Archive for May, 2010
Oh, I’m catching onto myself here. Practicing a little reverse psychology…or some sort of psychology. See, what I posted about my morning was true, true, true. That is how I operate. Had I not posted it, I would most likely have spent the entire day curled up in a chair reading, writing, and/or surfing the web. Which is not a bad way to spend the day. But all day long I would have had a niggle of reproof in my stomach–that I SHOULD be out doing something. It would make me feel better. It would make Tim happy. It would be healthy. But, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?
I just got back from the workout room.
You know, things that seem so logical and insurmountable when they’re in my stomach appear quite silly when they’re expressed. So I wrote my post, posted it, read it, realized that it was just stupid, changed into work out clothes, walked downstairs through the poolroom to the exercise equipment, hopped on the treadmill, put in 2 miles in 30 minutes, sweated up a storm, drank some water, felt really good, cooled down, came back upstairs, and plopped happily down into a chair in my nice, comfortable, safe haven.
No. Big. Deal.
What I should do: go use the work out room. Or the pool. Or walk to Target.
What I want to do: stay hunkered down in my haven made safe by the do-not-disturb sign on my door.
What I will do: vacillate for a while, work myself into a tizzy totally unjustified by my two alternatives, and finally give in to one or the other and/or possibly create a third option that involves very little benefit to either my physical health or my mental peace, thus negating my tizzy and pacifying my guilty sense of what I really should do and what I really want to do.
I have a love-hate relationship with ticks: they love me, I hate them. Final tick counts for the weekend in Kentucky: Tim-4, Dad-6, Mom-7, Cristy-23. I was tied with the dog. Now THAT really makes me feel good about myself. So does the fact that in certain circles, I’m now known as TickMag. I think it’s my young, fertile smell. Drives the ticks mad. And other things that start with T.
I had a headache for most of yesterday afternoon/evening, but it was gone when I woke up! Must have been that gimongous strawberry milkshake or maybe just the handsome young guy who bought it for me and the much needed, long overdue, extremely helpful talk we had while slurping it.
Speaking of things that start with T, I love him.
Over the weekend, I finished Trusting God in a Twisted World by Elizabeth Elliot and started Praying Backwards by Bryan Chapell. I’m looking forward to it.
I have been in 6 states since Friday.
Our hotel room here in Atlanta has a king bed and a continental breakfast with scrambled eggs. This ranks very high in my book.
I am so thankful for the 11 months between us and our wedding.
We heard a really good message from John Piper on Sunday about how the doctrines of grace apply to every day life, including prayer and evangelism. It’s the last in a series called TULIP. We appreciated the ending so much, we’re planning to buy the series. You should, too. Also heard a good sermon from Pastor John at my parents’ church on the importance of the church body/corporate worship to personal Christian growth. A good reminder, especially seeing as I have so much growing to do.
I get to see my sister in ~10 days!! I can’t wait. Plus, we’re going to visit some of our best college friends in Florida just as soon as Tim finishes his work here in Atlanta. That means like this weekend. I really, really need the encouragement of all their fellowship.
I forgot to put sugar in my Amish-Friendship-Banana-Bread, but I really, really like how it turned out anyway. YUM. I brought some with us, and I think I’ll go have a piece as soon as I’m finished.
I like how motels provide a ‘do-not-disturb’ sign to hang on the door knob. It’s nice.
I have a ton of shopping to do while I’m here. Birthdays, babies, bachelorette parties, etc, etc. I hope I can find some good stores that are really close to where we’re staying–I do NOT want to attempt traffic in a strange city with a car that’s not even ours.
I’ve just emerged from 4 solid days in mountain country, and it was GREAT.
I just realized that I really, really need to cut my toenails.
Like really, really really.
Like maybe I should go do that now.
I sometimes (okay, more than sometimes) feel like such a stupid reader. I miss so much. I read too fast. I’m thinking about other things. I’m tired. I’m…a stupid reader.
Like: I have read Psalm 9 at least 3 times in the last two weeks, and only today did I stumble across this:
“Oh enemy, destructions are finished forever!”
(It’s there in verse 6. Double check me. Please?)
It hit me like a two edged sword–one that I’ve apparently parried several times recently. (In case you were wondering, parrying the sword of the Spirit is never a smart move on the part of the warrior ((who, in case you were wondering, is me)).)
Has it hit you yet?
Oh enemy, destructions are finished forever!
I can picture several tones of voice in which David might have said this.
One is a triumphant shout of victory after a long, hard, excruciating battle. OH, ENEMY! DESTRUCTIONS ARE FINISHED FOREVER!!!! It gives me chills, in a good way. Like Braveheart yelling “FREEDOM!!” only about 77 times better, because here it is not only fought for, but achieved!
Another is sort of an off hand, casual, smug sort of approach: Oh, Satan, by the way, did you get the memo? You’re like permanent TOAST. I love that one, too. So juicily fatal, and that ol’ devil didn’t even see it coming. Love, love, love it.
And then there’s the taunting jeer. Oooooh, Enemyyyyy! Guuuueeeess whaaaat?! God just totally smushed your guuuuuts….
I’m sure there are more, and I’m sure I’m going to enjoy thinking them tonight as I fall asleep.
I mean REALLY enjoy it.
You see, I have an enemy, too, and I fight with him every day. All day long. Oh, and about every night minus the ‘about’. But I don’t fight him very well, because I try to do it by myself. I forget what David remembers: that Jesus fought him, too, and won!
So next time he shows up for battle, I won’t be going in alone and unarmed. Oh, Satan, I’ll say. It’s you again. Look, I know you think you can win this one. Well…you can’t. I know you think that’s funny because you seem to have the upper hand. Well, it won’t last long. You thought you could win with Jesus, too, remember? Remember when you seemed to have the upper hand? Remember what happened? I do. He demolished you. Oh enemy, your destructions are finished forever!!
And guess who has pictures she wants to upload?
Um, that would also be me. Yup. None other.
- read Psalm 12
- decapitated 12 pounds of strawberries
- prayed for Tim and our parents
- spent $33 at the grocery store
- saved $53 at the grocery store (!!)
- bought Tim all the makings of a really special supper. Now I just have to schedule it. I love surprising him with a really nice meal and a really little dress every so often when he comes home from work…
- talked to my sister
- talked to my mom
- emailed Tim’s parents
- made one batch of low sugar strawberry jam
- canned it
- listened to it pop. and pop. and pop!! (LOVE the sound of jars sealing)
- cleaned up the kitchen
- ate chocolate
- changed my iGoogle theme
Overall, a very productive day for me! I was getting proud of myself until I realized that my mom did this and more every day of my life that I can remember. With one hand tied behind her back. And three kids.
I’m not even going to think about all that I didn’t get done…
…or three kids…
You know, when I was seven, I loved secrets. I wasn’t always great at keeping them (like, say, the time I got so excited about my Dad’s Christmas present from my Mom that I blurted, “Dad, Dad, aren’t you going to open your shirt now?!”), but man they were great. They made you feel special…excited…important. They were great weapons for, say, riling a sibling to inane jealousy (not that I ever did that to my sister, no way). They were almost always innocent, fun, and boded well for the object–more like surprises than secrets.
I made it all the way to sixteen before I began to realize that secrets aren’t always nice. Sometimes they are ugly, nasty, and soaked in deception. They make you feel scared…tired…depressed. They complicate and confuse black and white into an awful, heavy grey.
I’m twenty-four now, and I hate them.