ack.

Justin’s work called this morning (Day 2 of our week off work) at 10 am and said that his vacation (which he requested and had approved three months ago) doesn’t apply anymore, since they find themselves busy and not all of his week off was covered by paid vacation.  By 10:30 am he was back on the phones.  He will be home at 7:30 tonight.

So much for our break.

We were planning on leaving tomorrow morning to visit everyone.  Now Justin works through Friday.

I so hope we’ll be able to laugh about this at some point.  Right now it just feels like we’re taking it up the… well, you know.  I’ve never seen the kid so discouraged.  I know he needed a rest.

Sigh.  Corporate America at its best, everyone.

An Open Letter to the Stinky Young Dude Perusing Anime Right Next to the Wii Games We Wanted to Look At

Dear Stinky Young Dude Perusing Anime Right Next to the Wii Games We Wanted to Look At,

Please take a shower. 

Maybe this will be a scary new first for you, but I would deeply appreciate it.  I know this is Bellingham and everything, and that in some corners of our fair city this kind of behavior may be tolerated, even encouraged, but if this is a “finding yourself” phase in your life which requires you to embrace non-hygiene, please remain in those corners and far away from public areas.  My husband and I were so excited to go spend some gift cards he’d received as a reward from his otherwise thankless job, but our experience at Best Buy was severely handicapped by the fact that, whenever we were within ten feet of you, we had to breathe through our mouths, and even that didn’t really help much.

You didn’t even have the courtesy to wander aimlessly through the store.  No, you stood your ground.  Right in front of the very games which had brought us here on our quest.  For over fifteen minutes.  Was it a display of dominance, I wonder?

You have very long hair.  It seems that this feat of growth and patience could be much more appreciated were it not tangled in a mound of what can only be called scalp-grease.

At my job, I am trapped in small rooms with stinky people for several moments at a time, often for large portions of the day.  Please don’t make me have to endure it during my time off.

Sincerely,

S.L.

cat pee, etc.

The apartments I was so excited to visit once Justin got off work were… stinky.  Like years of cigarette smoke and cat pee and rotting garbage all rolled into one heady, stuffy, nasty scent.

And they had a fruit fly problem in the kitchen.

Off to a few more (hopefully more promising) places tomorrow.

Sigh.

welcome to God’s table, everyone! well, except you, and you, and you…

Easter 2006.  Gulfport, Mississippi.  I’m at a Katrina-fied Easter service — meaning, our church is a large tent.  Our pews, old dented metal folding chairs.  The floor, grass and earth.

The air is hot and humid, or at least very much so for a Washington State girl.  Fans buzz loudly, but the air never really seems to move anywhere.  No one is dressed up save for a few little kids whose parents tried to be at least somewhat normal –the congregation is all bedraggled locals and ran-out-of-clean-clothes-a-few-days-ago relief workers.

The enthusiastic young youth pastor is entering hour two of his well-meaning but fairly insensitively-presented message on how you just have to have hope.  He’s speaking as if these people have simply had a bad week (using a personal example of how he had gotten the stomach flu last week, but had somehow triumphed) — not as if they’ve lost everything they own and most of their neighbors and all of their livelihood. 

He’s prepared no notes — he and the Holy Spirit are just wingin’ this one.  He wanders his way back to the same point a third time, and my team members and I look at each other with crossed fingers, waiting for some sign that the end — of this sermon — is near.

I’ve already had three or four glasses of sweet tea.  It’s the only thing that helps in this kind of situation.

The sermon finally comes to and end, and communion is served to everyone.  Just as we are getting ready to partake of the wine and bread, he adds – ”Out of respect for God, and out of respect for those of us who are Christians, if you have not asked Jesus into your heart, please do not take part in Communion this morning.  The Bible says that it would be wrong for you.  So, if that’s you – go ahead and just get up and put your communion back on that back table.  No one would judge you or anything, we just… Thanks.”

Here it comes:

“But, if you would like to partake this morning, you can ask Jesus into your heart right now and be a part of this family.  Let’s pray.”

