The Chair Project.

I have written a couple posts since I posted last, but could not publish them for fear of sounding like I was blasting you.
As I was saying to a very dear friend yesterday, writing a blog post when you are upset is a lot like going to the grocery store when you are hungry. Things get purchased (or said, in the case of a blog) that will no doubt be regretted at some point down the road.

For, while I would have sounded like I was blasting YOU, you are not the someones that my little firey heart wants to blast. True, there is a group of people that I would like to give a piece of my mind, but I will not  use you as the cat that I proverbially want to kick.
Alas, even though I have told Hubbs that he needs to come up with some Indian Warrior Princess name for me due to how often I have been on a rampage lately (and then subsequently realizing that is ridiculous because OBVIOUSLY I would be called something epic like Running Wolf or the similar, and that would be the end of discussion), I decided I won't bowl you over with my warfare. At least not yet. At least not until I can figure out how it might be edifying to all peoples, you and me included.
So that's why it's been two weeks since we have chatted.

Therefore, today I bring you something else entirely.

I would love to go on and on about how much I love projects, but I have done that before and that's not why you are here, so today I won't. But I got it in my head to reupholster a chair (as I have told you) and by George (since I love projects---*ahem*), I reupholstered that chair.

Isn't she a beauty, if I do say so myself? I was going for kind of the squishy, rumpled, French look, and I think I got it!

Now, you might be thinking, "Well, I suppose it's a nice chair...but it is a just a chair," and you would be right. But look at what it looked like BEFORE:

Isn't there something so wonderful and spiritual about BEFORE pictures? It's a tangible way to see that we are not like how we once were. Amen to that.

Ripping a chair apart was so interesting because I got to see how it was actually made. Brilliant.

In the middle of progress....

And there is the end again.

And yes, that is a sweet wolf hanging in my living room. Did you expect anything less?

Huzzah! One chair down!! I have another behemoth that I am going to start tomorrow, so we shall see if success continues.

Now. All of the my happiness with the chair now does not mean that there weren't a few "bumps in the road" as they say. No. To put it mildly, this was not a battle "funly" won.

As Ella warned me, "Oh honey, it's exhausting work. Mentally and physically. You will be exhausted."

She was right. I have done any number of physical labor jobs over the years, but this was the most rigorous. The most backbreaking.

And it also showed a crack in my soul a bit and it all started with two too many trips to Home Depot....

So the story goes that I love Home Depot. Always have. But I didn't at this stage of the game. I had worked for days ripping the old self off this chair, using the pieces as a pattern for the new self to be attached; I had stripped the wood of its old grime and stain, sanded, re-stained, sanded, re-stained, and then applied something like 6 coats of polyurethane. Excessive, I know. I had bought new stuffing, I had cut it all to size, all that was left was to go buy my stapler, my staples, and the sweet upholstery tacks.
Yes.

In one fell swoop at said HD, I made my rounds like a pro, picking up what I thought was exactly what I needed.
Like a flash, I was home again, situating all my pieces, ready to start, when I load my new staple gun with my new staples, push it up to the wooden arms to tack my batting, and BANG! goes the staple gun.
Pleased that I was really doing it (!!!), I pulled the gun back to see that beautiful staple when, looking, I didn't see anything.

WHAT?

Bang, goes the gun again.

Nothing.

Bang bang.

Nothing.

BANG BANG BANG.

NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.

It turns out, Wolfies, that I had bought light duty staples.

Ugh.

And light duty staples do not go into sold wood chair frames.

Annoyed, but still fired up (I told you I have been on a lot of rampages these days), I hurriedly drove back to HD, returned my staples for a whole $4, bought the heavy duty staples, drove b ack home, and headed straight to the chair.
New staples in hand, gun in other, I go to load the gun chamber when....the chamber won't close.

Seriously annoyed now, and bordering on dejected, I look over all my supplies to realize that, yes, I had bought the right staples this time.....but I had bought the wrong staple gun the first time.
Despite the fact that the package said "Perfect for Upholstery Work," this was, indeed, a LIGHT duty stapler.
And this was still a solid wood chair frame.

Blast.

Blast, blast, blast.

Really dejected now, I head into Hubbs office, in tears, and tell him the whole story. He is nice and gentle, but he has to get back to work. He can't come hang out and help me forget my woes.

Sulking, I walk out to my kitchen and think, "I will make a cup of coffee and drink my sorrows down...." only to be offended by my own thoughts and with the realization that I don't WANT a cup of coffee.
And, more importantly, .....coffee.....won't.....help........I still have to go back to Home Depot.

Have you ever come to that realization? That all the things you typically use to "make things better" don't actually make it better at all? It all makes sense now that you have been deceiving yourself the whole time.
Coffee didn't bring the problem on, and coffee won't let the problem go.

I went and sat on my couch, looking at my Bible on the coffee table that had remained unopened that morning. I had a chair to reupholster, for crying out loud!!
Like a ton of feathers it hit me: my husband can't heal my hurt pride and coffee won't make me feel better in those times that I know I failed.

