MY NEW MIRROR

I Corinthians 13:12:

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror...”

I put one of those funhouse mirrors in my bathroom the other day.

What was the matter with me?  I shoulda done this years ago. 

What was once a terrifying, semi-depressing daily ritual (lookin’ at myself in the mirror every morning) has suddenly become an exciting private pleasure I find myself wanting to repeat several times a day. I’m thinking of dropping a couple of hobbies just to make more time to look at myself in my funhouse mirror.  So long communion cup collecting.  Sorry, somethin’ had to go.

Depending on where I’m standing, my entire body image can change within seconds.  Sometimes I have a fat head, other times a fat body.  Other times, I’m suddenly skinny...all over.  Without dieting or exercise.  Really.  This almost NEVER happened in my other mirror.

It’s true, I don’t ever get what you could call a completely accurate reading on what I’ve got going on, but I DO get a pretty good idea.  And frankly, in my case, “pretty good” is good enough.

My funhouse mirror shows me if there’s renegade spinach anywhere it shouldn’t be.  It instantly tells me if I have neglected to put on pants, or my Hawaiian Hula skirt.  And no one as of yet, has been able to secretly put a sombrero on my head without me knowing about it. 

What else do you want from a mirror?

I will say that no matter what, a funhouse mirror beats the time Gidget and I lived in that House of Mirrors.  That was just plain annoying.  And dangerous.  It did FEEL like the biggest house I’ve ever lived in, though.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

NOW I PRAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

I fell asleep during my bedtime prayers again last night.

I’m not proud of that fact.  I’m not saying I’m a wonderful example of devotional commitment that everybody should aspire to.  I’m just tellin’ what happened.

I don’t know why this happens.  I guess it could be because I say my bedtime prayers IN my bed instead of BESIDE my bed, on my knees, the way I used to do it when I was a kid.   You don’t fall asleep when you pray on your knees. 

But look, I CAN’T pray on my knees anymore.  I can’t even garden on my knees anymore.  Frankly, I don’t know how you Catholics do it every week.  I’d need more than that little bench with a cushion, I can tell you that.

For a while I tried praying in a chair but it felt too much like I was interviewing for a job.  I tried standing and praying but I always ended up preaching instead of praying.  Bathtub praying is just weird, and unlike SOME people I know, I have NEVER prayed while on the toilet.  For record, I don’t do any reading there either.  There places for reading.  They are called “libraries”.   "Let him who hath ears..."

So sometime ago, I started praying my bedtime prayers in bed.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I have to admit it, it has rarely worked.

I usually start off good, with a fair amount of praising and thanking.  But then I slide into the slurring, and the mind drifting and the incoherant babbling.  Occasionally I’ll start talkin’ in cartoon voices, lose my place, wake up and have to start over. 

What bothers me most is that I’m not sure if any of these prayers “take”.  I’m not sure if I ever get to the “In Jesus name I pray” part.  Does anybody know whether or not you HAVE to get to that part for it to count?  Scripture is, at best, sketchy on this topic.

There is nothing worse than struggling through a sleepy bedtime prayer in bed, fighting off the Slumber Monster only to realize in the morning that you fell asleep sometime between “Please bless my family” and “Which Hogan’s Heroes is YOUR favorite episode, Lord?”

Oh, don’t sit there like you’ve never done THAT before. 

As together we stand and sing.

BP

DISAPPEARING DISFELLOWSHIPS

A while back I was having dinner with a few of friends of mine.

Naturally, because I was there, the conversation eventually turned to Bible-y, church-y stuff.   I have that influence on people.  They can’t help it.  I’m THAT powerful. Charismatic.  They can be talkin’ about Australian Rules Football one minute and before they know it, I’ve shifted the whole conversation to the Abomination of Desolation spoken of in the book of Daniel.  Which MAY explain why I don’t get invited to a lot of parties.  Anyhow...

Usually I’m pretty bored by people, especially when they’re sayin’ stuff.  But to my surprise, I was suddenly brought out of my nacho-induced stupor when one of my friends informed the group that she did not believe in people being disfellowshipped.  She said she didn’t think it existed.

