Do I Dare Admit...

...what I've spent a major portion of my last few days doing???

Okay, I'll tell you, though I'm laughing myself.

But first let me tell you why before I tell you what.

This Friday, our family is going to a dance party. Yes, you read that right, a dance party. You see, we have some friends who are a lot of fun (aka totally crazy) and they are hosting a graduation party for their lovely daughter, Mandy. Well, not being as boring as the rest of us, they came up with the idea that each family attending should come prepared to present a dance routine.

As you can imagine, Jeff and Tobias were thrilled with that idea. Delaney would be willing, but she's quite busy with the musical that she is presently involved in, so it's up to me to represent the family. (We're doomed.)

Knowing that any modern dance I came up with would look like an unfunny comedy routine, I looked to my roots and with a little help from the internet, I have now learned how to...

...Irish folk dance. Sort of.

Ya know, the-Lord-of-the-Dance type stuff (or in my case, the-Imbecile-of-the-is-that-a-Dance? type stuff) where the dancers' torsos and arms look frozen stiff while their legs commit methodical spasms much to the mystification of their audience.

Yeah.

So I found a video tutorial on the Net and have diligently been practicing these moves that look so beautiful and easy when the teacher does them. Ha! My consolation is that everyone is expecting this whole dance thing to be amusing. Otherwise, I'd stay home and clean my fridge.

Door to Door People Drive Me Nuts

Today, as I was blaring O'Sullivan's March and dancing my Scotch-Irish butt off, the doorbell rang. I went through my normal Oh-Someone's-at-the-Door routine and crept toward the front door, praying the floorboards wouldn't creak and peeked through the peephole.

It was some stranger who promptly waved at my peering self. (I hate how people can tell when you're looking!) I held my breath even though I knew he was on to me (as if the car in the driveway and the irish fiddle wailing in the background weren't enough clues that someone was indeed home). He waited a few seconds and then knocked on the door.

He calls me out by waving at my eyeball and then persists to claim entrance? Whatever, Pal!

Once during a similar scenario, a guy hollered out, "Hello! I know you're in there," in a somewhat hostile manner. Yeah, I'm really going to open my door to you now that I know you're angry with me.

What is it with these guys? Like I owe them something just because I don't have three Doberman Pinschers between the street and my front door.

Anyway, I need to get a few more minutes of practice in before Tobias comes home from school.

(My Celtic ancestors must either be rolling over in their graves or laughing the lids off their caskets.)

Mother's Day

Guess what I got for Mother's Day...


I was hoping for one of those. I guess the shattered crystal on my other one had shamed our family long enough. I actually like this one a lot more than the old one (even before it broke). Thanks, guys!

Here are the precious babies who have enabled me to be a part of this celebration called "Mother's Day"--



(You know your kid is getting tall when you need a stepping stool in order to chart his growth properly.)

Elderly Social Circles

Yesterday, I took my Grandma Hazel to the doctor's office so that she could have some lab work done. While we were there, she introduced me to a man who happened to be there. Jim lives at the same assisted living home as Grandma. He was a friendly guy who was toting a hand held oxygen tank along with him.

"That there," said Jim, pointing at Grandma, "is 'Pretty Hazel'. There's another Hazel at the home and we call her 'Happy Hazel'."

Grandma just smiled a shy, pleased smile.

After Jim left, she leaned over toward me and whispered, "His eyesight is going."

(I have to wonder if 'Happy Hazel' knows that Grammy is 'Pretty Hazel'. If she finds out, 'Happy Hazel' might morph into 'Embittered Hazel'.)

The Sacrifices of Spring

When we bought this house (six years ago this month), I was thrilled with the huge flower box out front. It runs nearly the whole length of the walkway to the front door. I dreamily envisioned it burgeoning with ruffly Rununculus...



...Icelandic Poppies...



...little purple Pansies...



...and regal looking Digitalis...



...welcoming all visitors to our home.

I couldn't understand why the former owners had planted Heavenly Bamboo and Society Garlic in such prime floral real estate.



