Chicken

Dave just recently got me a very nice present.

Like my nesting doll measuring cup?  That wasn't the present, but she's cute, right?

 I feel totally inept in the kitchen.  And with just I can't eveneven finish that sentencecan't he two of us here, and neither of us being really all that snooty when it comes to food, well, there isn't a whole lot of need for real live cooking in this house.  So if it's dinner time and I'm home alone, I am totally not above pickles and peanut butter for dinner.  Maybe I'll go all out and fry an egg, but really, why bother.

Spikey

This is what I'm learning/re-learning this week. 

Can you tell what else I've been doing online recently?  Geesh, those ad bars are like giant tattle tales.

 It's called instrument flight rules, or IFR.  Nothing earth shattering.  It isn't even all that hard, if you can remember a couple of key principles pretty consistently.  And if you know how to fly the aircraft already.

And here's the other thing I'm learning/re-learning this week: ugly is as ugly does - and you wanna know who's been cracking mirrors lately?

Good Gracious, We Had Company!

HI AGAIN, Y'ALL!

Did you know I read other people's blogs?  I do.  Mostly they are other women, and mostly they are homemakers with flair, and mostly they are mothers with kids...and mostly most of all, they are people who pursue grace in their lives, families, homes, community, and world.  One of my favorites is the Nester; she writes an awful lot about letting people in on our messes (physical and otherwise) as a fundamental part of showing others grace.  "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful," she says.  I'd like to add an idea to that idea...it really doesn't have to be beautiful to be perfect.

Boredom and the Mudroom

These days at work drag on so long sometimes.

 I spend my long days surfing the internet, talking to the other pilots, designing and redesigning things on SketchUp...

The Dumbbell Table Reveal!

Folks, we have a dumbbell table!

It is sturdy, solid, massive, and exactly as I'd hoped it would be.  David is happy with it, which is the best of all.  And it will require its own forklift if we ever decide to move (I exaggerate kind of).

The Day After

We haven't had a lick of snow here until today.  Dave mentioned to me on the drive home on Christmas Eve that he would never wish for a white Christmas again.

"Why?"  I asked.

"Because then all those snow plow workers would have to get out there and work on Christmas Day.  It'd be alright if it would snow a few days before, though."

...or, as it has here, if it would snow the day after.

The Dell-i-o

Did I tell you I got a lovely new laptop?

Dave got it for me.  It was a Costco Superdealio.  Dellio.  Hehe.

That's my handsome hunny.  He's explaining to me that we can't set up my new computer because it's password protected and we don't have the password (it was the display model...the jokers didn't remove the display model protections before they let us take it home).  I was horrified.  But I very quickly got over it.  See my beautiful Coach bag?

 It is beautiful.  Aside from my beautiful ring and matching earrings and necklace, it is the most beautiful thing I own.

And my new laptop fits into it.  So having to postpone turning it on for a day...totally worth it.

I am surrounded by beauty.  I realize...I'm on the mountaintop.  I know there will be a coming down at some point...I know this restful, contented, all-good moment won't last.  Will my gratitude?  Will my happiness?  I have been reading Knowing the Heart of God...MacDonald says over and over, "Have you done even one thing today just because He told you to do it?"  I find my answer to be mostly negative. I do my "good" mostly for the sake of my image or for thanks from others or whatever.  But maybe here's one thing I can say that I am doing (trying to do) just because He said to: I am trying to cast my cares on Him.  I am trying to pray unceasingly. And I think he does respond.  The other day I was complaining to Dave (raging, actually) about one of my coworkers (not the Comparaholic...they moved him to Intracoastal not 2 days after that post).  He was telling me he will be giving his girlfriend a vacuum for Christmas.

Raised eyebrows.  "A vacuum?"  Why are you even telling me this?  Table full of guys, and he waited till there was just me and him sitting there.

"Yeah.  She just moved in with me, and she's got a dog."

A while ago, he ran a birthday gift idea for this poor girl past me: a nice pillow.  Because I'm tired of her stealing mine. 

