I live a block from the park. From the first warm day to the last warm day every year the ice cream truck trolls the park for children. I can hear the repetitive music from the ice cream truck from my house -- from the front porch, from the back yard, from inside if the windows are open.
The tune gets stuck in my head. And the words get stuck in my head: "With their hands in their pockets and their pockets in their pants, all the little fishies do the hoochie koochie dance..." Ad infinitum! ALL summer! EVERY year!
If I were the ice cream truck driver, I'd be SLITTING MY WRISTS about now! And it's only MAY!
You'd think they could have Tuesday music. And Wednesday music. And maybe some Rolling Stones or something!
Can you mail-order a bazooka?
AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Heretic's Lament -- The Fall
Get comfortable -- this is going to be a long one!
Today, something really clicked for me. And one of those Biblical stumbling blocks that has tripped me up always rolled away.
You never know where you're going to find yourself! I thought I was just reading up on Robb's blog yesterday (that's Robb Ryerse, Vintage Fellowship "director and narrational leader", http://www.thegrenzian.blogspot.com/). On the topic of "edgy" sermons there was a bit of a discussion of the line "Sometimes you have to lower the bar so someone can accept the invitation to a higher bar." One person said they didn't like this line. I DID like it and commented, "Life is messy. Lessons are messy. Higher things come out of it." Somehow this came to be the theme of my weekend!
Sometimes, the only way life makes sense to me to view every challenge as a lesson. When things get really bad, I can be angry or resentful or distraught or depressed or a host of other pathetic human emotions which probably do no good. Or I can ask, "Ok God, what am I supposed to learn?" There is incredible peace in viewing hardships as lessons rather than just random cruelty. So I really meant the "life is messy" statement. And sometimes I really cling to that concept because it all just gets so complicated and frustrating and seemingly-hopeless sometimes. And gosh, if we're not here to learn something then why ARE we here?
I see life as the lab portion of the class my soul is taking. I must say here that I avoided all classes in college that involved lab time because who has time for all that hands-on learning anyway when you should just be able to read the textbook (Robb -- there's something cosmically significant about your day job being in the textbook business!). But life is not college. Life is a lab. I wholeheartedly believe the new-age concept that we are "spirits having a human experience" rather than just humans having a spiritual experience.
Of course, the most colossal example of the spiritual having a human experience is Jesus. Now that I have worked myself past seeing him as a mortal prophet, I CAN conceive of Jesus as God incarnate coming down to earth in human form to walk the full-on human experience just like he expects us to do. I can finally see Jesus as God coming down here to get his hands dirty, diving into the thick of the complicated, exhausting, challenging, fatal, MESSY experience of being human. All the biblical foot-washing imagery makes sense to me from this perspective: if you walk through the dusty, dirty roads of life, you're gonna get dirty. (I'll save the concept of cleansing for later!)
And speaking of dirt: seeds never cease to fascinate me. You take a tiny little thing that can look like nothing and throw it in the dirt and it somehow knows what to do and becomes a plant! And it doesn't even have a brain. Or lessons. Or a textbook! So, to me, God has got to be in each and every seed. Somehow. Otherwise, how could seeds contain life and know what to do and complete mind-boggling tasks like it's something that just happens a jillion times every day?
So life's messy and dirty. And seeds have to get thrown on the ground and mixed up with the dirt in order to grow thereby rising above the dirt. And I, as a human, do exactly the same thing with both literal and metaphorical dirt. I get thrown down. I get all dirty. I get mixed in with the mess of it all. And because of this "misfortune", hopefully I grow. I may not like the dirt but it makes me grow. And ultimately, I somehow come to rise above, to something higher. That makes all the hard times make sense.
One of the songs at church this morning was "I'm Wholly Yours" by the Dave Crowder Band. Of course, it's infinitely better to listen to the real song and I hope you will (even if you're familiar with it) but here are the lyrics for the sake of the coming discussion. Meet me down below for the relevance of this.
Today, something really clicked for me. And one of those Biblical stumbling blocks that has tripped me up always rolled away.
You never know where you're going to find yourself! I thought I was just reading up on Robb's blog yesterday (that's Robb Ryerse, Vintage Fellowship "director and narrational leader", http://www.thegrenzian.blogspot.com/). On the topic of "edgy" sermons there was a bit of a discussion of the line "Sometimes you have to lower the bar so someone can accept the invitation to a higher bar." One person said they didn't like this line. I DID like it and commented, "Life is messy. Lessons are messy. Higher things come out of it." Somehow this came to be the theme of my weekend!
Sometimes, the only way life makes sense to me to view every challenge as a lesson. When things get really bad, I can be angry or resentful or distraught or depressed or a host of other pathetic human emotions which probably do no good. Or I can ask, "Ok God, what am I supposed to learn?" There is incredible peace in viewing hardships as lessons rather than just random cruelty. So I really meant the "life is messy" statement. And sometimes I really cling to that concept because it all just gets so complicated and frustrating and seemingly-hopeless sometimes. And gosh, if we're not here to learn something then why ARE we here?
