Surrender

Dictionary.com defines "surrender" as:  to give oneself up, as into the power of another; submit or yield.


If you've ever been involved in any sort of 12 step group, you'll find that step 3 states:  "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over the the care of God as we understood Him."  If, like me, you prefer to feel in control of your own life, you probably find the concept of surrendering rather distasteful.  The very word "surrender" tends to conjure images of soldiers on a battle field, lifting a white flag, handing over their freedom and lives to an enemy.  Or perhaps you envision the giving away of your own freedom when you consider surrendering to anyone.  


James 3:17 says:  But the wisdom from above is first of all pure. It is also peace loving, gentle at all times, and willing to yield to others. It is full of mercy and good deeds. It shows no favoritism and is always sincere. 


Perhaps the lesson in the scripture is that the surrendering of our will to God isn't at all distasteful.  Perhaps in that act of obedience we can finally realize that if God is in control we don't have to be.  Perhaps not having to be in control of all things at all times, could lift an anvil sized weight off of our collectively hunched shoulders.


Sort of like the 5 levels of grief, I've come up with the 8 levels of surrendering "it" to God:


1.  YOU can have it!  (said through clenched teeth, knowing full well that we'll take back whatever "it" is the moment it rears it's ugly head)


2.  You can have it... (said shyly, after realizing that we've taken "it" back, yet again)


3.  You CAN have it!  (said with enthusiasm, once we've decided that we in fact, DON'T want "it" back)


4.  YOU TAKE IT!  (said with tears of frustration when we've realized we've inadvertently allowed "it" to be in control yet again)


5.  You still have it, right?  (said when doubt rises up in the pits of our stomachs)


6.  You DO still have it!  (said with a smile, when something or someone reminds us that we don't have to be in charge)


7.  Ummm, God?  I think I took it back again.  (said a bit sheepishly when our controlling selves stepped in again)


8.  Whew!  I'm sure glad I don't have it anymore.  (said with a smile while sharing your story with another)


Not my usual light-hearted, find the humor in life, fare, but perhaps a bit of self actualization.  Hope ya'll don't mind too much :).


Witty quip of the day:  I give, I yield, I surrender, I submit... Uncle!!!  Try it.  It's actually quite freeing.

Pink Frosting

I have a problem.  Whew!  I admitted it!  That's step one right?  No, it's not what you're thinking.  I don't drink, I don't do drugs, I'm not a closet gambler or even a hoarder.  Admittedly, I have a tiny OCD-ish tendency with regards to my pantry and towels hanging evenly, but really it's not a problem (just ask my hubby and kids).  No, the problem that I've recently had to admit to is pink frosting.  I can't do it.  I simply cannot force myself to eat something covered in pink frosting.  It immediately causes the gag reflex to go into overdrive.

A few weeks ago I attended the birthday party of a friend's granddaughter.  My friend's daughter handmade the most adorable little piggy cupcakes much like those in the picture here.  They were so cute and they were handmade, which in my world translates to super yummy!  Except...  Pink frosting.  I kept going back to the tray intending to savor just one of those little confections and then I'd walk away trying not to allow everyone else in attendance watch my personal struggle.  I left that day having to acknowledge that I've got a problem.  With pink frosting.  I'm not kidding.  Do you suppose there's a support group for those with an aversion to unnaturally colored foods?  Did I mention I also struggle with blue M&M's?  Not the yellow, not the green, just the blue.

What bizarre food issues do you have?  Can you admit to an issue that no one else within your scope of friends and family suffers from?  Do you gag a little at the thought of something that most people love crossing your very discerning lips?  Let's chat...

PMS and the Holy Spirit?

To an online prayer group I belong to, I wrote the following:  God save me from raging hormones and pompous, arrogant city workers who believe their time is FAR more valuable than that of the assistant (that would be me) to the Executive Director of a 3 building elder care campus.  ARRRRGGGG!!!!  


Okay Holy Spirit, time to do your thing.  Zap me!  Whack me upside the head!  But please, oh please, give me the wherewithal to take a breath before I speak, cuz if I pray for strength, combined with the hormones, I'll likely turn into the Incredible Hulk - and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.  Well that, and I really don't look great in that particular shade of green.  Just sayin'. 

**meek, small voice: prayers are much appreciated right now, thanks.

PMS.  Pre-menstrual-syndrome.  Every year that passes, it just gets worse and worse.  Every year that passes, I ask the doctor "but WHY can't you just yank it all out?".  With every year that passes, the more certain I become that for 10 days a month I turn into a wholly different, not entirely human, being!  One without compassion, or patience, or control.  One whom, once crossed, instantly sees red and as a result spends an amazing amount of time apologizing to people.  Let me tell you how much THAT is so my FAVORITE thing to do.  *Deep breath*  *Deep breath* *Deep breath*

So this time (I'm a little slow to realize certain things) I had the brilliant idea to ask for prayer from those lovely folks in my prayer group.  Will it help?  Will God actually reach down, touch my head, and say "be thou FREE from PMS for all eternity"?  Who knows, but it sure made me feel better to ask.  Well, that and the iced coffee, and Simple Minds playing on Pandora, and the small salad I found in the fridge. 

