So I was getting a little bored with my workout routine (though I'm proud to say after two months I have kept my New Years resolution and am still working out five times a week!!)...I ordered this new video, Crunch's Fat Burning Dance Party.
Wow. I thought I was an okay dancer from my show choir days--not that I was Broadway dancer material, but I picked up the routines fast enough...um...yeah...As I stumbled through the salsa, funk, and retro choreography, at one point I had to stop because I was laughing so hard at myself. Yes, I was even attempting to do hip-hop...
So if you need a good laugh, just imagine me in my basement, getting down with my bad self as the instructor yells, "Own it!"..."Hit me!"..."Holla!"
Monday, March 07, 2005
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Undeserving
It's rare that I come back to something I've written with a few months or years of perspective and still like what I once thought/hoped was a masterpiece. But I pulled out IWU's literary magazine from 2003 and ran across this poem...it struck me how much of myself I buried between these lines... (unfortunately the spacing is off because I can't figure out how to make Blogger recognize my tabs. I gave up trying to mess with it...comment if you can tell me how!)
He has come to our house today,
worn out and weary
from the teaching
and the healing
and the praying
All he wants is a hot meal, a place
to wash his feet, to rest for a minute
and this is exactly what my sister can give him.
She bustles about—setting the table, tidying
(messes I’ve made),
stirring soup, baking bread
—and I want, truly I wish I could
help her. My stomach knots a little
when she turns, and I see the resentment in her eyes.
But the last time I tried, the bread tasted like soap, I tracked
dust all around the table and spilled
vegetables, expensive ones that we had to throw
to the dogs. So I sit at his feet and bite my lip,
sure that I’m in someone’s way.
Dinner will be perfect
under Martha’s direction, and our guest
must wish for a moment of peace.
He appreciates her so much,
and me—instead of contributing
to make him comfortable, welcome,
I become just one more who’s following him around,
until suddenly he stops, and looks
down to me with warm eyes and a reassuring smile
that says I accidentally ended up
right where I’m supposed to be.
I am speechless, because instead of
thanking my sister for the bread and the soft place to rest,
he gently scolds her
and tells her that all her bustle is
unnecessary, that instead I chose
well, and he is pleased
with me.
My gaze shifts
downward, not ready to accept
the kind words of praise,
sure that when he leaves,
Martha will be back in the kitchen
working, not saying a word
but splashing the dishwater in spots all over the dirt floor,
replacing pots on the shelves with extra ferocity.
He has come to our house today,
worn out and weary
from the teaching
and the healing
and the praying
All he wants is a hot meal, a place
to wash his feet, to rest for a minute
and this is exactly what my sister can give him.
She bustles about—setting the table, tidying
(messes I’ve made),
stirring soup, baking bread
—and I want, truly I wish I could
help her. My stomach knots a little
when she turns, and I see the resentment in her eyes.
But the last time I tried, the bread tasted like soap, I tracked
dust all around the table and spilled
vegetables, expensive ones that we had to throw
to the dogs. So I sit at his feet and bite my lip,
sure that I’m in someone’s way.
Dinner will be perfect
under Martha’s direction, and our guest
must wish for a moment of peace.
He appreciates her so much,
and me—instead of contributing
to make him comfortable, welcome,
I become just one more who’s following him around,
until suddenly he stops, and looks
down to me with warm eyes and a reassuring smile
that says I accidentally ended up
right where I’m supposed to be.
I am speechless, because instead of
thanking my sister for the bread and the soft place to rest,
he gently scolds her
and tells her that all her bustle is
unnecessary, that instead I chose
well, and he is pleased
with me.
My gaze shifts
downward, not ready to accept
the kind words of praise,
sure that when he leaves,
Martha will be back in the kitchen
working, not saying a word
but splashing the dishwater in spots all over the dirt floor,
replacing pots on the shelves with extra ferocity.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
How Are You?
I'm really tired of trying to think of creative ways to answer this question--ways that don't require me to lie, but also 1) don't dump TMI on people who don't actually want to know how I am; 2) don't sound pathetic and whiny or evoke pity.
My typical response involves a hesitation as I ponder what to say and whether to lie and give them the feel-good answer. Then something like:
"Eh."
"Hanging in there."
"I'm okay, and you?"