I see life as the lab portion of the class my soul is taking. I must say here that I avoided all classes in college that involved lab time because who has time for all that hands-on learning anyway when you should just be able to read the textbook (Robb -- there's something cosmically significant about your day job being in the textbook business!). But life is not college. Life is a lab. I wholeheartedly believe the new-age concept that we are "spirits having a human experience" rather than just humans having a spiritual experience.
Of course, the most colossal example of the spiritual having a human experience is Jesus. Now that I have worked myself past seeing him as a mortal prophet, I CAN conceive of Jesus as God incarnate coming down to earth in human form to walk the full-on human experience just like he expects us to do. I can finally see Jesus as God coming down here to get his hands dirty, diving into the thick of the complicated, exhausting, challenging, fatal, MESSY experience of being human. All the biblical foot-washing imagery makes sense to me from this perspective: if you walk through the dusty, dirty roads of life, you're gonna get dirty. (I'll save the concept of cleansing for later!)
And speaking of dirt: seeds never cease to fascinate me. You take a tiny little thing that can look like nothing and throw it in the dirt and it somehow knows what to do and becomes a plant! And it doesn't even have a brain. Or lessons. Or a textbook! So, to me, God has got to be in each and every seed. Somehow. Otherwise, how could seeds contain life and know what to do and complete mind-boggling tasks like it's something that just happens a jillion times every day?
So life's messy and dirty. And seeds have to get thrown on the ground and mixed up with the dirt in order to grow thereby rising above the dirt. And I, as a human, do exactly the same thing with both literal and metaphorical dirt. I get thrown down. I get all dirty. I get mixed in with the mess of it all. And because of this "misfortune", hopefully I grow. I may not like the dirt but it makes me grow. And ultimately, I somehow come to rise above, to something higher. That makes all the hard times make sense.
One of the songs at church this morning was "I'm Wholly Yours" by the Dave Crowder Band. Of course, it's infinitely better to listen to the real song and I hope you will (even if you're familiar with it) but here are the lyrics for the sake of the coming discussion. Meet me down below for the relevance of this.
I am full of earth
You are heaven's worth
I am stained with dirt, prone to depravity
You are everything that is bright and clean
The antonym of me
You are divinity
But a certain sign of grace is this
From the broken earth flowers come up
Pushing through the dirt
You are holy, holy, holy
All heaven cries "Holy, holy God"
You are holy, holy, holy
I want to be holy like You are
You are everything that is bright and clean
And You're covering me with Your majesty
And the truest sign of grace was this
From wounded hands redemption fell down
Liberating man
But the harder I try the more clearly can I feel
The depth of our fall and the weight of it all
And so this might could be the most impossible thing
Your grandness in me making me clean
Glory, hallelujah
Glory, glory, hallelujah
So here I am, all of me
Finally everything
Wholly, wholly, wholly
I am wholly, wholly
I am wholly, wholly, wholly
Yours
I am full of earth and dirt and You
I LOVE the visual message of this song. I wonder how many people have only heard it and not gotten the "sight gag" of the spelling: "You are holy... I am wholly (yours)". And, of course, all the wonderful dirt references!
By the time this song came on this morning, I had gotten past my previously-referenced tears because of the music and because I actually SAW the moment that the music got to Mark and melted away the issue of the morning. So I was freed up to be open to the moment. About that time one line reached out and grabbed me:
The harder I try the more clearly I can feel
The depth of our fall and the weight of it all
And something clicked!
I struggle with the whole concept of "the fall" of man. It just has never made sense to me. Eve got all blamed for everything. Adam didn't. Why was God so picky about his fruit trees. And what's this about talking snakes? And why was God so mean? And wasn't it all a set-up? And I have an issue with rules anyway. And who thought this story explained ANYTHING? I've been stuck on this one for forty-three years!
Then it hit me, from out of the place of struggle and exhaustion that I had just been in, how very far below perfect we are as humans -- and "the weight of it all". And that we aren't SUPPOSED to be perfect because we aren't God. Because we're here to learn and what can you learn if you stay all clean on the sidelines or in heaven or in spirit form and don't get your hands dirty?
So "the fall" to me isn't falling out of favor with God so much as "falling" from perfect spirit form down into the laboratory of earthly life so I can get my hands into the soil and learn something. One of my favorite garden quotes (from a plaque in my step-grandmother's garden) is "We come from the Earth. We return to the Earth. And, in between, we garden." This gets into other issues but I love the hands-in-the-soil sentiment of it.
