Sitting alone outside, watching the sunset, and eating dinner yesterday on my blanket, I turned around to find a well-dressed woman wearing giant sunglasses watching me from no more than fifteen feet away. I raised my eyebrows.
"You've got it cranked!" she yelled and smiled.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"You've got it CRANKED!" she repeated, motioning her arm in circles while thrusting her hips, "I LOVE it!"
She got in her car and drove away on her cell phone.
Well that was awkward...
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
make, this day, your daily bread
What is food? It's been described as fuel, nourishment, energy, etc. It's all those things. Mostly, to me, food is a gift. It's yet another way God reveals His marvel to us, His artistry to us, His care for us.
God gives us dirt, and colors, and beautiful foods to grow from His canvass: the Earth. He allows us to be partners with Him giving us the opportunity to plant and care for these things, while He provides sunshine and natural nutrients from His canvass.
Food comes from everywhere around us. It grows, it runs, it blooms. All these things are made dripping with succulent flavors. Crispy, chewy, beautiful, colorful, grainy, and satisfying. Food is an artistic necessity that involves all of our senses. Our bodies are temples, and we are image bearers of our God who provides for us such glorious ways to enjoy our fuel. This body is something I must take care of. To take care of my body is glorifying God in more ways than my mind can understand. To enjoy the nourishment that God has placed on this Earth for us to eat is glorifying to Him. To nourish our bodies, to enjoy our food, and to taste every flavor in our mouth, is glorifying to God.
When I eat I want the deepest colors and I want the richest flavors. I want to use my hands to make my food, and when I do I feel close to God. I feel like His partner in this creative process. He reveals to me how to better live life through mere enjoyment.
Food makes us use our hands. It helps us know our bodies. It brings community and satisfaction.
Eating is deeply spiritual. Knowing your body is deeply spiritual. Even knowing merely when you're hungry and when you're full, is spiritual.
This makes me think of the Eucharist, and how awesome it is. How I think there is so much more to taking the Eucharist than I understand, but I enjoy it nonetheless.
I think it's a travesty when communion is taken through packaged wafers and grape juice. There is something beautiful about bread that has been made by the kneading hands of His people which, in the Eucharist, represents Christ's body. There is something spiritual about a people drinking wine that has been grown and cared for and made by His creation, and holds so much significance in His Word. We bastardize it when we open our individual packages which came from a factory to take a not-so-holy communion.
I do understand, though, that God is bigger than a packaged wafer. He meet's us where we're at... even in our grape juice.
But why skimp if we don't have to? I want to glorify His Majesty in my every bite. He is worthy of kneading my own bread, and pouring my own wine. He is worthy of the extra time it takes to grow a garden, or create from scratch.
I have found such a great worship to my Lord in caring for myself, and glorifying Him through flavors and food.
Slow down. Make something rather than just opening a package. Cut your lettuce rather than buying it in a bag. See this amazing process. Let the sound of the knife on the cutting board add to the sensory experience of meal time.
Yeast, baking soda, salt. It's chemistry, it's art, and it's nourishment. Wow. What an amazing God to give all of this to us.
God gives us dirt, and colors, and beautiful foods to grow from His canvass: the Earth. He allows us to be partners with Him giving us the opportunity to plant and care for these things, while He provides sunshine and natural nutrients from His canvass.
Food comes from everywhere around us. It grows, it runs, it blooms. All these things are made dripping with succulent flavors. Crispy, chewy, beautiful, colorful, grainy, and satisfying. Food is an artistic necessity that involves all of our senses. Our bodies are temples, and we are image bearers of our God who provides for us such glorious ways to enjoy our fuel. This body is something I must take care of. To take care of my body is glorifying God in more ways than my mind can understand. To enjoy the nourishment that God has placed on this Earth for us to eat is glorifying to Him. To nourish our bodies, to enjoy our food, and to taste every flavor in our mouth, is glorifying to God.
When I eat I want the deepest colors and I want the richest flavors. I want to use my hands to make my food, and when I do I feel close to God. I feel like His partner in this creative process. He reveals to me how to better live life through mere enjoyment.
Food makes us use our hands. It helps us know our bodies. It brings community and satisfaction.
Eating is deeply spiritual. Knowing your body is deeply spiritual. Even knowing merely when you're hungry and when you're full, is spiritual.
This makes me think of the Eucharist, and how awesome it is. How I think there is so much more to taking the Eucharist than I understand, but I enjoy it nonetheless.
I think it's a travesty when communion is taken through packaged wafers and grape juice. There is something beautiful about bread that has been made by the kneading hands of His people which, in the Eucharist, represents Christ's body. There is something spiritual about a people drinking wine that has been grown and cared for and made by His creation, and holds so much significance in His Word. We bastardize it when we open our individual packages which came from a factory to take a not-so-holy communion.
