little bit o’ humor: bubba August 27, 2006

Bubba was bragging to his boss one day, “You know, I know everyone there is to know. Just name someone, anyone, and I know them.”

Tired of his boasting, his boss called his bluff, “OK, Bubba how about Tom Cruise?”

“Sure, yes, Tom and I are old friends, and I can prove it. ” So Bubba and his boss fly out to Hollywood and knock on Tom Cruise’s door, and sure enough, Tom Cruise, shouts, “Bubba! Great to see you! You and your friend come right in and join me for lunch!”

Although impressed, Bubba’s boss is still skeptical. After they leave Cruise’s house, he tells Bubba that he thinks Bubba’s knowing Cruise was just lucky.

“No, no, just name anyone else,” Bubba says.

“President Bush,” his boss quickly retorts.

“Yes,” Bubba says, “I know him, let’s fly out to Washington.”

And off they go. At the White House, Bush spots Bubba on the tour and motions him and his boss over, saying, “Bubba, what a surprise, I was just on my way to a meeting, but you and your friend come on in and let’s have a cup of coffee first and catch up.”

Well, the boss is very shaken by now, but still not totally convinced.

After they leave the White house grounds, he expresses his doubts to Bubba, who again implores him to name anyone else.

“The Pope,” his boss replies. “Sure!” says Bubba.

“My folks are from Poland, and I’ve known the Pope a long time.”

So off they fly to Rome. Bubba and his boss are assembled with the masses in Vatican Square when Bubba says, “This will never work. I can’t catch the Pope’s eye among all these people. Tell you what, I know all the guards so let me just go upstairs and I’ll come out on the balcony with the Pope.” And he disappears into the crowd headed toward the Vatican. Sure enough, half an hour later Bubba emerges with the Pope on the balcony. But by the time Bubba returns, he finds that his boss has had a heart attack and is surrounded by paramedics.

Working his way to his boss’ side, Bubba asks him, “What happened?” His boss looks up and says, “I was doing fine until you and the Pope came out on the balcony and the man next to me said, “Who’s that on the balcony with Bubba?”

muprhy’s law: ballance’s law of relativity August 20, 2006

how long a minute is depends on which side of the bathroom door you’re on.

murphy’s law: herblock’s law August 20, 2006

if it’s good, they discontinue it.

murphy’s law: beryl’s law August 20, 2006

the Consumer Report article on the item will come out a week after you’ve made your purchase.

corollaries

• the one you bought will be rated “unacceptable.”
• the one you almost bought will be rated “best buy.”

8.20.06: quotation of the day August 20, 2006

O God, who will get in their faces and give them something to live for? they waste their days in a trance of insignificance, trying to look cool or talk cool or walk cool. they don’t have a clue what cool is. . . of course, we don’t use the word cool to describe true greatness. it is a small word. that’s the point. it’s cheap. and it’s what millions of young people live for. who confronts them with urgency and tears? who pleads with them not to waste their lives? who takes them by the collar, so to speak, and loves them enough to show them a life so radical and so real and so costly and Christ-saturated that they feel the emptiness and triviality of their cd collection and their pointless conversations about passing celebrities? who will waken what lies latent in their souls, untapped—a longing not to waste their lives?

john piper

random thought:”life comes at you fast.” August 20, 2006

(and then there’s nationwide.)

i love their new commercial. the husband is trying out this miscellaneous light switch in the garage and saying, “honey, watch. see what this does.” (of course she is not paying attention . . .)

he starts flipping it. “off. on. off. on.”
apparently nothing is happening.
then a camera shot of the street appears and you realize that the little switch controls the garage door opener to the house next door and this poor old woman’s car is getting smashed in as she is pulling out.

it’s random.

it’s hilarious.

and then the plug comes: “life comes at you fast.”

it’s true.

you are going along, living your life. enjoying fellowship with friends over coffee. complaining about gas prices and traffic. (pulling out of your garage.) everyday things.

then life comes at you fast—much faster than you would like.

yesterday and today were above the speed limit i would prefer for my life.

it all started yesterday morning. i was sitting in a meeting and halfway through, my phone started vibrating. saw it was from home. left a voicemail.

when the meeting was over and i listened to the message, i heard my mom’s faltering voice, saying that my dad was in an accident.