I'm not sure where the Garden of Eden is exactly. The History Channel says they've located it in the Middle East. But it sure makes sense to me that the Garden of Eden is someplace closer to heaven than the Earth is and that we "fell" out of it into this human experience so that we can really wrestle with the issues both large and small.
The tree of "the knowledge of good and evil" never made sense to me. Why would it be called that? What did good and evil and knowledge have to do with it? Why didn't they just call it an apple or an quince or whatever if the point was just that Adam and Eve weren't supposed to eat from it just because God said so? Was there really something chemical or magical about this particular fruit? Or was it just an arbitrary rule? Or was it a dare. Or, like I said before, was it a set-up because God knew that Adam and Eve were human and would act in all their human-ness and that one darn tree was just too much temptation to resist. To me, we're not bad, we're just human. Replace the word "sin" with the word "human-ness" or "human failings" or whatever form of the concept fits the sentence and it all goes down a whole lot easier for me. More on this later!
Adam and Eve already had knowledge of good. They knew God, personally!, and God is ALL goodness. Ever noticed that the word "God" is one letter off of the word "good". Simple semantics (not that there's anything simple about the WORD "semantics" -- it took me most of college to get what that word meant!). In order to have knowledge of more than just goodness, to have knowledge of bad, of evil, Adam and Eve were going to have to rock their world a bit. I think the "and evil" part of "knowledge of good and evil" is why we're here. To have knowledge of evil man must gnash around in the dirt. You can sit on your cloud with your harp and your wings and have knowledge of good. But to have knowledge of good AND evil, one must have the human experience of wrestling with BOTH, down here, in the dirt, in the laboratory, where life's MESSY!
So, Adam and Eve, and I, must learn about good and evil through the daily hands-on contrasting struggle with both. I have to really FEEL the mud between my fingers to understand how good it really feels to have clean hands, experience, some good lessons, and a sense of accomplishment. Because, if my hands are always clean, I haven't experienced anything and there are no flowers or vegetables or fruits in my garden and I just don't really understand or appreciate the priviledge of having gotten to learn the lesson.
I think some mud pies sound good about now! Followed by a nice manicure!
The Heretic's Lament -- Today
Leave it to church on Sunday to stir up stuff to write about! It always does! Here goes my long-contemplated, leap of faith, headlong dive into discussing religion! Buckle your seatbelt!
Geez! This morning was hard!
Mark and I have struggled so hard to find common ground between our very different religious perspectives. He is a very traditional Christian with considerable Baptist exposure. I am a pretty way-out, liberal, new-age, universalist with a great fondness for reincarnation theory. We have searched high and low for a church that can work for both of us. NOT an easy task!
This morning Mark was struggling with feeling like I'm dragging him to MY church. And I was thinking, "Hey! Wait a minute! I thought we had agreed that we were both comfortable here?" And then he wasn't going and I think the only reason he went was because I was very pathetically sobbing.
So we went. And I don't believe that prayer does much good because I'm pretty sure God already knows what he's doing but I prayed that whatever happened at church would be what Mark needed. And, of course, it was.
But that's his story. Which I won't go into because it's HIS story. But I do think I'll tell you MY story. Because today a lot of things clicked for me.
So church starts off with 5 or 6 Christian contemporary songs. I have had a closet Christian contemporary side since my best friend Michelle sang a duet of "Friends" at the junior high talent show and then introduced me to Amy Grant and I was so proud of myself that I knew all the words to "El Shaddai" in Hebrew (isn't it?). Something about this music always finds me where I am. Today the music started. And then the tears started. "Tears of truth" I call them. Have you ever noticed that when something's really true the tears come with it? Mark and I always say "it must be true if the tears come when you try to say it." This morning my tears were of grief and exhaustion and fear that maybe we hadn't found the right church after all. And that we might have to start looking again. And that I might have to leave another church.
A couple of years ago I got involved with the Unitarian Universalist congregation. It was a wonderful community of very genuine, caring, sensitive people -- lots of lesbians and older university professors and people with social conscioussness. I found a great sense of community in that little congregation where about 65 people showed up weekly. I joined the writing group and made the food for the after-service social hour once and went to other activities on other days of the week and really got involved. Things I'd never done at a church before.
It was a good place for me at the time. And that was a good time for me even though I was wrestling with big challenges. I was going thru my divorce, transforming my life, doing lots of soul-searching and writing and really finding myself. For the first time I had a personal relationship with the ministers, an older, married couple from back East who came to the ministry late in life. My favorite moment come when I walked into church one Sunday morning and Rev. Dave said to me, "We missed you last week!". I hadn't even remembered that I hadn't been there the previous week -- but HE did. And that felt REALLY good!
But the UU didn't work for Mark (and I give him great credit for trying) and I realized there was not enough God for me there. There was more of a social and environmental consciousness than God there. I found I felt uncomfortable saying the word "God" there because no one else really did. And the ministers seemed to believe more in God as the connections between people than in God as an external force. That's nice, but I needed more God.
