Day 28 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
Well, another hot day in sunny Florida…can’t believe it’s February and I’m laying beside a pool getting burnt…just seems wrong on so many levels! Reminds me of the time when I was on a college break and decided to go to the beach with my sister, Martha, and our best friend, Susan. We lived in Panama City, Florida and since we had the whole week off, we planned to go to the beach and bask in the sun every day. We gloated that we were going to have tans everyone would envy when we went back to school! We hit the beach bright and early Monday morning and, after getting settled on our beach towels, quickly began to slather on baby oil from head to toe. The ads promised that this would ensure a dark, rich tan – fast. Since all of us had skin the color of egg shells and only six days to morph into bronze goddesses, we were most generous in its application. None of us thought to compare our situation to that of placing raw meat into a heated frying pan filled with hot oil…until Tuesday morning, that is.
I remember waking up – not because it was light outside – but because I turned over and immediately felt a sharp, stabbing pain run through my body. It was as if I was sleeping on a bed of nails that had been set ablaze! I went to the bathroom to see what was wrong and screamed as I looked in the mirror! The only piece of skin that was not beat red was where my bathing suit had been. To say I was “cooked” would be an understatement! I heard moans coming from the bedroom and realized that the other sun worshipers were also feeling the burn. The first challenge was getting dressed without any piece of clothing actually touching our skin. We realized this was an impossible task and decided to just put our bathing suits back on. The second challenge was trying to sit down without actually bending a body part or touching the couch. I remember hearing a lot of, “Owie, owie, owie, owie, owie!” as we continually tried, without success.
Sadly, going back to the beach to continue working on our tans was out of the question. However, we spent the rest of the week assuring each other that once the infrared glow wore off, we would be left with a beautiful shade of brown comparable to that of an island native. I wish I could say that were the case – and that spending every waking hour having to walk around the house seeing our less than perfectly shaped bodies overflowing in skin tight swim suits (can you say scarred for life?) and every night trying to sleep standing up, was worth the pain! Unfortunately, when the red faded, we were left with scaly, pealing skin even more pale than the shade we had started out with. Somehow, we had managed to get even whiter than white! That was 30 years ago and I wish I could say that Susan, Martha and I look back on that snapshot of our lives and laugh about it. Sadly, whenever we get together and that memory is recalled, we all grimace and change the subject. And, to this day, I don’t have the heart to boil or eat lobsters – just brings back too many agonizing memories of vanity gone wild.
Day 27 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
Happy New Year to my multitude of blog readers and thanks for tuning back in to read my inspired ramblings!! In this first post of 2012, I feel led to start off with more excerpts from The Gospel-Centered Life: a Nine Lesson Study by Bob Thune and Will Walker. As I read Chapter 4, entitled “The Law and the Gospel,” I was immediately convicted of my failure to truly understand and embrace the grace of God through His Son, Jesus Christ! I spent most of my life living under “the law” – some of it biblical and some of it man-made – but all of it contrary to Christianity. I knew I had been saved through faith in Jesus Christ, but I somehow felt I still needed to earn God’s approval. I attempted to do this through “clean living” (no alcohol, no smoking, no cussing, going to church every time the doors were open and taking on prominent roles within the congregation, being kind to others, helping the less fortunate, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah). You get the picture. Well, here’s what the authors have to say:
“Even a casual reader can see that the Bible is full of commands, prohibitions, and expectations. It tells us what to do and what not to do. These rules or laws often present an obstacle to faith. Non-Christians object to Christianity because it seems like ‘just a bunch of rules and regulations.’ And even faithful Christians struggle to understand how the law of God and the gospel of God relate to each other. After all, if we are reconciled to God by grace and not by works, does it really matter whether we obey or not?
When we misunderstand the relationship between the law and the gospel, it leads to two opposite but equally destructive errors: legalism and license. Legalists continue to live under the law, believing that God’s approval is somehow depending on their right conduct. Licentious people dismiss the law, believing that since they are “under grace,” God’s rules don’t matter much. These two errors have been around since the days of the apostles. The book of Galatians is written to combat the error of legalism: ‘Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?’ (Galatians 3:3). The book of Romans addresses the error of license: ‘What then? Shall we sin because we are not under the law but under grace?’ (Romans 6:15).
