Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Tow Truck
My life these days is a lot about remembering and forgetting. Remembering things at random, forgetting things at will.
Yesterday I remembered the time when I nearly fell asleep at the wheel driving across I-10 in the middle of the night. I had done all I could do to keep myself alert. Windows down. A/C and radio blasting. Talking to myself. But I was fading and had a long trip down I-95 waiting for me if ever I made it there.
I could hardly keep my eyes open, and there was nowhere safe to stop. I was very afraid.
As a last, desperate measure I tucked myself in behind an 18 wheeler. I had the notion that if I could just stay focused on him...let him keep sight of me in his mirrors...that I could use his steady pace and awareness to get me across the long, dark interstate.
At first, the trucker seemed perplexed. Usually people wanted to get out from behind the big rig. He'd try to let me pass, but I just kept myself tucked in behind. Allowing him to tow me along the lonely road. Finally, he seemed content to just let me settle in behind him, and we drove along together in the dark.
When we reached the more brightly lit junction to I-95, I was more alert. Rejuvenated by the energy of having made it through the frightening passage. The trucker, seeming to have realized that I was alone and dependent on him back there in the dark, honked and gave me a thumbs up as we passed one another on the ramp to I-95. I made it the rest of the way home without incident.
That was a dangerous and frightening passage, but I was so grateful to God for having sent me a tow truck. I think we often do not realize in life that we are all perpetually positioned to function as both the tow truck and the weary driver on the dark road.
Do you know who is following behind you just trying to stay alive? Do you look for the 18 wheelers to help get you across a dark passage? God's plan is that we help one another in these ways.
Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 says,
Yesterday I remembered the time when I nearly fell asleep at the wheel driving across I-10 in the middle of the night. I had done all I could do to keep myself alert. Windows down. A/C and radio blasting. Talking to myself. But I was fading and had a long trip down I-95 waiting for me if ever I made it there.
I could hardly keep my eyes open, and there was nowhere safe to stop. I was very afraid.
As a last, desperate measure I tucked myself in behind an 18 wheeler. I had the notion that if I could just stay focused on him...let him keep sight of me in his mirrors...that I could use his steady pace and awareness to get me across the long, dark interstate.
At first, the trucker seemed perplexed. Usually people wanted to get out from behind the big rig. He'd try to let me pass, but I just kept myself tucked in behind. Allowing him to tow me along the lonely road. Finally, he seemed content to just let me settle in behind him, and we drove along together in the dark.
When we reached the more brightly lit junction to I-95, I was more alert. Rejuvenated by the energy of having made it through the frightening passage. The trucker, seeming to have realized that I was alone and dependent on him back there in the dark, honked and gave me a thumbs up as we passed one another on the ramp to I-95. I made it the rest of the way home without incident.
That was a dangerous and frightening passage, but I was so grateful to God for having sent me a tow truck. I think we often do not realize in life that we are all perpetually positioned to function as both the tow truck and the weary driver on the dark road.
Do you know who is following behind you just trying to stay alive? Do you look for the 18 wheelers to help get you across a dark passage? God's plan is that we help one another in these ways.
Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 says,
9 Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
12 Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
With God as the unbreakable third strand, we can tow and be towed and always be guaranteed of making it safely to the next junction. But sometimes we are slow to let ourselves depend upon one another, or to realize how much the person behind us needs help. Be careful out there. Pay attention on the road.
because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
12 Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
With God as the unbreakable third strand, we can tow and be towed and always be guaranteed of making it safely to the next junction. But sometimes we are slow to let ourselves depend upon one another, or to realize how much the person behind us needs help. Be careful out there. Pay attention on the road.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
"Good night, Mother Dear."
Good night, Mother Bear. (Adding...I love you.)
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Scats I Have Smelled
A young friend/daughter was recently lamenting the peculiar dating behaviors she's encountered during her limited years of experience with the male species. "What," she wondered aloud, "is a girl to do?"
