I Am Getting Rid of My Buts

 

In my vocabulary, I am getting rid of the word, “but.” 

It reeks of confrontation, judgement:

• “I loved what you wrote but we think differently about that.”
• “Great blog but it would have been better if…”
• “I hear what you are saying, but I am right!”

Yuck.

What about “and”?

• “I loved what you wrote and I noticed we think differently about that.”
• “I both respect and disagree with what you just said.”
• “I hear what you are saying, and…”

“And…” – such a nice word. Amiable. Accommodating.

“BUT…” — Not so nice. Blustery. Blowhard.

So I am getting rid of my buts. Be gone! Bye bye! 

Say hello to ‘and’  — Absolutely!

50 Years

 

I am nearly 50 years old.

I have, quite probably, lived more than half my life now.

And what have I to show for it? Really?

I have given a lot to the pursuit of a successful career, a comfortable home, a lovely and diverse set of friends, and church activities that don’t inconvenience me too much.  Hideous.

I have been far too concerned with perceptions, positioning myself where, by some soul-sick reasoning, I thought I was most effective within the boundaries of the comfortable lifestyle. And should I die today, and find myself face-to-face with the Son, who asked far more from me than I have given, what would I expect him to say? I am sure I would be mortified.

I am nearly 50 years old. I have quite probably less than half my life left to live. How will I live it?

Annie Dillard’s famous quote, “The way we live our days, is the way we live our lives,” is telling.

How shall I spend my days? Will my activities speak of a life focused on simply doing what the Creator of the Universe asks of me? Will my words ring of love, truth, joy; or be hollow placating, meaningless echos of a hollow, placating, meaningless life?

I am too old to not tell it like it is.

I am too old not to change.

God help me.

Serving Leftovers to a Holy God

 

The Bible says, “confess your sins to one another so that you may be healed.”  Since I like to be healed I am sharing this with you.

I just returned from vacation, where invariably my cluttered mind gets uncluttered and God gets through. I think more clearly about things that matter. Also, I read a lot.

This time I read the book, Crazy Love by Francis Chan.  A chapter that really struck me is titled, Serving Leftovers to a Holy God. Malachi 1:8 is referenced where priests were sacrificing blind and lame animals instead of only the best as God had commanded. God called them on it, told them they wouldn’t use these animals to prepare food for an honored guest yet they were sacrificing them in God’s holy temple. God called this practice evil. In fact, it disgusted Him so much that He said He wished there was someone who would just shut the temple gates.

The practice of giving God what is left over in our lives (money, due to bills; time due to busy schedules; attention, due to forgetfulness) He calls evil. But we think, “Well, I’m giving more than the next guy.” Or, “Hey, something is better than nothing…”  These are not the ways God thinks. He thinks it stinks. And since He’s the Creator of the Universe and the One Who provides my very next breath, He gets to define evil, and He says this is it.

So here is my confession:  I have drug my sorry, sleepy self through the sanctuary doors early on Sunday mornings to give God and my brothers and sisters my pathetic leftovers. Having not practiced with excellence, meditated on the day’s lyrics, listened to a new song (because, you know, I am so busy!) and demonstrated before God and my church family a practice God calls evil.  Please forgive me.

Tim Kizziar said, “Our greatest fear as individuals and as a church should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don’t really matter.”  Francis Chan wonders in this chapter how many doors of American churches would God just like someone to shut? I don’t want my church to be on this list.

Whatever it is that we do, to serve God, our community, each other, let it be our best. Let’s give our first fruits, not only with regard to our money, but our time and our attention.

I wouldn’t serve leftovers to even the most familiar of guests, why would I even think of serving leftover anything to a holy God?

 

30th High School Reunion, Part Two

 

I am glad I went.

So many fresh faces and fun discovering the ones I remembered from more than 30 years ago. Some I never did recall and others I could recognize in a heartbeat.

The joy of the weekend was learning how many old friends are new pastors, Christian authors, worship leaders, missionaries. I am honored and blessed to call them friends.

I am thankful today for renewed friendships that are already, in joyful and practical ways, enriching my life. I hope that in some small way I am able to bless them back.

God bless the class of 1979!

Class of ‘79

 

High school reunions. I’ve never been to mine.  (For various reasons: Military service at five years, no notice for the 10th, my wedding day was the 20th…) 

Our 30th is next month. I am going. (Yes, I am dragging my husband along on our 10th wedding anniversary!)

I have mixed emotions about this. (So does my husband!) I really didn’t enjoy school much. I wasn’t popular, wasn’t in any one particular crowd, and didn’t really care. Perhaps I should have cared more.

I have good friends from those years that I’ve kept in touch with off and on. If I’d have cared more I may have retained more old friends. This reunion I will see people with whom I attended first grade! And I will see people I do not even remember.

Still, we have so many things in common:

• We’re all the same age.
• Most of us have kids the same age.
• Most of us were there when the mountain blew up.
• We remember a lot of the same things — wonderful or quirky teachers, various events, songs, movies, a small town that will never be as it was then, our little era.

So if you were my classmate I may not remember you. You may not remember me. Or we may remember each other very well. But we can count on the fact that we’ve changed. We’ve grown. We’re better. We’re wiser. (We hope.)

One thing we’re all sure of:  We are not old enough to be attending our 30th high school reunion!

In Praise of the Cow

I’d really must say right here that the perfect amount of organic grass, chewed mercilessly by a free range cow, regurgitated by his (or her) five stomachs, shortly before being humanely offed and chopped up into New York strip, perfectly grilled by my husband and consumed by moi, gives me the most sensational “God is in His heaven and all is right with the world” feeling. It’s almost spiritual.

Thanks be to God for inventing the cow and then teaching people
what to do with it.

Omaine and amen.

That’s JUST Not Right…

So I write this piece over at SisterBlog about my sister’s swimsuit adventure. I include a shot of me in it. Later, my mouse just happened to roll over the photo and the WordPress SnapShots pop-up appears.

Excuse me, but who said they could include “Cellulite” in the metadata???  That is just SOOOO wrong…  Seriously now.