Not only were they an odd pair aesthetically, but the former was so tall that it partially blocked the windows and the latter has an unpleasant odor which shouldn't be the first aromatic impression upon entering a home.

Hmm, oh well, I thought, transplanting the "ousted" to more appropriate places. I was just happy to be the planter's new mommy.

Well, it wasn't long before I realized why the planter hadn't been better tended to. Apparently, Heavenly Bamboo and Society Garlic were the only things the former owners had found would grow there.

Nearly everything I planted there died...and quickly. Lovely plant after lovely plant was purchased and caringly tended to in its new home only to wither and die. I dumped bags and bags of mulch into the planter, taking care to mix it thoroughly. I made sure to thoroughly water any of the new "recruits". It didn't help.

Watching the sunlight situation, I saw that during the summer, the flower box was completely in the shade of a tree until about 11:00 am at which point all of the sun's radiant glory fell upon it like the wrath of God (I think being up against the house intensified it even more) until about 1:30 pm at which point the sun was blocked by the house, plunging the box into total shade again.

I'm not sure if the plants were fried or confused, but very few could handle living in the atmosphere into which I was thrusting them. My floral fantasies became sadly subdued. No longer did I long for a flower box worthy of a Better Homes and Garden cover. I just wanted something green instead of dry, brown and disintegrating.

Year after year, I have continued to experiment, suppressing the feelings of guilt I have over throwing perfectly healthy sacrifices into this apparent volcano. It's not my intention that they die...

This year is no different. Jeff and I went to Home Depot last weekend, looking for this year's agricultural guinea pigs.

He pointed out some flowers that he liked and I showed him that their tags said "partial sun".

"We need 'total sun' ," I stated, explaining the situation.

"What about 'hellfire'?" he asked.

I assured him that that would be perfect, but alas, we found none. Apparently, satan's gardeners don't frequent the Depot.

(We also looked at weed'n'feed products to help our grass. One promised to kill all weeds. We didn't buy that one, fearing it would take out our entire lawn.)

Finally, we settled on these:




Yes, they are very beautiful, but for how long? And will I be able to sleep knowing that I have the blood (uh...sap?) of these innocents on my hands?

It Wasn't to Their Liking

While reading through the gospels, I am often struck with how people interacted with Jesus. These people were talking to, eating with, being touched by God Himself and yet many remained unchanged and unsatisfied or even became hostile toward Him.

This morning, Delaney and I read Luke 8 in which Jesus healed the demon possessed tomb dweller. Once kept under guard and bound with chains (verse 29), the man eventually broke free and ran off to live alone in the cold, dark tombs.

Jesus healed him. What was the response of the people?

"The whole multitude of the surrounding region of the Gadarenes asked Him to depart from them, for they were seized with great fear." (verse 37a)

They didn't rejoice with the healed man. They didn't seek to know better this powerful One. They feared God's blessing and asked Him to depart from them.

God was working and it wasn't to their liking.

One of the saddest stories in Matthew (in my opinion) is found in 12:9-14. A man with a withered hand was healed by Jesus in the synagogue. A new life had begun for this man. His handicap was gone.

So what's the sad part? Verse 14: "Then the Pharisees went out and plotted against Him how they might destroy Him."

They didn't rejoice over the healing, nor did they desire to know God better. Jesus' obvious spiritual and practical authority threatened the Pharisees' place in society. In fact, they sought to destroy Him.

Again, God was working and it wasn't to their liking.

So what about the good guys? John the Baptist was Jesus' partner in achieving God's will (Luke 7:27). He was dedicated and zealous for that cause and yet...Jesus didn't seem to be doing what John expected and wanted.

"And John, calling two of his disciples to him, sent them to Jesus, saying, 'Are You the Coming One or do we look for another?'" Luke 7:19

In other words, John was asking, "What's up, Jesus? I know there's something special about you, but you aren't doing what I would expect of the Messiah, so tell me...are you Him or not?"

God was working, but it wasn't to John's liking.

Christ graciously pointed John to what he did know: scripture. "Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them." (Luke 7:22b) These were all foretold proofs of the Messiah found in the Old Testament (which John knew well and valued highly).

