I had a great talk with an old friend last night (old because we've been friends since we were cubs, not because we're old. Just wanted to be clear on that...). She reminded me of some important stuff. So today, a list:
What I love about Saturday.
-"Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on NPR while I mop
-A clean house. Mmmmmm....a clean house.
-The temple.
-A good, hard workout.
-Not getting showered and dressed until 3 in the afternoon, and not because I was lazy.
-Garrison Keillor on "Prairie Home Companion". I laugh a lot on Saturdays.
-Having a soundtrack to accompany me most of the day. I need music.
That's it, but that's a lot. So I'll be happy.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Just some stuff I've been thinking about
If my job consisted of preparing and presenting storytimes all the time, it would be a very fun job. My job isn't supposed to consist of that at all, and when the ox is in the mire, and I must dig in and pull it out, it causes issues in my other duties. But it's so fun to sing songs and read stories and play with the munchkins. I totally could do that way, way more often.
So, there are a lot of things that people do that make me wonder, and this one is of the totally meaningless fluff variety, but I've gotta put it out there. I've noticed this wedding anouncement trend in the last many years that I don't get. In the interest of full disclosure, let me say this. I tend to be the kind of person who thinks that a wedding should be a very personal, intimate event between a man and a woman, and should be witnessed and celebrated by a small group of very close friends and family. And when you send those folks an invitation, they probably don't need a picture of you. I would be unlikely to send any picture in an anouncement. But these photo announcements that have 3 or 4 little pictures of the couple--I find those a little weird, too. Usually I'll bite my tongue and not mention it to anyone else. However, when the couple appears in different outfits for each of the 3 or 4 pictures on the photo announcement, well, I can't keep it in any longer. What is the point of that? Am I supposed to believe that these photos represent a cross section of moments from your courtship? It's clear that these are posed photos, taken on the same occasion--namely a shoot with your photographer--so why the costume change? Couldn't narrow down to just one favorite ensemble? It kind of reminds me of those quirky little four year olds going through the "wear everything I own all at once" phase, the one who comes out in the morning with her sunday dress, two pairs of tights, a long sleeve t-shirt, a button down and a sweater topped off with winter hat and mittens. Three pictures is questionable folks. Three pictures with three costume changes-that's just overkill.
Update: just saw another one of the wardrobe change announcements. This one had another twist. The bride's face is almost never facing the camera. There's probably five photos, and you can only see her eyes in 1 or 2. Hmmmmm.
The world that God created is utterly beautiful. I don't know why I get so caught up in the work of our hands that I don't enjoy the work of His. I went hiking in Rock Canyon Friday, and it was a beautiful day. The leaves are starting to turn, and I just wanted to cry because I was so happy to be quiet in the trees listening to the water running and feeling God's love for me so purely. On the way, there were three deer in an empty lot down in the riverwoods munching on grass. They had fuzzy antlers. I knew it was going to be a good day.
What part, exactly, of Cheetos is made with "real cheese"? And how do they disguise it so well?
I have spent three years looking for a brown skirt. I fully realize that such a thing even making the list of long-term problems in my life is an indication of how blessed I am. I'm just saying, a brown skirt should not be a three-year odyssey. First of all, there aren't that many brown skirts out there. Black, always available in a myriad of styles, price points, sizes. Gray, you're all good there too. Even white or navy, in the summer you'll find a plethora of possibilities. But brown? Not so much. And when I do find a brown skirt, there is always something wrong. They are always made for women 5'6" or under. And even brands that carry tall sizes rarely make brown skirts in tall sizes. And hems tend to be an inch and a half deep at the most, which means taking the hem down isn't an option.
Then, when you think you've found the holy grail, some dumb designer somewhere takes a perfectly good brown skirt and hot glues some sequins or ribbons or some other stupid embellishment that makes an otherwise serviceable garment unwearable. Aaaargh. All I want is a cute, wearable, brown wool skirt that won't turn into a mid-thigh disaster when I sit down at church. Is that asking too much?
