I find myself with a list of random thoughts that have been sort of wandering around in my head, and none of them are thought through enough for an actual posting. They are not likely to get to that point either, as frantically busy as things have been, so I'm going to set them out before they get away entirely, in the probably doomed hope that I'll ever get around to pondering them some more.
For many years, I have struggled with the idea of "the fear of the Lord". Why on earth would I fear the Lord? He's MY Lord and I am His, I can't wait to meet Him, I get homesick for heaven. So then why is it that the *fear* of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom? Why should I be afraid? I'm finally starting to get a handle on this, at long last, as a series of teachings in the last year have made me realize just how deeply sinful I am and always will be. I have plumbed partway down the depths, and it ain't pretty down there. I have a sneaking suspicion that at the very bottom I'm about as horrible as they come. When I realize this, I also realize that God would have every right, and nearly an obligation, to squash me like a bug and throw me on the trash heap. While I dearly love Him and know that He loves me more than I can imagine, I also know that I stink. So lately I've become aware that I can't decide what I'll do when we finally meet face to face. Will I grovel at His feet in despair or throw my arms around His (figurative) neck with joy? Is it even possible to do both at once? Am I finally becoming wise?
A friend brought up an interesting point a few weeks ago, when we were discussing the age-old fact that bad things happen to good people. I don't remember exactly what was said, but the train of thought it set off in my head led me to the idea that sometimes life-altering tragedies happen because we have so many things that come between us and devotion to God.Those things are powerfully big in our lives, and we let God be very small. When those things are taken away, God is suddenly our One Big Thing, and we hopefully get some kind of perspective on the things that used to be big and now are very small.
I used to be in a small group Bible study with some people who were very well off financially. They led the group, and some other members were quite endowed with worldly goods also. At last, both the families with lots of money failed miserably in ministry and it was because of the temptations they failed to resist regarding money. Looking back, I used to roll my eyes at how frequently the teachings were about materialism. Now I can see that it was probably a case of God having a very large finger poking them in the ribs (among other places), trying to get their attentions before it was too late. So they taught about materialism because it was the subject they just couldn't get out of their heads and hearts. And for a good reason. This equates, I think, with all the powerful Christian leaders who speak for years about sexual sins and then find that their own hidden sexual sins are the ones that topple them. Maybe I should start paying closer attention to the things I feel compelled to teach about...
This last Sunday, I had an unplanned and unexpected DAY OFF. By golly, it was just really and truly a Saabbath rest. I made a conscious decision to absent myself from a regular and very worthy Sunday afternoon activity, and I am so glad. Frankly, I needed the down time very badly, and I ended up making my daughter feel better too just by my presence at home. I may do this again some time, although I'll have to resist being tempted to do it often. It was remarkably refreshing.
There is a journal in the holdings at OSU entitled "Nursing Made Incredibly Easy!". I am amused. I am also appalled, and hope to goodness that I never find myself the end user of that particular pedagogy. Oh my.
Love, Spud.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
On Being a PIA
Back when Columbus had two newspapers, I got them both. The Citizen-Journal came in the wee dark hours of the early morning, and the Dispatch arrived in time for after work reading. The CJ folded in the eighties, and I mourned for it, and the Dispatch changed to a morning paper. I dearly love newspapers. When we travel, Stu knows to humor me in my daily search for a local paper. I'll even read USA Today if there just isn't anything else. When we were newly married and even poorer than churchmice, we got $5 each pocket money every week, and mine went for the daily paper until I decided it wasn't realistic to pretend any longer that it was a luxury that didn't fit the budget. For me, the paper is a necessity, and I prefer it in paper form. Of course, in order to justify it I had to give Stu a raise to $10 pocket money a week, but I kept mine at five to be fair.
But I'm a picky old lady, and I like my morning paper in the morning, particularly in time to read it with my morning tea and breakfast before I go to work. The individual who currently delivers my paper doesn't grasp this at all. Despite a Dispatch-imposed deadline of 6:30 on weekdays and 8am on weekends, my paper shows up some time after I leave for work at 6:50, and has gotten here late enough on a Sunday that I had to finish it at four in the afternoon. Well, as a picky old lady, let me just say that this isn't sitting very well. I've had to buy one on the way to work lately (and let me just point out that I'm really not supposed to read the newspaper at work--I'm supposed to be working) thereby paying for it twice. If I wait until evening, not only is the News very Old, but I don't have time for it anyway.