Verse 23 is especially powerful: "And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me." I think Jesus was saying, "Yes, John, I know I'm not fulfilling your messianic expectations and hopes, but you will be blessed as you lay those aside and embrace Me--the actual Messiah."

Shall I share with you yet more evidence of my need for a savior? You know my commitment to keeping it real (just read my last post...ewwww): I see traces of all three of these examples in myself.

Do I always rejoice with people who experience a healing of sorts? If I was somehow comfortable with their affliction, then perhaps not.

If God's work in another's life "threatens" my social standing, then do I want to see that work continue? (Gulp...)

Do I at all times seek to embrace the actual Messiah even if He is not fulfilling my "messianic dreams"?

Somehow, we think the people in the gospels were so "lucky" because they had Jesus right in front of them. They heard His voice, perhaps touched His cloak, and yet for many of those people, it was just a brief encounter, soon just a memory. We have the privilege of reading the compilation of all these encounters and the Spirit-inspired insight of the apostles who knew Him well.

God was at work in those lives long ago just as He is at work in many lives today. Is it to our liking?

Blessed is he who is not offended because of Me...

More Things Vile and Uncouth

First off--Here, here, Micky! Your comment on my last post was right on. I am incredibly thankful for Jeff. I almost deleted that post because I saw that my gratitude didn't come across at all. His sweetness in saving up his "fun money" to spend on me and the kids is a testament to how wonderful of a husband and dad he is. He himself regrets the fondue excursion for the very reasons I shared with you all. Had he been pleased with it, it wouldn't have even occurred to me to type up a post snickering about it.

Now...on to yesterday: I went to see my doctor because my nasal spray prescription needed to be renewed. After the blood pressure test, etc., he noticed my foot's "sixth toe".

"What is that?" he asked

I glanced at his name tag to check for the letters M.D. and replied, "It's a wart."

"That's coming off," he announced and quickly exited the room. As the door closed behind him, I heard him holler out to one of the nurses, "Where's the gun?"

Uhh...gun? Maybe the wart's not...so...bad.

He soon returned with something that looked like a mini blow torch and proceeded to blast my foot with all the power of the arctic that was somehow trapped inside. Although the physical sensation was far less than pleasant, I mentioned to him that I also had some tiny warts on my hand.

As he frigidly banished those little guys, he schooled me on warts and how they spread. Perhaps he was a bit too "into" this impromptu lecture 'cause I think he overdid it on my hand. I can't quite bring myself to post the photos I took last night (once in cyberspace always in cyberspace), but trust me, I think he would have warned me if he expected it to turn into that freakish mass.

Immediately after the treatment, it just looked a little splotchy, but over the next 6 hours, it turned bright red and swelled up like a balloon. I could literally feel my skin stretching as the area filled with liquid-nastiness. I feared it would burst while I was making dinner, splattering the chicken and veggies, rendering them inedible. (Sorry, I guess I should have typed up a disclaimer at the top of this page.)

"Are you really going to youth group tonight with your hand like that?" Jeff asked, dubiously.

"Sure," I said. "Maybe it'll help some awkward teen feel better about some embarrassing aspect of their own body."

Perhaps I'll never know if an adolescent now feels empowered to face the world after catching sight of my afflicted appendage, but...it was a good conversation piece.

He Meant Well

A couple of hours after writing the following post, I reread it and was struck by how snotty it sounded. I was going to delete it, but then I noticed that Brenda had left a comment. Hmm, I guess I'll just leave it and hope that you all will give me the benefit of the doubt in regards to my snottiness level. I really did appreciate that Jeff wanted to do something nice for us AND I asked him to preview and "okay" the post before I posted it. So here goes:

My dear, sweet, thoughtful husband wanted to surprise me and the kids recently. He had heard rave reviews about a restaurant and saved up his "allowance" to take us there. (Jeff and I both get a bit of money from his bimonthly paychecks to spend on whatever we want.)

Knowing that it was a pricey place and that he is married to a woman who still wears this watch

(it works, okay?), Jeff turned to me in the car as we pulled into the parking lot and asked, "Can you please just enjoy yourself and not think about how much this meal is costing me?"

