Learning to deal.

I no longer trust my coffee pot.
I know this is only a gadget, but you have not seen the things it is capable of, nor felt the sting of it's wrath. To fully understand you have to listen to the tale of this unfortunate series of events.

It all started with stupid Pinterest. That time vacuum that draws you in to all sorts of possibilities. Things you can craft, things you can cook, things you can improve on. When I first started with this phenomenon, every time I pinned something it came with a wave of euphoria, because when I was pinning...well it felt like I owned a little more of that thing. Amazing Sunday dinner idea? Super! I PIN you and you are mine! Darling little outfit that is nowhere near my size? Yes! I definitely pin you and I feel thinner already, ooh and I love this cotton! But as any true pinner knows...this drug will only take you so far before the side effects begin to wear off. You realize you have an entire cyberspace of pinned-ness, but nothing has actually STUCK in real life. You have to start DOING things.

So this is where the story picks up. While browsing through these ideas and needing a fix for that "I did something" feeling, I came across some boards for organizing/cleaning tips. Now folks, this was right up my alley, because my husband and I do not have the budget to buy 1/2 the things I see on that website as far as clothing, nor do I have a cooking bone in my body. And since Pinterest's main showcases are these three things, I decided to start doing the one thing I figured anyone could do. Clean up shop.

With spring in the air as my main motivation, I meticulously laid out my game plan for the weeks to come. We aren't talking your typical weekend chores. I'm talking, break out the rags and vinegar and scrub down walls, vacuum under the couch, and wash down dirty window screens. My sights were set high, but as all the websites said, "Just break it down"!

Oh I broke it down all right.

This weeks room to tackle was the kitchen.
Not the MOST used room in the house, but by far a near second.
I sat at my desk and wrote an overview of everything that would need to be done.

Fridge. Inside and Out.
Silverware drawer.
Cabinets. Inside and Out and organize.
Hand Scrub floors.
Wipe down walls.
Clean coffee pot.


(Ah yes, there is foreshadowing even outside the lines of literature. It makes its way onto steno pads in list form.)

And so I began. Last night was the perfect night for it I decided. "Why wait until Saturday?" I said to myself. The weather was beautiful, the windows were open, and my guy needed some downtime before preaching this weekend. So I slapped on some headphones, cranked up the tuneage and began doing some real life pinning.

There were a few set backs along the way, that I should have seen as warning signs, but of course when you are in the zone and listening to Journey, you don't really stop to read the signs, just as much as you don't stop believin'.

For example, the first cabinet was what I had come to refer to as the coffee-baking-dusty cookbook-I don't know what this is-cabinet. It was cluttered to be sure, with the main shelf being teas and coffees. This one I visit daily so I was most excited to get my cleaning groove on.

I had fun (yes fun, how naive I was) pulling everything out and discovering some coffee blends that I didn't even know we owned, as well as my collection of Japanese teas. There is a particular brown rice tea that my family enjoys and when I saw it jammed towards the back behind a bag of brown sugar, I lunged for it. Big mistake. Because this is my favorite rice tea, it was of course OPENED. And because I am not typically a cleaner/organizer it of course was not SEALED. A downpour of brown toasted rice. Awesome. I remember glancing behind me sheepishly to see if my hubby had noticed. Fortunately, he had not, and I attributed this as a minor set back. Irritating. But minor.

The other drawers were mostly the same. A few puzzling discoveries. For example, for the life of me I cannot figure out how we had grains of white rice in nearly every drawer. How does this happen? What goes on when I am not home or when we are sleeping? I kid you not, I found rice in the lowest cabinet in the very back next to a waffle maker that I have not used since our marriage began. Does anyone else have this problem?

Other discoveries included things like multiple condiments. For example. I had no idea that I was the proud owner of 2 unopened BBQ sauces, 2 creamers, 3 cartons of sour cream, 2 lemon juices, 3 lime juices, a whole crap ton of popcorn (which baffles me since we never eat popcorn so I am not sure who is purchasing this snack), along with...and this is shameful really to type...4, count em, 4 tubs of ice cream in our freezer. It would seem we get really excited about a flavor and then immediately dump it for something better/newer. Who knows. We have commitment issues apparently when it comes to our frozen dairy products.

