
Confess your sins to each other and pray for one another. James 5:16
Love one another deeply from the heart. 1 Peter 1:22
Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. 1 Peter 4:9
Clothe yourselves with humility toward one another. 1 Peter 5:5
"I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. John 15:5 |
| posted by Joye @ 10:37 AM |
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| Sunday, March 12, 2006 |
| Dangerous Curves Ahead |
Before the rain moved in this morning, we set out with a group of motorcycle riders for a Saturday ride along the back roads. We first enjoyed a cheery breakfast together, twelve strong. When we left the restaurant we noticed it had rained a little, but not enough to call off the ride, so we headed northeast through Sanger. We formed the usual ‘train’ by riding in staggered formation, and Mike and I rode point while someone else took up the rear to make sure no one was left behind.
I’ve been riding with Mike long enough to entrust us both to his good judgment as a driver. The safety of all the riders is ultimately in God’s hands anyway. But I did notice that the roads were wet enough to warrant extra caution. I thought we should consider calling off the ride if it got much worse, especially since two of the riders were novices. Then, after rounding a fairly keen curve, the rider behind us began honking his horn with some urgency. We pulled to the side of the road and learned that a rider had gone down a few hundred yards back. We turned around and headed back. I prayed whoever it was had escaped serious injury.
Both sides of the rural highway were lined with cars and motorcycles. Skid marks and clods of dirt on the pavement bore witness to an accident. Passersby who had seen it happen, as well as the rest of the riders, were gathered along the side of the road. In the adjacent field lay a motorcycle. A few stray parts were strewn about the ground around it, and bits and pieces were dangling from the bike.
As we looked past the crowd, there sat one of our friends on the ground near her bike, looking dazed, muddy, and disheveled. When she rounded the curve she had lost control of her motorcycle, skidded off the road, flipped her bike, and landed on her back in that field. Dirt and straw were embedded in the fabric of her jacket, she had straw in her hair, and the leather on top of her helmet was muddied and torn through. When she stood she was shaky, but she had only scrapes on the back of one hand! It was a miracle.
A Sanger police officer arrived and rendered some assistance. Everyone was reassured that she was all right, and the rest of the riders continued on their way. A couple from our group rode back to their home to get their bike trailer and bring it to cart the mangled motorcycle back to town. Mike and I stayed with our shaken friend and kept her company until they returned.
***
Have you ever watched the segment of David Letterman’s Late Show called, “IS THIS SOMETHING?” Well, the hour or so that the three of us sat in the wet grass at the side of the road awaiting the return of the other couple felt like SOMETHING. And I count that time as being as much a miracle—as readily ordained by the grace of God—as our friend having survived the accident pretty much unscathed. I hope it meant something to her as well. And praise God she rode home safely buckled into a pick-up truck with her bike anchored securely into a trailer for the trip home.
1Thessalonians 5:11 Therefore encourage one another and build up one another, just as you also are doing. |
| posted by Joye @ 9:03 AM |
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| Saturday, March 11, 2006 |
| Sound the Retreat! |
re·treat n.
1.
a. The act or process of withdrawing, especially from something hazardous, formidable, or unpleasant.
b. The process of going backward or receding from a position or condition gained.
2. A place affording peace, quiet, privacy, or security. See Synonyms at shelter.
3.
a. A period of seclusion, retirement, or solitude.
b. A period of group withdrawal for prayer, meditation, or study: a religious retreat.
We just returned from a three-day pastor’s retreat in Granbury, Texas. Historical downtown, elegant bed & breakfast, warm and welcoming hosts, beautiful setting. It was probably more to the liking of the pastor’s wives than the pastors themselves, but it was a charming place with very nice accommodations. We ate, had bible study, ate, visited, ate, slept, and ate. 
I seem to have a line-up of retreats to attend each year at this time: women’s retreat; pastors’ retreat; last year there was a missionary retreat in Haiti; this year I look forward to a mother-daughter retreat in Galveston. They all invariably see me home in dire need of a really long nap and a few days of Spartan eating habits.
I do enjoy them a lot. For me, they’re mostly about getting away from the daily grind, and spending time with people I don’t usually get to spend time with. I appreciate all the time and trouble certain persons go through in loving service to provide such exceptional diversion. But ‘retreat’ is a misnomer, if you ask me.