As one who has been disfellowshipped countless times before, naturally this caught my attention. For the record, I’ve been disfellowshipped 9 times, black-balled 3 times, kicked out of 2 Christian colleges and 1 Brownie Troop.  I only wish I could have done more.

Ask me why I have been disfellowshipped (or kicked out of particular congregations) so many times, I’m not sure I could give you a satisfactory answer; primarily because I was never given a satisfactory answer by any of my Disfellowshippers. 

Suffice to say it was never for any Bible-y reason.  There was no immoral, greedy, idolatrous, swindling going on.  Usually it was because of a sermon I preached that somebody didn’t like, or an opinion I held that somebody disagreed with, or suit I wore that “offended” somebody.  You get it. The usual.

When you ask a Disfellowshipper to be specific as to why they think you should be disfellowshipped, they get sort of embarrassed and confused and very mumble-y.  Kinda takes the fun out of the whole thing when you have to actually start THNKIN’ stuff through.  I should know, I HATE thinkin’ stuff through.

The good news is, hardly anyone is ever kicked out of church anymore.  Not because they shouldn’t be, but because it just isn’t done anymore.  Churches need all the folks they can get these days, and to go around kickin’ out the few that are at least showin’ up once in a while just isn’t good for business.

Plus that, throwin’ people out of church just isn’t polite.  We don’t wanna “judge” anybody’s actions these days.  We don’t want to expect anything from them, let alone ourselves.  Most people and churches would rather be polite than right any day. 

So here we have a Biblical practice that was at one time employed fairly regularly yet often incorrectly and for the wrong reasons, that is now NEVER employed because it might hurt people’s feelings. 

Maybe my friend was right.  Maybe disfellowshipping doesn’t exist. 

If those are the choices, maybe it never should have.

(insert hilarious joke here)

As together we stand and sing.

BP

GREETINGS!

Romans 16:16 says, “Greet one another with a holy kiss.”

Well, now HERE is yet another example of one of those Bible things that never really took off: THE HOLY KISS.  It’s about as popular these days as the Sanctified Shoulder Rub and the Temple Tickle. 

In a way, I understand why it never really caught on.   And if you saw some of the old Farmers I grew up with you’d understand too.  Suddenly, the Holy Handshake makes a LOT of sense. 

Funny how that works though.  Some stuff we’re told to do in the Bible people just LOVE to do.  But other stuff, the weird stuff, the tough stuff, we just never quite get around to doin’. 

We just can’t wait to sing and pray and fellowship, and eat and....sing and...um...that’s about it, I guess.  But the rest of that Bible stuff can be downright annoying to deal with. 

All that giving, and sacrificing and lovin’ your enemy stuff can get on your ever last nerve.  Giving your cloak AND coat to WHOEVER ASKS can make for a very cold winter.  Spreading the word to ALL the world can REALLY cut into your golf and Internet time.  And let’s face it, there are just so many cheeks people wanna turn in a day.

But I always thought the Holy Kiss woulda been kind of an easy sell. Especially as a greeting.

“Hello, Brother Carl!”  SMACK!

“Good morning, Sister Suzie!”  SLOBBER!

It’s so intimate.  So personal.  Make it HOLY and I can see why the Bible said to do it.  It’s powerful.  Kinda makes the “Christian Side Hug” look kinda wimpy.

But if church people wanna ignore this part of the Bible because it "was cultural", or "not really intended for us", or "not REALLY what Paul meant", or "not REALLY what Jesus meant", or just not something we're "comfortable" with or "blah, blah, blah" - insert any excuse here -  I’d at least like to see a couple of frisky Wal-Mart Greeters give it a whirl.   

Can you imagine? 

Maybe not.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

CHOICES OF MY FATHER

I was in one of those ice cream places the other day.

You know the kind.  It has 500 different kinds of ice cream, and 4,000 different combinations of toppings.  It also has yogurt and candy and Christmas presents.  Soon they’ll be offering a selection of small, foreign cars.  How handy.