Both legalism and license are destructive to the gospel. To avoid these pitfalls, we must understand the biblical relationship between law and gospel. In a nutshell, here’s how God designed it to work: the law drives us to the gospel and the gospel frees us to obey the law. Realizing all that God expects of us should drive us in despair to Christ. And once we are united with Christ, the indwelling Holy Spirit causes us to delight in God’s law and gives us power to obey it. In his commentary on Romans, Martin Luther summarized it this way: ‘The law, rightly understood and thoroughly comprehended, does nothing more than remind us of our sin and slay us by it, and make us liable to eternal wrath… The law is not kept by man’s own power, but solely through Christ who pours the Holy Spirit into our hearts. To fulfill the law…is to do its works with pleasure and love…[which are] put into the heart by the Holy Ghost.’”
I pray that these words encourage you to abandon legalism and license, and live solely by grace, through faith Jesus Christ, today and everyday of this hope-filled new year! Now, that’s a new year’s resolution worth making!!
(To learn more about the gospel and how you can KNOW you will spend eternity in heaven, go to my website: TwistedComedian.com, click on the “about” link at the top of the page, then scroll about half-way down and click on the “GOSPEL” link!)
Day 26 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
In preparation for a date, I went to a nail salon for a manicure and pedicure. As I sat there for two hours, watching and listening, I wondered why the people running the place only spoke English when the phone rang, when they needed to know what services you were there for, and when they were collecting your money. The remainder of the time, they spoke to each other in their native tongue – Vietnamese. Since I don’t speak their language, I am convinced that they’re making fun of me and all the other customers, but can’t prove it. I can just hear them saying, “This girl has got some big feet. I ought to charge her double!” or “I should get combat pay for these calluses! Doesn’t this girl ever wear shoes?” or “This girl’s feet are so skanky, we’re gonna hafta fumigate the entire salon when she leaves!” My mom, who often struggled with being over her ideal weight, was always convinced they were making fat jokes at her expense. It does make me wonder, especially since they don’t make eye contact with you while they’re talking. Could it be because, if they did, they would bust out laughing? Maybe. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I find it ironic our military went to Vietnam to rid the country of communism, extreme poverty, and human rights violations. Then, 30 years later, the people of Vietnam come here to rid us of dry cuticles, cracked heels, and hang nails. So, as I admire my soft, freshly polished hands and feet, I can’t help but feel deep gratitude to all our soldiers who have made, and continue to make, freedom around the world a reality. For many of them, the emotional, mental and physical sacrifices they make are beyond human comprehension. Often times, they give up their freedom in order to secure ours! As I write this, I’m also reminded of the unimaginable sacrifice Jesus Christ made for me. He gave up His throne in Heaven to come and die in my place, so I could be free from my sins. And, not just free during my lifetime here on this earth, but free for all eternity! There are no words to express my gratitude to Him…only a tear-stained face, hands held high in silent praise to the One who loves me more than His own life, and the words to this beautiful hymn by Edward Mote (1797-1874) on my lips:
“My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name. When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace; in every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil. His oath, His covenant, His blood support me in the whelming flood; when all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay. When He shall come with trumpet sound, oh, may I then in Him be found; dressed in His righteousness alone, faultless to stand before the throne. On Christ, the solid rock I sand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand.”
Day 25 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
My daughter’s friend, Joshua, just sent me a Facebook message. He is 24 years old and said that ever since he “friended” me and my sister on FB, all his “people you may know” suggestions are over 70 and live in – you guessed it – Florida. Thankfully, he has a great sense of humor and said it made him laugh. I don’t think I’d be laughing if I were his age. I’m twice his age and I wouldn’t be laughing – I’d be “un-friending” everyone over 40 as fast as my fingers and mouse would let me! It seems to me that we spend a great deal of time in our lives wishing we were at a different stage of our lives. When we’re young, we want to be “grown up.” When we’re grown up, we want to be young again. In fact, I just spent several hours last night going through all the clothes in my closet, holding up each piece and asking myself, “Does this look youthful or is it something I’d wear when I retire?” Needless to say (there’s that non-essential phrase again!), Goodwill is about to have a huge influx of floral print shirts and dresses, with matching stretch knit pants. They will be available for purchase after 2:00 PM today at their store next to the Paddock Mall, but if you contact me in the next 15 minutes, I’ll make ya a deal.
