Yesterday the family went out to do some errands -- silly little things like exchanging or returning, dropping items off for repair, things I usually try to get to through the week. With fuel prices steadily rising once again though, I had saved up a few stops for a more distant part of the county; now it was time to care of those things.
Scott had gone out a little earlier in the morning, stepping back through the front door with his usual, "Every nut in PA is out on the road today!" (He grew up in Jersey, and has little tolerance for Pennsylvania drivers -- IMAGINE THAT?!) Knowing his flair for the dramatic, I responded with prodigious interest, "uh-huh." I was to find, later, it was true. I cannot count the number of "unsignaled" spontaneous lane changes, illegal u-turns, and brake riders. Aloud, we wondered where these people got their licenses and why they thought their actions were of no consequence to the hoards of drivers sharing the road with them.
When we reached our first stop, I watched as a woman took her empty shopping cart and placed it ever so carefully between two parked cars, and drove away. Now perhaps, this was this middle-aged woman's first try at the shopping cart thing; maybe she's never watched as a cart has savagely taken out the side panel of a new vehicle once its gained untold momentum through the "salt flats" of overflow parking. Maybe she's new here -- her alien ship spent the entire night hovering over some remote part of the county, dropping shoppers. No doubt a part of the worldwide economy stimulus program -- an exchange with some distant planet for the "compassionate" judge who released the Lockerbie bomber.
At another store, a "helpful sales associate" barked at Scott and Joe that the purchase Joe was making was going to "destroy his game system in six months". A moment later he scoffed at Maddy and I for "looking for the Burger King having dinner in McDonald's" -- we were looking for a DS game in a bin that was, apparently, full of Playstation Games. (Will the madness ever stop?!) I chalked it up to the fact that this 30-something works 34 hours a week for minimum wage at a video gaming store, and lives with his mother and her dead husband's "apparition."
Our final stop began easily, scooting into a spot in the farthest reaches of the parking lot, leisurely strolling toward the store, our group staying safely and innocuously together, giggling and talking. A woman walked just seven or eight feet ahead of us, turning around only once to see who was behind her. As we approached the entrance, I reached out to grab the door from her only to find she had let it go; it silently fell flush before my grasp. Door #2 -- same scenario. I wanted to declare, "No, it's OK! I got it!" but I know this is why God gave me children -- to keep my big mouth and sometimes antisocial attitude in check. Once I'd just about raised my "first set" and my disposition hadn't improved, He gave me the second set as insurance I'd watch my p's and q's. (At this rate, I'm going to be parenting children well into my nineties).
This morning I was letting the dogs out after breakfast. Tinkerbell did her usual constitutional in the middle of the yard; Bishop, however, went straight to the barbecue grill and lifted his leg on the gray canvas cover -- a Martha Stewart exclusive. Aside from the fact that this dog keeps relieving himself on my patio, requiring me to scrub with bleach and a broom in ninety-two degree heat with the eighty-six percent humidity that is vaporizing our part of the country right now -- I wonder, "What does he have against Martha Stewart?" We have a tree, we have potted plants, we have two vehicles with eight stock-still, amenable wheels just begging for a good soaking, but Martha? Why her? What did she ever do to warrant such tactless consideration?
Oddly enough I thought back to yesterday and "all those nuts." We've all been wronged, we've all wronged others. Sometimes there are deep-seated motives, sometimes we are self-absorbed, sometimes there is intent. And sometimes, like Bishop and Martha, there is no excuse except there is no excuse. We just do it -- whether out of habit or lack of focus, or maybe from sheer ignorance. Now, that's not to say Martha must continue to suffer such indignity, and Bishop is permitted to persist in such disgusting behavior, but none of us is above doing the wrong thing. None of us can say we are better than a door slammer, or cart abandoner, or no-signaler, and sometimes the anger we feel when we are the victims of such outrage, stems from thinking that we are. We are sinful, imperfect, mortal beings (Romans 3:23) who desperately need God's forgiveness (I John 1:9) and the forgiveness of one another (Col. 3:13). We all engage in behavior that is not only displeasing to God, but may strongly affect those around us. Today's society seems to capitalize on victimization, and fix itself on ensuring our "persecuted" remain trophies for our crusade, no matter how ungodly the cause. We turn every infraction or oversight into some deliberate attack on our faith, our politics, our ethnicity, even our choice of vehicle. We have become a pampered, self-righteous, defensive people.
II Chronicles 7:14 is God's clear, concise plan for action. It starts within each of us -- humility, repentance -- and culminates in the forgiveness of our sins and the restoration of our land. Imagine a world where smiling people consider others before themselves, where buggies are carefully stored in the cart corral and "helpful sales associates" are so sure you will return their courtesy that they are truly unapologetically helpful. Imagine, if you dare, a world where a simple pitbull and a homemaking icon can get along...
