Temptation, Thy Name is Coffee

"A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is... A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in." --C.S. Lewis

That Clive Staples! How does he always manage to take a common struggle or widely-accepted premise and turn it over on all sides and finally pin it to the mat like an agile wrestler? He is my favorite heavy-weight.

Temptation is what my English teacher would have called a round, complex character, not a flat, black/white character, but a nuanced, sly, cunning, prismatic, beautiful character.

For example, should you try to tempt me today to go shopping for a beautiful new diamond bracelet, I would smile at you, shake my head and forget it. Out of the question, no problemo.

However, should you tempt me today with even a stale packet of instant generic COFFEE, I might nervously shift from one foot to the other, lick my lips and throw my palm over my eye to stop the twitch. I might be thinkin' your proposal over. Seriously.

Why? Because I decided to fast coffee for Lent. Now, I'm not a coffee addict. I'm not a coffee snob. But I have a morning routine that includes one mandatory cup in 1 of 3 special mugs. Can I just tell you that not only am I missing that early-bird cup, but I am thinking about coffee all day long!

Well, I bought some green tea to help "take the edge off." Yeow. One sip and the edge was back on ... my teeth. I've been adding lemon and promising myself every sip is zapping bad free radicals. It was going fairly well until my 17 year-old son questioned me, "Should you really be having that tea? I mean, is it really fasting if you give yourself a substitute?"

Thirty seconds of ominous silence and then, my answer: "Should you really be badgering your java junkie mom about her spirituality when she controls your car keys, TiVo and food supply? I mean, is it really sane for you to still be standing right there in front of me right now?"

I think you see the depths temptation can drag one into.

I'm noticing coffee everywhere. I agreed to meet a friend to talk at a coffee shop, forgetting my fast until the aroma immediately began seducing me. By the time I left, I was so whipped up for coffee I thought a mug of Joe was going to tear my cloak as I ran out the door, a la Joseph escaping Mrs. Potiphar.

I work in a building with a coffee shop. When the manager has that morning brew going, my feet feel like they're leaving the ground and fluttering like butterfly wings toward the coffee bar.

I went to church Sunday morning and realized there would be no coffee for me.

It's still cold here. Tonight at Bible study some lady gingerly held her Starbucks cup to warm her hands and sipped it the WHOLE time. The topic was predestination, and all I could think about was how that blessed lady with the coffee was like the elect and I was like ... uh, I couldn't concentrate enough to complete the analogy. That's bad.

Commercials, blogs with coffee in their names ... it's everywhere.

AAhh, Temptation, be ye flat or complex--I am thankful for you. Not joyous, just humbly thankful. You keep me from the sheltered life C.S. Lewis spoke about. You remind me of how weak I am and how much I need a Savior. You underscore that I am capable of not only the imminent sin I might commit, but every sin. You uncover my selfishness and rebelliousness. You connect me to a long history and large community--humanity. You make me compassionate toward others who are being tempted. You keep me on my feet, watching for your subtlety and guile--urging me to take bad shortcuts to get to good goals such as satisfaction, intimacy and comfort.

When Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, specifically to throw himself off the mountain and have his kingdom come right then and there without suffering, he refused the shortcut. He chose the life he had been given, even with its suffering, showing us that it is possible to say no to temptation in order to say "Yes, I will sacrifice; I will obey," to the Father.

A cup of coffee is a small, small thing to forego. But I am re-visiting some big, big lessons every time I reach for an empty mug. The Holy Spirit meets us where we are, and lately, we are meeting over coffee, or the lack thereof, and I am coming away satisfied.

Promeranians

Looky! It's my first Mr. Linky at the bottom of the post! Please link with your prom pics/stories!

Since some of us are on a nostalgic prom kick right now, you've gotta read We Were Hip to Be Square at This Ain't New York, where Miss Melanie recounts buying her crimson prom dress from The Bridal Barn. The story involves blood, bows and geese in a story that only Melanie can reconstruct (deconstruct?). Finally, check out It Was THAT Kind of Night ... Twice at It Be's That Way Sometimes, where Roxanne gives us two great stories for the price of one. These people should be writing scripts. Not that I'm jealous of their GREAT writing skills or anything.

I say we should have a prom-o-rama of entertaining memories, complete with un-retouched photos from our very own proms!

PS: Just for inspiration, I've included this pic of 80's "Promeranians." What IS that boy wearing on his legs and feet?

Friday's Feast

Here is #132 of Friday's Feast

Appetizer
Where on your body do you have a scar, and what caused it?
On the top of my head, I had a knot cut out. And that is where all the math skills escaped.

Soup
What is something that has happened to you that you would consider a miracle?
I started to write about a physical healing once, but really, isn’t every healing from God? Someone said that “miracle” is defined as something only God can do. He has led me through two trips to Kazakhstan, brought me through three baby deliveries, stayed with me during my depression, kept me married. All of these are especially miraculous when you consider my bad attitude through most of them.

Salad
Name a television personality who really gets on your nerves.
I’m sorry to say it, and I feel mean to say it, but you asked. Rachael Ray. The voice kills me. KILLS ME.

Main Course
What was a funny word you said as a child (such as "pasketti" for "spaghetti")?
I don’t know. My mom says I spoke like an adult from my first words. No baby talk.

Dessert
Fill in the blank: I have always thought ______ was ______.
That Oral Roberts was wrong: something bad is going to happen to me.

Holy Smoke?

Today at work, I took a cookie out of a box in a freezer in our break room. To be honest, I'm not sure who the rightful owner of the cookie box is, but a lot of our stuff in the breakroom is communal property, except for those labeled items and a couple of cabinets whose contents are designated for students or others. At least this is how it was explained to me when we moved in our new building a few years ago.

Still, I always feel a little sheepish when I snag a cookie or couple of pieces of candy from this room. Sort of like the Disciples must've felt when they were snapping off heads of wheat in the fields on the Sabbath, and the Pharisees questioned Jesus about that dubious activity. I'll bet they felt a little weird, thinking, "You know, they have a point. We're technically working here." But Jesus basically said, "I made the Sabbath. I own the Sabbath. I say they can have some Wheat Thins because they're hungry." Only I'm not working, I'm stealing. A shade different, I guess.