So we searched around for a while and tried several different churches -- all of which had pros and cons (but doesn't everything?) and agreed on Vintage Fellowship and I'm just really starting to get to know people and to feel at home there. And I really like the minister. And his wife. And the authenticity they practice. And the transparency with which they live their passion. And I don't want to start over.
But God has his compassionate ways and before the music was over Mark had made his peace with his issues. And maybe we're learning something together. Perhaps today the lesson is that there is no perfect church for both of us but that any church is hopefully going to push us to learn and grow. And if that means tossing us into our issues sometimes, bring it on!
I realize I haven't really gotten into all the things that "clicked' for me today that I mentioned earlier. I'm going to post this portion now for the sake of some attempt at brevity. Stay tuned for "The Fall" which I will probably post later today. If I write a million words on Sunday does that mean you'll forgive me for slacking a few other days of the week?
Geez! This morning was hard!
Mark and I have struggled so hard to find common ground between our very different religious perspectives. He is a very traditional Christian with considerable Baptist exposure. I am a pretty way-out, liberal, new-age, universalist with a great fondness for reincarnation theory. We have searched high and low for a church that can work for both of us. NOT an easy task!
This morning Mark was struggling with feeling like I'm dragging him to MY church. And I was thinking, "Hey! Wait a minute! I thought we had agreed that we were both comfortable here?" And then he wasn't going and I think the only reason he went was because I was very pathetically sobbing.
So we went. And I don't believe that prayer does much good because I'm pretty sure God already knows what he's doing but I prayed that whatever happened at church would be what Mark needed. And, of course, it was.
But that's his story. Which I won't go into because it's HIS story. But I do think I'll tell you MY story. Because today a lot of things clicked for me.
So church starts off with 5 or 6 Christian contemporary songs. I have had a closet Christian contemporary side since my best friend Michelle sang a duet of "Friends" at the junior high talent show and then introduced me to Amy Grant and I was so proud of myself that I knew all the words to "El Shaddai" in Hebrew (isn't it?). Something about this music always finds me where I am. Today the music started. And then the tears started. "Tears of truth" I call them. Have you ever noticed that when something's really true the tears come with it? Mark and I always say "it must be true if the tears come when you try to say it." This morning my tears were of grief and exhaustion and fear that maybe we hadn't found the right church after all. And that we might have to start looking again. And that I might have to leave another church.
A couple of years ago I got involved with the Unitarian Universalist congregation. It was a wonderful community of very genuine, caring, sensitive people -- lots of lesbians and older university professors and people with social conscioussness. I found a great sense of community in that little congregation where about 65 people showed up weekly. I joined the writing group and made the food for the after-service social hour once and went to other activities on other days of the week and really got involved. Things I'd never done at a church before.
It was a good place for me at the time. And that was a good time for me even though I was wrestling with big challenges. I was going thru my divorce, transforming my life, doing lots of soul-searching and writing and really finding myself. For the first time I had a personal relationship with the ministers, an older, married couple from back East who came to the ministry late in life. My favorite moment come when I walked into church one Sunday morning and Rev. Dave said to me, "We missed you last week!". I hadn't even remembered that I hadn't been there the previous week -- but HE did. And that felt REALLY good!
But the UU didn't work for Mark (and I give him great credit for trying) and I realized there was not enough God for me there. There was more of a social and environmental consciousness than God there. I found I felt uncomfortable saying the word "God" there because no one else really did. And the ministers seemed to believe more in God as the connections between people than in God as an external force. That's nice, but I needed more God.
So we searched around for a while and tried several different churches -- all of which had pros and cons (but doesn't everything?) and agreed on Vintage Fellowship and I'm just really starting to get to know people and to feel at home there. And I really like the minister. And his wife. And the authenticity they practice. And the transparency with which they live their passion. And I don't want to start over.
But God has his compassionate ways and before the music was over Mark had made his peace with his issues. And maybe we're learning something together. Perhaps today the lesson is that there is no perfect church for both of us but that any church is hopefully going to push us to learn and grow. And if that means tossing us into our issues sometimes, bring it on!
I realize I haven't really gotten into all the things that "clicked' for me today that I mentioned earlier. I'm going to post this portion now for the sake of some attempt at brevity. Stay tuned for "The Fall" which I will probably post later today. If I write a million words on Sunday does that mean you'll forgive me for slacking a few other days of the week?
Yikes!
I think about this blog so much that I believe I post things more often than I do! My goal is to post something daily. So how did it get to be Sunday and I haven't written since Wednesday! Oh, yeah, that whole staging project I took on! Gotta earn a living and exercise my others passions too! Hang on a minute and I'll write up with something! Church on Sunday always brings out the ponderer and writer in me!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Garage Sale Finds
Last Saturday Mark and I, with Starbuck's coffee and the newspaper classified section in hand, spent a glorious summer morning tromping to garage sales in Enid.
