Very Nice Lady Three

An ice cream social was held at work today in honor of St. Joseph’sDay. There were three very nice ladies who had volunteered their work time to serve ice cream and toppings to the rest of us.

Very nice lady one had vanilla all scooped out in a bowl waiting for me as I approached. It came with a smile.

Very nice lady two presented me with a dipper of strawberry syrup and a smile.

Very nice lady three was happy enough to squirt some whipped cream on top, but then was way-laid by a man who inquired of the special occasion from very nice lady one.

As very nice lady one began to answer, and between my whipped cream and cherry topper, very nice lady three became intent on answering the gentleman’s question from the far end of the assembly line.

I was immediately dismissed without a smile, my cherry almost hit the table instead of the whip cream, and I felt immediately dismissed as unworthy of her attention.

In one fell swoop, very nice lady three…
* made me feel small by ignoring me
* made very nice lady one feel small by speaking over her and putting her in a secondary position to her own authority on the matter
* destroyed the gentleman’s friendly banter with very nice lady one

As I walked the long hallways back to my office, I contemplated how many times in the past I may have unknowingly acted as very nice lady number three. I vowed to make every attempt not to be lady number three again.

And I also contemplated how many times I've felt small because that's what people do to each other naturally. Family members do it to each other, co-workers, church members to each other, and pretty much anywhere you go.

How refreshing it is to find someone, such as my darling husband, who goes out of his way, constantly, to make the persons around him feel very, very special. One at a time. How rare and precious that is. I think it's a sign of God inside.

Don't Monkey Around

As long as the Word of God is preached", he declared "a monkey using queue cards could preach it and you could learn something from it.

It was the pastor of our family church who made that statement his last day in the pulpit. There is something so basically wrong with what he said. That comment has never left my mind as I've been reading the early history of the Israelites. How insulting it is to spit in the face of the importance of God's selection!

God is holy, God's Word is holy, a life committed to the service of God is holy! Be very careful if God has not called you to that service, has not gifted you accordingly. Plan for failure.

Throughout the journey from Egypt to the promised land and the establishment of the Jews as God's chosen people, history declares how wrong that statement is. God chooses whom He wants in His service and He gifts them accordingly. Why, if the wrong Israelite came too close to His house or touched the sacred Ark, that man would be struck dead! One must be very careful in presuming the audacity to serve God in an intimate, chosen way as a leader of His people. To stand and declare that God has put words on your heart...you'd better be very sure in your heart that it was God's voice, not your own agenda. If I fail in God's service, I must stop and ask myself if God has chosen and gifted me for the service, or did I make the choice and expect God to bless my decision.

Even the right man must always listen. Aaron lost two sons because, even though they were chosen to perform the sacrifice, they decided to do it in their own way. God hand-picked the artisans for each job of building and caring for His house, down to the smallest detail. David was a man chosen by God, but he was not chosen by God to build God's temple. God chose Solomon, David's son. God chose David and gifted him for other things.

I can't call myself a Child of God and then expect God to follow my decisions. But on the other hand, I can come before God with my needs and then move confidently forward knowing that He has already provided for that need and He will reveal the answer, His answer. I must go to God constantly and not lean on my own understanding.

So what happens if I choose to go my own way? Well, I might as well be a monkey reading queue cards.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and depart from evil.

Proverbs 3:5-7

Two Sides to Every Story

There are two sides to every story...my way, and the wrong way.

The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, But he who heeds council is wise Proverbs 12:15

Worming Time

So I chose today to worm the horses. I don't know why, maybe just because it was (past) time to worm the horses. If you didn't know, horses have worms. They must be kept under control, or the worms will steal away the horses health and vitality.

So this worm medicine is a long plastic tube with a trigger handle on the end of it. The game is to stick the thin tube in the horse's mouth and squirt the white paste as far back on the tongue as the horse will allow. Simple, right?

Stand on your tippy toes, reach your arms as far up in the air as you can. Now picture a spot just two inches above your longest finger. That is where you will find Montana's mouth when he gets a clue that you have one of those thin tubes of white paste in your hand.

Already suspicious at being invited into his stall before the food was distributed, he watched me warily as I tried to sneak the thin white tube past his watchful eye to hit just that spot at the back of his mouth. My finger on the trigger, I whipped the tube to his mouth. More quickly, his head snapped up as my thumb pressed the plunger. A big glop of white paste ricocheted off my chin and onto my collar. Being a big horse, he needed the full plunger full. But all was not lost, as Moon is smaller and I traded the full syringe for the one with now just the right amount in it for Moon.

