Parental warning: This blog may contain language unsuitable for younger audiences. Parental discretion is advised. Hahaha!
I have always thought the “If you give a mouse a cookie” book was very cute. And I’ve liked the books that followed.
I’ve never had a problem with mice. From time to time we’d catch one in the house, and we’d simply scoop it up and take it outside and release it into the tall grass. We’d find them in the barn if we didn’t get the lid tight on the grain, we’d scoop it up and let it go outside the barn.
When I began working in our store, I hated selling mouse traps. I should state for the record that I have no problem whatsoever selling rat traps. Rats are gross and they don’t evoke any sympathetic stirrings in me like cute little mice do. So, I hated selling mouse-traps and I would always try to get people to buy the live release traps and simply let the mice go outside. Some people would give them a try, and if they came back later for the snap traps, they always managed to do it without me seeing them.
I always try to talk people out of buying the glue-traps because they seem very cruel to me. The poison works quickly, the traps are (in most cases) an instant death, but slowly starving and dehydrating to death seems downright cruel, even for a rodent like a rat.
I’ll never forget the night that my whole family was sitting downstairs watching tv and a mouse came running out of one corner of the family room, ran out into the middle of the room, past the 2 cats who were sleeping in front of the fire, and into another corner before we caught it and put it outside. My cat Tiger opened an eye, and watched the mouse run by and couldn’t even be bothered to lift his head, much less chase the mouse. My mom’s much younger cat Phoebe didn’t even wake up. I thought the little mouse was awfully cute, and we sent it on its way, laughing about our incredibly effective mouse prevention lying by the fire.
Another important part of this story is my love of the color Cobalt Blue. It’s been my favorite color for as long as I can remember. When we got married, I got a popcorn bowl that was cobalt blue and had white popcorn kernels popping out of the side of the bowl, and it said “Popcorn” in white letters. I LOVED this bowl, and took very good care of it. One night however, it slipped in my soapy hands and hit the side of the sink and cracked. It had been discontinued and therefore I couldn’t replace it. I asked a customer of mine who does ceramics if there was a way to fix it and she said no. So I started hand-washing it only and being VERY careful with it.
Now we’ll fast forward to 2 years ago. Matt and I had been in our new home less than a year, we’d had our dog Lucie for just a couple months, and I heard a scratching in the attic one night. I told Matt about it, and he had me bring home some Decon and he put it in the attic. We thought that would solve the problem, but sadly, it didn’t.
A couple nights later, I woke up about 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning because there was all kinds of crinkling and crunching by my side of the bed. I jumped out of bed and heard scurrying. I turned on my lamp, and there was no sign of the furry menace. However, I surveyed the wreckage on the shelf of my nightstand. There, in my beloved popcorn bowl was a shredded bag of Doritos and mouse turds. I knew there was no recovering from this so I picked up my bowl, and went down to the trash can outside my garage, and bid farewell to my cobalt blue friend. I went back to bed, and fell asleep fairly quickly. About an hour later, I woke up to hear more scratching and scurrying in our room. This time Matt and I both got up and started searching for the unwanted visitor who was disturbing our rest. Again we came up almost empty handed. I didn’t find the mouse, but I did find the tattered remains of my microwavable heating pack that was full of flax seeds and had fallen on the floor after I’d used the night before. I picked it up and scooped up as many of the fallen flax seeds as I could muster without a vacuum.
We went back to bed again. Less than an hour later, we woke up again, this time the scratching and scurrying seemed to be coming from our bathroom. Again, no luck.
When our alarms went off the next morning after a largely sleepless night, my whole live and let live attitude towards mice had changed significantly. I told my husband, “I want that little bastard DEAD! And I want him dead NOW!!!”
I’m sorry to say that didn’t happen. This mouse continued to plague my house for a full month. I think that he had access to the same ACME products catalog that Tom and Jerry, and the Roadrunner had. We tracked his movements, but were always a day behind him. I opened my cupboard to get potatoes out to make dinner, and pecans came cascading out. I went through that whole cupboard and had to get rid of probably $100 worth of food and baking supplies that the damn mouse had helped himself to. Pecans, walnuts, chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, and all of my potatoes! Each night after putting Lucie to bed in the garage, Matt would set out all the traps. We had spring traps, live release traps, poison, electronic pest chasers, and finally after about 3 weeks, glue traps. The morning I woke up and found a perfect cartoonish mouse hole chewed out of the carpet on my stairs, I found myself feeling more and more accepting of glue traps.
