WWJD?

What would Jesus do if he found out another old man neighbor in his apartment complex might be in love with him?

I'm hoping the answer includes flipping someone off, because I'm ready.

Religion wants women to die.

What's Wrong with Male Gynecologists?

I notice there's no condemnation of men getting prostate exams, not in this essay or any of the other writings on the church Web site. If you have your prostate felt up by a same-sex doctor, isn't that a form of FILTHY GAY INTERACTION THAT WILL SEND YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL WITH ALL THE OTHER SODOMITES???

And people wonder why women feel oppressed by religion.

Sunday Digest

1. I had someone who's been attending my church at least long enough to have her own name tag (for whatever reason) ask me if my eye was swollen. 

Yeah. I guess it is. :O)

Maybe today was the first time we ever got a close-up look at each other and she can't see my face while I'm singing on the worship team from where she is in the congregation. I just thought that was kinda funny. It made me smile, anyway.

2. Not only did I pray at the stupid altar, but I WAS THE LAST ONE UP THERE!!! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!! THE ALTAR IS NOT MY FRIEND AND NEITHER IS BEING UP THERE LAST. WHY, GOD, WHY???

3. I'm not really a small group Bible study kind of person, but apparently my church is a small group church, so I'm going to give it a shot. I like large Bible studies where I can be anonymous and nobody asks me to say anything. I'm not a good sharer.

4. Best line of the day:  "They just prayed for my headache to go away, but Amber's still here." LOL! So true. Ten points for the man known on here as Bris Earwig. :O)

5. Oh, goodness, I'm pretty sure I hopped a few times while singing on stage this morning. As someone with a solid Southern Baptist background, I know that's leading down the pathway to destruction.

6. I threatened to cut a whole bunch of people today. I need grace.

7. In between services I took a solid 15-minute power nap on that love seat that sits in front of the pastor's office. He probably thought it was a little weird, but whatever. You gotta be flexible when you stay for both services but don't have your own office. :O)

I learn so much from the youth of today

My brother's MySpace page is off of "private" again, and I learned some great new drug terminology.

Blowing trees = smoking marijuana

reggie = regular or even low-grade marijuana

top flight = a strain of "good" marijuana, high in THC

Also, apparently kids like to mix whiskey and Coke, but that's a timeless trick...

Sunday Digest (really long)

So I sat through both services today (I know, I suffer so much for Jesus. *lol* ), and I heard this quote twice, and I can't get it out of my head:  "My prayer is that when He wipes the tears from my eyes He'll also have to wipe the sweat from my brow." 

(BTW-My pastor doesn't get credit for that quote. He was quoting something he heard from some leadership conference thingie.)

I like quotes about leaving it all on the field. I don't know why. I'm not a great athlete. The pinnacle of my athletic achievement came during that one basketball game in the sixth grade when I made two free-throws in a row. (I tended to be dead-on, as far as aim, but the first shot would *ALWAYS* fall short.) Now, all I do is run, but not for very long or far. Just enough to keep in shape. Not enough to kill me. I don't sweat easily, so I don't get a lot of that awesome brow sweat unless I really push it (or wear a sweatshirt and sweat pants in the summer--did that once just to see what it was like. STUPID ME.)

But, anyway, back to the quotes. I have this file on my computer of inspirational quotes (cheesy, I know) and I've got these quotes that I want to be reflected in my life. You know some of the classics:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." 

-- Theodore Roosevelt

"Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible."

-- William Shakespeare

My whole life I've been afraid to strive with things *possible*  It's not that I'm afraid of the work itself. I'm just afraid that I'll do all of that work, and I'll still fail. Don't you know that sometimes even hard work and a lot of wishing can't save something from failing?

There's dreams I have that I haven't even attempted because I don't want to be left on the field by myself, the armor getting heavier with every valiant try. Sometimes I want to try something bold, but it would require stepping out into the arena instead of just sitting in the audience and watching everyone else succeed or fail. If I had a guarantee that I'd succeed in the end and show them all, then that would be one thing, but I don't remember seeing that guarantee written on a contract anywhere.