Montana is nothing if not reasonable, so I did try to reason with him long enough to try another trick that worked...this time. I held his head in the air for a few moments to deter a spit, and then quickly got him some of his favorite food so that I could move on to Moon, who was by now pacing up and down her stall, complaining heartily that she had not yet been seen to.


I've been told that in the old days the cowboys just used to give their horses a chaw of tobacco. Number one, that's bad for your teeth. Number two, we don't keep a spittoon in the barn.

Basic Instincts

As my Spanish rice warmed in the microwave this noon, it was 60 seconds of struggle as I fought to overcome my most basic instincts.

Rita has left the top freezer door of the full-size break room refrigerator/freezer hanging wide open as she filled the single ice cube tray. Led by a force instilled in every mother, I almost reminded her the freezer door was wide open and all the cold air was being wasted, in my mind I had already taken a step to cross the small break room and close the door. I would have opened it again when she was ready to replace the filled tray... But better office political sense prevailed as I stood by uncomfortably aware of the open freezer door.

Replacing the tray, Rita pulled out the ice holder and, still leaving the door hanging wide, one-by-one placed ice cubes in her glass. Maintaining my composure, I subconsciously ground my teeth while surveying the frozen contents of the open freezer, almost emotionally aware of the escaping cold. Unaware of my internal turmoil, Rita poured the remaining crumbs of ice into her glass, her right foot now taking a step towards the gaping door. Relief was a step away.

To my amazement (and horror), Rita pulled out two more frozen ice trays and, never making a move to close the door, stepped back to the sink where she continued her methodical plot of torture to my frugal psyche.

The microwave chirped it's cheery little *ding*; quickly grabbing my bowl of warmed rice I bolted past the cavern that was once a frozen oasis for what lay inside, but was no more, and into the relief of the hallway. It took everything I had in me not to lift an elbow with seeming nonchalance to swing the offending door closed as I passed by.

Rita will never know the turmoil she put me through today...which is as it should be. *sheesh*

The name has been changed to protect the innocent...which would be me.

Not my own photograph

Life Is Like That

borrowed picture

I'm trying to get used to a new pair of contacts. For some reason, contacts seem to protect my eyes from allergies so they don't burn and water constantly, but trying to come up with the right combination of reading glasses and contacts to work at a computer all day and see the world around me too is a challenge.

My phone rang. It's Toni. Tim is sick, can I get home by 3:30 so he doesn't have to watch the baby? I was going to go in a half-hour late tomorrow because the baby is a "night person" lately and it's going to be a 10 hour day tomorrow, but I leave a half-hour early today instead.

Tim has a fever and can't watch Paige tomorrow at 3:00 and I have to work until 5:00. Well, I'll need to make some phone calls later.

I decide to feed Paige before trying to make Tim and me supper. Paige starts crying when she sees me beginning to make her bottle. Amid her cries, the dog is barking at the back door. She always does that when she sees me alone in the kitchen trying to work.

I take the dog out to her chain and finish the bottle. Feeding Paige in her swing is a good idea, because she finishes her bottle and relaxes to watch me fix supper. The phone rings, but Tim gets that and takes down a message for Katie.

We finish supper and I leave the dishes to give Paige a bath first. I know I'll be up late anyway, so maybe I'll get a chance to clean up the dishes I didn't get done while I was making supper.

Paige normally takes a short nap after her bath, which should give me a couple minutes to work on a blog before she gets fussy in the evening. At the moment, she's sitting on my lap with her hands on my wrists or pulling at my fingers. :( Makis iy a little hard to tope.)

She's actually giggling while she tries to push my hands around the keys. (Doing a good job of it, I might add.) I think I'll wrap things up and look for a picture. I wonder what I'll get if I google "frazzled"? :)

Good Advice

As promised, I'll fess up. I did not take Bongo's picture.

His last day in the pulpit a pastor chastised his congregation declaring that if they were not getting anything out of his sermons it was their fault. "As long as the Word of God is preached", he declared "a monkey using queue cards could preach it and you could learn something from it."

A month later the pastor received a letter in the mail. It read:

Dear Pastor,
You were right. And we are pleased to report that attendance is up 50% and pastorate expenses are down by 95%. Bongo sends his regards.