Only Jesus can.

So, my challenge to you on this point, because I was challenged by it, is, "What are you medicating with that can't fix your problem?" and "Why are you continuing along this same path over and over again?"
Contrary to what Pinterest memes and pop culture alike will tell you, there are some things that can't be fixed by your beverage of choice.

~~~~

Now, as I sat there finding Jesus in the midst of my dashed state, I was alarmed by ANOTHER idol that chose that time to ask me if I could worship him.

It started with the thought: "What if HD won't let me return my stapler, since I have already, for all intensive purposes, destroyed the packaging?"

Let me say, this was not a hugely expensive staple gun. Pretty run of the mill, and yet I was plagued with these fears and doubts about "What if I can't return it???"

Why in the world do I care? It's not a large sum of money I would lose, we are not (by the grace of God) at a time in life where money is tight, etc etc....THIS SHOULDN'T BE A BIG DEAL.

Why, then, was it?

God is so good to give us Lightbulb moments, do you know that?

It was a big deal to me because I realized that this staple gun was the last thing I was going to be able to buy with MY money.

We believe that in marriage what is his is mine and what is mine is his and everything from here on out is ours......or.....well......I thought I believed that. I claimed I believed that.

Clearly, though, I didn't.
We had done all of the typical post-wedding legal and business stuff to make us bound to each other in every way and make practically what is mine his and his mine, but there was this one small account I still had, that rather than transfer the little in there that was left, I was just going to use it all up and then shut the account down. So out of this account I had been purchasing things for the house, Christmas gifts.....upholstery supplies....

.....but my money had run out.
And that was a fact I was not internalizing very well, thus putting me in agony over not being able to return that stapler and get the right one! Because for the first time I would have to use HIS money to get something just for ME.

I would like to blame the feminist movement in this culture for making me feel like I am less of a human being if I don't have MY OWN money, my own security, my own INDEPENDENCE, but it's not them. It's my sin nature that responds to their message. It's the part of Old Me that doesn't want to have to rely on ANYONE. It's the part of me I am struggling to let Christ nail to the cross that says that I am only worth what I can Do and Accomplish and BRING TO THE SITUATION...or marriage...or Home Depot.

Marriage, it would seem, was uncovering a couple of my false deities.

In that Sunday School class I have mentioned to you, the pastor leading it said, "If you see an area of your life where you have a hard time serving others, subjecting yourself to their God-given position and authority, it's probably because you aren't subjecting yourself to the authority of God in that area of your life either."

Yikes.

If that is true, then could it be that my marriage....or rather.....this CHAIR....has shown me that I am having a hard time submitting to God in the area of being autonomous? Independent. Able to do it myself, thank you very much. Could my spirit of going against the grain, which God has used to keep me out of all kinds of bad situations in life, now be causing me conflict with HIM? Not wanting to submit to HIM? And subsequently not wanting to let my husband play his role of being primary provider for our family?


Am I robbing everyone of their job, is really what it all boils down to?

I was not wanting to let God be God and have control. I was, figuratively, not letting Hubbs be Hubbs and provide for me because not only am I his wife, but also because he wants to. And I was robbing myself of knowing the beautiful reality that, ultimately, God doesn't need me get things done, provide for my needs,... or even buy a stapler. He's got me covered. And I can stop striving and rest in that.

He is not finished with me yet, babes. I may be further along than the "Before" picture, but I am most assuredly still in the "In Process" stage.

Thanks, Chair, for showing me these things. You are even prettier now when I look at you.

Whatever you do....

Happy Friday there, Wolfies!! This morning I am scurrying about, getting ready for the weekend and my house currently looks like this, which clearly means that I should probably cut this short and not be my typical long-winded self.

Keepin' it real....

Hubbs and I are off to see some great friends a few states away (but closer from here than the homeland!), so we are eagerly anticipating some Jesus-loving conversation and fun, copious amounts of great coffee, some down time (for him), and (for me), driving X number of hours there and back!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I realize maybe all of those exclamation points might seem like overkill. But, indeed, they are not.

Why, you might ask, are they not overkill?

Because Hubbs has told me for a LONG time that the only time I will ever drive in my entire life when he is in the car is if he is incapacitated beyond safety and consciousness.

Now, Hubbs is neither of those things this weekend.
BUT!!!! He has a boatload of work to get done and, THEREFORE, he is recanting----probably just this once----on his previous boast and I, yes, ME, I am going to drive there AND BACK.

What a momentous weekend, indeed!!

It's the little things, babes.


The last couple of mornings I have been reading in I Timothy and it is all about being people of sound doctrine, not shipwrecking your faith, etc etc etc.

And it has just been weighing heavy on my heart these days especially today, what with the coming out of....................that.....................movie. If I grant it show much grace as to call it that, rather than what it really is.

A pornographic film.

It seriously hurts my heart. It reminds me so much of Romans 1 where, to add an emphasis, Paul says about the depraved people, "Even THEIR WOMEN exchanged natural relations....." (Romans 1:26). Women, generally, are more spiritually intuitive than men, so when a culture's women "exchange the truth of God for a lie" (Romans 1:25) (---which is exactly what this is; it's all the lies that will kill you wrapped up in a little leather and chains package----), then we really have reached the bottom.

On our way to hell in a handbasket.

Please. I plead with you. Whatever you do, don't watch this movie. And for heaven's sake don't read the books.

You cannot unsee what has been seen.

Albert Mohler says it way better than I can. Please read this. And please, please, please please please please please, don't shipwreck your faith by seeing Shades...


Wolfies, I love you so. That's why I say this. Whatever you do.....don't.

Where But For.

Do you ever feel like you live in two realities?
As in, the life you live everyday sometimes gets interrupted by other realities and yours feels a shattered after that?

My Hubbs and I frequent the gym these days, and at our gym every single machine is equipped with its own TV. Now, Hubbs and I don't have TV at our house in this season of life, so it is kind of our only view (besides the internet) into the outside world these days.

And this is precisely where my reality tends to get shattered.

 Most often I can be seen running full speed ahead and lip syncing to whatever is buzzed into my ear buds. Or sometimes you will catch me punching the air...while running... as if I were training in martial arts. How embarrassing. More often than not, though, I am flipping back and forth between the news, the Food Network, PBS,and Discovery on the now rare-to-me television. Quite the spectrum of interests, I know. And if you are curious, the answer is Yes. I am the only one in the entire gym watching Bob Ross paint "Happy Little Trees" while on the stair stepper.

But last week my little quirky gym habits were disrupted not once, but twice.
Two Sundays ago Hubbs and I went to the gym and we had the place virtually to ourselves because everybody else was with their friends watching The Big Game rather than being at the gym watching The Big Game without their friends.
I don't really care for either of the teams that were playing but the last few minutes were crazy and I was enjoying myself with the continuous back-and-forth.
Until.

UNTIL my happy little football watching heart got broken when men who get paid to throw a football around started beating each other like pinatas.
I immediately hit the emergency stop button on my treadmill because, well, I had burst into tears.
Hand over the mouth, whispering "No, no no," I was trying to stop the waterworks because believe it or not, crying at the gym is more embarrassing than punching the air while running.

Are you serious? Who are these babies? BEATING EACH OTHER. The worst part (well there are a lot of "worst part"s) being that tens of millions of people were watching this thuggery that is becoming more and more common place in "the game."

*eyes rolling*

Children have posters of these jokers on their bedroom walls.

Blast.

A couple days later then, it happens again; my reality got burst into. News of that evil act done by ISIS comes across the news feed and I physically have to look away. I cannot watch, it is so heinous.
BURNING PEOPLE ALIVE IN CAGES.

For the rest of the night my heart is absolutely devastated.
~~~