I felt my upper lip involuntarily twitch as I promised that I would.

To avoid the certain lawsuits that would follow because of the vastness of this blog's readership (It has four followers. (Three of whom have only made one comment ever! (I hope they follow Jesus more closely than they follow As We Wend Our Way.))), I will wisely rename the restaurant as The Money Pot (ahem) instead of using its actual moniker.

Through the heavy front doors we walked and approached the smartly dressed host behind the reservation desk. None of us was dressed very nicely so I felt compelled to ask if we were breaking their dress code. (I have a vivid childhood memory of being expelled from a restaurant in New York because we were not suitably attired.) He smiled and assured me that our vestments were perfectly acceptable. (Apparently, money is money.)

We were quickly seated and the whole unusual eating process was explained to us. You see, this was a fondue restaurant and we (at that point) were fondue-newbies.

Wanting the whole experience, Jeff ordered appetizers, a main course and dessert. I did my best to keep my promise to simply enjoy myself, though I thought I'd need sutures to repair my bitten tongue while looking at the prices on the menu.

I won't bore you with a play by play of our three hour meal (it takes a while when you are cooking your own food, one little piece at a time).

After the bill was paid, I watched a little piece of Jeff's soul die when I mentioned, "You could have bought three video games instead of that one meal."

The good news is: we weren't that impressed and therefore will never be tempted to go back. The bad news is: Jeff was not able to just enjoy himself and not think about how much the meal was costing him.

To sum things up: Buy yourself a crockpot, google some fondue recipes and enjoy a much cheaper experience at home several times over. Sure, the food was fresh and good, but no meal is worth the cost of two weeks of groceries.

From Carless to Clueless

Two weeks ago, somebody in our family got into a fender bender, but that's enough about that. (He's rather embarrassed.) So now one of our cars is being repaired and Jeff is driving "my" car to work. That leaves me...carless.

My 97 year old grandma needed me to take her to a doctor's appointment today.


(Isn't she lovely?)

Now, if this was a dermatology or an optometry appointment, I'd just ask her to reschedule. However, last week she went to the ER with chest pain, so there was no way I was going to say, "Hey Grammy, why don't we do that whole doctor thing another time?"

What is a loving granddaughter to do? Why, rent a car of course!

The drive home from the rental place was rather amusing. Every car we've had for the past 16 years has had a stick shift and the rental is an automatic. My left foot kept pressing into the floorboard, rooting around for the clutch pedal. My right hand twitched continuously toward the center of the car and (to my chagrin) threw the car into park instead of the intended first gear at a four way stop.

I imagine I'd like driving an automatic if I didn't feel like such an imbecile doing so.

Thoughts on Trials

Why did God allow this? is an age-old question that has many seemingly unsatisfactory answers for its questioners. Well, here I offer you yet another:

When a Christian becomes a parent, she gains a whole new perspective on her relationship with God. For the past 14 years, I've understood what it is to love someone more than myself, even when that someone sometimes behaves like an ungrateful brat. (I'm thankful that those times are few and far between.) As I am to my children, God is to me. Likewise, as my children are to me, I am to God.

The comparisons between me and a sometimes ungrateful brat could fill a very long post, but I want to focus on just one. It all comes down to this: What is important to me is important to God, but He knows the grander scheme.

Take shots for example. When I took my kids to get inoculated, I knew they were horrified when the overly-cheerful nurse brandished her long sharp needle. My heart hurt with them as the reality sunk in that that needle was going to pierce their tender flesh. And yet, I didn't stop it from happening. (I hope I don't lose you non-immunizers on this one.) As a mom, I knew that their terror was genuine, yet I could see the bigger picture. Their moment of horror would result in protection from Mumps, Measles and Rubella.

Another example: when my kids were babies, I would sometimes let them cry in their cribs for awhile. The hope was (and the result was) that they would learn how to fall asleep on their own and if a few tears needed to fall, then I was willing to allow that. (Now, I don't want to digress into a debate on parenting techniques. If you are the type to pick up your baby at a mere whimper, then I won't admonish you for that. I just knew that that wasn't going to work for us.)