I went and took my communion outside the tent by myself on some bleachers out in the hot sun.  I remember my prayer pretty clearly because it’s not how I often talk to God, especially on Easter, of all things.  “God, thanks for loving us and giving us grace even though we fuck it up so badly sometimes.  Thank you for your body, broken for me…  Thank you for your blood, shed for me.”

*****

Justin and I visited a church yesterday morning.  I have some old friends who go there, so it seemed like a good way to maybe get connected again.  

I realized not far into the service that this probably wasn’t the right place.  Justin started scribbling away in the notes section of his bulletin about the scripture we were studying, so I was reluctant to say anything because I thought he must be really into it.  (I was wrong, much to my relief, but I didn’t find that out til later on our way home.)

What the preacher lacked in preparation he made up for in fervency; he spoke often in a raised, intense voice.  I won’t go into the details of the sermon — I think it will suffice to say that I was so discouraged by it that I wrote a note to my husband: “I’m not sure I’m a Christian anymore.”  To which he wisely responded that maybe I’m just not the same Christian.  I started to tear up.  A message like this would have moved the old me like crazy.  Now, it simply sounded like so many spiritual words with little meaning, little resonance.  Lots of words.  Lots of emotion.  Very few ways to practically apply it, at least to the life I lead each day.  Maybe the other ones have it down, I don’t know.

People were invited to get up and take communion in the front and the back of the room.  I think they must do it every week, because no one really explained the significance of communion or the importance of self-examination before taking it.  There was, however, one explanation they didn’t miss.  I was half-expecting it: “Communion is for Christians only.  If you are not a Christian, but would like to join us, you can pray that prayer right now and be a part.”

Justin heard a “Well, that’s perfect,” escape his wife’s lips.

It was quite clear that my heart wasn’t in the right place at that point, so I kept my buns in the seat.  It was a kind of silent protest, really.  I didn’t want someone who “hadn’t said the prayer” to be the only other person not taking part.

We left as soon as we could.

I went home and had to find some answers to where this common church belief comes from.  You’d be amazed at how much debate rages (or has raged) about whether even to let people from other Christian denominations or other churches participate in communion.  Nuts.  I finally just went back to the chapter in 1 Corinthians where it talks about communion.  Here it is:

The Lord’s Supper (1 Corinthians 11: 17-34)

In the following directives I have no praise for you, for your meetings do more harm than good. In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval. When you come together, it is not the Lord’s Supper you eat, for as you eat, each of you goes ahead without waiting for anybody else. One remains hungry, another gets drunk. Don’t you have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you despise the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What shall I say to you? Shall I praise you for this? Certainly not!

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

Therefore, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord. A man ought to examine himself before he eats of the bread and drinks of the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without recognizing the body of the Lord eats and drinks judgment on himself. That is why many among you are weak and sick, and a number of you have fallen asleep. But if we judged ourselves, we would not come under judgment. When we are judged by the Lord, we are being disciplined so that we will not be condemned with the world.

So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for each other. If anyone is hungry, he should eat at home, so that when you meet together it may not result in judgment. 

And when I come I will give further directions.

The argument for preventing people who have not professed faith in Christ is that by doing so, we are protecting them from the judgment that comes from unworthily taking communion.

To me, however, it seems that Christians have once again taken something directed at themselves as directed at non-believers.  When looked at in context, it is clear that Paul is speaking to the church at Corinth, criticizing them for their lack of deference to one another at the Lord’s Supper, as well as the fact that they were treating the Lord’s Supper as just another meal (i.e., some overeating while others went hungry, some getting drunk while some had nothing at all to drink) rather than giving it the sacred honor it was meant to have.  Becuase they were not pausing to examine themselves, because they were not recognizing the significance of the sacrifice of Christ, they were eating and drinking judgment on themselves. 

Paul seems clear: If we judged ourselves, we would not come under judgment.  When we are judged by the Lord, we are being disciplined so that we will not be condemned with the world.  How can we miss that he is speaking not to “the world,” which is, in its own way, already under judgment, but to US?  I know there were plenty of times I took communion unworthily — that is, not having examined myself or remembered Christ, as he asks me to in that moment.  Maybe the focus should have been on our own condition of heart.

