Marvin Gaye Had it Right

“I’ve got some memories to look back on and though they help me when you phone, I’m well aware nothing can take the place of being there. Ain’t nothin’ like the real thing, baby.” ~Marvin Gaye

“…so that by God's will I may come to you with joy and together with you be refreshed.” ~Romans 15:32

I am supposed to appear in court on August 5.

Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’m gonna just skip the country on the 3rd.

Monday we purchased our airline tickets for our departure to Papua New Guinea, and Tuesday I received a Jury Summons. Fortunately, no longer living in Tarrant County is a legal reason to be excused, ‘cause that would have been one heck of a commute. And I’m not thinking they would go for a Skype connection; somehow, that doesn’t compare to actually being there.

Marvin Gaye had it right. There’s nothing like the real thing. I believe this so much that just a couple hours ago I found myself digging through the trash outside by the curb. Yep. I was willing to brave banana peels, watermelon-soaked paper towels, and last night's stew residue to locate that silly summons just so I could take a picture of it. If you can get over the stains on the paper, doesn’t it make your blog-reading experience that much more special to actually see the document than just to be told about it? OK, humor me.

Last fall I set up a profile on one of those online "social utilities.” I had stood in silent protest against them for quite some time, but I finally gave in. And I’m glad I did, for I have been able to reconnect with many people I had not seen in 15, 20 years or more.

But, even Facebook has its drawbacks. Besides being a consummate time-waster (come on … admit it), “seeing” people online is definitely not the same as spending time with them in person. (Insert rampage about our country going down the toilet because the upcoming generations have few social skills that do not involve miniature keyboards and carpal-tunnel syndrome.)

I think one of my greatest experiences this year has been the chance to actually see, in person, and visit with so many people from the distant, and not-so-distant, past. This includes extended family, former teachers, Sunday School teachers, elementary classmates, high school buddies, college friends, college roommates, church friends, and even some people I had never met in person before. What a privilege!

By the way ... I noticed on Facebook some time ago that you can be a “Fan of Jesus.” Oh my. Seriously, people? I mean, I suppose I can see being a fan of a TV show or an athlete, or even being a Fan of (*cough* Brad) Bacon, but a fan of Jesus? But whether you see that as anything close to sacrilege or not, even those who are His “fans” see only a “poor reflection as in a mirror.” (Some very poor, I imagine.) But, someday “we shall see [Him] face to face!” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Yep. I'm thinkin' there won’t be nothin’ like the real thing, baby.

Friends from Arizona:

High School friends who now live in Arizona:

Relatives in North Texas:

Relatives in South Texas:

Friends from Fort Worth:

Friends from Arizona who now live in South Carolina:

College friends in Georgia and South Carolina:

Childhood friends:


High School friends:

Former youth workers:

Relatives in Washington:

Friends in Washington:

Friends in Alabama:

Mom and Dad:

How Fortunate

“Action makes more fortune than caution.” ~Charlotte Whitton 

“Your fortune is not something to find but to unfold.” ~Eric Butterworth 

“Good humor is … the direct route to serenity and contentment.” ~Grenville Kleiser 

 

Moving is always more work than you think.

 

After days of working and feeling like we weren't making much progress, we were just about ready to set fire to our house and all its contents.  It’s not that we lost sight of the reason for moving in the first place, but we were tired and quickly growing less and less concerned with what would become of the piles of stuff that lined every room of our house.

 

Unwilling to take time out from our fun to prepare a meal, Chinese take out was ordered for lunch.  As we sat on the floor eating Moo Goo Gai Pan, we discussed strategies for enduring the rest of the pack-purge-paint-and-move process.  It was a dismal time.

 

Then someone passed around the fortune cookies.

 

Now, we’re not normally superstitious, of course.  Fortune cookies are just for fun, right?  That’s what we thought before my husband opened his cookie.

 

The air around us decompressed as we all shared a great laugh and attributed to God the placement of that particular “fortune."

 

Now, a few weeks later, we are in the final days of this phase of our partnership development: asking God to bring together the people He has prepared to join with us in prayer and financial support while we are in Papua New Guinea.  We must have our budget covered in the next few days if we are going to be able to leave in August.  We’re not worried – it is definitely a God-sized task, and he is so much more than able.  But, still … the thought is ever present in our minds.

 

On Sunday, we had Chinese food again.

 

My fortune?

 

 

How fortunate!

 

Certainly, without being content in the Lord and where He has me in life, stepping on the soil of many countries would do little more than dirty my feet.

  

“Alas, if the principles of contentment are not within us, the height of station and worldly grandeur will as soon add a cubit to a man’s stature as to his happiness.” ~Laurence Sterne

 

“But Godliness with contentment is great gain.” ~1 Timothy 6:6

I'm Not a Doctor and I Don't Play One on TV

"Common sense is in medicine the master workman." ~Peter Latham

"Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died." ~Erma Bombeck

"I told my doctor I broke my leg in two places. He told me to quit going to those places." ~Henny Youngman

You can call me "Grace."

