And More Gifts…

21. Beginnings and endings – to keep life exciting and manageable
    
22. Voice mail
    
23. Baby donkeys in the form of 4yo little girls
    
24. Fruit Loops
    
25. Cousins
    
26. Play dough ice cream and salad
    
27. Well-paved roads
    
28. CD players and audio jacks in the car
    
29. Spam filters
    
30. Time – as little as it is

More Gifts…

11. Twenty-four hours in a day.  I complain that it’s not enough, but could you imagine having less?
12. Buzzy things in the fruit trees
13. Contagious smiles
14. A whistling tea kettle
15. A sun that comes up early enough I can gradually awaken to its rays
16. Not a single clean spoon in the house – it means our days and our tummies are filled
17. Hot hot showers
18. A 4yo who prays she is thankful that her Mommy says God won’t mind at all if she sits on the white fluffy clouds for a bit on her way to heaven
19. All the colors of the rainbow
20. Oil in our tank to keep us warm

Linking up at Heart of the Matter Online…

Blue Monday

Blue decided to take on Flame the cat.

The jury is still out on who won…

"You can get the monkey off your back, but the circus never leaves town."

--Anne Lamott

Broken Drum

Come, they told me – pa rum pum pum pum…

I see the appeal to help orphans, and my heart cries. I want to be there. I should be there.

A newborn king to see – pa rum pum pum pum…

I read of mission doctors giving their own blood in primitive conditions. I want to be there. I should be there.

Our finest gifts we bring – pa rum pum pum pum…

I look at lists of random acts of kindness I can do right here in my own hometown. I want to do this. I should do this.

To lay before the King – pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum , rum pum pum pum…

I look around me. People with lots more kids, lots less “free” time, are doing so much.

So to honor Him – pa rum pum pum pum…

When we come.

What’s wrong with me? I feel busy all the time, but I’m only running in circles. I want to focus on others, but I can barely get MYSELF out of the house in the morning.

I can barely get to the “COME” stage. It seems that’s all I’ve got, God.

I have no gift to bring – pa rum pum pum pum…

I don’t know who I am. Where I belong. What I should do.

That’s fit to give the King – pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum , rum pum pum pum…

“You are a child of God.” I KNOW this. “You don’t need to be in a special place, under special circumstances, to serve God.” I KNOW this.  But the knowledge isn’t translating into anything.

Shall I play for You – pa rum pum pum pum…

Right here? Right now?

On my drum?

Show me how, God! I don’t know how to play my best. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how.

My drum is broken, God…

Discomfort

My three-year-old woke up one night, moaning, “I don’t want to be…!  I don’t want to be…!” over and over. 

Something just wasn’t quite right, but in her sleep-fogged state, she couldn’t verbalize exactly what it was.

So I held her, in spite of her kicking and thrashing, reassuring her that things would look better in the morning.

I cry to God, “I don’t want to be!  I don’t want to be!  If this is what life is like, I don’t want to be!”

He holds me in my sin-fogged state, though I push him away. 

“Relax!  Just rest in My arms,” He tells me.  “You’ll see clearly in the morning.”

Cataloging My Blog

INadequate to keep up with the juggling,
INebriated from lack of sleep, I find I’m
INeffective in changing the world -
INsufficient in even the little things, in spite of my
INtense efforts.

INjuries in hidden places make me
INattentive to the needs around me.

INhibited I am from baring my soul, yet
INdebted beyond repay, I
INtroduce my
INside to the outside again.

INspired to try again, but in desperate need of
INdwelling Presence to
INflame me.



Inspired by The High Calling’s post on catalog poetry and joining in with Mrs. Scribe’s Poetry Slam.

Bread

Once upon a time there were four groups of people:

1. Those who made their own whole wheat bread
2. Those who made their own white bread
3. Those who bought whole wheat bread
4. Those who bought white bread

(This makes a really nice matrix if you want to put it on a chalkboard.)

Because it's really hard work to make your own bread, those who made their own bread formed a support group. As long as they were discussing where to buy pans and which ovens worked best, and how much yeast they used and how long they baked the bread, and even how terribly sad it is that some people buy bread, they were happy.

Now, all the studies show that the people who make their own whole wheat bread live longest. It's the right thing to do. God tells us to take care of our bodies, after all – you could even say our bodies are the temple of God.

One day, several of the group started discussing a recipe that included white flour.  So some of those who make their own whole wheat bread decided they needed to encourage the whole homemaking group to a higher standard.

"Wait a minute!" cried the white bread makers. "It's what we can afford! It's way better than store-bought – no preservatives! We add in wheat germ, and flax seed! It's easier to make into the shapes that are important to OUR family! Besides, we use freshly-ground almond butter on ours, and you're using margarine, and we know margarine is dreadful for the body! How dare you judge? I thought we were here to support each other."

"How dare you judge us for judging you?" the first group cried back. "We are working so hard to provide only the best for our own families. We want only the best for you, too! And we need a little support of our own. I think we should change this support group into one that is specifically for people who make whole wheat bread. Everyone else is welcome, as long as they don't object to our standards or bring up white flour at all."

Some people who were just learning how to make bread gave up – because it was too much work to get it right.  And they didn't like all the judging and fighting.

And those who made their bread using part wheat and part white wondered what the first group thought of them.

And those who bought bread mix and baked it at home wondered where they fit in.

Those who bought rye bread because of wheat allergies (and because rye bread is REALLY hard to make at home) thankfully had no clue all this was going on.

We're not even going to mention those poor souls who bought white bread. Because we don't know their story at all. We don't know if they filled it with avocado and sprouts and made sure they take a multivitamin every day.

(Did I mention the government subsidized white flour in its evil quest to shorten our lives, so it's cheaper than whole wheat?)

And the little group who made their own whole wheat bread? Well, some of them used a bread machine. Some of them used a bread mixer. Some of them milled their own flour. The ones who grew their own wheat? Well, everyone knows organic is best, local is even better, and hard work is good for the body and soul. So they decided to encourage their little group to a higher standard.

Not too far away, there were people with no bread. They starved while the little group worked out its standards.

Jesus said, "Feed my sheep."

The End.