It grieves me that we’d use this as an way to keep people from Jesus.  Any way that a person can take even a small step toward him is alright with me.  It’s not my business if they haven’t fully put their faith in Christ yet — I’m just glad they’re looking his direction.  To them, it might just be bread and grape juice.  Big deal.  Jesus ate with sinners all the time and scandalized the religious professionals of his day, but his Church doesn’t seem to embrace his way of doing things.

I’m stealing an argument here from someone else (one J.F. Karr), because I thought it was really good:

The point of this section of the epistle is that the Corinthians were getting drunk at their agape feasts, eating without waiting for others to arrive so that some were deprived of any food etc. St Paul’s concern is that the Eucharist (which, in the primitive Church, was incorporated into agape feasts) was being desecrated by their bad behaviour and disregard for their fellow believers (other members of the body of Christ). Consequently, they were losing the significance of the Eucharist, treating it as common food, and desecrating it by consuming it in a raucous atmosphere. That is what he was trying to correct.

I think it is a huge leap to say that his intent was to “protect” the unbaptised or unconverted from bringing “damnation” (more accurately translated divine judgement) on themselves by being included at the Lord’s table.

Jesus ate with sinners, and thus he called them to repentance and faith in Himself. Repentance and a looking to Christ for forgiveness should be the only requirements for eating at His table, IMO. After all, sinners need to receive Him – far more than the “properly prepared” need to.

So there’s what I’ve been thinking about.  Something to chew on (perhaps, or one to skip — I know it’s a long one).  Let me know if you have any thoughts to share.  At least I feel a little better.  That, and I amused my husband, who watched me feverishly search the net for arguments and my Strong’s concordance for the original Greek, etc., for the better part of an hour…

For the Glorification of God

Quick update, and then jumping into what’s on my mind this evening:

I started my new job two weeks ago, and am finding it very much what I hoped for.  The more regular schedule and less frenetic pace are helping me to regain some sanity, for which I am grateful, as I’m sure Justin is.  I do feel odd donning scrubs and a white lab coat, they seem so real-jobbish yet pajama-ish, but I’m quickly finding my place there and enjoying those I work with.  I’m almost able to work on my own and feel a supreme satisfaction each time I stick someone’s finger and am actually able to make it bleed enough to easily fill the capillary tube (this is something I had no idea took a bit of skill when I was simply donating at the center and was on the other side of the counter).  Simply put, I’m having fun and am thankful for this new experience.

*****

IF I WOULD HAVE KNOWN the tension that would accompany trying to live as a Christian in the Christian community following a season spent apart from that community, I would have either (a) never left in the first place, or (b) never come back. 

At least, this is how I feel much of the time.

Statements that once I responded to with great enthusiasm and nods of approval ring hollow and empty now.  During my time spent away from the Clubhouse, I lost the ability to hear things like an insider does.  I hear them and inwardly I’m thinking to myself, what the hell is that supposed to mean, exactly?

I want to relate.  I do.  But communicating sometimes is the churchland equivalent of trying to hold a conversation in fluent Spanish when the last time you spoke it was in Spanish II back in high school ten years ago.  You’re limited to broken phrases only, and the meaning never seems to come through very clearly.  It’s frustrating, no matter which side of the conversation you’re on.

Buechner writes about it in algebraic terms:

“X + Y = Z.  If you know the value of one of the letters, you know something.  If you know the value of two, you can probably figure out the whole thing.  If you don’t know the value of any, you don’t know much.

“Preachers tend to forget this.  ‘Accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior and be saved from your sins,’ or something like that, has meaning and power and relevance only if the congregation has some notion of what, humanly speaking, sin is, or being saved is, or who Jesus is, of what accepting him involves.  If preachers make no attempt to flesh out these words in terms of everyday human experience (maybe even their own) but simply repeat with variations the same old formulas week after week, then the congregation might just as well spend Sunday morning at home with the funnies.”

Some days, I’m quite certain that my faith would not have survived but for Buechner and Yancey and Lamott.  Scratch that.  Most days.