So I called a couple of weeks ago and complained, but it didn't do any good. I got a woman on the phone who was deeply weary of her job, and responded like an automaton reading from a script, which she doubtless was. Reading from a script, I mean, not an automaton. Although it was hard to tell. In any case, it failed to have an effect on the paper delivery person, who continues to show up at some unknown time.
I did have this problem once before. When we moved into this neighborhood a little over ten years ago the newspaper had been carried by the same family for many years--kind of a delivery mafia. They had many children, all blonde and charming, and when one grew up and left home the route was just passed on to the next oldest in line. That's all well and good, but until it got to the very youngest a few years ago, none of them were capable of delivering on time. Some people would get offended by this comment, but I'll make it anyway--the problem seemed to be rooted in the fact that this enormous family was home-schooled, and they really had no concept of "schedule". Or at least, no concept that anybody else might have one. So I had years of late newspapers, and no amount of complaining, cajoling, or anything else did any good. I just had to wait it out until the last yellow-headed youngster left the nest a couple of years ago and an adult took over.
So this latest guy took over in July, and he appears to be an adult too (it's very dark out there, but he's a pretty good size and drives, which may or may not be an indication, and he's clearly past high school because when he does arrive it's after the bus goes). My question is: Just how much of a pain in the arse should I be over this? Granted, I shouldn't have to pay for two papers daily when I only read one, but it's my choice to do this. I could just suck it up and accept going through withdrawal like a grown-up. And it's not like I actually pay for service. The paper is the same price delivered or picked up. On the other hand, he is getting paid for providing the service, and he's not providing it in a timely manner. And on still another hand, he may have extenuating circumstances out the whazoo, in which case I would be willing to just cancel my subscription since I'm fetching it myself anyway. Or he may just be a slacker and needs a fire to be lit in an appropriate place. But I can't tell that from here, and the automaton was no help at all. And is it fair to keep calling and complaining when I didn't do that to the Blonde Mafia? I did see them in person, however, and let my feelings be known, probably a little too gently, when they came to collect. Nobody collects in person any more though, it's all done by mail.
I am well aware of my propensity to be anal about some things which are doubtless trivial, and to fail to be anal about things that probably need attention, so I'm really waffling over this. How much fuss should I make over what is actually a luxury item, even though it happens to be my personal favorite luxury item ever? I need a sense of perspective on this, and I don't have it. All I have is irritation and fewer quarters. Any advice, people?
Love and Bruxism, Spud.
But I'm a picky old lady, and I like my morning paper in the morning, particularly in time to read it with my morning tea and breakfast before I go to work. The individual who currently delivers my paper doesn't grasp this at all. Despite a Dispatch-imposed deadline of 6:30 on weekdays and 8am on weekends, my paper shows up some time after I leave for work at 6:50, and has gotten here late enough on a Sunday that I had to finish it at four in the afternoon. Well, as a picky old lady, let me just say that this isn't sitting very well. I've had to buy one on the way to work lately (and let me just point out that I'm really not supposed to read the newspaper at work--I'm supposed to be working) thereby paying for it twice. If I wait until evening, not only is the News very Old, but I don't have time for it anyway.
So I called a couple of weeks ago and complained, but it didn't do any good. I got a woman on the phone who was deeply weary of her job, and responded like an automaton reading from a script, which she doubtless was. Reading from a script, I mean, not an automaton. Although it was hard to tell. In any case, it failed to have an effect on the paper delivery person, who continues to show up at some unknown time.
I did have this problem once before. When we moved into this neighborhood a little over ten years ago the newspaper had been carried by the same family for many years--kind of a delivery mafia. They had many children, all blonde and charming, and when one grew up and left home the route was just passed on to the next oldest in line. That's all well and good, but until it got to the very youngest a few years ago, none of them were capable of delivering on time. Some people would get offended by this comment, but I'll make it anyway--the problem seemed to be rooted in the fact that this enormous family was home-schooled, and they really had no concept of "schedule". Or at least, no concept that anybody else might have one. So I had years of late newspapers, and no amount of complaining, cajoling, or anything else did any good. I just had to wait it out until the last yellow-headed youngster left the nest a couple of years ago and an adult took over.