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Traveling Into Tomorrow
The Little League World Series is on in the family room. Normally, trying to write while the television is on simply "kills my mojo." Tonight though, it is actually my inspiration -- well, the game is, anyway.
About five years ago, "the roadtrip bug" was creeping its way into my every thought. Road trips have always been our preferred method of escape. As another school year was encroaching on our lazy August afternoons, and my denial had become no match for the uncertainty and pressure of a failing marriage, escape was an inviting option.
I checked out some destinations far enough away to "get away" but close enough to cover in a long weekend on a small budget. I decided on the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. Horseback riding, canoeing, and a scenic train ride were all within a few miles of an inexpensive, clean little lodge in the "middle of town." Perfect.
As we drove, anticipating the nuances that come with travelling to a new location, we talked excitedly about the things around us. We wondered where those riding in the lanes next to us were headed. We pointed out cloud shapes and the patchwork colors of rolling hills of farmland. We looked for deer and fox, marvelled at "painted" bands cut into the rock that towered above us along the road, and drew in the fresh clean smells of the country. Of course, even my children knew, our road trip would not have been complete without a stop at Starbucks on the turnpike, or a nostalgic meal at the Red Rabbit Drive-In on Route 22 in Duncannon, PA.
Now personally, I have learned more about baseball in the past three years then I had ever wished to know in my life. Joe is a fount of baseball information. I am amazed by his diligence and commitment to the game and its players; he spouts off statistics from years before he was born and maintains surveillance on the Phillies like an AC pit boss. However, at the time of our Grand Canyon roadtrip, I had not had the pleasure of dating my future husband or meeting my future stepson. So, as we began to drive toward Williamsport, I was oblivious to the town's significance, particularly in the last days of August. Traffic had started to form, and I thought there had been some sort of accident or emergency. I noticed the area was abuzz with what seemed to be a majority of families, and businesses were -- well, very busy; I imagined a county fair or fireworks. "Best to wait this out," I thought. The sun was just beginning to set, so we pulled to the side of the road to look out over the mountains and hills, watching the colors emerge and slowly sink back out of sight. As darkness crept over the heavens, the sky around Williamsport began to glow with the 1000 watt lamps of ambition. Back in the truck again, we passed the first sign welcoming little leaguers, and I suddenly realized the local radio station we'd been listening to was hyping up its listeners for the big game, The Little League World Series.
We moved on that day; we had our destination as did those players and their families. But, each August when the news turns to the series I can't help but remember those fleeting days, as summer was bidding farewell, and even its warm breeze seemed to carry within it the golds and saffrons of fall. When I stood by the roadside, with the dusty greens and characterless browns of unspoiled acres fading into the darkness of night. Watching the day, watching the summer, and maybe even an entire period of our lives come to a close. Not knowing exactly what was up ahead, in a new day, a new season, but knowing that it was there and as we moved toward it, it was ours to capture and steward.
About five years ago, "the roadtrip bug" was creeping its way into my every thought. Road trips have always been our preferred method of escape. As another school year was encroaching on our lazy August afternoons, and my denial had become no match for the uncertainty and pressure of a failing marriage, escape was an inviting option.
I checked out some destinations far enough away to "get away" but close enough to cover in a long weekend on a small budget. I decided on the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. Horseback riding, canoeing, and a scenic train ride were all within a few miles of an inexpensive, clean little lodge in the "middle of town." Perfect.
As we drove, anticipating the nuances that come with travelling to a new location, we talked excitedly about the things around us. We wondered where those riding in the lanes next to us were headed. We pointed out cloud shapes and the patchwork colors of rolling hills of farmland. We looked for deer and fox, marvelled at "painted" bands cut into the rock that towered above us along the road, and drew in the fresh clean smells of the country. Of course, even my children knew, our road trip would not have been complete without a stop at Starbucks on the turnpike, or a nostalgic meal at the Red Rabbit Drive-In on Route 22 in Duncannon, PA.
Now personally, I have learned more about baseball in the past three years then I had ever wished to know in my life. Joe is a fount of baseball information. I am amazed by his diligence and commitment to the game and its players; he spouts off statistics from years before he was born and maintains surveillance on the Phillies like an AC pit boss. However, at the time of our Grand Canyon roadtrip, I had not had the pleasure of dating my future husband or meeting my future stepson. So, as we began to drive toward Williamsport, I was oblivious to the town's significance, particularly in the last days of August. Traffic had started to form, and I thought there had been some sort of accident or emergency. I noticed the area was abuzz with what seemed to be a majority of families, and businesses were -- well, very busy; I imagined a county fair or fireworks. "Best to wait this out," I thought. The sun was just beginning to set, so we pulled to the side of the road to look out over the mountains and hills, watching the colors emerge and slowly sink back out of sight. As darkness crept over the heavens, the sky around Williamsport began to glow with the 1000 watt lamps of ambition. Back in the truck again, we passed the first sign welcoming little leaguers, and I suddenly realized the local radio station we'd been listening to was hyping up its listeners for the big game, The Little League World Series.