Three words suffice in response...
However, I also recalled having once before blogged upon the subject of using ye olde feminine intuition to sniff out the bad dogs before they come into the yard.
I am republishing here for the benefit of young gals everywhere who are still learning to trust and respond to their intuition.
Reflecting back on this chance encounter as you ride home in your limo, you says you to your own self:
With one last spray of acidic wit, you excuse yourself from further communication. How he admires your self-control, your kandor, your integrity...Blah, blah, blah......And there it is, that warm, familiar aroma...
The end.
Three words suffice in response...
DUMP HIS BUTT!!!
However, I also recalled having once before blogged upon the subject of using ye olde feminine intuition to sniff out the bad dogs before they come into the yard.
I am republishing here for the benefit of young gals everywhere who are still learning to trust and respond to their intuition.
This one's for all the ladies in the house...
Don'tchya love it when your olfactory system kicks into gear and proves what a divinely intuitive person you are? Like, for example, when you're out somewhere without your spouse, and some very charming fella comes slinking over for a little chit chat. It's all good. No harm in a little chit chat. You behave like a perfect lady and he is the perfect gentlemen. At the end of the night it's the "nice to have met you, buona serra" script. The end...right? Nope!
Reflecting back on this chance encounter as you ride home in your limo, you says you to your own self:
My, what a cute fella, and how good it is to be reassured that there are still gentlemen in the world.
Upon arriving home, you are flattered-but-flummoxed to find that the gentleman has magically acquired your contact information from a friend and used it to send you the most polite of notes. What a pleasure it was to meet you...and stuff like that there.
Hmmm...you think to yourself. A pleasure...yes, but I wonder...well...it's probably all fine...maybe...
Later you check it out with your friend. No need to be suspicious. A gentleman for sure. A right respectable fella who'll be a nice friend. It's all good.
But each day thereafter, that stray dog aroma begins to waft your way. Charming little messages appear. There's flattery and suggestions that one brief encounter was sufficient to determine your spectacular divinity and all around wonderfulness.True enough in theory but...
Hmmm...you think...really? Seems sorta sudden if you ask me. After all, I have been known to curse like a sailor and fail to shave my legs. True, I am delightful, but I'm much too complex and far too "raw" to be so very much admired after only a couple of hours. And what's with such a charming fella being so...charming...? Too charming perhaps. And now that I think of it...I did say I had a husband waiting for me at home didn't I? Well, I'll just straighten this all out right now...
So off you go to assure yourself that such sudden admiration is the harmless fancy of a single man in search of divine happiness. Oh the poor slob, you think. What a pity I'm taken, but he's a charming fella. There'll be some sweet gal for him somewhere.
And then there it is again...that faint scent of barnyard potpourri...B---S---...doggy doo...something that rises up foul from the rear.
A bit of simple detective work followed by a direct inquiry confirms what you already knew you smelled...Mssr. Charming is married. But of course he is terribly unhappy...has been "all but divorced for years," and it is so much worse for him now because he's met you...and you are so special...so unique...so....divine. <INSERT GAG & BARF HERE>
NOT EVEN ORIGINAL!!!
With one last spray of acidic wit, you excuse yourself from further communication. How he admires your self-control, your kandor, your integrity...Blah, blah, blah......And there it is, that warm, familiar aroma...
Ahhh yes, the only thing left now is to find out if you're smelling bullsh** or chickensh**...You flip a coin...Chicken it is!
You say to Mssr. Charming, perhaps if you are in such distress I could call you an attorney, a priest, a shrink, or a hitman. You must get help and relieve yourself of this anguish. It's clearly too painful for you to go on another day in this condition.
And with that the chicken clucks a few clucks of thanks for your concern and no doubt begins pecking the ground for fresh worms. You are quite sure that you'll not be stepping in his mess again. And with that you smile knowingly to yourself as you prove once again how ridiculously easy it is to know the critters by their scats.
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