"Well, I've been better."
My typical response involves a hesitation as I ponder what to say and whether to lie and give them the feel-good answer. Then something like:
"Eh."
"Hanging in there."
"I'm okay, and you?"
"Well, I've been better."
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Pharisees
When you hear the word "Pharisee," what comes to mind? Hypocrite. Enemy of Christ. Blind. Legalistic. The church has unswervingly, unequivocally cast the Pharisees as the bad guys--nothing but contempt for their surface-level religion-without-relationship. Now I'm not saying I want to be a Pharisee...but I am saying that in the past few months, I've developed a strange sympathy for the religious leaders of Jesus' time.
Until Jesus, the Word made flesh, made His dwelling among us, Israel had gone four hundred years without one word from Yahweh. Pause and let that sink in: 4800 months. 146,000 days without hearing from God. Did they still manage to get out of bed each morning and have quiet time? Did they have any vestiges of hope that He'd speak to them, knowing that the last time His voice had been heard was by their great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great...you get the picture, grandfather?
I did a Beth Moore study not long ago, and in the first lesson, she examined what would have happened to Israel during this "famine of hearing the words of the Lord" (Amos 8:11). The first was that the Israelites would have experienced "unparalleled insecurity." Their whole identity as a nation was wrapped up in their hearing the words of Yahweh--it was what distinguished them from all other nations on earth. They could hear the words of the Lord.
In this study, Beth suggested that perhaps Pharisaic legalism resulted from this famine. Perhaps this sect of Israelites turned to the security of legalism--after all, it gives a person some sense of control and stability to systematically follow a complex set of rules--because they couldn't hear God. Perhaps life as a Pharisee was the only way they could hold onto the remaining threads of faith that had frayed to almost nothing after more than three million hours of silence from God. 146,000 days--twenty generations without so much as one word from Him. Do you feel the weight of that? The oppressiveness, the despair of such silence?
The Pharisees were misguided and ignorant; they missed the Word made flesh when He finally appeared before them...but can you blame them, honestly? If you hadn't ever heard God speak for yourself, and relied only on the distant memories of your ancestors from 400 years back, passed down by word of mouth until they were almost rumors, fairy tales--do you think it'd be easy to recognize Him when He came? Do you think there's a chance you'd cling desperately to silly rules because they provided some shell of security, some concrete reality you could grasp? Do you think deep down they were scared? Do you think that in moments of stark clarity, they realized the emptiness of their rituals, but just pushed down the fears and the tears so they could get through another day of deafening silence?
Call me crazy, but I think I have some compassion for those blind Pharisees.
Until Jesus, the Word made flesh, made His dwelling among us, Israel had gone four hundred years without one word from Yahweh. Pause and let that sink in: 4800 months. 146,000 days without hearing from God. Did they still manage to get out of bed each morning and have quiet time? Did they have any vestiges of hope that He'd speak to them, knowing that the last time His voice had been heard was by their great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great...you get the picture, grandfather?
I did a Beth Moore study not long ago, and in the first lesson, she examined what would have happened to Israel during this "famine of hearing the words of the Lord" (Amos 8:11). The first was that the Israelites would have experienced "unparalleled insecurity." Their whole identity as a nation was wrapped up in their hearing the words of Yahweh--it was what distinguished them from all other nations on earth. They could hear the words of the Lord.
In this study, Beth suggested that perhaps Pharisaic legalism resulted from this famine. Perhaps this sect of Israelites turned to the security of legalism--after all, it gives a person some sense of control and stability to systematically follow a complex set of rules--because they couldn't hear God. Perhaps life as a Pharisee was the only way they could hold onto the remaining threads of faith that had frayed to almost nothing after more than three million hours of silence from God. 146,000 days--twenty generations without so much as one word from Him. Do you feel the weight of that? The oppressiveness, the despair of such silence?
The Pharisees were misguided and ignorant; they missed the Word made flesh when He finally appeared before them...but can you blame them, honestly? If you hadn't ever heard God speak for yourself, and relied only on the distant memories of your ancestors from 400 years back, passed down by word of mouth until they were almost rumors, fairy tales--do you think it'd be easy to recognize Him when He came? Do you think there's a chance you'd cling desperately to silly rules because they provided some shell of security, some concrete reality you could grasp? Do you think deep down they were scared? Do you think that in moments of stark clarity, they realized the emptiness of their rituals, but just pushed down the fears and the tears so they could get through another day of deafening silence?