Was my decision based on cruelty and heartlessness? No. I loved my babies more than anyone and their sadness struck me deeply, but I truly believed that their momentary sadness and loneliness would result in the abilities to be comfortable in aloneness and to fall asleep independantly. I didn't sit outside the nursery door cursing them nor mocking them because of their cries. I was genuinely sad with them and yet I focused on the bigger picture, allowing that to affect my interference or non-interference.

I propose that when we adults face trials which set us atremble, it is essentially no different from when little children face inoculations or a lonely half hour in the crib. God is there, allowing it, but He believes and understands our authentic terror or sadness.

I feel a bit lame typing this since the trials I've faced in my life have been of a rather mild nature, but remember, I entitled this post "Thoughts on Trials", not "Facts on All Trials Everywhere".

For me there is great comfort supposing that my tribulations are perhaps not as dire in reality as they may seem to be in my own limited mind.

John 16:33
2 Corinthians 4:17

A Date With Dad

Every now and then, Jeff takes Delaney out on a date. Our hope is that she will not only have fun with her dad, but that she will see how dates can be and should be.

Last Saturday, Jeff and Delaney went ice-skating--


Yes, they "brown-bagged" it on their way to the rink, but I'm sure my husband wants you all to know that he's not a cheap date. (I'm the cheap-date-planner.)

Note how the gentleman opens the lady's car door for her--


Hopefully details such as these will stick in Delaney's mind so that if she ever finds herself on a date on which she is being treated less than excellently, she will quickly lose interest in the scoundrel, thinking, "I'd rather be out with my dad!"

Lessons for Living

A couple of summers ago, I determined that both our kids would learn some cooking skills by preparing dinner about once a week during their vacation from school (under my watchful eye, of course). I asked them what they wanted to make and helped them think through which side dishes would complement the main entrees. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they enjoyed it, but they learned some things.

Somehow, last summer I didn't have them do it once. I don't know how we went through 8 whole weeks without them cooking at least one meal apiece, so this Spring Break I was determined to get back into the swing of things.

Last Wednesday, Tobias elected to make Tortellini Soup and homemade rolls.

There was some vegetable chopping--


He did some roll baking. (It's easy with a bread machine that kneads and raises the dough.)--


He did some raw-pork-meatball-molding-soup-dropping--


And...voila! He ended up with a pretty tasty meal to serve to us all--


Good job, Sonny!

I assured him that his culinary skills will help get him a spot on the "Very Eligible Bachelor" list.

Delaney's Doppelganger

Most of the time, she is sweet, animal-loving, angelic Delaney--


But occasionally, (specifically on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights at 7:30 and Sunday afternoons at 3:30) she morphs into Edna, the Evil Butleress--


Ha! Opening night was last night and Delaney did fabulously. She is having the time of her life kidnapping Duchess and the kittens, dumping them in the French countryside and then being put into place by a hoard of cats, dogs, geese and even a mouse.

It's such a wonderful blessing that she ended up with this large role in Aristocats. At first she had an incredibly minor part because we signed her up late, but then a few people dropped out and she was thrust into a part with lots of lines and a few solo songs. She's handling it so well.

(I love her hair that way although it takes about fifteen minutes to braid and then pin on top of her head.)

Merry Christmas in March

Jeff and I like to give our kids experiences for Christmas instead of just more stuff. So, last December, we promised that we would soon be taking them to an indoor rock climbing gym for an afternoon of scaling fake cliff faces.(Hey, they were excited about it!) We finally made good on our promise last weekend.


They got a lesson in belaying so that they could help each other in their ventures--


Delaney is harnessed and ready to reach new heights--

That's her at the very top--


Jeff, is that a smile of victorious joy or a grimace of horrible pain...or a combination of both?


Tobias rappels down after a successful ascent--


Here he is "bouldering" which doesn't require ropes or a belaying partner--


What's that? You're wondering where are all of the pictures of me climbing, tugging on ropes, sweating and grinning proudly because I achieved my lofty goals?