Anyways. Back to the subject at hand.
Due to my days as a barista, and the fact that our friends and family use Bodum coffee pots, I have always been partial to my coffee being brewed that way. Saturday mornings for example are always Bodum mornings because we have time. However, every other day of the week (Sundays included) we have to be out the door a little quicker than our Bodum allows. So we have our trusty top of the line (not really) Black and Decker (yes, the same company that makes vacuum cleaners),electric coffee pot. Which up until yesterday, I was fine with. But no more.

As I was scrubbing out the insides of this plotting machine, I actually thought to myself "this is good. this feels good, shining things up a bit". I had just finished wiping everything down when I remembered that at work, my desk mate Ann always runs a cycle through to get whatever is left behind with the boiling water. Perfect. I am not just a cleaner, I am super cleaner!

I filled up the water reservoir to the very top and placed the pot underneath. I even meticulously wiped down the electric cord to make sure no water remained that would bring an unfriendly shock when I went to plug her back in. Then I hit the power button and stood back to watch. I heard the familiar spitting sound it makes when it is heating up in the morning and confirmed that yes, this will work, I can move on to other things. So I turned around to start scouring the sink with baking soda.

I'm not sure what it was that made me turn around, but just as a mom knows when I child is up to something they shouldn't be, I peered slowly over my shoulder to confirm what I felt was happening. Spillage. Starting for the counter. From the looks of it, I had caught it early but that didn't assuage my anger. This machine had bested me before on other mornings when I had forgot to actually place the pot under it, but this time, it was just being downright rebellious. Thinking though that I had caught it just in the nick of time, I threw open the lid where the water goes in and unplugged the beast.

What happened next is difficult to write. It all happened so fast. But in order to save others from the terror I went through, I shall press on.

The moment I threw open the hatch (for reasons unbeknown-st to me, it was just an initial reaction) the pressure spout (which until know I never knew existed) SHOT OUT BOILING WATER AT ME. I am not talking spilled over onto the counter and onto my feet. I am talking projectile spew-age all over my stomach and arms.

I am not sure what upset me more at that immediate moment, the burning sensation on my body, or the fact that I had just been assaulted by a machine. I once again turned around to see if my beloved had noticed. He had. And was staring at me.

I ripped off my headphones and all I could utter was "I'm hurt you know."
So he came rushing to my side and asked what had happened. I glanced down at my arms and stomach at this point and saw an angry red splotch appearing where I had been attacked. Being the sweet guy that he is, he immediately opened the fridge and grabbed me a bag of frozen beans.

Again, I am not sure of the details, but the rest of the next 10 minutes went even further downhill. This was NOT how Pinterest said it would be. This was supposed to be relaxing and feel good, but up until that point I had successfully accomplished burning myself and getting rice tea everywhere.

The disappointment turned to frustration at that point, and the anger began to percolate. I rebelliously thew the beans back in the freezer. "I don't need these dumb things" I said and slammed the door. To which Luke retorted and said that it probably would not be a good idea to do that, that things could blister. To which I huffed and said, "FINE", and opened the door to grab the frozen beans again.

Only I had not grabbed the frozen beans. I had grabbed the frozen peas which we had used for dinner the night before. And as we have already touched up on earlier in this story, I am not nearly organized enough to have something to seal an opened bag back shut. In an attempt to show how frustrated I was a this whole downhill process I slammed the peas on my shoulder.

That's when the third rain of the evening happened. Frozen peas everywhere.

My poor husband. Since I couldn't in all sanity yell at a coffee pot or a bag of peas, the minute his smile started to form I went into full attack mode, banishing him from the kitchen and cursing the domestic gene the seemed to have passed me over in all things home related.