“life comes at you fast.”

anyone who is reading this probably knows how i react to immediate stress. i don’t burst into tears. i don’t sob. i don’t go running around like a chicken with my head chopped off. i get quiet. i get tense. and i actually get serious.

after getting a hold of my mother, and getting my questions answered, and realizing that dad–despite the massive collision, major soreness, and an irregular heartbeat–would be fine, a bit of shakiness stepped in. it’s the shakiness that comes when you realize that a few seconds earlier in the intersection, or a few inches closer to the engine, or a few more miles on the speedometer could have claimed the life of my father.

a lot of the friends that i have say they have a love/hate relationship with their dad . . .

not me. there really is very little of the “hate” part between us. (now, do i agree with everything he does? um, no. do i think that he can be over-protective. um, yes. do i think that he can be extreme at times? um, yes. but would i change him for anything in the world? um . . . NO. )

after a day of meetings, i finally went home. i walked in, sat down in the chair, and sighed–a rather loud sigh. and my dad looked at me and said, “i bet i’ve had a harder day than you have.” and i laughed, and said that he was probably right.

we settled in for the night. i slept in this morning.

life seemed to revert back to its normal speed.

dad actually felt well enough to go to work, so he did– in my car. mom was out, running errands all day. melissa was at bible quiz. i was at home, pondering. i cleaned an occasional dish.

we had hamburgers for dinner. and german potato salad. (my mom makes the best potato salad.) besides talking about how the van was going to be replaced and how many flaws the insurance system has (i’ll change that when i’m a lawyer . . . ), all was back in the normal routine.

then dad went out to the backyard to get something.

“life comes at you fast.”

next thing i know, dad is standing at the door, telling me to get the bees off of his back. apparently, he walked over a yellow jackets nest and they started swarming. bee stings all over.

dad, before this, was never allergic to bees. but there were too many all at once. he started weazing, started swelling, couldn’t breathe. trying to decide if there should be an emergency room run when my mom took his pulse and it was racing (sign of shock). i think the hardest thing was seeing him look scared– he never looks scared.

in the end, the medication worked. he’s still swollen, but at least he’s breathing (also has a prescription for epi-pens). i knew he would be fine when he wondered outloud which plague was coming next. (i told him i was moving out if it came to the first-born death one. my mom wouldn’t stand for blood over a doorpost . . . i’d be a goner. )

in somewhat of a stressful moment (see previous paragraph for description of “stephanie panic”), while we were waiting for the medicine to work, i asked a friend to pray for us. knowing what we went through the day before, the response was “man, God is really at work in your family.”

my instant response? umm . . . He can stop now. not the most spiritual response, i know. and i really don’t desire for God to cease working. but can’t He space it out a little? or make it not so intense? or perhaps use less-loved people to allow me to learn a lesson?

you know what i learned this weekend?

scares make you start to think about the major concepts of life and death– how our life is, indeed, a vapor. something so small. so short. yet somehow, this vapor is supposed to have a purpose. it is assigned with a reason. this vapor cannot exist without having an effect on something or someone.

“for none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.”

who has me here has everything to do with who i live for.

if i were in an accident, if i wasn’t promised tomorrow (i’m not), if this breath is my last, what impact would be left behind? can i honestly say that this vapor, my life, was used to its potential for God’s glory?

we always say that if it came down to it, we would die for our Savior. how many of us lie through our teeth . . . can we honestly say that we would die for Someone that we don’t even try to live for?
“for whether we live, we live unto the Lord . . .”

(inhale.)
“and whether we die, we die unto the Lord.”

(exhale.)

“whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.”

“life comes at you fast.”

(and then it’s gone.)

who has me here has everything to do with who i live for.

it’s time for me to live like i’m not living for myself. (and for once, may my actions be louder than my words.)

8.19.06: quotation of the day August 19, 2006

who you are speaks so loudly, i can’t hear what you are saying.

emerson

random happening: scaly spawn of satan August 12, 2006

(originally written 6.03.05)
THE REVENGE OF THE FISHIE (a drama based on real life)

personal note: i think it all started when i was little–that was when my love for fish-taunting began. although i have had many, many entertaining encounters at a fish’s expense, this time . . . it was different.

i was at my cousin’s house, and they have a rather large, multi-galloned tank positioned in their living room. inside live two . . . rather large . . . fishies (they could be piranhas for all i know . . . ).

i watched them for 2.5656 seconds. they swam to one side of the tank. then the other. a black one peered at me from behind a castle, the other from an artificial, plastic-looking plant.

then the temptation hit.

i tried to fight it. i thought to myself “self, you are NOT six years old at a pet store anymore!”

but alas, the temptation was strong. i was weak. (i succumbed <sob> . . . i confess . . .)

i knew they were hungry. but i decided to have a bit o’fun. (note: fun with hungry fishes= never good.)

i lifted the lid.

with a hand a good FOOT above the water level, i proceeded to rub my fingers together (admittely, in a similar motion that fish-feeding fingers make . . . )

the fish gathered at the surface of the water, licking their lips. (okay, so fish don’t technically have lips . . . and i don’t think they have tongues either, but you get the point.) then . . .