And then at the end of your life, what if Jesus wipes that sweat off your brow--but not in the way you'd hoped? What if it happens more like a disgruntled parent cleaning up a dirty child who should have known better than to get *that* dirty and skin his knees and rip the pocket on his new pair of jeans? 

And yet...yet lately I've felt the urge to say, "Let's try" when I'd normally want to say, "I can't." I've felt the urge to take risks, to attempt something harder than I've ever attempted before in my life. I've felt the urge to spend my life more on the important things that will last an eternity than the things that have no eternal value. 

I don't know where these crazy thoughts are coming from. Maybe it's because I'm getting older, and I realize that my presence on this earth as a 20-something isn't eternal. Maybe it's because now, more than ever, I'm recognizing that whole "harvest is plenty but laborers are few" concept. Maybe I'm just feeling the presence of God in my life now more than I ever have in my life and can't help but want to be used, even in the ways I would never have picked for myself, if it'll bring others to Him.

So, when I get to heaven, if He says, "Well done good and faithful servant," that'll be amazing. 

But if he decides to just wipe the sweat off my brow, that'll be just as amazing. I'll get it.

__________________________________

Now for your regular Sunday Digest

1. I almost tripped over the cross of Jesus Christ, which we left on the stage for me to trip over, apparently. Maybe if I wouldn't wander from my worship stool.

2. I briefly danced during the last song we sang. Don't freak out. It won't happen again. I promise.

3. I ate a country fried chicken steak for lunch that did not agree with me at all. I think it's because I haven't eaten a huge fried thing in awhile. My friend wondered why I didn't want to take the other half home with me...

4. The sermon was a rerun from a couple of Wednesday nights ago. Just another reason why being in the ministry is such a cushy job. :O) 

Rational thoughts on singleness

I'm being left behind.

I realized it (again) tonight when an old friend five years younger than I announced on her Facebook profile that she's pregnant.

For the second time.

She just had her first baby in May. She turned 20 three days later. She's going to have a husband and two kids by the time she's 21.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not *jealous.* I don't want kids, and I don't even know if I really want a husband. 

It's just that it all feels like a competition that I'm losing, and I hate losing. 

I thought about something just a few minutes ago:  I've never been on a date. That freaks me out.

Yes, it's shocking that a facially deformed girl doesn't date. I know. *insert eyeroll here*

I think the idea that a 25-year-old girl has never kissed or dated anyone can still be kind of cute and endearing. Like, "aaaaaaw...she's waiting for THE ONE." 

But as the years go by, it's going to become less and less cute, and eventually it'll just be assumed that I've never dated because I'm mean or insane or collect all my old toenails in a Ziploc bag. I mean, the one-ton man on that TLC documentary had a girlfriend. He couldn't do anything but lie in a bed and eat 10,000 calories in one day. I can walk and talk and do things, and I got nuthin'. (BTW, I don't want to think about what this says about my personality.) 

Then I have, like, three other friends who were single last year, and they're all dating now. Thanks, guys. (Jerks)

The clock is ticking. Not the biological clock. The "If I don't start dating soon, guys are going to assume I'm not dating because I'm an awful human being, and then I'll die lonely and without having gotten to consummate anything, if you know what I mean" clock.

Amen?

So we at Church on the Boulder in Pascagoula* just finished a Wednesday night series on The Lord's Prayer. Pretty much every line or so got its own sermon. I might even buy the sermon series, which is a big leap for me. I rarely buy sermons. (Although I think I've ordered one or two that I've never bought. LOL. I should check on that.)

After each sermon in the series, I always found I had something to write. Not the brilliant writings of a tortured soul destined to make a lot of money from a bestseller. Just thoughts. 

