A Wretch Like Me (by Jennifer Lee)

I read a lot of blogs. I comment on a lot of blogs. If you want to increase your traffic, leaving comments on other blogs is a great way to do that. Increased traffic has never been my goal when leaving a comment, it just happens to be a by-product of said practice. And let's face it -- I am rarely at a loss for words.

I realize that part of the blogging experience is getting feedback from your readers, but sometimes I simply want to savor the words I've just read and reflect on them.

Jennifer Lee has a blog that leaves me speechless on a fairly regular basis, and she has graciously agreed to write a guest post for me.

Enjoy...

***

I asked my pastor the question the other day at my kitchen table as I poured him a second cup of coffee: "Pastor, do you think I'm a wretch?"

His response: "Absolutely."

I neither spit out my coffee, nor threw it at him in disgust.

Instead, I nodded in agreement and responded with this: "And you know what, Pastor? I'd say you're a wretch, too."

***

There was a time in my life when the accusation would have offended me. But that was before I took a good, long look at my heart. That was before I saw myself among the most depraved characters of the Bible.

I almost cringe to read the words I just wrote -- which puts me among the worst of sinners -- for this is the first I have met some of you. For the record, I am an Iowa farmer's wife, a mother of two, a women's Bible study leader, and an adjunct professor at a Christian college. But I am also this: First-Class Wretch.

I am part Pilate and part Peter. I am the doubter, the mocker, the Pharisee.

And I am the criminal on a cross beside Jesus, deserving the punishment He got, but getting a crown instead.

But I am also this: madly in love with the One who would make this wretch His treasure.

There are some Christians who don't like it when we talk like this. They don't like it when we say we're wretches. They say that when we continue to sin daily, we put Christ up on that cross and crucify Him over and over again. There are some who say that after we become joint heirs with Christ, we traded in our wretched rags for robes of righteousness. End. Of. Story.

Yet, I cast my eyes down and

see how stony my heart,

feel how cold my love,

and watch how prideful my ways,

And I know

that I know

that I know

that I am still

a wretch.

"Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" -- Romans 7:24

***

A friend of mine knows it, too. She had a package delivered to my front door a couple weeks ago. I ripped into the cardboard box to find a gray T-shirt with the words: "I am the wretch the song refers to."

More than 230 years after John Newton wrote the words, I feel them in my marrow: "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me." So I slip that screenprinted Truth over my head and wear those words as a badge of honor -- not because I'm proud of my wretchedness, but because I know the One who covers it.

But to some, my choice of fashion reeks of heresy. The shirt was the source of a week-long debate a couple years ago on a Christian web forum.

One person wrote: "I wouldn't feel comfortable wearing that slogan. I used to be a wretch in need of salvation, but since God has done this, I am not to call myself a wretch anymore."

Another wrote: "Paul says we're the righteousness of God in Christ Jesus, so which is it? Wretched or righteous?"

As for me, I'm both.

There are a lot high-falutin' words like justification and sanctification that you could use to describe all of this -- words that this Iowa mama is still trying to figure out. The way I see it, we're called to become more and more like Jesus every day.

I guess that would be a little bit like saying we're becoming less and less wretched.

For me, that process has looked a little messy sometimes because of my two-faced heart: I don't want to be bad, but I am anyway. I know the law, but I can't keep it. I've done much wrong -- and by the end of today -- I'll do even more.

I am in constant need of a Savior, stumbling my way Home. As my 7-year-old daughter Lydia says when referring to the act that started this whole sin-mess: "I'd like to rip that snake's eyeballs out."

Me, too, Lydia. Me, too.

And so tonight, when I go to bed, I'll bow low once again and marvel at grace. And with a lump in this throat, I'll whisper my thanks to the only One holy enough to cover my wretchedness. Someone once said that the only thing of our very own that we contribute to our salvation, is the sin that made it necessary.

And that I know very well.

Lord Jesus, I am a sinner in constant need of a Savior -- not just once but every single day. Wretched woman that I am, who will deliver this body from death? The answer, thank God, is You. Thank you for your amazing grace, that saved a wretch like me. Amen.

Photo: Self-portrait of wretch in wretched shirt, a gift from a friend.


To read more from Jennifer, visit her at Getting Down with Jesus

The Matrix

(Yes, I know - my photo editing skilz are epic, aren't they?)

Today is my buddy Steph's birthday.

Now I could spend a bunch of time explaining to you why I superimposed her picture onto a Matrix movie poster, and wax poetic about voodoo chicken necklace wearing hound dogs and the alternate universes of Texas and Georgia, but some things should just remain a mystery.

Besides, it would take too long.

And I'm feeling sort of lazy.

Which is cool, because this is for Steph.

And she's probably feeling lazy too.

Trust me. I know these things...

So, in honor of Steph's birthday, may I offer this celebratory video in her honor:



Okay, so most of you are thoroughly confused. But you can't honestly tell me you've never made that observation while reading my blog in the past. You know you have...

Now would you be a dear and go wish her a happy birthday over at
The Red Clay Diaries? If you like this blog, you'll be all up in that one. Promise.

Happy Birthday, Steph!

In Praise of Useless Information (by Billy Coffey)

It’s somewhat alarming to think about how many things I forget during the course of a normal day. The exact number eludes me; I forget how many things I’ve forgotten.

There are little things like forgetting where I’ve put my keys and wallet, and also big things like where I’ve put my children. I’ve forgotten appointments, to eat, to set my alarm, and, I noticed today, the fact that the oil needs to be changed in my truck.

The reasons for this may be many or one, depending upon whom I ask. My wife says it’s because I’m too tired, my friends say I’m too busy. Standard excuses for everyone with a short attention span. My mother, however, offered her own reason in her typically loving way:

“Your head’s too full of useless stuff,” she said. “There’s no room for things that matter.”

I thought about that and had to agree that what she said was at least partly right. I wasn’t sure if it were possible to have so much in my head that nothing else could get in, but I did have a lot of seemingly useless stuff stuck in there.

Stuff like the fact that a dragonfly can eat its own weight in thirty minutes. Or that Hollywood was founded by a man who wanted to build a community based on his conservative religious principles. Couvade is a custom in which a father simulates the symptoms of childbirth. Einstein went his entire life without ever wearing a pair of socks. I could go on.

Where I’ve managed to scrape up such tidbits of uselessness is beyond me. So is the manner by which I can remember that John Milton went blind because he read too late at night but not the name of someone I see at work every day.

The fact that I may simply be absent-minded occurred to me. It’s a distinct possibility. I come from a long line of absent-minded people. But that seems like a poor excuse in itself, and I keep thinking about what my mother said to me.

There’s little doubt that we all fill our lives with things that don’t matter, thereby sacrificing some of the things that do. Worry robs our faith, doubt our hope, and discord our love. But is that true for knowledge? Can we know too much for our own good?

Some people think so. I have friends who believe that faith is all they need, that thinking has done nothing but bring the world a whole lot of trouble. Communism, moral relativism, and Deal Or No Deal wouldn’t exist if someone hadn’t thought them up and ruined all of our lives. Sometimes I think that’s true, especially with Deal Or No Deal.

Faith is pretty much the most important thing a person can have. I also think having as much knowledge as possible easily breaks the top three. Because despite what everyone says, ignorance is not bliss. It’s more like a prison cell with walls of our own making.