Blank look.  Seething heart.  And suddenly the memory of a Dan Allender story of a woman who met the objectification of a stranger with bold, shattering love.  It wasn't a perfect this is what you should do, but it was pretty darn close.  It was this should be the attitude of your heart.  And that is something I definitely can't do.  So that is what I will be thinking about and praying about for myself.  Pray for me?

The Real Issue

Have you ever read C. S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces?  I remember Dad reading it to us when we were younger, and it was universally lampooned by the children in the family (us) as being nonsense and depressing.  I read it again in high school...and what do you know, books do get better with age.  There's a bit right at the end where the main character is brought before the gods for her trial (this is based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche, by the way, with the main character being Psyche's ugly big sister, Orual).  She is bewildered to find that it is not herself being tried...instead, she is asked to bring her accusations before the court.  A scroll is handed to her that she protests she did not write, but she is commanded to read it out loud anyway.  And as she reads, she recognizes that, though she may not have written the scroll, the feelings and the accusations are her own.  She accuses the gods of stealing her sister, blasting her own face, cursing her for no reason, taking from her all of her joy, deceiving her, mocking her, and on and on until the voice tells her to stop reading.  At this point, Orual realizes that she has been screeching the words on the scroll and that she has already read it through several times, as if on repeat.  She has finally heard her own true voice, without justification, without virtue, without any redeeming quality screaming about its rights and how it has been wronged.  She finally sees how bad it really is.

As the sun went down this evening, I heard that voice myself.

Go tell the dispatchers!  Tell them to just give you all the flights tomorrow, or at least to skip Mr. Comparaholic a few times in the rotation!

My teammate had been at his tricks again this evening, this time claiming outright that he "always" flies more than I do, that he does "most of the work around here."  My right to the reputation of being The Hardest Worker was threatened.  I wanted to get even.

At least go let them know that he's thinking that way, that there may be trouble.  Go tell them, tell them now!

By the time I was finished rinsing my engine, I felt like I'd responded to every argument and ploy my childish inner voice kept screaming at me, but it was like it was on repeat.  It sounded panicked and wouldn't shut up.

You have to fly more, at least for tomorrow!  Hurry and talk to them, convince them!

My only relief was when I physically looked up and mentally focused on remembering.  Emily Freeman says the biggest trouble good girls face is forgetfulness...they forget who they are, they forget where their strength really lies, they forget the invitation to trust and the promise of rest.  They try to fix it themselves because they forget that that isn't their job.  So I focused on remembering...
My worth doesn't come from my reputation.  I don't have to be the Hardest Worker because that isn't what makes me valuable anyway.  I need comfort, comfort comes from the Father, the Father hasn't left me--
...and that seamlessly flows into prayer.  The prayer ends when I get distracted, the Voice comes back, hurry up and talk to the dispatchers before they leave!, which leads back into the cycle again.

The Good News really is good.  There really is freedom in the here and now.  It is possible to be free of this Voice that hounds me, demanding that I be perfect, demanding that I demand my right to look perfect, even if I can't be perfect.  It's kind of a messy process, eh?  Messy.  Annoying.  Can this really be the work of God?  I think it is.  Maybe it isn't traveling to Africa or saving exploited women and children...it isn't even raising a child of my own or building a stronger marriage this time...it's just me.  Just me learning to trust God to be my God so that I don't have to try to be my own little god anymore.  That's the real issue.  For now.

An Issue

First of all, I just want to say a big, big thank-you for all of you who came with me on my 31 Days challenge.  I am so grateful for your support, your reading of my sometimes-lame posts, and your comments and emails.  There was only one day out of the whole month that I missed posting!  That's pretty darn good, says I, since I didn't really think I'd succeed in making half the month.  So if it's possible for me to write something daily for a month, then it shouldn't be that hard to get something up once a week, right?  I should put myself on a schedule.  Maybe I'll put myself on a schedule.  Tuesdays.  Or Fridays.  Hm.

Ok, so the issue...

...goes like this:

My coworker is a Comparison-aholic.  He and I (and one other guy) share the daily flight load (but the other guy's ship is a little more limited than the two of ours', so he effectively doesn't count): I take a flight, he takes a flight, me next, then him, etc.  At the end of most days, he asks how much I flew.