Before long we found ourselves on a street that Marks knew well. When he was a kid, it was empty land near his house. The kids in the neighborhood called it "the woods" because of the trees that followed a small creekbed (in the Oklahoma prairie, a few trees constitute a forest in the eyes of native children!). Mark was able to tell the homeowner that her house stood right in the middle of the old poison ivy patch! The lady was quite pleased to know that her property was much improved from it's previous, itchy state. Mark was kind of glad to walk away NOT itching!
Next was a sale with lots of old farm equipment. As I perused a table of items, I picked up a long contraption primitively made of old wood and tin and asked Mark, is this a seed planter? Before Mark could answer, a gravelly voice beside me said, "It's a corn planter."
"I thought you might know" I said, when I looked up to see an old farmer in overalls and a plaid shirt beside me. He took the implement from me and, with weathered hands and a stooped back, demonstrated for me with practiced movements the way the corn planter worked. "You seem to know a lot about that," I said. "I SURE DO! I've planted a lot of corn with one of these!" he replied, still demonstrating, clearing reminiscing on his long-ago childhood. He seemed quite annoyed that the metal seed canister on the side of the corn planter was missing it's lid. I left him to wander on among the other items for sale.
We bought an old bottle for Mark's collection and a burlap feedbag, just because, and, as we drove away, I saw in the rearview, a pair of old blue overalls, make their way across the street, in something between a lope and a hobble, to an old truck. In his hands, a couple of old horse bridles... and a corn planter. I was glad to see him take him memories home. I wonder if he'll plant some corn!
Later, while scanning the goods at another sale, I gray-haired woman in jeans and a chambray shirt over a white t-shirt stopped me and asked if I thought this shirt and that vest went together. I told her the horizontal lines in one and the vertical images in the other clashed a bit to my eye. Clearly more interested in talking than in whether the outfit really matched or not, she went on to tell me that her children were all grown, that her oldest son died of colon cancer, that she's 73, weights 114, and wears a size 5 shoe, that she "practically" raised a grandson, and a number of other details about her life. She was cute and spritely, clearly lonely, and maybe a half a sandwich short of a picnic, but she was sweet and generously shared herself and her story with me. Later on in the day, at another location, I saw her again. Again, she stopped me to ask for assistance (what time did the Salvation Army store close?), but I don't think she remembered me. Now I wish I'd asked her name. She will remain anonymous to me. But I'll remember her. Even if she doesn't remember me.
You never know what treasures you'll find at a garage sale!
Sometimes it's more the stories than the "stuff"!
Before long we found ourselves on a street that Marks knew well. When he was a kid, it was empty land near his house. The kids in the neighborhood called it "the woods" because of the trees that followed a small creekbed (in the Oklahoma prairie, a few trees constitute a forest in the eyes of native children!). Mark was able to tell the homeowner that her house stood right in the middle of the old poison ivy patch! The lady was quite pleased to know that her property was much improved from it's previous, itchy state. Mark was kind of glad to walk away NOT itching!
Next was a sale with lots of old farm equipment. As I perused a table of items, I picked up a long contraption primitively made of old wood and tin and asked Mark, is this a seed planter? Before Mark could answer, a gravelly voice beside me said, "It's a corn planter."
"I thought you might know" I said, when I looked up to see an old farmer in overalls and a plaid shirt beside me. He took the implement from me and, with weathered hands and a stooped back, demonstrated for me with practiced movements the way the corn planter worked. "You seem to know a lot about that," I said. "I SURE DO! I've planted a lot of corn with one of these!" he replied, still demonstrating, clearing reminiscing on his long-ago childhood. He seemed quite annoyed that the metal seed canister on the side of the corn planter was missing it's lid. I left him to wander on among the other items for sale.
We bought an old bottle for Mark's collection and a burlap feedbag, just because, and, as we drove away, I saw in the rearview, a pair of old blue overalls, make their way across the street, in something between a lope and a hobble, to an old truck. In his hands, a couple of old horse bridles... and a corn planter. I was glad to see him take him memories home. I wonder if he'll plant some corn!
Later, while scanning the goods at another sale, I gray-haired woman in jeans and a chambray shirt over a white t-shirt stopped me and asked if I thought this shirt and that vest went together. I told her the horizontal lines in one and the vertical images in the other clashed a bit to my eye. Clearly more interested in talking than in whether the outfit really matched or not, she went on to tell me that her children were all grown, that her oldest son died of colon cancer, that she's 73, weights 114, and wears a size 5 shoe, that she "practically" raised a grandson, and a number of other details about her life. She was cute and spritely, clearly lonely, and maybe a half a sandwich short of a picnic, but she was sweet and generously shared herself and her story with me. Later on in the day, at another location, I saw her again. Again, she stopped me to ask for assistance (what time did the Salvation Army store close?), but I don't think she remembered me. Now I wish I'd asked her name. She will remain anonymous to me. But I'll remember her. Even if she doesn't remember me.
