bounce

One of the things I get to do under the description of “research” is peruse some great sites like www.mikeysfunnies.com. Sometimes he posts things which just make me take a minute to sit back and think. Such was the case when I read “Life is not about how fast you run or how high you climb, but how well you bounce.”

Bouncing is the important part. You can do it well, or you can crash and burn. Did you catch the season premiere of Survivor: One World? In the first challenge, the contestants needed to jump from a high platform into a cargo net. They were told – repeatedly – to land on their back and keep their arms crossed across their chest. One of the women failed to follow the plan and consequently, didn’t bounce well. It took her out of the game.

Life will throw all kinds of curveballs at us – we need to persevere and bounce well. Have you experienced disappointment with people or circumstances? Bounce well. Have you been hurt? Bounce well. Have you lost someone close to you? Bounce well.

I’m not saying it’s easy. I am saying it’s possible. It’s much easier when I am focused on Christ, who tells me to love and forgive. He tells us we have a hope and a future. He tells us He loves us and has a plan for us.

Bounce well, my friend. Don’t let trials take you out of the game.

Learning to love Fall

I went to Apple Hill a couple of weekends ago. Apple Hill (off Hwy 50 in CA) is a harvest mecca in our area. A plethora of farms offering a virtual cornucopia of apples, pumpkins, and berries (and every tasty thing you can create from them!), welcome visitors and their wallets.

My friends and I snacked our way through several farms. Never having consumed apple donuts before, I had to try them at two different farms – just to make sure the first one wasn’t a delectable anomaly. I am happy to report that it wasn’t. I did manage to resist the urge to try apple donuts at the third farm. But only so I could try the sour cream blackberry apple pie.

Excuse me while I reminisce. (I won’t tell you I’m wiping drool from the corner of my mouth.) Mmmmm…

Back again.

 

Fall used to be my least favorite season. It meant all that I loved about summer was over – vacation, warm days, free time, flowers, greenness. It meant death to me – flowers died, leaves died, my tan died.

But Fall is growing on me. I admit there is beauty in the season. There’s beauty in most things, if we just take the time to really look.

Apple donuts have helped.

Sympathy for Eve

The recent restroom renovations at my favorite place of employment (Grace Church) brought much excitement – sometimes it doesn’t take much, does it? But seriously, some very nice people generously donated materials and a lot of time and effort to transform our outdated facilities into something beautiful – which reminds me of 2 Corinthians 5:17: Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! – but those are thoughts I think I’ll save for another post.

Anyway, along with excitement, the renovations brought speculation as well: What did they do to the men’s room? Does it look the same as the women’s? This was the hot topic one night during a break at our Monday Night Women’s Bible study table. As a snoopy staff member, I already knew the answer and invited the ladies to go check it out. Naturally, they protested. But I assured them since it was Women’s Bible Study night there were probably only two guys in the whole building and it was quite safe to enter the men’s room.

Confidently leading five ladies across the hall, I was about to knock on said Men’s Room door when two guys I know – I’ll call them R and M – came down the hall from the admin wing. I asked if they were headed to the men’s room and they replied they were coming to check out the renovations. Perfect! I explained our mission and asked R to go in and check if the coast was clear. After giving us the “all clear” sign, M and the ladies and I all filed in and commenced with glowing approval and some comparative notes of the differences between the men’s and women’s rooms.

It was at that point that I turned around to the stalls, and – to my utter horror – noticed a pair of feet behind a closed stall door! Some (mild) screaming ensued and all of us – including R and M – retreated back to the safety of the women’s room.

After some good-natured ribbing from co-workers the following day, I defended my actions by saying, “I was deceived!” Then a thought struck me – Eve was deceived (Genesis 3:1-6) when the serpent convinced her it was safe to eat the forbidden fruit.

Eve gets a bum rap – we all blame Eve for giving Adam the fruit and getting us kicked out of paradise – but let’s think this through for a minute.

Eve had never been lied to before the snake spoke to her. God certainly hadn’t lied to her. Adam hadn’t lied – unless she had asked, “Does this Garden make my rear look big?” (It could have happened!)

So the concept that someone would not speak the truth was something completely foreign to Eve’s world. When the snake told her she surely wouldn’t die if she ate the fruit, she probably thought she had misunderstood the original instructions. She had no reason to not trust this fellow Garden resident.

So let’s cut Eve some slack. Just as I was misled by someone whom I had no reason to mistrust, so was Eve. I’m just glad my consequence was some kidding and not banishment from the building!

One of the Great Blessings in My Life

Last weekend I had the wonderful experience of reuniting with my best friends from high school. Some of them still live in our hometown while others have lived in different states. You know you’re true friends when you can pick right up from where you left off!

Together, we experienced many adventures – most of them just made our parents shake their heads in bewilderment, but they were bonding experiences. One girlfriend had a car without a working reverse gear (picture about six teenage girls pushing a car out of a parking space while one steered). One time we cut school to go visit another high school across town and got busted.  There was the adventure in Elko at All-State Choir when one of the bunch left our hotel room propped open while she visited some other friends, and two of us were awakened by two guys from Reno High jumping on our bed. Which reminds me of Sue’s midnight attempt in the same hotel room to stop our toilet from running – all I can say is that it was the swan dive heard round the world – or at least our floor of the hotel.

