The Day the Lord Returned and Left My Brother Behind

It's April Fool's Day!

What is the best prank you ever played on anyone, or had someone play on you?

For me, it was undoubtedly that September morning in 1988, the day that Edgar C. Whisenant predicted would be the Second Coming of Christ (88 Reasons Why the Rapture is in 1988). Perhaps you remember the whirlwind of controversy his book stirred up. People everywhere were either laughing their heads off at the misguided minister, or preparing their hearts for the Rapture.

My dad was preparing the practical joke of a lifetime. 

If You Give a Mouse a Facebook Account

(If you are not a parent or elementary school teacher who has read the book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, you may not get this. You may not get it anyway. I'm okay with that.)

If you give a mouse a Facebook account, she will want to post a status.

Help Me Identify My Love Language

If you are not familiar with Gary Chapman’s book The Five Love Languages  (how we best express and receive love),  here is a list of them, with my comments after each.

I was wondering, can you help me figure out which one of the five is my love language?

My Last Build-a-Bear

Do you see what is wrong with this bear? If you do, chances are you like to sew. You may also like to quilt, can, freeze, knit, bake and raise goats. You probably enjoy reading directions.

I am personally afraid of my sewing machine, but when Ruthie asked me to help her with the Build-a-Bear kit she got for her birthday, I thought, How hard can it be? The box says, "Age 6+." I tossed aside the directions and showed her how to stitch around the thing. Like me, Ruthie is easily  bored, so I ended up finishing the project. I realized there was a problem when I started to stuff the last arm. I retrieved the directions and found that bear bottoms are better places for "whip stitches" than bear arms.

When I held Ruin-a-Bear up and examined her clubbed arm, I felt depressed and slightly mad at my friends who sew beautiful PJ's for their kids at Christmastime and put away peaches. I wanted to throw the bear against a wall and run away to an eternal library. Thankfully, when Ruthie saw her finished project, she grabbed it, hugged it, and said, "I'm going to sleep with her every night!" (Phew!)

I'm OK with not being good at everything I put my hand to. I know what I am good at. It's not sewing. I won't be opening a seamstress shop any time soon.

Do you ever come across people trying to do something they weren't meant to do? Anyone can  learn a new trick, but may not be a "natural" at it. It's a beautiful thing to stay happily on the path you landed on naturally (i.e., were gifted by God to do).

I can learn to sew, and perhaps should, for the sake of my four daughters. OK, that's it. I'm going to start. Tomorrow.

What comes naturally for you?

Applebees and Flat-Screened TV's

     

The other day I went to Applebees for a little R&R (Ruthie and Rebecca).  The two kids had Bookworm Club cards to redeem for free meals. Settling happily atop spinning seats, we ordered lunch, and began working our way through the trivia and puzzles on the kids’ menus. Not five minutes into our “girls’ day out,” the restaurant manager glided over asked my children what TV station would suit their dining pleasure. That’s when I looked around and counted nine flat-screen TV’s in our immediate seating area. Beyond that, I stopped counting after eighteen.

I wish I could tell you that in that instant, I politely told the man that the decision was up to me, the mother, and that my girls and I were spending quality time together--which for us, translates into the dying art of dinner conversation. I wish I could say that I sent him slinking away, red-eared, with the remote control cradled in his armpit. But caught off guard by his strange offer, I heard myself sheepishly reply,  “Do you get Animal Planet?” And with a click, our girl-time went down the drain as R & R sat mesmerized by a show on the rescue of abused and decaying dogs. When it got graphic enough to elicit more than a few frowns from neighboring tables, Channel Surfer turned the girls’ attention to another screen, flashing with transformable superheroes and villains.

Sitting there watching my two young barstool potatoes, I felt violated. I had not put my work on hold and driven twenty-five miles in a gas-guzzling Suburban and eaten transfatty food to let my kids vegetate in front of a TV screen.  And yet I realized this is where we’ve come to as a nation. Families that spend mealtimes staring at the tube, stuffing their mouths full and ignoring each other, are no longer confined to the American living room. “TV dinners” are now a dining-out sensation. Applebees, I guess it really is “a whole new neighborhood."

Never Hula Hoop with Barbie

Yesterday our church ladies put on a Hawaiian themed pool party at the YMCA. Women were expected to swim for a while, then enjoy each other’s company looking like drowned rats. The idea was to create an atmosphere that would make unchurched women feel "comfortable" among us religious folks.

Huh?

