I heard the other day a radio listener call in and ask "What is more important, Christmas or Easter?" I hadn't considered this question before and thought about it all day. Which is more important? And exactly what do they mean in today's time? The thought occurred to me that it's not which is more important but what they mean in the conversation between God and us.
I think Christmas is our seeking God. I think Christmas is our begging God to reveal himself and to save us from ourselves. It's like a question. Down through the ages man has gone to God, asking him to reveal himself to us. "Send us a savior!" "Save us", "Heal us". People needed someone to save them from themselves. Someone who championed on their behalf. They had people who could perform miracles. They had people who could heal. Yet they had no one who could defeat death, a sentence that was suffered by all people, rich or poor. Romans died. Jews died. Pagans died. They needed someone to address their fears. It is fear that keeps us from God. Fear presents itself as a gulf, a deep divide between us and God. It is fear that makes us cry out to God to save us.
On Easter, one man conquered death. One man, one God, was able to fulfill all their desires. Easter is the answer to Christmas. Christmas is our pleading with God. Easter is God answering our prayers. There is now no death, no life, no breath that will ever separate us from the love of a father who has always been there. It is we who couldn't get to Him until He prepared a way for that to happen.
I hope and pray that Easter is experienced by all, on a deep, personal level. Easter is our hope. Easter is our blessing. Easter is our answer to the question of Christmas.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
We need more snow! Said no one EVER!
It is the middle of March. I saw my first robin yesterday on the way to church and that has always been my sign that spring is truly on my doorstep. I love robins and miss their lovely songs when Fall's dropping leaves and Winter's winds blow. My tiger lilies have pushed up through the ground too, only to be nibbled on by my chickens and my dog. My dog Chelsea, part black lab, part border collie, part beaver, part goat and part four legged, fur covered, garbage disposal. At least our chickens make our breakfast for us!
But today they've announced we are going to get some weather. Depending on whom you watch, we are in the 6-12 inch snowfall band. Yeah, just what I need. Snow. I planted my tomato seeds and pepper seeds yesterday. I am "thinking spring". I am planning our veggie garden, trying to decipher from my notes what worked last year, what didn't and how to improve what I did and introduce some new stuff. I looked at my "summer" clothes and am trying to figure out how they all could have shrunk and shrunk so terribly badly! I realize I'd put on some weight, but when your bathing suit starts weeping and you haven't taken off your pants yet, you know this isn't going to end well. I checked out some exercise videos (made specifically for people like me who sit at a desk all day) and have told myself sternly that I must do something before people mistake me for a circus fat lady. I am going on weight watchers and just dusted off my treadmill. I MUST do something and the good Lord knows left to my own devices, I'd just ban all mirrors, make caftans the wardrobe of choice and try to reinstitute the Romanesque period as the new normal.
But snow. This is truly killing me. This is why I gain weight in the winter. I hate all outdoor winter activities (except ice skating and snow tubing, but only if they have a line that pulls you back up to the top of the hill). I hate being cold. All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and hibernate. My hobbies are non athletic, I knit, spin, crochet, weave, quilt, sew, make my own designs for counted cross stitch and then stitch them and read. I am learning how to do "nal-binding", a form of knitting with a rather large sewing needle. But as you can see, none of these things require sweating, getting dirty, co-ordination, or the possibility of getting hurt. Well, I could stab myself with a needle or two and once I almost sewed through my finger, thus curing me of sewing while tired. Many years ago by sisters in law borrowed my husbands and my mountain bikes and went down a trail across the street from our old home in Brunswick. They fell, skinning their knees, bruising themselves up and (since it was 80 degrees outside) getting sweaty. My husband, ever the outdoors type, said to me:
"Doesn't that look like fun?"
"Yeah" I replied, "When I was 10 yrs old, I'd have enjoyed that immensely!" I then went back into the house and poured another glass of iced sweet tea and sat in my air conditioned slice of Heaven.