As long as we're talking fashion, I can't wait for skinny jeans to just go away. And I hope I'm dead the next time they trend.
I think I have a very persistent poltergeist. First, I thought we were haunted at work. All the computer problems, the always freezing corner of the basement, an odd scent of cigarette smoke that lingered in the IT room sometimes. I was sure we'd disturbed some ancient tobacco smoking spirits with the whole south wing renovation. Then I thought my house was haunted. Weird noises, strange dreams, a sense that someone was waking me up in the middle of the night, then finding no one there. Kind of weird. But now, I swear, it's haunting my car. Every other time I get in my car, my mirrors are jacked up. It's probably just my clumsiness. I run into things all the time, so maybe I'm bumping them and just not noticing. Maybe it's the same problem as the mysterious bruises that I always have and never know how I got. But it's starting to freak me out. If I get in my car tonight and the rearview is funky, well, I'm going to be a little upset.
So, there are a lot of things that people do that make me wonder, and this one is of the totally meaningless fluff variety, but I've gotta put it out there. I've noticed this wedding anouncement trend in the last many years that I don't get. In the interest of full disclosure, let me say this. I tend to be the kind of person who thinks that a wedding should be a very personal, intimate event between a man and a woman, and should be witnessed and celebrated by a small group of very close friends and family. And when you send those folks an invitation, they probably don't need a picture of you. I would be unlikely to send any picture in an anouncement. But these photo announcements that have 3 or 4 little pictures of the couple--I find those a little weird, too. Usually I'll bite my tongue and not mention it to anyone else. However, when the couple appears in different outfits for each of the 3 or 4 pictures on the photo announcement, well, I can't keep it in any longer. What is the point of that? Am I supposed to believe that these photos represent a cross section of moments from your courtship? It's clear that these are posed photos, taken on the same occasion--namely a shoot with your photographer--so why the costume change? Couldn't narrow down to just one favorite ensemble? It kind of reminds me of those quirky little four year olds going through the "wear everything I own all at once" phase, the one who comes out in the morning with her sunday dress, two pairs of tights, a long sleeve t-shirt, a button down and a sweater topped off with winter hat and mittens. Three pictures is questionable folks. Three pictures with three costume changes-that's just overkill.
Update: just saw another one of the wardrobe change announcements. This one had another twist. The bride's face is almost never facing the camera. There's probably five photos, and you can only see her eyes in 1 or 2. Hmmmmm.
The world that God created is utterly beautiful. I don't know why I get so caught up in the work of our hands that I don't enjoy the work of His. I went hiking in Rock Canyon Friday, and it was a beautiful day. The leaves are starting to turn, and I just wanted to cry because I was so happy to be quiet in the trees listening to the water running and feeling God's love for me so purely. On the way, there were three deer in an empty lot down in the riverwoods munching on grass. They had fuzzy antlers. I knew it was going to be a good day.
What part, exactly, of Cheetos is made with "real cheese"? And how do they disguise it so well?
I have spent three years looking for a brown skirt. I fully realize that such a thing even making the list of long-term problems in my life is an indication of how blessed I am. I'm just saying, a brown skirt should not be a three-year odyssey. First of all, there aren't that many brown skirts out there. Black, always available in a myriad of styles, price points, sizes. Gray, you're all good there too. Even white or navy, in the summer you'll find a plethora of possibilities. But brown? Not so much. And when I do find a brown skirt, there is always something wrong. They are always made for women 5'6" or under. And even brands that carry tall sizes rarely make brown skirts in tall sizes. And hems tend to be an inch and a half deep at the most, which means taking the hem down isn't an option.
Then, when you think you've found the holy grail, some dumb designer somewhere takes a perfectly good brown skirt and hot glues some sequins or ribbons or some other stupid embellishment that makes an otherwise serviceable garment unwearable. Aaaargh. All I want is a cute, wearable, brown wool skirt that won't turn into a mid-thigh disaster when I sit down at church. Is that asking too much?
As long as we're talking fashion, I can't wait for skinny jeans to just go away. And I hope I'm dead the next time they trend.