So this latest guy took over in July, and he appears to be an adult too (it's very dark out there, but he's a pretty good size and drives, which may or may not be an indication, and he's clearly past high school because when he does arrive it's after the bus goes). My question is: Just how much of a pain in the arse should I be over this? Granted, I shouldn't have to pay for two papers daily when I only read one, but it's my choice to do this. I could just suck it up and accept going through withdrawal like a grown-up. And it's not like I actually pay for service. The paper is the same price delivered or picked up. On the other hand, he is getting paid for providing the service, and he's not providing it in a timely manner. And on still another hand, he may have extenuating circumstances out the whazoo, in which case I would be willing to just cancel my subscription since I'm fetching it myself anyway. Or he may just be a slacker and needs a fire to be lit in an appropriate place. But I can't tell that from here, and the automaton was no help at all. And is it fair to keep calling and complaining when I didn't do that to the Blonde Mafia? I did see them in person, however, and let my feelings be known, probably a little too gently, when they came to collect. Nobody collects in person any more though, it's all done by mail.
I am well aware of my propensity to be anal about some things which are doubtless trivial, and to fail to be anal about things that probably need attention, so I'm really waffling over this. How much fuss should I make over what is actually a luxury item, even though it happens to be my personal favorite luxury item ever? I need a sense of perspective on this, and I don't have it. All I have is irritation and fewer quarters. Any advice, people?
Love and Bruxism, Spud.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Oh, My Head!
I may be alone in this experience, but somehow I don't think so.
Have you ever found your head wandering away, with you or without you? I don't mean the usual gentle wool-gathering, I mean speeding down a highway where you really don't want to go. Yikes. This happened to me yesterday, and I'm still getting over it. I'd received an interesting/disturbing message from someone in the morning, and then in the afternoon I got into a small wrangle with a co-worker. Well, the morning message brought up a lot of old grievances, dating back as far as elementary school. That's ridiculous, isn't it? You're right, it is! But I went there anyway, and stayed there even as late as my morning commute. The work issue is still somewhat with me, because it really isn't resolved and I'll have to deal with it again. But this time, I'll be ready, boy! I've been thinking about it for a whole day, and I've got all my arguments lined up!
Okay, now that's just sinful. Let's face it. While I do need to be able to approach my work with logic and intelligence, there's just no excuse for the vehemence with which I've prepared my reasoning. And while the episodes of my youth are graven-in-stone history, there's absolutely no excuse for the way I have wallowed in the hurts caused by past actions of others. Get that? I may have plenty of fine REASONS, but in the end I have no EXCUSES. But my wretched head goes there anyway. Oh, what to do?
What to do is...first, talk to myself. David Martyn Lloyd-Jones wrote a book about spiritual depression, and the introduction to the book ends with a marvelously insightful few paragraphs about talking to yourself. I don't remember it well enough to quote it, but the basic idea is that from the moment we wake up in the morning there are thoughts in our heads. Many of those thoughts are not God-honoring, and in fact are just downright false, and so you know where they come from--Satan and our own sinful selves. Well, as a man (or woman!) thinks, so he is. So you've just got to get your thoughts under control, and take them captive to Christ. So DML-J says that we should address ourselves most sternly, and say "Self! Get a grip!" or words to that effect. (I warned you that it would not be a direct quote!) After you've gotten the attention of your sinful old self, then talk to it! And tell it the truth. Fill your old head up with the things of God, and squash the other junk out for lack of room. Refute the falsehoods. Ha! Take that!
Secondly, is prayer. Once you've cleaned out your head, it's time to address your heart. I so often ascribe really horrible motivations to other people, and while I may be correct, I may not! Only God knows for sure, and He doesn't often let me in on the secret. So I am just wrong in assuming I know why the other person said what they said or did what they did. It may be that they were in the midst of some ancient or modern hurt of their own, and spoke and acted from their own pain. So frequently, we all just respond on auto-pilot from the grid of our own past experiences, and hurt others without intention or even knowledge that we have done so. Or maybe I have radically misinterpreted! I suspect this is the case as often as not.