Since I'm just like the Apostles and all, I said to Jesus today, "Jesus, I'm hungry. And, you know, I am fasting coffee for Lent." I know I had a holy expression on my face. I sensed strongly (in my tummy) that Jesus was probaby saying, "Mi casa es su casa. Go ahead, good Secretary." (Not many people realize Jesus is bilingual. Or that I am a good secretary.)

I put the frozen cookie in the microwave on a paper towel, set it to 30 secs., and walked away to do some urgent ... filing. A couple of minutes later I rememebered my cookie, went back to the room and found it billowing with smoke!

I had set the timer wrong, apparently, or maybe it was a symbol of where stealers spend eternity!

I screamed to one of our associate pastors to call the alarm company because I saw no flames and knew who was to blame. I mean I knew how the accident happened (passive voice bears no blame). We didn't need no screamin' fire trucks.

So she called them and the administrative pastor, and I ran around flailing dish rags trying to clear the smoke, reminiscent of Chicken Little in a meteorite shower.

Our coffee shop manager came to my rescue with a giant blower that they use to dry industrial carpets. He made the remark, "Looks like you should've fasted sweets instead of coffee, doesnt it?" Hmph. Just like a Pharisee, walkin' around with all the smart answers, don't you think?

I had to open my boss's window in freezing weather to air out his office. He was at lunch. I dreaded his return.

When I left at 2:00, the boss had forgiven me, I think, but the building still reeked and the blower still blew. When I got home, I had a raw throat and headache to beat the band. I smelled like I'd been in a house afire. And I guess I had.

Let no one say that the flame of the Spirit has gone out at Oneighty. Holy smokes!

It's the Fab Blog Dance Party of the Century, That's All!

Over at 5 Minutes for Mom, read all about the fab blog dance party of the century! Well, OK, the cute retro graphic got me wound up. It's actually called the Ultimate Blog Party, and it sounds like fun. It's a chance for you to meet and greet and then introduce new blogging friends to old blogging friends. Begins March 2--don't miss it!

Ash Wednesday

When I was in college, my sweetheart pulled up in front of the teachers' college building to pick me up. I opened the door, jumped in and began rattling about some dumb topic when I was distracted mid-sentence by a smear on my boyfriend's forehead. I kept talking but licked my thumb, reached over, and gave him the first spit bath he'd had since 1962.

I knew something was wrong when he began flailing at me. He wasn't angry; he was just trying to nonagressively dodge me, but I was ON that smear.

I said something like, "You silly boy; you have dirt on your forehead!" And he said, "It's Ash Wednesday."

And so there was another chapter to learn in the "We Are of Different Faiths" book, subtitled: "Why I'm Right and You're Wrong." I got a whole lesson on Ash Wednesday that day.

It just so happens that over the years, we each left the denominations we grew up in and found the church in which we have raised our family and where I now work. (Interesting side note: we were married in the Catholic church with my Protestant minister sharing part of the officiating.) But one thing I realized in those early Catholic vs. Protestant years is, for the most part, Protestants don't do Lent well.

This year I decided to fast something that I love until Easter. More than love, I also sort of depend on it, which shows that it has a fairly prominent place in my life. It's so small, and yet, when I miss it, I miss it big-time: Coffee.

This morning was a little rough, but I made it through. The killer came when I realized that a few days ago, I had agreed to meet a friend at a local coffee house for conversation and coffee--today. Ash Wednesday. The first day of the coffee fast.

I walked in, and that wonderful aroma slithered its way up my nostrils, tempting me. I flashed back to Eden, where Satan said to Eve, "Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?" only I heard, "Did you really say to God, 'I'm going to completely fast coffee for Lent?' or did you in actuality say, 'On any given day in Lent, I may forego coffee or chocolate or backrubs. But I will not be a slave to legalism?'"

It was no use. I knew what I had decided on, and I had another drink instead. But it was so cold and ... blech!

There are a few aromas in this world that trigger immediate emotional responses for me: my newborn's neck, my mom's linens, my grandma's lilacs, gardenias and coffee.

It smelled so rich and good in the Blue Bottle Coffee Shop today that I felt guilty just being there. Surely I was absorbing coffee through my pores. But just so you know, I stayed strong.

And also just so you know, licking the rim of the leftover cup at the empty table on the way out does NOT count as drinking coffee.

The Princess Dress and the Prom Store

Guess how much I paid for this brand new, beautiful prom dress? Go on--guess!

One dollar. Yep. Marked down, and marked down and marked down.

Last year, while shopping in late spring, I happened upon prom dresses on sale. I saw this "princess" dress marked to $1.00 and had to have it. You should see the detail on it--taffeta skirt, appliques, beads, sequins, and a bodice that laces up the back, all in a subtle ballet pink. Gorgeous. ONE DOLLAR.

Now, the funny thing is, I had no reason to buy it. One daughter is too old, the other too young. I have no family/friends who might want it. But something in me said, "Buy that dress. Somebody will use it; it will be a blessing."

Fast forward to this year. Our church partners with a sister church ministering to inner city inhabitants who have the least material advantages in our city. The church, Blood 'N' Fire, is offering a new program this year for young girls who would like to go to prom but are financially strapped, called "Prom Dress Store."

So we are collecting new or very gently-worn formal dresses, bridesmaids dresses and prom dresses, as well as shoes, evening purses, jewelry and unused make-up to offer at this seasonal store. Dresses will be available to local high school girls for $15.00 each Saturday until after prom season. The reason they're not free is so that the girls can feel good about contributing something and not receiving a donation. In addition, any profit made in this endeavor goes right back into Blood 'N' Fire's after school program.

But that's not all. Macy's department store is offering an awesome opportunity: each girl may put her name in a drawing for a complete prom package: dress, hair, makeup--all gratis. And some employees are coming to Blood 'N' Fire on other dates to do hair and makeup. Isn't this a great idea?