Today's witty quip:  Just hand over the chocolate and no one gets hurt! 

Eat, Pray, Blog - I mean Love

I recently watched Eat, Pray, Love. No, I mean I REALLY watched Eat, Pray, Love. In fact, I felt I had to view it a second time immediately after the first.

First I want to say (before the emails come in), no I’m not converting to any sort of Eastern religion, yes I’m still a full-fledged Christian, and no, I’m not running off on a sojourn to countries far, far way. Although, if anyone knows how I can continue to feed my family whilst touring Greece, I’m open to suggestion.

Secondly, I would like to impart the following: If you haven’t watched this movie, do so. Ignore the blatant attempt to convert you to Hindu-type religion. Rather, insert Jesus Christ into the picture. In other words, as Julia Roberts is being taught meditation and prayer, see yourself mediating on Christ instead of on Buddha or a Guru. Meditate on the only One to have died for our salvation. Mediate on God and his unimaginable love for ALL of us. Meditate on the challenges in our lives, and thank God for them. A thought to ponder: if we weren’t exactly where God intended us to be, we likely wouldn’t have the blessings in our lives either.

Here’s what I occurred to me while watching Eat, Pray, Love:

1. Eat. I’ve eaten myself into oblivion. That might be overstating a bit, but most certainly I’ve eaten myself into poor health. I’ve allowed food to be a god of sorts. I’ve begun fasting and praying that the “Eat” portion of my journey has been a prominent item long enough. So for me, “Eat” means whole and healthy as opposed to gluttony and excess.

2. Pray. My prayer life has been sporadic at best. The “Pray” portion of my journey suddenly became a joy I didn't realize existed as I’ve embarked on a mission of fasting and relying on God for my sustenance. I find myself smiling when I pray instead of frowning and trying to find the right words. The words simply flow now from somewhere within.

3. Love. I’ve allowed the challenges in my life to overshadow my joy, and I’d forgotten that “love” is so much more than an emotion. “Love” is a verb. An action word. What that means in my crazy world, is that I need to show my love to my God, my husband, my children, and to myself.

Witty quip of the day: Yes, I’m off of my soapbox. No, I can’t be talked out of my journey. Yes, my love goes out to you all. Cheers!

I'm actually speechless...

Thursday pic-a-pic

Today's witty quip:  Brings new meaning to the term "what-up hooker?!?", doesn't it?

Yaaaawwwn

You may remember my friend "Jane" who manages a low income housing complex and whose tenants keep her on her toes.  Case in point:  the privately paid housekeeper (paid for by the tenant's family) who poked her head into Jane's office the other day to advise that she was on site to clean Mrs. X's apartment and who then announced that she hadn't slept well the night before and would Jane mind if she (the housekeeper) took a "little nap" on the sofa in the reception area.  Jane's response was something along the lines of - awkward pause - "no, you may not sleep in our reception area!" 

People genuinely never cease to shock and amaze me.  I really can't explain why!  I've seen some crazy things in my lifetime, had the distinct "pleasure" of knowing all sorts of people both savory and unsavory, if you will, and yet whenever someone comes onto my radar with what would seem to be a complete lack of couth and social grace, I'm still astonished.  I'm still taken aback.  Clearly I need to lower my expectations of humanity as a whole.  I have this innate belief (which is evidently a tad skewed) that most people are decent, hard working, willing to lend a helping hand, and would never deliberately act in a manner that would be considered by most of society, as inappropriate.  How twisted is MY thinking?

Witty quip of the day:  you know, I think I'm a bit too sleepy to come up with anything witty, so instead I'm heading to Starbucks down the street to ask if I can nap on their sofa.  Sweet dreams!

In other news...

As a new feature, on Wednesdays I'll be posting something interesting from local or national news.  This is absolutely open to comment and I would LOVE to hear your thoughts.

In other news...

According to an article by the Associated Press; in Fort Wayne, Indiana despite the new government building being entitled Citizens Square, it will be fondly referred to by the townsfolk as the Harry Baals Government Center.  Officials, worried that the name would be ridiculed, decided not to name the building after Baals, although city spokesman Frank Suarez indicated that the city mayor simply didn't want to name the building after a person.


Per an online poll of Fort Wayne citizens, first place went to the "Harry Baals Government Center." While their second-place choice was "Thunder Dome."  Not sure which is the lesser of two evils here.

Reportedly, though his descendants pronounce their name "bales" (baylz), the former mayor pronounced his name "balls."  Any why wouldn't he?  The man's in politics and you know what they say, any publicity is good publicity.  And I'm betting that his is a name for which recognition will NEVER be an issue.