The moment I walked in, I knew I was in trouble.  In line in front of me was a little kid, about 4 years old, and his mother.  She was leaning down next to him, slowly reading each of the 4,500 possible ice cream combinations from the huge sign behind the counter.

“So which ice cream do you think you want, Sweetie?  Black bean?  Black bean and cherry?  Black bean chocolate cherry bark chips?  Black bean cherry bark chipmunk chip choo choo train razzmatazz tootie fruitie?  Or...oh wait.  You hate black bean, don’t you?”

I was doomed, the mother was frazzled and the kid was on the edge of a mental breakdown.

He had no idea what this woman was talking about.  How could he?  None of us did.  She thought she was being nice, and a good mother, letting him make his own choices.  I get it.  But it was more than he could handle. 

I couldn’t help but remember how my Father used to deal with me in similar situations.  He too wanted to help me make my own choices, but instead of reading me an entire menu, and watching my little, fat head explode, my Father’s technique was slightly modified.  It went more like this:

DAD: “OK, son, do you want vanilla ice cream or nothin’?”

ME: “Ummm...vanilla!”

DAD: “Great.  Now, would you like a hamburger, or nothin’?”

ME” Um...hamburger!”

DAD: “Another fabulous choice, son.  Now, would you like milk or nothin’?”

ME: “I think I’ll take...nothin’!  No, wait!  Um...ah....Milk!”

It was a terribly effective system.  I got to make my own choices, my father got to not be driven crazy, and people in line behind us were able to continue on with their lives.

I’m convinced the LACK of choices my father often gave me was one of the reasons my life was so good. 

DAD: “Do you want a spankin’ or nothing?”

I didn’t figure THAT one out until I was 13.

Thanks Dad -

As together we stand and sing.

BP

WALK IT OFF

I walked to work today.

You want some attention?  Tell somebody you’re walkin’ to work. Or riding your bike to the store.  Or maybe jogging down to the Post Office.  Just try it once and you’ll see what I mean.  You’ll be nominated “Freak of the Week” within seconds.

Just say you’re WALKING somewhere.  Not running, not crawling, not hopping on one leg while blowin’ on a ram’s horn.  Just say you’re WALKING...anywhere.   They’ll look at you like you’re crazy.  Their face will screw up in disbelief. They’ll look hurt and guilty and a little angry all at the same time.

“You’re WALKING?” they’ll say, “To the store?! That’s a MILE away!  Why don’t you let me drive you?”

Never mind that you RUN 5 miles every morning already, or ride your bike for 45 minutes every other day, or just got back from that survival trip in the desert; just say you’re WALKING anywhere when you could DRIVE there instead and people will have you on the “Weirdo’s Of The World” list.

The thing is...I‘ve been on that list for about...40 years now.  I’m the President of that list.  I can show you where to park on that list and where to get a good sandwich.  Being on a “Weirdo List” doesn’t bother me.  Doesn’t SCARE me. 

What SCARES ME is WALKING TO WORK!  It’s true what they say, get out of your car and walk once in a while you WILL start really SEEING the world as it really is - all of it.  Whether you want to or not.

You’ll see pretty flowers and gorgeous puppies, dead grass, half-eaten, moldy apples stuck under the bus stop, and an incredible amount of cigarette butts. 

You’ll hear the birds singin’, the clicking sound of the front door of a bank unlocking, construction workers tellin’ dirty jokes as they sweep and motorcycles that REALLY need muffler work.  

You’ll smell fresh bread from the bakery, and fresh cut grass and fresh doggie dung, and you won’t know for sure which one got you sneezin’, but you WILL know which one you stepped in.

You’ll finally notice how great the leaf blower guy is when he stops to let you pass and smiles a “good morning”; as well what a jerk the guy in the red pick up is when he nearly runs you down crossing the street.

You’ll feel the hot sun on your neck, and the beginning of a dangerous sunburn on your neck.

No wonder they think you’re nuts.  You are.  And I love it.

I think I’m gonna call Gidget to pick me up.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

GIDGET'S BACK

As together we stand and sing.
 
BP