I am so thrilled that I bought this dress! I believe the Holy Spirit prompted me to purchase it, knowing, of course, that this opportunity would arrive. It makes me want to go out and buy several at the end of the season to do it again next year!

I just hope the girl who wears this has a better prom experience than I had. I spent my first prom tugging at my butter-yellow frou-frou spaghetti strap dress the entire evening, as I had no means of natural support, if you know what I mean. One false step on that hem, and it would've been all over! It's kind of hard to relax during a slow dance when you've got to concentrate on keeping your date far enough away to stay off your hem!

Anyway, my prayer is, "God bless the littl girl who wears this dress. Although she is already a princess in your eyes, please let her feel very special that night. Please guard and protect her heart and body, and may she have a wonderful memory to cherish forever."

It's Not So Pretty From Elliptical Mountain

This is a Virtual Walk update: I have now amassed 51 miles. That sounds like a lot (to me), but in perspective, it's little. It amounts to about 30 minutes a day several days a week. Nothing to write home about, or blog about, except that God spoke to me today on the elliptical machine.

Yeah,that's a weird thing to say. But there I was, tuned into the oldies station on my MP3, elliptisizing (my word!) away to "Funky Town," when I looked up, surveyed my room, and my discorama came to an abrupt halt.

Half of the picures and wall fixtures on the walls were seriously crooked. And there were some natural sculptures created by spiders that I hadn't been appreciating.

"What is THIS?" I thought to myself. Before I worked, I used to keep a really clean house, tidy, inside drawers and out. What has brought us to this lowly state?

Just then, the word "Perspective" came to me. Simple as that. I was up about two feet higher than I normally am, and I noticed all kinds of out-of-whack things.

So all at once, I realized how situations in life change depending on perspective. God sees everything. And he loves us, as a clever someone has said, too much to leave us where we are.

That is why, I can be shuffling along through life, and suddenly some character flaw or sin or habit or whatever you want to call it is brought to my attention. Such as, "Wow. That was a really prideful thing you just thought. Better take a closer look at that."

It is a blessing to have a Perspective greater and higher than my own to use as a standard.

What is even greater is that when things are too messed up for me to handle, he makes the crooked things straight in my life.

I wrote this in about 4 minutes, so if I rambled, it's because I'm sweaty, panting, humbled, late in hitting the shower, and I have to go buy food for a work party. But I had to get it out before I forget it, before I lose this perspective!

When God Says "No"

No one likes to be told, “No.” In fact, we often feel entitled to an explanation or apology when things don’t go our way.

When I worked for a renowned weight-loss company, which I shall refer to as “Plate Watchers,” one piece of advice I offered members was, “Realize that when you say ‘no’ to one thing, you’re saying ‘yes’ to another. Therefore, you might say ‘no’ to dessert in order to say ‘yes’ to a smaller dress size.” Often that suggestion motivated members, but had I stood in front of my group and said, “You wanna lose weight? Just tell yourself ‘No:’ ‘No, I’m not going to have this entire box of Girl Scout Cookies. No, I’m not going to mega-size my fries. No, I’m not going to have a piece of birthday cake. No, no, no,’” I don’t think I would have lasted long in that position!

As much as we don’t like it, “no,” is good for us sometimes.

Once I yearned for a specific house in a great neighborhood. I could just see my children playing in the yard with friends. But I prayed for God to shut the door on the opportunity if it wasn’t best for us. We didn’t get it, and to say I was disappointed is an understatement. A few months later, a man who lived directly across from that house was arrested for molesting children, luring them in by fixing their bicycles, etc. You can bet my vision of my children playing on that street became a shuddering thought, and I thanked God we didn’t move there.

For the last two weeks I’ve ridden an emotional roller coasting waiting for a door to open or close. One outcome would’ve drastically changed my family’s lives, so it occupied most of my waking thoughts and prayers. As it happened, the door swung shut with a thud, and without much explanation. That hurt.

For about an hour, I was really upset. But even in the midst of the turmoil, because I have already offered God my whole life and know that every step is taken under his providential eye, I felt at peace. After the emotional release, my disappointed feelings began catching up to my faith.

I may never know why that door was shut, but I did receive comfort in Psalm 25:12-13, “Where is the man who fears the Lord? God will teach him how to choose the best. He shall live within God’s circle of blessing, and his children shall inherit the earth.” I did not have the opportunity to choose in this situation, but I trust that God chose the best for me. I will not worry about my future, or my children’s futures.

A key verse in my life is Isaiah 30:21: “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, you will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” There is no golden opportunity in this life that can compare with walking in The Way. And that’s why I’m thanking God for saying “no” this week.

Le Repas

Friday's Feast

Appetizer What sound, other than the normal ringing, would you like your telephone to make?

A soft, "ding" spaced intermittently, sort of like between elevator floors. Something less irritating than what they do now.

Soup Describe your usual disposition in meteorological terms (partly cloudy, sunny, stormy, etc.).

Equal mix of sun and clouds. Low pressure.

Salad What specific subject do you feel you know better than any other subjects?

English

Main Course Imagine you were given the ability to remember everything you read for one entire day. Which books/magazines/newspapers would you choose to read?

The Bible, My Utmost for His Highest, anything by CS Lewis, World Magazine, old hymns

Dessert If a popular candy maker contacted you to create their next confection, what would it be like and what would you name it?

Something the consistency of a homemade caramel, but chocolaty fudgy and caramely alternately rolled into 1" striped logs (like a high-class Tootsie Roll) and wrapped in cute scrapbook-type paper with little doggies on it. I would call them "Zoe Logs" 'cause that's what her little poops look like. Although I've never been tempted to sample one.

"Now I am really embarrassed."

Peanut Butter Alert

Just so you know, and this is not a hoax, any Peter Pan or Great Value (Walmart brand: GV) that has a lid with the serial number beginning 2111 should be pitched, due to salmonella outbreaks. We've had outbreaks in Indiana which they've traced to this product, and I'm pretty sure it's relevant in other states as well.