Then there was the time I was running late for church and found a parking spot right next to my best friend. Trying to be funny, I pulled in so close to her car that there was no way she was going to be able to leave without my moving first. After Sunday school was out, our youth group gathered around to laugh at my prank. After I backed my car out, one youth dared to say, “I bet you couldn’t do that again.” They were right – I pulled back in and promptly scratched both cars in front of the whole youth group. Yeah.

In all our silliness, though, I can’t remember there ever being any dramatic falling out with each other. We accepted each other – our faults, our insecurities, our differences – and were stronger because of them. These women taught me about friendship, about loyalty, about teamwork, about looking out for someone other than myself, and what it meant to be in relationship with Jesus. They kept me grounded. They kept me sane. They kept me laughing. They loved me for who I was and who I am. And I am thankful.

On weeds, whispers, and wisdom…

There it was… again. We have a “shrub” in our garden. The first several years after it appeared we let it be. It was healthy, it was interesting, but most importantly, it took up space in a barren spot in my hillside flower garden.

About two years ago, I noticed that a certain bug loved it. I mean LOVED it. The whole shrub, which was about six feet tall at that point, was covered in larvae. Gross! The plant had to come out!

Ron cut it down and we thought that was the end of it. Wrong. The next year it was back. Worse, I noticed little “shrubettes” sprouting all along the hillside. Pulling on a few, I discovered that all the shrubettes were linked via an extensive root system. This time after Ron cut down the mother plant, he hacked at the stump and poured gasoline on it.

That was several weeks ago. I noticed this evening that the mother had a brand-new cluster of sprouts growing out the side of the gasoline-drenched stump.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. Grabbing a shovel, I started digging. The mother plant started loosening. I thought to myself: This will be easy! Wrong again.

The mother plant was like a squid, with at least 10 thick root runners coming off it in all directions. I started with the first root and pulled. And pulled. Up it came, running about six feet in one direction before doubling back toward the mother plant.

On I continued with the other root runners, showering myself with dirt in the process. Some doubled back, while others continued along the flower bed, splitting into more and more runners.

That’s when I heard the quiet voice of God speaking to me regarding a personal struggle I’ve been experiencing: “Weeds need to be pulled up by the root. You need to pull up your issues by the roots. You’ve only been pulling up what’s above the surface and not dealing with the source.”

“Okay, Lord, how?”

I pulled more roots. “The Gardener needs to pull the roots.”

“Great, Lord! If You’re the Gardener and want to pull my weeds, go for it! It’s hard work, and I sure don’t want to do it. What’s the problem?”

After pulling up about eight of the roots, and disturbing and even uprooting plenty of flowers in the process, I was literally pouring sweat. God revealed, “Your roots go very deep. They run through every part of your life. The problem is not that the work is hard for Me; the problem is you don’t want to go through the work of having your roots ripped out because it will cause upheaval in some areas and result in pain.”

“Okay, Lord, I understand that the process is painful. How do I let You rip this stuff out? How do I do that?”

I went back and started tugging on the stump. It was still connected by two large runners. After more pulling, grunting, digging, and sweating, I decided to just chop off the last two roots and call it an evening. I had been at this for over an hour and I was tired and sore and needed a shower. I left the twisted mass of squid-like roots in the driveway so Ron could admire my work and effort when he came home.

As I was putting the tools away, God said, “There’s your trouble. You let me work in your life up to a certain point. Then you say to Me, ‘That’s good enough. I’m too tired and sore right now to finish the job. These last two roots won’t hurt anything. I’ll deal with them later.’ And you allow the last roots to grow and spread through your life again. You have not experienced victory in this area because you hold on to a remnant of root. You need to let Me remove it — ALL of it.”

Way easier said than done. I actually wrote the preceding message four years ago and I have to admit that like most weeds, this personal issue continues to come back in an attempt to overrun what’s beautiful in my life. Anyone else out there hacking at killer roots?

Ode to Dad

We celebrated my dad’s 71^st birthday this week. (Gosh, it seems like just yesterday he had hair! Where did the time go?)

After visiting one of his favorite senior discount establishments (Sizzler), we returned to my parents’ house to celebrate in normal fashion – cake, ice cream, enthusiastic (albeit off-pitch) warbling of “Happy Birthday,” presents, and a friendly-but-still-competitive round of cards. (Congratulations, by the way, on winning – again.)

My dad’s a special guy. Special in a good way, that is. From him I learned that hard work pays off. That quality time with your family is more important than any toy you can buy. That taking a breath before you do something in anger is a seriously good idea. That you can begin as an underdog and finish a hero.

Thanks, Dad. Thanks for staying up to play Monopoly and Risk with us until 2am on Christmas vacations even though you had to get up and go to work the next day. Thanks for knowing what to say when I had my first (and second) car accidents. Thanks for the vacation adventures. Thanks for being mischievous and having an excellent sense of humor. And thanks for not killing us when my brother and I broke the couch. Seriously.

Sometimes riding a bike is not so simple…

I was reading an illustration this week about a little girl who claims her new bike is broken because “every time I ride it, it falls down!”

Cute.

It got me to thinking, though. How many things in our lives do we consider broken because they aren’t doing what we want them to do?

Do you think your job is broke? Or your marriage? Or your life?

Maybe it’s time to realize that we need to take responsibility for some of the obstacles in our lives. If my bike is falling down all the time, maybe I need to find someone to teach me the right way to ride.  I can’t just sit on the bike and expect it to take me where I want to go – I need to put some effort into the process myself – be it reading the owner’s manual, or finding a mentor, or just doing some good old bike maintenance.