Call me crazy, but I think I have some compassion for those blind Pharisees.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Valleys Fill First
Funny how you can have a CD for years, and then hear a song on it for the first time. Caedmon's Call, Long Line of Leavers...
This is the valley that I'm walking through
And it feels like forever since I've been close to You
My friends up above me don't understand why I struggle like I do
My shadow's my only companion and at night he leaves too
Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Down in the valley, it seems that I'm at my worst
My consolation is that You baptize this earth
When I'm down in the valley, valleys fill first
Down in this wasteland I miss the mountaintop view
But it's here in this valley that I'm surrounded by You
Though I'm not here by my will it's where Your view is most clear
So I'll stay in this valley if it takes 40 years
And it's like that long Saturday between Your death and the rising day
When no one wrote a word, wondered is this the end
But You were down there in the well, saving those that fell
Bringing them to the mountain again
Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Down in the valley, it seems that I'm at my worst
My consolation is that You baptize this earth
When I'm down in the valley, valleys fill first
This is the valley that I'm walking through
And it feels like forever since I've been close to You
My friends up above me don't understand why I struggle like I do
My shadow's my only companion and at night he leaves too
Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Down in the valley, it seems that I'm at my worst
My consolation is that You baptize this earth
When I'm down in the valley, valleys fill first
Down in this wasteland I miss the mountaintop view
But it's here in this valley that I'm surrounded by You
Though I'm not here by my will it's where Your view is most clear
So I'll stay in this valley if it takes 40 years
And it's like that long Saturday between Your death and the rising day
When no one wrote a word, wondered is this the end
But You were down there in the well, saving those that fell
Bringing them to the mountain again
Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Down in the valley, it seems that I'm at my worst
My consolation is that You baptize this earth
When I'm down in the valley, valleys fill first
Hiccups: A Foolproof Cure
I hate the hiccups...but I have found a foolproof method for getting rid of them. I would like to share it with you today, free of charge.
Get a cup of water (or any drink, probably). Bend at the waist so that your head is upside-down. Then take a sip of water (obviously you'll have to drink from the far side of the cup, or you'll spill it all over yourself--and no, Brother's Keeper, I am not speaking from experience!). Swallow it while you're still upside down...and no more hiccups!
Holding my breath never works, and I can't always find someone to scare me. But this works every time.
Get a cup of water (or any drink, probably). Bend at the waist so that your head is upside-down. Then take a sip of water (obviously you'll have to drink from the far side of the cup, or you'll spill it all over yourself--and no, Brother's Keeper, I am not speaking from experience!). Swallow it while you're still upside down...and no more hiccups!
Holding my breath never works, and I can't always find someone to scare me. But this works every time.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
Hand in Glove
Last week on the radio I heard this analogy/illustration that was really kind of cheesy...and yet for some reason has stuck with me, coming to my mind now and then for the last several days. The gist of it was this:
Imagine a yellow rubber glove--like the kind you might use in the kitchen. Tell the glove to wave to you. It can't, of course. Now put your hand inside the glove, and tell the glove to wave to you. Now it can--your fingers wiggle and the glove waves.
This is how God works in us. By ourselves, our feeble attempts at righteousness are filthy rags. We're empty rubber gloves, incapable of waving, until the hand of the Holy Spirit moves within us. It's not the glove that really does anything at all...only the fingers within that glove.
Imagine a yellow rubber glove--like the kind you might use in the kitchen. Tell the glove to wave to you. It can't, of course. Now put your hand inside the glove, and tell the glove to wave to you. Now it can--your fingers wiggle and the glove waves.
This is how God works in us. By ourselves, our feeble attempts at righteousness are filthy rags. We're empty rubber gloves, incapable of waving, until the hand of the Holy Spirit moves within us. It's not the glove that really does anything at all...only the fingers within that glove.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Wedding Planning, Schmedding Planning
Really, is it any wonder I hate wedding planning? Drama, drama, drama, every step of the way...
First we couldn't find a church. Mine and Steve's are both too small; some churches won't let non-members use them; others will, but will charge you an arm and a leg; others will, but won't let you use your own pastor.