My poor husband was hunting this mouse during his days off and after work in the evenings. He had crawled into both attics, under the house, checked all the foundation vents, and had the house pretty well sealed up. We don’t know how the mouse got in, but he was stuck, he wasn’t getting out alive.
Finally one evening while we ate dinner, Matt and his friend Dan discussed where the mouse could possibly be hiding. We determined that the only place left to check was behind the dishwasher. So after we finished dinner, I headed upstairs while the boys pulled out the dishwasher. They had armed themselves with thick leather gloves, flashlights, and I think a hammer. Now, I didn’t witness this part visually but I heard every single word. I heard the dishwasher thump and bump it’s way out, and then I heard Dan’s voice shoot up an octave as he shouted, “OH SH*T, OH SH*T, THERE IT IS!” Then I heard muffled thumps and a “Dammit!” Then I heard Lucie (who was about a 5 month old puppy at the time) start barking, and at this point I had to come downstairs to see what was going on. As I got downstairs, I heard a door slam shut.
Apparently Matt had reached into the dishwasher insulation where the PREGNANT RAT, not mouse, but pregnant rat, had made her nest. He picked up the sleeping rat and was walking away from the dishwasher with her. When he went to tighten his grip a little bit on her, she woke up, and it was ON!
She jumped out of Matt’s hands and took off into my living room. Lucie sprang into action and started chasing her. Lucie chased her right into my open pantry where Matt slammed the door, and we started formulating our next plan of attack.
We knew she was sealed in there, and that there was no way out. The guys decided that the only way to get the mouse/rat was to empty as much of the stuff out of the pantry as possible and make room for one person to go in. My pantry is a long narrow closet that goes back under the stairs, so the roof slopes down the further back you get. There are shelves built onto one wall and so there is about 18” of open space to walk in. We removed all my cleaning tools, and Lucie’s food container, and a few other odds and ends. It was sort of a bucket brigade emptying out the pantry, and when it was as empty as we could get it without taking all the food off the shelves Matt went in.
To fully understand the humor of this part, it helps if you’ve seen “Young Frankenstein.” The scene where he goes into the lab with “The Creature” and tells Igor, Inga, and Frau Bleucher, “No matter how much I scream, no matter how much I beg, do not open this door.”
So Matt goes in, and Dan shuts the door behind him, and then stands with his hand bracing the door at the top, and his foot wedged against it on the bottom. Perhaps he thought the mouse had a battering ram? Lucie stood at the door at full attention, all of her Pointer blood was in charge at that moment, and she was ramrod stiff pointing at that door. After a few seconds of silence, we heard a triumphant, “HAHA, gotcha little bastard!” Then the thumping and scuffling began in earnest. It was a full scale battle in my pantry, and we knew that only one of them would come out alive. I had a moment where I wasn’t sure which one it would be. As Matt told it, there was a minute where the mouse was soundly kicking his ass.
There was a scream, presumably from my husband, and then several scratches and thumps at the door which cause Dan to redouble his blockading efforts, while yelling, “You ok man? You need me to come in there?” Apparently the mouse was running and leaping at the pantry door, and hitting it with a pretty resounding thud. Matt yells back, “I’m ok, but tell Steph to bring me the glue traps!!” So I gather up the glue traps and Dan opens the door a crack so we can shove them in.
This next part is where I got queasy. Up until this point it had been hilarious watching these two men and a puppy fight this mouse. (I know it was a rat, but we had thought of it as a mouse for so long, that I can’t help but call it a mouse.) Matt finally managed to slow the mouse/rat down by throwing a glue trap at it. It got stuck on the tail, and the second that mouse knew she was stuck she began squealing. That was awful. Matt managed to get her stuck between 3 glue traps so she couldn’t move.