You're probably not surprised to read that I did none of those things. But...I had my German flashcards to keep me company--

Yes, yes, I'm well aware that I'm a total bore. (I've never claimed to be otherwise.)

Frohe Weihnachten! (Merry Christmas!)

"Evil" Never Looked So Cute

Can you believe it? After auditioning for the upcoming theater production of AristoCats, this adorable, sweet, gentle, little girl was chosen to play...











...the evil butler!

What is especially ironic is that her nefarious deeds are committed against cats. (Delaney LOVES animals.)

As incongruous as it seems to be, she does an excellent job singing the villain's dastardly ditties, cackling maniacally and creeping around the stage. I think I'll proudly chuckle through all nine presentations.

BTW, no one called about Duncan, so I think it's safe to assume that we have a new little, wriggley member of our family. :)

The Day of Truth

Tonight, the "found" ad we put in the local paper will be published for all to read. I wouldn't feel right about not making some kind of an effort to find Duncan's former owners. (Is it wrong of me to hope they don't see the ad?)

The info we included was quite general so whoever calls will have to be able to answer certain questions correctly in order for us to accept that they did indeed lose Duncan. (Please, no one play a cruel joke on me by calling and pretending to be the former owners. It wouldn't be funny.)

I'm not one of those crazy dog fanatics who shares ice creams and baths with their canine "friends", but I must say that this little guy has stolen my heart. He's such a good little dog!

He neither whines nor barks too much. He has already learned to sit while waiting for his food to be served to him. He loves to fall asleep in your lap while you stroke his silky ears. He makes funny squeaky noises at various times. He isn't overly possessive of toys or food. The only thing that keeps him from being absolutely perfect is that he likes to chew on your hands and/or clothing, but he is a puppy after all!

Just look at him:


He's even cute from behind:

Will any one call and claim Duncan as their own? Will Aimee's heart be broken? Will Aimee and Jeff get reimbursed for Duncan's $104 veterinarian bill? Find out next time on As We Wend Our Way...

Bath Time

Tobias took a few pics while Duncan had his first bath.




Me and my girl:

She had a bit of a fever today, so she stayed home from school and we got to spend the day together.

I Thought You Went Out For Pizza

Yeah, that's what I said when Jeff came home with this:

Apparently, this dog can sniff out a sucker pretty well.

Jeff said that he and Tobias got out of the car at the pizza place and this little guy bounded right up to them, wanting to play. The people at the pizza place said that he'd been running around for a few hours. He had no collar, no tag and an obvious bite mark on his rear end.

Cutting to the chase...we have a new dog (unless someone answers the ad we're putting in the paper).

We took "Duncan" to the vet today. The vet checked him for a micro chip (none found) and then put him on antibiotics for the infected wound and gave him his first round of vaccinations.

Apparently, Duncan is about 8 weeks old and is a Labrador Mix. Isn't he adorable!


(In case you're wondering, that's Bruiser's big drippy tongue in the top left corner of the photo.)

Bruiser seems rather indifferent to him. I think they'll be fine.

Render Unto Caesar What Is Caesar's...

...even if it seems like it's actually yours.

Anybody else doing taxes today? I'm scrambling to get ours done before the government gives our refund over to any bank CEO or floundering car company.

I've been at it now for about four hours and the end is in sight. Let's just hope I did it right.

I was actually having a pretty good time with it until I noticed that a miscalculation of mine had nearly tripled our actual refund. Ah, well...at least we don't owe anything...

My favorite line of the day is:

If line 10 is equal to or more than line 11, enter the amount from line 7 on line 13 and go to line 14.

Am I the only one giggling? (Perhaps I'm just illogically giddy from all the mathematics and stress.)

An Exhausting and Disheartening Pursuit

Whilst studying a book I've read many times before, a verse hit me in a fresh way. It's quite beautiful really.

"But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord." 1 Corinthians 4:3 & 4

This brought a thoughtful smile to my face.

You see, a few years ago, I nearly drove myself mad by judging myself.

Being a naturally introspective person, I was continually scrutinizing my thoughts and actions to the extreme. Aimee, what are your primary motivations? Did you really mean that? Are your intentions truly pure?