I went to my cabinet and found a brand new jar, never openend, with that serial number on it. Sure glad I didn't make peanut butter cookies during the blizzad!

Box of String

You might think the following story sounds like a fabricated tale, but it's not. My supervisor, Corine, shared this with one of our teams at work and brought the box in with her. Amazing.

Five year-old Corine climbed the townhouse steps, holding her mother’s hand. Behind door 3C, Mrs. Richmond, a widow with pearly white hair, waited at her kitchen table for their weekly visit. Sometimes they brought her bakery sweets, sometimes they ran errands for her, and sometimes they took tea while Corine played jacks on the wooden floor.

Mrs. Richmond always insisted that Corine and her mother, Lois, take a small token with them whenever they left. Sometimes she forgot to select the item ahead of time, and Corine would see Mrs. Richmond’s eyes dart around looking for just the right gift, which often seemed random and insignificant.

After routinely reading confusion upon Lois’s face, Mrs. Richmond would advise, “God will know what to do with this,” and gently push the item closer to Lois’s chest to show her confidence. Lois obediently kept most of the items, partly for sentimental reasons, partly because she harbored a secret desire to see Mrs. Richmond’s assertions come true.

On this visit, Mrs. Richmond offered Lois a small stationery box. Apprehensively, Lois lifted the lid, closed it, raised her eyebrows and smiled weakly. She was speechless--the box was filled with left over embroidery thread that Mrs. Richmond had been saving for years. How should one respond to a gift of old string?

Pre-empting the silence, Mrs. Richmond reminded her, “God will know what to do with them, Dear.”

Forty years later, Corine sits on the board of directors for a nonprofit organization serving a developing Central Asian country. She coordinates educational healthcare conferences and works as a liaison in the states.

One local group of women meets monthly to sew quilts for orphans there. Visiting the quilters one day, Corine noticed how each block of squares was tied off with yarn or embroidery thread. The colorful quilts and knots reminded her of that old box of thread, which she dug out of storage at home and brought to their next meeting.

Weeks later, Corine delivered the quilts to the orphanage. The caretakers were elated to receive these soft, warm blankets for children who have little means of contending with brutal winters. Corine remembered Mrs. Richmond’s insistence about the string, “God will know what to do with them.”

Forty-five years ago, Mrs. Richmond had vision and optimism about God making good things happen. Lois had faith, believing that although something doesn’t seem likely, it is possible, and Corine had the means to set the unlikely into motion. Some moments in life appear to be insignificant, but vision, faith and action woven together make powerful things happen, like comforting an orphaned child on the other side of the world.

Happy Valentine's Day!

You've gotta make the best of a blizzard. There will be no Valentine's Day special dinner or gifts because we're home-bound, but love will have its day! And yes, my husband ran toward the railing and flung himself over, trying to impress me.

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It's Official. It's a Blizzard.

I may post several times today. In fact, if I don't, it's probably because of a white-out. We're in a blizzard. Consider any posts S.O.S.'s from Caroline Ingalls snowed in the cabin with the kids from Malcolm in the Middle. Right now the 14 year-old girl is baking muffins. It's the more mature Playdoh. This is gonna be a long day.

Update: Thank you all for your survival suggestions. I pressed through the Walmart mayhem last night, five feet at a time. Each checkout lane was 10 carts deep, at least. I stopped counting and caught up on my magazine reading.

Walmart had tables with paper and crayons set up to distract kids while parents waited in line. I heard moms bribing their kids, "If you'll be good, I'll get you a ..." fill in the blank: "sucker," "toy," "pony," "tickets to Disney," "a guest spot on 'Hannah Montana.'"

They were sold out of our normal brand of milk, so I brought the caviar of milk. They were out of beef, except for suspicious pre-molded patties. I had planned to make chili, but they were out of tomato juice, so I put back the other ingredients. When I finally got to the register, there was a single can of abandoned tomato juice just sitting there smirking at me.

If I had to answer my own "5 essentials" questions from yesterday, I think it would be:

1. Pee pads for the dog. They're like diapers only flat on the floor. That's a whole 'nother post.

2. Toilet paper. But the only kind left had apparently been shipped from Ecuador, where the bark had been peeled from banana trees, dipped in bleach to produce a beautiful gray color, and then rolled by hand. If I get a hang nail, I will file it on the toilet paper.

3. Scrapbooking supplies. Scrapbooking will keep me sane while the natives dance around me. "Focus ... focus ...."

There was just a huge crash in the kitchen. (5 second mandatory wait period) No noise is good noise, so on we go.

4. Laundry detergent. Because life as I know it all around me may be at a halt, but laundry, or should I say Laundry, is an entity that thrives in any brutal climate, like hardy, multiplying cockroaches.

5. Ibuprofen. More essential than vitamins yet less drastic than Nyquil. But we do have Nyquil, just in case.

In this picture we see that the mom, in an attempt to hide from her children, cannot fool the baby hyena who will persist in bugging the mom, even if he must tear at her flesh. I fear this is what it'll be like at the end of the day today.

A Weather "Event" - Or - What are 5 Things You Wouldn't Want to be Stuck Home Without?

You know it's bad when they're calling it a weather "event." You know it's bad when Walmart is sold out of electric blankets, Cheese Doodles, and Oreos. You know it's bad when the kids are cleaning out their lockers like it's May, not February, and the library is cleaned out of kid videos.

We are supposed to get anywhere from 8-12" of snow tonight. It will start at midnight and snow until the next midnight.

People are going nuts; it's all they can talk about. And I am becoming one of "them." In my burgeoning mid-life "oldness," I am feverishly preparing a grocery list for when I shop tonight. This panicky behavior over snow is something I used to observe in old people and shake my head at. "Why are they getting so worked up about snow?" I asked myself.

All I know is, some switch got flipped inside me, and the old person like the Hallmark "Maxine" character has taken over. In fact, I'm making my husband go shopping with me tonight so that if I come to blows over hot chocolate packets, he can back me up.