Witty quip of the day:  ummmm... it's really sorta hard to top Harry Balls, I mean, Baals.  Thoughts?

Social Networking???

Earlier this evening a girlfriend and I were pondering the do's and don't's, or perhaps the should's and should not's of social networking.  I pose the following questions to you, my faithful readers.  Is there a certain amount of etiquette reasonably expected on sites like Facebook or Twitter?  Should we simply post any thought that scrolls through our minds at any given time of the day or night with no thought whatsoever as to consequence or whether or not anyone cares to read that particular morsel?  Would we be better off considering that perhaps social networking is supposed to be for entertainment value and that our postings of how much we hate our lives and/or situations and/or partners/spouses/lovers/children/dogs/neighbors/or the crazy cat lady might be fodder better suited to an email to oh, say, a sponsor or a suicide hot line?

I realize that in cyberspace we are all allowed to be anything or anyone we choose.  We can vent, brag, conceal, deny, implore, stand on our soapboxes, lurk, swear, stalk, talk smack, speak in other tongues, berate, beg, belittle, befriend, unfriend, and give an hour by hour description of our day to day routines.  We post pictures, spread news, spread gossip, tell jokes, play pranks, say mean and awful things, or say something truly uplifting and hoist our fellow networkers on our collective shoulders and give a mighty HOO-RAH for any accomplishment whether real or imagined.  Who am I to say what's right and what's wrong when it comes to posting our inner most thoughts on the Internet for any and all who care to go looking, to see?

All of the above however; begs the point to be made that anything you post is available for ALL TO SEE.  Prospective employers, credit granters, landlords, school administrators, lawyers, doctors, police, the crazy cat lady.  I think what I'm trying to impart is before we lay ourselves bare, served up on a shiny, binary, silver platter, we might want to ask ourselves this:  would I want my kid/employer/spouse/Higher Power to read what I've written and have it forever enshrined in cyberspace?  I'd also like to pose the question to you good people, does anyone really benefit by posting passive-aggressive comments?  Really?

Witty quip of the day:  By swallowing evil words unsaid, no one has ever harmed his stomach. ~Winston Churchill

If you can't find your "stupid" button, this might do in a pinch...

Don’t make me open this can of duh…..

 
 
 
 
 
 
Contributed by "Red"... Thanks girl!

Support a friend...

A very dear friend has made the forray into blogging and I wanted to help her get her site out there.  Check it out!

Thanks mucho :)...

http://ourtwilightcorner.blogspot.com/

Guest Post - Teenaged Daughter

"Teenaged Daughter Owner's Manual"


Instructions for all those with teenage daughters or daughters who think they are teenagers or who will eventually be teenagers.

Teenager Owner's Manual.  Congratulations! You are now the proud new owner of a teenaged daughter. Please read this manual carefully, as it describes the maintenance of your new daughter, and answers important questions about your warranty (which does NOT include the right to return the product to the factory for a full refund).

IF YOU FEEL YOU HAVE RECEIVED YOUR TEENAGER IN ERROR:

To determine whether you were supposed to receive a teenaged girl, please examine your new daughter carefully. Does she:

(a) look very similar to your original daughter, only with more makeup and less clothing?

(b) refuse to acknowledge your existence on the planet Earth (except when requesting money)?

(c) Sleep in a burrow of dirty laundry?

If any of these are true, you have received the correct item.

Nice try, though.

BREAK-IN PERIOD: When you first receive your teenaged daughter, you will initially experience a high level of discomfort. Gradually, this discomfort will subside, and you will merely feel traumatized. This is the "Break-In Period," during which you are becoming accustomed to certain behaviors that will cause you concern, anxiety, and stress. Once you have adapted to these behaviors, your teenager will start acting even worse.

ACTIVATION: To activate your teenaged daughter, simply place her in the vicinity of a telephone or Instant Messenger. No further programming is required.

SHUTDOWN: Several hours after activation, you may desire to shut down your teenaged daughter. There is no way to do this.

CLEANING YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER: Having a teenaged daughter means learning the difference between the words "clean" and "neat." Teenaged daughters are very clean, because they take frequent showers that last more than an hour. They will scrub themselves with expensive, fragrant soaps which you must purchase for them because they don't like using the same kind of soap their mom and dad use. When they have completely drained the hot-water tank, they will step out and wrap themselves in every towel in the bathroom, which they will subsequently strew throughout the house. If you ask them to pick up the towels, you are confusing "clean" with "neat." Teenagers are very busy and do not have time to be neat. They expect others to pick up after them. These others are called "parents."

