Susan in the Boonies and the Sexiest Man Alive

Pin It Now I KNOW y'all think I am talking about my Big Bison, and in point of fact, with a title like this one, I should be! There is no sexier man alive than my gorgeous hunk of a husband, and if you don't share my opinion: well, good! More for me!!!

But, since lately I have been discussing on this blog "living without a mask", I think it's high time I unmasked myself, don't you???

I thought you would.

Well, I was standing in Kroger on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, having gotten up early, early to make an early morning grocery run before the masses of humanity descended on the store. I must say, it was a pretty good time to do my shopping (7:30 AMish). Not too many other folks in the store, and room to push my shopping cart without getting too frustrated.

So, when I had finally accumulated all my stuff, I went to the checkout line. And, with my usual skill at choosing checkout lines, I chose the line that ended up going the slowest. So, I waited. And waited. No forward movement. So, I looked for a magazine to help me pass the time.

What I am about to share with you next is a true, completely uncensored REAL LIFE PEEK into the inner workings of the mind of a Boonie Woman. Here are the totally uncensored thoughts that went through my mind at the checkout counter at Kroger:

"Anything interesting to read while I wait? Hmmm....not really...:nothing much but National Enquirer and rags like it. But wait: what's that??? Ah! A copy of People Magazine! And what's that headline? The Sexiest Man Alive? Hmmm....wonder who they've picked this year....let's just take a quick look/see... "


"Johnny Depp....hmm....well...he's handsome, alright....just saw him in our Chick Flick the other day, "Chocolat"....lovely brown eyes, and high cheekbones.... of course....he's really not my particular cup of tea....hmmm....what else is in here.....hmmm....Sexiest Men through the decades....Who are these guys...hmmmm....there's like 50 little head shots here on one page of....hmmm....sexy men through the decades......hmmm....there's men in their 20's....I've never heard of most of these guys.... 30's , 40's.....say, there's some cute ones there....ooooooh, that Matthew Fox....50's....they're a little old looking in this line....Maybe I'm more of a cougar than I thought....., hmmmm....what's on this next page....Oh, my gosh, it's some guy in a Speedo mowing his lawn....at the office.... good grief...he looks RIDICULOUS...."


Long about this moment, as I am cracking up at the various pictures of Jerry McGuire all around town in his underwear, a voice breaks into my consciousness:

"Well, Susan, have you decided which one you like yet?"

Oh. My. Gosh.

Blood rushes to my face as rapidly as sweat rushes to my armpits. It's Debbie! One of the ladies from my BIBLE STUDY!!!!

She carries on, undaunted: "I've been standing here watching you for the loooongest time, waiting for you to make up your mind which man you liked the best....."

(There is a roguish twinkle in her eyes. Debbie is the Queen of DropDeadDry Delivery.)

Well, we hooted aloud together at that point, and brought the cashier in on the joke, because she was FINALLY ready to begin checking out my groceries, and she seemed to get a pretty large charge out of me being caught by one of the ladies from my Bible Study as well.

I may be married - but I ain't blind, kids. And a fine looking man....is, well, absolutely a fine looking man. God created beauty, and it's lovely to behold.

And the Bison himself remains The Sexiest Man Alive in my own personal magazine. But, that's not for public consumption.

Sin Mountain

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I'm still reading the book TrueFaced, written by Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol, and John Lynch. And, I'm still sharing concepts and illustrations that come directly from that book. This is not original stuff of my own. You should buy the book and read it. Why am I doing this? Writing it helps me to further process what I am reading. I want these things to go deep down inside of me and become a part of who I am. Second, just in case somebody is reading this who would not have bought the book: well, I want to extend the ripples of the good stuff these men have written just a bit further.

I'm in chapter 3 now, and here's the illustration that I read today that grabbed me. Imagine yourself standing in front of a lake. On the other side, maybe a hundred yards or so across, stands a person that you are longing to see, to talk to. The lake is wide enough that there seems no possible way to walk around it, and besides, all around the shore of the lake grow bushes, teeming with thorns, preventing you from finding a path. You have no boat, and just in case you're thinking of wading or swimming, you discover that the water is disgustingly polluted and filled with poisonous snakes. What can you do? Your only recourse is to yell, back and forth across the lake, resulting in flawed communication, and ultimately, complete frustration.