So, for my Canadian friends and those who deal with this on a regular basis, I'm asking for your input. What are 5 things that you wouldn't want to be stuck home without?

I'm a Finalist

I'm a finalist; what a blessing! Finalists in all categories and voting instructions are posted at Everyday Mommy, and I am in the "marriage" category for my post entitled King James in the Bedroom. Voting will close on February 16, 2007 at 11:59pm central standard time. Can't pretend I don't care ... I'm excited and feel good to have been nominated! Oh, and if you are new here and would like to see my favorite posts, see the "creme de la creme" sidebar, a sort of "the best of" 2nd cup. Thanks for stopping by!

We went to see The Sin Eater this evening. The title made me wonder if it was a science fiction/suspense film, in which case I would not go because those aren't my thing, but my husband checked Plugged In, the media review divison of Focus on the Family, endorsed it, so off we went, and I'm glad we did.

Plot synopsis: In 1850 or so, a Welsh immigrant community settled in the Appalachian Mountains and began a new life. However, they also brought with them the mystic Celtic tradition of the "Sin Eater. "

The Sin Eater, an actual historical role, was one who drew an unlucky lot and became an outcast from the community. Whenever the "passing bell" rang, signalling someone had died, the community would gather at the cemetery with the body. A crust of bread and some wine would be placed on the torso of the corpse, and at the appointed time, people would avert their eyes, and the Sin Eater would arrive, eat and drink the offering, and take upon himself the sin of the deceased so that he could rest in peace. It was an emotional, awe-ful time, wrought with sorrow, as the Sin Eater "pawned" his soul for that of the deceased. This method was the only way people knew to be forgiven of their sins.

Little Cadi (pronouced Kah-dee) Forbes, a girl of about 12, has a horrible sin that she cannot bear to carry until her deathbed, so against severe warnings, she actually seeks out the Sin Eater in hopes that he can deliver her.

In the meantime, a "man of God" enters the cove, and eventually, he brings the plan of salvation to Cadi. In what was the most emotional moment for me, he explains there was a Sin Eater sent from God long ago, who paid for everyone's sins, once and for all. Taking the significance of this truth in, she asks, "Does he have a name?" and he says, "Yes, it's Jesus." I cried for several reasons then. The first was because of how this Good News felt to Kadi. Secondly, because I was newly appreciating what Christ did for us. Third, because the world needs to know that name and its significance.

There is more to consider, including some violence, a few weak spots and old fashioned special effects, so I suggest you read a professional review at Titletrakk.com. There is also a great interview of Francine Rivers who wrote the book upon which the movie is based.

If you liked the TV series Christy, or Little House on the Prairie, you'll love this. In fact, Michael Landon, Jr. produced, directed and co-wrote the screenplay. You can see his dad's fingerprints all over this film, and you can see the Father's fingerprint, too.

Friday's Feast

Check out Feast 130 at Friday's Feast.

Appetizer: Have you been sick yet this winter, and if so, what did you come down with?

Are you kidding me? Well, I just got over a strange flu which produced high fever and severe joint aches only, no regular flu stuff. Next year, I’m getting the flu shot. I’m too old and cranky to mess with this stuff. I’m gonna elbow babies and the elderly out of the way.

Soup: What colors dominate your closet?

Black mostly, although this snippet of my closet sure doesn't look like it, but I promise, it is. I also prefer solid clothes, and that is clear in this picture. My favorite outfit to wear is a black ribbed turtleneck and jeans. Sometimes when I put them on, I think, “I could be buried in this.” Which shows that: 1. I’m always thinking about death 2. I have no intention of having an open casket (people seeing a white corpse in a black sweater) 3. I appreciate comfort. Other colors in my closet are about equal, except for green, of which I’m not a fan, unless the Presidents are wearing it, as in money. Ha.

Salad: How would you describe your personal "comfort zone?"

Routine is comforting to me. I like to be around people who are: 1. not easily offended 2. will trust that I am basically good-intentioned 3. will offer the benefit of the doubt to others whenever possible. Love covers a multitude of sins.

Main Course: On which reality show would you really like to be a contestant?

I would love to be on What Not to Wear. I consider that a reality show. I would be willing to take the punches from Stacy and Clinton, and I would LOVE to meet Nick Arrojo and Carmindy, but esp. Nick Arrojo. I have a crush on him, but not in the traditional sense. I just sort of feel like he's the Monet of hair or something. I'm in awe of Nick.

Dessert: Which holiday would you consider to be your favorite?

No favorites anymore. Although my son was born on March 8, which is National Women's Day. This would be, of course, every teenaged boy's dream, to be able to say: "I'm so studly they made my birthday National Women's Day."

LOVE AND R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Question: If a man says something in a forest, and there is no woman around to hear it, is he still wrong???

This joke has always cracked me up, but now I feel a little guilty laughing. Why? Because I have just finished a book (Yes, Susanne, another book!) called Love and Respect by Emerson Eggerichs.

My cell group of 7 couples which meets in a home on Sunday nights is doing this study together. We have texts, workbooks and DVDs, the whole she-bang.

Let me see if I can boil down the thesis a bit. If you read Ephesians 5 carefully, quietly tucked away in the verse 33, you'll find an admonition to women to respect their husbands:

However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.

For years, sermons/books/teachings have emphasized husbands loving their wives sacrificially, probably as an answer/antidote to unfair chauvinism that has plagued the sexes since Time.

But the author shines a spotlight on this mystery: women need to be unconditionally loved, while men need to be unconditionally respected. He recounts the survey of 400 men (which I'll summarize clumsily) in which 74% responded that they would rather be alone and unloved in the world than feel inadequate and disrespected.

Women, on the other hand, place love above all else. We can't help it. It's what we do. We do not have to be commanded to love our husbands. It's in our nature to love him. It's not in our nature to respect him, necessarily.