I was hiding in my laundry room with my fingers in my ears at this point because I couldn’t take the squealing. I heard Dan yelling for me, so I went out into the dining room, and he told me that Matt needed a plastic bag, and something heavy to hit it with. I start running around, and all I could find was Matt’s shoe. So I grabbed a few plastic grocery bags, and his shoe. We passed these weapons of mouse destruction into the pantry and there was some more squealing, and the crinkling of plastic, and several loud “THUMP’s”.
Then there was silence. Dan released the door, and it opened and Matt came out holding a large wad of plastic bags in one hand, and his shoe in the other. Lucie sniffed the bags and growled menacingly at the dead rat, and Matt took it out to the garbage with Lucie hot on his heels, leaping up trying to take it from him.
That night, there was much celebrating in the kingdom of Mundenville and the villagers slept peacefully for the first time in a month.
The story was retold many times, and much like a fishing story, the rat got bigger and bigger. I stopped into City Hall to pick up Matt’s paycheck and the ladies there wanted to hear my unedited version of the story because the version they heard from Dan had him casually saying, “Oh look man, there it is,” when they located it on the dishwasher.
I wish I still had the picture that was drawn on the white board in the police department. It depicted Matt dragging the rat by the tail, and the rat was bigger than him, and it was captioned, “And I killed with my bare hands.”
And that is why you shouldn’t give a mouse Doritos… Not sure exactly what would happen if you actually gave the mouse a cookie, but I do know from painful experience what will happen if you give a mouse Doritos!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Because Inquiring Minds Want to Know
I decided that I should just type this up and put it out there for everyone instead of having to explain it 90 million times a day...
This is the story of why my parents didn't name me Grace...
2 weeks ago, March 30, 2010 I was standing near the front counter talking with BJ and Taryn when a projectile in the form of Mason came hurtling into my knee. Mason likes to run straight at you and just leap, expecting that you will catch him, and then he gives you a big hug. It works well in theory, however, you need to see him coming in order for the whole "catch him" thing to work. So there I was, minding my own business, when I received a staggering blow to the side of my left knee. Mason may be a skinny kid, but even still, when his full weight collides with your knee, landing feet first, it hurts!
I hobbled around and fought back tears, but then decided that it didn't hurt bad enough to keep me from riding my little pony friend Moira that afternoon. That evening it still hurt, and it was a little bit hard to get comfortable that night. I had a doctor's appointment booked for the next afternoon already, so I decided that while she had the hood up, I'd have her check out my knee too. She pushed and pulled and turned my leg this way and that... and then determined that it was a bruised bone, and to take it easy and use ice as needed.
Ok, I can do that. I took it easy, I still limped and hobbled for several days because it was rather tender. Driving was the worst because there was no comfortable position while sitting down. Several days, in fact almost a week passed. Monday the 5th came and I was still a bit sore in the knee, and taking it easy. I was surrounded by piles of laundry that were threatening to stage a coup and take over the entire house if I didn't do something about them, so I set about tackling that project and was in the process of return a basketful of the troublemakers back to my room when disaster struck at the top of the stairwell.
I had walked/hobbled up all the stairs, all the way to the very last one, and I stepped up with my left leg first (the injured one) and as I had that forward/upward motion of stepping up with the other foot, which unfortunately was still suspended in mid-air, my left foot slipped off the step and back down the one below it. I crumpled in a heap with my left leg twisted below me and I'm honestly not sure where or how my right leg landed, but it was miraculously spared from any damage. I landed in the aforementioned heap with the basket of laundry on top of me. My first words were, "Oh great..." I knew before I moved that I was in trouble. I got up rather gingerly and felt a pain shoot up my leg from my knee to my hip. Uh-oh I thought, that can't be good.
I was right, it wasn't.
The next day, I overslept because apparently if you set your alarm for 5:30 pm, it won't go off at 5:30 am to wake you up... technology, ain't it grand? So I arrived to work 2 hours late, carrying my suitcase packed for my overnight trip to Portland with my sister. We left work about 3:00 on Tuesday, and we finally got out of Blaine shortly after 4:00.
We arrived in Portland at 9:04. We first spotted our hotel at 9:07. We finally arrived in the parking lot of our hotel at 9:42. It took us awhile to find the correct turn, and locate the (very poorly marked) driveway to the Embassy Suites. By this point, my leg is throbbing and feels like it's going to fall off.