At that point in the night I really wanted to give up and crawl into bed. All along I had thought that my ability to clean was my saving grace in my lack of all the other wiferly skills. And now it would seem I didn't even have this. I wanted to sit down in the middle of the floor, wallowing in the disaster that was my kitchen and as I thought so dramatically that evening,the disaster that was my LIFE. Oh yes. Drama queen sitting in her ocean of hot water and peas. Watch out.

But some days don't we all walk around feeling like that. That nothing is in order. That things are out to get us. That we are ill prepared, that our best laid plans seem to go down the drain, that everything rains down all at once, and that we can't seem to get a handle on accomplishing even just one thing?

I feel this a lot.

Well for some reason last night, the Lord spoke to me.
Not audibly. I never seem to hear him audibly. Which is ok.
Because I think it would scare me.

But I heard Him tug at my heartstrings and tell me that I'm alright.
That sometimes, in order for things to be really clean,
things have to get really messy.
But that He's there through it all.

And this was enough for me.
So I stood up (somewhat shakily to avoid tripping on whatever else had made its way onto our kitchen floor), apologized to my forgiving husband, and pressed slowly on.

There's not much to tell after this.

I went to bed long after midnight, but I finished.
And it feels great. Sans the tender spots on my skin of course.
But I thank the Lord for His lesson that night found even in accomplishing a list of chores.

There is of course a second lesson I learned that night as well.

As I said.
I no longer trust my coffee pot.
I am a Bodum user for life.
And if it means getting up a little early to boil a pot of hot water.
So be it. I'm staying away from that foxy little electric minx.

One Epic Thrifting Adventure.

Unfortunately, the older we get, the less it seems we go on adventures. Well, let me scratch that. The less it seems we go on simple adventures. Once everyone starts having kids and 401 K's and retirement plans etc, it seems the adventures are much more along the lines of a planned vacation. Which are great, don't get me wrong! But this weekend I had the privilege of going on one of those aforementioned more simple adventures. And while the theme of the day may have been "thrifty-ing", I think all of us who went would agree that we all took home much more than a few good deals. I'll get to that part later, but first (courtesy of Laura's i-phone photos) here is a play by play of just some of the unique stops we took along the way.





Now you can't start off on any truly good adventure without some bacon, eggs, and coffee. And at Annie's Soda Shop we found that and a whole lot more. In addition to "fluffy pancakes", "veggie eggies", and a few staring townsfolk, we were treated with such hospitality. Annie herself even heard what we were up to that day and called one of the local "pickers" in the area to see if we might be able to stop by and browse his collection. We couldn't leave without a quick photo-op to remember a great start to our day, filled with lots of laughs and Jenny's surprisingly quiet attack on a breakfast platter. Clean plate club members would be put to shame! But I can say this without fear of sounding inconsiderate. Jenny is having twin boys in a few months so we all applauded her in admiration. ;)






After that, we were all on our way over to Jim's. There was a few jokes passed around about how that last photo may be the one on the paper stating, "7 girls last seen at Annie's in giant silver van", but when we got to Jim's farm house, we knew that this guy was a serious picker and a most kindly gentleman. He greeted us warmly and told us that anything we saw in his yard or his garage was up for sale...except for the cats.




While we very delicately walked through his museum of stacked history, some rusting, some just dusty, we were able to talk to Jim a little more about why he does what he does. He said that most of his treasures he gets by going to auctions. He also said that 80% of the time he really isn't that successful when going to an auction, but he goes there because there are so many different people who know so much about history. He said that the stories he comes back with far more outweigh something like an old rail road sign (which he did have by the way, and was offering to sell in the thousand dollar range). Sorry Jim, try calling American Picker guys, they may be willing to bargain.




As we were getting ready to leave (Heather found a great base for a table top she had been looking for) we rallied Jim over for a picture and were able to find out a little bit more about how he felt about this hobby. He said he was really tickled we were here because he kind of thought that young folks weren't really interested in this kind of stuff. He's worried that it will be a dying art and that no one will really try to hunt this stuff out and preserve it. We assured him that there are actually a lot more "young folk" out there who are really intrigued by it all and to take heart! He helped us pack up our gear, called Cherice "Blondie", and sent us on our way with a hand shake. After that he said he was going to run upstairs and tell his 24 year old son who was still sleeping in, that he wouldn't believe what he missed this morning! Hahah! I guess the seven of us are kind of a funny site walking throughout those grounds:) But we loved every minute of it.