Of course, each gender craves love and respect, but Eggerichs claims that these respective needs are not equally felt. Because people (mainly women) do not understand the male need for respect, couples get going on what he calls "The Crazy Cycle," wherein the male responds unlovingly toward his wife, who feels unloved and therefore responds disrespectfully (with contempt) toward her husband, who feels disrespected and therefore responds unlovingly. Round it goes. No need to try to point the finger to say, "He/She started it." Everyone's in this.

The phenomenon that keeps the cycle spinning is that age-old communication snafu. He uses the analogy of women filtering the world through pink sunglasses and hearing aids and men filtering through blue. If we never learn to "speak" or "hear" in other language (accepting maleness and femaleness without judgment) we'll just keep doing the same unproductive things we've always done with the same results, as the saying goes, perfectly illustrating the definition of "crazy."

In our culture, we are taught that love should be given unconditinally and that respect should be earned. Yet in God's economy, we humans deserve neither. However, we are graced with both, and so should we grace each other.

If at this point you're wondering about becoming a doormat or hypocrite ("How can I respect my husband who is 'doing time?'" for example) you'll just have to read the book. If you're wondering about how to break out of the Crazy Cycle, you'll just have to read the book. If you're wondering why sex is so dadgum important to men . . .

Well, let me add this one more little tidbit about sex. Men equate it with feeling good both physically and emotionally. It truly is a form of communication, a major one for him, and it validates his maleness.

Eggerichs states, "By way of analogy, a wife needs emotional release through talking. When that need is met she feels loved. When a man refuses to talk, that symbolizes he does not love her or care about her need. A husband has a need for physical release through sexual intimacy. When a wife refuses, that symbolizes to him that she does not care about him and does not respect him and his need. A wife [who refuses] needs to think abou thow unfair it is to say to her husband, 'Have eyes only for me.'" So, imagine how you would feel if for three weeks, or more, your husband simply refused to talk to you. Would you be a happy camper?

There is a lot of truth in this book, and I have learned from it. There is also a lot in this book that made me bristle. Even my husband said that the author seems to come down heavy on the women, but I think that's because he believes men haven't been given their due time in the spotlight in this respect (no pun intended). At times, the author's voice is condescending and patronizing, and his examples of couples who have successfully bettered their marriages (one after the other after the other) are tediously simplistic and too perfect. Nevertheless, it's worth picking up, I guess. Sorry I can't be more enthusiastic.

Finally, one interesting tidbit is that Eggerichs refers to the history of Aretha Franklin's R-E-S-P-E-C-T--a feminist anthem--that was actually written by Otis Redding! This underscores another observation: the greeting card industy, mainly supported by women, sells almost every card on the premise of how much "I love you." You never see one that says, "Here are the reasons I respect you." He suggests you tell, or write, your husband about how and why you respect him.

Valentine's Day is almost here. Maybe it's time to write a new kind of love note: "How do I respect thee? Let me count the ways . . . "

Back to Work

It's -3*F with a windchill factor of -22*. At this temp, things stop working, such as garage door openers.

I'm headed back to work today, but I dread it because now the limb extrication syndrome has developed into a regular old cold. Pray that I will be nice to people today. Even the ones who call my office and demand, "Who is this???" after I have already clearly said, "Oneighty--this is Linda. May I help you?" Pray that I don't then succumb to the temptation to reply, "Oh...Yoda language you do speak. Linda this is. Of Oneighty. You I may help how?"

Does anyone out there know if there is a simple etiquette guide for posting? I happened to read about a no-no that I wasn't previously aware of this morning. I could be saying all kinds of things that seem innocuous to me but are offensive if there is a code against them somewhere. Besides the obvious things like: Thou shalt not say, "You are a bad mom for doing that." Or, "My religion is way better than yours." Etc.

I am heavy. I have not been this weight since before I joined Weight Watchers many years ago, where I lost 30 lbs and went on to be a discussion room leader. It is time. To exercise. And count points. I don't want to do the meetings, but I know that people who stayed for the meetings lost 3 x the amount of weight as those who did the plan Lone Ranger style. It goes back to that biblical principle called "accountability." FYI, I think WW is the BEST weight loss system out there, bar none. No hoaky plans or blackballed foods. Just re-learning portion size and accountability. Plus very good tips. We were eating off smaller plates years ago. Every time I see this tip in a Woman's magazine, I think, "Wow, I used to recommend that all the time."

This week, as predicted, there were many Hoosier newborns named Peyton, after the Colts' quarterback. The one highlighted in our paper today, however, is different: his last name is Manning. No relation. Double irony: This family was one featured on the "Armed and Famous" series here in Muncie. They are apparently destined for fame.

My family's new favorite TV show, which the teenagers make of point of sitting down and watching together, is Malcolm in the Middle. (So we are little behind the times.) We just recently ordered Tivo, which my 17 year-old son is sure I will not be able to handle technologically. This show was our parental Waterloo because you cannot get other seasons on DVD. Among their favorite episodes is the one where the dad shows off his '80s roller skating prowess while skating in a shiny blue body suit to "We are the Champions."

This is the 3rd day in a row my kids are on a 2-hour delay due to sub-freezing temps. This is glorious enough to make them "skate" around and sing, "We are the Champions." Of course, our house is freezing cold, so that motivates them to move, too.

I am reacting to the chill completely differently. I would like to get back into bed and turn that space heater on the "thermogenic broiler" setting, the one just under the "crematory" setting. I didn't want to take a shower or put on makeup. I didn't want to put on my watch just now and head out to the garage and get into that cold car whose seat dispenses cold that will make my backside feel as if I've sat in a puddle of ice-cold Coke. But I am just about to do that. I think my extra layers of blubber might be a good thing today.

Appendage self-extrication complicated by vexatious inter-jointal pulsation?

My illness started Monday afternoon, just after I had my yearly gynecological exam, so you can see this was an all around party day.

The instant I got home, a high fever came on, and I began to shake and chill like I never have. My husband put five or six quilts on me and put a large space heater near the upper part of my torso, but I STILL could not stop shaking. The flesh on my face may have been melting, but I was still freezing, even after four Ibuprofen, which is the most I've ever taken.