We get checked in, and I go downstairs to ask for a plastic bag that I can put ice in to ice my leg before bed. The nice ladies at the front desk, both named Julia (Kinda weird, just sayin') gave me a plastic laundry bag. It's drawstring, it's fairly sturdy, sounds perfect. So I shuffled and hobbled back to the elevator and up to my floor, located the ice machine, only making 1 wrong turn. (It should be obvious by now that my sister and I are both directionally challenged.) I fill my bag with a suitable amount of ice, go back to my room, put on my jammies, and lay down with the ice on my leg.
I'm laying there chilling my leg, sipping some wine, and enjoying some tv when I realize that the laundry bag they have given me has perforations in it. So, I'm sitting there with a bag of ice that is slowly melting as it sits at room temperature, and the ice level is past the level where the holes are. So that effectively killed my enjoyment of icing my leg, because then all I could think about was "When was it going to start leaking on me?" So I dumped the ice out, and tried to get comfortable and fell asleep.
The next morning I got up, and proceeded to sit in a class for 8 hours, and then get back in the car for another 6 hours. I got home and was in SO much pain that I could barely see straight. So the next morning I gave in and called the dr's office again to have them check me out and make sure that I didn't really mess myself up too badly.
For the second time in a week I found myself under the paper sheet while my leg was pushed, pulled, twisted, and turned, this time with far more pain involved. The Dr. used a lot of words like "inflammation" "tearing" "Menial" "Quad" and my personal favorite, "Creptis" (sp?) which to me sounded like "decrepit" and I thought, "Oh great, I'm the Crypt Keeper!" So he prescribed ibuprofen and Darvocet (which I love!!!) and physical therapy.
So now I've got 2 Dr's appointments, 2 physical therapy appointments, and 1 chiropractor's appointment under my belt with 2 more physical therapy, a massage, and a chiropractor's appointment all booked for next week.
Ummmm.... I'll take one of those protective bubbles, please. Do they come in pink?
This is the story of why my parents didn't name me Grace...
2 weeks ago, March 30, 2010 I was standing near the front counter talking with BJ and Taryn when a projectile in the form of Mason came hurtling into my knee. Mason likes to run straight at you and just leap, expecting that you will catch him, and then he gives you a big hug. It works well in theory, however, you need to see him coming in order for the whole "catch him" thing to work. So there I was, minding my own business, when I received a staggering blow to the side of my left knee. Mason may be a skinny kid, but even still, when his full weight collides with your knee, landing feet first, it hurts!
I hobbled around and fought back tears, but then decided that it didn't hurt bad enough to keep me from riding my little pony friend Moira that afternoon. That evening it still hurt, and it was a little bit hard to get comfortable that night. I had a doctor's appointment booked for the next afternoon already, so I decided that while she had the hood up, I'd have her check out my knee too. She pushed and pulled and turned my leg this way and that... and then determined that it was a bruised bone, and to take it easy and use ice as needed.
Ok, I can do that. I took it easy, I still limped and hobbled for several days because it was rather tender. Driving was the worst because there was no comfortable position while sitting down. Several days, in fact almost a week passed. Monday the 5th came and I was still a bit sore in the knee, and taking it easy. I was surrounded by piles of laundry that were threatening to stage a coup and take over the entire house if I didn't do something about them, so I set about tackling that project and was in the process of return a basketful of the troublemakers back to my room when disaster struck at the top of the stairwell.
I had walked/hobbled up all the stairs, all the way to the very last one, and I stepped up with my left leg first (the injured one) and as I had that forward/upward motion of stepping up with the other foot, which unfortunately was still suspended in mid-air, my left foot slipped off the step and back down the one below it. I crumpled in a heap with my left leg twisted below me and I'm honestly not sure where or how my right leg landed, but it was miraculously spared from any damage. I landed in the aforementioned heap with the basket of laundry on top of me. My first words were, "Oh great..." I knew before I moved that I was in trouble. I got up rather gingerly and felt a pain shoot up my leg from my knee to my hip. Uh-oh I thought, that can't be good.
I was right, it wasn't.