We have found the church we will be attending for our brief stay in this city and we have a Sunday School teacher that we just love. A native of Northern Ireland (remember my time there?!), he brings such wit and wonderfully non-American points of view to the conversation that we can't tell whether we like the church so much or just our Sunday School teacher. Ha.

Anyway, the other day we were discussing the topic of Total Depravity, which, for brevity's sake, I will just tell you means that there is Absolutely No Good In You. It's a big theology for Christianity, a tenet of what we believe (go study it), but can sometimes be a little hard to swallow.

Because to put the boots of it to the ground means that we are not better in the sight of God than any person, terrorist, child, or dictator on the planet. And that hurts my ego more than I want it to.

"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God," Romans says. And the word ALL is inclusive. It means me, it means you. Jesus himself says that "None are good but God alone."

So we were talking about the implications to our daily life of believing this and...to be honest...it makes me swallow hard the lump in my throat.
Because there I was at the gym, trying not to cry for the second time that week, having to turn my head away because I could not stand to see the sight of the evil that was coming across the screen, all the while remembering this truth and having to accept this recently talked of fact that I have within ME the capability to do everything those terrorists were doing.

Everything.

Because it's true.

And it's why we have a phrase that says "Where but for the grace of God go I." Because we ALL can go there.

Yikes.

It's why we have reason to praise the Lord. If he has saved you, he has rescued you from going there.

A couple days later I was thinking about all of this as I sat in my living room and was journaling to the Lord. I wonder what can be done about all the evil, all the terror. I pray about it, but it all seems so removed. It's not in my reality. It's a situation that can only really be rescued by Christ, for you cannot sweet talk evil... you either destroy it or it will destroy you. And only Jesus can destroy evil. The situation so desperately needs him.

And as I continued this discussion with God, I looked across my living room and there sat this chair that I want to reupholster.

I am caught off guard by the transitory nature of my thoughts that not two minutes after I am praying for a totally barbaric and depraved situation across the ocean I find myself praying for God's guidance in how to recover a chair.

"Does this need to be prayed for, too?" I thought rather sheepishly. "Doesn't God have bigger problems to deal with than me coordinating our living room furniture?"