You never know what treasures you'll find at a garage sale!
Sometimes it's more the stories than the "stuff"!
My Zicam Endorsement
Well, it turns out that my sore throat wasn't from the paint fumes -- or wasn't JUST the paint fumes -- because it didn't go away overnight. And yesterday I felt just plain crappy. Today I feel 90% better and we're on our way to Springfield, Missouri to pick up a motorhome.
The catalyst to my semi-miraculous recovery is Zicam. I could be the Zicam poster child or not-a-celebrity endorser or, better yet, PAID endorser!
Zicam is an over-the-counter cold remedy that you can get in about 12 different forms at Walmart or wherever. Personally, I prefer the orange or cherry tablets that you dissolve in your mouth (and then don't drink anything for half an hour) every three hours until your symptoms are gone (it usually only takes 3 or 4 or 5 to whip it). They're basically zinc lozenges and they REALLY WORK!
Here's my testimonial about how I discovered Zicam:
I was in Enid, laying around watching TV in the hotel room, feeling worse and worse by the minute. I was supposed to have driven home that day but I felt too bad to drive. All day long my throat had been getting more and more sore until I had the most vicious sore throat I could ever remember having. This was NOT going to be good!
A commercial for Zicam came on TV. I basically ignored it. I never use cold medicine. Then the commerical came on again. I ignored it again. Soon the commerical came on a third time and I muttered to God or the ceiling or whoever "Ok! I hear you!" because how else would the same commercial come on three times in two hours unless God is in charge of media scheduling! I got up and went to Walmart and bought some Zicam. I took one immediately and another three hours later before falling asleep for the night.
By morning I was 90% recovered! Miraculous! Since then, whenever I've felt cold or flu symptoms coming on and caught them early with the Zicam I've been able to kick it in 24-48 hours (usually more like 12 hours!). I've never gotten anything full-blown since!
I hand out Zicam on street corners! Well, almost. I seriously DO hand it out. Twice I've given a few to my friends who work at the Salvation Army Thrift Store (it shouldn't surprise you that I'm friends with the employees at the thrift stores!). I forced some on Mark's parents. I carry extra in my purse. It is a wonder drug (ok, wonder remedy)! Everyone I've given it to has become a believer too! I always feel a little silly pushing it on someone (because I wouldn't listen if someone pushed it on me!) but I'm so convinced of the benefit that it's worth feeling silly to be able to offer some poor suffering soul a cure!
So, there's my commercial!
Do you think I could get Zicam to advertize on my blog and pay me for it?
The catalyst to my semi-miraculous recovery is Zicam. I could be the Zicam poster child or not-a-celebrity endorser or, better yet, PAID endorser!
Zicam is an over-the-counter cold remedy that you can get in about 12 different forms at Walmart or wherever. Personally, I prefer the orange or cherry tablets that you dissolve in your mouth (and then don't drink anything for half an hour) every three hours until your symptoms are gone (it usually only takes 3 or 4 or 5 to whip it). They're basically zinc lozenges and they REALLY WORK!
Here's my testimonial about how I discovered Zicam:
I was in Enid, laying around watching TV in the hotel room, feeling worse and worse by the minute. I was supposed to have driven home that day but I felt too bad to drive. All day long my throat had been getting more and more sore until I had the most vicious sore throat I could ever remember having. This was NOT going to be good!
A commercial for Zicam came on TV. I basically ignored it. I never use cold medicine. Then the commerical came on again. I ignored it again. Soon the commerical came on a third time and I muttered to God or the ceiling or whoever "Ok! I hear you!" because how else would the same commercial come on three times in two hours unless God is in charge of media scheduling! I got up and went to Walmart and bought some Zicam. I took one immediately and another three hours later before falling asleep for the night.
By morning I was 90% recovered! Miraculous! Since then, whenever I've felt cold or flu symptoms coming on and caught them early with the Zicam I've been able to kick it in 24-48 hours (usually more like 12 hours!). I've never gotten anything full-blown since!
I hand out Zicam on street corners! Well, almost. I seriously DO hand it out. Twice I've given a few to my friends who work at the Salvation Army Thrift Store (it shouldn't surprise you that I'm friends with the employees at the thrift stores!). I forced some on Mark's parents. I carry extra in my purse. It is a wonder drug (ok, wonder remedy)! Everyone I've given it to has become a believer too! I always feel a little silly pushing it on someone (because I wouldn't listen if someone pushed it on me!) but I'm so convinced of the benefit that it's worth feeling silly to be able to offer some poor suffering soul a cure!
So, there's my commercial!
Do you think I could get Zicam to advertize on my blog and pay me for it?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Chicken!