The next day, I overslept because apparently if you set your alarm for 5:30 pm, it won't go off at 5:30 am to wake you up... technology, ain't it grand? So I arrived to work 2 hours late, carrying my suitcase packed for my overnight trip to Portland with my sister. We left work about 3:00 on Tuesday, and we finally got out of Blaine shortly after 4:00.
We arrived in Portland at 9:04. We first spotted our hotel at 9:07. We finally arrived in the parking lot of our hotel at 9:42. It took us awhile to find the correct turn, and locate the (very poorly marked) driveway to the Embassy Suites. By this point, my leg is throbbing and feels like it's going to fall off.
We get checked in, and I go downstairs to ask for a plastic bag that I can put ice in to ice my leg before bed. The nice ladies at the front desk, both named Julia (Kinda weird, just sayin') gave me a plastic laundry bag. It's drawstring, it's fairly sturdy, sounds perfect. So I shuffled and hobbled back to the elevator and up to my floor, located the ice machine, only making 1 wrong turn. (It should be obvious by now that my sister and I are both directionally challenged.) I fill my bag with a suitable amount of ice, go back to my room, put on my jammies, and lay down with the ice on my leg.
I'm laying there chilling my leg, sipping some wine, and enjoying some tv when I realize that the laundry bag they have given me has perforations in it. So, I'm sitting there with a bag of ice that is slowly melting as it sits at room temperature, and the ice level is past the level where the holes are. So that effectively killed my enjoyment of icing my leg, because then all I could think about was "When was it going to start leaking on me?" So I dumped the ice out, and tried to get comfortable and fell asleep.
The next morning I got up, and proceeded to sit in a class for 8 hours, and then get back in the car for another 6 hours. I got home and was in SO much pain that I could barely see straight. So the next morning I gave in and called the dr's office again to have them check me out and make sure that I didn't really mess myself up too badly.
For the second time in a week I found myself under the paper sheet while my leg was pushed, pulled, twisted, and turned, this time with far more pain involved. The Dr. used a lot of words like "inflammation" "tearing" "Menial" "Quad" and my personal favorite, "Creptis" (sp?) which to me sounded like "decrepit" and I thought, "Oh great, I'm the Crypt Keeper!" So he prescribed ibuprofen and Darvocet (which I love!!!) and physical therapy.
So now I've got 2 Dr's appointments, 2 physical therapy appointments, and 1 chiropractor's appointment under my belt with 2 more physical therapy, a massage, and a chiropractor's appointment all booked for next week.
Ummmm.... I'll take one of those protective bubbles, please. Do they come in pink?
Next stop… Driver’s Ed!
Now I am not a perfect driver. I will never profess to be a perfect driver. BUT I can’t believe how many people out there have absolutely no clue how to drive!!! I drive a minimum of 1 hour per day. During this time I witness some truly astonishing things.
Can someone explain to me why people think it is necessary when making a left turn to pull into the opposite lane, the lane that ONCOMING traffic will be travelling in, and drive in that lane for several hundred yards to turn into a driveway? Now here is where I wish I could add illustrations to this, but sadly I can’t. So I will attempt to paint a verbal/visual picture. When I go to make a left-hand turn, I turn on my signal the appropriate distance before my turn, and then I slow down and when I am just about to the designated spot for my turn, I begin turning my steering wheel in order to make a 90° turn.
It’s been a lot of years since I took driver’s ed, and granted my driver’s ed teacher was not the best. In fact I think that there were some, shall we say, herbal supplements in his diet that contributed to his consistently bloodshot eyes, and laissez –faire attitude. Even with this type of instruction, I learned the proper way to make a left hand turn. He may have taught me several things that were incorrect (as I later learned from my police officer husband); he never would have taught us to drive into the oncoming traffic lane to make a left turn.
It boggles my mind. Perhaps I spend more time thinking about this than I should, but it’s one of my pet peeves.
Here’s another one. When you are making a left turn at an intersection… Wow, I seem to have some serious Left Turn issues today… Anyway… when you are making a left turn at a signaled intersection, and you do not have a designated green arrow, you are to wait AT THE STOP LINE until you can safely clear the intersection. You are not to enter the intersection and hover there in the middle waiting until the light turns yellow or red and then make your turn before the angry people waiting to take advantage of their green light start into the intersection and smash into you. I’m sure that most people fudge on this one. That they creep out into the intersection and wait. I’m not going to judge anyone for that. I personally wait at the line because that’s what I was told to do (and apparently, yes my husband IS the boss of me.).
