Blog

Posted on

oh boy, Lent is soooo much work

It’s just plain easier to be a sinner. It ends rather poorly, so I’m motivated to make some life-changing…um, changes. It’s not easy, but I need to start somewhere, and the Corporal Works of Mercy seem a good fit for me this year.

There’s a lot to be said for getting ideas for Lent from the internet pit stops I make throughout my day. It’s like a giant spiritual smorgasbord, and I get to fill my plate with the tastiest looking, yummiest selections.

I’m happy to read these posts and make plans for implementing new practices on Ash Wednesday. Yet, I have to honestly ask myself why I need to wait until Ash Wednesday, or more precisely, why I think I should set a particular date to begin working on my redemption.

It’s like New Year’s resolutions. If I wait until January to start a diet, am I going to eat cheesecake every day for the next ten months?

Sounds sinfully appealing.

In today’s busy world, where we are pulled by our responsibilities to family, work, friends, and all the extra things we find piled on our plates, it’s probably not a bad idea to prayerfully discern a particular course for Lent. Why not get ideas from people who’ve managed to make it work, or managed to articulate it in a manner we can comprehend and apply.

So I give you my own idea. I hope you go read about it here.

Pat Gohn invited me to guest post at her column, A Word in Season, at the Catholic Portal at Patheos.com. Check out Pat’s work and all the other great writers at the Catholic Portal.

Posted on

sometimes I don’t even believe it myself

Look, I promise the following conversation happened, I just can’t give any details about where it occurred:

I arrived at my destination hankering to tweet something…and got distracted by the conversation that followed. You see, I was driving through a little town outside metropolitan Atlanta when I encountered a pedestrian walking what seemed to be a little nervous dog. I was still a ways away, so I figured it was a nutty little Boston Terrier (I’ve recently befriended one, and found the breed to be delightfully nutty) or a wild little Jack Russell, like my daughter’s little puppy.

I was wrong.

This proud citizen was walking a chicken. On. A. Leash.

Who can believe this?

So I get where I’m going, and I’m trying to tweet, only I’m laughing myself into a silly state of ineptitude with the phone…and share what I’m laughing about, and that’s when I get the second surprise of the evening.

It turns out that walking a chicken on a leash is not only not weird, it’s commonplace around here!

Here’s a snippet of the conversation:

Woman #1: Y’all need to go down to the flea market on Moreland. They all bring their pet chickens on leashes. And they’re dressed up, too!

Woman #2: The chickens are dressed up? In clothes? What kind of clothes does a chicken wear?

Woman #1: Same as you’d put on a gerbil.

[okay, I need to stop here and ponder this a bit. What would one put on a gerbil? The astounding thing about all of this is how naturally accepting these folks were of all the components of this weirdness]

Woman #2, incredulous, to her credit: Gerbil clothes?! What kind of clothes do you put on a gerbil?

Woman #1: Well, I’ve seen them in dresses.

Woman #2: The gerbils? Or the chickens?

Me, now disappointed: I think my chicken must have been naked.

Man: I dress my chickens. Then I eat ’em. Fried.

 

 

Posted on

Valentine’s Day. Bah Humbug.

so indulgent with my silliness

I don’t hate Valentine’s Day, but I’m pretty lukewarm about it.

I do, however, love love.

I grew up in the pre-PC days before teachers sent home class lists so no one would be excluded in the Valentine’s party and card exchange. I wasn’t the creepy kid with the greasy hair and the wrong kind of shoes, but I wasn’t the pretty little thing with the straight blonde hair and hordes of admirers, either.

I think that’s when I learned to be cynical and sarcastic. Right about the time the creepy kid got hundreds of valentines as a mean and hurtful prank. It was far worse than getting nothing at all.

By the time I was in high school, I was sufficiently annoyed by the whole process to never give it any mind. I usually had a little boyfriend or some poor dear pining after me (and I was surely pining after someone else) that sent a club-sponsored candygram to me in front of God and Country. It was more about being liked than being liked by the right person. How many of us are hurt by this ridiculous pressure today?

The single half-dead rose or cheap little stuffed animal that found its way into my hands, whether or not I liked the boy who mustered up the courage to send it, was a symbol of belonging to a status group I really didn’t want, but was pressured to belong to because the commercials and radio said I should.

Bah.

When Cupid’s aim finally found its true mark, I had already lost interest in Valentine’s Day altogether. Okay – mostly. Who needs a holiday to declare our unending love for one another? We celebrate that on the anniversary of when we actually did declare our love for one another before God and Country (okay, God and family and friends).

Valentine’s Day is barely on my radar these days. I hate to think my husband feels obligated to buy me chocolate (I love it, but don’t need it – and in fact, should stay away from it); send me flowers (I have a lovely garden that he provided); take me to dinner (he’s a fantastic cook); or give me diamonds (I’d rather go away for the weekend with him).

He shows me his love in myriad ways that are more expressive than being suckered into meaningless gifts.

Want to know the nicest thing he ever got me?

A 99-cent shaker of cinnamon and sugar because he noticed I ate cinnamon toast on cold mornings, and I was always making a mess trying to get the sugar/cinnamon ratio right. I know. This man has bought me houses, new cars, dream vacations, and diamonds, and the gift I loved most of all was a little bit of spice.

That’s right. He puts the spice in my life.

(Ha!)

I loved that gift because it came from a place of such sweet and affectionate love that I was absolutely undone in that moment.

He knew what I liked. He noticed what I did. He thought of me while on an errand and spontaneously did something that would bring me joy.

On this February 14th, and each subsequent day, without the bidding of a half-nekkid cherub, he continues to bring me joy.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This