The first thought of the afternoon is the Census. Now there are all sorts of sides to this thing and generally I don't have all that much opinion and could really care less. I'll mark the boxes and dump it in the mail and everyone else can spend some time arguing and hollering about it. I'm busy. But, one part of it was brought to my attention, there are boxes to mark how you came by your children. Meaning, put an X here if you adopted this child. If the whole point of the census is to count how many people are physically living in one place, why do you need that information? It shouldn't matter if the kids are birth, foster, adopted, grand kids or whatever, it's simply how many live there. The next part of it goes like this, "they" want that information to get a more accurate picture of adoption in this country.(domestic adoption) Umm, okay, but that is not one of the boxes to X. It just says adopted, not domestic or foreign. If "they" are making that assumption based on the ethnic boxes, well, lets just not even go there. Next, if it's about genealogy, which is the next reason I've heard for this question, then hello, collect some information! My putting an X in the box for adopted in regards to my daughter will never help her find out anything about her birth family. No questions are asked that would help her. Not her birth location, not her birth name, nothing. Yeah, so, alrighty then, moving on.
I'm in the middle of reading a great book. The Monkey and the Fish by Dave Gibbons. Certainly wouldn't be every one's cup of joy, but I am loving this book. An excerpt describing a church plant in Bangkok, but really, to me, it sounds like the description of a church I would love to be a part of. It sounds like a "real" church.
So this past Saturday, I was sitting near the door, and during the worship, a young woman squishes in and sits next to me on the arm of the sofa. Then another girl squishes in front of her on the arm of the sofa. Just picture three of us on the one arm of this sofa! Then Justin squishes in through the door and stands there, eyes bright and a smile on his face. He yells into my ear above the music, "You wouldn't believe the story I have to tell you !"
Afterward he explained to me how these two girls are prostitutes, how his colleague thought it might be funny to hook this innocent young Christian guy up with them, and poor Justin didn't even know at the time. He naturally brought them to Newsong, cuz he was on his way there, and he knew no one could feel out of place there. They came along. They got to hear about the Father's love.
This is a bit of a funny story, in a way, but a story about Justin's journey as well as these two bar girls. Misfits. All of us.
From my perch on the arm of the sofa, I kept looking around the room all evening. Thais. Koreans. Americans. Teachers. Computer experts. Designers. Bar girls. Musicians. Peaceful faces. Pained faces. Even some tell-me-something-I-don't-already-know faces. Everything and everyone so distinct and different.
We don't have Pastor Big Name. We don't have Pastor Big Microphone. We don't have Cathedral on the Corner. We have people in shorts filling in and taking turns speaking. We have humble who-is-he-again? leading worship. We have crooked stairs and a back door that serves as our front door. We have mismatched chairs and floor pillows, yellow walls and no doorknobs. Barebones skinny.
But God is decorating that place with himself! People gathered in his name are promised to see him lifted up among them. We are seeing him lifted up. He is showing himself to be great.
Wow. It's such a powerful visual image of what we should be and what we are not, here in American Big Church. When we finally bother to get around to being real church to real people, it will be something amazing to live.
I am suspicious one of my neighbors may have mowed his lawn this morning.
I have filled in my NCAA bracket.
I have gleefully gone two days without a coat and with sun glasses.
I have been listening to and thinking about some messages on serving, only to discover that quite often my serving does not in fact make me happy or feel better or anything like that. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I find my opportunities to serve often make me cranky. I'm going to have to get that all rearranged.
I have finally seen the robins.
I have come to realize the issues of contentment in my life will never give me a break. One of the most profound things The Mr. has ever said to me in our 20+ years together came in the form of a simple statement. "It seems that you are not content with what God has given you." This semester in my mommy group, we're hitting it. Contentment. Coveting. Complaining. Attitudes. Tough stuff for any human. Tough stuff for a momma. It's a fine line to walk and balance upon that wavers between I want because the world tells me I want and I have enough.
I don't like day light savings time. In the fall or the spring.
I have been both complimented and ignored in my writing lately from completely unexpected sources. What to make of that. Hmm.
My entire front yard seems to have hatched a disgusting amount of flies. They are warming up on the front of the house. I'm going to blame it on the remodel we did last fall and use the garage entrance until they go away. Ewe.
On that front, again, if you know and can recommend a good landscaper, I need one. Not only do I have mud and holes for a front yard, my back yard needs to be graded again so that the rain drains away from the house and not into the basement. I'm lazy like that. Mopping out wet basement, not really my thing.
I think it's entirely too funny that around here in Wisconsin, when it hits the 40's in the spring, we dump our coats, fire up the grills and leave our homes. But, that same 40 degrees in fall, pushes us indoors, closes up the neighborhood and makes everyone break out the coats. All I can tell you, as a life long Wisconsinite, is that it really does feel like a much colder 40 in fall than it does in spring. I also think the last awful stretch of winter we get, makes us enjoy spring much more than most of the country. All those weeks of drab, wet, cold, yuck make a single clear sunny day seem like a moment in heaven.
I don't care that St. Patrick's Day is coming. I'm not Irish. I don't particularly enjoy Irish food. I really don't enjoy food or drinks that are Kermit the Frog green. I'm not anti-party and I certainly enjoy a couple of drinks as much as the next gal, but I'm just not into it. Sorry.
In fact, I think it's pretty nuts how we seem to make everything into a party. Don't get me wrong, I love to socialize. I'm really kind of a people person, even though I love quiet alone time. I just think it's a little bit over the top on things like Halloween, Valentine's day, all those greeting card holidays, sports games, etc. It's super cool and wonderful to get together with people, have some special food, spend time together, but why do we need to make up some reason to do it? Couldn't we just call a group of our friends and say, hey, it's Thursday, and I like all you people and it's been a while since we've hung out and so come on over. That would just be too simple wouldn't it.
1 comment:
I love it you hit it on the head so perfectly for me. thanks!
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