I do understand, though, that God is bigger than a packaged wafer. He meet's us where we're at... even in our grape juice.
But why skimp if we don't have to? I want to glorify His Majesty in my every bite. He is worthy of kneading my own bread, and pouring my own wine. He is worthy of the extra time it takes to grow a garden, or create from scratch.
I have found such a great worship to my Lord in caring for myself, and glorifying Him through flavors and food.
Slow down. Make something rather than just opening a package. Cut your lettuce rather than buying it in a bag. See this amazing process. Let the sound of the knife on the cutting board add to the sensory experience of meal time.
Yeast, baking soda, salt. It's chemistry, it's art, and it's nourishment. Wow. What an amazing God to give all of this to us.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
the poop train
In rare bouts of weirdness (I am delusional- that is not rare) I like to talk about poop. C'mon. It's good for you. And healthy. Two to three times a day, guys. Stop acting like bodily functions don't happen to you daily. And stop acting like you don't LOVE pooping. You do.
Get on the poop train. I have an incredibly pointless and plot-less story. I'm a writer, I've got all kinds of this shit up my sleeve. (That was on purpose. It's like a pun.)
Onward.
One fine day I was house sitting for a man in Seattle. I didn't know him well (or at all, really). I posted myself on craigslist for a place to live for a month and I got an offer from a strangely normal person to watch his dog, George, and his house while Mr. Normal was away doing what he does. We'll bypass that weird story for another time. But yes, I posted myself on craigslist for a place to live and found one. Sketch-free, even.
Once again, one fine day I was house sitting for a man in Seattle. In my morning regularity I made my way to his bathroom and, as a regular person does every now and again, I clogged it. The toilet wouldn't flush. You know that terrifying thing that happens when you flush the toilet and instead of the water going down it just starts coming up so slowly, but sooooo quickly, and then you stare at it kind of squatty and wide-eyed, like a football player ready to block a play (but really you have no idea what you're doing) until you realize that that is not actually going to prolong the raising of the toilet water. It's still comin' atchya. That's when everything on the floor frantically ends up in the bathtub to prevent... soiling, if you will.
Perfect timing for my dad to call. So you know when your dad calls sometimes and you answer with, "DAD! I clogged the toiletandit'sallcomingatme and I don'tknowwhattodowhatdoIdo!?" No? Well, if you did I bet he wouldn't spend many, many precious toilet-water-raising moments to laugh hysterically at you. Mine, on the other hand... did. And then, gasping for air, suggested to call a plumber.
A plumber?! So when Greg gets back in a few weeks I hand him his plumber bill and say, "Hey dude, I took a shit and clogged your shitter. Sorry man. Here's your bill. By the way, thanks for letting me live in your house for free." Nope. Not going to happen. So I grabbed the plunger, which apparently had saliva glands, or something, because it slobbered on me from the knees down before I even allowed it to touch the flooding toilet. Not much in my life would make me kill for a shower. Until I got soaked by a pre-used toilet plunger.
Knees wet, crack free, I fixed it thank you very much. The flood ceased, and other than where the plunger spat on the floor (and me), the bathroom floor was dry as bone.
My poop train day didn't finish. Nohohoho. No there.
So, you know when you go sit at a cafe for seven hours and you drink so much coffee that, a) you're sweating like a pig, and b) after the third cup your bowels are a-churnin'? (Sometimes I am a lady, I promise). Well this was one of those days. Bathrooms at this place are one-holers. And gender-free. They don't discriminate over in Seattle.
So, you know when you suddenly realize that you could be really embarrassed about something, so you stop dead in your tracks like a deer in headlights and want to shrink into a mouse hole? That's what I did when I walked out of the bathroom after... you know, and saw a line of four attractive men waiting in line behind me to get in. Stop. Stare. Almost throw up in my mouth. And then laugh a little while I made eye contact with each of them.
At this point there can be no more shame. At this point I can't see a stinky bathroom with a skidmark behind me. At this point I choose to see four attractive men all here to look at me staring at them like a deer in headlights. Milk it. Smile. And walk away confidently. Bowchickawowow.
Get on the poop train. I have an incredibly pointless and plot-less story. I'm a writer, I've got all kinds of this shit up my sleeve. (That was on purpose. It's like a pun.)
Onward.
One fine day I was house sitting for a man in Seattle. I didn't know him well (or at all, really). I posted myself on craigslist for a place to live for a month and I got an offer from a strangely normal person to watch his dog, George, and his house while Mr. Normal was away doing what he does. We'll bypass that weird story for another time. But yes, I posted myself on craigslist for a place to live and found one. Sketch-free, even.