I am blessed beyond belief to have a pastor who does flesh out what the words mean in terms of his own life, and it is like drinking a tall, cold glass of water to listen to him speak.  Grant is a rarity.  He spoke on a passage in James regarding taming the tongue this morning, and had the gall to declare near the end of his sermon: “I realize this is not easy.  I almost ruined my marriage with this thing [pointing to his tongue].  I almost lost the trust of my children with this thing.”  It’s truly mind-blowing to hear a pastor talk about personal weakness truthfully, rather than framing it as a joke or sarcasm.  He always brings it back around to the fact that he struggles with things too.  It’s such a relief to know I’m not the only one who has just as many screw-up moments as I do victories (on good days).

*****

Other spots aren’t so easy.

Someone asked Justin the other day what the purpose of marriage was.  Justin replied that it’s a lot of things: companionship, a support system, love, encouraging each other’s dreams, growing as an individual as well as helping your companion to grow, etc.  Justin asked him for his own answer, and his response was this: “Well, I think it’s about Jesus.”

Just that.  “It’s about Jesus.”

We were at small group later that night and the question was resurrected.  Another person easily chimed in: “Oh, it’s for the glorification of God.”

X + Y = Z.  I felt like I was the only one in the room who had taken crazy pills.  To everyone else, it seemed the answers made perfect sense without any form of explanation.  (Well, to almost everyone else.  Justin tried to make his point by answering every question for the remainder of the evening with the phrase, “For the glorification of God,” but everyone just laughed).

These statements bother me a great deal for many reasons, not the least of which is the simple fact that they’re not very different from things I’m sure I used to say all the time.  I spoke of spiritual concepts — to be honest, God himself — in such certain, casual terms, never taking the time to explain to anyone else (or even discover for myself) what such lofty phrases meant in my actual, everyday, very human existence.  I knew how to get the answer right.  Application was of little importance.

As we were talking about the past week’s sermon on tempation later in the night, one of the questions provided to us asked about how we respond to temptation.  “The Armor of God,” someone said. 

What?

At this point I need to back up and say that I don’t have a problem with people saying that something’s about Jesus or quoting something in the Bible.  We’re okay there.  What frustrates me is when people throw out spiritual-sounding answers so easily without explaining what they mean, taking the time to “flesh out these words in terms of everyday human experience (maybe even their own)…”

I asked him what he meant by that, if he really went through the Armor of God when he was tempted.  It was a sincere question, but I purposely pushed the envelope, wanting to get to what he really meant.  He laughed uncomfortably, and said, no, he doesn’t do that.  I pressed him, asked him how he personally handles it when he’s being tempted.  There weren’t any easy answers at that point, and at that moment I was most able to hear where he was coming from.  It was real.  It was unsure.  It was human.  It was an arena that I can understand.

Would my time be better spent at home reading the funnies?  Depends on when you ask me.  I like spending time with these people and would have them over for game night any day of the week, but I sometimes feel I might be better off saving my spiritual vulnerability for elsewhere.  I say it often, but it’s true — I’m a messy Christian, and I’m not interested so much anymore in having right answers as in having authentic ones.  I’ve had enough Sunday School answers for the rest of my life.  I’m comfortable talking about God’s holiness and talking about ways to grow closer to living it out, but would just as soon we spoke honestly about our own lack of it when it comes to our daily lives.

Tempted as I am sometimes, I’m not sure I’ll be at home with the funnies quite yet.  I can get frustrated with lack of communication, but the truth is that I have to be willing to spell out in clear and understandable words where I’m at in my own everyday real life.  I have to be willing to have courage and speak words from my heart, regardless of whether people think I’m a poor Christian or a poor example or an annoyance because I try to make people say what they mean (at least eventually).  I can’t ask of others what I’m not willing to do myself.  We’ll see.  It may be that we never get past Christianese and J and I will need to move on in search of counterparts who speak Human, but that time hasn’t come quite yet.  I’m still hoping that we can find some common ground and I’ll be able to feel okay being imperfect and doubtful sometimes.

I just hope it’s soon.  The journey is far too long not to have some encouraging companions along the way. 

Deepest thanks to Justin, who is the most trustworthy, honest and encouraging companion one could ask for.  I love reading our Yancey out loud each night and struggling through this thing together.  Justin, you are God’s grace to me in human form, and I love you.