I’m used to my daughter telling me “what not to wear” and in fact appreciate it! I tell people, “If you like my outfit and I appear to be well put together, it’s because my daughter dressed me. If you look at me and wonder what I was thinking – or if I was thinking – when I left the house wearing what I have on, then I dressed myself.” I’m not allowed to even go shopping without her, as I always come home with items that look like something my mom would have picked out for me. That’s probably because I’ve never paid much attention to how my parents dress. My mom either wore all black (because, as she would say, “Black hides a multitude of sins!”) or big floral prints. My dad followed suit with either dark solids or Hawaiian shirts. They always seemed to match – probably because my mom bought all my dad’s clothes and told him what to wear. Now that it’s just me and dad, for some reason I feel compelled to do the same.
For example, Dad and I were going to have lunch last week with a long-time family friend of the female persuasion, and he comes out of his bedroom wearing – yup, you guessed it – a Hawaiian shirt. I suggested he go change and put on something a little nicer. He said, “Why? I like this shirt. Everyone likes Hawaiian shirts!” I rolled my eyes and said, “No, dad, everyone does not like Hawaiian shirts. They have no shape and that one is way too big on you – it makes you look much heavier than you really are.” It didn’t really matter anyways, because he always wears his University of Florida Gator jacket whenever he leaves the house, so it was not a battle worth fighting. When we got to the restaurant it was hot inside, so dad took off his jacket. As he was hanging it on the back of his chair, a guy walked by and said, “Hey, I like your shirt! It looks good on you!” Dad looked at me and said, “See – everyone likes Hawaiian shirts!” I rolled my eyes again… Oh, well, what do I know anyway? I still wear white after Labor Day, but please don’t tell my daughter!
P.S.
P.S. When you pull up my website (www.TwistedComedian.com) the very first photo you see is of me and two of my comedian friends, Charlie McCoin and Jennifer Bass. I laughed out loud when it pulled up because I struck the exact pose I referred to in my “Day 24…” blog earlier today, complete with me hiding behind not one, but TWO suitcases!!!!!
Day 24 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
Two months ago I decided that I was tired of being over-weight and blaming the extra pounds on “baby fat.” After all, my “babies” are now 22 and 25 years old, so that excuse was laughable! I also realized that in every photo dating back to 1986, I was making an outrageous attempt to hide behind someone or something – trees, cars, lamp posts – you name it, I’ve ducked behind it. Only my face was distinguishable in the pics, and even then I was wrenching my head upwards and cocking it to the side in an effort to make my turkey neck disappear. What’s funny is that I actually believed no one would “get” what I was attempting to do with that ridiculous pose! To add insult to injury, I started dating a man recently who was quick to tell me that he needed to lose a few pounds. I told him that he looked great and asked him what he weighed. He told me – HE ACTUALLY TOLD ME!!! You’re not supposed to voluntarily disclose your weight – that’s just wrong! That revelation was shocking enough, but then it hit me that I weigh more than he does! I can’t weigh more than the dude – that’s even more wrong!!
So, I decided to wage war on my weight. The problem is that I don’t just eat when I’m hungry. I tend to eat when I’m bored, discouraged or frustrated, which is often the case these days. And, I like to eat what I like to eat, which does not include anything with the words “no fat,” “sugar free” or “low calorie” in the title. This presented me with a diet dilemma! It was evident that if I wanted to keep eating the foods I enjoyed, I would have to eat less of them AND add more exercise to my daily regime. This presented a second diet dilemma because I really hate to exercise – it spills my milkshakes. I already swim five times a week and, after a mile, I’m bored with the routine. Since being bored makes me want to eat, staying in the lane longer is not an option. What else to do…what else to do. I know, I’ll rollerblade! Now, there’s a brilliant plan! I’ve been in two horrific car accidents in which I’ve suffered concussions and room-spinning vertigo, I got a nose bleed just from jogging to the end of my driveway, I’ve been known to trip and fall simply at the thought of walking down a flight of stairs, and I haven’t seen the inside of a skating rink since 1979, but I’m going to strap eight wheels onto my two left feet and maintain perfect balance as they spin out from under me. Sure, why not? Sounds like fun and I’ve got good medical coverage!