I feel hard-hearted even asking for his help with those. Surely I don't need God for this one.

And my things, really, are so small. So insignificant. So innocent I don't need to bother the Almighty and ask for his help with those.

"So...not evil," I hear my sin nature whisper into my ear...

I turn back to my Bible and read this:
"How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death so that we might serve the living God!" (Hebrews 9:14)

Acts of death? I ask myself. What acts of death have I done? That doesn't seem quite the appropriate phrase for someone like me, does it? Certainly I can't be that bad that my acts would lead to death....


Fortunately the Holy Spirit snapped me out of my self-induced ego inflation at that point.


I look over and see my chair that needs to be reupholstered...and I think about the laundry I need to fold...and the wedding thank yous I need to write...and I see the piano I should play more often. All these things are in MY reality.

Is it possible that these types of things, too, if but for the Grace of God would have been the acts that lead to MY death? Because the truth is that no, I probably never would have burned someone alive in a cage (although my total depravity could have had me do that), but the reality is that those kinds of people are not the only ones who will be eternally separated from God.

Reupholsterers and bakers and laundry maids and women who take cinnamon rolls to the neighbors and people who play piano---all those kinds of people will get the justice due them in hell, too. Right next to un-repentant, un-regenerated terrorists.
Where but for the Grace of God go I.

Because my acts, innocent though they may seem, can separate me from God just the way NFL thuggery and terrorists and all those "bad people" are separated from God.

I think back to me thinking that I didn't needed to pray for God's help with my reupholstering. Isn't that the beginning of an eternity separated from God?

Isn't that the starting point of all the evil acts? All the acts that lead to death? Believing that there are areas of our life we don't need God in? Thinking that we know best, we can figure it out, we have it all under control, we have a better truth found outside of his Word, we don't really need to play by his rules? Isn't that the heart of the totally depraved?

"No thank you, God. We have got this. We know best. We can do it ourselves."



Me and the terrorist thugs alike.

Purify our hearts, Lord Jesus. We so desperately need you in all these situations. In ones of terror and ones of daily keeping our houses.


Because where, but for your grace, Lord, go I.

Not by my hands.

If you have been following me through the years (and if you are new to this here little web log--this is will be news to you) you will know that I spend an awful lot of my time dealing with food. Cooking it, eating it, writing about it, thinking about it, planning vacations around it, etc.
For instance, you will remember my treatise on Gravy, my wonderful photoshoot with Eliza and subsequently wonderful thoughts on Basil, when I went into detail about why I think there will be blueberry pie in Heaven, and who can forget my ravenous novels I wrote about wild black raspberries TWO YEARS IN A ROW? I know you most certainly didn't.
Love it love it love it so much. And while this was not a reality that was "funly" won, it is where I most happily find myself currently.
That being said, I am at it now more than ever. Why, you might ask? Well, I have a husband who is not picky and also likes to eat just like I do, for one. Secondly, since I am not working outside of the home right now I have more time on my hands to try all kinds of kitchen experiments that I have wanted to for years. Ergo, I spend almost all of my days thinking about food now. I have watched every Tiny Paris Kitchen video there is, along with every video a certain Microbotic chef I have seen on TV has to offer. I have made oodles of cookies and cinnamon rolls for the neighbors. Hubbs, who loves ice cream dearly, thought it would be a wonderful idea to get a homemade ice cream maker.
It wasn't a good idea. Do you know how much of the most decadent, divine ice cream we have polished off in the last month?! I would have overwhelming fears of gaining twelve pounds a month if we didn't also have a gym membership, but now I just fear when the gym membership runs out. Please, Lord! Give us strength to resist the frozen cream delicacy!!!

And then of course there is this book I picked up at the library entitled simply, Cooked. Written by the same guy who wrote The Omnivore's Dilemma, he is, albeit, pretty liberal in all of his thinking, not connected to Christ in any obvious way, and believes the entire evolutionary process. Taking all of that with a grain of salt, however, he has some very interesting findings about the history of food and how we have gotten ourselves to be this irreversibly fast-food, pre-packaged society as a whole. It's just the sort of reading I devour (pun intended). I mean I read like 280 pages....this weekend.

Ravenous. Per usual.

One chapter in particular I literally could not put down.
Bread.
That's all he was talking about. Chalk it up to the fact that I have been dabbling in bread making for the first time in my entire life, it was so fascinating I couldn't stop thinking about it even after I could eventually put it down. Later that day Hubbs and I were on our way to the gym (to work of the ice cream) when he interrupts my silent reverie and says, "What are you thinking about?" to which I honestly had to reply "Wet dough theory."
Praise the Lord for this man. He gets answers like that all the time and they don't shock him, nor do they bore him.

Anyway. Wet Dough Theory. I will not go into it anymore than to say it's a completely different way of making bread (and heralded as the most nutritious way) involving whole grains and homemade sour dough.
Fascinating. The stuff dreams are made of to quirky gals like me.

