Hallowed days, Christmas Eve and Easter are both treasures and booby prizes of ministry. They are the days most hoped for and most feared. This year I wanted to leave town as soon as worship ended, knowing that I would be tired, but glad to get away as soon as the festivities were done.
I left the office at lunch, wanting to get a nap, finish packing, and shower before returning to church. As I ate, a torrential downpour began outside. I was glad for the rain and impressed by the volume of water. It occurred to me that I should probably check the basement because of the amount of rain that fell in such a short amount of time. As I went downstairs, I could see the reflection of light in water... a strange sight inside one's house... Much to my dismay, puddles had appeared at the end of rivers flowing from the edges of the basement walls. I grabbed a mop and industriously thought that I still might be able to get the water up with time to take a nap. But the water kept coming. I mopped a little more. The water kept coming. So I left the house to buy a wet vac. 3 hours, 30 gallons, and no nap later, I returned to church. Merry Christmas. Wasn't I in a great mood to sing "Gloria!"?!
Life's lesson learned: some messes are bigger than mops.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
superstar girls
I will never be one. I do it in my own way, but I will never truly be one. You know, the ones who always look amazing. The ones whose kids are always well-behaved. The ones whose hair is always perfect, whose husband is cute and sweet, and whose house is well decorated. The ones who put the almost unnoticed final touches on things. They are the ones that are still beautiful despite their imperfections. They are the REAL popular girls. The cool kids of adulthood.
Today my inadequacies were lifted up in the small form of a beautiful, iridescent orange ribbon. A magazine was left on my desk with an article marked for my perusal. Instead of the post-it that I would have left, instead of a dog-eared page or a smashed-open spine, there was a magical, shimmery, orange ribbon marking the spot. Left in such a casual way that it just happened to be within arm's length when the reader decided to send it my way. But left in such a way that it is clearly an intentional inclusion of loveliness and speciality into the day. It was charming. I loved it.
But even as I loved it, I wondered why I didn't choose to add a certain finesse to similar, unimportant things. Then social conditioning around gender caught up to me; I began to ponder my failures as a Southern woman. How did I not learn this? Why isn't this an innate quality?
Even though I don't have special scrap ribbons for packages and letters, I try to bring my own je ne sais quoi to life. I cry with friends, am an unabashedly loud singer, ask hard questions, and refuse to accept the status quo. It may not be glamorous, but that's me.
Today my inadequacies were lifted up in the small form of a beautiful, iridescent orange ribbon. A magazine was left on my desk with an article marked for my perusal. Instead of the post-it that I would have left, instead of a dog-eared page or a smashed-open spine, there was a magical, shimmery, orange ribbon marking the spot. Left in such a casual way that it just happened to be within arm's length when the reader decided to send it my way. But left in such a way that it is clearly an intentional inclusion of loveliness and speciality into the day. It was charming. I loved it.
But even as I loved it, I wondered why I didn't choose to add a certain finesse to similar, unimportant things. Then social conditioning around gender caught up to me; I began to ponder my failures as a Southern woman. How did I not learn this? Why isn't this an innate quality?
Even though I don't have special scrap ribbons for packages and letters, I try to bring my own je ne sais quoi to life. I cry with friends, am an unabashedly loud singer, ask hard questions, and refuse to accept the status quo. It may not be glamorous, but that's me.
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