In addition, every single joint hurt, even my toe joints. But the most odd sensation was that the upper arms, the outside shoulder area, felt like they were tearing away from my frame, as if I had been trying to hold 75 lb weights in each hand, and finally, my arms were just coming apart. You are asking yourself: "Does she know how weird that sounds?" Yes, yes I do. I've been asking myself, "What is this strange affliction?" Appendage self-extrication complicated by vexatious inter-jointal pulsation? Is this a case for Dr. House?

Today, after I was up a while, I tried to get caught up with you all, but it has not been easy. Let's just say I'm slow with blurry vision added in just for fun, and if you could see all the typos I'm making, you would crack up. So now, I'm going to go take a great big warm shower so that I can feel I've stepped back in to real life. Thanks for your prayers. Really.

Two quick comments

First of all, I deleted the post about Prince and his Aunt Jemima headware because it offended someone. Honestly, it did cross through my mind that someone might think twice about it, but what I couldn't believe, AND MY POINT WAS, that I could NOT believe he actually wore that, for the reason that it smacked of racism. It looks exactly, I mean EXACTLY like that character. I even wondered if he did that on purpose. So, my post came across wrong, and I apologize. Race is a tricky issue. The first comment I've ever made even remotely related to it got an ANONYMOUS negative remark. So I guess I used poor judgement. But then again it is my blog . . . and if you had signed your name I would respect you more.

Also, I'm sick with a high fever and horrible chilling and aching for two days; this is the first I've been up in hours. So i may have rambled. I also found out my son did not get the scholarship today and my prospective employer still has not called, and tomorrow it will be a week since the interview. Everything here is shut down because of blizzardy weather, and I'm honked off about everything.

True Gems

I am pleased as punch to have nominated three posts at Everyday Mommy's Hidden Treasure Blog Award.

Please check out these posts and then cast your votes! You will not be disappointed!

A Southern Girl's Guide to Almost Anything, where I nominated the post "The Rabbit Died ... Who's Going to Tell Mamaw?" in the LIFE category.

This Ain't New York, where I first read about Cousin Ethel, and once you've read about Cousin Ethel, you get a fever, and the only prescription is more COUSIN ETHEL. You will find vintage Cousin Ethel in "We're Putting Away the Corelle Wear." HUMOR category (duh).

Finally, at Living to Tell the Story, "Milk or Steak, What'll it Be?" challenges and encourages the reader with food for the spirit, making it deserving of the award in the FAITH category.

Colts are Super Bowl Champs

Well, it's very satisfying morning. The Colts are the new champs, and Prince has brought family values back to the half-time show. (ha) See the post below for my up-to-the-minute fashion commentary on him last night. I loved hearing about Tony Dungy's faith in God. They say that he never raises his voice at his players or swears. As I watched him accept the Lombardi trophy, I remarked to my husband, "Still, although this is great, what he wouldn't give to have his son back." My heart goes out to his family.

Now That's What I"m Talkin' About!

YESSSS!!!! Colts SCORE! I knew the brownie would help.

Just Shoot Us Now

OH COME ON!!! 14 seconds into the game the Bears score?? This is not looking good. I'd better eat another brownie with ice cream for good luck.

Can You Feel the Kick ... Off?

Well, now here is a nomination for Colts fan of the year. Or something like that. You should go to this link in the Muncie Star Press and check out the video of this young woman who painted her nine-month tum-tum to encourage the Colts. Yikes. Think she'll name her kid "Peyton?"

It's almost kick off time for the game AND the baby ...

Hoosier Tundra

Oh man. It is 9*F here in Indiana. That's -12*C. That's 260* kelvin. That's 360* Hobbes. Get it? Kelvin and Hobbes! Ha. That is a joke coming from a frozen person, which is why it is lame.

We are sitting under blankets with sweatshirt hoods up and space heaters going. We are making odd noises like beat boxes. Stuffing our Yorkshire Terrier up our sleeves. Anything for warmth.

Earlier I ventured out from the homestead onto the frozen tundra to get to Walmart, and it was packed with Peyton Manning (GO COLTS!) jersey wearers, from infants to grandmas. I just wanted to get my food and get out.

You won't believe this. Walmart was OUT of chocolate chips. Not low on chips, but OUT. I've been to Walmart on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, but they're never out of baking supplies. I looked around and saw that they were out of any kind of baking chips except cinnamon and toffee. Unreal! I grabbed a bag of peanut M & M's instead, but they don't work in brownies very well.

So I get home and thaw my fingers and toes, go to get the M & M's and ... they're gone! Vanished! I have turned the kitchen and car upside down, and they are nowhere to be found. AAARGH.

If you were a pounder bag of M & M's, where would you hide from me???

True Blue

GO COLTS! This is a Muncie Bureau of Water Quality employee using blue food dye to color the water in the White River. The city, this state, is a frenetic mess today, awaiting the big game tomorrow.

Several churches who had planned big Super Bowl parties have had to cancel them due to strict NFL regulations about broadcasting/watching this game. For instance, you cannot make up signs using the words "Super Bowl Sunday" due to copyright infringements. And the screen must be less than 55". And you have to promise to hand over your school's valedictorian and have the soles of your feet fused together, THEN, you may host a Big Game (Sup.Bl.) party. Just kidding about those last two, but there is a long list of stipulations any organization must follow. Basically, the list pretty much ensures that no church can host a big party, only they don't dare come right out and say that. A couple of Indiana churches have had to cancel their wing-dings because of this, and there is quite a backlash against the NFL.

End score: Bars-1, Churches-0.

Now back to regularly scheduled blogging: See Lower than a Hyena's Mom, below.

Lower Than a Hyena's Mom

I am a bad mom. (*Note to prospective employer who might read this today in search of weaknesses relevant to prospective job: I'm better away from home.)

Right now, it is early morning, and my 14 year-old kid is sitting at the breakfast bar, eating her breakfast alone, instead of enjoying my witty repartee while she eats. I feel bad for talking to you right now instead of her. But if I talk to her, she will probably answer with her mouth full, and I don't want to see that, so I'm sticking with you.