Days later I was still thinking about it. Trying to prioritize how I would be able to fit a sour dough schedule into my life, will it be sustainable through the years to keep it up, how can I best maximize the nutrition for my family, etc etc etc ad nauseum. Couple that with my incessant thoughts about planting a garden when I get back to the Homeland this summer, and my permanent disdain for going to the grocery store and having to pay money for things like APPLESAUCE and FROZEN BERRIES. Tisk tisk. Such a thing is unheard of to this country girl.
So I plan and strategize all the time now about how I am going to conjure up all this food and not pay virtually any money for it (because I HATE paying for food---it makes me feel dependent).
And in this thinking about wet doughs and homegrown food and applesauce made by hand picked apples, I start this feel this sense of comfort......security.....come over me, knowing I will have the ability to provide for my family what it needs. "We will be ok," I comfort myself with, as I run through the rolodex in my brain of ways I can be self-sustainable. "We will be ok."




But then I start to feel a little brooding. As if some deep darkness is crawling up my throat.

And lines start to become blurred in my head.

And I feel my hand clenching just a little tighter around this dough that will bake into our daily bread.


In tandem with the now-in-place lump of darkness in my throat is this nagging realization I don't want to ponder: But what if this summer there is a drought and all my plants die?
Or what if there is exorbitant amounts of rain like two years ago....and all my plants DROWN? Or can't get planted at all? What if we get an early spring and a late frost and it kills all the apple blossoms resulting in no applesauce? What if my tomatoes get blight? Or slugs eats my cabbages? What if my sour dough starter collects the wrong bacteria from the air and we are left with no bread?

And the tighter I clench said dough....the more I feel it rushing through my fingers, as if I have no grasp on it at all.

The natural Bethany doesn't want to admit that things like Our Daily Bread and the best gardening weather and bugs or no bugs on the produce are....not up to me.
I want them to be up to me.
I want my plans to succeed. I want to be able to sustain my family, provide for them in my own way, take seriously the things that are going into our bodies, and not be dependent upon....THEM.

Who?


Whom?


*blast.


That's where the lines keep getting blurred.

WHO exactly is it I want to independent from?

I tell myself its because I want to do what I feel is best for us right now and I want to help provide, bear some of the burden.

But I know myself well enough to know that such a pure answer is probably not entirely from my heart at all.

I want to be independent. From the grocery stores. From the help of others. But worse still---from HIM.

It's the sin-nature-self coming up again.

I WANT TO DO IT MYSELF. And take pride in that, darn it!

I want to be able to tell the weather and the bugs and the bacteria where to go and what to do. I want to be able to make us OK. I want that power.

*sigh.
The only comfort I find at this point is knowing that the gut-check I just got means there has to be something more than the crawling darkness in me. Maybe my heart of stone is more like not-quite-dry-but-almost-dry-concrete right now instead of granite.

It's the age old problem. We all want to be little gods, don't we? We all want to take matters into our own hands. Have power to make us BE OK. Self-comfort. Self-secure. Self-sufficient.

Thousands of years ago there was this same exact situation:
"Beware that you do not forget the Lord your God by not keeping His commandments and His ordinances and His statutes which I am commanding you today; otherwise, when you have eaten and are satisfied, and have built good houses and lived in them, and when your herds and your flocks multiply, and your silver and gold multiply, and all that you have multiplies, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God who brought you out from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. He led you through the great and terrible wilderness, with its fiery serpents and scorpions and thirsty ground where there was no water; He brought water for you out of the rock of flint. In the wilderness He fed you manna which your fathers did not know, that He might humble you and that He might test you, to do good for you in the end. Otherwise, you may say in your heart, ‘My power and the strength of my hand made me this wealth.’ But you shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who is giving you power to make wealth, that He may confirm His covenant which He swore to your fathers, as it is this day. It shall come about if you ever forget the Lord your God and go after other gods and serve them and worship them, I testify against you today that you will surely perish. Like the nations that the Lord makes to perish before you, so you shall perish; because you would not listen to the voice of the Lord your God."

(Deuteronomy 8:11-20)

That bit right there I know is where the slip up ALWAYS comes: "But you shall remember the LORD your God, for it is He who is giving you the power to make wealth...."

Gardens and wet doughs and paying for food or not paying for food and, for you, whatever it is you have put your hand to, today this is where I stand (and where I have to glue myself in place to remain): Do what I can with my hands, while ALWAYS remember----I did not give myself these hands.

"One plants. One waters. BUT GOD GIVES THE INCREASE." (I Cor 3:6)

Love you, Wolfies.

The Day Someone Raked Our Yard

One day this week we paid someone to do this to our yard.

The yard did have a lot of leaves in it, as you can see by the number of piles, although, there is more of a story here.


Like always with me. More of a story.

It really starts the night before.

So here Hubbs (what I find myself calling the husband most often) and I are in a new city, trying to make new friends, trying to get plugged in, thinking we have found our church home for the next four months, and our church is offering this Theology on Tap night at a local craft brewery.
While I don't like beer, I do like theology, AND they had falafel, so it was a win-win for both my mind and my tongue.