Of all the inborn traits God sees fit to give us, few are exercised less than our curiosity. Spending some time with the nearest child will convince you that we’re all born with a probing mind. But that somehow gets lost as we get older. We all are tempted to reach a point where we just don’t care to know anything else. We already know enough about the world to realize it’s all spiraling downward. Why pile it on?

I get that, I really do. There are plenty of things I would rather not know, things that would keep my life chugging along rather nicely if they weren’t stuck on one giant playback loop in my brain.

But then there’s this to consider—our world really is a wonderful place. Flawed, yes. And a bit ugly in some places. But it’s also amazing and inspiring and so utterly almost-perfect.

The truth? I want to know everything. Even the stupid stuff. After all these years, I’m still curious. I still want to know. Because I’ve found that the more I can know about God’s world and the people who inhabit it, the more I can know about God and me. If that keeps me from checking my mail every once in a while or not realizing the truck’s almost out of gas, then so be it.

I think we would all be a little better off if we cracked a book every once in a while. There’s too much ignorance in this world. Life, like music, must contain several parts equally. There must be melody and beat. And there must be heart and head. That’s how we dance through our days. And God is a musician at heart.

Just ask the common housefly. Whose wings, by the way, hum in the key of F.

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at What I Learned Today and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

Prone to Wander

Come thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above
Praise the mount I'm fixed upon it
Mount of thy redeeming love

Here I raise my Ebenezer
Hither by thy help I'm come
And I hope by thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wondering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood

O to grace how how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee
Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above

(The following post is taken directly from a sermon by my friend and pastor Jeff Hogan.)

Many old hymns have stories attached to them. Some are well documented, while others may be modern parables. The story attached to "Come Thy Fount" involves an encounter that took place on a British stagecoach: A woman who had been reading a song book while they travelled began to notice how troubled the other passenger was. Seeking to encourage him, she recited the words to a hymn that was particularly meaningful to her. The man looked up with tears in his eyes and said, "Madam, I am the poor unhappy man who wrote that hymn many years ago, and I would give a thousand worlds, if I had them, to enjoy the feelings I had then."

That man was Robert Robinson. And the latter part of his life was indeed very different than it had been when he originally penned those words in the early 1750's as a poem to conclude a sermon that he preached.

As a songwriter, I can tell you that you can often observe patterns, struggles and themes in a person's life through the content of their writing. And if I were to examine Robinson's life through the lense of this song, I would point to one word - used three times - that really stands out: WANDER.

"Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God"

"Let Thy goodnes, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee."

'Prone to wander, Lord I feel it - Prone to leave the God I love."

It's precisely that gut-level honesty that makes this song stand out. Wandering is a theme everyone can understand, because it can happen at any stage in our connection to God and to Christ:

Before we find Him

While we are looking for Him

After we find Him

Do you think you are moving toward God, or away from Him? Are you willing to believe that God wants you to be close to Him?

I'm not saying that He will tolerate you. I'm saying He welcomes you.

He is delighted to have you come into His presence.

Come as you are. Don't worry - you don't have to stay that way. He will change you from the inside out.

No matter how you would "categorize" yourself. If you are wandering, just turn around.

PSA: The Hidden Dangers of Outlet Shopping (Repost)

If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times, but it bears repeating: Retail is for suckers. Having said that, I feel I should share with you some cautionary advice about spending extended periods in stores that offer "designer brands at discount prices". If you do not find the deal of a lifetime within the first 10 minutes, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY! In your desperate attempt to find a bargain, often things that you wouldn't give at the tackiest white elephant gift exchange somehow find their way into your shopping cart. If you are weak, shop with a buddy -- preferably one who will bluntly tell you just how incredibly ugly that sunflower tea cozy really is. (If you're in the Houston area, I am available at a nominal fee.)

Since a picture truly is worth a thousand words, I will give you some examples of what NOT to buy on your next shopping excursion.

In my exciting and rewarding career as a faux-paux painter, not only do I help my clients choose a color palette, help them with creative decorating solutions, and wipe God only knows what off of their baseboards, as an added service, I also am always on the lookout for decorative pieces that might fit with their decor. I have worked in a vast array of homes with a wide variety of decorative tastes. I have not, however, ever had the occasion to select anything like this:

(Then again, I've never painted for any missionary families.)

And while we're on the subject of decorating, I have also painted a few fairly awesome beach themed rooms (if I do say so myself). Here's the thing -- if a child requests a surfing or beach theme, it is usually because he or she thinks it would be incredibly cool to have their friends hang out in said room. Resist the urge to buy every surfer themed item! Less is more. Besides, little statues like this do not scream, "I am cool":

They scream, "I am as nerdy and as fish-belly white as Captain Shorty Pants, here."

With a name like "katdish" you would think that I would be all about the decorative cat accessories -- and you would be wrong. I don't dislike cats; I have a cat. But having a real cat (and the associated litter box) is really all I need. I'm not fond of the bumper sticker declaring my sworn loyalty to the Abyssinian, Persian or Siamese. Nor, would I ever own any of these items:

And frankly, if you have actual cats that resemble any of the ones pictured, shopping should be way down the list of problems you've yet to deal with. And speaking of pets, if you purchase a lead crystal dog bowl for your little four-legged friend, does the word "Spoiled" really need to be engraved on it, Captain Obvious?

The following items truly defy any logic. I can only loosely categorize them into "weird stuff you might put food into or perhaps frighten a small child with":

While we're on the topic of frightening, have you ever purchased a celebrity endorsed product? I'm not talking about something useful like a thigh master or a George Foreman grill. What I mean is, have you purchased an item with a celebrity's likeness on the packaging? Nothing says, "You really should stay with your own children next Christmas, Uncle Phil" like a celebrity endorsed board game:

Do we have any Dr. Laura fans out there? If you have read all of Dr. Schlessinger's books and listen to her radio program faithfully, yet still are not entirely convinced of what a pathetic loser you really are, perhaps you may be in need of some personal counseling via your very own Dr. Laura doll:

Not only is your favorite snarky psycho-therapist decked out in a fabulous lemon yellow pants suit, but if you politely and respectfully press the center button of her single breasted, designer jacket, she will speak to you in that oh-so condescending voice of hers. I know this to be true, because I do what I am told. And when I saw that little blue circle that says "Try Me", I did just that. I'm not entirely certain what she said to me, as my actions coincided with an announcement on the intercom ("Clean up on Aisle 5"). But I'm pretty sure she called me a tramp.

We've talked about the inside of your house, but what does the exterior of your home convey to others? Seriously, people. Do I even need to mention you should avoid the lawn and garden aisle at Big Lots at all costs?:

I also found a large assortment of toys and games soon destined to for the donation pile at your local house of worship, but I smell a post series, so I'm going to hang onto those pictures for awhile.

I will close this post with a word of advice for readers of the female persuasion. When you are getting dressed in the morning and your husband gazes upon your backside, do you really want him reminded of Easter egg hunts from days gone by, and the "big one that got away"?

While I have been known to rock the granny panties on those days between "when the laundry should be done" and "when the laundry is actually done", clearly this should not be a regular practice. Besides, they make an excellent tea cozy!

It's been a long week...

I had some outpatient surgery on Tuesday, spent Wednesday recovering from said surgery and catching the flu from my kids. Oh yeah...tons of fun. After approximately 297 phone calls to the doctor's office and pharmacy, everyone is on flu meds and we are all on the mend. I wasnt' going to do a post for today, but what the heck - I'm just lying here being miserable. I figure I might as well spread the love. So here you go...