I’m tired of it looking like 5:00 pm all day every day…

I’d just like to say that today – Wednesday, January 11th – is the TWENTY-FOURTH STRAIGHT DAY OF RAIN here.

Normally our winters don’t even remotely live up to their reputation — but lately… sick.

Better start building now…

walking out the door

permit me just one… and I’ll be done.

***
You know exactly what I’m talking about if you’ve ever been there.  That moment.  The one where everything has been said that needs to be said; that and probably then some.  Enough said to know it’s over, and that, in just a few moments, you’ll walk out the door different than you walked in.

In my case, in just a few moments, I’d be walking out the door with a backpack, four DVD’s (only one of them watched), and a big bag of spinach mozzarella ravioli from Costco that I’d used to make dinner for him just last week.  (I grabbed it from the freezer, partially out of spite.  Go ahead, break my heart; but I’ll be damned if you get my Costco ravioli).

You know it’s coming, the closing of the door behind you.  You can feel it nearing with each pound of your heart. 

But for that moment, you just.  Can’t.  Move.

It’s suffocating, that moment there in-between the words spoken and the courage to walk out the front door.  You know now that you can’t be with the one sitting with you on the other end of the couch/bed/deck step/name your place.  But as humiliating as it is, to be sitting there, continuing to share that space although your presence there is neither desired nor warranted, it’s easier to bear than walking out into the darkness alone, knowing you’ll never be back — that you’ll never again share this space, painful and silent as it has now become.

Even if you know it’s not right.  Which I’d sensed and maybe even known (deep-down in the non-obvious way that’s perfectly clear only in hindsight) for a few weeks.

(I said once that nausea knew my relationships better than I did — and it’s true.  It’s simple fact: when I’m going to get broken up with, I have a very peculiar nausea for four to six hours beforehand.  You’d think that if I was given a sixth sense of sorts, it could at least be useful for something.  Like when animals get all crazy before an earthquake.  Or when someone knows to buy a lotto ticket.  You know, something useful. 

Me?  No way.  I feel pukey just before getting dumped.  It doesn’t keep me from mortal danger.  It doesn’t provide me the financial means to buy my own island.  It simply makes me feel like crap about five hours earlier than I have to.  Really.  Where’s the fun in that?)

The moment, dreaded as it is, does eventually arrive when you close that door behind you.  I wanted to slam it.  I desperately wanted to leave angry for once, rather that saying all sorts of pretty things about how I understand, even though I’m hurt, etc. etc. etc. 

I wanted to walk out and slam the door.  But I couldn’t find my flip-flops.  Anywhere.  This did nothing for my exit.  He then found them for me and gently brought them to me, which made me angrier.  (I could’ve strangled him).  He quietly asked me if I wanted my movies.  (I went for the freezer).

Then I caught the pained look of I-have-no-idea-what-to-do-but-I-hate-that-I’ve-hurt-you on his face, and, just like I always end up doing, I softened somewhat.  When I walked out into the stillness of the cool clear night a little while later, I shut the door softly behind me.

And realized that despite my hesitance to leave, you couldn’t have kept me on that couch for anything.

It’s so hard to trade what is for what could possibly be.  Which is why we sit curled up on couches, or linger awkwardly in the passenger seat of a car, or stand there like an idiot in the kitchen, not knowing what to say.  It’s scary.  Even if what we have in our hands isn’t what we really need or even what we know we want deep-down… we can’t bring ourselves to unpry our tightly wound fingers from our prize.  Even if I know I’d rather be single and not care if the phone ever rang than be supposedly happy and wait for one that doesn’t… yeah.  Can’t.  Move.

My hand always has to be forced.

But I found that as I walked to my car that night and drove home along quiet streets, what was had already begun to let go, even as the tears streamed down my cheeks.  I began to hope again, just a little bit, not for just anything, not for just anyone, but for what my heart has always hoped could possibly be.

Someday I won’t have to move.  Or walk out the door.  Cool thought.

***

Of course it was not a fun night, but a few days later, I’m doing great.  Work is awesome, and I am happy to throw myself into it for the time being.  We’ll both be just fine.