Sorry for the long silence. I have thought about it all week but I have just plain chickened out on writing the religion series -- for now. I just don't have the energy to re-invent this wheel at the moment. I'm sure the day will come as issues of spirituality are one of the main things I ponder and write about and one of the motivations for this blog. But, apparently, this is not the week for it.
I HAVE concluded one thing: I WILL write it all out eventually for no other reason than this: There is so much about religion that can be rigid and judgemental and negative. "My God" (just me and God and what I have learned and what we have worked out between us) is bigger, less petty, and far more positive than alot of other takes on God that are out there. If I get hit by a bus, I want my daughters to be able to read about my view of God so that maybe they can get a glimpse of the WONDER and GLORY and JOY that ARE God, as I see it.
I am particularly not in the mood to wax poetic on God at the moment (no offense to God) after the evening of butting heads over religion that Mark and I have had tonight.
We've known from the beginning that his very traditional Christian beliefs and my way-out, new age, metaphysical, nebulous, in-the-statosphere beliefs were in sharp contrast to each other. We have worked for a couple of years to find a church that would work for BOTH of us (http://www.vintagefellowship.org/ if you're interested). Mark has heard many warnings and admonishions about being "un-equally yoked" (if find that insulting -- my flavor of different is not interior!). Even the minister who married us sternly warned him that such a pairing could spell trouble. Ok, so he was right but I also firmly believe that our religious differences are part of our task and journey together. I believe that we have much to learn together and from each other. I looked forward to decades of deep conversation about spiritual matters. And I still do.
But sometimes all the doubters have their day to be right. Today was one of those days.
I believe that evolution is a wonderous example of how God works within his own systems and attends to the tiniest details personally over the mind-boggling time span of billions of years. I married an creationist. To me, the Bible is frustrating and foreign and just doesn't speak to me. I was an English major. I like to analize literature. I see the Bible as metaphroical and allegorical and poetic (not to mention obscure and imprecise). I recently learned that there is a word for the way I approach the Bible : deconstructionism! I am a deconstructionist. I want to know what each original word was when it was written in the original Hebrew or Aramaic or whatever. I want to know the social, political, and cultural nuances of a word. I want to know exacrly what was lost or modified in transition between languages and versions. Whew! Mark is a Biblical literalist. I believe we're here to learn and that God understands that we are merely human (he made us that way, you know!) and that, when I die, I'll go "the Light" and God will say, "Welcome! What did you learn?". Mark believes I'm going to hell. I hate Christmas. Mark lives for Christmas. And on and on and on.
Tonight the debate was evolution vs. creation, the Council(s) of Nicea, and the issue of alcohol as it relates to church leaders. I'm worn out and, other than my little deconstructionist tirade above, I have no energy left for this volatile topic. Catch me on a stronger day! I'm sure it will come!
Or perhaps I'm just tired! Friday, after many days of cleaning (which for me often means redecorating and rearranging and re-inventing the wheel -- again!), I had my new friend and favorite inspiration, Vanessa, and her daughter, Charleigh, over for lunch. Tessa and Sara-Grace were wonderfully helpful with the preparations and the five of us had a lovely lunch in the dining room featuring all my favorite luncheon dishes: cucumber sandwiches (PB&J for the little ones), fruit salad, carrot and ginger soup, and scones with lime icing. This is how I want my life to be ALL the time!
Immediately after our guests left, Mark and I left for Enid. We had the nicest weekend! We did all the usual thrift shopping (Enid has the BEST thrift stores!), went to a bunch of garage sales, did some dumpster diving, ate at all our favorite places, and worked in his parents' yard (which involved roses and petunias!).
I also had the huge treat of getting to redo the extra bedroom which involved 6 hours, much vacuuming, unearthing all sorts of fun family history and memorabilia, a $3 pair of garage sale red velvet curtains (COOL red velvet curtains, not tacky red velvet curtains -- think Pottery Barn!), and some dumpster prizes (a pair of white sheer curtains and two baskets), and a head board for the bed that I ended up making from vintage VW bus parts (long story -- but you wouldn't guess if you saw it!). There are, alas, no pictures because my phone/camera was having a bad day but it doesn't matter because I had THE BEST TIME!
That was yesterday.
Today we started off with raspberry mochas and apple fritters at Starbucks and then spent the rest of the day helping with improvements at church. We cleaned and carried and organized and painted and put down floor tiles -- and talked and ate too! And had a very enjoyable and productive day. I should be exhaused and konked out but I'm still energetic (as long as I'm sitting in bed!). I may be too tired to sleep. And I have a raging sore throat -- I guess I'm sensitive to paint fumes (since the same thing happened when I painted my bathroom). Remind me next time to get low-odor paint. Lesson learned. Maybe. If I remember.