Instead of peace and quiet; instead of solitude and seclusion; instead of withdrawal for spiritual refreshment, they are more of a departure from the norm for purposes of fellowship, food, and fun. Whenever I anticipate the next retreat, I conjure up mental images of the former, and then find the reality closer to the latter description. I wish I could hereby declare a revision of the word “retreat” to “3-day (or however many days) Party” or “Gabfest” or “Gastro Amusement!”
I’m not complaining, mind you. In fact, I highly recommend them if you have the chance to attend one. I think rather, I need to revise my expectations, surrender to the contemporary idea of retreat, and make sure I have the time available when I return home to do the nap/diet thing. Because I sure don’t intend to miss out on any of them! |
| posted by Joye @ 12:53 AM |
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| Wednesday, March 08, 2006 |
| Fount of Knowledge |
I was given the supreme privilege yesterday—I had Squeak all to myself for a little while. It was great; we had some very, meaningful conversation. It’s amazing what you can learn from a three year old:
While we were at lunch, I took her into the public restroom. She called to me from within the stall, and told me, “Gran, poop is soft.”
Alarmed, I asked, “And how do you know this, Squeak?”
She answered, “It’s inside your body, and it comes out soft.”
I peaked through the door and gave a sigh of relief. Her hands were clean.
l
After reading a children’s book together, called I Am Not Sleepy And I Will Not Go To Bed, we made a trip to the grocery store. She kept repeating the title, which is the main line in the story. Finally, she told me, “Gran, I can tell you why little children don’t like to go to bed at night.”
Thinking she’d say something about not being sleepy, I offer, “Oh? Why?”
“They like to stay up and play and go with their grandmas and grandpas to the zoo and eat cotton candy and go the park and have a picnic with their mommy and daddy and read stories and go the circus and…”
“Even in the middle of the night? I asked incredulously.
“Yes,” she told me, all matter-of-fact.
l On the ride home, I turned on the CD in the car player. I thought Squeak might enjoy hearing the joyful music of Andrae Crouch. “Do you like this music?”
“No,” she said.
I knew she usually prefers classical music, what she and her sister call “ballet music,” because they love to perform impromptu ballets to classical music. “Is it because it isn’t ballet music?”
“No, I like girl music.”
Perplexed, I tried different radio stations, quizzing her on each one to see if it filled the requirement for “girl music.” I finally figured out the common denominator. She wanted to hear a female singer! I pushed the CD button back to Andrae and the Disciples, and skipped through songs until I came to one with a woman singing. She said she liked it, and we road home happily bopping to the girl music.
If you hang out with someone long enough, you’re bound to learn something new from them, no matter how old they are. Squeak is a veritable fount of knowledge, and I’m the wiser for it. |
| posted by Joye @ 12:10 AM |
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| Tuesday, March 07, 2006 |
| Before and After |
For those of you who've held your breath (pun intended!) awaiting Sanders' before and after photos, feast your eyes!
 BEFORE
AFTER (all I said was "sit," not "play dead!") |
| posted by Joye @ 10:57 PM |
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| Do You Wanna Know a Secret? |
While I was sitting in the doctor’s office this morning, I let my eyes glance over the collection of magazines scattered across their massive coffee table. Several of the magazine covers proffered disclosure of secrets to draw readers in: The Secret Lives of Men; Can We Trust Google with Our Secrets?; The Secret Agony of Martin Luther King, Jr. (italics mine).
All those secrets begged the question—what is it about secrets exposed, or even secrets confided, that we find so alluring? Curiosity? Like Alice in Wonderland (curiouser and curiouser, she said) who got into a world of trouble because she just had to follow that White Rabbit down the hole. Or maybe pride, the chance to be privy to information no one else knows? My money's on curiosity. Whatever the reason, the media publishers know how to play on that human foible, whether they reveal truth or not.
When you’re in a room where people are whispering to each other, especially if you happen to know the person or subject of the secret exchange, don’t you want to know? Aren’t you curious? I am. The bible never mentions the word curious or anything close, by the way (although it has plenty to say about telling secrets, but that’s a subject unto itself).
