Faith. It's an interesting thing. It's something I have struggled with all my life. I "got saved" when I was 13 but have battled God because of things I've gone through in my life, and things I've seen, and not being able to understand why God allows certain stuff to happen.
For the past 6 months or so, I've been walking away. Maybe it was depression, I don't know. I've just done my own thing and left God in the shadows. I've always felt like I didn't "fit in" with other believers. I have always said I just can't hack it as a Christian. I'm too this and not enough that. I guess at some point in the past year, I decided life would be easier for me if I just... left. It wasn't that I stopped believing in God, I just had myself convinced that I was not good enough of a person to live a Christian life.
Now, I didn't go out and do terrible things. I didn't become a drug addict, I didn't cheat on my spouse, I didn't start playing with Ouija boards, I didn't rob anyone. I suppose my worst crime was just believing the lie that I'm too defective, and that God wasn't big enough to fix my defect. I have always had a hard time putting anything in God's hands, for fear that He would disappoint me.
In some ways, I was right. It was a lot easier not injecting God into everything. It allowed me to be sarcastic and obnoxious, and it allowed me to let my warped sense of humor come out and take over. I was surprised to discover how miserable I was, though. I may have my issues, but ultimately I still have a heart for God. So, I guess you could say, I've come home.
I have questions.
How do you live as a Christian? That's the biggie. I'm not the type to hand out Bible tracts and preach at people. I have no problem talking about Jesus and about my faith, but I don't want to assault people, either. There's a time and a place and a way for everything.
My husband's family has come apart at the seams. Well, actually, it's more like a giant firecracker went off and now there's just little cardboard bits and smoke left behind. I said a number of hateful things and made a number of judgment calls I shouldn't have. They, in turn, have done the same. Got into a huge argument with one of my husband's family members last night that left me with a head full of stuff I can't shake. I apologized, he forgave me, but he never apologized for his own actions. My sinful nature is clawing it's way out. Anyone with a smart mouth has met their match with me. And this reminds me of why I walked away so many months ago - one of the reasons, anyway - because I've met a lot of Christians who just aren't any different than anybody else. I fit myself into that category. I've been no great saint. In this instance, the only clue that anyone believes in God is the way we've hurled Bible verses and theology at each other, not to teach and uplift, but to say "IN YOUR FACE!!" When both sides claim to be holy and the other side is evil... that's a fight nobody is going to win. It's a wonder God doesn't just chuck some lightning bolts at us or something, because He's got to be pissed. When you call Christian family members "evil" that's a pretty good sign... that you've got it in you, too.
We're all evil and defective. If we weren't, Jesus never would have shown up. Deep down, we're screwy. I've got enough anger and cynicism in me for 20 people. I don't like it and I don't want it anymore.
One thing is for sure: you can't become more like someone by walking away from them. So I've walked back.
Pin It
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Kid People
My first clue that I wasn't a "kid person" should have been in the 10th grade. I signed up for a class called Child Development because it seemed like it would be easy. That was how I picked my classes in high school - they either had to be what I considered mindless, or at least mundane enough that I could sleep through it. Just about every female took Child Development. The teacher who taught the class was a very popular one, and only grew in popularity when it became obvious she was more of a life coach than an instructor. Most days, she stared up at the ceiling, weeping gently, while trying to impart life lessons on her pimple-faced, gum-chewing kids. Don't have sex before you're married. Don't have a baby until you're at least in your early twenties. Don't do drugs. Stay in school. Crack is whack. That sort of thing.
While many kids were fascinated with watching complete strangers give birth on VHS, I was horrified. The miracle of childbirth looked more to me like a massacre and I couldn't understand why everyone teared up. Everyone oohed and aahed the bloody, slimy scalp emerging from Betty Birth Canal's crotch. I opted to draw pictures on my textbooks, instead.
As a woman, I feel like I should adore all children. Like there should be some maternal instinct in me that causes me to look at all kids as cherubs that I feel inclined to hug, play with, or in some way nurture. My heart should skip a beat, tears should well up in my eyes, I should automatically begin ovulating... something.