I think I have a very persistent poltergeist. First, I thought we were haunted at work. All the computer problems, the always freezing corner of the basement, an odd scent of cigarette smoke that lingered in the IT room sometimes. I was sure we'd disturbed some ancient tobacco smoking spirits with the whole south wing renovation. Then I thought my house was haunted. Weird noises, strange dreams, a sense that someone was waking me up in the middle of the night, then finding no one there. Kind of weird. But now, I swear, it's haunting my car. Every other time I get in my car, my mirrors are jacked up. It's probably just my clumsiness. I run into things all the time, so maybe I'm bumping them and just not noticing. Maybe it's the same problem as the mysterious bruises that I always have and never know how I got. But it's starting to freak me out. If I get in my car tonight and the rearview is funky, well, I'm going to be a little upset.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Job Interviews are not romantic...or effective.
I must preface this post with a disclaimer. I do not want either your sympathy or your criticism for what follows. I'm just thinking out loud on the Internet. Dangerous, I know. That danger, though, is mitigated by the fact that there are very few people who pay any attention to what I say. Just a warning, if you are paying attention to this, and you feel like you should comment, just be nice, and understand that at this point, neither criticism nor sympathy will help. If you have a funny story to tell, that would be fab.
So, I'm heading to a milestone birthday in a woman's life.
Okay, so I just wrote this post, and I liked it. It was honest and I thought it was interesting, and when I went to post it, it disappeared. And I'm going to take it as a sign from the universe that it shouldn't be shared. So, you'll just have to wonder what it was about, because my lips are sealed. I love the title though, so I'm going to post it anyway.
Cheers, blogosphere. I'm out.
So, I'm heading to a milestone birthday in a woman's life.
Okay, so I just wrote this post, and I liked it. It was honest and I thought it was interesting, and when I went to post it, it disappeared. And I'm going to take it as a sign from the universe that it shouldn't be shared. So, you'll just have to wonder what it was about, because my lips are sealed. I love the title though, so I'm going to post it anyway.
Cheers, blogosphere. I'm out.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Random Observations: the sequel
And, here we go again.
-I had a dream the other night. Gus was in the dream, and he was not behaving particularly well. He was jumping up and trying to chew on my hands, just your typical, everyday, Gus-like behavior. But there was this other dog. Fairly large, and very blond. Like a straw colored golden retriever with crimped fur. Beautifully behaved dog. Understood the whole "heel" concept, didn't bark, nip or jump. Incredibly easy. What was abundantly clear to me in this dream was that this well behaved dog was absolutely not mine.
And what was the dog's name, you ask?
Life. The dog's name was Life. Lord help me.
-I made hummus from scatch the other day. If you have never done this, and you have a blender or a food processor, please get some chickpeas, some lemon and garlic, some tahini and some olive oil and make some soon. It is so good, and nothing like the premade stuff in the store. It's worth the effort. And God bless my old Logan buddy Sam for teaching me how to make it many years ago.
-Tiger Woods totally ruined Stevie Wonder for me. Blast you, you cheating...I can't think of a word that I can actually write that also expresses what a...see, I have no words for men like this. Famous or not. And the last thing I need in my life right now is another reason to believe that men will inevitably break my heart in any non-platonic situation. Shame on him. And shame on all the rest of them that seem both so insistent and so adept at giving men a bad name.
-What makes people think it's okay to move the furniture in a public place? I have a great job. Don't misunderstand me. But some of our patrons drive me batty. Like the guy who drags one of our chairs out of the window nook into the corner EVERY SINGLE DAY. I'm sure he doesn't even think twice about it. But we didn't put chairs in those corners for no reason. We very carefully measure the distance between rows and walls. We put furniture where it doesn't impede the flow of traffic, including for those in wheelchairs. Everyday, when he moves the chair and leaves it in the corner, what he never, never considers is the fact that because of his arrogance in moving furniture (THAT IS NOT HIS)and leaving it (instead of at least returning it to its place), if someone in a wheelchair comes in, they are screwed. But I think about that. And I think about moms with strollers trying to maneuver through that obstacle. I think about it, because I see them have to struggle. I see them have to ask for or accept help because of someone's daily thoughtlessness. So every morning I move that chair back to where it belongs. And I get more and more tired of feeling like some folks are being carried, and some folks are doing the carrying. And that's not a very Christlike attitude, I know.
