Sunday, February 12, 2012

Sunday Serenity: Hope

Hope is a funny thing, isn't it?  It's usually such a good word.  But it's a real be-yotch when you've been putting your hope in something that doesn't work out.  I mean, if you've really been putting your hope in it; in an all-your-eggs-in-one-basket sort of way.  The funny thing is, I rarely realize I'm doing that, until all my hope comes crashing down, and it hits me, "Uh, I had no Plan B."  That's when I know I've done it, but usually not before.

Now, I know that the problem isn't hope, in an of itself.  It's what I put my hope in.  And that's usually my own best-laid plans.  And those plans usually involve some variation of:

[Maximum Happiness + Minimum Pain = My Master Plan] 

It's usually followed up with some sort of prayer to sanctify it, such as, "Oh please! Oh, please! Oh, please, God!  Make this be Your plan!!!! And Thy will be done and all that too.  Amen."  If I was Catholic, I might throw some Holy Water in the direction of this "hope."  And then I'd call it a day, and go about my business. 

Until it doesn't work out.

Then, I go back to God and ask, "What happened?  Why did You mess up the plan we'd agreed upon?"  (Actually, usually I try to weasel my way into going back to bed and hiding under the covers, but that, thankfully, doesn't usually work out.)  And then, if I'm lucky, I might finally hear that still, small voice.  And I start to get an inkling of the fact that I've been putting my hope in something other than the right thing.  Actually, something other than the right person.  'Cause I know He doesn't let me down. 

My hope is built on nothing less,
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

Refrain:
On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

Refrain

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

Refrain

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand by Avalon

Hugs, Ruthie

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Snort Laugh Saturday: Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY
Day number 180
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 181
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 182
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
and so on.....and so on.....

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY
Day number 180
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

Day number 181
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair ... must try this on their bed.

Day number 182
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan.

Day number 183
I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth.

Day number 184
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...
____________________________________________________

Same environments, different attitudes, right?  Today, I heard Max Lucado read part of this on the radio.  He cracked me up, and reminded me that gratitude is all about attitude.  It's a choice.

Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat Adapted from here.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Cherishing the Moments

She cupped my cheeks in her chubby hands and whispered,

"Momma, you da apple of my eye.  I love you."

She is two.  Really.

My baby.  My "Isaac."  My "Joseph."



Two recent posts on Motherhood had me, in turns, busting a gut, and then feeling (somewhat) graciously reprimanded.  What do you think? 

Is motherhood just getting through the Chronos, in hopes of the Kairos?

Or is it to be cherished every minute, of every day.  No matter what?

Or is the magic of motherhood, maybe, some of each?  Or, even, both at the same time?

I thank God that whatever it is, there is grace when I miss it, in the midst of the Chronos, and grace that awakens me to those moment of Kairos.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Wednesday Randomness

This actually came out of my mouth yesterday:

"Son, the floor is for walking on; not a storage area."

Conversation on the home front:

Me (speaking to the same seven-year-old son.) "Hey, do you remember that new kid who just joined the track team?  He has blonde hair."

Son (several minutes later)  "What color skin does he have?"

Four year old Daughter "Well, if he's blonde, then he can't see.  So he can't run anyway!"

The End.