How pitiful it is that I can scarcely see my own shortcomings until they are mirrored by someone else. And worse still that I struggle to be merciful to those who are very much like myself!
I am prideful. I am defensive. I am offensive. After all this time I am still angry as a subconcious safeguard...because I am afraid. I am afraid because I have not ceased to think that only I know what is best and can save myself and everyone else. Because, once again, I am prideful.
How wretched I am to see just well enough to recognize that I am blind and full of fault!
God help me so that instead of scrambling in futility to modify my words and behavior, grace, peace and humility may flow freely and easily from a changed heart!
This is the only way that authentic, enduring transformation is possible and after 2 years of striving on my own that is clear to me. It is only further pride to think that I can repair myself.
God has the power and to Him be the glory.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Ode to a House on Bedford Lane
Goodbye **** Bedford Lane.
I will dead end into your domain no more, nor enter your storm doors bearing leftover lasagna, good news, bitterness, or tears. Your irradiated-buttery kitchen walls will never again envelope me in the culinary delights of Nutella and lactose-free milk. Your stained, tan carpet will not patiently sustain my children's sticky, crawling fingers and oozing diapers. Your fence will no longer contain the sounds of their laughter or complaints of heatstroke and mosquitos.
Your halls are bare now, and your vacant ceilings soar silently above.
I did not relish packing your contents, emptying your innards, and eating pizza every day for a week.
It's over now and I will endure without you. Thank you for safeguarding the Bowling family and for always welcoming mine.
Goodbye Bedford Lane.
Goodbye.
I will dead end into your domain no more, nor enter your storm doors bearing leftover lasagna, good news, bitterness, or tears. Your irradiated-buttery kitchen walls will never again envelope me in the culinary delights of Nutella and lactose-free milk. Your stained, tan carpet will not patiently sustain my children's sticky, crawling fingers and oozing diapers. Your fence will no longer contain the sounds of their laughter or complaints of heatstroke and mosquitos.
Your halls are bare now, and your vacant ceilings soar silently above.
I did not relish packing your contents, emptying your innards, and eating pizza every day for a week.
It's over now and I will endure without you. Thank you for safeguarding the Bowling family and for always welcoming mine.
Goodbye Bedford Lane.
Goodbye.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Bedbugs
A few years ago a flea infestation immersed my reality into a whirlpool of contempt and hostility that I have never known. I didn't realize I had the capacity for such vehement hatred toward a bug.
Such intense passion may seem bizarre to you if you have never been the victim of such ruthless assault as I have.
But if you have shared some of my experiences, perhaps the scorn I describe is familiar.
An old friend of mine has recently discovered that her apartment is crawling (or rather hiding) with bedbugs.
They are not the mythical antagonists of lighthearted bedtime benedictions.
They are small, flat insects that tuck themselves away in your home until you are sound asleep. Late, late at night they prowl beneath your sheets and puncture your tender skin with their vicious mouths and drink of your liquid vitality.
My friend spoke, this afternoon, with unbridled fervor on the subject of these bugs. She told of the "shameful" creatures, hiding in wait for her blood. She described her vulnerability in slumber as they ambush and violate her and her children, of her fear to sleep or even go home...of the creature's unyielding resistance to traditional bugsprays...and even of the audacity of the expression "Goodnight, don't let the bedbugs bite", condemning the words as vicious, abominable and inappropriate.
I recommended an inexpensive and nontoxic remedy to her "situation". She flew to the nearest farm/feed store and purchased every accessory to the diatomaceous earth I advised her to purchase. She gleefuly spent 4 times the amount necessary to acquire extensive insecticidal paraphernalia to enhance the killing experience.
The formerly discouraged woman glowed and shivered in anticipation of her revenge. She fantasized twirling and dancing in the magic dust that would meet the bedbugs with their doom. She declared what a glorious day it is and chatted with excitement about her vengence. She longed for a mask and painter's suit to adorn her ectatic frame with so that she could rub the diatomacious earth on her body and roll around gratefully in it on the carpet. Although the termination of bedbugs requires but a modest dusting of DE, she insisted that the entire bag will be empty. But her heart will be full.
Go get 'em Marla.
Such intense passion may seem bizarre to you if you have never been the victim of such ruthless assault as I have.
But if you have shared some of my experiences, perhaps the scorn I describe is familiar.
An old friend of mine has recently discovered that her apartment is crawling (or rather hiding) with bedbugs.
They are not the mythical antagonists of lighthearted bedtime benedictions.
They are small, flat insects that tuck themselves away in your home until you are sound asleep. Late, late at night they prowl beneath your sheets and puncture your tender skin with their vicious mouths and drink of your liquid vitality.
My friend spoke, this afternoon, with unbridled fervor on the subject of these bugs. She told of the "shameful" creatures, hiding in wait for her blood. She described her vulnerability in slumber as they ambush and violate her and her children, of her fear to sleep or even go home...of the creature's unyielding resistance to traditional bugsprays...and even of the audacity of the expression "Goodnight, don't let the bedbugs bite", condemning the words as vicious, abominable and inappropriate.
I recommended an inexpensive and nontoxic remedy to her "situation". She flew to the nearest farm/feed store and purchased every accessory to the diatomaceous earth I advised her to purchase. She gleefuly spent 4 times the amount necessary to acquire extensive insecticidal paraphernalia to enhance the killing experience.
The formerly discouraged woman glowed and shivered in anticipation of her revenge. She fantasized twirling and dancing in the magic dust that would meet the bedbugs with their doom. She declared what a glorious day it is and chatted with excitement about her vengence. She longed for a mask and painter's suit to adorn her ectatic frame with so that she could rub the diatomacious earth on her body and roll around gratefully in it on the carpet. Although the termination of bedbugs requires but a modest dusting of DE, she insisted that the entire bag will be empty. But her heart will be full.
Go get 'em Marla.
Friday, August 14, 2009
10 pounds
So it has occured to me recently that the "increasing bulk" of my limbs (and so forth) may have less to do with my moderate weight training and more to do with my incessant low blood sugar that drives me to consume sufficient calories throughout the day, then dinner, a snack, "second dinner" (right before bed) and another "snack" sometime between 4 and 6 in the morning. Hmmmm....
Monday, August 3, 2009
A 5 Year Old "Morning Person" Explains Herself
"When my eyes open, I just have to get up. It's my body's rule."
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