To say that I have no desire to sweat profusely, unless there is veggies involved, is an understatement. I can plant, weed and water all day long in the hot sun, but suggest anything other than a card or board game to me when the temp is over 70 and I'll suggest to you that you just go lie down and wait for that feeling to pass. Anything over 80 requires me to lie motionless in a pool. I come from a long, long, line of non-exercising, 90 and 100 year old family members. Dying young is not my worry. In fact, I'm more likely to die getting all sweaty than not. That's not to say I "shouldn't" exercise or take infinitely better care of my body than I do now. I should. The slogan "betcha can't eat just one!" really ISN'T a challenge and I shouldn't treat it as one. But I admit, I LOVE to cook and I LOVE to eat and I do both grandly.
I've just reached that stage where even I can't justify the gut, the butt or the thighs. The boobs I'd like to keep, but experience has already shown me that they will be the first thing to go. I wonder, if I stand on my head and allow all my fat rolls to shift to my chest, then tie a rope just under my boobs, would all that blubber stay there? I might not be able to walk upright, but it does make one wonder!
But today they've announced we are going to get some weather. Depending on whom you watch, we are in the 6-12 inch snowfall band. Yeah, just what I need. Snow. I planted my tomato seeds and pepper seeds yesterday. I am "thinking spring". I am planning our veggie garden, trying to decipher from my notes what worked last year, what didn't and how to improve what I did and introduce some new stuff. I looked at my "summer" clothes and am trying to figure out how they all could have shrunk and shrunk so terribly badly! I realize I'd put on some weight, but when your bathing suit starts weeping and you haven't taken off your pants yet, you know this isn't going to end well. I checked out some exercise videos (made specifically for people like me who sit at a desk all day) and have told myself sternly that I must do something before people mistake me for a circus fat lady. I am going on weight watchers and just dusted off my treadmill. I MUST do something and the good Lord knows left to my own devices, I'd just ban all mirrors, make caftans the wardrobe of choice and try to reinstitute the Romanesque period as the new normal.
But snow. This is truly killing me. This is why I gain weight in the winter. I hate all outdoor winter activities (except ice skating and snow tubing, but only if they have a line that pulls you back up to the top of the hill). I hate being cold. All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and hibernate. My hobbies are non athletic, I knit, spin, crochet, weave, quilt, sew, make my own designs for counted cross stitch and then stitch them and read. I am learning how to do "nal-binding", a form of knitting with a rather large sewing needle. But as you can see, none of these things require sweating, getting dirty, co-ordination, or the possibility of getting hurt. Well, I could stab myself with a needle or two and once I almost sewed through my finger, thus curing me of sewing while tired. Many years ago by sisters in law borrowed my husbands and my mountain bikes and went down a trail across the street from our old home in Brunswick. They fell, skinning their knees, bruising themselves up and (since it was 80 degrees outside) getting sweaty. My husband, ever the outdoors type, said to me:
"Doesn't that look like fun?"
"Yeah" I replied, "When I was 10 yrs old, I'd have enjoyed that immensely!" I then went back into the house and poured another glass of iced sweet tea and sat in my air conditioned slice of Heaven.
To say that I have no desire to sweat profusely, unless there is veggies involved, is an understatement. I can plant, weed and water all day long in the hot sun, but suggest anything other than a card or board game to me when the temp is over 70 and I'll suggest to you that you just go lie down and wait for that feeling to pass. Anything over 80 requires me to lie motionless in a pool. I come from a long, long, line of non-exercising, 90 and 100 year old family members. Dying young is not my worry. In fact, I'm more likely to die getting all sweaty than not. That's not to say I "shouldn't" exercise or take infinitely better care of my body than I do now. I should. The slogan "betcha can't eat just one!" really ISN'T a challenge and I shouldn't treat it as one. But I admit, I LOVE to cook and I LOVE to eat and I do both grandly.
I've just reached that stage where even I can't justify the gut, the butt or the thighs. The boobs I'd like to keep, but experience has already shown me that they will be the first thing to go. I wonder, if I stand on my head and allow all my fat rolls to shift to my chest, then tie a rope just under my boobs, would all that blubber stay there? I might not be able to walk upright, but it does make one wonder!
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
And to think all I wanted to do was clean kitchen....
They say a kitchen is the heart of the home. Obviously "they" haven't seen mine. And heart isn't the organ I would have thought of to describe this room either. Considering the stench coming from my refrigerator, "fecal holding container" is a better title. My fridge is the absolute last, very last, thing to get cleaned out in my house. I would rather clean the two upstairs baths after the boys have been outside mudding with their dirt-bikes than clean out the fridge. I would rather clean the litter box barehanded than clean the fridge. Which is why it gets into the state it currently is. State, Uhm, yeah, as I wish it or I were in another one.