Our next stop was to see the Tiffany bridge. This photo shows us walking eagerly to marvel at the world’s only remaining five-arch stone railway bridge (which is still in use!) It was built in 1869 was truly beautiful. It was crazy trying to fathom that something this old and intricate is located just outside our backyards.




We couldn't get a group shot since there was no one else around, so we took turns documenting the occasion.





As we were walking to stand under the arches, Estera saw a swan, blissfully floating down the river. There is no picture to capture this because we were all just looking at it! Everything was so quiet and peaceful there and we really just stood for a moment taking it all in as the sun streamed down on us all.




After learning a bit about the bridge, we hopped back in our Silver Bullet. Here is a shot of our pilot and co-pilot. Did I mention that Heather had the genius to have us all rent a 15 passenger van so that if we found bigger ticket items we would have the room to fit in? Oh yeah. We are hard core. And it's a good thing too, between a red leather arm chair, a filing cabinet, and a table base, things got snug! :)





The leather arm chair and filing cabinet were found at the nearest Goodwill in Madison. It was a successful spot for everyone. Laura found some great ice cream dishes for her mom...





...and I found those pair of tap shoes that I have been looking for ;)
One lady in Goodwill told us that we were having too much fun. Which pretty much sums up the entire trip. But we did have fun in this particular store giggling together as we did things like try on shoes that were wayyyy too small for us, and stand behind a woman in line with the widest, wildest, bell bottom yoga pants we have ever seen. (No picture to view-too blinding). (But Estera did have the soundness of mind to dubb her Lady Happy Pants.) ;






The next stop was 3 Orange Doors and what a cute little shop this was. Lots of homemade things that you would see floating around on Pinterest, some really delicate glass ware, and an assortment of cookies, which we weren't sure if they were for eating or for show...we opted for the former and indulged ourselves secretly. Then we got a really nice lady to take our picture and jumped in the van again to head towards downtown Madison.





Later in the afternoon we got lunch (which was music to my ears when Laura said) "yes, I think I would benefit from eating. So while our lovely driver parked the car we walked at a determined pace to a near by Chipotle and spent the first 5 minutes of our meal in silence, just completely dominating our food.

The rest of the afternoon was spent browsing different shops along State street and just enjoying the beautiful weather and each others' company.
Some of the girls on the trip I have known for a while since I've been here, others I just met, but I really enjoyed the time we got to spend that afternoon just being together as married gals.

There truly is something to be said for community. Having the same passion for the Lord, and being able to call one another sisters is huge, even if you aren't necessarily into the same styles or have the same job or are the same age.
The biggest find for me that day was just the realization that through friendships, old and new, He shows us more of Himself through one another.




So Heather, thank you for organizing this trip, and a big thank you for all of you who made it so enjoyable :).

Buggers.

Today I am leaving to go to my youngest sister's baby shower.
My youngest sister
My baby sister
is having a baby.

I cannot even express the feelings of sheer joy that well up inside me when I think on God's kindness and how it is displayed in so many different ways in peoples lives. And I think of how sweet it is to for Him to give this sweet couple this particular gift at this particular time in their life.

Sarah is my Buggers, my Bug-a-boo, my Buggy.

I was trying to remember the origin of these nicknames. I am sure it has something to do with the fact that she is and has always been just as cute as a bug...although I think that phrase is supposed to be button...whoops. My bad. Too late to change it now! ;) But anyways, it got me thinking a little bit about my past years with Sarah as a sister.

I know when it comes to our childhood that we have a tendency to block unpleasant memories out until everything is covered in a golden glow of nostalgia. But when I look back at Sarah and her personality in the Jensen girl tri-fecta, I can honestly say that for the majority Sarah's days were spent in quiet love and quiet servitude.