The lake represents your sin, and the person to whom you long to be close is God. And this is an accurate picture of how we were before we came into belief in Jesus, and we were adopted into the family of God. Yet, disturbingly, this is also the way so many of us who have been adopted into the family of God still feel. Because we continue to sin on a regular basis, we see our sin as just adding to the poison of the lake, and deepening the impossibility of living in relationship with a holy God. It's as if God declaring us to have His righteousness never took place.

Primarily focusing on Pleasing God rather than Trusting God leaves us chained to our unresolved sin and immaturity. If we are living in the Room of Good Intentions, we see the piles of our sin, (to modify our analogy a bit), that separate us from a holy God, who is supposedly on the other side of that pile. And if moral striving can save the day, then we chip away at that sin pile, all the while shamefully aware that the sin of today only adds to the pile that lies in front of us. If we manage to knock off a chunk of bad behavior, well, then, we think that we've done something pretty big! And we rejoice in what our effort has accomplished, and in so doing, add a lump of pride to the sin pile in front of us.


Now, though, here is the change in the picture that resonated deep in my heart, that I wanted to share. What if I am all wrong in that picture I have created in my mind of how that sin pile separates me from God? What if what He says is true: that I have been adopted into His family, that I am connected to the Vine - remaining in Him? What if I really am IN Christ Jesus, like He says I am? What if He's NOT on the other side of that sin pile? What if He's standing right there beside me, with His arm around me, looking at my sin with me, and wanting to enjoy His relationship with me, ready to address my sin that is right out there in front of both of us?

Here's a quote from the book, of the Believer, talking to God, as they look at the sin pile in front of them: "Once, I thought that this particular sin would fulfill and satisfy me. But, Father, as we look at it together, I am learning to trust your assessment of what will satisfy and fulfill me. So, what do you want to do about this sin? I am not going to try to manage it or throw it to the ground. I trust you for the next step." "In the Room of Grace, Jesus Christ is honored, depended upon, and submitted to for the resolution of our sin issues."

"What if our sin doesn't affect how close we are to God? What if God meant it when He said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you'?"

What if God could walk around that impossibly high mountain of our sin, walk right up to us, put His arm around us, and enjoy us right now - no matter how much unresolved sin we have in our lives? What if we could stand there together and look at my sin together, not for the purpose of condemnation, but for the purpose of solving it together in relationship?

See?

Grace changes everything.

For Such A Worm As I

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If you have any history whatsoever of growing up in church, you may have sung a hymn that I also sang in church as a child, whose original lyrics have fallen out of favor. In fact, they are so politically incorrect that some hymnbooks have changed them. The hymn to which I am referring is entitled, "Alas! And Did My Savior Bleed?" and was written by Isaac Watts, and the old lyrics are as follows:

"Alas! And did my Savior bleed?
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that Sacred Head
For such a worm as I?"

Later versions have changed the objectionable lyrics "for such a worm as I" to "for sinners such as I?" Because nobody in this day and age of promoting self esteem and positive self images really gets off on being called a worm.

But I would submit to you that this "objectionable" choice of lyrics is not really so very objectionable.

And maybe, after you hear my thoughts on this topic, you, too, might find yourself thinking that being a worm is not such a very bad thing, after all.

My dear friend Hannah loaned me a book she owns, called TrueFaced. This book was written by Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol and John Lynch, and the thoughts I am going to share today came directly from their writings, but I'll retell them in my own way. So, if anything I say here today resonates with you, go buy their book if you can afford it, and help those guys pay their mortgages. (I couldn't afford it: but maybe you can!)

Hannah brought the book to our Friday Friends group, and read to us a portion of Chapter Two that deals with how Christians make a choice in their lives between two roads.

The first road is labeled "Pleasing God", and the second road is labeled "Trusting God". These roads represent the primary motivation of our hearts, and as they both appear to be good roads to a pilgrim traveler, it is difficult to choose between the two. But whichever road we as fellow pilgrims choose will determine the actions we will take, so the choice is significant.

Without retelling that whole excellent section of the book, the point the author makes is that if, as Christians, we choose the path labeled "Pleasing God" as our primary motivation, we set ourselves up for a life of striving - striving to be good enough to please God. Striving to overcome our sin. It is a performance driven path. And even more dangerous, if we surround ourselves with like minded performance driven people, we all eventually end up wearing masks, almost before we know it, because we can't let the other people who have also chosen the "Pleasing God" path know how terribly far short we are falling. Likewise, we have no idea what our brothers and sisters in Christ are really going through, because they all have their masks on as well, so that we cannot see their struggles.