I secretly thought it was the most hairbrained idea I’d ever heard of. I mean, what woman over a size (fill in the blank) wants to socialize in a bathing suit? And that among strangers? I ached for us women expected to strip ourselves down to such vulnerability. Then I stopped aching, thinking no one would show up.

I had to show up, as I was asked to provide the entertainment for the after-pool party. I brought my girls, figuring at least they would have a good time. (Little girls are typically more comfortable in exposed skin than we grown-ups are.) I dumped my happy kids in the water and sat on the bench, still in my church clothes (I turn purple and shake uncontrollably in water less than 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Leave me alone about it; I might die and you’d be sorry.).

I sat there, warm and dry, watching thirty women (a third of which were visitors) splash around, enjoying their bathing bash. They played ball and giggled with my girls (insert tinge of guilt here), and walked around the pool as uninhibited as naked toddlers. No one seemed to mind exposing blinding-white skin, spider veins, and thighs that look like the surface of a lake on a windy day. No one that is, except me.

But there was something so beautiful, so precious, about every wrinkle, dimple and sag exposed in that room. Those imperfections comprised one big gift exchange among my sisters. They were the language of unleashed love: "I love you enough to trust you to love me in return, just the way I am." Part of me—the part that doesn’t mind being cold—wanted to strip my rippled self and jump in with them.

After the pool party the drowned rats entered the community room for fun and games. Uh-oh. Could I compete with the fun they’d had in the Arctic? Well, I certainly tried. I taught them how to Hula dance, seeing as I just returned from a trip to You-Tube. (My daughters later told me I looked like a crippled chicken, trying to swing my booty like that.) Then I taught Darcie-the-Barbie how to hula-hoop. “Just watch me,” I told her. I hurled my hula-hoop directly to the floor three times. She got hers going instantly, and stood there modeling her spinning waist ring, saying she’d never tried it before. I think she was lying (wink wink).

Enjoy the following video: Wrinkled Ladies

Bible Characters on Facebook

(Just for fun, for my fellow Facebook addicts out there)



Abraham just gave Lot a L'il Green Patch.

Noah needs more farm animals.

Suggest friends for Job.

Isaac is now married.

Solomon--Interested In: women

Adam has just added you as his relative.

Elijah just took the "What Movie are You?" Quiz and the result is: Gone with the Wind.

Hide Baby Moses.

Ignore Delilah.

Absalom just took the "How will you die?" Quiz and the result is: Hanged by hair from a tree.

Ruth just harvested barley in Farm Town.

The Apostle Paul just sent you a Holy Kiss. Kiss him back!

Jonah just took the "What Movie are You?" Quiz and the result is: The Perfect Storm.

Saul just threw a spear at David.

Abraham just took the "What Bible Character are You?" Quiz and the result is: Abraham.

God wrote on Belshazzar's Wall.

Inside the Mind of a Controlling Woman

Sunday, November 20, 2005 at 2:31 PM EST

So I'm at this wedding reception and I go to get a drink, only to realize they've run out of beverages. "Why do I always find myself in these situations?" I mutter. "Am I the only organized person on the face of the earth?" I look around and see that no one is rushing to remedy the problem at hand and decide it's once again time to get involved.

I hate this! Part of me chides, "Let it go, Mary. The world won't end and you won't die if this party goes on without anything to drink." Then I notice the bride sipping from the bottom of her wine glass. I look at my watch. Three hours left--to dance, socialize, and get thirsty. I can't let this happen. I suck it up and casually stride over to her mother, the hostess. I kindly offer to "help" replenish the beverage station. She gives me the you're-only-a-guest-here stare and I flit away red-faced. For a moment I'm tempted to become part of the fresh floral arrangments and keep my mouth shut. But then, I wouldn't get watered.

My reputation is again superceded by the needs of others and I march with determination toward my son. Not only is he well respected (unlike us "controllers") but he's got connections. I explain the problem only to hear him say he'd rather not be bothered with it at the moment. This time I perservere; he knows what I'm all about. And I know he's my son and I'm his mother. In a few moments I'm giving orders to the attendants. They scurry about without question as guests look on, including the hostess, wondering who I think I am. I don't care. We need drinks.

Long story short, the bridegroom was quoted in the Cana Times for serving the best wine in Galilee at his wedding. My name was never mentioned, nor did anyone ever thank me for saving the day and the wedding. Do I care? Never! It was my Son's doings, anyway. He did tell me later that they needed me. That was enough. But I do hate to control. Really.

(This story adapted from the Gospel of John, chapter two.)