Candy Molds & Tax Returns

A friend of mine handed me some candy molds, the other day.

"You want these?"

"Sure, I'll take 'em. Although this year I didn't even do anything. No cookies. No baking. Nothing!"

"What?! That's not like you."

"I was so busy." And as I started to explain, I realized I couldn't. I had nothing. I couldn't tell her three things I had done that made me so busy!

~~~~~

Next month we'll be taking every receipt, every scrap of paper, every detail of our pretty pathetic financial lives to a great guy we know. It's a bittersweet visit. We see him once a year. We laugh. We cry. We talk about our faith. He works his hardest for us, and we plead our hardest in front of him. He is not afraid to tell us no. (I still don't see eye-to-eye with him about dogs - very comfortable dogs - not being tax deductions.)

They do not call him "an accountant" for nothing. He takes stock of our expenditures and our windfalls. He is all about the Benjamins, and the Washingtons. He calls us to account. And when it comes to our charitable giving, he makes sure we account for that as well. He is a Christian brother, so he knows how God feels about giving. 



Deuteronomy 16:17Every man shall give as he is able, according to the blessing of the LORD your God which He has given you.

Proverbs 22:9 He who is generous will be blessed, for he gives some of his food to the poor.

2 Corinthians 9:7 So let each one give as he purposes in his heart, not grudgingly, or of necessity; for God loves a cheerful giver.

Naturally, every year, as the time approaches to sit in front of him and give an account, I begin to think of our giving through the past year. Did we truly give as we were able? Did we give with a cheerful heart? Were we generous? Did we trust that God would supply our needs, and therefore, we could give without worry or reservation?

Truth is, I'm not sure our charitable giving is going to measure up the same way it did in past years. But dusty baking pans and a cringe worthy balance in our savings account tell a different story.

We did jobs pro bono, loaned money interest free (some turned out not so much to be loans, but gifts). So-and-so needs some extra food this week. He needs a ride to...  Extra money in the kettle at Walmart. Blood drive at work. Can you cook her a meal or two? Please help me with... Drop off your donation of clothing here.

Our lives were crazy! But crazy because God has given us so much. Understand that NONE OF THIS IS ABOUT ME, OR US! This is thoroughly -- every detail, every moment -- about God. Whether He gives us money or blesses us with knowledge, or time, or ability, or experience, or simply an honest desire to help someone, it is all about Him! He gave us opportunities to serve. He gave us the means to serve. He blessed us with the privilege of serving.

And, though I can't account for every minute, or why I was so busy -- I was. I woke up each day prepared to, eager to give God whatever I had of my day, my dollars and my ability. It was an awesome fiscal year! And it's all because of Him!



Same Difference

People are always telling me, "You should write a book." Truth is, I would love to! And, I promise, I wouldn't make dangling prepositions a habit. But, as eventful as my life is, as much as God has done for me, as unique as I think the people in my life are, as much as I love each day that is given to me and I try to do with it what I should, I'm not sure I have the "IT." You know, the IT that it takes to make a book appealing, or kitschy, or worth reading beginning to end!

In my teens and twenties, and probably well into my thirties, I used to think I was some kind of freak, a geeky sort of anomaly. I dressed in costume -- some quite ridiculous -- because whatever was in fashion served only to remind me that I was not in fashion -- why try? My moods, my weight, my interests and my relationships were as volatile as weather; I could never quite seem to be everything others wanted me to be.

But now, as I near the end of my forties, I realize I didn't really know what others expected, and I didn't have to be that anyway. I am beginning to know myself, and I am not so different from everyone else. Or maybe, it's that I have come to realize that everyone else is not so different from me:

We are all insecure on our own. 

We all just want to be happy and enjoy the eighty years or so that we spend on earth. 

We all have issues. 

We are all slaves to something, and take ownership of others. 

We all want to change something.

We all have things we need to do, and don't.

We all have things we shouldn't do, and do.

So, what could I say that hasn't already been said? 

Seeing Things My Way

I had an eye exam this week. Whoohoo! I know, you're saying, "Seriously? I'm going to read a blogpost about 'Which is better? 1. or 2? 1. or 2?'" But there is nothing like an eye exam to make you realize your limitations. You can't say, "Well, the weather's been awful, I haven't been able to jog my 40 miles a day," like you do when the physician rolls his eyes over the extra sixteen pounds. You can't commit to more frequent flossing, or taking vitamins. It is what it is. Your eyes will betray whatever delusions of youth you have managed to entertain in your senior mind. I used to think, "What kind of person can't read that HUGE! E at the top of the eye chart?!" Yeah, I used to think that.

Seriously, I think I would rather have rhinoplasty, or a colonoscopy. Maybe both. It's just you and the optometrist. You're locked in this little room. She's firing questions at you like the KGB. Does anyone feel the same kind of pressure I do? You're sitting in that big electric chair-looking thing. What if you get one wrong?! "Next round: Sudden Death!" Do they waterboard you in that room down the hall? That door is ALWAYS shut. I've begun to feel as though every second or third option is the same lens she's already shown me; she's just messing with me. Maybe she's trying to see if I'm telling the truth, or if I'm cheating somehow. They don't call this an exam for nothing, you know. A neurotic overachiever like me could have a full blown panic attack in a situation like that!

And, after what seems like hours into the exam, after the fifth or sixth "Well, how about this one?" When you hear that sigh, and her tone begins to change... "Look, Mr. Magoo, time is money. If you don't hurry up, I'm gonna set you up with a pair of Coke bottles that will make Morocco Mole feel bad for you!" And I begin to crack under the pressure. And I think I taste my own blood in my throat. And I just blurt out, "THAT ONE! Yes! That one." It is then I realize the best is yet to come...

I have to pay for this.

COMING ATTRACTIONS:

Have you ever felt like a magnet for every mess that comes down the pike?

Sometimes I think my life looks like this.

I don't ask for this.  I go to work thinking about driving home, just like every other schlep out there.  I want to do what I have to do, and go about my life.  I'm not looking for the best parking space, but I'd like to get to one before my shift starts in twenty minutes.   

I go to the grocery store.  I want to get what I have to get, and get out.  I don't have to be first, I'd just like the store to stock the item that went on sale this morning!

I am a Christian.  I want to worship; I want to serve.  I don't want to scale walls and draw blood for permission to be a part of your "Christian group."  My membership, my permission was purchased at the cross.  (Obviously there's a lot more going on here, but that's for another day.)

I am a mom, with a cell phone, and a vehicle.  This means I am a fat, juicy worm for melodrama, meltdowns, plights, and quandaries.

What I am beginning to realize, however, is that being a magnet for messes also makes my life look like this...

I become a magnet for people.

People I would never consciously choose, come in to my life for more than just a momentary glance.  Honestly, some I'd like to keep around; some I am pleased to see go.  But, I have an opportunity to make a difference, to serve, and to bless.

And, those people are watching.  Whether they are standing behind me when the store clerk rudely tosses me my change, or whether they bear witness daily to the way I live.  I can walk the walk, or they can see that I'm all talk.

So, the next time your good intentions bite you squarely and quite viciously in the bum, or the guy from Accounting slams into you and your fresh cup of coffee as you exit the elevator, or every person you know, in the midst of a divorce feels as if they "can only talk to you" (including your sister and her soon-to-be ex-husband), or the hotel has lost the reservation you so prudently made months in advance, or whatever mess comes your way...

...that mess comes with the opportunity to push it away, or to draw people closer and love them all the more.