We moved on that day; we had our destination as did those players and their families. But, each August when the news turns to the series I can't help but remember those fleeting days, as summer was bidding farewell, and even its warm breeze seemed to carry within it the golds and saffrons of fall. When I stood by the roadside, with the dusty greens and characterless browns of unspoiled acres fading into the darkness of night. Watching the day, watching the summer, and maybe even an entire period of our lives come to a close. Not knowing exactly what was up ahead, in a new day, a new season, but knowing that it was there and as we moved toward it, it was ours to capture and steward.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Are We Passing Muster?
I am at a loss here, today. Not because I have no ideas but, as usual, have too many ideas. I could tell you about the four pounds of London broil missing from my kitchen counter after Bishop's first foray into "guarding the fort" while we all ran quickly to the grocery store. I could tell you how angry I am about some of the nonsense in political media these last few days. I could even tell you about the ridiculous discussion going on upstairs right now, regarding the girls switching rooms. But none of those things seem to suit.
When I began this blog, I prayed for God's leading. Almost every (and I wish I could say "Every") time I sit to write, I pray for His direction; I pray that my words are His words. I even have a word of counsel taped to my computer monitor, advising me to bring every issue before the Lord; examine every relationship, business decision, even each purchase, in light of God's directions and precepts. I'm not big on Post-Its or clutter, pictures or cutesy little slips of Chinese fortune plastering otherwise vast expanses of nothingness on the faces of my equipment or appliances. So, for me to post this caveat was big; it "spoke" to me. And yet, I still forget who this is about.
It's most certainly not about me. But neither is it about my family, or our dogs, or crazy experiences at the checkout, or even the Right or the Left. It is about the Author and Finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2). It is about the Alpha and the Omega (Revelation 22:13). It is about the One Who has us engraved in the palm of His hand (Isaiah 49:16) and has a plan for each of us (Jeremiah 29:11) if we are only willing to seek His face and listen to His direction. It is about the Trinity: the One True God, His precious Son, Jesus, and the Spirit of God, sent to counsel, guide and help us until Christ's return.
So, I will save these ideas bobbing around in my head, for another day. But for right now, leave us with the question, "Who is it about in my life?" Who do we seek to please? Who's standards do we seek to meet? Start with me today and make it about Him.
When I began this blog, I prayed for God's leading. Almost every (and I wish I could say "Every") time I sit to write, I pray for His direction; I pray that my words are His words. I even have a word of counsel taped to my computer monitor, advising me to bring every issue before the Lord; examine every relationship, business decision, even each purchase, in light of God's directions and precepts. I'm not big on Post-Its or clutter, pictures or cutesy little slips of Chinese fortune plastering otherwise vast expanses of nothingness on the faces of my equipment or appliances. So, for me to post this caveat was big; it "spoke" to me. And yet, I still forget who this is about.
It's most certainly not about me. But neither is it about my family, or our dogs, or crazy experiences at the checkout, or even the Right or the Left. It is about the Author and Finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2). It is about the Alpha and the Omega (Revelation 22:13). It is about the One Who has us engraved in the palm of His hand (Isaiah 49:16) and has a plan for each of us (Jeremiah 29:11) if we are only willing to seek His face and listen to His direction. It is about the Trinity: the One True God, His precious Son, Jesus, and the Spirit of God, sent to counsel, guide and help us until Christ's return.
So, I will save these ideas bobbing around in my head, for another day. But for right now, leave us with the question, "Who is it about in my life?" Who do we seek to please? Who's standards do we seek to meet? Start with me today and make it about Him.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
More To Love
It's been a very busy week.
Scott and I spent the entire weekend, sans children, working on our ceiling and attempting to get our living room in order. Despite our stagnant finances, we decided to bite the bullet and spring for some of the amenities required to complete the room in which the family spends the most time. Collectively, we spent almost fifty percent of our time at home improvement stores; we looked, decided, undecided, decided again, then waited. At one Home Depot we waited so long for service in one department, they gave us 10% off our entire bill! At another store, the associate seemed so glad to see someone on a Saturday night, he chatted on about the Phillies and gave us updates on the score as we browsed. Another associate gave us a lesson on "how not to operate a fork lift," and Scott followed up with a lesson on"how to chose the best wood for your project."
In the process of embellishing our living space, we enlarged our family -- by one more pit bull. For those who are counting, that's two adults, five children (four at home) and two canines. I realize there are plenty of folks who might meet that body count and raise it by three or four more, but I still cannot grasp the logic behind it. This was more of an emotional decision, I guess -- a beautiful, gentle dog that needed a home or otherwise would be forced into some very undesirable conditions. Rationale and reason took a back seat. It's been chaotic ever since, and the younger three children aren't even here yet! So, I had to post a picture...
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