Now, I'm not an idiot, I know what he's doing...he suspects that he gets flown more than I do and is therefore doing the lion's share of the work while I get preferential treatment (ie I get to sit around more, gag me), so he wants to compare scores and confirm his suspicions.  I, however, do not want to play into this game for a couple of reasons:
1. The dispatchers are doing the best they can, and no one can predict the little add-ins and extra work the fields will throw at us once we've left the base...it's not fair to them to get all testy and resentful over it.
2. I can't usually be bothered to check the clock and see how much time I had at the end of the day.  And...
3. I believe that, no matter the time involved, I do a better job with a better attitude than this guy anyway, and I don't want it lorded over me if I flew fewer minutes than him on whatever days that may be the case.

So what's the issue?  Do you see it?  Because my biggest issue is......number 3.

It's me.  It's my self-satisfied, self-righteous self.  It's my pride and my rights and me being offended.  Me.  And the trouble is...I know better, but I can't be better.   So what am I supposed to do?

I just finished Emily Freeman's Graceful (much like Grace for the Good Girl, but a bit shorter, some new insights, and geared towards teenagers).  Her whole premise can be very basically summed up as an answer to my issue:
You canNOT be better.  All you can do is believe...that His grace is sufficient, that He loves you, that you're only running your hardest in a hamster's wheel anyway, and trust me it's not getting you anywhere.  Your working to be better is not needed.  You have been set free, you don't need to prove anything.  Turn your eyes off your sorry-ass case, and into the face of God.  Believe.  Then and only then will you begin to be the better You that you know you can't be on your own...and it won't be because your reputation is at stake...it will only come about as the graceful result of love.  Love, trust, belief.  Pure and simple.

And hard.  Dangit.  I'm only glad...that at least I'm not a teenager anymore.  I may not have gotten all that much farther along since then, but at least I have a job now, so that's not hanging over me.  And I'm finally, finally beginning to believe the things I 'learned' in childhood.  Screwy, right?  I never at any point would have said I didn't believe those things...but I'm only now beginning to believe that they're true not just for salvation, for Heaven, but true now, here at work with this Compar-aholic coworker and my snobby self.  There is grace for me when I'm a total jerk, not just when I make it to church consistently, and not just when I have good motives.

And it's late now, and I'm at work.  I'm not really satisfied with this post, but I'm not going to put off posting it any longer or I'll just never post it.  Which is why I never thought 31 straight days of having to post would work.  Speaking of, YAY that that's Over! Thank you again for reading, everybody.

Make the Most of This Season

I didn't write this, but I wanted to share it.  It is worth the read.

(in)Courage, by Sarah Markley

31 Eggs

I've decided to attempt what I currently feel to be the Un-Doable...I'm joining the Nester in an October series of 31...somethings.

I decided that, rather than using this opportunity of writing in community as a way to focus on any one topic, I would use this chance to simply get myself to write.  Consistently.  Just for one month.  Just to see if it's as hard as I'm hearing it is in my head.

So starting tomorrow morning, I'm inviting y'all for breakfast.  Some days it may be a long ramble, some days it will be a short note, but I'm going to attempt to get 31 posts up by 9:00 each morning...over breakfast, hopefully.  And hopefully, besides getting 31 posts up, I'll get a few good posts up in the process.  Two birds with one stone: I'll be writing consistently, and together maybe we'll get the day started well, with positive overtones, Godly conversation, and the feeling of living in community.

Shall we?  See you tomorrow?

I'm a 10

Once upon a time, I had the inspiration to write this post.  It was full of spirit and spunk and encouragement and heart.  It would have changed your life, or at least your day, or maybe just the few moments it took to read it, for the better.

I'm betting it would have made me better right now...if I'd written it then.  But I didn't.  I assumed that the feeling would last a little longer, a few more days, long enough that I could do that piece of writing "later."  Apparently, I was wrong.  Alas, the feeling is gone, but the pictures I took in preparation for the writing won't let me just let the post go...so.......

I got married recently, you know?  I also changed jobs and moved out of state.  I was the thinnest I've ever been in my life when I walked down the aisle in white.  Besides the crushing weight of stress and pressure as my entire world changed all at once, I felt beautiful and happy.