She always had a way of calming me down just by listening to a bad day. And she always knew how to make Bethany feel lest restless on any given afternoon just by riding passenger seat on a trip into town.

(To this day I still hold that she makes the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Although I will admit that the discovery of this fact came from sheer laziness and cashing in on her willing ability to always do that of which she was asked.)

Now just because I have made mention of Sarah's quiet-natured spirit when it comes to serving others, does not by default mean that she is a generally quiet person. This is quite the misconception. Anyone that has been able to have the pleasure of really knowing Sarah, knows that she is anything far from quiet.

Memories of jumping off piers pretending to be ducks, her affinity for playing dress up whenever her grade-school friends came over, dancing in living rooms, talent shows, her obsession with knocking me over with her hips, and the way she throws her head back when she laughs, these are just some of the images that flash across the fore front of my mind. Recently I saw a picture of Sarah completely sealed into a comforter storage bag, with only her head popping out. I couldn't stop laughing to myself and thinking, "Yes, this is so something she would do."

The other aspect of Sarah's personality that anyone would be quick to agree with who knows her, would be how she is our family "healer". A lot of times one might assume that someone as meek as she is, might not have really been all that thrilled growing up at the sight of blood or any type of squeamish ailment. But Sarah was our nurse. Scrapes, bruises, sprains, colds, you name it, if Sarah could be in the room helping with a cool rag or a band aid to place, she would be there. And unlike some who are intrigued solely by the gore itself, there was something deeper with Sarah. She just wanted the person to feel better. That was her main pull. And whatever she could do to help in that, she would do with gentleness and precise care.

Sarah's name means princess. And I suppose this is entirely accurate...if it is the kind of princess that cares more for her "country" then herself. While it is true that Sarah enjoys things to be a certain way, an enjoy-er of order and all things pretty, she much more enjoys seeing others content and at peace. She used to have domain over 50 different stuffed animals and would rotate each one to sleep with her at night so that the others wouldn't feel bad. This is a true fact.

Her Kingdom may have lessened when she got married. Going from 50 to just Ryan...but now we look forward to February's end, where they will have one more in their home.

There is not a doubt in my mind, that this quiet servant/princess, who knows how to laugh and how to heal and how to care, is going to be one amazing mom.

I know this to be true, because she is one amazing sister.

It's about that time.

No, Mom.
Not baby time. This isn't an announcement ;)

It's about that time rather, that I start making a discipline of writing again. Oh sure, I've never really stopped altogether. I'll jot verses or thoughts in my calendar as a shoddy attempt to remember certain events or things that God did. But it's not the same. And so then I find myself walking around in a perpetual state of self loathing, asking myself ever so often, "and why haven't you processed through that thought on paper?" Or this one pops up a lot too. "You are not skilled at any form of house work, cooking, baking or the like. You can only use the "I like writing better" card if you are actually writing."

And while I hate to admit it, I think my sub-conscious has a point. Granted, I can be a bit hard on myself sometimes (as the creative psyche always tends to be), but the fact of the matter remains. Why am I NOT doing the thing I love to do? I can't play the blame game here because all of the other suspects have an alibi. No time? Not true. You just finished season 9 of Scrubs with your husband. No resources? False. You are a 2 apple computer family. No ideas? Seriously? You work with Jr. Highers. They are a creative gold mine for writing material.

I have a little post card on my desk (right next to this AMAZING picture of my niece. It's this one right here:



The card says, "a consistent life is not a perfect life."
I have gone back and forth about this little ditty for a little while. And I think I have come to agree with it. I think. Granted, in the Christian walk, I don't want to use this as a wild card. I'm not saying that we can all give up hope of perfection or holiness and chalk up mediocrity to a life of sinful consistency. Not at all. The reason I like this reminder is that it encourages us to press on in the midst of failure.