The best of me (or not) on the twitter:

Alright people. Gotta get off the computer for now. I'll be back tomorrow & I'll be medicated.

@br8kthru That's an excellent motto for a pastor, Jason. (in reply to: @katdish Well, I thought it wasn't bad either & then everyone tried to get me nervous. 'Don't listen to people,' that's my new motto.)

@br8kthru Nah, you're good. That's the least disturbing picture you've created so far. (in reply to: @katdish If anything, it's a tribute. Anyone who sees it differently just needs a better perspective...)

@BridgetChumbley Nah, not yet anyway...(in reply to: RT @katdish: @br8kthru You know what they say about paybacks, right Jason? (laughs maniacally) ///but is he dead to you?)

makeadiff21 It's okay Ginny. I'm used to constant abuse at the hands of my friends.

I'm channeling Sherri in my tweets lately.

@Helenatrandom Or "MY" back as they say in some countries...

@Helenatrandom Oh Helen - I know you've always got may back.

@bryanallain Do you mean like debriefing vs depantsings?

RT @bryanallain: Every time I say "just livin the dream" to someone, I want to punch myself in the face. //twitpics, please.

@JeanneDamoff Mostly alive, but there are some that are looking a bit peeked. (in reply to: @katdish Hey! I've missed your awesomeness. You good? Everyone alive to you these days?)

@redclaydiaries You complete me, Steph. (in reply to: @katdish Love that you RT'd @helenatrandom. I'll say what you couldn't fit: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!)

RT @sarahmarkley: Someone in my cycle class smelled like corn chips. It wasn't me.

RT @Helenatrandom: @sarahmsalter I don't know why. I only know that she was upset she could not have frozen banana in the summer....

@br8kthru I love a pastor than can seized on a good TWSS moment. (in reply to: @katdish you are "appaulled" huh? TWSS)

@weightwhat I'm shocked and appaulled that you would ask me that. (in reply to: @katdish If I tell you will you use it against me?)

RT @billycoffey: @katdish But what really keeps us as friends is your stunning humility. // Now you're getting with the program.

@weightwhat How did you make that little TM?

@billycoffey I am a wonderful influence. Unlike @weightwhat, I really AM goodness and light.

RT @weightwhat: @billycoffey YESH! // You're a bad influence, Wendy!

RT @weightwhat: @Helenatrandom No, we wouldn't want to deprive @katdish. I'll get right on it. //Let it be written. Let it be done!

RT @PeterPollock: I'm sure @br8kthru could quickly mash up a picture of @katdish laughing maniacally //NO! Still having breakdish nighmares

Which should make everyone feel much better.

That should have been LAUGHING maniacally, not Laughigh maniacally...

Laughigh maniacally whilst rubbing my hands together...

RT @br8kthru: @marni71 Yeah, ignoring @katdish would be like ignoring a spreading rash -it's to your own detriment //You got that right.

RT @marni71: @br8kthru Ignore @katdish . She's just trying to get us to fight again... // IGNORE KATDISH? That's not possible.

RT @marni71: @br8kthru You should do Public Service Announcements. Your advice is relevant and wise... // TWSS

@godhasablog You know how they say it's just an honor to be nominated? It's so much better to win...

RT @godhasablog: .... do you want to wait until you get to Heaven and get it at a big awards ceremony hosted by Neil Patrick Harris?



RT @godhasablog: Congrats to @katdish for winning the #essayspectacular! Important questions: do you want your prize now, OR.....

@jamieworley That is so wrong on so many levels. Can dogs feel embarrassment? Yes. Yes they can.

RT @jamieworley: @katdish Check out these dogs. You will laugh! This could be a whole blog post in itself: http://bit.ly/4i9J2R

@buzzbyannies I'm pretty open about my love of Boz. He doesn't have to like it

@buzzbyannies Hey Annie! Thanks for the Boz pic! Buddy Love was jealous.

Son: Dad, can you take me to the mall? DH: Well... Son: Wait, before you start yapping, let me just say... Me: Snort!

RT @HerbieGookins: Kids are being unusually good today. Makes me wonder if there's a piano suspended above my head that I don't know about.

@CandySteele Why thank you Candy. You also rock.

@redclaydiaries It's exactly like that...

@redclaydiaries don't make me go samurai ghetto on you. It's a lethal combination.

@sarahmsalter You know, real monkeys are actually quite vile. Have you been to the zoo lately?

@muchl8r - Thank you for that clarification, because I was about to call you out on that one.

RT @muchl8r: Let me modify that. More colorful language than MOST church people.

RT @muchl8r: Hanging out with the unsaved moving guys at the office. They have more colorful language than church people:)

I got an email from someone I don't know with an overseas phone # saying "for friendship". Um....ewh

RT @JeanneDamoff: @katdish Broody? Don't make me skip and frolic my way over there. //Snort!

So true. I like the way E B White says it: "Omit useless words." (in reply to: @katdish I'll save ya time: So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads. Dr. Seuss)

@JeanneDamoff Yes, well...He's sort of broody sometimes. You know how you writers get...

I'm calling you out. Right here on the twitter. Have a nice day.

So, here's the deal. If you follow me thru one of the auto-follow robots & then unfollow me 24 hrs later when I don't refollow (cont.)

@billycoffey How's that?

AHEM! I hereby apologize for misreading @billycoffey 's tweet about twitter fighting. He is no longer dead to me.

@billycoffey If you don't know, then you're even deader to me. Oh wait...I misread that last tweet. Nevermind...

RT @weightwhat: @katdish I admit to nothing. //So are you saying you can neither confirm nor deny my previous tweet?

@billycoffey You didn't even last 24 hours - DEAD TO ME!

@makeadiff21 I'm not bad, I just tweet that way...

I think @weightwhat stalks the twitter then pounces on unsuspecting victims.

@br8kthru True. I could understand if she was a yankee, but a southerner should be all up in Dr Pepper.

@br8kthru Yes, well. If that doesn't work there's always the exorcism route...(in reply to: @katdish she's still unrepentant but I believe through my example she will see the light...)

@marni71 Yes. I knew that already. But Jesus loves him anyway. (in reply to: @katdish That's a good call. Just don't take @br8kthru 's side. EVER. He just revealed he's from Oklahoma.)

@Helenatrandom Whatever y'all are talking about, I'm on Helen's side...

Really, I'm fine...

No post today, I'm still recovering from some outpatient surgery on Tuesday. Everything went well and I am resting comfortably at home. I just underestimated my recovery time. I figured that by today I'd be at the gym. (That is, if I went to the gym.)

Thanks for all the prayers, emails and haikus - even the one you deleted Steph - that was awesome. And Bridget - Dang.

Now go read some other blogs, M'kay? And thanks again.

Cinderella Shoes (by Sara Tribble)

I first "met" Sara when she contacted Billy Coffey requesting an interview. I was so completely blown away by her questions and her obvious understanding of the publishing business that I immediately went over the check out her blog, "I Am Write". Color me impressed! Check out her bio:

BIO: Sara Tribble is finally twenty-one, still married, and rocking her Cinderella shoes whenever she can. She writes flash/short fiction with a handful of publications online, works on numerous novels, and is the Publishing Editor of Flash Me Magazine. If she's not writing, she's playing video games, eating, or blogging, seriously.

And here's her story, Cinderella Shoes:

When my boyfriend asked me to marry him, people thought we were crazy. Both coming out of high school, he was already in the military, two young hearts flooded with love were just some of the reasons. My parents never minded and supported both of us, even when we announced our desire for a shotgun wedding at the local court house. I wasn’t pregnant or anything, which was another speculation, but we had to be married to live together.