An Example:

Years ago I was asked to join a worship team which would require me to sing in front of a few hundred people on Sunday mornings. I prayed about it (good). I thought about the practicalities of it (good). I discussed it with Jeff to get his take on how my involvement would affect our family (good). I examined my attitudes and thoughts about being in such an upfront position (good). Then, I began to mull over all the possible, likely and unlikely, effects that could result from my service on the team (um...still sort of good). Soon, I was unduly focusing (this is where I went downhill) on every little inkling of bad that was already in me or could spring up in me through this venture (primarily pride). Because I saw slight potential for sin, I declined joining the team.

It would have been one thing if I had a history of getting ridiculously puffed up from similar situations, but I'd been on multiple worship teams before without any truly problematic results.

In my attempts to keep bad from happening, I neglected to do good.

My motivations were good. I craved purity, sincerity...holiness. So where was the problem?

Examination vs. Dissection

Scripture does tell us to examine ourselves to determine if we have a genuine faith in Christ (2 Corinthians 13:28) and when we partake of Communion (1 Corinthians 11:28).

However, what I was doing was dissecting myself.

Examination explores something. Dissection dismantles the same thing, rendering it useless.

Doomed for Failure

Any time my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of myself, I'm going to be confronted with possible scenarios of sin and weakness. Whenever I mentally dissect my motivations for my various actions, I'm going to find at least a little yuckiness here and there. After all, I'm a sinner!

Examining myself realistically is sometimes necessary, yet if immoderate self-judgment is leaving me paralyzed, then it's not achieving that which proper reflection ought.

The Actual Judge

"...He who judges me is the Lord." 1 Corinthians 4:4b

and

"Vindicate me, O Lord, for I have walked in my (imperfect and at times waning) integrity. I have also trusted (sometimes) in the Lord; I shall not slip (if You hold me up). Examine me, O Lord, and prove me: Try my (unsteady) mind and my (sinful) heart." Psalm 26:1 & 2 (parenthetics mine)

Judging myself is ultimately exhausting and disheartening. Trusting that God will judge me with His gracious omniscience is strengthening and freeing.

(I think) Corrie Ten Boom said (something kind of like), "Look around and feel oppressed, look within and feel depressed, look to God and be at rest."

Eventually, I got over my paralysis and when asked again to join the same worship team, I agreed, praying that God would help me to not fall into any "traps"...and believe me, all sorts of things happen to keep me humble.

A Sandwich from the Past

Jo asked if Tobias actually likes bologna. (See previous post.) No, he doesn't, but that hasn't always been the case...


One day, when Tobias was in first or second grade, he came home and announced that he had eaten a delicious sandwich at school that day.

He didn't normally rave about the PBJs that I packed him, so I was a little confused.

"What do you mean?" I queried.

"I ate this sandwich that had soft, pink meat in it," he replied with a dreamy, contented look in his eyes.

I felt my stomach lurch. What was he talking about? Where had he gotten this sandwich and what exactly was it that was now digesting in his belly?

Carefully, I steadied my voice and began to ask my many questions.

After a while of listening to his little-kid answers, I ascertained that in the lunch area there was a table that the yard duties had designated for unwanted lunch items. Considering the picky appetites of so many children, you can only imagine how high the stack of rejected edibles must have been on any given day. Other kids were free to peruse the goods and take what they wanted.

Who knows how long Tobias had been helping himself to this Cornucopia of the Abandoned. (He probably got the same thrill that I get as I pick over the 50% off section at Fresh and Easy. Yippee!)

Anyway, deducing that the "soft, pink meat" was probably bologna (ugh...full body shiver), I told him what bologna was made of. Additionally, I forbade him from taking anything from the Table of Plenty that was not factory sealed, explaining that the maker of that sandwich may have been picking their nose while they did so (although, that might not make a bologna sandwich any worse than it already is--sorry, Oscar Meyer).

Bologna has been a source of amusement in our lives ever since and on Tobias' birthday, the sandwich that Delaney gave him fulfilled its role as a birthday prank and was then eaten...

...by Bruiser.