My efforts to get the house painted, repaired, and emptied out, and our things purged and sorted basically became an exercise in pile management. Gotta clean out the closet? Move the piles to the bedroom. The bedroom needs painting? Move the piles to the closet. The bedroom and closet need carpet installed? Move the piles to the living room. Yes, right beside the couch and loveseat that someone was supposed to come get yesterday, but that now will be picked up tomorrow after they have been completely surrounded by … piles.

The same piles I tripped over while, yes, moving a pile.

The same piles that landed me in a twisted heap of embarrassment, with pain in my foot, uh, to boot. J

“It’s just sprained,” I told myself as I kept working for several more days, not about to take time out to go to the doctor for such a frivolous injury.

But the swelling and pain remained. Eighteen days later, I finally had x-rays and now, with a cracked third metatarsal, I am in that boot I referred to.

So stylish, huh?

Not one to overreact, or at least wishing to not appear to be overreacting, I tend to be rather conservative when it comes to seeking medical attention. Plus, I’m still working toward my deductable here. Seriously, people.

So, instead of getting to the doctor earlier, I shamelessly sought free advice from two different orthopedists we know. One nailed it, sight unseen, right on the third metatarsal, and suggested I wear the boot my mother had. Impressive. Nearly two weeks later I paid a podiatrist for three x-rays, and the same diagnosis and treatment regimen. And she inflicted pain on me in the process. Remind me to listen to my friend next time.

Stranger still than tripping and breaking a bone is the night last week when the relentless itching of my hands and feet woke me repeatedly. No, no rash; no visible reason for such irritation … just the palms and backs of my hands itching wildly, and the tops and bottoms of my feet doing the same. I am certain that I was sending the histamines in my body into a frenzy of pleasure, but I couldn’t help it. It was sheer insanity. About the third time I awoke, in between the scratches, I googled my way to another attempt at self-diagnosis.

I was pretty certain that I did not have Crohn’s Disease, but there was one other “reason” that seemed popular on those message boards (I couldn’t find any good medically-supported site that gave me any assistance whatsoever) - a deficiency of B-12.

Nah.

We were staying in someone’s home, so I figured it was some soap I must be allergic to, or the detergent that this woman used for her sheets, or something. Finally, after scratching the itch of every histamine from Raleigh to Charlotte, and applying several layers of moisturizer, fatigue took over and I was able to sleep through the rest of the night.

The next night we stayed with someone else – no problem. Her detergent must be a little more me-friendly, I assumed.

The next night, however, back at my parents’ house, I awoke again, only to spend two hours scratching – again, the palms, soles, tops, and backs of my hands and feet.

The following day, I bought some B-12.

Figured if nothing else, if it was psychosomatic, I could at least take it long enough to trick myself into thinking I was better. I have taken it pretty regularly, and had no more problems. Yet. Heh heh.

A couple days ago I had a long conversation with a teenager about, well, teenagerish stuff. At one point I mentioned how we are all spiritual beings. She didn’t quite understand, so I tried to explain how God made us with a void that can only be filled (at least effectively) by Him. Of course, some people twist that spirituality, trying to self-medicate with all sorts of things. I embarked on a litany of youth-specific solutions to filling the God-shaped hole, but, of course this syndrome isn't limited to adolescents. Though certainly some of these self-medications, like my B-12 are “good,” maybe even “spiritual,” perhaps like my B-12, they might have only a placebo effect. At best, they probably just treat the symptoms of the need for a relationship with God – symptoms such as loneliness, emptiness, and lack of purpose.

Until I saw a doctor for my foot, I knew it was a possibility that I had broken a bone, but there was no way to be certain. I even wore a boot for a short period of time, but without that confidence that came from the podiatrist, I felt stupid and ended up “losing” the boot. I walked carefully, and wore good sturdy shoes. I tried to stay off of it when possible. But the pain and swelling still persisted, reinforcing to me that something was wrong. Only when I had the official word of a doctor, the expert’s recommendation of what would bring the healing my foot needed, did I gain the confidence and motivation to do so.

Those who have not received the WORD of the Great Physician, the Expert’s knowledge of what is needed to bring healing in their lives, spiritually speaking, also lack that confidence and motivation. They may or may not recognize that there is a hole there, a void waiting to be filled, but they feel its effects, and many times they fill it with all sorts of things. Unfortunately, though, short of accepting God’s gift of salvation through a Lordship relationship with Christ, the pain in their hearts can only continue.

Pray with me for the 2300 language groups around the world (several hundred of which are in Papua New Guinea) who still do not have the WORD of God in their mother tongue - the "official" recommendation for the only treatment that can fill their empty, sin-sick, purposeless souls.

Trust me … self-medication is insufficient.

Overwhelmed

My apologies to Robert Frost ...

Whose stuff this is, I think I know.

My house is filled with junk, so

You will not see me stopping here - 

We must finish before we can go.

My little friends must think it queer

To pile things there and pile things here

With not a single piece of furniture around

But stuff in crannies far and near.

I give my sleepy head a shake

To try to keep myself awake.

Packing, painting, and carpet new - 

All progress toward PNG to make.

The mattress is lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have insanity to keep

And piles to go before I sleep.

And piles to go before I sleep.