#4…

is once again wide open.

i’m ok, it wasn’t about bad intentions.  sometimes people just aren’t ready; i get that.

but I’m sad, so if you get the chance, remind God that I need a hand today.

the knife

I write much of this in response to the following, which I received a few days ago:

Kind of disapointed that you’d post this on the world wide web for everyone to read. This woman obviously has some mental issues and I’m sure it would humiliate her to know that you posted her embarrassing incident on the internet. I guess the sermon that night wasn’t on forgiveness, or grace. Tell me, was it on reaching hard for attention?

I know that I was being baited here, but I can’t help it.  I’ll bite.

[Please know, everyone, that I wouldn't post anything here that would ever intentionally hurt anyone.  Only one person from this particular church reads my ramblings here, and he watched the whole thing happen anyway. 

The way I deal with the crazy happenings in my life is to laugh about them.  People and life and situations in general are pretty stinkin' funny if you stop to think about it.  This story, although it was scary when it happened, quickly turned funny.  So I shared it in a medium where the story can be, with no risk at all to the woman involved, as she is lost in complete anonymity.  This has nothing to do with lack of forgiveness -- I harbor no resentment toward this woman and hope she gets help, as embarrassment will cease to be the biggest of her worries if she continues to be violent in public.]

OK enough trying to convince you folks that I’m not actually a terrible person.  The bigger issue here, and the one I really want to address, is this: why is it that the most harsh criticism a follower of Christ can expect is from another follower of Christ?

I don’t know Carl at all.  Maybe he was having a bad day.  Maybe he knows someone who struggles with mental illness and this is a sensitive subject for him.  I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, and avoid judgments as to Carl as a person.  But I do want to talk about sentiments like the ones he shared — because I think at some point or another we’ve all been on the receiving end of — and when we’re honest, spoken — similar things.

You want to know the main reason I very nearly left the Church?  Pretty simple.  I got tired of getting knifed.  Luckily my memories of those years are starting to fade, and I’ve forgotten many of the things that were said to me during my formative years.  But they left marks all the same.  The scars show up now as little mental tics, where I have to work it all out in my mind how I’ll come across if I say or do such and such a thing (Will this person think I’m _____________?), where I have to walk through my fear that someone will judge me as unworthy all over again.  It takes all I am to leave myself unguarded.

What does it look like to get knifed?  Most often it involves “constructive criticism” that leaves you feeling torn apart inside… from a person who has no right or permission to give it.  You know.  You’ve been there.  Someone you barely know, who barely knows you, sits you down to tell you “what’s on their heart.”  If it’s a particularly skilled person, they’ll play the God card in there too.  So now, both God and this person feel you’ve blown it big-time.

Many people who leave the church are simply tired of getting ripped apart by other Christians who have such a keen interest in removing that plank in your eye that they don’t care how much of you they carve out along with it.  These folks didn’t have a problem with Jesus.  They had a problem with people who were so sure they represented him.  His reps may have even been right sometimes — but they were so damn mean about it that it sure felt wrong.

Call me a wimp, call me super sensitive, whatever — but is it really so impossible to criticize or disagree with someone without going for the jugular?  Why are we so ungracious in the name of Grace?  Why do I get the feeling sometimes that other Christians are the least likely to be for me; as if, the more they point out my flaws, the less God will notice their own?

Kids, that last sentence stung, even though it was from a complete stranger who, I’m certain, would probably not say something like that were he to know me better.  Grace and forgiveness are huge to me; it hurt to be accused of a lack of it, especially in a situation that genuinely stretched me.  And there’s not a very long span of time that goes by that I don’t fight insecurity regarding my self-centered nature.  I know this is a weak spot already, even without a stranger telling me so.  I mean, geez — I’m a writer and a musician — what a lethal combo. 

I’d still rather be self-centered than self-righteous, however.

Here’s the point of this, admittedly my worst post ever: there’s a fairly decent-sized list of folks who could have shared the above feeling with me, and I would have taken it just fine.  Of course, they would have left off that last sentence, and simply shared how they felt without telling me who I am.  But they even could have told me that it didn’t sound very gracious, and I would have been ok.  Want to know why?  Because they use their knife skillfully – for my benefit and not my harm – and they have permission to go in there in the first place.  Plus, they probably would have emailed me about it.