It is NOT a bad thing in any way to want to please God. It is a lovely thing to want to please the heart of God. But if that is our primary motivation in life, as fallible human beings, we are doomed to failure, for we can never be perfect enough, never holy enough, and all our self-effort leaves us despairing in the end.

The other road, marked "Trusting God" focuses not on effort, but on grace, on believing what God has said about us to be true, and trusting His grace to enable us to mature.

To illustrate its point, the book gives the example of a caterpillar: those green, squirmy, and I hate to say this, but kind of ugly little things that just look like, well, worms.

But if you examined the worm/caterpillar's DNA, any scientist would tell you that this, my friends, is indeed, a butterfly. True, it doesn't exactly look very much like a butterfly at this point in its life. And so, if I spent time berating the caterpillar for not being very pretty, or not flying, or for its very worminess, well, he wouldn't fly any sooner, would he? I might end up hurting his little caterpillar feelings, and causing him caterpillar angst, guilt and shame, but he would fly no sooner.

In II Corinthians 5:17, God tells me that I AM a new creation, because I am IN CHRIST. (Despite my wormy appearance.)

And I know that I am in Christ, because Jesus tells me so. He says in John 5:24 "if anyone hears my words and believes him who sent me, that person has eternal life, and will not be condemned. That person has crossed over from death to life." And I've done that.

So, because I am in Christ, I want to take the road labeled "Trusting God". I am going to choose to absolutely trust Him, that what He says about me is true: that I ALREADY AM a new creation, with the brand new New Creation DNA that He has given me for who I am in Christ.





That (and here's been the sticking point for me in the past) DESPITE EVIDENCE TO THE CONTRARY (because in many ways, I still look and act very much like a homely caterpillar/worm/sinner - I sin, I stumble, I'm selfish, prideful, arrogant, etc.,) my New Creation DNA says that I am a beautiful new creation! I am who God says I am, despite evidence to the contrary!

Hebrews says, "Without faith, it is impossible to please Him". And it's easy for me to fall into the trap of trying to please Him by being good enough. By trying with all my might to get rid of my caterpillarliness. By believing the lie that because I still stumble and sin and mess up and very much resemble a worm, that I probably AM just a worm, secretly. "Why, oh why, oh why can't I fly??? I'm so ashamed, God!!!" When all He really wants out of me is a little faith, that what He says about what He's done for me is the truth. To trust Him, and His grace, as sufficient: He really doesn't need all my self-effort. It is my very FAITH that pleases Him, my trust in Him that He is able to help me mature. So "Pleasing God" is a by-product of "Trusting God"!

"For such a worm as I"...well, I DID used to be a worm. But now, no thanks to me and all my efforts to please Him, I'm a new creation. And my heart longs to travel the path marked "Trusting God". I want to trust Him to complete the good work He's begun in me. To grow me up to look like my big brother Jesus. I want to walk this road of trusting Him with other pilgrims who are also tired of trying to look good enough, and who are humbly thankful for the work that's been done in us, Who are willing to tell it like it really is, and who are ready to shed their masks..



I can't tell you how grateful I am that God is, in fact, providing me with people who are ready to make this walk with me. Friends who are ready to leave their masks behind, and show their true faces.

You'll thank me for this later....

Pin It My beautiful and talented friend Diane, she of the Fabulous Friday Friends, is full of love, the gift of hospitality, and brilliant ideas. One of her latest ideas was to host a chick flick party, at which she would show the movie Chocolat, and to which we could bring any yummy snacks we might enjoy. Diane told us she was planning to make us homemade truffles. They were spectacular!!! Several others of us decided to do a small variation on the chocolate theme, and bring chocolate treasures of our own.

I promised the girls that I would post my recipe on my blog. I wish I could tell you that it is my own recipe, but actually, it is not. It came from Southern Living. I have been making it for years, though, because it seems to have the effect of causing people to swoon, cheesecake and chocolate lovers alike. I wish you could have been at our little party, so that you could have heard the little moans of pleasure going up as we sampled one delectable chocolate dainty after another. If you weren't wiping saliva away from the corners of your own mouth with your sleeve, then you certainly would have been getting a good laugh out of listening to us THOROUGHLY ENJOY our chocolate!!!

My hope, is that instead of you feeling sorry for yourself because you weren't there at our WONDERFUL chocolate party, that you will purpose in your heart to have a little party and a lot of fun of your own. That you will invite some friends (or even better, some POTENTIAL friends) over, and have the time of your life, while you enjoy good food and good company. It is such a great thing to spread the love around! As the old song that I learned as a girl goes, "Love is something if you give it away, you end up having more".