Whenever I happen to be on State Route 543 (More commonly known in these parts as “The Truck Route”) waiting to turn left onto Boblett Ave, I always get the same type of driver behind me… the impatient driver. They seem to think that my car possesses some super-power that makes it immune to red-lights, or immune to the smashing force of an oncoming semi truck; because it never fails, I’m sitting there waiting for the light to turn green, as are the handful of semi-trucks on the other side of the intersection. The light changes, and the guy behind me starts blasting his horn because I don’t immediately jump out in front of the oncoming SEMI TRUCKS and make a left turn that I am not legally entitled to at that moment.
I know that David and Goliath is one of the most powerful illustrations of how sometimes the little guy wins, especially when God is on his side. But I’m reasonably certain that if I were to jump out in front of an oncoming semi truck and I were to try that whole David and Goliath argument, God would tell me, “You’re on your own Stupid. Did you see the size of that truck?” Now if only I could somehow convey that message to the impatient drivers behind me who are sure that if I risk my life, and they get to where they are going 30 seconds earlier, their life will be that much better.
A few years ago I was driving along and I thought up an invention that would be perfect for me. It’s called “The Rage-Away 2000” and it’s a device that you mount to your dashboard, and when someone is driving like a total moron and making you crazy, you point the Rage-Away 2000 at them, and it instantly beams them to traffic school where they learn not to drive like a moron. I also mentally designed the Law Enforcement version which also sends their infractions along with them, so when they arrive at traffic school, their ticket is printed and waiting for them. As soon as Instant Molecular Transport becomes possible, I’m marketing this baby! Of course, I’ll also need to invent some sort of Rage-Away 2000 blocker for my car so that when I am driving along, obeying the traffic laws and not putting other people in danger, they cannot beam me to traffic school. Because sadly I am the one that these moronic drivers perceive to be the bad driver…
Can someone explain to me why people think it is necessary when making a left turn to pull into the opposite lane, the lane that ONCOMING traffic will be travelling in, and drive in that lane for several hundred yards to turn into a driveway? Now here is where I wish I could add illustrations to this, but sadly I can’t. So I will attempt to paint a verbal/visual picture. When I go to make a left-hand turn, I turn on my signal the appropriate distance before my turn, and then I slow down and when I am just about to the designated spot for my turn, I begin turning my steering wheel in order to make a 90° turn.
It’s been a lot of years since I took driver’s ed, and granted my driver’s ed teacher was not the best. In fact I think that there were some, shall we say, herbal supplements in his diet that contributed to his consistently bloodshot eyes, and laissez –faire attitude. Even with this type of instruction, I learned the proper way to make a left hand turn. He may have taught me several things that were incorrect (as I later learned from my police officer husband); he never would have taught us to drive into the oncoming traffic lane to make a left turn.
It boggles my mind. Perhaps I spend more time thinking about this than I should, but it’s one of my pet peeves.
Here’s another one. When you are making a left turn at an intersection… Wow, I seem to have some serious Left Turn issues today… Anyway… when you are making a left turn at a signaled intersection, and you do not have a designated green arrow, you are to wait AT THE STOP LINE until you can safely clear the intersection. You are not to enter the intersection and hover there in the middle waiting until the light turns yellow or red and then make your turn before the angry people waiting to take advantage of their green light start into the intersection and smash into you. I’m sure that most people fudge on this one. That they creep out into the intersection and wait. I’m not going to judge anyone for that. I personally wait at the line because that’s what I was told to do (and apparently, yes my husband IS the boss of me.).
Whenever I happen to be on State Route 543 (More commonly known in these parts as “The Truck Route”) waiting to turn left onto Boblett Ave, I always get the same type of driver behind me… the impatient driver. They seem to think that my car possesses some super-power that makes it immune to red-lights, or immune to the smashing force of an oncoming semi truck; because it never fails, I’m sitting there waiting for the light to turn green, as are the handful of semi-trucks on the other side of the intersection. The light changes, and the guy behind me starts blasting his horn because I don’t immediately jump out in front of the oncoming SEMI TRUCKS and make a left turn that I am not legally entitled to at that moment.