Each month they do this, I guess. An open-to-the-public event, they have a pre-set topic, a moderator, and what seems like an intellectual group of people from all walks of life, bringing many diverse thoughts to the table.
This night's topic was incarceration. Prison. The why, the how, the should it be, the is it accomplishing what it sets out to do, and the is there a solution?

One bit that got hammered on over and over again throughout the night was that when someone gets out of prison it is very hard for them to get adjusted to and accepted back into society. My thoughts are still out on how best this should be done, but it made for interesting mental exercise, and I think everyone came away with the take-home of "We need to do what we can to help people learn valuable life skills, whether to keep them from committing crimes and going to prison in the first place, or after they have been released and want to straighten out their lives."

Hubbs and I found it ironic, as we continued the already 2+ hour long discussion all the way home, that there we were, a room full of 60 or more self-proclaimed philosophes, drinking our expensive craft beers and eating our falafel, talking in hypothetical terms and speaking in idioms about a topic we were, at that very moment, strikingly far removed from.

I mean, to put it bluntly, I have never gone to jail.

And I don't fear ever going to jail (apart from maybe being thrown in jail for my faith if this whole place keeps progressing more and more tyrannically).

Yet there I was, talking about it in a way that made me sound like I had the answers, I knew the issues, and I had waded through the trenches, more than I actually have, to somehow better the situation.

No. Really, my boots have not hit that much of the ground.

And so we got home and went to bed, feeling quasi-brilliant, and quasi-hypocritical.

Hubbs had a meeting the next morning and was out of the house when knock-knock-knock a man is at the door.
Now, I am afraid of strangers just as much as the next person, although probably not as afraid as I am of what lurks in the dark (the real fear behind "the dark") and falling from great heights (again, no one is afraid of heights. We are afraid of FALLING from great heights), but I had the window shades open as I sat there reading my Bible---so he could see me. We were separated by nothing but glass. Against my fear, I had to open the door.

And there stood a man with a rake.
"Um, hey ma'am. My wife and I just moved to the neighborhood...and you know....we paid the rent, but sometimes there just isn't anything left over after that. We have a baby coming in March and you know, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to keep food on the table. Could I rake your yard, miss? For anything. A dollar, five dollars, whatever you could give would be great."

I told him I needed to ask my husband and took his phone number.

How perfect, I thought! This must be God, really. We get to put said boots to the ground! Help out some guy who wants to work, is asking for our help, and hey, we don't have a rake here so it all works out in the end.

Hubbs got home and I told him all.
So we call Mr. Rake and over he comes.

Although---I feel like I should mention now---that a woman dropped him off in a 2013 Nissan Altima. Which is a pretty nice car. And when I say "dropped him off" what I really mean is sat across the street with the car on the whole time he was here.

But anyway, what an opportunity. The very next morning after we had philologized about something similar to this very thing the very night before.

He worked for an hour. Did a good job, too, of putting piles together! We thought it would be a good idea to give a mixed payment, money + food. Afterall who doesn't have to buy food?!

So Mr. Rake finishes and Hubbs goes out with $20 and a $15 box of food. "Hey, thanks for working, man, the yard looks great," Hubbs says as he hands it to him.
To which Mr. Rake replies, "OH no way, man. This is not nearly enough for what I did for you."
"Um....you put leaves in piles for one hour. And we never agreed upon a price before."
"No way, man, I was thinking more like $200."
"That's not happening. Again, you worked for ONE HOUR and we never settled on a price before hand. Here. Here's ten more dollars. And look, we are giving you a box of food, too, bro," said Hubbs, when Mr. Rake looks at him all insulted and goes, "Man, I don't want no mo' food! I cannot accept this little from you."

At this point we weren't sure whether this guy was actually angry or just playing the game.... But we didn't really want a stranger on our lawn to be angry...

"Man, the back yard alone is worth at least $50 and this front yard is at least $20..."

"Dude, you worked for one hour, raking leaves. Here, have a gift card too...."

Finally through a little more coercive talking Hubbs got him to leave. But not before he asked us for newspapers that he could put under his feet so he wouldn't get their sparkling car floor dirty.


*Sigh.


We were angry at first. Sat at the lunch table and just stared at each other.


Having gone the night before to that whole prison/keep people out of prison thing, we really did want to help him. We were just happy he said he wanted to work for money and food, rather than do the sometimes easier thing of committing a crime to get those things.

Our jail discussion started right up again, needless to say. He either was a con man OR -- and this would actually be sadder--- he was someone who (il)legitimately thinks he is down and out (i.e. sell your car and don't idle it for an hour and you will have a whole lot more money in your bank), but yet has such an entitlement mentality that he ACTUALLY believes that he was worth more than $20 an hour (the majority of this country does not make more than $20 an hour, fyi) and we OWE him more than $20 an hour + food. Even though he was the one begging us for work and did, relatively speaking, work that takes almost no skill (i.e. children can rake leaves).