Regardless of the size ceremony, my father wanted to take me out for shoes since I already bought a beautiful dress to wear, nothing fancy just simple and elegant. My dad had to go to the city for some work supplies, so he took the chance to take me along for shoes at the local mall.

We entered the store and shoes were everywhere. All colors, all styles, and tons to match my dress. I chose a pair I really liked, silver with rhinestones. They were under fifty dollars so I showed my dad. The price made him twitch because he was recently laid off from work due to the economy.

“Let’s keep looking, but hold onto these,” he said.

I returned for the search to find my shoes. Noting his financial situation, I looked in the clearance area and found a sleek heel, perfect ivory matching my dress for under ten bucks. I put the expensive shoes back and held onto the different box. He offered to get me the expensive ones, but I refused telling him I liked this pair much more, which I did, so he put down the fancy Cinderella shoes (as he called them) at the nearest table display.

On the way out of the store he said something to me that I remember to this day.

“I’m so glad I was able to buy you a pair of shoes for your wedding. The ones you have are really nice. Thanks for looking at the cheaper ones. I wanted to be able to buy you something for your wedding, but with work, things have been tough.”

I think it was hard to admit it at the time because our family has usually been secured with work and income, but sometimes life doesn’t always give you that luxury. The day of my wedding I slid on my dress and shoes, walked into that courthouse with my parents and husband’s parents to be married.

When it was over, my dad whispered to me, “You look beautiful sweetheart, I’m so proud of you. I wish I had more to give you for this special day.”

“You did,” I said. “Your guidance and love through the years. Not to mention, I got my Prince Charming now with my Cinderella shoes.”

“Those aren’t the Cinderella shoes,” he replied and looked down to the ground shamefully.

“They are to me.” I smiled and hugged him again.

To read more from Sara Tribble visit her at I Am Write and follow him on the twitter at @saratribble.

Platypus Rainbow

In honor of the fact that I will be undergoing some outpatient surgery today (no biggie - not to worry),I have decided to turn this over to you, gentle readers.

I know for a fact that many of you are quite creative. With this in mind, I am asking that you submit via the comments section your own haiku or haikus. Please keep in mind that I will be loopy on pain meds while reading these, so I'm sure they will all be wonderful.

I will begin with the haiku that inspired this post, courtesy of my friend Wendy from Weight What:

Haikus Are Easy
But Sometimes They Don't Make Sense
Refrigerator

which I emailed to my friends Jeff and Tamara, who responded in kind:

Haikus Are OK
If You Like That Sort Of Thing
The Giving Wombat

to which I responded:

Sometimes I wonder
What life is really about
Platypus Rainbow

So there you have it. Dazzle me. You'll be glad you did...

(Or not.)

Things that scare the heck outta me (by Billy Coffey)

It’s a little ironic that though I tend to be a bit picture kind of guy, it’s hours and days I’m more interested in than months and years. What’s happening down the road doesn’t really concern me. What’s happening now does. This is why I tend to pay much more attention to my watch than my calendar.

This is also why it’s a good thing God made department stores. Otherwise, I would not know what holiday is upon us.

The department stores here say that Halloween will be soon. There are costumes and candy and ghouls and, even, greeting cards. You know you’ve arrived as a holiday when you get your own greeting cards. Halloween is getting big.

And I think it should be big, if for no other reason than it focuses upon one of the great issues of our lives.

Fear.

In the interest of writing-frees-the-soul, I can confess that I normally do not talk about my fears. I’ll even go so far as to say that I go to certain lengths to maintain the lie that I do not have any. I do have fears. Many, in fact. And I don’t care who you are, how tough you happen to be, or how much faith you have, you’re scared of something, too.

However. The thing about fear is that it’s often a very big shadow of a very little thing. Dragging it out into the light and seeing it for what it is can be a liberating experience, or so I’ve heard. So it’s along those lines that I will blaze the trail for anyone else who might read this and admit those things that send a shiver up my spine and force me to sleep with the light on.

Zombies


Ghosts? Ghosts don’t bother me. And I laugh at monsters. Vampires run from ME. But zombies freak me out. I think it’s the slow but steady movement. Zombies are patient, and I don’t understand patience. Honestly, the whole taste for human flesh thing doesn’t really bother me as much as the ratty clothes, the pale skin, and that “AAAHHHH” sound they make. Zombies are the worst creatures in the world. I don’t care who you are, if you turn into a zombie and come at me, I'ma killin’ you.

Clowns


The fear of clowns is shared by so many people that it actually has a clinical name—coulrophobia. Stephen King wrote about Pennywise the Clown in It. John Wayne Gacy, one of the worst serial killers in history, dressed as Pogo the Clown for children’s birthday parties. And who can forget Crazy Joe Davola on Seinfeld? He dressed as a clown, too. And he was crazy.

Ventriloquist Dummies

When I was a kid I dreamed that I got a ventriloquist dummy for Christmas, but instead of using it, it put me on it’s knee, shoved a wooden hand up my back, and took me on tour around the country. He kept me in a small wooden steamer trunk and all he’d give me to survive on was Nilla Wafers. I’ll never forget that dream. And to this day I can't eat Nilla Wafers. Nuff said.

Dolls

Along those lines, dolls freak me out, too. I was watching Destination Truth the other night and they visited a place in Mexico called Isla de Las Munecas. Island of the Dolls. Legend states that the spirit of a drowned girl haunts the island and the dolls are there to appease her. Evidently that's not working, though. Because now the dolls are haunted, too. Wanna see a picture of the lovely surroundings? (photo by esparta courtesy of Flickr)

Yeah.

Ice Cream Trucks

Those of you who have never seen the movie Maximum Overdrive may not truly appreciate how utterly mortifying ice cream trucks are. As much as I believe Stephen King to be a genius, he's ruined more than one seemingly innocent thing for me. This is one. There's an ice cream truck that drives around our neighborhood in the summer (blaring Christmas music, by the way), and every time I see it I make a hasty yet dignified retreat back into the house. This, by the way, is not that ice cream truck. I get too shaky to take a picture of it, so I borrowed this shot from the movie off the internet.

Yes, I know this one may be a little stupid. No, I don't care. Ice cream trucks are evil. You're just gonna have to trust me on that.

So there you go. All my fears laid out for your reflection and mockery. I figure I'm good so long as I never run into a zombie clown whose ventriloquist dummy is driving an ice cream truck sporting a doll as a hood ornament. Chances are that won't happen.

But I figure most fears are like that, anyway.

To read more from Billy Coffey or to hyperlink pictures of zombies, clowns, ventriloquist dummies, dolls and/or ice cream trucks, visit him at What I Learned Today and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

Shining Stars

Philippians 2 Imitating Christ's Humility
If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

Shining as Stars
Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life—in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing. But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you. So you too should be glad and rejoice with me.

Blogging: We're going to need more monkeys (Repost)

What is your blog about?

Assuming you have a blog, how often have you been asked that question? My answer usually goes something like this: "Um, well, that's sort of hard to explain. It's sort of like talking to me, without so many random obscure references to subjects we're not even discussing.

