How Materialistic ARE We?

As Turkey day is now only minutes away, I finally am able to plop my aching feet on the couch and take a break. The past month has been a whirlwind of preparation for the big day, in addition to the insanity of regular life. This year my mom either volunteered or pulled the short straw for hosting Thanksgiving at their home. (Personally, I love it when she has it there – makes my drive much shorter!) Preparations have included, but are not limited too, painting the living room and hallways, re-arranging the furniture, reframing pictures, finding and hanging new curtains, printing pictures for frames, putting up old décor, and so on and so forth. I feel like I’ve done an HGTV show over the span of five weeks, rather than two days.

Regardless, while I was driving to some store today running a few last minute errands for mom, she mentioned that a few places, like Garden Ridge and Wal-Mart, were going to be open actually ON Thanksgiving. Her casual mention has been giving me heartburn ever since. Are we so materialistic and money-grubbing scrooges that our voracious shopping habits on Black Friday have caused retailers to remain open on the holiday for which we are celebrating? Thanksgiving is the holiday that is specifically celebrated in America. Christmas is celebrated all over the world, but Thanksgiving? It is a staple that celebrates gratefulness, care, love, family and friends for ALL Americans in honor of those who began this country. While the 4^th of July is more like a party, Thanksgiving is a time of reflection and remembrance. A time when family and/or friends come together and express what they MEAN to each other. It is where we take our mind off of ourselves and look one another in the eyes and really know what the person, not an object, means to us. A time where our hearts grow warm with memories. It is not a time to make people work just so I can buy something I don’t need on sale. Come on people! Wake up! Stop selling your integrity for bigger and better inanimate objects. Can’t there be two days in the entire year that we just stop and live? I for one, will be enjoying the entire Thanksgiving Day with family and friends… when Friday comes, then I’ll join the shopping foray! 

Pet Peeve

Having now joined the dating world again, I have come across something that has become a “pet peeve”. I know we girls have our issues, but there’s something you guys do that really is annoying, confusing and generally leaves me going “huh?” Perhaps it is a result of the feminist movement and their endeavor for equality that really boiled down to the emasculation of men. Perhaps it is the lack of a father figure or a weak father figure. Or perhaps it is because of the, excuse me, “b****iness” of girls. Regardless of the myriad of social reasons that could be boiling under the surface, the overflow that results is quite unsettling.

So here is my peeve. Why oh why, do you guys NOT tell us when you are no longer interested? I’m not necessarily talking about a first date where you don’t call the girl back, although that would be nice as well. But what about when you’ve hung out, gone on a few dates, talked and texted for weeks, and then poof… there’s nothing? I can understand a week, maybe two if you are busy, with no communication, but any more than that and I mean common!! Grow a set and tell us that you don’t want to have a relationship, or date or whatever you want to call it. Its ok, most of us can handle it. Personally, I would rather know than wonder, and heaven forbid, be called a “stalker” if I text or call to find out what’s wrong. Can you see my point of view here? I really do want to be pursued … not be the pursuer. Don’t make me watch “He’s Just Not that Into You” for the millionth time to figure out what you are trying to say or not say. Just tell me! Nicely, of course, but all it takes is a few words and then I can no longer wonder and you don’t have to complain about me to your friends.

I know the girls reading this are probably cheering, but remember there is a flip side. When the guy actually DOES tell you, then for heavens sake, believe him! Since guys say they are simple, we need to believe them when they say they are not interested. Regardless of what you “feel” or what you think they may be saying, when they really aren’t. They have a one-track mind remember? Girls, we can think of many things at the same time; they compartmentalize and think of one thing at a time. And when they say they aren’t interested, that’s the one thing they are concentrating on as being true. Remember… if a guy tells you he’s not interested, then why are you wasting your time on him? If he can’t give you the time of day, then don’t give yourself an ulcer being his watch. Keep looking for the one who IS interested and will move heaven and earth to be with you.  

Oh, the Joys of Waiting

In case you couldn’t hear it, the title is riddled with sarcasm. Waiting on things is NOT fun or “joyful”. This past Sunday at church, the speaker talked about being in the “waiting room of life”. Doesn’t that just hit the nail on the head? You know what its like in a doctors office. You get there, early, fill out yet another form, and then wait. People are called before you who arrive after you and yet you are still there… just sitting and waiting. Time always seems to stand still in a waiting room. The ticks on the analog clock chink by in a pace that is exasperatingly slow.