Once again, one fine day I was house sitting for a man in Seattle. In my morning regularity I made my way to his bathroom and, as a regular person does every now and again, I clogged it. The toilet wouldn't flush. You know that terrifying thing that happens when you flush the toilet and instead of the water going down it just starts coming up so slowly, but sooooo quickly, and then you stare at it kind of squatty and wide-eyed, like a football player ready to block a play (but really you have no idea what you're doing) until you realize that that is not actually going to prolong the raising of the toilet water. It's still comin' atchya. That's when everything on the floor frantically ends up in the bathtub to prevent... soiling, if you will.
Perfect timing for my dad to call. So you know when your dad calls sometimes and you answer with, "DAD! I clogged the toiletandit'sallcomingatme and I don'tknowwhattodowhatdoIdo!?" No? Well, if you did I bet he wouldn't spend many, many precious toilet-water-raising moments to laugh hysterically at you. Mine, on the other hand... did. And then, gasping for air, suggested to call a plumber.
A plumber?! So when Greg gets back in a few weeks I hand him his plumber bill and say, "Hey dude, I took a shit and clogged your shitter. Sorry man. Here's your bill. By the way, thanks for letting me live in your house for free." Nope. Not going to happen. So I grabbed the plunger, which apparently had saliva glands, or something, because it slobbered on me from the knees down before I even allowed it to touch the flooding toilet. Not much in my life would make me kill for a shower. Until I got soaked by a pre-used toilet plunger.
Knees wet, crack free, I fixed it thank you very much. The flood ceased, and other than where the plunger spat on the floor (and me), the bathroom floor was dry as bone.
My poop train day didn't finish. Nohohoho. No there.
So, you know when you go sit at a cafe for seven hours and you drink so much coffee that, a) you're sweating like a pig, and b) after the third cup your bowels are a-churnin'? (Sometimes I am a lady, I promise). Well this was one of those days. Bathrooms at this place are one-holers. And gender-free. They don't discriminate over in Seattle.
So, you know when you suddenly realize that you could be really embarrassed about something, so you stop dead in your tracks like a deer in headlights and want to shrink into a mouse hole? That's what I did when I walked out of the bathroom after... you know, and saw a line of four attractive men waiting in line behind me to get in. Stop. Stare. Almost throw up in my mouth. And then laugh a little while I made eye contact with each of them.
At this point there can be no more shame. At this point I can't see a stinky bathroom with a skidmark behind me. At this point I choose to see four attractive men all here to look at me staring at them like a deer in headlights. Milk it. Smile. And walk away confidently. Bowchickawowow.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
How to go mad in three days
This week's lesson: NEVER. live. alone.
Staying at my newlywed friends' apartment while they're away on their honeybunnymoon and I have officially spent the last almost-three days with very little human interaction, and spending the majority of the day alone (and going mad). Scratch that. All of the day, minus the small encounters in grocery check-out isles and what not. By the way... Colorado Whole Foods = babes at the register... just sayin'. Give me a reason to go out looking good, and that reason would be Whole Foods. Bowchickawowow.
Anywhiz. Spending three days alone may make you go mad in the hizzhead forcing... someone (me?) to cook up extremely strange food combinations while watching three movies.. in a row. Perhaps eat WAY too many digestive enzyme chewables (they taste like strawberry), and start reading horoscopes online whilst taking quizzes off of Seventeen.com. Sometimes you just need to know if you could date Justin Beiber. Or, am I about to get dumped? Oop. Too late for that one Seventeen.
Seems depressing? Nah. I just spent the last twenty minutes laughing out loud with myself like a teenager at a sleepover. Mad, you say? Probably. Hopefully my "normalcy" comes back once I get the hell out of here. (hahahhahhahhaa..)
Speaking of getting the hell out of here, it is suddently hailing like the end of the world out there and I might be a little terrified.
Moving away from the window.
Pray for my safety.... and my sanity I think...
Staying at my newlywed friends' apartment while they're away on their honeybunnymoon and I have officially spent the last almost-three days with very little human interaction, and spending the majority of the day alone (and going mad). Scratch that. All of the day, minus the small encounters in grocery check-out isles and what not. By the way... Colorado Whole Foods = babes at the register... just sayin'. Give me a reason to go out looking good, and that reason would be Whole Foods. Bowchickawowow.
Anywhiz. Spending three days alone may make you go mad in the hizzhead forcing... someone (me?) to cook up extremely strange food combinations while watching three movies.. in a row. Perhaps eat WAY too many digestive enzyme chewables (they taste like strawberry), and start reading horoscopes online whilst taking quizzes off of Seventeen.com. Sometimes you just need to know if you could date Justin Beiber. Or, am I about to get dumped? Oop. Too late for that one Seventeen.
Seems depressing? Nah. I just spent the last twenty minutes laughing out loud with myself like a teenager at a sleepover. Mad, you say? Probably. Hopefully my "normalcy" comes back once I get the hell out of here. (hahahhahhahhaa..)
Speaking of getting the hell out of here, it is suddently hailing like the end of the world out there and I might be a little terrified.
Moving away from the window.
Pray for my safety.... and my sanity I think...
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