Needless to say (Don’t ya love that expression? People say it and then proceed to tell you what they didn’t need to tell you, which is what I’m about to do!) I decided not to tell my friends and family about my rollerblading plan. I knew they’d try to talk me out of it and I’m determined lose some of the flab before the holiday party invites start showing up in my mailbox. Besides, I’m taking all the necessary precautions to not get hurt. In fact, it takes me almost as much time to get in/out of all my “protective gear” as my aging body can actually handle skating. I even wear a “fanny pack” (much to my daughter’s chagrin) with my survival kit: cell phone, tissues, bandages, first aid cream, and mace. Yes, mace! I know that the likelihood of anyone wanting to mug me is slim to nil, especially given the fact that I’m actually wearing a fanny pack, but you never know these days. And, at the rate of speed I’m traveling, I wouldn’t be hard to catch – you could practically walk right up to me and demand that I hand over the goods. Sadly, the only “goods” I’m carrying are the M&M’s necessary to supplement the sugar loss from the adrenalin rush. Most likely, the candy and the extra exercise cancel each other out, which means I’ll have to add another weight loss activity to my daily sweat regiment. What else to do…what else to do. Well, I’ve never seen a fat cyclist. Guess this means I’ll be bicycle shopping later today. Might be nice to sit down for a change while exercising and, if I peddle fast enough, the g-forces will not only make me feel lighter, they will give me an instant face lift! Bye, bye, gobble neck and hello skinny jeans!!
Day 23 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
If you’ve been following my blogs, you know that since July I’ve been living with my dad in Florida, in a senior adult mobile home park. You also know that my biggest concern is that I’ll die here – from boredom! I’ve been sucked into the retirement black hole and am starting to smell like moth balls. The highlight of my week is “game night” every Friday from 6:00-8:00 PM, followed by black and white westerns on the TV until everyone is snoring and drooling, which is usually only 10 minutes into the movie. I recently decided that I needed to remind myself I’m only 40-something and still have a lot of “life” left in me! So, I searched the internet and found a dance studio about 30 miles from my house that teaches Salsa lessons on Sunday nights. Sold!
So, I’ve been going for the past four weeks and, since I never danced before, I’m just now starting to get the hang of it. You see, I grew up as a “minister’s kid” in Methodist and Southern Baptist churches, so dancing was not allowed – in fact, we were assured that we’d go straight to hell for even considering it. Since becoming a grown up, I’ve read my Bible and discovered that God actually encourages dancing as a form of worship, and I suspect we will be doing quite a bit of it around the heavenly throne! Therefore, in preparation for eternity, I lace up my dancing shoes every Sunday and do my best to not look like I’m in fear for my life.
Most people bring a partner to the class so they have somebody to dance with. Since I don’t have a partner, I have to dance with the instructor, who is typically a girl. Can we say awkward? Of course, that’s not nearly as awkward as when the instructor says, “Switch” and the husbands/boyfriends have to leave their dates and take their turn with me! The men give their wives/girlfriends the pitiful, “I’m so sorry – this wasn’t my idea!” look and I, in turn, get the stink eye from the women. On week three I was relieved to see some single men in the class. Of course, they were all younger than me – much younger – so, I kept apologizing to them for having to dance with their mother. They all laughed and said it was okay. They even tried to look like they were enjoying themselves as they twirled me around the dance floor. One guy was especially friendly and asked me to marry him on the first dance. Then, it was my turn to laugh! I knew he was going to be trouble when he first walked into the studio. He immediately scanned the room for the ladies and began working the crowd. From his pompadour hair and flashy clothes, I’m not sure if he thought he was Casanova or Elvis.
When I returned home this past Sunday, my dad asked me why I was taking Salsa lessons. I replied, “So I can go dancing!” In an instant, all the color drained out of his face, his jaw dropped to the floor, and I could see his mind flashing back in time to the “you’re gonna burn in hell” speech he gave us growing up. When he could speak again, he said, stammering, “You mean you’re actually going to go dance somewhere?” Yes, dad, that’s the plan. I’m not sure when or where, and it may not happen until the next life when I’m in the presence of THE King, but one way or another, I’m going to dance!
Day 22 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
Last night Dad and I watched a television movie called, “Must Love Dogs.” It was about Internet dating and, as predicted, the guy gets the girl in the end and they live happily ever after…it was nauseating!! I later complained to a friend of mine about it and asked, “Why is it that the fairy tale always comes true in movies, but rarely in real life? Why can’t Hollywood make a movie that reflects how hard it is to find lasting love?” He laughed and said, “Because no one would want to watch it!” True.