I know that David and Goliath is one of the most powerful illustrations of how sometimes the little guy wins, especially when God is on his side. But I’m reasonably certain that if I were to jump out in front of an oncoming semi truck and I were to try that whole David and Goliath argument, God would tell me, “You’re on your own Stupid. Did you see the size of that truck?” Now if only I could somehow convey that message to the impatient drivers behind me who are sure that if I risk my life, and they get to where they are going 30 seconds earlier, their life will be that much better.
A few years ago I was driving along and I thought up an invention that would be perfect for me. It’s called “The Rage-Away 2000” and it’s a device that you mount to your dashboard, and when someone is driving like a total moron and making you crazy, you point the Rage-Away 2000 at them, and it instantly beams them to traffic school where they learn not to drive like a moron. I also mentally designed the Law Enforcement version which also sends their infractions along with them, so when they arrive at traffic school, their ticket is printed and waiting for them. As soon as Instant Molecular Transport becomes possible, I’m marketing this baby! Of course, I’ll also need to invent some sort of Rage-Away 2000 blocker for my car so that when I am driving along, obeying the traffic laws and not putting other people in danger, they cannot beam me to traffic school. Because sadly I am the one that these moronic drivers perceive to be the bad driver…
Friday, April 2, 2010
It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'
This is a bit of a departure from my usual humorous and off-the wall ramblings. This is an entirely different station along the railroad that my Train of Thought travels upon. Take from it what you will, it's just my thoughts on a very important weekend in my life.
I remember years ago in middle school youth group watching the Tony Campolo video, "It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'." At the time, I didn't grasp what he was talking about. I enjoyed the video and Tony is a dynamic speaker, but I didn't really get the meaning of it.
Today, on Good Friday, I can't stop thinking about those 5 words, "It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'." It's ironic that today being Good Friday that I'm having a crummy day, but then I remembered that Sunday's coming, and am overwhelmed by the promise that holds.
When I got out to my friend Robbie's house on Tuesday to go riding, I found a pamphlet tucked into her gate. It was from the Jehovah's Witnesses and it proclaimed, "Jesus gave his life for many." I looked at it, and then showed it to Robbie and asked her, "What's wrong with this statement?" She looked at it and said, "Not many, He gave His life for ALL." I said, "My thoughts exactly!"
One of my favorite songs that brings me such comfort is "How Deep the Father's Love for Us." I think of it even more often around Easter. I can't even imagine how deep His love for us is that he would send His only son to die such a horrific death to save someone as unworthy as me.
I have tried to comprehend what that crucifixion was like, but usually my brain shuts down as a protective measure because I can't begin to understand it all and the more I try, the more it starts to make me physically sick. Think of how much most people hate getting shots. That's one tiny little needle poking into you. Now try to imagine HUGE spikes being driven through your body pinning you to a rough wooden beam. I remember how much it hurt when I broke my wrist, a tiny little greenstick fracture; then I try to think of how much it would hurt to have your entire body broken.
It's easy to say that you would gladly endure anything for someone you loved. For someone who loved you. What would you be willing to endure for someone who hated you? For someone who scorned you, for someone who betrayed you? This is the part where my heart starts to hurt and my brain starts to shut down again because I can't fathom it.
Jesus died to save everyone who ever has and ever will live on this earth. There is no one who is untouched by the greatness of that sacrifice. He was willing to die to save those who may never accept Him. He was willing to save those who kill other people, who abuse their families, who hurt children. And when I stop and think about that I always think, "How could He love them?" and the horribly humbling answer that I receive is, "I love you."
People always seem to use the same example. Ted Bundy. How could God forgive Ted Bundy? My good friend Lynette gave me probably the most profound answer I've ever heard. "I don't know, but if He forgave Ted Bundy, then I look forward to praising God with him in Heaven."
I'm not sure whether to be comforted or horrifed by the fact that in God's eyes I'm no better and no worse than a serial killer, but I'm going to choose comfort.