So here, without further ado, and just in time for the holidays and all your holiday entertaining, is my recipe for

CHOCOLATE-GLAZED TRIPLE-LAYER CHEESECAKE

Here's all the ingredients you'll need to make this recipe:



1 (8 1/2 oz.) package chocolate wafer cookies, crushed (about 2 c.) (I think the ones I use are called Nabisco's Famous Chocolate wafers)
3/4 c. sugar, divided
1/4 c. plus 1 T. butter, melted
2 (8 oz.) packages cream cheese, softened and divided
3 eggs
1 t. vanilla extract, divided
2 (1 oz.) squares semisweet chocolate, melted
1 1/3 c. sour cream, divided
1/3 c. firmly packed dark brown sugar
1 T. flour
1/4 c. chopped pecans
5 oz. cream cheese softened
1/4 t. almond extract

Chocolate Glaze (recipe follows)


Combine cookie crumbs, 1/4 c. sugar, and butter in a bowl; blend well. Press on bottom and 2" up sides of a 9'" springform pan. Set aside. (I use a little flat bottomed dish I have to help me press down the crumbs evenly.)



Combine 1 (8 oz) package cream cheese and 1/4 c. sugar; beat until fluffy. Add 1 egg and 1/4 t. vanilla; blend well. Stir in melted chocolate and 1/3 c. sour cream.



Spoon over chocolate crust.

Combine remaining (8 oz.) package cream cheese, brown sugar, and flour; beat until fluffy. Add 1 egg and 1/2 t. vanilla; blend well. Stir in pecans. Spoon gently over chocolate layer.



Combine 5 oz. cream cheese and remaining 1/4 c. sugar; beat until fluffy. Add remaining egg, and blend well. Stir in remaining 1 c. sour cream, 1/4 t. vanilla , and almond extract. Spoon gently over pecan layer.




Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hr.; turn off oven, and leave cheesecake in oven 30 minutes, partially open door of oven and leave cheesecake in oven an additional 30 minutes. Let cool to room temperatrure on a wire rack. Chill at least 8 hours. Remove from pan. Spread warm chocolate glaze over cheesecake.


CHOCOLATE GLAZE

6 (1 oz.) squares semisweet chocolate
1/4 c. butter
3/4 c. sifted powdered sugar
2 T. water
1 t. vanilla extract

Combine chocolate and butter in top of a double boiler; bring water to a boil. Reduce heat to low; cook, stirring occasionally, until chocolate melts. Remove from heat; add remaining ingredients, stirring until smooth.





Spread over cheesecake while glaze is warm.



And, enjoy!!!

Transitions R Us

Pin It Life is full of transitions, isn't it?

I mean, really, when is it not?

We go from being little human boneless skinless chicken breasts: limp and helpless as they come, to purposeful smiling, to lifting our heads, to rolling over all in the blink of an eye. We become terrible toddlers, and then learn to read, and before you know it, we dare to think our own original thoughts, and dream our own individual dreams. And that's just what comes from moving into adolesence.

As young adults, we transition into paying our own way through life. To (hopefully) no longer being quite as self-focused as we begin to focus on raising those who will take our place in the next generation. And after that, we transition into life AFTER children: the "What will I do with the rest of my life?" phase that so many of my friends are in, and that I am moving towards so rapidly.

But all along the way, as we move from one developmental level to the next, we hit bumps. (And if you don't, my hat is off to you. But most people I know, do.) And sometimes, as we try to figure out what's next, and how we should get there, it's just plain HARD! We know who we used to be and what we used to do, but things have changed, and it's time for something new: a new goal, a new focus, a new vision. How do we step into this new phase? Everything feels awkward. And if you're an adult who is "supposed" to be "mature", there can be a real feeling of shock, and shame and inadequacy, "Wait a minute! I thought I was all grown up, and knew who I was and what I was going to do with the rest of my life, but things have CHANGED, and I just don't know what this next part is supposed to look like!"

At my Fabulous Friday Friend's get-together yesterday, one of those wise women, Judy, shared with us a profound truth that she had learned. "There is no shame in transition". As we struggle, it is important to remember that struggle, even the struggle of a mature adult, is a normal part of life : something common to man - and woman.

Well, we've been transitioning around here. And since there is no shame in the struggle, I'm just going to admit: there's a whole lot of struggling going on. Sometimes I think my kids are just like caterpillars trying to eat their way out of the snug, comfy little cocoons I so carefully spun just for them.