Then, after much indecision, it was time to set the date. We did, and then the photographer wasn't available that day. More research, more indecision and frustration, finally end up changing the date.
Next, I need to find a dress. So I go shopping three times, six stores, 50 dresses. Finally find The Dress. And it's set to be discontinued December 31--thankfully I got it ordered just in time.
Tonight was an appointment with a graphic designer who does custom invitations. See, my problem is, I'm too picky for what's in the standard albums, too cheap to have them custom designed, and don't have time or desire to do it myself. But I had finally decided that I would try to see if this designer can work within a budget, and had also realized that I am paying not just for pieces of paper but for my own sanity. Worth much $$ at this point.
So we (my mom and I) drive an hour today for a 4:30 appointment with this girl. And she's not there. Turns out she wrote down FRIDAY at 4:30. Definitely her mistake--I have it in writing (from her via email) that it was supposed to be today. So we show up, and no Heather. Are you kidding me?
If anyone wonders why I am less than enthusiastic about all these wedding details, now you know why. Is it any wonder? Every step has been a frustrating headache, not fun and exciting. BLAH!! Why didn't we take my dad up on his offer to pay us to elope?!?!
First we couldn't find a church. Mine and Steve's are both too small; some churches won't let non-members use them; others will, but will charge you an arm and a leg; others will, but won't let you use your own pastor.
Then, after much indecision, it was time to set the date. We did, and then the photographer wasn't available that day. More research, more indecision and frustration, finally end up changing the date.
Next, I need to find a dress. So I go shopping three times, six stores, 50 dresses. Finally find The Dress. And it's set to be discontinued December 31--thankfully I got it ordered just in time.
Tonight was an appointment with a graphic designer who does custom invitations. See, my problem is, I'm too picky for what's in the standard albums, too cheap to have them custom designed, and don't have time or desire to do it myself. But I had finally decided that I would try to see if this designer can work within a budget, and had also realized that I am paying not just for pieces of paper but for my own sanity. Worth much $$ at this point.
So we (my mom and I) drive an hour today for a 4:30 appointment with this girl. And she's not there. Turns out she wrote down FRIDAY at 4:30. Definitely her mistake--I have it in writing (from her via email) that it was supposed to be today. So we show up, and no Heather. Are you kidding me?
If anyone wonders why I am less than enthusiastic about all these wedding details, now you know why. Is it any wonder? Every step has been a frustrating headache, not fun and exciting. BLAH!! Why didn't we take my dad up on his offer to pay us to elope?!?!
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Thoughts on Worship
I've vented about this a while ago. But a couple of really interesting entries on my friend Morty's blog got me going/thinking again. Stop on over to his site, www.joshmorton.com, and read the January 19 "Spring Summit" entry, then check out his latest thoughts, "On Worship." To entice you, here's a provocative excerpt:
"He counted six themes we both consider critical in our salvation, and here are the number of times specific words mentioned these themes: sin: 1 (and the word sin wasn't even the word); Jesus: 6; justification/salvation: 1; Heaven: 0; grace: 2; cross: 4 (the words "died upon that tree" four times, never actually the word "cross"); glory: 10.
Other common words:love: 27 (always in the "I love you"/Jesus is my boyfriend way, never in the 'God loves us' way); worship: 21.
Now here's the kicker. We sang the words "I," "me," or "my" 181 times."
(If you're interested in more of my perspective--though Josh sums it up quite nicely--you can read my thoughts here.)
"He counted six themes we both consider critical in our salvation, and here are the number of times specific words mentioned these themes: sin: 1 (and the word sin wasn't even the word); Jesus: 6; justification/salvation: 1; Heaven: 0; grace: 2; cross: 4 (the words "died upon that tree" four times, never actually the word "cross"); glory: 10.
Other common words:love: 27 (always in the "I love you"/Jesus is my boyfriend way, never in the 'God loves us' way); worship: 21.
Now here's the kicker. We sang the words "I," "me," or "my" 181 times."
(If you're interested in more of my perspective--though Josh sums it up quite nicely--you can read my thoughts here.)
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Titus 2 Women
During my four years at college, I was surrounded by women my age--maybe a couple of years older or younger, but for the most part, all at the same stage of life. These were wonderful challengers and encouragers on my faith journey.