For waiting to become a tolerable experience, one must MAKE it a tolerable experience. This requires action on our part. Of course we should continue to pray for the door to open or the window to raise, but there’s something else we can do too. And that is to pray for some encouragement while in the waiting room. I don’t know about you, but I’m in the waiting room of life right now… actually in a couple of waiting rooms! And I’m learning to wait… but now, I’m seeking to wait with encouragement. I’m praying for God to show me in whatever way He seems fit, that He has not forgotten me. That He knows I’m there watching the hands on the clock slowly tick by, before He opens the door that HE has for me.

The neat thing is that God DOES answer in the little things! When our hearts and mind are open we can see His encouragement. For me, it came in the form of a small weed, a four-leaf clover. Ever since I was a child, I have loved finding them, although for the past several years, I hadn't found a single one. Then, just a few weeks ago when I desperately needed encouragement, I found five of them. And this past Sunday, shortly after hearing the “pray for encouragement” suggestion, I found another one. Today, I found one more. It was as if God book-ended my week with a promise of encouragement. He knows where I am. He knows my heart and my desires. And in His timing, He will open a door I could never have imagined for myself. I just have … to wait!

Ye Are But Dust

The other night after taking my dog out for a potty break, we brought a rather large moth back in with us. I don’t know about you, but bugs’ flying around my house at night is not something that I desire. So, armed with a flip-flop I went moth hunting. Unfortunately, the moth was a bit smarter than me, and ducked down behind the dog’s crate. Discouraged, I resumed my post on the couch; flip flop close, in case I needed it. I was up rather late watching TV and playing on Facebook, but still the moth did not show itself. Finally around 1 am it came out and started fluttering around.

With a vengeance not unlike Zena, I went after the moth with a shrill yell and conquered it.  (I hate the sound of a bug being squashed) As I went to remove the remains of the moth from my shoe, I was quickly reminded of the genetics of a moth. Literally they turn to dust. A slight look of something like ash was on my shoe, but nothing else. Pondering this I returned to my post on the couch thinking how much our life is like a moth. While our bodies usually last a bit longer of course, nevertheless, after we die and decompose, we return to the dust from which we came.

If you think about our lifespan, it is quite interesting. We come from a microscopically tiny fertilized egg and grow to think, eat, live, breathe, love, laugh, cry, hate, mourn - a myriad of emotions and actions. And then we die, in the blink of an eye or an agony of a long illness. It is what we do with the living breaths in between the two microscopic anomalies, which we call “life”, that makes “life”. So I guess the question is, how do you breathe? What do you breathe? For whom do you breathe? Think about your breaths and make sure you take full advantage of them … we never know when that second anomaly will occur.

How do YOU hear?

I read a new book series a few weeks ago, and not only was it an amazing fictional story; it also enlightened me to a new way to look at one of the parables. The Mark of the Lion trilogy by Francine Rivers begins in A.D. 70 with the fall of Jerusalem. It is the story of Hadassah, a young Jewish girl taken captive by the Romans and sold into slavery to a family in Rome. She is not only Jewish, but also a Christian. She lives her life as an example to the family and tells them the stories of not only the Jewish people, but also the stories of Christ and His parables. I won’t give the gist of the book away, because it truly is amazing, but one part in particular was fascinating to me. And it was her telling of the parable about the Prodigal Son. It is not an unfamiliar story for most people; in fact I’m sure if you are old enough you may even have heard with a flannel graph! It’s just one of the most popular bible stories that are taught to children in Sunday School.

You know how the story goes, there’s a dad and two sons. The older son is faithful, follows direction and generally gives the dad no trouble. The younger son is rather wild, wants his inheritance ASAP and after the father acquiesces he goes and blows it all on “wine, women and fast camels”. Long story short, he loses all the money, has to tend pigs (not a kosher job for anyone Jewish), and then decides to offer himself as a slave to his dad. He heads home, and while a fair piece down the road, his dad sees him … and RUNS towards him with open arms. Dad then forgives, restores his son and throws him a party. This in turn really ticks off the older “good” brother. The father’s response is what we all remember, “my son who was lost is now found. All that is mine is now yours.”