We're coming up on our One Year Anniversary, and I have gone up two, two TWO dress sizes.  Which, because of the way our American Female Sizing System works, really means I've gone up FOUR WHOLE NUMBERS.  I've almost doubled in size, according to our stupid labeling system.

Stupid system.

What do you do when you feel ugly and jiggly?  I'll tell you what I did.  I did not work out.  I did not eat.  A few days ago, I went clothes shopping.

I know, horrors...this is not what I would have done a few years ago.  I would have wanted to "wait until I lose these extra pounds and get back to my normal size" and then alternately starve and gorge, workout like a maniac and lounge like Homer Simpson because what difference does it really make? But you know what?  I've been feeding my mind and spirit as well as my midsection this last year.  I've been reading (in)courage and Chatting at the Sky and A Planting of the Lord and We Are THAT Family, and I've really been listening (I hope).  I don't know if it just happens to be what God is teaching all of these bloggers this year or if I'm only hearing what God is teaching me through them...but what I keep hearing is "Let Go."

In college, I was a theater major.  ALL of my professors wrote in my evaluations (mid- and end-of-year) that what I really needed most was to learn to Let Go.  "What does that mean?" I asked.  They just looked at me.  Infuriating.

I'm a little older now than I was then, and I've begun to read the "right" sort of books, so to speak, and I'll tell you what I'm learning.  When I Let Go, it doesn't mean that I embrace failure or take it for granted, as I once thought.  I'm actually still struggling with it, as evidenced by my grey mood today.  But what it does mean is that I don't let the bad spoil the good, and that I hold all things apart and take each to the Lord.  So if my house is a mess, my marriage is not necessarily a mess, and I can pray about both.  If I feel lazy right now, that doesn't mean the next hour is doomed.  And if my butt is huge, well...some butts are huge.  It doesn't mean I can't still look and feel beautiful and happy.  It really doesn't.  And obviously, sometimes it gets to me, and the lie gets believed...but again, that doesn't mean tomorrow is doomed.  There's a swing to it.  And I am not the master of it.  I'm not sure I have to be...but I do have to know the real Master if I'm to maintain my sanity.  And my happiness.

And so, since we all like a good fashion show, here's me! In my Big Ten outfits!  And, ironically, my first pair of skinny jeans!  (Incidentally, and just by the way, watching the TV showWhat Not to Wear has helped immensely in the whole shopping-for-clothes department.  I recommend it.)

 Add a few accessories?

Thanks for reading, y'all!

This post is dedicated to my beautiful cameraman.  Dave, you are so patient and gracious.  And tolerant.

Thank you for all you do.

How to Work

I'm sitting offshore right now, waiting for someone to need to fly somewhere.

This sign hangs on the wall in the galley of the platform I'm on.  I thought it was nice...simple, straightforward, and somehow reminded me of Shane.  Like as in, "come back, Shane!" Anyone?  Anyone?  Anyway.  Very masculine point of view yet universal...well said, I thought. So I thought you'd like to see it.

(#10 says "Smile (Big)")

I just saw my first real, wild sea turtle up close and neglected to whip out my camera. But you got to see this sign. So that's a good trade-off.

Ho-hum. Sitting around waiting.  Hope you're having a good Friday! If it's Friday...it is Friday, isn't it?

John Denver Had It Right

And it's goodbye again
I'm sorry to be leaving you
Goodbye again
As if you didn't know,
It's goodbye again
I wish you could tell me,
Why do we always fight when I have to go?
Not that we fought this time...and not that I'm headed straight back to work...but I'm leaving home today, and this time I won't be home again until August 24. That's over 3 weeks. It wasn't supposed to be this way, really; it was my company's fault, really; and I'm looking forward to visiting my Dallas family, really, but really, I don't want to leave home, really.
Your prayers, please...this is not an easy time for David, and it won't be easy for me, either. Maybe God's timing is impeccable, but it doesn't feel very good to me.  Especially pray for David...and I guess especially for me too.
I guess this is what the sailors' life feels like. I kinda think it stinks. At least today it does.

Breakfast

Hello! I'm on my way home, and I just had breakfast. At subway. Guess who's got an awesome breakfast? Subway.