Also, while writing, I'm not distracted by blank stares or someone constantly interrupting with questions pertaining to what on God's green earth I'm talking about. Seriously, my blog is about about thoughts and commentary from my ADD mind. At least, that's how it started out. But I was reading an old book by Robert Fulghum called "It Was on Fire When I Lay Down on It" that sums it up much better in the introduction:

Show and Tell was the very best part of school for me, as a student and as a teacher. Not recess or lunch, but that special time set aside each week for students to bring something important to class to share and talk about.

As a kid, I put more into getting ready for my turn to present than I put into the rest of my homework. Show-and-Tell was real in a way that much of what I learned in school was not. It was education that came out of my life experience. And there weren't a lot of rules about Show-and-Tell -- you could do your thing without getting red-penciled or gonged to your seat.

As a teacher, I was always surprised by what I learned from these amateur hours. A kid I was sure I knew well would reach down into the paper bag he carried and fish out some odd-shaped treasure and attach meaning to it beyond my most extravagant expectation. It was me, the teacher, who was being taught at such moments.

Again and again I learned that what I thought was only true to me...only valued by me...only cared about by me...was common property.

Show-and-Tell was a bit disorderly and unpredictable. What the presentations lacked in conventional structure was compensated for by passion for the subject at hand.

The principles guiding this [blog] are not far from the spirit of Show-and-Tell. It is my stuff from home -- that place in my mind and heart where I most truly live.

And so, to my old friends and new; to my lurkers and my prolific commenters; to those of you whose blogs I read on a regular basis and others I check in on from time to time -- Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to share my stuff and for sharing your stuff with me. Thank you for allowing me to be silly, sarcastic, serious, sappy, self-righteous, and a bunch of other "S" words. I'm a better writer, listener and dare I say better person for the experience.

This is not a "Goodbye Hey Look a Chicken" post. Just a "Thanks for the Memories So Far" post.

Twitter quarrels, the escaltor pitch, and enriching lives through the power of social media

More random silliness from me and the gang on the twitter this week. I'll admit I didn't spend much time there this week, but I still managed to tweet more than I thought I did, which is typically the case. I imparted some valuable advice to top literary agent Rachelle Gardner, and at the moment Billy Coffey is no longer dead to me, but there's always tomorrow...

@Brian_Russell wrote a great gripe piece about social media on his blog this week. You should check it out: Social Media, What a Fad.

The best (or not) of me on the twitter:

Gotta go interface with the non-virtual world. Miss me.

@redclaydiaries Clowns, blue man group, mimes, televangelists, etc...And frogs - but that's another story... (in response to: @makeadiff21 I love your avatar. Has @katdish talked to you since you changed it? I hear she's skeered of clowns...)

@redclaydiaries Yes. I am afraid of clowns - Well technically not clowns per sea, just people with make up covering their face...(cont.)

RT @br8kthru: @billycoffey there are plenty of days I'd love to be sweating rather than stuck in a cubicle (TWSS)

@marni71 Also, @weightwhat just informed @sarahmsalter what TWSS meant. How could anyone follow us & not know that?

@marni71 @herbiegookins has a mouse in her house & I wrote a post about her socks in a box. #drseuss

@sarahmsalter Do you speak pig latin? Because @herbiegookins can probably translate if not

@HerbieGookins That's why...

On my blog today, @herbiegookins will stroll down memory lane w/ @rachaelmphillip & her dad's sock. http://bit.ly/QztuC

@sarahmsalter You know, @weightwhat is pretty crafty herself. And yes, I mean that in more than one way.

@HerbieGookins Hey! What's your mom's twitter handle again? Is it @rachaelmphillips?

@muchl8r Not really. I'm doing some behind the scenes stuff. Very hush, hush...I could tell you, but then I'd have to - well, you know...

@Helenatrandom Thank you, sweet Helen. I'm expounding on Beth's comment from my Socktacular post.

@Helenatrandom Yes. Despite that fact that he delights in annoying me, he has his redeeming qualities (referring to @PuriChristo)

@muchl8r Yes. I'm actually painting children

Dear blogs in my sidebar: I'm really sorry. I'll catch up soon. I promise.

RT @marni71: The ball was on the cart path. Why don't you look up the rules...shankapotomus. //I love that baby!

Hey Y'all! Miss me? Well miss me some more. I got some stuff to do.

@billycoffey Yes, you do. Is today garbage day? Perhaps you could wrestle a garbage can bear. (in response to: @katdish I do need some gratuitous violence, don't I?)

@billycoffey Which has more gratuitous violence? I'm guessing the Bond movie.

@br8kthru We never talk anymore Jason.

@shrinkingcamel Hmmm....don't know about that. (in response to: Yesterday I referred someone to @katdish as @billycoffey's "Handler." Was that inappropriate?)

Do you like the book "The Giving Tree"? Read my blog and find out why you're wrong. http://bit.ly/3b8H6D

Okay. I've got to get off the twitter. @weightwhat @Helenatrandom - stop talking about @billycoffey via DM. I know how you are...

@Helenatrandom In reference to your DM - Bahahahahaha!!!!!! That's what she said.

@CandySteele Have you tried duct tape?

Oh, nevermind....there she is. Hey @marni71!

Okay. How come I can't see @marni71 on my tweetdeck! Head will ROLL, people!

I hereby claim intellectual property rights on the aforementioned tweet.

Thank you, @redclaydiaries . AHEM! @katdish - enriching lives thru the power of social media (R with a circle around it).

@redclaydiaries I'm enriching lives thru the power of social media. You know, the usual...

@weightwhat Sitting here contemplating my day. Waiting on some stuff...(She says mysteriously)

@RachelleGardner feel free to use my escalator pitch. That's pretty much golden. (in response to: Speaking to writers group tonight about elevator pitches, taglines & synopses. Guess I'd better think about what to say.)

RT @billycoffey: @HerbieGookins I'm not that transparently childish, am I? // Wow. That's too easy.

@PeterPollock Are you trying to make me angry? Do you really want to face my wrath?

I big pink fuzzy heart @badbanana I know I've said that before, but it bears repeating...

RT @badbanana: We need more solidarity in this country. Like in the 1970s when we all joined together to defeat Ring Around the Collar.

@RachelleGardner I have a escalator pitch, where I talk to you while running up the down escalator. Very effective, and quite the workout. (in response to: @katdish Especially if you're planning to pitch ME.)

@prodigaljohn You need to write a post about puppet ministry, but warn me first. Those things freak me out

@RachelleGardner Especially if the conference is held in a hotel with an elevator.

RT @RachelleGardner: If you're going to a conference anytime soon, be SURE to polish your elevator pitch!

@PuriChristos Oh, he'll come groveling back. They all do...(in response to: @katdish did you hear that @billycoffey is taking back his apology?)

RT @billycoffey: @katdish ((sorry)) // LADIES & GENTLEMEN, My public apology from @billycoffey. Carry on...

RT @redclaydiaries: @weightwhat Me and triple the Jonas... Yes, that sounds strangely soothing. And yes, TWSS.

@billycoffey Shhhh! Don't talk. (in reply to: @PeterPollock @katdish Again?! This has happened before?!)

@PeterPollock I don't know what happened. I tell you, I'm dangerous (in reply to: @katdish again?)

@PeterPollock Well, somebody messed up the contact page on somebody's website. Sorry.

RT @godhasablog: I'm mentioning @katdish in this tweet only because I want @BridgetChumbley to RT it.

@PuriChristos Remember what? Oh, you mean that writer guy that I used to be helping? He's dead to me.

@godhasablog That explains @purichristos (in reply to: @PuriChristos Actually, I'm quite squeamish. I Created the really gross things because they're vital to Life, but I kept my eyes closed.)

