Camouflaging Tofu

This is a post about the things we do for love, just so it's clear. I would have called it "The Things We Do For Love," if that title had not already been apprehended some time in the 1970s, by a small but successful band called "10cc."

I also want to be perfectly and permanently removed from what I'm saying here. I don't want anyone reading this to think that, upon request, I will one day pull up out front of your duplex ready to engage in any of the following activities:

1) Sorting, washing, and folding unmentionables. I realize this is a pox on every country which has not yet adopted the practice of wearing disposable skivvies. I realize there are many others like me, out there dealing with this very same issue, but let's face it -- we're all just doing it for love. No? Yeah, me either. I just know for certain I will never again have decent attire if I don't do it myself. And what am I going to do? Leave a hamper full of BVDs and who-knows-what sitting around until I am compelled by my own sense of cleanliness to do them anyway? On second thought, I do it for love. I love me.

2) Answering. "So simple," you say. Never. It usually goes like this:

"Yo, Babe!" 

"Yes?'

"Would you..."

And so it goes -- anything from running up two flights of stairs, moving three pieces of large furniture, and grabbing the blank piece of paper he left behind, to getting up an hour and a half early, making sure his blue shirt is washed and dried, mending his tan shorts, driving him to the shop, picking up his script, printing out the direction for his next job, and changing the oil in his Corvair. Answering. Never simple.

3) Listening. Quietly. Again.

4) Swapping spit. Oh, this is not what you think it is. The sloppy wet kisses of a two-year-old. Finishing the runny grape popsicle your grandson has been slobbering all over for the past 30 minutes or sucking the pimentos out of those little green olives because he doesn't like "the red things."  Drinking from the water bottle your niece laced with every floater known to man. You do it for love. Sometimes because of love -- after all, it's your kid, right? Or your sister's kid -- in which case, she has completely stolen your heart and most of your good judgment.

5) Relinquishing the remote -- sometimes.

6) Gushing over an egg carton caterpillar as if it were hand-painted by Cezanne himself. In my teens, I brazenly opened the bottom drawer of my mother's dresser. Sexy unmentionables? A cache of savings bonds and gold bullion? Nope. Every silly scribble, glob of paste, and fleck of glitter I touched, from nursery school (that's what Fonzie and his pals called it back then) to grade infinity! That's love, there.

7) Putting up with his insufferably dull sister and her husband. You may, however, earn the right to brag to all your coworkers about surviving your first and only Christmas party with a Dr. Who theme.

8) Planning healthy, filling, delicious, unique, inexpensive meals for your family each night. Dr. Oz has made his way into your T25 via Pandora. He is telling you you can no longer eat as you did in your twenties, and expect to wake up without chest pains. Somehow you find yourself afflicted with the task of doing healthy better, for cheap. And of course, it's gotta be good, and diverse, and substantial -- cat food wrapped in Beggin' Strips might be a practical snack, but trust me, there are other ways. So, you spend days traversing the WWW only to find the same eight recipes -- all containing some quantity of white meat chicken, diced tomato, and minced garlic. You eventually find yourself frying falafel burgers at 4AM, and you camouflage tofu in as many as sixteen different ways. Maybe they'll only discover it in...fifteen. But you try because you love them. You want to keep them around. You want to be around for them.

9) Wearing a parka in the summer. Or shorts in the winter, depending upon your arrangement. Dividing control of the thermostat between seasons may increase the life of your marriage by -- yeah, I have no idea, but rules are rules, and there's always payback when your season comes around!

10) Listening. Quietly. Again. (Oh, and somehow, if you look past them to see the results of DWTS, it doesn't count.)

Maybe things are a little different for you. Maybe you are taking a bullet, giving up a kidney, purchasing new wheels for her Veyron, or footing the bill for your new college freshman.  Maybe you're simply camouflaging tofu. But whatever it is, do it for love.

Something For May

*Ring. Ring*

"Who's there?"

"Someone who cares."

That was the call I received about two hours ago. A woman whose life has more going on than PECO. Her name is May, and she is a wonder. She is, well let's say, seasoned in age. (This is relevant or I never would have mentioned it).

We met in church. She has a unique style of worship. I often envision myself in God's throne room as I sing. She is there. Her lips are moving, her voice is crying out, and her hands -- her hands move in such graceful swirls and swishes. She is being carried away by the Spirit of God. Breathless.

She has a dog grooming business in the basement of her splendid old home. Her son and grandson do most of the grooming, but she helps. She often begs for Scott to bring our Tinkerbell to her for a good groom. "Like putting lipstick on a pig," I say. But she graciously, and with a pssht, extends her offer again.