They have a 3" bacon, egg and cheese that you can add spinach, peppers, onions, or whatever to, that is exactly the right size...filling, but not stuffing.

And their to-go coffee lids have a slider to open and close them!

That's all. It was awesome. I'd have taken a picture, but I already ate it. Subway didn't post me to tell you this, I just thought I'd share.

A Prayer In the Life

I asked God the other day for protection.

You remember the Dog Story?

I haven't seen those dogs again since that day...but I'm still parking my car in the same area.

(These are the mobile storage units they think the dogs were getting into in bad weather)

And that means I still walk along that route twice a month.  I do my best to make sure I get in at a decent hour so I don't have to walk past these landmarks in dwindling light.

(This is where they were sleeping that night...this is where they came from that next morning)

This last time I walked, I was flying TO work on July 5th.  That means I had to find a plane ticket for the day after a major national holiday, and all the flight schedules were kinda wonky...so my only real option put me at the airport well after the sun went down, and I had to do The Walk in the dead dark.  I'll tell you, my heart was in my throat.  From the time I stepped off the plane until way after I drove off the airport property, my breath was coming in gasps, and I was talking to myself in a higher voice than normal.

Well, I wasn't actually talking to myself...I was trying to talk to God.  The conversation went like this:

"Lord protect me, please protect me."

Gasp, gasp, was that a noise?  Oh, only an 18-wheeler.


"I know all things work together for the good of those who believe, and I do truly believe that, but really I'm not sure I really want that kind of goodness."

He's not a tame lion.  I bet the lions' den felt like this...those kiddy pictures with Daniel looking all serene and beatific are a crock of BS.


"Lord please, please protect me."


Keep up a scan, but don't be looking all over the place, you look frightened, like a victim!


"Peace, Lord, peace and protection.  Please."


Breathe, you have to breathe normally.  Gasp.  Breathe.  Giggle.  Why the heck are you giggling?  Giggle.  I should be the star in an action movie.  I'm ready for my 'hiya!'

"Peace and protection...I know I sound like a broken record..."

Keys, door, throw bag in passenger side, crawl through to driver's side, lock the door.

Head on steering wheel.  When did I get so out of breath?

"Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you for your protection.  Increase my faith.  Thank you."

And when I finally pulled out onto the road, "- Lord, why do you want me to pray for things you already know I need?"

Because you don't know what you need until you ask Me.  Plus, I get to talk to you.


**Instantly my head was filled with the image of a 3yr old child, scared to death, running to her mom with arms outstretched.  I could simultaneously feel the child's terror, an in-flowing of comfort, and the mother's swell of tenderness and outpouring of love.  Then the picture changed, and I felt the heartbreak of the mom whose child somehow needed no protection and refused to seek comfort from her.  A 3yr old who angrily pushes the arms away, so obviously needy, the mother so helpless to help.  Her longing was almost palpable in my imagination.

You know, I've had that thought before, the "why pray for things when He already knows better than you what you really need?"  But the answer this time was so complete and so instant...the pictures, I mean.  I'm still not sure the words weren't my own "correct" answer, but the images and the rush of emotions attached to them...I think I got an actual answer.  It would be like Jesus, wouldn't it?  To answer a direct question with a story?  Poetic.  Wrenching.

It would be so nice to have a great moral at the end of this piece.  Something elegant to wrap my story in...does it mean that I'm not a real writer if I feel no motivation to find that elegant piece of ribbon to tie it all together?  Cause I don't.  I guess I just wanted to share this: I talked to God, and He answered me.  Not "He answered my prayer by granting me safety," but He actually answered a flat-out question, the kind every kid asks..."why?"  And I feel astonished for three reasons:
1. God doesn't answer questions, cause this is all need-to-know, and you only need-to-Trust (wow, didn't realize I was so cynical, didjya)
2. I "know" God is personal, and I know He speaks in pictures, but I thought they were complex, theological, gold-framed pictures, not scribbles on bar napkins.  And I feel like that's what He gave me here.
3. I thought hearing God's voice would banish all fear and quiet my heart...but I'm still really, really nervous about walking to my car at the end of this hitch.  Still.