We are always taught about the younger brother, who repented and was restored. We learn about the dad, who showed mercy and forgiveness and love. We even sometimes hear about the older brother and how he is both good and bad. Good in that he follows his father’s instructions, but bad in that he is resentful towards his brother. But how often have we looked at it from the 50,000 foot level? Suppose the older son represented the Jewish nation and the younger son the Gentiles. The Jewish nation was given the law, the prophets, King David and the lineage from which Messiah would come. They were given the scriptures about the prophecies of His coming, and like the older son, they KNEW in their head, but not in their heart. The Gentiles knew naught and lived however they desired until one day Jesus opened their eyes and ears to the reality of a forgiving Father who loved them and took them into His arms, even though they had disobeyed and misconstrued the examples given to them.  Isn’t it fascinating how when Jesus said “he who has ears to hear, let him hear” he implies that it is not our physical ears but our spiritual ones that really need to listen up?

Honoring a Hero

Senses can become dulled when they are not used. And my “patriotic sense” had been lulled into that dull sense of security because I feel safe. And because of that sense of security I did not necessarily always think about the men and women serving our country. However, that changed this past week. On Thursday, a Hero arrived home to this small town. He was met with crowds of everyday Americans, some who knew him and many who did not; crying, waving flags and saluting as the motorcade drove through the town from the airport. It was a homecoming yes, but not in the sense of joy. Our brave hero came home not to live life, but to rest in peace. Twenty-four year old 1^st Lt. Robert Collins was killed in action on April 7 while on duty in Iraq, not even six months after his arrival. 

This past Saturday, the last large gathering of his short life occurred. His funeral. On the front row were his mother, father and fiancé. Seeing his flag covered casket in front of the stage of a large church in town, grieved me. But even more so, were the faces of the three figures on that front row. He was an only child. His parents will now grow old with no wedding to plan, or grandchildren to embrace.  They are now parents who have had to bury their only child. And my heart weeps for them. His fiancé will never know the joy of picking out china patterns, a wedding dress and dreaming of babies and a future together with him.

I sat in the pew listening to the words of comfort from ministers and friends, watching the still pictures of his life fly by on the video screen, tears streaming down my face. I looked around me and saw the hundreds of other people, some like me who did not know the young man at all, but wanted to come and show support for the family. The additional hundred motorcycle riders patiently waiting out in the hot sun for two hours, holding flags as the motorcade arrived and saluting as it left. The untold numbers of military men and women, in full dress uniform, scattered throughout the congregation showing their support of a fellow comrade in arms.  Perhaps the most touching moment of all was at the end when someone from the military spoke of his exemplary service in his short career in overseas. She then kneeled and presented his parents with the Purple Heart and his fiancé with the Bronze Star.  A soft “attenTION” was heard when the casket was carried to the vehicle that would carry him to his final resting place. And, although I did not attend the graveside ceremony, I can imagine taps being played, a twenty-one-gun salute heard, and a beautiful presentation of the American flag to his family.

The honor, dignity and gratefulness shown to our hero’s, and specifically 1^st Lt. Robert Collins has awakened my senses. Thank you men and women, both those who are serving presently and in the past and those who have died while serving. Thank you thank you thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You willingly give of yourself to protect people who don’t even know you, may not like you and some that unfortunately hate you. But you don’t care. You defend a piece of parchment that was written and signed over two hundred and thirty years ago when a group of men said “enough”. You serve for a higher purpose. A purpose of Freedom, knowing that ALL men were created equal and deserve the right for Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. I will not forget nor let your service be in vain… 

Old or New?

There is a certain commercial playing on TV right now that I think is absolutely creative. Its the "Kindle" commercial. How cool is it to see before your eyes the many genre's of books available to you in an instant? But every time I think about one day purchasing a Kindle, I see my bookcase and wonder what it would look like. Bare, empty shelves or filled with knickknacks, rather than stories. I see the stacks and rows of books I currently have and begin to think how much I would miss them. The old books, some falling apart with pages so delicate they must be turned with care. Some well worn with dog ears, creased pages and pen markings testifying to the numerous times they have been read. And then there is the smell of a fresh new book, the soft crackling sound that a book spine makes when being opened for the first time and realized - I can't! I cannot trade my dear old and new friends for ANOTHER technological advancement. The Kindle is cool, yes, but friendly? No. I cannot drop tears on it when reading a sad part in a book - it might short out! I can't fold a page over to remember where I left off or dog ear a section I want to read again. Its not easy to snuggle into a blanket on a cold winter day with hot chocolate, and a rectangular pad. Oh no, you want that warm feeling of a page turning while you eagerly anticipate the next page in the book. Or when you are a kid and have a flashlight and a book under your covers, eagerly sneaking a few more pages before you fall asleep.