RT @InkPanther: I was in the middle of writing this tweet when Kanye started yelling at me that @katdish has better tweets. //Snort!

RT @godhasablog: @katdish Um.... ew. //What? They're kosher...

I want a hot dog. Just thought I'd share that little tidbit of information. You're welcome.

@billycoffey You wish...(in reply to: @BridgetChumbley @katdish sent me a DM and apologized profusely. Since I'm the forgiving sort, I let it slide.)

@sarahmsalter The neti pot is wonderful. Don't be a hater...

Dear people sending me "get more followers instantly" tweets. Stop doing that please.

Me: Did you put the dog up on the stool? Daughter: I'm helping him conquer his fear of heights.

RT @llbarkat: @katdish lol, re: Brad's poetic inspiration // I bet it was a good box wine.

Please do the EXACT OPPOSITE of whatever @PuriChristos says. Thank you, kind and wonderful followers whom I appreciate immensely.

@PuriChristos He will most likely never recover. (in reply to: @katdish @billycoffey must really feel bad for calling u evil now that that truth is out there)

@PuriChristos Sort of like Nicholas and Ridiculous? (in repy to: @katdish hmmm awesome rhymes with possum, yeah anone that was a child of the 80s should know that one. Awesome Possum.)

@BridgetChumbley Don't worry, Bridget. I'll talk to @billycoffey again when he makes a public apology & writes a book of my awesomeness.

RT @shrinkingcamel: Has anyone else noticed that "Possum" rhymes with "Awesome?" Cool, right? //Enjoying a bottle of wine tonite Brad?

@PuriChristos I left to get ice cream. @billycoffey left bc he knows I'm right. (in reply to: Where did the @katdish @billycoffey throwdown disappear to? someone said someone was evil and they weren't apologizing cuz they are stubborn)

I'm going to get some icre cream....

RT @PuriChristos: @katdish u stole that from me but I stole it from someone else so I guess it's ok //banjo tweet credit to Nick.

RT @billycoffey: @katdish YOU CAN'T QUIT ME KATDISH!!//You may commence groveling.

@billycoffey I'm sorry....I see your lips moving but all I can hear is banjo music...(in reply to: @katdish You wouldn't say that if you weren't evil.)

@BridgetChumbley Well, it was just fine until @billycoffey said I was evil. He's dead to me...

RT @billycoffey: @katdish That's because you're evil. //You are so in trouble...

RT @PuriChristos: Sometimes I like to RT tweets that mention RTing. //Me too!

Sometimes I like to RT stuff that makes no sense unless you're privy to the conversation.

RT @HerbieGookins: @katdish My friend had free eggplants. So I took two! :)

@HerbieGookins Why? Why would you do that? (in reply to: I'm going to attempt eggplant parmesan this evening. And I've never eaten eggplant before?? Oh well...)

RT @n8sant: The second tower falls at this moment, 8 years ago. #DoNotForget.

RT @n8sant: The first tower falls at this moment, 8 years ago. #DoNotForget.

@mylestones Ah, yes. My children always say please and thank you when they're insulting me

@MattTCoNP Can't get ANYTHING past me, can you?

RT @MattTCoNP: I know what 'Stuff Christians Like' is going to be about tomorrow. How do I know this...? //BC you're guest blogging?

Follow @inkpanther because....Oh, just do it because I said so

@mylestones Aren't they just adorable? When my daughter was 4, she would say, "Mom, would you please stop talking to me?"

Stuff Christians Like is high on the list of Top 100 Church Blogs! Numero (whatever the Spanish word for 4 is) Baybee! @prodigaljohn

And again...Sorry/You're welcome.

Yeah, I'm still busy...

To celebrate the fact that I'm still busy, I thought I would expound upon my post on Tuesday. Because you see, not only were there frigintastic comments about that dumb book "The Giving Tree", there were also numerous other tangents and rabbit trails within the confines of the comments section. As a matter of fact, that comments section could provide me with blog fodder for the foreseeable future and beyond.

Of course, no one call pull off a tangent with quite the style and grace as my good friend Beth (aka @HerbieGookins). Here's her comment from my post, The Creative Process: A Step by Step Guide. (Which if you haven't read yet, you totally should.):

I missed out yesterday...This sign rules in so many ways. If I let other people see my laundry room, I would totally want one.

I have a box of socks.
Call me Dr. Seuss. When the box gets full and no one has clean socks anymore, I recruit my kids and call it the sock matching game. So far they haven't caught on to the fact that they are helping me do a chore.

Incidentally, my mom came up with a great use for lonely socks. She took them to one of her writing classes and made her students make a puppet out of them and write about it. So someone out there has a sock puppet that used to be my dad's sock. That's weird.
I am nothing like my mother....

Thank you, Beth for that uh....Thank you, Beth!

Now, if you don't know me very well, you may not know that I will employ just about any creative outlet in order to avoid doing laundry. It is my arch nemesis. Well, actually math is my arch nemesis, but laundry is a close second followed by balancing a checkbook. (Okay, not really - I never balance my checkbook. Who the heck writes checks anymore anyway?) But I digress...

When I read Beth's comment, my creative/avoidance juices really started flowing. Ladies and Gentlemen, for you viewing pleasure I give you

Socks in the Box:

(And no, I can't make you one. Like I said - I"M BUSY! Besides, the laundry is really starting to pile up...)

The Puzzle Pieces of Faith (by Bonnie Gray)

Just in case I've failed to mention it, I'm a big fan of the twitter. It's tons of fun, a great place to share and gather information, and best of all, it's a great place to catch up with old cyber friends and meet some new ones. Bonnie is one of my new cyber friends. She's a great writer who writes with a wonderful perspective on faith. Oh, and coffee...that woman loves her some coffee! Here's Bonnie:

My son is not a kid with idle hands. From sunup to sundown, TJ puts the pedal to the metal the moment he jumps out of bed.

I'm one of those weary mommies whose child loses his naps by his second birthday.

Parents have advised me to institute "Quiet Time" in lieu of a nap.

"Mommee! Is it time yet?"

"Mommee! Can I come out now?"

After a few bangs on the door and some loud crashes resulting from acrobatic attempts from the bed to the floor, I give up.

Thankfully, there are a few special items I can wave in front of TJ, that arrests him to a screeching halt: books, TV and puzzles.

Books are usually consumed throughout the day, for the times I can't play another round of crashing cars or making construction truck noises.

And because TV viewing is limited to one showing a day, it is saved for the late afternoons, when I'm prepping up a frenzy to put dinner on the table.

Ah, and then there are... puzzles!



There is something magical about dumping colorful pieces of wavy, irregularly shaped parts on the floor, moving them all around until ...

Click!

The puzzle pieces lock in. An innie meets an outie.

Two jigsaw parts fit together and a little bit of mystery transforms into a recognizable fragment of the picture.

Watching my son hover over the pieces in quiet concentration, taking turns trying out different pieces, I can't help but see myself in the same position as a child of faith.

Heavenly Daddy, this puzzle is too hard. I can't figure out what piece goes where.

Puzzles take time, Bonnie. Be patient.

Oh, good! I think I've got it. Is this what you want me to do?

Well, maybe. For now, at least. But, the puzzle's not done yet. You're just working on the corners. Keep going.

Wait a minute! I thought I saw the piece that had some green and grey in it. Where did it go?

Why don't you clean up around where you're sitting. There's too much clutter around you and it's distracting.

I give up! It's no use!