Grace means that I give others the benefit of the doubt. Forgiveness from God for all my blunders means that I must pass that on to others. As freely as I have received, I have to freely give, or I become some horrible, stingy, dried-up-spiritually thing. Nobody wants that!
So I found myself in the car this morning, once again working through the process of forgiving the probably clueless person who hurt me so in the past, and giving my heart to God for yet another dose of cleaning up. I'll have to do this on a regular basis for as long as I live, I imagine, because I don't see my sinful Self going away this side of glory. But, my goodness, God really does do a terrific job of heart-cleaning once I get around to asking for it, and then I find that "time of refreshing" that was promised. Just like the clothes I wear, I find that my soul needs frequent trips through the wash. Happy am I for a God who does most excellent laundry!
Love, Spud.
Have you ever found your head wandering away, with you or without you? I don't mean the usual gentle wool-gathering, I mean speeding down a highway where you really don't want to go. Yikes. This happened to me yesterday, and I'm still getting over it. I'd received an interesting/disturbing message from someone in the morning, and then in the afternoon I got into a small wrangle with a co-worker. Well, the morning message brought up a lot of old grievances, dating back as far as elementary school. That's ridiculous, isn't it? You're right, it is! But I went there anyway, and stayed there even as late as my morning commute. The work issue is still somewhat with me, because it really isn't resolved and I'll have to deal with it again. But this time, I'll be ready, boy! I've been thinking about it for a whole day, and I've got all my arguments lined up!
Okay, now that's just sinful. Let's face it. While I do need to be able to approach my work with logic and intelligence, there's just no excuse for the vehemence with which I've prepared my reasoning. And while the episodes of my youth are graven-in-stone history, there's absolutely no excuse for the way I have wallowed in the hurts caused by past actions of others. Get that? I may have plenty of fine REASONS, but in the end I have no EXCUSES. But my wretched head goes there anyway. Oh, what to do?
What to do is...first, talk to myself. David Martyn Lloyd-Jones wrote a book about spiritual depression, and the introduction to the book ends with a marvelously insightful few paragraphs about talking to yourself. I don't remember it well enough to quote it, but the basic idea is that from the moment we wake up in the morning there are thoughts in our heads. Many of those thoughts are not God-honoring, and in fact are just downright false, and so you know where they come from--Satan and our own sinful selves. Well, as a man (or woman!) thinks, so he is. So you've just got to get your thoughts under control, and take them captive to Christ. So DML-J says that we should address ourselves most sternly, and say "Self! Get a grip!" or words to that effect. (I warned you that it would not be a direct quote!) After you've gotten the attention of your sinful old self, then talk to it! And tell it the truth. Fill your old head up with the things of God, and squash the other junk out for lack of room. Refute the falsehoods. Ha! Take that!
Secondly, is prayer. Once you've cleaned out your head, it's time to address your heart. I so often ascribe really horrible motivations to other people, and while I may be correct, I may not! Only God knows for sure, and He doesn't often let me in on the secret. So I am just wrong in assuming I know why the other person said what they said or did what they did. It may be that they were in the midst of some ancient or modern hurt of their own, and spoke and acted from their own pain. So frequently, we all just respond on auto-pilot from the grid of our own past experiences, and hurt others without intention or even knowledge that we have done so. Or maybe I have radically misinterpreted! I suspect this is the case as often as not.
Grace means that I give others the benefit of the doubt. Forgiveness from God for all my blunders means that I must pass that on to others. As freely as I have received, I have to freely give, or I become some horrible, stingy, dried-up-spiritually thing. Nobody wants that!
So I found myself in the car this morning, once again working through the process of forgiving the probably clueless person who hurt me so in the past, and giving my heart to God for yet another dose of cleaning up. I'll have to do this on a regular basis for as long as I live, I imagine, because I don't see my sinful Self going away this side of glory. But, my goodness, God really does do a terrific job of heart-cleaning once I get around to asking for it, and then I find that "time of refreshing" that was promised. Just like the clothes I wear, I find that my soul needs frequent trips through the wash. Happy am I for a God who does most excellent laundry!
Love, Spud.
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