If that is the case...yikes! Sorry, Charlie. Feeling entitled or not, the world your mind resides in is an alternate reality to the truth of this society.

Nevertheless, there we sat at our kitchen table, finding ourselves now in the place of How Do We Think About Helping People From Now On?


The devil would want us to say, "Never again." And maybe this was something God allowed him to bring in our life to test us with. Who knows.
The devil would want us to become racist, skeptical, hard-hearted, and write off even the truly down and out, all as a means of protecting ourselves from "people like him" in the forever future.


*Sigh again.

But we can't do that.


We will continue to be generous. For never has successful generosity been based upon the gratitude (or lack of gratitude) of the one receiving.

It poses a very clear picture of Luke 6:35 where it says, "But love your enemies, do good to them and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked."

When you read that one has to say to themself, "Well, I am not that much different than Mr. Entitlement Scammer, am I?"
For how often is the Lord kind to me, and I, in return, am ungrateful?

How often am I wicked, yet, as sure as the eastern sun in the morning, he is unnecessarily generous and gives me bread?

To how many people (ourselves included in this question) does he give sustenance to and they just turn---like Mr. Entitlement Scammer--- and say, "I don't want no mo' food!!"?

"Excuse me, Mrs. Wolf Queen. Did you just tell God that you don't want anymore of what he is giving you? But what will you do when you go hungry? From whom will you feed then?"



Aren't you glad God isn't like us? Isn't like me?


What if he was only kind to the holy and thankful?


Think about it.
What if you only got oxygen and heart beats (because those are things we don't have apart from him) when you were RIGHTEOUS and GRATEFUL?


Like a fish without water.


And you know it.
And thanks to a scam artist or a man with severe entitlement issues, so now do I.

It's been a while.

I have been busy. Let's just say that.
I suppose it goes without saying, what with me not having said anything to you in 4+ months.
And life just has not been the same without you, I promise. Because I love you all, so so very much.

But look at all that happened that kept me away!! And all I had to see and do and experience and soak up and not let pass me by!!!

The Shire.

A friend's bridal shower at a house that had the same wallpaper the White House has!

Family weddings.

Fall happened.

Remember that cooking thing I did last year? Yeah, I did it again. And made the best roast beef I have ever concocted.

Masquerade parties happened.

Engagement pictures happened.

Ugly Sweater Christmas Parties happened.

And then I had the brilliant idea to HAND-WRITE all of our invitations. All 240 of them. By hand. With MY hand.

And....wait....what was that last one?


Oh that's right.


I GOT MARRIED!!!!
Huzzah and hurrah and hurray all in one!

You have seen a lot of these ladies in the past----no doubt!!

Table at the reception. And there were like 47 tables. And they were all different. Comprised of things I thrifted, antiqued, or scavenged from the woods.

Dancin' the night away!

So really, that's what had me preoccupied.
All the prep and bridal showers and traveling to and fro to get everything done. And then couple that with the self-diagnosed, stress-induced ulcer I convinced myself I gave myself and...well...you know. No blog posts.
I thought since I had been a wedding planner it would be the easiest thing in the world for me to do. But alas, one's own wedding is an entirely different breed of cat than someone else's wedding.


And then since I got married (and since we didn't live by each other before we got married) I had to move cities and cities away.
And then 4 weeks after we got married we moved states away. But don't worry. We will be here for just 4 months.
Until we head back to "The Motherland."



*Sigh.


Oh! and did I mention that the two consecutive weekends after I got married I was in two of my best friends weddings who were also getting married?!
In Phoenix.
And then another in Cabo San Lucas.

Oh! And then we got back and 2 days later was Christmas!

And then we packed up both of our houses and moved into what is now our "first home." A charming little place; you all should come visit.

So now that we are here I have started to have time to breathe again.

I will post all kinds of funsy, cutesy pictures of all those "explores" (as Winnie the Pooh would say), and all these current settlings later.

:)


And now we are setting up our house and taking cookies to our new neighbors and praying about which church to go to and I still haven't taken all my nail polish off yet.

Oh Married Life!

It's you and me to the end, Hubbs. And look at that: we even are already starting to look like each other.

Beards.

Love you, Wolfies. I am back. I promise this time.

Glory.

I think it all really happened when I decided I needed to wear more color; let's put a filibuster of sorts on all that black I wear, shall we?
The only obvious next stop, then, was to Instagram-stalk some of my favorite bloggers (who wear lots of great color) and see what I needed to get into my closet.
But herein lies the problem. Me, being a smart-phone novice (I don't believe in that tech stuff yet), didn't contemplate the fact that I would be seeing more pictures than just their colorful outfits.
No. There they were, eating and drinking in adorable cafes, having adventures in orchards and cities and Paris streets and buying amazing deer antlers in Texas.

And suddenly I didn't just want to wear more color. Other feelings and wants were surfacing, too.

Was I re-thinking my life?

I thought and thought and thought.