I have a friend who says that Celestial people always put their shopping carts in the right place. I'm starting to believe her. And they don't do it because it's the rule or the law. They do it because they love other people, even people they don't know, and don't want to do anything that could hurt other people. They think about their actions, and the ramifications of those actions for someone other than themselves. I'm clearly not there yet (it would be a huge blow to my self-confidence if I was perfect and still HERE...), but I want to be, and I'm trying. And to everyone out there who carries my thoughtlessness, thank you. I'll learn.
-I wish I could keep an octopus as a pet, even though it would surely be much more trouble than Gus. They are just so cool. And really, really smart.
-Did you hear about the guy who left the super-secret prototype of the new iPhone in a bar? Bwahahahahahaha! Two words for you, dude: shirley temple. Or: bottled water. Or, just: Don't drink.
-I've given up Glee and Project Runway. I was watching PR a couple of weeks ago, and as one of the designers was discussing another designer, I just realized that these are not nice people. That's not entirely true. The guy that won this year, I actually thought he was pretty classy through most of it. But most of them are really mean to each other. I don't know if it's the producers that provoke the kind of catty meanness that pervades that show, or if the designers are just really that petty, but I realized that as entertaining as the process and the products are, I just can't rationalize watching people be awful to each other. So no more PR for me.
With Glee, my little niece taught me a huge lesson. She watched part of an episode, and she wanted to watch the rest of it. But I realized that as fun and cute as part of it is, there would be things that she would have questions about--things that she shouldn't be thinking about at seven years old. I'm not one of those people who think everything an adult watches should be appropriate for a kid, too. That's just not realistic most of the time. But I started to realize that the attitudes and ideologies that I didn't want little Susanna to absorb are attitudes and ideologies that I'm not okay with absorbing either.
I've been thinking a lot lately about where I cast my eyes. Where do I look? Because where I put my eyes is where my desires will be. My desires will shape my values, and eventually my actions. As entertaining as both PR and Glee are, I don't really want to cast my eyes on Ryan Murphy or the Weinsteins anymore. I don't want them shaping my desires, my values or my actions at all. I'm ready to sacrifice those things to cast my eyes on something better.
I really wish, though, that Project Runway could cut all the meanness and pettiness out. I think it could still be both fascinating and funny, and I love watching them work and seeing what they come up with. Oh well. We all know that's not going to happen.
That's it. I haven't been thinking about anything funny lately. Joel needs to finish law school and go back to blogging. I miss the greatest blog in the universe. Oh, and I just gotta say, it has been the most beautiful week of the year. The teacup magnolias were gorgeous, and the cherry blossoms. Oh, the cherry blossoms! And I love little green buds on trees. Don't you think we could use extended spring? I could totally give up about six weeks of winter for more of this beauty. Now, if I can just get the garden ready to plant in two weeks, all will be well with the world.
-I had a dream the other night. Gus was in the dream, and he was not behaving particularly well. He was jumping up and trying to chew on my hands, just your typical, everyday, Gus-like behavior. But there was this other dog. Fairly large, and very blond. Like a straw colored golden retriever with crimped fur. Beautifully behaved dog. Understood the whole "heel" concept, didn't bark, nip or jump. Incredibly easy. What was abundantly clear to me in this dream was that this well behaved dog was absolutely not mine.
And what was the dog's name, you ask?
Life. The dog's name was Life. Lord help me.
-I made hummus from scatch the other day. If you have never done this, and you have a blender or a food processor, please get some chickpeas, some lemon and garlic, some tahini and some olive oil and make some soon. It is so good, and nothing like the premade stuff in the store. It's worth the effort. And God bless my old Logan buddy Sam for teaching me how to make it many years ago.