And honestly, I want them both to fly. I do! I do!
But it's so hard sometimes, watching them strive to do that.

One of the things I have said for years - eleven years, to be precise - is that I have loved the opportunity that homeschooling has afforded me to truly know my kids. And I HAVE loved it. I feel like I know them inside out, sometimes. Like I know what makes them tick better than they do.

Well, lemme tell you, just because you FEEL that way, doesn't make it so. (I am saying this with the most rueful of smiles, and totally laughing at myself, so you may feel free to join me in this ironic little endeavor.)

My son's tutorial had what they call "Band Night" this week. Those who wanted to perform a song or two, could, and lots of them wanted to. Not surprisingly, since we live in a music town, a lot of these kids are children of professional musicians, and they are extraordinarily talented. The other GREAT thing about this tutorial is that these kids LOVE each other. No cliques! They cheer each other on, regardless of the level of talent.

Now, I am someone who, if I'm going to do something in front of a group of people, will practice and prepare until I have down exactly what I am going to present: be it song, or teaching, or whatever, I think things through carefully, and prepare accordingly.

My dear, dear son, on the other hand, is temperamentally so very, very different from me. He prefers to fly by the seat of his pants, loving everyone and everything around him, and rolling with the moment like a playful otter. I have some thoughts about the wisdom of this strategy to prepare one for life, but, luckily for you, I will keep those thoughts to myself for the moment. You can just play your own imagined version of my response to this in regard to school work in your head right now, and fell well and duly lectured. But school work aside, playing guitar is a hobby for my son, so it's his deal, and I'm pretty much hands-off. "Have fun, son! Enjoy yourself."

So, with that frame of reference, I went with some trepidation to Friday night's band night, to see what in the world my son would come up with.

He did not disappoint.

While we were there at Band NIght,, I shouted into my son's ear, over the din in the room, "So - what are you going to play?"
"Oh, a song called, "It's A Dirty Little Town".
At this point, I'm thinking, "OK, this could be good. Or not. Could be really, really bad. In front of all these godly little homeschool families. Yikes." But, I kept the smile plastered to my face.

"Oh, really? What else?"
"Well, just this song that I sorta kinda wrote."

At this point, my head swiveled toward him like Linda Blair's head in The Exorcist. Pretty sure that would make it a 450º: a 360º plus another quarter turn. I felt my eyes demanding permission to bug out of my head. I sternly gave them an internal "Permission Denied" and carried on with the aforementioned plastered smile.

"Oh, really? A song you WROTE? I didn't know you wrote songs."
"Well, yeah, I wrote this one."
"Well, OK. Good."

At this point, as the sweat began pouring out of my armpits, I began to consider my options. I COULD make a break for it, and run outside and cower under my car until this is over, but then....that would kind of defeat the purpose of me showing up to show my support and love for my son. Still...the oil stained gravel of the parking lot is looking mighty tempting....

I elect to stay, praying I won't throw up.

The time arrives. My dear son and his friend take the stage.

My dear son is holding a banjo. We don't own a banjo. To the best of my knowledge, my son has only SEEN a banjo in his life. He certainly has never played one at MY house.

They commence to play their song.

Now really. I've heard worse. I had heard worse that evening. It could have been SO much worse.

One song down. One to go. The one he has written.

It IS possible the earth MIGHT open up and swallow me. It did happen once in the Bible. Miracles still occur today....

But not that night.

He began his introduction of the song: "This is a little song I wrote called 'Sparta, Tennessee'. I went there once and it was really gray and depressing, and so I wrote this song."

Great. Now he has alienated everyone in the room who comes from Sparta. Oh, well, maybe he'll be lucky and no one here is from there.

And one more itty bitty thing....Sparta, Tennessee. Sparta, Tennessee???? My son has never BEEN to Sparta, Tennessee. Oh dear God. Help.

The intro ends. The song begins.

Well, hey. It's kinda...good. I mean it's not bad. It has verses, a recognizable chorus, he's playing chords (on his guitar, thank God) that seem to go with the melody.

The song ends. The crowd goes wild (because they're great kids, and they love my son.).

My son approaches me, a searching, slightly timid look on his face as he looks into my eyes. "Well, what did you think?"

"Honey, you were GREAT! I loved your song!" I say, meaning it. "By the way, hon, have you ever been to Sparta, Tennessee?"

"Sure! Don't you remember that canoeing trip I went on with that youth group? We stopped on the way back home and ate lunch at the Chinese Buffet, and it was all gray and depressing?"