I know it’s none of my business. I know that “curiosity killed the cat.” And I’m well aware of what it cost Eve (and us!) when she gave in to her inquisitiveness and crossed the line into sin. And yet…
When the nurse called my name, I got up and crossed the room to go in for my appointment. But as I walked past it, I couldn’t take my eyes off that Reader’s Digest magazine that promised to spill the beans on the secret lives of men. I so wanted to know their secrets. Enquiring minds want to know.
"For nothing is hidden, except to be revealed; nor has anything been secret, but that it would come to light. Mark 4:22 |
| posted by Joye @ 12:37 AM |
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| Sunday, March 05, 2006 |
| Saturday Scenes |
I had the nicest day yesterday.
Mike and I went to breakfast at IHOP early enough to beat the Saturday morning crowd. We got into a “dialogue” on why, after being married all these years, we still have moments of lapsing into different languages: his and mine. Then we went home and took a nap. Funny how a nap can help us speak the same language again!
Lindsay and the mini-she’s came to call. We visited a land of ballerinas and fairies; admired beautiful handmade sculptures; attended a ballet and gymnastics performance all rolled into one; and dined on exotic foods from the land of Sprouts.
A new/old friend came over for an evening of bead working fun, pizza, and an awful movie. It’s really fun getting to know her better. She’s a delight.
And I had a surprise phone call from my nephew, whom I adore. He’s finishing up a degree, playing golf with his bride of one year, and getting ready to ship out to the Middle East yet again (please pray for him). Amazing how fast time passes. Blink and you’ll miss it.
Ephesians 5:19 reads, “speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody with your heart to the Lord.”
I think there’s more than one way to do that. |
| posted by Joye @ 10:42 AM |
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| Friday, March 03, 2006 |
| The Blue Period |
“Am I blue?
Am I blue?
Ain’t these tears in my eyes telling you?”
That’s from a Billie Holiday song. She knew a thing or two about the blues.
I like to tell people that I go through Blue Periods but don’t have any weird paintings to show for it like Picasso did.
Sometimes Blue oozes in like thick molasses: a murky indigo slowly covering the inner me inch by inch until I’m so smothered in its thick, sticky substance that it seeps out of my pores.
Other times I just wake up in the morning, and Blue instantly pierces my soul: an icy blue, poison-tipped dart penetrating its mark with painful precision. Either way, the damage is done. I’m in the paralyzing throes of a Blue Period.
There are lots of people who literally cannot function in their own Blue Periods. They take to their beds and shut out the world until they’re forced by circumstance to re-connect. I’ve never done that, although I have employed the coping mechanism called, “sleeping the day away.” And I’ve entertained the idea of crawling into bed, or crawling under a desk, or crawling into a hole. Maybe because at the time, I already felt like I’d been brought to my knees and crawling around just made sense.
But for the most part, I’m a “high-functioning” victim of the Blue Meanies. At best, my own family doesn’t even know when my color changes. At worst, I withdraw into reclusion and wait it out.
I recently heard someone say that when they aren’t spending time with the Lord, they can tell the difference in themselves within a couple of days’ time. I don’t believe that can be overstated. For me, the difference is inevitably and without deviation, falling into blueness. If I’m not connecting with God on a daily basis, I’m in the process of disconnecting with every thing else. It’s that simple.
The Meanies can infect me with blueness through fear, disappointment, pain, self-absorption; lots of things. They’re very resourceful. And hanging out with God isn’t a divine inoculation from blueness. But it’s my infusion of Truth. It’s my best and only option (notwithstanding antidepressants, which path I have explored over the years, and fully appreciate their ability to lighten the Big Blue by several shades).
If I’m going to end up on my knees now and then anyway, my best recourse is to use the time well in spiritual disciplines while I’m there. That’s the only way I’m able to get back on my feet again. That makes more sense than crawling around. |
| posted by Joye @ 8:00 PM |
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| Wednesday, March 01, 2006 |
| The Genius Trio |
It was bound to happen. Family pictures. Here are the most important members:  Miss Squish, 10 months old.  Miss Squeak, 3 years old.
 Miss Squeal, 5 years old. And as soon as Stinking Sanders has his grooming appointment, there'll be Before and After pictures! |
| posted by Joye @ 12:05 AM |
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