Because that Was Yesterday

I’m a pot-stirrer by nature. Yet, I am also very much non-confrontational. My pot-stirring is geared toward the “sport” of discussion and debate more than for drawing argument. In the end, I’m really more interested in generating ideas and seeing where ideas intersect than creating division. In the end, I detest rancor and discord.

With such competing qualities about me, I shouldn’t be surprised to find myself in conflict from time to time. In fact, I should come to expect it – except when I’m minding my own business. This is exactly where I found myself this past weekend. Minding my own business one minute. Ambushed and fully engulfed in spiritual and emotional hostility the next.

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Don’t Go Hungry

What’s the first rule of the Grocery Store Club? You do not talk about . . .Wait, wrong club. The first rule of going to the grocery store – don’t go hungry.Yet, I do it ALL the time.

It’s really a bit of a sad picture when I do. You know that feeling where you are so focused on your hunger that the words on your grocery list blur. You know that healthy, satisfying options are available, but you are so desperate to satisfy the immediate hunger that you will take whatever option first catches your eye. I go for a quick fix. 

My personal “drug” of choice is sugar – in all of its glorious forms – cookies, ice cream, cake, candy. I call it a drug because that is what it is. And, my behavior surrounding sugar is much akin to what is seen in addicts. I grab something quick “just to take the edge off” while I shop. Then, I feel guilty. And, faster than David planned the demise of his lover’s husband, I hide the evidence, disposing of wrappers or containers before I get home. 

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Motion Granted

For over twenty-five years, I’ve been an attorney. Arguing was a big part of my job. Granted, we attorneys dress up our arguments with flowery language. We lay them out in poetic prose. We even give written arguments cute nicknames like “Petitions” – “pleading” our case – or “Motions” – “moving” the court to see things our way. 

Sometimes, my prayers to God resemble a legal argument more than a heartfelt plea. I tend to throw decorum aside. I just go barging into God’s office “pleading” my case or “moving” Him to see things my way. (For the record, I’ve never barged into a judge’s chambers.)

A few Sundays ago, I kinda pulled that “barging in” thing. As my husband and I sat in services at our local church, the sermon had come to a close. The pastor announced that it was time for a baptism. 

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It’s All So Puzzling

Imagine the scene (and you can because you’ve been there) – First, you dump all of the pieces out of the box onto the table. If there are any pieces that remain joined from the factory, you have to tear them apart. Then, you begin the process of putting it all back together. Find the four corners and all of the edges. (Don’t cha hate when that one middle piece with a nearly straight side gets mixed in with the real edges.) Separate the remaining pieces based on color and/or where you think they fit into the overall picture.

Doesn’t life often feel a lot like working on a 5,000-piece puzzle without a box top and with six similar pieces from an unrelated puzzle mixed in? Sometimes, I feel like God has dumped thousands of puzzle pieces in my lap. Taken a few out. Added a few that don’t belong. And, expects me to put it all together without any reference. It’s worse than one of those solid color puzzles. You know the one where thousands of pieces come together to form the solid white or yellow or blue square that graces the top of the box. 

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A Lesson on Grief from a Who Dat

The Who Dat Nation (a/k/a New Orleans Saints’ fans) are in a deep state of grief over the murder of our hopes of seeing our team play in Super Bowl LIII (a/k/a #SuperBowlLIE). The massacre occurred when at least two – if not three – highly-trained, qualified, and experienced NFL officials failed to call two obvious penalties on the same play – a pass interference and helmet-to-helmet contact. This cold-blooded slaughter of a people’s hopes and dreams was witnessed by 73,000 or so fans in the stands and millions of viewers around the world.

The Who Dats are banding together mourning that grief with an outpouring of reactions that range from petitions for justice, to lawsuits, to downright hilarious memes, to pulling our support of the upcoming game (#boycottbowl), to pulling our support for the advertisers who pad the coffers of the NFL. We are coming together in our little corners of the world to mourn our loss and to celebrate the season that was.

National sports’ pundits have chimed in with outrage. Even fans of other teams have lent compassion and support because “there but for the Grace of God….” Other fans have experienced “lesser losses” in the form of a bad call that may have cost them a game or a missed call that hampered their hopes of winning. So, they kinda know how we feel.

 “Football” losses and “real” losses are a lot alike. Read more

You Say It’s Your Birthday

Funny thing before we delve into this week’s blog – first, I’m late again. Thankfully, I might be the only one keeping track. Second – I’m early. Yep, this is the blog that I had in mind for next week – when my daughter, Megan, turns 21. Due to a twisted turn of events – namely that I am wholly unable to keep proper track of time these days – I present next week’s blog this week:

Do you remember what you did for your 21st birthday? Or your 18th? 10th? 30? 50? – pick your milestone poison. You likely have fond memories of that day, unless you landed in jail, in which case I hope enough time has passed that you can look back and laugh.

What if something worse (much worse) than jail happened on your birthday?  My mother’s oldest brother, Mike, died of a heart attack – on his daughter’s birthday. Yes, there isn’t much worse that can happen on your birthday than for your dad to die of a heart attack.  It’s awfully hard after that to look forward to another birthday much less ever to look upon that particular day with anything other than heartbreak. Or is there?

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Better Late Than Never

A few years ago, I picked up the practice of choosing a “word-of-the-year” or intention as opposed to making annual resolutions. It’s simple. Just choose a word to explore from all aspects throughout the year – how does the dictionary define the word; how does scripture apply the word; how does the word work in your life, and a myriad other ways to dissect and study one word. Before you give me credit for such a fabulous idea, I stole it from a friend, but feel free to appropriate the idea for your own use.

Frankly, I never really took resolutions too seriously. Diets, exercise, and bullet journals sound great until you try to put them into practice. At that point, they just become tedious. When results do not appear immediately, the flimsiest of excuses will divert us me from our my best intentions.

As such, I went through a phase when I purposefully set ridiculous resolutions. In 2010, I resolved to learn to accessorize. Yes, that is nearly as petty as it sounds. Nearly ten years later, all I can show for my efforts are a couple of belts and a basket full of winter scarves. In 2012, I resolved to drink more coffee and more martinis. Low bar. Wildly successful – depending upon how you define “success.” 

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