The Kindle is a neat "toy", but it is just that, a toy. Another gadget to remove me from days gone by. My books are my friends. They comfort me, encourage me, make me laugh, help me cry, scare me and uplift me. All with their words encased in the security of a beautifully illustrated cover just begging me to come see what new adventure awaits! So thank you, creator of the Kindle, for your fascinating invention, but I'll stick to the past. After all, books of some type or another have been around for thousands of years. I'll take my chances of not being on the cutting edge... because sometimes, you just don't wanna get cut.

A Day in the Park

Last Saturday I spent a few hours basking in the sun at a nearby pond and walking trail. I brought a book to read, but after cracking open the spine, realized that I had just recently read it. This saddened me greatly as I was looking forward to reading, but a distraction soon surfaced. A golf cart with some friends I hadn't seen in months drove by as they parked to go fishing. The next hour was pleasantly spent chatting with my friends about everything and nothing. When they left, I once again was alone with my thoughts. I pulled out my laptop and started on some schoolwork, but soon became distracted by the sleepy feelings the warm sun brings about. I love to people watch, so I contented myself with surreptitiously observing the people walking the trail around the pond.

There were a few runners, but most people were out walking their dogs. There were all kinds of dogs! Small ones, large ones, medium sized ones. Some with prissy leashes and clothing, and some that fetched sticks out of the water. (There was in fact one particular dog who was very spoiled... his owner was pushing him or her in... a baby stroller!) But all of them were happy go lucky, tails wagging and tongues lolling from their mouth enjoying the day. The people may not have smiles on their faces, but their four legged friends did! Dogs have an amazing ability. And that ability is to unconditionally love their owners. When I see my own puppy look up at me with those deep brown eyes as he trots over to lay down next to me, I can't help but feel that he really does love me. Granted, animals do not have quite the same capacity for love that humans do - but they are loyal, and fiercely protective. I think they can be an example for us. Life is hard, no question about it. But we can view it in two ways. With a sour look and a poor attitude, or by throwing our heads back, smiling, shaking off the negativity and taking life as it comes while energizing ourself with the love of those around us.

Life is like ... a bag of onions??

In the great words of the Ogre Shrek, on "Shrek", "Ogre's are ... like onions!" well, so are people. Not in the smelly sense (although some are), but in that we have times in our life where events are like onions. Layer upon layer of issues, hurt feelings, and just "stuff" to work through. And of course, what accompanies onions? Lots of tears! When we come to points in life where it seems like all you do is cry, that would be an onion time. It must be dealt with, or it will never go away. Rather it will fester and remain a smelly mess that infests your life. Issues must be faced, hurts addressed, and feelings restored.

For the past roughly two years, I've had a rather large onion that I have been dealing with. Divorce, and all the things leading up too and following it, is probably one of the smelliest and largest onions of them all. There are times when you feel like the layers are never ending and the tears won't stop falling. But they do... in time. And that is where I now find myself. The last layers are being peeled and thrown away. The worst of the tears are over, and this onion is on its way down the garbage disposal. There's been a box in the top of my closet that held all the memories, pictures, cards, notes, etc. from my marriage. Its been there for almost a year, but finally last week it was time for the shredder! As the contents became tiny rectangular pieces of paper, it was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I could breathe again. While Divorce will unfortunately always be a part of my past, it does not and will not dictate my future.

How do you change directions in life?

All my childhood, teenagehood and young adulthood was spent dreaming of and searching for "Mr. Right". Found him (or thought I did), dated and married him. Three years later I'm typing this in the aftermath of a divorce. He left ME. He cheated on ME. He wasn't attracted to ME anymore. Abandonment, rejection, betrayal, pain, hurt... these are a few of the emotions that I have felt for the past two years. Now, don't get me wrong - I know I'm better off without him, because he emotionally drowned me. I have no idea who that person was that I became while married to him. You know the feeling of when you are at a concert and the music is so loud that you hear the buzzing for an hour afterwards? Well, that is what I felt like... that I had a buzzing in my ears and really did not know what was going on around me for the past two years.

So my question is - how do I change directions in my life? When all I was looking for before was the person I would marry. And now I am not. What do I do? How do I figure out who I am and what I should or want to do? I can't live my life in an "escape", nor do I want to. But what DO I do? How do you completely change your mind from what it had been like for 20 years?

That is my cry, my angst - the quest of my soul...