This season of my life is much different--full of a wide age range of women, and I love it. Of the women I work with at Project Respect, two are old enough to be my mom, and they're so wonderful to work with. My Bible study at church has introduced me to some more godly women, also significantly older than me--I'm the youngest there by at least 15 years.
And then there's my Wednesday night Bible study. Composed generally of Steve's female relatives, and their relatives (it's kind of complicated so I won't try to explain), these ladies are exemplifying Titus 2 in my life: "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be selfcontrolled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God."
The oldest woman there is Steve's granny, who's probably in her 70s; the youngest is his 18-year-old cousin. And despite these huge generation gaps, we sit around a kitchen table together for two hours or more every week. We laugh like crazy; we discuss family and church and the state of the world; we dig into Christian living books and God's Word--and we sharpen each other. And I love it.
Being surrounded by women your age is a wonderful blessing, for sure. But there is just nothing like sharing a cup of hot chocolate with a group of women of all ages. You can learn so much and be so blessed by the faith journeys of women significantly older than you (though they probably wouldn't appreciate me labeling them as such!) who have walked this road many years before. It must be exactly what Paul had in mind.
This season of my life is much different--full of a wide age range of women, and I love it. Of the women I work with at Project Respect, two are old enough to be my mom, and they're so wonderful to work with. My Bible study at church has introduced me to some more godly women, also significantly older than me--I'm the youngest there by at least 15 years.
And then there's my Wednesday night Bible study. Composed generally of Steve's female relatives, and their relatives (it's kind of complicated so I won't try to explain), these ladies are exemplifying Titus 2 in my life: "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be selfcontrolled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God."
The oldest woman there is Steve's granny, who's probably in her 70s; the youngest is his 18-year-old cousin. And despite these huge generation gaps, we sit around a kitchen table together for two hours or more every week. We laugh like crazy; we discuss family and church and the state of the world; we dig into Christian living books and God's Word--and we sharpen each other. And I love it.
Being surrounded by women your age is a wonderful blessing, for sure. But there is just nothing like sharing a cup of hot chocolate with a group of women of all ages. You can learn so much and be so blessed by the faith journeys of women significantly older than you (though they probably wouldn't appreciate me labeling them as such!) who have walked this road many years before. It must be exactly what Paul had in mind.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Extreme Home Cryfest
I can't help it, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition makes me cry every time. What a cool job that would be.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Scaredy Dog
My family has an extremely cute 10-year-old cocker spaniel. Molly has more personality than any dog I have ever seen. But she's also really goofy sometimes. For some reason, she is deathly afraid of our George Foreman grill--I am not kidding. I don't know if it emits some kind of high frequency that we can't hear, or what. But as soon as it beeps saying that it's heated up, she runs out of the kitchen, preferably into my dad's lap, and starts shaking until it's over. Part of you feels bad for her, and the other part of you just has to laugh because she's so weird :)
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Like Father, Like Daughter
I will freely admit to being a daddy's girl. One hundred percent. But I've also inherited this trait from my dad that's probably not the best thing I could have gotten from him: Competitiveness.
To be brutally honest, neither of us is a good sport about losing or failing. Even at something like a card game--one that requires no skill, only luck of the draw. We pout when we lose, and we gloat when we win. It's a terrible trait. So ridiculous to see him all bent out of shape because he's losing...only to realize I do the exact same things!
To be brutally honest, neither of us is a good sport about losing or failing. Even at something like a card game--one that requires no skill, only luck of the draw. We pout when we lose, and we gloat when we win. It's a terrible trait. So ridiculous to see him all bent out of shape because he's losing...only to realize I do the exact same things!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Let the River Flow
Today, as part of one of my New Year's resolutions, I drank a full two liters of water. Nice and healthy for me, right? Except that I have to go to the bathroom every ten minutes. This is a drag considering I usually have a really big bladder. If I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee, I am going to be really annoyed.
FYI
No, Steve and I do not know where we are going to live after we are married. Yes, we realize the wedding is in six months (actually less now--not that I'm counting).
I will be sure to let you all know as soon as we figure it out. Until then, thank you and good night.
I will be sure to let you all know as soon as we figure it out. Until then, thank you and good night.
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