Just like I do when TJ teeters on the edge of giving up and drowning in Woe-Is-Me discouragement, God reaches His hand under dusty hiding places and swoops down next to me.

With a gentle touch to my shoulder, God hands me what I need , "Look here! Is this what you were looking for?"

Gee, thanks, God! Mesmerized, I return to the task at hand.

This puzzle analogy breaks down at some point though, because in God's plan for us, we don't get to see the finished picture. We actually don't have any idea what this puzzle God has for us looks like.

Sometimes the parts of the puzzle we're working on might seem boring, filling in shades of blue for the sky or brown for the mountains. Still important for a beautiful picture, though, don't you think?

Other times, it's exciting when we find a brick to pave a path or a knob to open a door.

But only God knows the whole picture. He is also experienced enough with putting puzzles together to remind us: it's just no use forcing pieces together that almost, but don't quite fit.



Ultimately, we have to trust God for all the pieces.

We might think the answers to our problems or the gnawing "why" questions will never be answered.

God may just surprise us by turning a moment in our lives around just enough for us to understand how things work out for good.

But the truth of the matter is that there are difficult parts to our lives we won't ever understand until we finally get to heaven.

There, when we're back home, God will finish the picture for us. We will no longer be staring at a puzzle.

We will look into the picture and find that we'll see something amazingly beautiful.

I think we will see Jesus.

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Hebrews 12:2

"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." 1 Corinthians 13:12

What part of your faith puzzle are you working on currently?

How has God handed you a missing piece?

Care to share how God turned a moment around in a way that helped you see how things came together for good?

How is God asking you to trust Him in the bigger picture of faith?

To read more from Bonnie Gray, visit her at Faith Barista and follow her on the twitter at @TheBonnieGray.

Why I hate "The Giving Tree" and why I love this blog

Okay - I'm going to fess up here. I've been super busy lately, and I was simply going to do a repost for today. So I was looking through some of my old posts and found one of my favorites: The Creative Process: A Step by Step Guide. If you're new here and haven't read it, I would highly recommend doing so. It's me at my raging ADD best.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes! So I search my blog and find the post. Now, don't get me wrong, I crack myself up. But what cracks me up even more is the fact that my friends who comment on this blog don't feel burdened with the weight of staying on topic. It's pretty much a free for all.

For those of you who don't check the original post, here's a brief summary:

My laundry needed to be done, I had some mismatched socks, I made some sock art and posted the process here. The end.

I also briefly mentioned that I hate the book, "The Giving Tree" here:

"You notice a metal sign that you bought at Ross on the clearance aisle a couple of months ago. It says "Children are the anchors that hold a mother's heart." Which you hate, because it reminds you of that children's book "The Giving Tree", which makes you want to leg drop that selfish little kid/man in that book. But, it was 2 bucks, and there's no law saying you have to keep that dumb saying on there once you own it free and clear, now is there?"

There were a total of 37 comments related to this post. The comments (as often is the case) were WAY funnier and/or insightful than the original post. If you get some time, you really should go back and read them. But here's the ones related to that wretched book.

Without further adieu, I give you, The Peanut Gallery:

January 2, 2009 5:32 PM
vanityofvanities said...
Kathy, you are hilarious! I love your sign.

WARNING: I am going off on a tangent and it will be story-length.

I hate The Giving Tree, too. You see, I was sitting in "the wives' section" at a church softball game talking to one of my dearest friends, Erin. She is forever talking about little kids because she is a kindergarten teacher. That day was no different. We were discussing our favorite books as a child. (Incidentally, mine was Pokey the Little Puppy, but I digress.)

Hers was The Giving Tree. To her utter shock and dismay, I had never heard of the story. She began retelling the story and started crying as she spoke of the beautiful generosity the book teaches. (Oh yes, I was laughing at her the whole time.) She vowed to bring the book to the next game so I could appreciate the beauty and cry with her.

She read it to me (in true kindergarten teacher fashion). It did not make me cry. It made me furious. I then gave this impassioned speech about how the book teaches children two very awful things: 1. To take and take and take to the point that you actually kill (spiritually, emotionally, and physically) your victim, and 2. To enter into lopsided relationships whereby you completely lose your identity in that other person and only feel fulfillment as that person uses and abuses you.

It should either be called The Selfish Child or The Enabling Tree.

katdish said...
Angela - You're such a bad*ss. I'm glad you're my friend. I had the exact same reaction to that book. My daughter read it to me and I was like - "Well, I hope you don't think it's okay to treat people like that!" That tree needs some serious therapy!

January 2, 2009 9:32 PM
helen said...
I taught primary grades in a Catholic School for twelve years. Let me tell you something about The Giving Tree......I never read it to my students even once. It was read to me when I was a child by my teachers. Didn't like the boy at all. Felt physical pain when the tree was being cut. Felt mental anguish that even as an old man, all he did was sit on the stump. No big revelation of what his selfishness cost Tree. If the tree represents God, and the boy/0ld man us, shouldn't there at least be some sort of epiphany boy/Old man/we go through in order for the story to have a point. When other teachers would tell me how much they like the book, I would reply. "That's nice......Have you ever read Bunnicula? Now that was a good story.." Think about it. At least Bunnicula had a point.

No, I am not just kissing up to Katdish because she is going to be the next SCL guest blogger or anything. Although if I were, I would be scoring higher on the SCL commentor score sheet. Dang. I'm not kissing up. I never liked that book. It made me cry, but not in a good way.

wv. debuti-when your first guest post on SCL is a short one, it is a debuti, rather than a debut

January 3, 2009 9:04 AM
Jeff said...
These comments are hilarious! One of the things that I love about your blog is that people can find so many awesome tangents in a post to comment on- you know I'm a tangent person.

I give a hearty "right on!" to the anti Giving Tree-ers out there; as a child, I was always thought the tree was shafted and the kid was an idiot. And I agree with Helen- this is nothing like what God has done for us- Christ's sacrifice does NOT give us license to sit around on our butts.

w.v.- cramsto: How the car gets packed on the way home from camping.

January 3, 2009 11:23 AM
Mare said...
I had an incredible ethics class my junior year of college. We spent a good three hours one day ripping apart the giving tree. I think in the process we ripped apart a few of the students entire world perspective. That book...its not pretty. Don't feel too bad for the tree though, she's just as guilty. Very passive...possibly codependent

January 4, 2009 10:35 PM
Helen said...
Twitter? Where is it on your blog? Why haven't you twittered today? Twitter.

(Did you notice that last comment? Ironic, no?)

Monsters (by Billy Coffey)

Our home of four has recently become a home of five—father, mother, daughter, son, and monster.

The former four seem to have the run of the house, able to roam and ramble both upstairs and down, inside and out, and in all hours of the day. The monster, however, seems strangely confined to both the small hours of the night and the smaller confines of my son’s closet.

For the last two weeks he has awakened my wife and I with shaky cries of fear, pleading for rescue. I will toss the covers back and trudge into his bedroom, where I’ll settle him down with a big hug. In a few minutes he will yawn, flutter his eyes a few times, and drift back to sleep. I do this without thinking. After all, I should know what I’m doing. I’ve been on the other side of that hug.

My monster arrived when I was his age. I woke one night to the shifting sounds of something in the bowels of my closet. It happened again the next night, but this time the noise was loud enough to even penetrate my cotton cocoon. That’s when I started to cry. And when my father woke up.