So I am giving myself permission to have some pretty lame pieces of writing take place in this space and to let myself know that while each post may not be perfection, if I want to be a consistent writer, then words without blemish won't be part of the equation. It also frees me up to write about...well whatever I want I suppose.

I think a big reason I have steered clear of this whole gig is because I've forgotten that it's ok to have fun with it too. Sometimes with my Jr. High girls I get in these panic modes, where I feel like I only have a certain amount of time to communicate God's truth to them in their life and I have to remind myself in my lessons, that we are all still kids at heart, all of us just looking to hear a good story, and that they are God's handiwork, NOT mine.

This gives me more liberty as well. That it's God who has given me this desire and I don't have to be the one dreaming up life altering prose at the dawn of each day. It is my responsibility to be obedient and listen to my Creator every day, but it's Him who blesses the words and draws them forth.

So. With perfection out of the equation and liberty in it's place.

I say again to myself, (gathering up courage):

Jessi, It's about that time.

Christmas Musings.

I really do enjoy all the festivities at this time of year.
We've been so blessed. Such an abundance of God's provision in our family and in our friendships and places of work.

But no holiday party or Christmas program, can outshine the blessed peace that comes from an early waking, met with snow-covered ground, and quiet time with the Savior of the World.

There are no words to describe such sweet communion as that.

She's a maniac on the floor.

The big news around town lately is that the neighborhood grocery store is being bought out by their competition. These stores everywhere are having mad blowout sales to get products off of their shelves. Apparently this was all over the television and radio airways, but my tendency to be a media groundhog made this discovery reveal itself to me at 8:30 at night when I went to buy some apple juice and cinnamon sticks, aka, the poor man's version of apple cider.

Huge mistake. Not only did it feel like the Apocalypse had struck, with everyone vying for the shopping carts and running up and down aisles grabbing things like pickled beets and rutabaga, but the lines were especially long.
(We are talking grab your gear and set up camp kind of long.)

In the midst of all this chaos, I had the best intentions of remaining cool,calm, and collected. However... those who know me are well acquainted with the fact that crowds are not my forte. Thinking that I had the whole chaotic check-out thing licked I walked right on over to the self-checkout. The method to this madness was the inkling that no hoarder of 30 mayonnaise tubs and their train of carts was going to want to do the work of checking out their OWN spoils. It was a fool proof plan.

Basking in the glow of my self pronounced genius, I sauntered up behind a pregnant lady who (while she had a cart full of food) also had a two person stroller. The tactic behind that choice lay hidden in the quiet and split second reasoning that this lady would most likely be adept at multi-tasking. She obviously had two kids and one on the way, but aside from that decided to schlep them along to the Rockford event of the century at 9:00 at night. I immediately concluded that she was one of those mom warriors. The kind that can make grilled cheese with one hand while folding laundry with the other. Oh yeah. There was no doubt in my mind that we would be out of there in a split second. So I patted myself on the back once more for this my second keen observation skill of the evening and began daydreaming about what it would be like to work as an apple cider drinking FBI agent. She went to grab the last item in her cart and I grabbed a couple dollars from my purse to check out next.

As soon as she finished scanning her last jar of generic barbecue sauce and she began to reach for what I presumed to be her wallet, she instead grabbed the sun roof to her stroller and pushed down the cover. Horror struck. I'd been sorely misled. For there was no rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed baby cargo occupying those seats. Just more canned goods.
And so on she went.
Scanning....and scanning...and scanning...

beep.
beep.
beep.

It was like a rare form of Chinese water torture. And it began to get the best of me. The walls started caving in. My heart rate started pounding. Just moments away from panic, I remembered the kind-hearted words that my husband always whispers to me in these situations of irrational angst:"Get a HOLD of yourself, woman!" So I muttered this to myself. A few times actually. And it began to work. I began to see myself minutes away from my hot cup of apple cinnamon delight.

beep
beep
beep.

It seemed like a lifetime passed me by. I actually contemplated what to get my unborn nephew for his 16th birthday. Time was crawling by, but I had managed to keep the crazy under control.