-Tiger Woods totally ruined Stevie Wonder for me. Blast you, you cheating...I can't think of a word that I can actually write that also expresses what a...see, I have no words for men like this. Famous or not. And the last thing I need in my life right now is another reason to believe that men will inevitably break my heart in any non-platonic situation. Shame on him. And shame on all the rest of them that seem both so insistent and so adept at giving men a bad name.
-What makes people think it's okay to move the furniture in a public place? I have a great job. Don't misunderstand me. But some of our patrons drive me batty. Like the guy who drags one of our chairs out of the window nook into the corner EVERY SINGLE DAY. I'm sure he doesn't even think twice about it. But we didn't put chairs in those corners for no reason. We very carefully measure the distance between rows and walls. We put furniture where it doesn't impede the flow of traffic, including for those in wheelchairs. Everyday, when he moves the chair and leaves it in the corner, what he never, never considers is the fact that because of his arrogance in moving furniture (THAT IS NOT HIS)and leaving it (instead of at least returning it to its place), if someone in a wheelchair comes in, they are screwed. But I think about that. And I think about moms with strollers trying to maneuver through that obstacle. I think about it, because I see them have to struggle. I see them have to ask for or accept help because of someone's daily thoughtlessness. So every morning I move that chair back to where it belongs. And I get more and more tired of feeling like some folks are being carried, and some folks are doing the carrying. And that's not a very Christlike attitude, I know.
I have a friend who says that Celestial people always put their shopping carts in the right place. I'm starting to believe her. And they don't do it because it's the rule or the law. They do it because they love other people, even people they don't know, and don't want to do anything that could hurt other people. They think about their actions, and the ramifications of those actions for someone other than themselves. I'm clearly not there yet (it would be a huge blow to my self-confidence if I was perfect and still HERE...), but I want to be, and I'm trying. And to everyone out there who carries my thoughtlessness, thank you. I'll learn.
-I wish I could keep an octopus as a pet, even though it would surely be much more trouble than Gus. They are just so cool. And really, really smart.
-Did you hear about the guy who left the super-secret prototype of the new iPhone in a bar? Bwahahahahahaha! Two words for you, dude: shirley temple. Or: bottled water. Or, just: Don't drink.
-I've given up Glee and Project Runway. I was watching PR a couple of weeks ago, and as one of the designers was discussing another designer, I just realized that these are not nice people. That's not entirely true. The guy that won this year, I actually thought he was pretty classy through most of it. But most of them are really mean to each other. I don't know if it's the producers that provoke the kind of catty meanness that pervades that show, or if the designers are just really that petty, but I realized that as entertaining as the process and the products are, I just can't rationalize watching people be awful to each other. So no more PR for me.
With Glee, my little niece taught me a huge lesson. She watched part of an episode, and she wanted to watch the rest of it. But I realized that as fun and cute as part of it is, there would be things that she would have questions about--things that she shouldn't be thinking about at seven years old. I'm not one of those people who think everything an adult watches should be appropriate for a kid, too. That's just not realistic most of the time. But I started to realize that the attitudes and ideologies that I didn't want little Susanna to absorb are attitudes and ideologies that I'm not okay with absorbing either.
I've been thinking a lot lately about where I cast my eyes. Where do I look? Because where I put my eyes is where my desires will be. My desires will shape my values, and eventually my actions. As entertaining as both PR and Glee are, I don't really want to cast my eyes on Ryan Murphy or the Weinsteins anymore. I don't want them shaping my desires, my values or my actions at all. I'm ready to sacrifice those things to cast my eyes on something better.
I really wish, though, that Project Runway could cut all the meanness and pettiness out. I think it could still be both fascinating and funny, and I love watching them work and seeing what they come up with. Oh well. We all know that's not going to happen.
That's it. I haven't been thinking about anything funny lately. Joel needs to finish law school and go back to blogging. I miss the greatest blog in the universe. Oh, and I just gotta say, it has been the most beautiful week of the year. The teacup magnolias were gorgeous, and the cherry blossoms. Oh, the cherry blossoms! And I love little green buds on trees. Don't you think we could use extended spring? I could totally give up about six weeks of winter for more of this beauty. Now, if I can just get the garden ready to plant in two weeks, all will be well with the world.