The last sermon was "Amen." It's agreeing with God. But, as we probably all know by this point, sometimes it's easy to say "Amen"...sometimes you're liable to choke on the word. :O)

Amen to prayers answered

...to landing the job you've always wanted

...to finding the boy of your dreams

...to meeting everyone's expectations

...to being the life of the party

...to running miles without stopping

...to inspiration that wows you

...to hearing "I love you" every day

...to being crowned prom queen

...to to getting along with everyone

...to seeing justice done here on earth

Amen to a dream deferred

...to holding on to the job that bores you

...to groping for the spark in a dead marriage

...to the art of stumbling and climbing

...to being the wallflower at the party

...to walking the only mile you can go

...to the unfinished poem and the rest of the page

...to saying "I love you" and never hearing it returned

...to never wearing the crown

...to mending the wounds that you've torn open

...to waiting for the Judge to make his ruling 

Amen to the God who takes away.

...to being fired at the moment you felt most secure

...to the lifetime of singleness that wrecks all your plans

...to falling at the one moment when everyone was watching

...to being the only one not invited to the party

...to sitting still and knowing He is God

...to the 20 ideas that didn't work...and the one that might

...to returning every "I hate you" with "I love you"

...to being the ugliest duckling who never turns into a swan

...to having more enemies than friends and blessing them all

...to setting your debtor free 70 times 7

* Not actual name of church

Obsessed with obsessions

This season I've been watching a new A&E show called "Obsessed," a reality show about people who have been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder as they go through treatment.

Life is so fragile. 

There's extreme hoarders and skin pickers and hair pullers and obsessions with teeth and fears that the foundation of your house will crumble and crush you. There's people who can't walk farther than a block in any direction from their house. Some can't drive, because they panic when they get stuck in traffic.

The obsessions are so different, but most of them follow a common pattern, at least in how they start. Most of these people say their obsessions flared up immediately following a tragedy or sudden loss. They usually showed symptoms as kids, but they always managed to get along until that one day when everything changed and nothing seemed certain or secure.

Then I start to think about when I was about 9 years old or so. By then, my baby brother was a year old and was sleeping through the night. My dad worked 7/7, meaning he was home seven days straight and gone to work in another city for seven days. I didn't really have much of a bedtime when he was gone. As soon as my brother was laid to rest in his crib, my mom would lay down on the chair, couch or bed and just pass out. Most of the time she wouldn't turn off the lights or television or anything.

So, as a child who had watched way too many episodes of "COPS" and the nightly news, I was afraid that a burglar or a rapist or a serial killer would walk through our unlocked doors and rob us, rape us or kill us all. Those are the kinds of images that would keep me awake at night (gee, and I wonder why I've always had trouble falling asleep...)

I soon figured out that the only way I could alleviate any of my stress was to get out of bed and walk through the house myself and make sure all the lights were off and the garage door was closed and the doors were locked. 

There were three doors and a garage door. A total of four things to check. So I had to get up once, turn off all the nights and lock all the doors and close the garage door, and then I'd go back to bed.

When I first started my nightly ritual, I was satisfied with just walking through once, but then after a few weeks I started to doubt my work by the time I got back to bed. When that happened, I'd get out of bed and I'd do another inspection. Then I'd get back in bed.

But sometimes I needed a third walk-through, just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Then I'd go back to bed.

And then it got to the point where I'd need a fourth inspection, just in case.

I had to do it four times. I had to get in my bed and under the covers in between each time. I didn't realize at first that I was doing it the same number of times every time. 

I never did it when my dad was home, because he would turn off all the lights and lock the doors and stay awake until past my bedtime, so I guess I felt safe.

Another story:  When I was in college I drove nearly every day. To work, to school, to church, to friends' houses and fun parties. I can't even explain how or why, but somewhere along the way I temporarily developed this "thing" where I wouldn't exit my car without going through all the radio stations and making sure I wasn't missing any songs I liked. If I hit a song I liked, I wouldn't get out until it was over. And then, when that song was over, I had to go through the process again...until I went through all the radio stations once and didn't find a song I liked.

There was a year where I couldn't play the radio if I was "on time" or "late" for an event...because if I hit one or two or three songs in a row, I would be late for whatever I was supposed to do. I would get very anxious when I turned off the car if I was in the middle of a "good" song or hadn't checked the other stations for their songs. My breathing would become shallow, my heart would race, and I couldn't think about anything else but that stupid car radio. And to this day, I have no idea why. I had no particular problem the car radio thing was supposed to prevent. I didn't believe I was going to get in a car crash or break my mother's back if I didn't do the radio thing, but I had to do it because my mind wouldn't let me think about anything else until I did it.