So this is my story for today.  I hope it finds you well.  I miss you, my family, but look for an email from me soon, and expect to see me in just a little while!

The Dog Story

For those who don't know (or understand) what I do at work, my best explanation goes like this:
My company has a fleet of helicopters, much like a limo company has a fleet of limos.  Some limos hang around, waiting for random VIPs to come into town and need a vehicle for a day or prom season to come along.  Other limos (and their drivers) are contracted to a particular company exclusively.  Those drivers still work for the limo company, but they're also sort-of working exclusively for that contract company, and they don't worry about prom season.

So for a year, I've been "in the pool," meaning I'm one of the drivers waiting for prom season.  This last hitch, however, I bid on one of the exclusive contracts, and I'm now one of those exclusive drivers who works for only one company.  Well, besides my own company.  Is this still confusing?  It also means, for me, that I now know which base I'll be assigned to every hitch, and it's all the way over in Grand Isle, LA.

(This is where the dogs come in.)

So now I'm flying to New Orleans to get to work instead of Lake Charles, LA, which means I had to find a new place to leave my car.  We don't have a base at the New Orleans airport anymore, so there's really no place to leave it for free and feel relatively sure it'll be safe for two weeks.  One of the other pilots told me where he leaves his (his name and that location omitted for the good of all), and I decided to give it a shot.  It required a 2 block walk to get to a shuttle that would take me to the terminal, but that seemed like nothing!...at the time.

I was released from work late on break day (never fails), and didn't get to the Top Secret Free Parking Spot until around 10pm.  I grabbed my backpack and suitcase and started the walk to the shuttle.  About half of the walk was through an unlit area, and the rest I could see was lit as bright as day.  I could hear dogs barking from somewhere ahead.  "Weird," I thought, "there don't seem to be any houses that way...I wonder who's keeping dogs in an uninhabited place?  Oh well."

About 700 feet from the car, I set my bag down to put my jacket on.  This is when I first registered that the barking sounds were coming closer.  I stopped to listen and stare into the darkness ahead.  Along with the barking, I could now hear the running.  Both sounds were coming closer to where I stood.

It didn't make any sense.  Why was there a dog loose in the middle of nowhere?  How had he gotten loose?  Why would he be interested in a lone person, in the middle of nowhere, enough to come running and barking?  Dogs are pack animals, and they don't attack something that's bigger than them that hasn't violated some sort of boundary.

So that's it, then.  If I haven't violated a boundary, then I must not be enough of a threat...which either means that this dog is bigger than me, or I'm outnumbered.

I came to this conclusion in a matter of seconds.  The next second produced a long, ear-piercing, "SSSSHHHHHH*****************TT!!" and me, running towards the barking, swinging my suitcase like a lunatic.

The first mutt made a u-turn.  He wasn't awfully big, but by no means small, either.  The second mutt didn't seem as convinced...he was a much bigger black dog, but that's all I could make out in the darkness.  As I screamed again and took another swing, he turned and followed his pack mate.  They were both barking, running back the way they had come.  The same direction I needed to walk.  I stood shaking, waiting for the sounds of a second onslaught, but it didn't come.  I got back to my car as quickly as I could without running; I'm still convinced that if I had run, they'd have come back.

I slept that night in the car.  The 2-door, tiny car, crammed with all my work stuff.  I would have to try again in the morning, around 5:30, well before the sun would be up.  Dave advised I call for an escort, but neither of us knew who to call.  And my phone was going dead, anyway.  I decided it'd be clear in the morning.

It was not.

I didn't realize it, but the dogs had bedded down along the road I needed to walk.  I guess the flashlight was a mistake, cause when I accidentally shined it on their nest, 20 feet away, up they got, barking and running.  I actually had time to say "Not again," before I was swinging and screaming again.  This time, though no less blood-curdling, I was a little more articulate.  I believe what I said was, " I will kill you, you effing dogs.  I'm not even kidding.  Aaaaaaa."  I had left my suitcase behind, so I only had my backpack to swing, but I guess I figured I could be deadly either way.  They charged twice, both times stopping just outside my swing radius.  Then we stared at each other.  I slowly began to walk towards the light, but they instantly charged again, so I charged them back until they stopped.  I still don't know how I got to the end of that dark road, never looking away from those dogs, and never allowing myself to run (I knew I could never outrun them, even if I were in good shape, which I'm not).