Find the Pony, Clarky
Long ago and far away, I was a missionary who was struggling. It felt really, really rough; though I was trying my best, nothing seemed to work, and I was not happy. My dear sister wrote me a letter, and reminded me of a story my dad likes to tell sometimes. It stuck with me, and inspired a phrase that has become a mantra of sorts. It's been running through my head tonight, so I thought I'd share it here on my blog. There is some mild cursing, but I can't imagine that anyone pays all that much attention to what I think anyway, so I'm not going to be too worried about it. Let's just put it this way: if earthy terms for poop offend you, now would be a good time to click on that next blog tab.
Okay, here's the story.
Once upon a time there were two little boys, Bob and George. They were identical twins, alike in almost every way, but in one way they were very different. Bob and George were recruited for a study on twins, so their mom took them to the university where two rooms with one-way mirrors had been prepared.
First, they put Bob in his room and observed his reactions. Bob's room was a kid's dream. It was huge, and stocked with just about everything a boy could possibly want--movies, video games, a trampoline, a basketball hoop, a bike ramp, a fully stocked kitchenette with soda and snacks and a freezer full of ice cream. It was a wonderland! The researchers watched carefully as Bob entered the room. He looked at the DVDs and video games for a minute, walked over and took a few half-hearted jumps on the trampoline, went to the kitchen and had a couple of spoonfuls of ice cream, then sat down on the couch with a sour look on his face. After about ten minutes, the researchers asked Bob what was wrong.
"I've seen all these movies. The games in here are boring and there's nobody to play with. I'm tired and I don't want to jump or ride bikes. And that ice cream hurts my teeth. Can I go home now?"
So the researchers sent Bob back to his mom and turned their attention to George. George's room was a little different. It was tiny, no bigger than 10x10, and piled nearly to the ceiling with horse shit. They watched George as he entered the room. He furrowed his little brow in confusion, walked around the pile, looking carefully at it, plugging his nose. And then the strangest thing happened. Slowly a huge grin spread across George's face. He began to laugh and dig in the pile, flinging it joyfully across the room. After a few minutes of this strange behavior, the researchers had to find out what George was thinking, so they asked him why he was so happy. Why was he enjoying himself so much in these circumstances?
"Well," George replied, "With this much shit, I figure there has to be a pony in here somewhere."
The moral of the story? When life piles on truckloads of shit, put a smile on your face, laugh alot, and find the pony.
Okay, here's the story.
Once upon a time there were two little boys, Bob and George. They were identical twins, alike in almost every way, but in one way they were very different. Bob and George were recruited for a study on twins, so their mom took them to the university where two rooms with one-way mirrors had been prepared.
First, they put Bob in his room and observed his reactions. Bob's room was a kid's dream. It was huge, and stocked with just about everything a boy could possibly want--movies, video games, a trampoline, a basketball hoop, a bike ramp, a fully stocked kitchenette with soda and snacks and a freezer full of ice cream. It was a wonderland! The researchers watched carefully as Bob entered the room. He looked at the DVDs and video games for a minute, walked over and took a few half-hearted jumps on the trampoline, went to the kitchen and had a couple of spoonfuls of ice cream, then sat down on the couch with a sour look on his face. After about ten minutes, the researchers asked Bob what was wrong.
"I've seen all these movies. The games in here are boring and there's nobody to play with. I'm tired and I don't want to jump or ride bikes. And that ice cream hurts my teeth. Can I go home now?"
So the researchers sent Bob back to his mom and turned their attention to George. George's room was a little different. It was tiny, no bigger than 10x10, and piled nearly to the ceiling with horse shit. They watched George as he entered the room. He furrowed his little brow in confusion, walked around the pile, looking carefully at it, plugging his nose. And then the strangest thing happened. Slowly a huge grin spread across George's face. He began to laugh and dig in the pile, flinging it joyfully across the room. After a few minutes of this strange behavior, the researchers had to find out what George was thinking, so they asked him why he was so happy. Why was he enjoying himself so much in these circumstances?