"Oh, yeah," I reply, relief surging through me that he is not a liar.

Transitions are hard: I am learning that my son has an interior life and talents of which I know nothing.

Transitions are awkward. I'm trying to figure out how to let him become his own person, and make his own mistakes, and enjoy his own triumphs, without raining on his parade with all my superior adult life experience wisdom.

But there is no shame in transitions. Thanks, Judy, for that sound bite of wisdom that I was able to grab onto and retain, for one day, at least.

Just My Little Bit

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This morning, the kids and I were doing their Bible Study Fellowship lesson from John, Chapter 6 that talks about the feeding of the 5000.

Here's the passage:

1Some time after this, Jesus crossed to the far shore of the Sea of Galilee (that is, the Sea of Tiberias), 2and a great crowd of people followed him because they saw the miraculous signs he had performed on the sick. 3Then Jesus went up on a mountainside and sat down with his disciples. 4The Jewish Passover Feast was near.

5When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, "Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?" 6He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do.

7Philip answered him, "Eight months' wages[a] would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!"

8Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, spoke up, 9"Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?"

10Jesus said, "Have the people sit down." There was plenty of grass in that place, and the men sat down, about five thousand of them. 11Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.

12When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, "Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted." 13So they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten.


So, here's my take on it. Jesus was planning to sit down and spend a bit of time with his disciples. But things changed, in a big kind of way. Not just unexpected company dropping by, but thousands of uninvited guests. But Jesus, always thinking of his disciples and what He wanted them to "get" about who He was, took this as a golden opportunity to teach them a lesson they would never forget.

First, He let them see the depth of the problem. He asks Philip, "How are we going to feed these people?" And the disciples look at the magnitude of the problem, and come up with their answer: "We got nuthin'". Well, my goodness. Seems like a reasonable answer to me! We learn in verses to come that there were 5000 MEN, so that doesn't even count the women and children. So, if over 5000 showed up at YOUR door: how would YOU feed them?

But wanting to do SOMETHING, sweet Andrew mentions that there IS this one little boy who has offered his lunch of five small barley loaves and two small fish, but of course he realizes the absurdity of this little bit being any help at all.

And like a ton of bricks, it hit me this morning one more time that our insurmountable problems with school this year due to the extensive work load my son is shouldering for the first time in his life: they're his multitude, needing to be fed. And all Jesus asks is that we take the little bit we have in our hands, just that little bit, and offer it up to Him to be used, and blessed.

Maybe you have something insurmountable in your life, too. Sometimes Jesus wants us to consider just how inadequate we are on our own to address such an issue. But, if, in full understanding that we really do GOT NUTHIN', we offer just that little bit of nuthin' to Him, He takes our willingness to bring what we have to Him, and blesses it beyond what we ever dream or imagine.

So, I prayed with my son this morning, that the Lord would take his little bit of "want to" to do his work, and bless it beyond what either one of us can imagine.

If you have a "little bit of nuthin'" to offer Him today, may He bless your little bit, too.

The Proof: part 2 of Stumpy Does Geometry

Pin It In order to tell you the tale of how things went to h-e-double-hockey-sticks in a handbasket, and thus prove my theorem, (that theorem being:"If a husband goes out of town, then all h-e-double-hockey-sticks WILL break loose at home.") I first have to do a little show and tell about this:






This is Pilgrim P. Dog, my sweet potato pie, and neurotic protectress. And yes, just in case you were wondering, the "P." stands for Pee. Not easily potty trained was she, and prone to submissive widdling in her early puppy days. So anyway, The Pee Dog is one half of ranch security around here in the Boonies, sharing her position with Deacon D. Dawg. Deacon is the elder statesman of the two, and really should be Top Dog, since he is older and was here first, but Pillie will have none of that.

Retaliatory Peeing, aka "Anywhere You Can Pee, I Can Pee Better"

Here they are engaged in one of their favorite activities, retaliatory peeing. This is all the more amusing to me when you consider that Pillie is a female, and females generally squat to relieve themselves. As does our Pill, except when she and Deacon are playing a little game known to them as "Anywhere You Can Pee, I Can Pee Better". And if Pillie's got to lift a leg to hit a spot Deakie Boy hit, Pillie will lift that leg. We have a lot of land for Ranch Security to patrol and mark, but they are up to the task.