Jeanne Mayo shared a sermon once about wineskins.  She educated us on the entire process.  All the flesh has to be removed from the wineskin, or else the wine will take on the flavor of the flesh rather than retaining its own.  One step in the process involves a very fine, very sharp knife which is used to remove any small pieces of the flesh that remain.  It does its work very efficiently, but absolutely must be in skilled hands — rough or unsteady hands will puncture the wineskin and it will become useless.

She said two things:  1.  Give people permission to use the knife in your life – to call you on the areas of your life that still look more like flesh than wine.  Tell them they have that right; ask for it, demand it of them.  But only give this sharpest of knives to those you can trust, because harsh words of criticism can wound deeply and sometimes cause damage that’s near-impossible to repair. 

2.  If you’re not sure whether or not you hold the knife in someone’s life, and you feel the need to say something – ASK THEM FOR THEIR PERMISSION FIRST.  If you have the right, share your heart, after you’ve examined it.  If you don’t, keep your trap shut.  They – not you – determine whether or not you speak.  Very unpopular in our culture, but we’d have a whole lot less walking wounded if it were more common.

This might sound ridiculous, but I’ve done it.  I’ve asked for permission.  It’s pretty simple.  “Am I someone who has the right to speak into your life?”  Easy enough.  Lets them know that I am more concerned about them than I am about being right, or even having a say.  And it lets me know whether or not to speak.  It’s a big deal, and not to be taken lightly.  First, I’ve never had a person say no (not that I attempt this very often anyway)… and they know that I speak because I genuinely care, and not because I’m trying to out-spiritual them.

I’m not saying Carl should have asked my permission before disagreeing with me.  He needs no special okay from me to do so.  But he could have left the personal to those who actually know me personally, and who have the right – and the skill – to carve in a way that leaves me better rather than bleeding.

Just some thoughts here on a rainy Saturday morning.  Take ‘em or leave ‘em.

A whole new way that I am a loser…

In perfect cadence with my never-ending march of bad luck… I, Stacey Rich, have been cut from a blog contest.  Augh!  The humanity!

The verdict:

“To be perfectly honest, your feed never provided me with any of your updated posts. Either it’s the blogs.com service or it’s Bloglines. Either way, none of it got through. I went back and read the last 10 entries anyways and while they obviously show your personality, I’m a bit of an information fiend, and they didn’t provide me with something I didn’t already know.”

This Guy doesn’t think I’m very original.  I’m inclined to agree with him, but there’s that part of me that wants to say, “But I wasn’t trying to be a good writer these last few months (if indeed a writer is what I should ever call myself)!  I was attempting to stay sane during a quite long season of, well, total crap.  Please, please, visit this post, or maybe this one, and you will TOTALLY change your tune, mister.  I am nothing if not a serious and disciplined wordsmith.”

[I'm not exactly sure I'm original even when I'm trying, so it's kind of a moot point.  (It's like a cow's opinion.  It's moo.  Doesn't matter).]

I am tossing the following ideas around, in the interests of making my blog more palatable/keeping it around for the amusement and edification of generations of bored cubicle-ridden blog-addicts yet to come:

• writing a bio for my as-of-yet unpublished book, asking for the honest opinions of my loyal readership
• searching for that one thing that hasn’t already been blogged about, and being the first to blog about it (my double-jointed elbows are a topic worthy of serious consideration)
• posts in pig latin
• transcribing entire Friends episodes (who doesn’t like that idea?)
• random-association poetry (oh, wait.  Been done.  Dang!)
• revealing pictures of a certain brother with chili-puke on his face (also been done.  But I’ll never tell where)…
• Hawaiian shirt day 

It still was a little sad to find out I’d been in a contest, only to subsequently find that I’d been cut.  It’s SO me.

So, Jeremy-God-of-Blogdom, of Ensight.org fame, thanks for not makin’ my day.  (And for the record, this is all in good fun, ’cause I found it more amusing than anything).