1st things 1st. I clean out the sink, load the dishwasher up and turn it on. This seems to act as some sort of early warning device to my children, who come from across town at the sound of the dishwasher being started.
"We are hungry."
"You just ate 35 minutes ago."
"Yeah but we are hungry."
Now I have this feeling that the idea of a clean, empty kitchen upsets them. No one in this house can stand the cleanliness of empty counter tops, empty sinks, clean stove, and if my island is devoid of all the usual paraphernalia, my family goes into shock. Even my husband, ever the neat freak when it comes to his stuff, just can't take the kitchen being spotless. If my family were ever to slip into simultaneous comas, just the mere mention that the kitchen is now clean would revive them.
So I stop what I had started to do and make them lunch. Which of course is 3 separate meals as God forbid any two of them would ever eat the same meal. I have tried valiantly over the years to explain that this house is NOT a delicatessen, I was not now nor have ever been a short order cook and really, do you think I want to spend every waking minute cleaning up after your lunches?? Well, yes, they DO think I want to clean up after them. I've made them clean up after themselves (which is how I ended up buying new silverware, they threw out the stuff we used to have), I had to dismantle the toilet on more than one occasion as they were convinced that if whatever they put in the toilet naturally, disappeared, then anything they needed to get rid of would also disappear. I've retrieved a Barbie, more Pokemon balls than I care to think about, a whole bar of soap and a washcloth. And that's just the stuff I can identify. Some other stuff, I think aliens must have put that there and I truly don't want to know what it was.
So now they are fed, again, and I have cleaned up after them. I start again. Hubby dearest comes in.
"I am hungry."
Of course you are. So I feed him, clean up after that meal and start in again. I get half done and the cries of "I'm hungry" start up again. I have come to realize that I didn't give birth to three children, I spawned three walking, talking bottomless pits. Needless to say, by the time I see to their needs, it was time to start dinner.
My fridge? Well, it still isn't clean. But I am putting aside money for it. I thought I detected movement towards the back and I figure in 18 years, whatever that thing is, it will probably want me to send it to college.
1st things 1st. I clean out the sink, load the dishwasher up and turn it on. This seems to act as some sort of early warning device to my children, who come from across town at the sound of the dishwasher being started.
"We are hungry."
"You just ate 35 minutes ago."
"Yeah but we are hungry."
Now I have this feeling that the idea of a clean, empty kitchen upsets them. No one in this house can stand the cleanliness of empty counter tops, empty sinks, clean stove, and if my island is devoid of all the usual paraphernalia, my family goes into shock. Even my husband, ever the neat freak when it comes to his stuff, just can't take the kitchen being spotless. If my family were ever to slip into simultaneous comas, just the mere mention that the kitchen is now clean would revive them.
So I stop what I had started to do and make them lunch. Which of course is 3 separate meals as God forbid any two of them would ever eat the same meal. I have tried valiantly over the years to explain that this house is NOT a delicatessen, I was not now nor have ever been a short order cook and really, do you think I want to spend every waking minute cleaning up after your lunches?? Well, yes, they DO think I want to clean up after them. I've made them clean up after themselves (which is how I ended up buying new silverware, they threw out the stuff we used to have), I had to dismantle the toilet on more than one occasion as they were convinced that if whatever they put in the toilet naturally, disappeared, then anything they needed to get rid of would also disappear. I've retrieved a Barbie, more Pokemon balls than I care to think about, a whole bar of soap and a washcloth. And that's just the stuff I can identify. Some other stuff, I think aliens must have put that there and I truly don't want to know what it was.
So now they are fed, again, and I have cleaned up after them. I start again. Hubby dearest comes in.
"I am hungry."
Of course you are. So I feed him, clean up after that meal and start in again. I get half done and the cries of "I'm hungry" start up again. I have come to realize that I didn't give birth to three children, I spawned three walking, talking bottomless pits. Needless to say, by the time I see to their needs, it was time to start dinner.
My fridge? Well, it still isn't clean. But I am putting aside money for it. I thought I detected movement towards the back and I figure in 18 years, whatever that thing is, it will probably want me to send it to college.
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