That, unfortunately, isn't me. After much soul-searching, I have come to recognize that I am not a kid person. I have quite a few nieces and nephews and I love them dearly and geniunely look forward to spending time with them. Apart from my nieces and nephews (OK, and my godchild)... no thanks. I love the ones I'm related to. I can do without the rest. This doesn't mean I hate children; far from it. I just don't have the patience or innocence to deal with kids.
I like babies, toddlers, and teenagers. It should come as no surprise that toddlers and teenagers are the two groups most people can't stand, because both give you back-talk, and both get themselves into things they shouldn't. A 2-year-old, for example, might insist on wearing a plaid skirt and a polka-dot sweater; a 16-year-old might insist on wearing a miniskirt and a tube top. A 2-year-old might get into a can of ant repellent; a 16-year-old might get into your liquor cabinet. In both cases, you are likely to spend a lot of time shrieking, "YOU'RE NOT WEARING THAT OUT IN PUBLIC!" and putting padlocks on cabinets and cupboards.
When I took Child Development, each class ran their own temporary daycare. Where they got the gullible chumps who dropped off their kids, I don't know. We reacted to them as if they were iPods (not that we had them back then), not human beings. We marveled over their pudgy fingers and blond hair and their inability to correctly pronounce words with the letter "r" in them. Each day started off with staffing rolling up their sleeves, getting down on the floor, and playing with the children. That was when I realized I was unable to play. I couldn't relate; I didn't know what to say. I got the ages all wrong. When I stood over a 4-year-old with a rattle and said, "OK, goo-goo ga-ga, kid" and he looked at me as if I were one of Santa's elves with a cigarette dangling from my lips, I gave up and went back to drawing on my textbooks.
I think if I had had kids when I was in my twenties, things would be different. As it is, that never happened, and after 10 years of marriage I am very set in my ways. I get annoyed tripping over cat toys, so how would I fare with a household of kid toys? I get irritated when I'm at the pool and little kids are swimming head-first into me and splashing me. Even my cat understands - when anyone under the age of about 15 comes into our apartment, she runs and hides as far away as possible. We both like quiet, predictability, and sleeping in as late as we want.
People tell me I'd feel different if I had my own kids, and I believe that's true. Generally speaking, however, I can do without children. Well... children between the ages of about 3 and 14, which is quite a span. I worked as a cashier in a grocery store for a year, and I think that's where I got my ages from. Kids between 3 and 14 are the most likely to scream in the ice cream section, beg for Silly Putty, and humiliate their parents in the check-out line. Just my experience.
Cats don't do that. They poop in a box and eat off the floor and when they meow, it's cute. They ALWAYS act like toddlers, are ALWAYS cuddly, and they even catch and devour household vermin. I'd like to see your kindergartner do that!
Maybe someday God will give me my own children, and I can experience for myself all the wide-eyed wonders of parenthood, but until then... no, I can't babysit for you. Pin It
While many kids were fascinated with watching complete strangers give birth on VHS, I was horrified. The miracle of childbirth looked more to me like a massacre and I couldn't understand why everyone teared up. Everyone oohed and aahed the bloody, slimy scalp emerging from Betty Birth Canal's crotch. I opted to draw pictures on my textbooks, instead.
As a woman, I feel like I should adore all children. Like there should be some maternal instinct in me that causes me to look at all kids as cherubs that I feel inclined to hug, play with, or in some way nurture. My heart should skip a beat, tears should well up in my eyes, I should automatically begin ovulating... something.
That, unfortunately, isn't me. After much soul-searching, I have come to recognize that I am not a kid person. I have quite a few nieces and nephews and I love them dearly and geniunely look forward to spending time with them. Apart from my nieces and nephews (OK, and my godchild)... no thanks. I love the ones I'm related to. I can do without the rest. This doesn't mean I hate children; far from it. I just don't have the patience or innocence to deal with kids.