So anyway, just after last Thanksgiving last year, Pillie had a health crisis, and was diagnosed with Addison's Disease, which is a disease of the adrenal glands. (People get this disease, too: Jane Austen had it. President Kennedy had it.) Your adrenals make steroids that help you recover from any illness you might have. If your adrenals are diseased, it takes you longer to recover. Pillie almost died last year, and now takes drugs twice a day that keep her happy and healthy, but since she was only 6 at the time of her crisis, we just couldn't bear the thought of losing her so young. I can honestly say that since that week where we almost lost her, I have been grateful for every day I have had with her. She makes me so happy.

Now, I told you all that to tell you this: Because Pillie has Addison's disease, she can potentially again go into another Addisonian crisis, like she did last November. And stress is what would bring on one of these events. It could be a physical stress of her body, like getting overly tired, or too much happy emotional stress, like when we have a lot of company. I keep an eye on her more than I used to, but I'm kinda used to keeping an eye out: that's standard equipment that comes with the "Mommy" package, wired into most females. Unfortunately for her health, Pillie is a neurotic German shepherd. And Neurotic German Shepherds have a NEED to be on patrol 24/7 - they really think it's up to them to save the world. And so along with being hyper-vigilant, she is also easily freaked out. And beeps freak her out. That is, electronic chirps of a particular frequency scare my dog. We think it's that they remind her of her electronic invisible fence collar. But whatever the reason, there is a certain frequency that causes her to become afraid.

SO:


Flash Forward in time from last year's Thanksgiving Addison's disease crisis to this year's great husband takes a week away to go elk hunting in Colorado trip. You will recall, I was lying on my couch, watching my swollen ankle turn a spectacular array of colors, while my dear, dearer, dearest honey headed out the door. And was feeling well and truly sorry for myself. But wishing him tons of fun: honestly, he HAD to go. This trip had been planned for months, money had been spent on tags and tickets and gear and I couldn't bear the thought of spoiling it for him. He went with my complete blessing.

What can I say? Life is complicated. Events don't always take the course you expect them to. And then there's that pesky theorem in regard to husband's going out of town, which you will recall goes like this:

If a husband goes out of town, then all h-e-double-hockey-sticks WILL break loose at home.

So, my first night without him goes fine, without event. My son and my daughter were sweet as could be, waiting on me, showing respect and concern. So far, so good. On Thursday night we were all in the living room watching something on TV, and suddenly, Pillie jumped up, ears sharply at attention, head scanning the room for trouble.

"What is it Pill?"

Nothing....

She settles back down - only to jump up AGAIN. This time licking her lips, anxiously.

"Did you hear a chirp?" I ask my kids.

Son: "Yeah, maybe."

Daughter: "I think it was a bird up the chimney."

Me: "At night?"

This continues till we go upstairs to bed. Every so often we notice a chirping noise. Pillie doesn't seem to want to sleep in her usual place: unusual, but OK. In fact, she bulls her way past me and through my door and hides in my closet, which is what she does during thunderstorms. Crud. What is wrong? I haven't heard any thunder.


So, Pillie and I settle our heads in my room for a long autumn's nap, which goes OK till about 3:00 in the morning. I wake up with a cold German Shepherd nose in my face. Pillie is pacing and pacing, and licking her lips, extremely anxious over what she's hearing (that I am not - darn those German Shepherd pointy ears). I go out in the hallway, and I can hear it again. It sounds exactly like the noise that those smoke detectors make when they need their batteries changed, I am sure of it. But the funny part is: it really doesn't sound like it's coming from ours in the downstairs hallway. Hmmm...

I take Pillie and me into my dear husband's workspace, where I can close off the noise, very effectively, and lie down to try and catch a few more winks in there. She settles down, curls up, and we catch a couple of hours of shut eye. But in the morning, I realize that this noise has still not stopped, and we have GOT to get to the bottom of it and stop it, or Pillie is likely to go into another Addisonian event. And I have a badly sprained ankle. Haven't even tried to drive yet = wasn't cleared by the doc to drive till Friday morning, which was that day. And the thought of lifting my 65lb terrified of riding in the car dog - because she gets nauseous and throws up - and getting her down the hill to the vet on my own? Stumpy is thinking she might be getting ready to have a little Addisonian crisis of her own.