Later that evening, Dad and I watched our nightly “Wheel of Fortune” game show. Maybe it was just because I was still thinking about how unfair love can be, but I noticed something that I hadn’t paid any attention to before. When Pat (the show’s host) asks the contestants to tell him about their families, they always describe their spouse and children with affectionate, glowing terms. Such as, “I am happily married to my stunningly beautiful wife, Trish, and we have two amazing daughters, Amber and Aubrey who light up our world.” Or, “I have an incredibly successful husband named Todd, and a brilliant baby boy named Austin who is already fluent in three languages.” True? Maybe, but for once, I’d love to hear someone be totally honest and say, “I have been married for ten long years to my deadbeat husband, Joe. It has been a real struggle because he doesn’t like to work for a living and drinks his weight in beer every night. I’m here to make some money so we can pay our trailer rent. We’re behind three months. We have four mediocre children who are barely passing in school and tend to be on the lazy side, like their dad.” Or, even better, “I’m not married, I have no children, and every guy I go out with changes his phone number after the first date. I am starting to lose hope because I’m in my 30’s, I’m not getting any younger, and THE CLOCK IS TICKIN’!!!” Too real? Maybe. Probably. Okay, yes.
Thankfully, I haven’t lost hope and am continuing to search for the happy ending… At least I have one thing going for me – I do love dogs!
Day 21 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
I recently went back to dating online. As expected, the usual scary dudes came out of the woodwork immediately, winking and writing. The strangest e-mail was from a dude who said, “Hi! It’s nice to see a woman like you on this site. I have said a Sun Stand Still Prayer to God asking him to bring someone into my life. I’ve been a widow for 18 months now. And I was with my wife 17 years. I understand your pain. I have it as well. But I’m ready to move on. It says in Job man should not be left alone. If you like to contact me. Call me at…” I grabbed my cell phone and started dialing……………….NOT!!!
As I alluded to in yesterday’s blog, I am far from casual when it comes to dating. I liken the experience to going into battle. I pick out the target, plan the attack, spend hours putting on full body armor, and storm the beach with a “take no prisoners” approach. Then, I watch as the guys run and duck for cover in an attempt to escape what must feel like an ambush! Even so, I find myself shocked when they surrender and further communication is cut off…
So, I did some soul searching today and discovered something about myself that truly surprised me. I realized that I’ve spent my entire adult life being a wife and, in those 24 years, I think I mastered the craft fairly well. However, these past four years have taught me that I have NO idea how to be a girlfriend! Whenever I encounter the male species, I plunge myself instantly into “wife mode.” I want to cook for him, do his laundry, sort his socks, redecorate his house, go shopping for clothes, and know where he is every minute of every day… Since it’s no secret in our society that most men have “commitment issues,” this terrifies even the most seasoned warrior!!
Therefore, the next time I find someone I’m interested in, I am going to halt any forward movement on my part and let him decide on the course of action. Who knows? I might even get a second date, which would certainly be a victory on my part!
Day 20 of life in the slow lane with the turn signal on…
Four weeks ago my loneliness and boredom outweighed my common sense and better judgment, and I signed back up for another round of online dating. Evidently, my self-esteem had finally recovered from the last beating it took when I tried to find “Mr. Right” via cyberspace. That, or I’m just a glutton for punishment…only time will tell. I admit that going into this endeavor, my expectations were not very high. After all, since finding myself single four years ago, my track record with men has been dismal, at best. I’ve gone out with a pilot, a preacher, a drummer, an anesthesiologist, a construction worker, a firefighter, a banker, and a former pro wrestler. Most of the dates consisted only of coffee and brief conversation. My longest run was with an Egyptian banquet server whom I met at work. He was a beautiful man who spoke five languages and had an accent that made everything he said sound like a love poem. On the second date he professed his undying love for me and I was convinced he was “the one.” Three months later he returned to Egypt and married his first cousin. Can you say deal-breaker?
My daughter says I’m not having any success because I don’t play “the game.” I told her that I wasn’t aware there was a game, let alone how to play it. She informs me there are rules. I don’t do rules…would rather ask for forgiveness than permission. Apparently, I come on too strong and scare off the would-be suitors. I am supposed to play it cool and act like I don’t care if they call me the day after. I am to pretend that I’m not smarter than the dude, but not act so dumb that they think I can’t find my way out of a hole in the dirt. It’s a stupid game. Of course, it doesn’t help that before finding myself single again in 2007, the last time I went on a date was in 1981. And, to add insult to injury, I now have grown children to contend with. No one should have to date in front of their kids…it’s just wrong!
I think the reason I’ve been unable to find a new mate has less to do with me and more to do with the fact that these men were not being totally honest. They had hidden agendas, secret pasts, and no intention of making any commitment to me until they were absolutely sure there was no one “better” out there. Nevertheless, here I go – again – diving into the deep end of the dating pool. This time I decided to wear a life vest. It will keep me bobbing on top of the water vs. floundering around on the bottom. Maybe this time I won’t fall prey to the “sharks” quite so quickly…