"Well," George replied, "With this much shit, I figure there has to be a pony in here somewhere."
The moral of the story? When life piles on truckloads of shit, put a smile on your face, laugh alot, and find the pony.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Teacher
I was thinking the other day about my short-lived teaching career. This was the most frustrating thing about teaching for me: the kids I could help the most were always the one who wouldn't trust me enough to let me do it. Over and over again I tried to make them see that I could do anything I wanted in the classroom, and that all I wanted to do was to help them learn. If they failed over and over and over again, but kept trying, kept working, kept giving their best effort, none of the failures would matter. As long as they tried and worked and trusted me, I had the power to let them retake tests, improve projects, change grades. I wasn't willing to lie for them, to tell them and everyone else that they had mastered something they weren't really getting yet, but I was willing to hang in there with them until they got it. I was willing to figure out new assignments, new approaches to the task at hand. I was willing to give them more time, more instruction, more opportunities to get it right. I stayed awake at night trying to figure out how to help them because I wanted so badly for them to succeed. Some of them just didn't care, some were convinced they'd never get it. They didn't want to learn, they didn't want to try. And they felt terrible about themselves when they fell short.
I think I'm like my students on a grander scale, and Christ is like the teacher. All he wants is for us to learn, to hang in there with him, giving our best effort, trying everything he asks us to try. I've failed; in fact, I fail quite often, sometimes repeatedly at the same task (i.e. trying to be genuinely kind when I'd rather be left alone, not crumbling into a blubbering, tearful mess every time life doesn't go just as I'd like it to, facing whatever scares me this week, taking care of my body, staying focused in my study of the gospel...the list could go on forever). Every time I repent, there's a part of me that fears that this will be the last straw with Him. That this time, when I get on my knees and ask him to let me try again, it won't work. That He'll reject me. But He never does. Every single time, without exception, the answer I get is "try again. I still love you. I'm with you. Try again."
He paid the price for us to learn. He qualified himself to be our teacher, which means his power is infinite and eternal. He can arrange for makeup tests, for do-overs, for extensions on the due date. He just wants us to trust him enough to try. If we will do that, if we will work, give our best effort while we are here in his "class," he can teach us to be like him. That's what I want.
I think I'm like my students on a grander scale, and Christ is like the teacher. All he wants is for us to learn, to hang in there with him, giving our best effort, trying everything he asks us to try. I've failed; in fact, I fail quite often, sometimes repeatedly at the same task (i.e. trying to be genuinely kind when I'd rather be left alone, not crumbling into a blubbering, tearful mess every time life doesn't go just as I'd like it to, facing whatever scares me this week, taking care of my body, staying focused in my study of the gospel...the list could go on forever). Every time I repent, there's a part of me that fears that this will be the last straw with Him. That this time, when I get on my knees and ask him to let me try again, it won't work. That He'll reject me. But He never does. Every single time, without exception, the answer I get is "try again. I still love you. I'm with you. Try again."
He paid the price for us to learn. He qualified himself to be our teacher, which means his power is infinite and eternal. He can arrange for makeup tests, for do-overs, for extensions on the due date. He just wants us to trust him enough to try. If we will do that, if we will work, give our best effort while we are here in his "class," he can teach us to be like him. That's what I want.
Friday, March 12, 2010
My pack
This is Gus.
Gus is going to be my dog. I'm happy about this, and I know it's a good thing. We'll be a cozy little pack of two. I'm also scared.
I have to be the pack leader. The alpha dog. Because dogs can really only be as good as their keeper.
Also, I have to keep him healthy, strong, mentally stable and emotionally secure. I have to make sure his eyeballs stay inside his head. I had a nightmare about his eyeball popping out. This can happen with pugs.
Eeeeek.
He's so cute. He's going to chew on all my stuff.
What have I gotten myself into...
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