So I made it to the shuttle.  I made it to the airport.  I made it on the plane.

Then I finished reading my incredibly sad book and started my period and realized my throat is now actually sore to the touch from all that screaming, and my uterus, it almost goes without saying, is trying to murder my liver and kidneys and make a break for it.

And that, my dearest family and friends, is the story I had to tell you.  I'm sorry there were no pictures, but I was a little preoccupied while it was going on.  I wish you could just take a look at the ones I've got branded in my brain...they are quite compelling and, to me, terrifying.  I hope you have no stories like this...do you?

Spirit and Spice

I just finished reading Grace for the Good Girl, by Emily Freeman.

And also I just incorporated these spice jars into our kitchen.  I got them for my birthday (I think) from my parents (thanks, Mom and Dad!).

 Since I took no pictures of me reading the book, and the Spice Jars post I had written was boring, lame, probably not my best work, I've decided to mix the two stories.  Today, you get thoughts and completely unrelated photos.  If you like the photos, just skip the words.  If you feel up for a book review, then keep reading.

This is the book, by the way:

And this is the label-maker I used for the spice jars:

So anyways, I finished reading while waiting for the plane I took to get back down here to work.  I was weeping in the airport.  I'm sure the people around me thought I was engrossed in a romance novel.  I'm planning to make a new Kindle cover out of the old hardback Pride and Prejudice I've got that's falling apart.  Then people will know I'm engrossed in a romance novel.

 I love Emily Freeman's take on the Mary/Martha story.  I'm used to hearing about how Mary got it right by sitting at Jesus's feet, but I don't think I've ever heard about what Martha may have gotten right or why it was that she apparently missed the point.  I mean, she welcomes the Lord into her home in the first place.  She voices her frustration with her sister to the Lord instead of playing the long-suffering, invisible servant, and blowing up at Mary later, once the guest had gone.  But I still struggle with liking Mary at all...I don't feel like I struggle much with the Prodigal Son; maybe Mary and Martha hit closer to home because they're women.  Besides, their story wasn't Loose Living versus Duty...it was...well...I guess it was Something I Enjoy versus Something I'm Expected to Do.  Hm.  That's still not quite what I was trying to get at.

Martha really wanted To Please God.  So then Jesus tells her that all her hard work doesn't please him at all and that he's more happy with "that lazy sister of mine."  And that totally sucks and makes me really mad.

Freeman shares the story of a hard day she was having...in the middle of everything else, tired, frustrated, worn out, she turns around and hears the Lord randomly ask, out of the blue, "So how do you really feel about the Prodigal Son?"

And she responded that, now that you mention it, she was mad about it, actually.  And I probably am too, though, like I said, I'm more mad about Mary than about the Prodigal Son.

 Freeman talks about masks a whole lot throughout the book.  As you read, you get used to the analogy, but still every time she uses it, I keep picturing The Mask with Jim Carrey where he's listening to that psychologist on tv talk about "the masks we wear."

The ones Freeman talks about are so much less obvious...and they usually garner praise, not offers from friends for prayer and support.  They're pretty masks.  We encourage each other in our wearing of them and praise the folks who wear them best...the "strong, silent type," the sweet, uncomplaining child, the strong woman of God who bears the loss of parents, husband, and child and manages to keep coming to church and leading Bible studies...people who magically have no needs at all.  They're on those decorative plaques at the Christian decor shop, directions on how to be "good" for Jesus.  They're everywhere I look.  It's insidious.

See how I put the jars right next to the stove? I thought that was clever.  The drawer is really heavy now.

I'm seeing it in myself, ridiculously obvious after reading this book.  The "try-hard" way of life that I lead.  The way I have been outraged at others' refusal to recognize my right to be heard, to be beautiful, to be the favorite, to have a good reputation...and my immediate reaction is always, always  to try harder.  To pray for restoration of "my rights."  And to always feel like I've let God down or let Dave down or how I'm a slacker because I didn't get enough done today.