FEEDING YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER: Your teenaged daughter requires regular meals, which must be purchased for her at restaurants because she detests everything you eat because it is like so disgusting. She does not want you to accompany her to these restaurants, because some people might see you and like I'm sure I want my friends to see me eating dinner with my parents. Either order take-out food or just give her the money, preferably both. If you order pizza, never answer the doorbell because the delivery boy might see you and like he is so hot. Yes, your daughter's idea of an attractive man is the pizza boy.

CLOTHING YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER: Retailers make millions of dollars a year selling stylish and frankly sensible clothing which will look adorable on your daughter. If you enjoy shopping, you will love the vast selections which are available to you.

Unfortunately, your teenaged daughter wants to dress like a lap dancer. You may be able to coerce her into putting on a cute outfit before leaving the house, but by the time she walks in the schoolhouse door, she will be wearing something entirely different.

OTHER MAINTENANCE: Teenaged daughters require one of two levels of maintenance: "High," and "Ultra High." Your daughter is "Ultra High." This means that whatever you do won't be enough and whatever you try won't work.

WARRANTY: This product is not without defect because she has your genes, for goodness sake. If you think this is not fair, talk to your parents, who think it is hilarious. Your teenaged daughter will remain a teenager for as long as it takes for her to become a woman, which in her opinion has already happened and as far as you are concerned never really will. If you are dissatisfied with your teenaged daughter, well, what did you expect? In any event, your warranty does not give you your little girl back under any circumstances, except that deep down she's actually still there - you just have to look for her.

Credit goes to the following website:
www.cybersalt.org/clean-jokes/teenaged-daughter-owners-manual

Ewwww!

If you don't take the following story too seriously, I'm quite sure you'll see the humor in it.  At the very least you'll walk away semi-creeped out but with an interesting tale to share around the water cooler.  What follows is, as usual, a true story, although the names have been changed to protect the stupid.

I happen to know the manager of a low income housing complex.  This manager had to have a conversation with one of her tenants recently.  If she'd been a betting woman, she'd have laid down money on the fact that she would never have need of this type of conversation.  We'll call her Jane.  Jane called the tenant, we'll call him John, and asked him to come to her office for a meeting.  Jane started their chat off by thanking him for being conscientious of his neighbors and complying with her recent request that if he MUST watch pornographic movies, that he would turn the volume down in order to avoid his immediate neighbors hearing sounds that most people would prefer not to hear emanating from their neighbor's apartment.  She also thanked him for changing his habit of answering the door partially clothed while watching those pornographic movies, thereby keeping him from being arrested for exposing himself. 

However, Jane needed to address another situation that recently came onto her radar.  She had to explain to John that this was the one and only warning she would issue on this subject.  Because they are a subsidized housing facility (meaning government funds help in the running of the place) that she absolutely would not tolerate his hiring of prostitutes and bringing them to his apartment.  That should he be unable or unwilling to stop this behavior immediately, she would have no choice but evict him.  Now one might think that John would have been horrified, humiliated, etc, right?  Nope.  He was simply argumentative and wanted to know why he wasn't allowed to have guests in his home.  Jane explained that he could have guests any time he wanted as long as they weren't hired to "service" him. 

Did I mention that John is well over 80 years old?

Today's witty quip:  No need to thank me for the visual.  I figured if I was stuck with it, so are you.  Still a helper and a giver! 

Boys will be boys

Not long ago we spent the evening with a friend who was a framer in another life.  He shared with us stories from his construction days, regaling us with tales of his crew and a rival framing gang playing practical jokes on one another while working side by side on a mutual job site. They did such innocuous things as shooting nails via electric nail guns into the air, arcing those nails over structures at each other and gluing tiles down to the rival crew's freshly completed deck.  But really, what could possibly top walking in to the framed structure they left in pristine condition the evening before to find your saw horses have all been nailed to the ceiling joists?  Legs dangling in the air like walking through a construction themed fun house, I imagined the crew standing there, scratching their collective heads, trying to figure out how to get the darned things down.

The practical jokes came to a halt when bodily injury was threatened after the last practical joke went a tad too far.  Having used a pitch fork to retrieve a dead skunk along the side of the road, said skunk was then buried in a shallow grave of sorts in the dirt of the unfinished living room of the rival crew's structure.  Evidently it took that crew more than half the day to locate the offending smell.  The same crew was particularly unimpressed with this latest joke so having opted to re-gift the skunk, they performed the increasingly popular drive-by skunking.  This was accomplished by gathering the skunk in plastic and while sitting in the bed of a speeding pickup, swinging the skunk around and around much like a cowboy prepares to lasso a calf, then attempting to fling it through the open trailer door of their rivals' living quarters.  They missed.  Decomposing skunk remains relatively exploded along the siding of the trailer.  Mayhem definitely ensued. There may have been a high speed chase involved although no one will directly admit to it.

Witty quip of the day:  Boys will be boys.  However, they really ought not be allowed to play with power tools and skunks.