This tactic however, was short lived when much further into her scanning I noticed out of the corner of my peripheral vision...a binder. A very THICK binder. It wasn't a trapper keeper or daily planner. We are talking one of those binders with the ability to hold massive amounts of paperwork. The accordion binder. NOT unlike those that I had seen on TV with the CCL. The crazy coupon ladies. Calling back on my aforementioned FBI worthy skills of observation, I narrowed in on the suspect.

No sooner than she had bagged her last container of hummus, she opened the foreboding binder compartment. What she pulled out with her pristine, pink nails was not cash. At that moment my worst fears were confirmed. I had been duped again. She was clutching coupons. Mass amounts of them.

More time passed. I began to wonder if my husband had sent out the search troops.
The more she kept beeping, the closer she pushed me to the edge...

It's amazing what the mind is capable of. At one point I remember envisioning myself committing copious amounts of handcuff worthy material. Most to all of which involved lighting things on fire with my apple juice as lighter fluid, and using the coupons to feed the blaze. True, that particular liquid may not be the scientific equivalent of propane or gasoline, but in the moment, while clutching my $ 1 dollar gallon of Juicy Juice, I seemed to think that it was no only perfectly logical, but also perfectly just. I would be the Robin Hood of this land...or at least this line...and rightfully give people back what was taken from them. Their Wednesday night.

Alas,what could I do but watch in horror.
Reason somehow sunk in. I'd come that far. To engage in crimes of arson would surely not have brought me any closer to my end goal. So instead, I stood. Rendered helpless by the pregnant coupon queen and her money saving ways.

While it is true that restraint showed it's face to some degree and I may not have set the store a-blaze, I will say that the evening came to a close with what I would like to refer to as a less than koshir moment.

Blame it on the late hour or perhaps even on the jealousy that her bill ended up being just as much as mine...
Whatever the case may be or the reasoning behind it, you can rest assured that I took all my pent up anger about the entire evenings events and used it to fuel one of the most hard core, soul shaking, earth shattering...

eye roll/sigh combination that the likes of this town had ever seen. I also accompanied it with a slam of my cinnamon sticks into the bagging area. True, she may have ventured off at that point. But I know she must have felt it. Even the overseeing self-check out clerk could feel it. Oh yeah. He didn't say anything, but he knew. This lady had just been served a slice of "You've GOT to be kidding me" pie. And I did NOT give her a discount.

Booh.Yah.

Not all those who wander...

Whenever I've been in difficult situations that I would like to quit, I often find myself bitter and muttering the mantra, "I don't belong here". It's an age old,emotive cry that musical artists and authors have expressed over the years. Anyone that has been in circumstances like a taxing job environment or a new school,for example, have most likely felt that same painful sense of "not getting it" or "not fitting in" that usually rears it's ugly head through anger and isolation.

In the past, I have used it as a way to separate myself from the problem's origin, and in so doing, excuse myself from any responsibility or disappointment. If I don't belong here, then it is not my burden to bear. In essence, I give myself a "get out of jail free" card.

Lately, however, I've been learning that just as the rules apply in that of Monopoly, so do they hold true in life in the sense that I have been giving myself passes I am not at liberty to give. In fact, if I truly am the Christ follower that I profess to be, I cannot be looking for ways to avoid adversity for myself or the ones I love.

It's true. I don't belong here. I have a Home in eternity being prepared for me at this moment even as I write this(John 14:3). But just because my citizenship is elsewhere, does not mean that I'm allowed to "check out" of my temporary state when things get tough. And they will get tough. I live in a fallen world of sinners of which I myself am one. A sinner saved by her Savior, but a sinner nevertheless.

So it's because I don't belong here that I am called, rather commanded (Matthew 28:19), to stay the course so that others can come to know the same glory that their Creator has waiting for them as well.

Yes, I may be an alien in this world, but this does not mean that I am without a mission. And it's the times when I am tempted most to turn my back on the call, on the job, on the individual, on the location, that He asks me to remain. And in the remaining, perhaps have one more person realize, that they don't belong here either.