I can see her from around the corner, and she is very intently picking at her cereal with a fork, working and digging, digging and working.

"What are you doing?" I yell from the family room, rolling my chair so that I can peek around the corner again.

She breaks concentration, and yells back, "I'm fixing this," which of course, tells me nothing, a key goal of teenager-to-parent communication.

I watch. I don't have my contacts in yet, and her cereal appears to be chunky. And brown. "What are you eating?" I yell.

"Meat!"

"What?"

"I dont know. This roast beef stuff, I guess."

It takes me a minute to process this information: my kid is literally tearing at a piece of 5-day-old meat like a baby hyena, but a sophisticated baby hyena who is imbibing bottled water to cleanse the palate between chunks and using a fork to tear the flesh. If this were a show on Discovery, everyone would be asking, "Where is this young one's mother hyena? It's so sad when nature is so cruel."

Friday's Feast

It's been a long week (if you read yesterday's post, you know why), so I was so happy to tackle this Friday's Feast for a bit of levity and distraction. So here we go.

Appetizer: What was one of the fashion fads when you were a teenager? This hair and this cowel neck sweater. I thought she was the most beautiful woman on earth. After that famous hairstyle had been around a while, the wing-back sides morphed into sausage-like curls that we all wore--very bizarre.

Soup: Name one thing you think people assume about you when they meet you. Probably that I'm very sweet. I have a dry sense of humor that I don't reveal until I see a glimpse of it in another person, which is a signal to me that we are on the same wavelength and that it's OK to be myself.

Salad: On a scale from 1 -10 with being the hardest, how hard do you work? Well, I'd have to say 10+++++, and that's NOT just because my prospective employer might look at this to find out secrets about me. Actually, I do work hard at stuff; I'm more task-oriented than relationship-oriented. Not so good.

Main Course: If you were given a free 30 second commercial during the Super Bowl to sell anything you currently own, what would you advertise? A fictional book that I've written. It's fictional because it still in my head since I haven't actually written a book. But I could scramble really fast and whip something up if I had the chance Sunday!

Dessert: Fill in the blank. I love to _____ when it is _____.
Walk outside when it's sunny, bake when it's snowing, read when it's raining, and sleep when it's storming.

Calling All Wise Counselors!

I am in a weird place tonight--Limbo Land. Sometime, dangling between now and a nebulous point we'll call "soon," I'll have to make a big decision--then again, maybe I won't.

I am one of two finalists in a job search.

For the sake of argument, or analysis, let's assume I will be offered the job. My uneasiness stems from my confusion about whether to leave a job I love for another job I could love which happens to offer one big, significant perk plus some nice others.

On the surface, it's a no-brainer:

New Job:
--Same pay
--Same hours ... BUT
--50% off my kids' college tuition
--3 weeks off at Christmas
--1 week off at spring break
--Summers off

I think it would be appropriate to insert a spritely happy dance here at the notion of such great gains.

That's on the surface. Below the surface lies:

Old Job:
--Where I feel very competent & comfortable (hugely important to me since I thrive on routine and safety, not exciting, new adventures)
--Where I feel effective in ministry by supporting a great staff
--Where the staff feels like family, and that is no overstatement
--Where I can wear jeans!
--That is 7 minutes away from home (other is 30 minutes away)
--Also has lots of vacation time
--Almost four years invested

Both organizations are premiere, in my opinion. I would be proud to be affiliated with either one, feel honored to serve in ministry either place, see both opportunities as humbling blessings. I don't know why God is so good to me.

For several days I have been wringing my hands and "toiling and spinning," although I know better than to behave that way. I am fearful of making the wrong move, of missing God's voice or misreading his will. This decision is important, because as Rick Warren has convinced us, "It's not about me." Ultimately, it's about the needs of my family, my beloved church/ministry, and an awesome university.

One wise counselor has encouraged me to keep reading the Bible, since that is the usual first place the Holy Spirit speaks to me. God also uses my pastor's sermons, radio ministries, other people and music, often not just "Christian" music, to reinforce his guidance. I try not to rely on my emotions nor do anything contrary to scriptural principles. In this case, I am trying to decide between two good things.

I'm interested in what you think. Do you believe that God has a "perfect will" for each of our lives? Or do you think that, outside the clear boundaries and principles of scripture, as in situations like this, God is not set on one option, but instead says in effect, "Either is fine if you are walking with Me." In other words, is my position or task not as important as who I am in Him and how I'm being transformed into His likeness?

There is a decision-making process involving scripture, prayer, seeking wise counsel, "shaking hands with the decision," (making a commitment) and then gauging your comfort, or peace-level, with that decision. If you're peaceful, you've probably made the right decision. If you're not peaceful, that means you've given up the job that you loved and they've replaced you and you can never, ever, ever, get that that job back!!!! . . . Ha.

Well, the scriptures that seem to be standing out to me are in Exodus where the Israelites are trapped between mountains and the sea. The bad guys are closing in. The Israelites are wringing their hands, and Moses, a very wise counelor at this point, says, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still."

Also, in Exodus 13:14, God tells Moses to stop praying ("crying out") and get moving. James 1:6 says that when a man prays, he "must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind." I have felt exactly like that wave.

Finally, the note on Exodus 13:15 says, "The Lord told Moses to stop praying and get moving! Prayer must have a vital place in our lives, but there is also a place for action. Sometimes we know what to do, but we pray for more guidance as an excuse to postpone doing it. If we know what we should do, then it is time to get moving."

I have been asking God to open and close doors. In the meantime, I think he is asking me to draw close to him, to trust and obey. And although I admit I'm afraid, I think I am ready to move if I receive the order.

So, my conclusion is: I'm still open to wise counsel. And as much as I'm able, I'll pray without ceasing, pray without doubting, quiet my transparent, faithless churning, follow God through open doors, and accept closed doors with joy. I have open hands and an open heart that trusts in the faithfulness of my God. And, even in Limbo Land, I feel the undercurrent of His peace.