The reason I'm so thankful that Jesus gave His life for ALL and not just many is because if it were just for "many" I have no way of knowing if He'd choose me. He might look at my life and say, "Give me one good reason that I should forgive you? Have you really lived your life in such a way that deserves it?" And of course the answer to that is "no." There is nothing I could ever do to repay that amazing sacrifice. That is the very definition of "Grace." "Unwarranted undeserved love that we can never repay." Those are the words of my Great Uncle, Boardman Reed. He's a retired Episcopalian priest, and these are the words he spoke at my rehearsal dinner when asked what the secret to a long and happy marriage is. He said that the secret to marriage, the secret to life, the secret to everything is Grace! And that it's not just something you say before a meal.
So as you go through these next few days, remember that its Friday!! But Sunday's a comin! And if you don't feel the way I do, if you don't believe the things I believe, I'm still thankful that Jesus was willing to die for all of us so that we have the chance to live our lives the way we want and to believe what we want to believe.
I remember years ago in middle school youth group watching the Tony Campolo video, "It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'." At the time, I didn't grasp what he was talking about. I enjoyed the video and Tony is a dynamic speaker, but I didn't really get the meaning of it.
Today, on Good Friday, I can't stop thinking about those 5 words, "It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'." It's ironic that today being Good Friday that I'm having a crummy day, but then I remembered that Sunday's coming, and am overwhelmed by the promise that holds.
When I got out to my friend Robbie's house on Tuesday to go riding, I found a pamphlet tucked into her gate. It was from the Jehovah's Witnesses and it proclaimed, "Jesus gave his life for many." I looked at it, and then showed it to Robbie and asked her, "What's wrong with this statement?" She looked at it and said, "Not many, He gave His life for ALL." I said, "My thoughts exactly!"
One of my favorite songs that brings me such comfort is "How Deep the Father's Love for Us." I think of it even more often around Easter. I can't even imagine how deep His love for us is that he would send His only son to die such a horrific death to save someone as unworthy as me.
I have tried to comprehend what that crucifixion was like, but usually my brain shuts down as a protective measure because I can't begin to understand it all and the more I try, the more it starts to make me physically sick. Think of how much most people hate getting shots. That's one tiny little needle poking into you. Now try to imagine HUGE spikes being driven through your body pinning you to a rough wooden beam. I remember how much it hurt when I broke my wrist, a tiny little greenstick fracture; then I try to think of how much it would hurt to have your entire body broken.
It's easy to say that you would gladly endure anything for someone you loved. For someone who loved you. What would you be willing to endure for someone who hated you? For someone who scorned you, for someone who betrayed you? This is the part where my heart starts to hurt and my brain starts to shut down again because I can't fathom it.
Jesus died to save everyone who ever has and ever will live on this earth. There is no one who is untouched by the greatness of that sacrifice. He was willing to die to save those who may never accept Him. He was willing to save those who kill other people, who abuse their families, who hurt children. And when I stop and think about that I always think, "How could He love them?" and the horribly humbling answer that I receive is, "I love you."
People always seem to use the same example. Ted Bundy. How could God forgive Ted Bundy? My good friend Lynette gave me probably the most profound answer I've ever heard. "I don't know, but if He forgave Ted Bundy, then I look forward to praising God with him in Heaven."
I'm not sure whether to be comforted or horrifed by the fact that in God's eyes I'm no better and no worse than a serial killer, but I'm going to choose comfort.
The reason I'm so thankful that Jesus gave His life for ALL and not just many is because if it were just for "many" I have no way of knowing if He'd choose me. He might look at my life and say, "Give me one good reason that I should forgive you? Have you really lived your life in such a way that deserves it?" And of course the answer to that is "no." There is nothing I could ever do to repay that amazing sacrifice. That is the very definition of "Grace." "Unwarranted undeserved love that we can never repay." Those are the words of my Great Uncle, Boardman Reed. He's a retired Episcopalian priest, and these are the words he spoke at my rehearsal dinner when asked what the secret to a long and happy marriage is. He said that the secret to marriage, the secret to life, the secret to everything is Grace! And that it's not just something you say before a meal.
So as you go through these next few days, remember that its Friday!! But Sunday's a comin! And if you don't feel the way I do, if you don't believe the things I believe, I'm still thankful that Jesus was willing to die for all of us so that we have the chance to live our lives the way we want and to believe what we want to believe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)