So in the morning, I tell the kids: no school. We have GOT to figure out what this noise is. I am not going to my Fabulous Friday Friend's ladies group - probably don't need to walk that much yet anyway. But we have got to figure this out! So, we walk from room to room listening for the beep, which by this time is coming about every 20 seconds or so. It's like chasing a ghost. Our hardwood floors cause the noise to echo up to the ceilings and bounce around. My son gets our little step ladder, and puts it in the hallway, right under the smoke alarm detector. He stands up on it, puts his hand on it, we all hear a little chirp, but it is clear to him, because he has his hand on it, that it did not come from that box. OK. But I have a couple of new 9 volt batteries, so, we change the battery anyway. He was having trouble managing things, and so, did Stumpy climb up on that ladder? Yes, she did. (Stupid!) We go upstairs, and change the smoke alarm in the hallway up there. Nope, that's not it. Next: there's this other round thing up there on the wall. What is that thing? The carbon monoxide detector? I'm not sure. I take the lid off. It's sort of like the smoke alarm, but it looks different, too. Where's the battery go in this? Not sure....Let me just pull ....THIS.

WOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOO WOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOO......



Apparently, I have set off the burglar alarm. Great.
Let me just try to staunch this bleeding from my eardrums....

The last time this happened, I have a vague recollection of my dear husband actually physically cutting the wires to make it stop.


Now, if you think little electronic chirps make a German Shepherd nervous, what do you think the air raid warning sirens of the London Blitz do?

I yell at my daughter to get the dogs outside. Even Mr. Mellow Deakie Boy is anxious, by this point, running for the door with his ears pinned back, and Pillie has no doubt unzipped her fur coat (being scared out of it) to streak off into the woods to get as far away from us as she can get.

We haven't used the alarm in a while, and for all the world, my sleep deprived brain can NOT remember the code. The only thing that will come back to me is the code at my old house, and I know that's not right. Must try SOMETHING! I hobble down the ladder WOOOOO WOOOOOO WOOOOOO and stump across the floor WOOOOO WOOOOOO WOOOOOOO. I tell my dear son to call our neighbors: maybe we have given THEM the code, and he picks up the phone and says to our neighbor's answering machine: "Hello....Mr. B.....WOOOOO WOOOO WOOOO...this is WOOOOO WOOOOO WOOOOOO, your neighbor? We're having WOOOOOO WOOOOOO WOOOO a little problem over here WOOOOOO WOOOOOOO WOOOOOOO. Could you give us a call WOOOOO WOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOO when you get back? WOOOOO WOOOO WOOOO

Me: "For gosh sakes, hang up the phone!" WOOOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOO

And at that moment, I am overcome by a flash of brilliance: the CODE!!!!

I punch it in, and we are saved.

Silence falls, enveloping us like a mammoth cotton ball. And it is good.

Except for this one annoying little phantom, "Chirp!"

Shoot.

About this time, the phone rings. My husband, who is deep in the wilderness of Colorado, up around 10,000 feet, has found cell phone service on top of a mountain.

Him: "Hey, Baby! How's it going?"




You really don't want to know how the conversation ensued from that point on. But you can imagine. I tried to be gracious. Honestly, I really did.

He ran through the list of things he would do, and I had already done every one of those, on my bad ankle that I was supposed to be keeping elevated. Finally, after about 5 minutes more of conversation he said, "You might want to check the crawl space. There could be a smoke detector down there".

The minute he said it, I KNEW that was it. It made all the puzzle pieces click into place. The chirp that we could never find, that seemed to be coming first from one room, then another, then from the hallway: that sound was traveling through the walls. That's why we could find no other electronic device in the house that was chirping because it was out of batteries. Our crawl space I have been into one time, when we were thinking about buying the house. And crawl space is clearly a misnomer. Because our house is built on a hill, the crawl space slopes, and honestly, you could play basketball down there, with the height of the ceiling from the floor at the downhill side of the house. It is really tall.

To get to it, I would have to go outside of the house, and hike down a fairly significant hill and around to the other side of the house. Stumpy did not need to take her ankle down there. So I bid my husband goodbye, and sent the kids down there with flashlights to suss out the situation. They informed me that yes, indeed, there WAS a smoke detector down there, and it was the culprit, but it was on a beam overhead that our ladder wouldn't reach. So, I called my lovely neighbors. (I have the best neighbors ever!) All three sets of them were gone, but I left messages, and Cathy was able to come take a look for me, and she agreed with the kids, but didn't have a ladder tall enough herself. Finally, another neighbor, Mr. B, the one my son had called and left a message for, called and came over, and presto/chango no more chirp!!!! Blessed relief!!!

The good news? Pillie survived, and did not go into a crisis.

But, anyway, there's my proof.

I never was much good at Geometry.