I remember him coming into my room and giving me a hug, softly talking to me until I yawned, fluttered my eyes a few times, and fell back asleep. He did it without thinking. Because he’d been on the other side of that hug, too.

My father made the trip down the hallway and into my bedroom countless times over the next few years. He never once complained or hesitated, and I always felt better afterwards. But Dad never offered the one thing I most needed. He never told me what I desperately needed to hear.

He never said there are no such things as monsters.

I learned later on that the sounds coming from my closet were the result of gravity mixed with an assortment of poorly stacked toys. The Thing I saw in the corner of my room? Just the moonlight shining on a discarded jacket. And all those guttural sounds I thought were the churning stomach of a hungry ogre were just the furnace turning on and off.

In high school monsters became a source of entertainment rather than dread. Freddy Kruger, Jason, and Pinhead? Not only were they not scary, they were sort of ridiculous. And they always got theirs in the end.

It was during my brief flirtation with college that I finally learned monsters weren’t real. They were instead misunderstood aberrations, products of a poor childhood or a few misfired brain synapses. They deserved of our sympathy and pity rather than our fear and anger. It was a notion I found supremely appealing. A world without monsters was a world I could better understand.

But the problem was that I couldn’t.

There was genocide in Rwanda, which left tens of thousands raped and butchered in mere weeks. Then another in Yugoslavia.

And then came 9/11.

I knew then why my father always came to my room in those small hours of the night, why he would hug me and comfort me until I found sleep but never said there were no monsters in the world. And it’s the same reason why I spare my son those same words.

It would be a lie.

There really are monsters in this world.

They’re not slimy or horned, they look like us. Men and women who live in the black places of the soul, who seek to imprison rather than set free, who murder and rape in the name of God. To deny their existence is to give them power, and to spare them our anger and determination only lengthens the shadow they cast over our world.

As I write these words it’s both dark and late. I can hear my son shuffling in his bed. A sniffle makes its way through his door and around the corner to my ears. In a moment he will cry out softly for me, and I will answer. I will sit by his bed and hold him until he’s asleep again, and I’ll leave the hall light on just in case.

I will not tell him what he wants to hear. The truth, even at his age, is better. Like me, my son will believe in monsters. And like me, he will be raised to fight them.

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at What I Learned Today and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

After Surrender - What? (by Oswald Chambers)

"I have finished the work which Thou gavest Me to do." John 17:4

Surrender is not the surrender of the external life, but of the will; when that is done, all is done. There are very few crises in life; the great crisis is the surrender of the will. God never crushes a man's will into surrender, He never beseeches him, He waits until the man yields up his will to Him. That battle never needs to be re-fought.

Surrender for Deliverance. "Come unto Me and I will give you rest." It is after we have begun to experience what salvation means that we surrender our wills to Jesus for rest. Whatever is perplexing heart or mind is a call to the will - "Come unto Me." It is a voluntary coming.

Surrender for Devotion. "If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself." The surrender here is of my self to Jesus, my self with His rest at the heart of it. "If you would be My disciple, give up your right to yourself to Me." Then the remainder of the life is nothing but the manifestation of this surrender. When once the surrender has taken place we never need "suppose" anything. We do not need to care what our circumstances are, Jesus is amply sufficient.

Surrender for Death. John 21:18-19. ". . . another shall gird thee." Have you learned what it means to be bound for death? Beware of a surrender which you make to God in an ecstasy; you are apt to take it back again. It is a question of being united with Jesus in His death until nothing ever appeals to you that did not appeal to Him.

After surrender - what? The whole of the life after surrender is an aspiration for unbroken communion with God.

(From "My Utmost for His Highest" daily devotions by Oswald Chambers)

Katdish Fancypants (Repost)

Believe it not, I actually figured out how to add a column to my blog without destroying everything else! I'm feeling pretty techno-geeky at the moment.

This will be a brief post. But because I realize that many of you come here seeking wisdom and discernment when raising children (snort), I wanted to post this brief advisory.

I am a firm believer that you should allow you kids to fail. If you bring little Johnny his homework every time he forgets it, he will learn that he never has to be responsible and/or accountable for anyone because someone will always be there to bail him out. Which sometimes can mean literally bailing him out of jail.

Having said that, I do think it is important to occasionally check your children's homework to ensure that they are grasping the concepts being taught in school and that they are not rushing through their work before I-Carly comes on. (I'm speaking in generalities here, of course.) If you review their homework, say, once or twice a week, you will not find a spelling paper three weeks after the fact that has the following spelling errors:


I really must end this post, I hear my daughter calling me. She probably needs help getting her sh*t off...





(Click on image to enlarge)

What were you doing 8 years ago today?

Monday, September 11, 2001

My day began as most did back then. Awakened by the soft cries from the baby monitor, I dragged myself out of bed and made my way upstairs to tend to my baby girl, just over a month old. With a full tummy and a clean diaper, she fell asleep in my arms and I enjoyed the few precious moments of quiet before my four year old boy came bounding down the stairs.

My husband was enroute to the airport. He had reservations for a flight to California. A flight that would not take off that morning.

By 7:00 a.m. CST, my son had eaten his breakfast and was watching Franklin the Turtle on Nick Jr.

A few minutes before 8:00 AM, the phone rang. I correctly assumed that it was my husband calling to check in.

"Good morning," I said.

"Are you watching TV?"

"Cameron's watching Nick Jr. Franklin's on and..."

"Turn on the news."

"What's going on?"

"Turn on the news!"

"Okay, but..."

I watched in stunned silence as smoke poured out of the north tower of the World Trade Center.

Moments later, still on the phone with my husband, my mind tried to compute what my eyes were seeing on the television screen.

I thought to myself, "Are they showing a re-run from a different angle? No, that's not the case because the building beside it is already burning."

What I and millions of others were witnessing live on television was United Airlines Flight #175 crashing into the south tower of the World Trade Center.

"What does this mean? What does this mean?!?

"It means we've been attacked. It means we're going to war."

• 8:46 a.m. EST American Airlines Flight #11 strikes the North Tower of the World Trade Center
• 9:03 a.m. EST United Airlines Flight #175 strikes the South Tower of the World Trade Center
• 9:37 a.m. EST American Airlines Flight #77 strikes the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.
• 10:03 a.m. EST United Airlines Flight #93 crashes in a field near Shanksville, PA.

Where were you the day the world changed forever?

Going Deep

How to Draw a Picture (Part 10)
(Excerpt from Duma Key by Stephen King)

"Be prepared to see it all. If you want to create--God help you if you do, God help you if you can--don't you dare commit the immorality of stopping on the surface. Go deep and take your fair salvage."

How deep are you willing to go?

Do you find yourself swimming in the shallow end of life? Safer there, no? Less of a risk. It's where most of us seem to congregate isn't it? We choose not to go deep, where the water is murky. Too many unknowns lurking...

"How are you?"

"Fine, thanks." (My life is a mess.)

"Work going well?"

"Can't complain." (There's rumors of layoffs and I fear I'm first on the chopping block.)

"What happened at school today?"

"Nothing much..." (I just don't fit in. I don't have any friends.)

"Is something wrong?"

"Just tired I guess..." (Yes. Everything's wrong. I'm hanging on as best I can, but I need you to throw me a lifeline.)

Too many of us live life on the surface and are afraid to dunk our heads and drink deeply, because those waters are murky. But those waters are really the only thing worth tasting in this life.

That's where we will find Living water.

"For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."

Revelation 7:17

No twitter post tomorrow...9/11