In her room she has painted these beautiful accents on the walls, and resurrected these worn, sometimes broken, pieces of furniture, carrying anyone who steps inside, to a rustically warm French chateau. Cluttered, but not suffocating. Aged, but not decrepit. A true surprise, as the rest of her home completely belies this delicate little sanctuary. Her handiwork and creativity are marvelous.

Her Bible is a work of art. She has softened its pages with her exhaustive meditations, and has covered what seems like every square inch with love letters to her Heavenly Father. Sometimes, during church, she slides me notes across the red pew cushion. Pages photocopied from her devotional, covered with her calligraphy and intense hieroglyphics. Allowing me the tremendous honor of witnessing how God had spoken to her that morning. The beauty and passion that saturate the page is overwhelming. And the fact she prepared it just for me? Beyond special. 

May has so little, and has so much. When it comes to amenities, she lives simply and nobly. When it comes to life, there's nothing simple about her. Her life is dramatic and difficult, but she puts her face to the wind, her Bible in her hands, and with Jesus in her heart, she pushes forward. She cries when she's frustrated. She hates it when Satan messes with her and her family. She worries, but rarely aloud. And when it comes time to do what needs to be done, she and the Lord break their huddle, and she hits the ground running.

This is where that "seasoned" bit comes in. She's got all this drama, and she's in her Golden Years. She should be relaxing on an island somewhere. But as long as she's where she is with her Friend, Jesus, that's all that matters to her. And here she is, taking on my problems as well. "You've been on my mind," she says. "I've been praying for you." And that's no cliché. I know when I answer the phone, that despite everything that's going on in her crazy life, she is someone who really cares.

Why Not?

"Would you pull your son out of high school, encourage him to get his GED, just so he could play professional ball? Just so he could earn money earlier?"

I didn't want to come down all "homeschool holy war," so, I waffled on my answer:
"Well, never 'just so he could earn money', and never for my own motives. But, I'm not someone who thinks that education is everything. It would depend on the situation. My concern was always what sort of people they would become." 

Homeschool, Faith-Directed Lite. When, inside I was chiding myself and throwing back:
"Why not? See the truth is, I believe God has designed different people for different jobs. As a homeschool mom, I tried to teach my children how to reason Biblically, and spot God's will for their lives -- whatever it was. I didn't fill their heads with learning about Learning. I taught them to explore the talents and gifts God had given them, and to use those things as God led. I taught them that universities were a path to a goal, but never the goal itself. I taught that just because one has a doctorate, or an executive office, or a pension, or a rank, or a family -- does not mean they are operating within the will of God for their lives. It is God's direction one must follow, not simply the prescribed or socially acceptable path. So, why not?"

The Bible is chock full of folks who defied convention. Some who were destined for glory in this world, and walked away to walk with God. Others who were despised and considered the dregs of society, who rose to glory and splendor, even by today's standards. Life outside of Scripture reflects this as well. Below are listed some great examples and inspiring reads:

Joseph: Genesis 37-50

Moses: Exodus 1-Joshua 1

David: 1 Samuel 16-1 Kings 2

Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, by Eric Metaxas

John Newton: From Disgrace to Amazing Grace, by Jonathan Aitken

Run, Baby, Run, by Nicky Cruz & Jamie Buckingham

Born Again, by Charles Colson

I encourage you to read and do a little thinking out of the box. Enjoy!

Eulogy

My friend is dead.

People who say you never know how much you like someone until they are gone, aren't always right. Sometimes you know exactly how you feel about someone, but a whole bunch of other things -- most of which are unimportant -- get in the way.

You know you should be sitting somewhere talking to her, but you are Tweeting, and Pinning, and wondering why Instagram won't allow you to upload your picture. You know you should have invited him to your last barbecue, but you weren't sure where you put his number, and you know he doesn't like potato salad. You could have stopped over last week, but you were into much of a hurry to set the DVR.

Well, now my friend is gone. And I didn't stop when I drove past his house. And I haven't seen him at the place we go once a month, because I've been too busy to get there. And all I have left is his stupid voicemail wishing me a "happy birthday" the year before last. And I couldn't even go to his funeral today because I am so mad at myself, and so sad that he's gone, that I made myself sick and spent a good bit of the late morning in the bathroom. And I don't even know what to say to his wife. When everyone was posting things on his Facebook page, I didn't -- I couldn't find the words. I still can't. Not to tell you what he was like, or how much I'll miss him, or how I felt about him.

I can tell you how angry I am that I made things so complicated -- that we all make things so unnecessarily complicated.

"Well, I don't want to bother them if they're busy." "She might not even be there." "I have so much cleaning to do." "I just don't feel so good today."

Bother them! Check to see if she's there! Dust will always wait for you! Take an aspirin!! Why do we do this to ourselves? Why are we so lazy, complacent, wasteful?

 I drove almost an hour on my last day off. I went to see a cousin I am going to see again in a couple of months. At least, I think so. I don't want to take that chance again.