 And my need to brag about my projects.

These are the "extras" of the spices that wouldn't fit in the glass jars.  They're in a cupboard, out of the sun, out of sight.

 I'm going to have to read it again.  I should have been taking notes the whole time, but I didn't.

Freeman shares a story of a sermon she heard once (I think she said it was in junior high) about how all us Christians are walking advertisements for Jesus and "Jesus doesn't need any bad press."  So she felt the weight of promoting Jesus's cause by modeling a "good Christian" and the responsibility of the salvation of all those around her, especially her father, lay on her shoulders.  Her Christianity at this age put her into bondage, chained to the Law and other people's opinions of her, not set free by grace.

As a grown woman, she tells about a friend at church whose daughter was rebelling...but, the friend said, when one day that daughter turns her life back around the right way, she'll have "an awesome testimony!"  Which, of course, means that good girls don't have awesome testimonies.  They have boring, lame, probably not very interesting testimonies.  Which probably means that God doesn't love them as much as He loves the Prodigal because they don't need Him as much...right?  Right?

And that's not fair.  It's especially not fair to Martha...she wanted to sit with Jesus, but she had so much she had to do in order to get the house clean and get food on the table, or her world would fall apart.  Because she was the responsible one.

And we're supposed to be responsible, right?  Weren't you praised as a child for your mature sense of responsibility or criticized for your lack as an adult?

This bottle was 50% off because someone spilled oil on the label, and it looked kinda grodey.  It's empty now, sitting in my craft pile...I'm sure I can find a use for a grodey glass bottle.

There's a lot more to the book, and I highly, highly recommend it to all my dear friends and family.  I'm going to read it again next month...I need a minute to let what I've read sink in a bit more.  This book made me want to start journaling again, and y'all...I haven't picked up my journal in over a year.  I guess I've been blogging instead.

So my own take-away, at least after the first read-through, is that whatever you do must be done out of love.  You don't lead a Bible study because that's what you're supposed to do...you do it out of love for the women in your church.  How the heck do you pull that off when you don't even really know those women?  Well, you don't pull that off.  Because that's not step #1.  You can't give what you don't have.  So step #1 has to be God...you have to receive love in order to give love.  So you have to get to know God and begin receiving His love and trusting His love, whether you feel lovely or not.  And working harder to make yourself more lovely/dependable/sweet/whatever, does not increase your worth in His eyes.

And that...makes me want to cry.

So until I've digested that a little more, that's about all I could handle from the book.  I'm gonna go ponder for about a month.

Updates on more of my projects coming up in the next 2 weeks (funny, no time to blog at home, only when I'm at work...everyone should be so lucky :)

A Day in the Life

The time-before-last that I was home, it got sunny a couple times.  So we went outside.   And then I blogged about it and never published it.

Eh, what the heck.  Why waste a good post.

Nothing super inspiring.  Or inspiring at all.  Just a day in the life.

Welcome to our home.

Our friend the ground hog has moved into the old foxes' den by the railroad tracks...he came out and put on a show for us.

I think he looks like a tiny beaver.  He wags his tail like a dog.

Dave bought a new .22 that looks like one of those old cowboy-style revolvers (I can shoot straight, but that don't mean I know one gun from another).

We walked down to the lake (scaring the ground hog away, more's the pity).  The ice was so thin, we were able to make waves enough to break off big chunks of it.

See?  Cowboy.

Two hits... 

...three... 

...four... 

Then it was my turn.

I don't wear these jeans in public. I just feature them on my blog.

"Tight enough to show you're a woman, loose enough to show you're a lady."

That's my normal motto.  Unless I gain 5-10 pounds and don't have any Fat Jeans left.

I would look better if I'd been holding it at my hip, straight out of the holster, like a real gun slinger...but most accidental misfires happen when trying to de-holster.

I don't own a holster, anyway.

Dave, with the one-handed thing.

 

Our "target" by the end.  The citronella candle it used to be had been blown to smithereens by then, and I fear that bucket will never hold water again.

No animals were harmed in the making of this post.  The groundhog has since been spotted happily wagging his tail and crossing the train tracks.  Welcome to our back yard!