 

(Aside:  Luckily, I didn't have this problem when I was driving other people, probably because I don't play the radio when I have passengers. If I started out driving somewhere with the radio off, I wasn't affected. Also, this weird thing didn't apply to CDs or when I was a passenger in other people's cars.)

Don't get me wrong. These weren't major obsessions that interfered with my life in a major way. Plus, I'm not like that any more. I check the door once. I get out of the car whenever I want, as long as it's not in motion.

But then I think:  What if my oddities are a sign that, aside from the grace of God, I'm only one tragedy away from wanting to wash my hands hundreds of times a day because I'm afraid I'll give someone a deadly virus or visiting a dentist 50 times a year because I'm afraid all my teeth are going to fall out? 

There's an old cliche commonly attributed to English Reformer and martyr John Bradford that says "There but for the grace of God, go I." (although he most likely actually said, "There but for the grace of God, goes John Bradford," but that's a moot point.)

And I have at least a few friends who love to quote Isaiah 26:3. (I wonder if they only do that while I'm around).  

You will keep him in perfect peace, 

Whose mind is stayed on You,
Because he trusts in You. 

But, just in case, if anyone sees me touching a doorknob 15 times in a row, you might want to check on me. Thanks.

Hosanna

I sat in the back row during church today. I was in a skit that day, so I planned to leave during the last song of the "worship" portion to make my way toward the front, so that I'd be ready when the band and singers left the stage.

The ushers were passing out communion, and the worship team was singing "Hosanna." A middle-aged gentleman walked up and asked if the seat two spots to my right was taken. I told him it wasn't, and he gratefully sat down. I could see the plates holding the elements of communion being passed in the rows ahead of me, and the worship team was singing the chorus: "Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest."

The man continued to speak, though:  "I was sitting over there," he said, indicating somewhere on the right side of the room, "but a group of people sat down next to me, and the stench was so bad that I couldn't take it. I know we're at church, and we love everybody, but the smell was just so bad I had to move."

I imagine maybe a group of homeless people came in late and sat next to him. Not a shocking event at my church. Suddenly, this moment that was supposed to feel worshipful didn't feel that way at all. The communion ceremony that was about to take place, in part honoring our unity as a body in Christ, felt just a little bit tainted and false.

I thought about all those times when I was a kid and someone--child or adult--would sit next to me, look at my face and then...go sit somewhere else. Or turn their back to me. I thought about how I'll never feel beautiful because of all these moments piled on top of each other that told me who I was and who I would always be. I thought about how smelly people and I might be alike in that way.

An usher came by and handed me a plate of "bread" (i.e. a wafer smaller than my pinky fingernail). I took it and passed the plate to the man, trying to think of a retort in that moment. Something witty or profound. At least something you'd see in a crappy made-for-TV movie. Anything.

I took a small cup of generic grape juice from another plate, and the worship team was surging into the bridge of the song at this part. I came up empty, offering nothing more than a repeat of the only thing I'd said to him:  The seat was empty, take it if you want it. I didn't know what else to say.

Hosanna, as I have learned from the last few Sundays, is a declaration to God meaning, "Save us, NOW." It's an urgent plea.

Hosanna. Save us Christians from sending people the wrong message about how Jesus loved people. It's impossible to share the gospel with people when you're sharing the wrong one.

Hosanna. Save us from physically taking communion but denying the meaning and purpose.

Hosanna. Save *me* from ever making a child of God feel unworthy, because I know what it's like to feel that way.

Let's all work on it together.

Usher/janitor at preschool

This is the church where I would never, ever want to be named an usher.

What is needed by Ushers to control the situation.
i.    Plastic bowls in case of vomiting
ii.   Tissue papers to clean saliva on the floor
iii.  Mats to lay people down.
iv.  Covering materials to prevent the display of the nakedness of women.
v.   All Usher should manage or carry female and vice versa

Vomiting? Saliva? Womanly nakedness? No, thanks. I'd just rather make their newsletter...