WHAMO!!!

the black one–whose name, if i’m not mistaken, is Spawn of Satan (if it isn’t, it should be . . . )

FLIES OUT OF THE WATER!!!

(and bounces off . . . weeeell . . . me.)

he proceeds to make his descent and begins flapping wildly all over the floor.

my sister screams.

my cousins yells.

my shirt has the Mark of the Fish on it.

so the whole scenario–which lasted for a good solid minute–went something like this . . .

SISTER: (really high-pitched . . . like the dogs from across the street began barking . . . ) AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

COUSIN: (running frantically to catch the flopping, gilled demon) HE CAN’T BREATHE! HE CAN’T BREATHE!

ME: (silently picking the fish cells off of my shirt) . . . so?

i realized several things at that moment.

1) my sister could dance. who knew?

2) my cousin is an animal rights’ activist.

3) i don’t like to smell fishy.

so, after a minute of screaming, barking, and futile fish-grabbing attempts, Spawn made it back into the tank.

THE REVENGE OF THE FISHIE comes to a close.

the credits start rolling.

but upon sitting on the couch, having patted my wetspot on the shirt, i had the funny feeling i was being watched.

he was looking at me with a spiteful, non-blinking eye. his fins were twitching at me in a rather threatening manner . . .

when God weeps August 12, 2006

(why our sufferings matter to the Almighty)

the face that moses had begged to see–was forbidden to see–was slapped bloody (exodus 33:19-20). the thorns that God had sent to curse the earth’s rebellion now twisted around his own brow . . .

“on your back with you!” one raises a mallet to sink in the spike. but the soldier’s heart must continue pumping as he readies the prisoner’s wrist. someone must sustain the solder’s life minute by minute, for no man has this power on his own. who supplies breath to his lungs? who gives energy to his cells? who holds his molecules together? only by the Son do “all things hold together” (colossians 1:17). the victim wills that the soldier live on– he grants the warrior’s continues existence . . .
as the man swings, the Son recalls how he and the Father first designed the meisal nerve of the human forearm–the sensations it would be capable of. the design proves flawless–the nerves perform exquisitely. “up you go!” they lift the cross. God is on display in his underwear and can scarcely breathe.

but these pains are a mere warm-up to his other and growing dread. he begins to feel a foreign sensation. somewhere during this day an unearthly foul odor began to waft, not around his nose, but his heart. he feels dirty. human wickedness starts to crawl upon his spotless being–the living excrement from our souls. the apple of his Father’s eye turns brown with rot.

His Father! He must face his Father like this!

from heaven the Father now rouses himself like a lion disturbed, shakes his mane, and roars against the shriveling remnant of a man hanging on a cross. never has the Son seen the Father look at him so, never felt even the least of his hot breath. but the roar shakes the unseen world and darkens the visible sky. the Son does not recognize these eyes.

“Son of Man! why have you behaved so? you have cheated, lusted, stolen, gossiped–murdered, envied, hated, lied. you have cursed, robbed, overspent, overeaten–fornicated, disobeyed, embezzled, and blasphemed. oh, the duties you have shirked, the children you have abandoned! who has ever so ignored the poor, so played the coward, so belittled my name? have you ever held your razor tongue? what a self-righteous, pitiful drunk–you, who molest young boys, peddle killer drugs, travel in cliques, and mock your parents. who gave you the boldness to rig elections, foment revolutions, torture animals, and worship demons? does the list never end! splitting families, raping virgins, acting smugly, playing the pimp–buying politicians, practicing exhortation, filming pornography, accepting bribes. you have burned down buildings, perfected terrorist tactics, founded false religions, traded in slaves–relishing each morsel and bragging about it all. i hate, loathe these things in you! disgust for everything about you consumes me! can you not feel my wrath?”

of course, the Son is innocent. he is blamelessness itself. the Father knows this. but the divine pair have an agreement, and the unthinkable must now take place.

Jesus will be treated as if personally responsible for every sin ever committed.

the Father watches as his heart’s treasure, the mirror-image of himself, sinks drowning into raw, liquid sin. Jehovah’s stored rage against humankind from every century explodes in a single direction.

“Father! Father! Why have you forsaken me?!”

but heaven stops its ears. the Sons stares up at the One who cannot, who will not, reach down or reply.

the Trinity had planned it. the Son endured it. the Spirit enabled him. the Father rejected the Son whom he loved. Jesus, the God-man from Nazareth, perished. the Father accepted his sacrifice for sin and was satisfied.

the Rescue was accomplished.

from When God Weeps: Why our Sufferings Matter to the Almighty by Joni Eareckson Tada and Rev. Steve Estes

8.12.06: quotation of the day August 12, 2006

“speech both reveals and conceals the hearts of men.”

latin proverb