So... I guess I'll try to sleep now because my eyes usually pop open at 6 a.m. and that's getting rather close if we're counting in terms of hours of sleep! Hope you all had at least half as much fun this weekend as I did! Goodnight!
I HAVE concluded one thing: I WILL write it all out eventually for no other reason than this: There is so much about religion that can be rigid and judgemental and negative. "My God" (just me and God and what I have learned and what we have worked out between us) is bigger, less petty, and far more positive than alot of other takes on God that are out there. If I get hit by a bus, I want my daughters to be able to read about my view of God so that maybe they can get a glimpse of the WONDER and GLORY and JOY that ARE God, as I see it.
I am particularly not in the mood to wax poetic on God at the moment (no offense to God) after the evening of butting heads over religion that Mark and I have had tonight.
We've known from the beginning that his very traditional Christian beliefs and my way-out, new age, metaphysical, nebulous, in-the-statosphere beliefs were in sharp contrast to each other. We have worked for a couple of years to find a church that would work for BOTH of us (http://www.vintagefellowship.org/ if you're interested). Mark has heard many warnings and admonishions about being "un-equally yoked" (if find that insulting -- my flavor of different is not interior!). Even the minister who married us sternly warned him that such a pairing could spell trouble. Ok, so he was right but I also firmly believe that our religious differences are part of our task and journey together. I believe that we have much to learn together and from each other. I looked forward to decades of deep conversation about spiritual matters. And I still do.
But sometimes all the doubters have their day to be right. Today was one of those days.
I believe that evolution is a wonderous example of how God works within his own systems and attends to the tiniest details personally over the mind-boggling time span of billions of years. I married an creationist. To me, the Bible is frustrating and foreign and just doesn't speak to me. I was an English major. I like to analize literature. I see the Bible as metaphroical and allegorical and poetic (not to mention obscure and imprecise). I recently learned that there is a word for the way I approach the Bible : deconstructionism! I am a deconstructionist. I want to know what each original word was when it was written in the original Hebrew or Aramaic or whatever. I want to know the social, political, and cultural nuances of a word. I want to know exacrly what was lost or modified in transition between languages and versions. Whew! Mark is a Biblical literalist. I believe we're here to learn and that God understands that we are merely human (he made us that way, you know!) and that, when I die, I'll go "the Light" and God will say, "Welcome! What did you learn?". Mark believes I'm going to hell. I hate Christmas. Mark lives for Christmas. And on and on and on.
Tonight the debate was evolution vs. creation, the Council(s) of Nicea, and the issue of alcohol as it relates to church leaders. I'm worn out and, other than my little deconstructionist tirade above, I have no energy left for this volatile topic. Catch me on a stronger day! I'm sure it will come!
Or perhaps I'm just tired! Friday, after many days of cleaning (which for me often means redecorating and rearranging and re-inventing the wheel -- again!), I had my new friend and favorite inspiration, Vanessa, and her daughter, Charleigh, over for lunch. Tessa and Sara-Grace were wonderfully helpful with the preparations and the five of us had a lovely lunch in the dining room featuring all my favorite luncheon dishes: cucumber sandwiches (PB&J for the little ones), fruit salad, carrot and ginger soup, and scones with lime icing. This is how I want my life to be ALL the time!
Immediately after our guests left, Mark and I left for Enid. We had the nicest weekend! We did all the usual thrift shopping (Enid has the BEST thrift stores!), went to a bunch of garage sales, did some dumpster diving, ate at all our favorite places, and worked in his parents' yard (which involved roses and petunias!).
I also had the huge treat of getting to redo the extra bedroom which involved 6 hours, much vacuuming, unearthing all sorts of fun family history and memorabilia, a $3 pair of garage sale red velvet curtains (COOL red velvet curtains, not tacky red velvet curtains -- think Pottery Barn!), and some dumpster prizes (a pair of white sheer curtains and two baskets), and a head board for the bed that I ended up making from vintage VW bus parts (long story -- but you wouldn't guess if you saw it!). There are, alas, no pictures because my phone/camera was having a bad day but it doesn't matter because I had THE BEST TIME!
That was yesterday.
Today we started off with raspberry mochas and apple fritters at Starbucks and then spent the rest of the day helping with improvements at church. We cleaned and carried and organized and painted and put down floor tiles -- and talked and ate too! And had a very enjoyable and productive day. I should be exhaused and konked out but I'm still energetic (as long as I'm sitting in bed!). I may be too tired to sleep. And I have a raging sore throat -- I guess I'm sensitive to paint fumes (since the same thing happened when I painted my bathroom). Remind me next time to get low-odor paint. Lesson learned. Maybe. If I remember.
So... I guess I'll try to sleep now because my eyes usually pop open at 6 a.m. and that's getting rather close if we're counting in terms of hours of sleep! Hope you all had at least half as much fun this weekend as I did! Goodnight!
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