Surely not. I love my life. I love where it has been, I love where it is, I love where it's going.
So what was that?
What were my mind and heart and emotions telling me I was missing?

Then I knew. See, I wasn't really jealous of those colorful blogger's lives. No. And I wasn't even jealous of their activities; I have eaten and drunk in adorable cafes, and had adventures in orchards and cities and on Paris streets and in antique stores surrounded by furs and antlers in Texas.
That's not it.

But....well....Instagram wasn't really IN (or INvented, whichever) when all that stuff was happening to me.....so.....so.....you and the masses never saw me doing all that stuff.
That's what I was feeling.
I was before the time of gaining all those followers.
I never got so many "likes" to know that you all approved of me.

And suddenly, as I was scrolling through a picture tour of their lives I felt like I wanted all of you to know those things about MY life....


Wait wait wait.
Hold the phone.
Why in the world did I want you all to know that stuff about me?

What good would that do for me?
Would it make you like me more? Think I was cooler? Want to hang out with me?
Why should I care?
Why was I caring?


I have been reading through the book of John a lot lately and I am continuously confronted by how he keeps saying things like "the Son can do nothing by himself..." (John 5:12) or "If I testify about myself, my testimony is not valid..." (5:31) or "He who speaks on his own does so to gain honor for himself..." (7:18) or "I am not seeking glory for myself.." (8:50) or "If I glorify myself, my glory means nothing.." (8:54). Over and over again this is what he, the God of all universes who came in human form, says about himself. He is not here for his own glory.
Even though he is the only one who has any legitimate claim to glory. But yet he did not come to glorify himself.

Crazy.

Crazy different from humanity.

Isn't it great that God just isn't like us at all?
Isn't it startling how not like God we are?

Because there he is, not seeking anything for himself, admitting that if he were to glorify himself it wouldn't be valid, and here I am, wondering if you all should know about all the cool stuff I have done with my life.

Blah. Blah blah blah.
My own thoughts make me want to gag.
Do you know what I mean? Being so offended by your own heart....

And I see this happening all the time in my life, now that I am looking for ways that I desire to showcase my own glory.
Over and over again; I am more than happy to tell you and everyone else ALL about me.
"So, what do you do?" I get asked. And my initial thought, "Well wouldn't I love to tell you...." or "Have you ever traveled anywhere?" someone will say to me, only then to find my brain instantly wanting to respond with, "Everywhere," despite the fact that that of course is not even true. But I want them to THINK it's true. So I name a few places, letting them think that the reason I am not naming more places is because of course I want to be humble (not because I actually haven't been there, which would be the truth).

Because, honey, I am overwhelmingly human and you better believe that my MO is to seek my own glory.

*Gag.

And speaking of Gag, or Gaga, rather. While I give no practice to the listening to of Lady Gaga, I was flipping through the radio a while back and heard this really catchy jam, only to be shocked when the song ended and I was told by the DJ that I had been rocking to a Lady Gaga song.
In expecting to be assaulted by a barrage of heinous lyrics, when I looked up the words to what I had been jamming to I was pleasantly surprised to see words and phrases that were nothing more than............honest.

While I do not typically think she is an expert on the human nature, this time, I admit, she nails it:

 ....If only fame had an I.V......
I live for the applause, applause, applause
I live for the applause-plause
Live for the applause-plause
Live for the way that you cheer and scream for me
The applause, applause, applause
Give me that thing that I love
Put your hands up, make 'em touch, touch (make it real loud)
Give me that thing that I love 
Put your hands up, make 'em touch, touch (make it real loud)

See, here is her reality; she has gotten the glory this world can give:

Is that a pirate ship?!!

I wish I was less like Lady Gaga. I wish I didn't have thoughts like, "I should have had Instagram 6 years ago." I wish I didn't feel this overwhelming desire for people to KNOW what I have done and where I have been and subsequently give appropriate honor.

Why can't we just do what we do and enjoy what we do and leave it at that? Why are we all so human, so not like Christ? SO self-glorifying?

Is it cliche for me to say? Yes.
Am I going to say it regardless? Yes.

It's because we ARE so human, we ARE so self-glorifying.
And THAT, Wolfies, is also why Jesus came. Because left to our own devices all we do is seek our own glory and approve or disapprove of all the others.

And so he came. Not in his own legitimate glory. Not in the power he could have. Not in the force it would have taken him no effort to conjure.

He came as a helpless baby, and as a man in a body susceptible to heat and exhaustion and dehydration and bruising and bleeding and death.
He came humbly, not seeking his own glory SO THAT we, the self-glory-seekers, would see him, and would know the stark real contrast between who he is and who we most assuredly are, and in that point of KNOWING would see the overwhelming truth that we have NO glory in ourselves. Whether we seek it ourselves or are bestowed with it by others.

He came in humility so we would know our vanity, and in that knowing fall at his feet, shedding our fake crowns and dismissing the approvals and applause we have received from all the other glory-seekers.
He humbly came for all the self-exalting. You, me, and Lady Gaga alike.