I like babies, toddlers, and teenagers. It should come as no surprise that toddlers and teenagers are the two groups most people can't stand, because both give you back-talk, and both get themselves into things they shouldn't. A 2-year-old, for example, might insist on wearing a plaid skirt and a polka-dot sweater; a 16-year-old might insist on wearing a miniskirt and a tube top. A 2-year-old might get into a can of ant repellent; a 16-year-old might get into your liquor cabinet. In both cases, you are likely to spend a lot of time shrieking, "YOU'RE NOT WEARING THAT OUT IN PUBLIC!" and putting padlocks on cabinets and cupboards.
When I took Child Development, each class ran their own temporary daycare. Where they got the gullible chumps who dropped off their kids, I don't know. We reacted to them as if they were iPods (not that we had them back then), not human beings. We marveled over their pudgy fingers and blond hair and their inability to correctly pronounce words with the letter "r" in them. Each day started off with staffing rolling up their sleeves, getting down on the floor, and playing with the children. That was when I realized I was unable to play. I couldn't relate; I didn't know what to say. I got the ages all wrong. When I stood over a 4-year-old with a rattle and said, "OK, goo-goo ga-ga, kid" and he looked at me as if I were one of Santa's elves with a cigarette dangling from my lips, I gave up and went back to drawing on my textbooks.
I think if I had had kids when I was in my twenties, things would be different. As it is, that never happened, and after 10 years of marriage I am very set in my ways. I get annoyed tripping over cat toys, so how would I fare with a household of kid toys? I get irritated when I'm at the pool and little kids are swimming head-first into me and splashing me. Even my cat understands - when anyone under the age of about 15 comes into our apartment, she runs and hides as far away as possible. We both like quiet, predictability, and sleeping in as late as we want.
People tell me I'd feel different if I had my own kids, and I believe that's true. Generally speaking, however, I can do without children. Well... children between the ages of about 3 and 14, which is quite a span. I worked as a cashier in a grocery store for a year, and I think that's where I got my ages from. Kids between 3 and 14 are the most likely to scream in the ice cream section, beg for Silly Putty, and humiliate their parents in the check-out line. Just my experience.
Cats don't do that. They poop in a box and eat off the floor and when they meow, it's cute. They ALWAYS act like toddlers, are ALWAYS cuddly, and they even catch and devour household vermin. I'd like to see your kindergartner do that!
Maybe someday God will give me my own children, and I can experience for myself all the wide-eyed wonders of parenthood, but until then... no, I can't babysit for you. Pin It
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A Do-It-Yourselfer...And Advice From Mom
My apartment has taken on a new face, thanks to the fact that the hubster and I are both lazy and cheap.
If you've never been on Freecycle, you should totally check it out. It's a smorgasbord of free stuff! Some of it is very useful and practical, while some of it makes you wonder if the original owner might be a bit senile. These would be things like, oh, a shoebox full of sawdust, or mismatched socks with holes in the toes. I skip the weirdo stuff, but I am now constantly on the prowl for good stuff free.
This week, I redecorated my bathroom with rugs and a shower curtain that came from an older couple in town. Then, I picked up an enormous medicine cabinet from another dude in a neighboring town and installed it over my toilet. Almost perfect condition! Then, I got a huge deep maroon sofa from a lady I ended up befriending over email. Two recliners on either end, and the center folds down into a table with cup holders. FREE!!!
This is perfect for a struggling writer and her college student husband, trying to make ends meet. No down payments, no payment plans... hell, I don't even have to go to the store! I just sit online in my pajamas, eating a popsicle, and a whole new world is at my fingertips.
There was a time in my life when I thought thrift shopping was for losers, and freebies were for hobos. That time is long over, my friends. I grew up in a school where everything you owned had to be name-brand. I'm still down with the name brands, but I don't mind if I find them in a consignment shop. What do I care? The idea of spending $100 on a pair of jeans now seems akin to knocking a ham sandwich out of an Ethiopian child's trembling hands. lose a job or two and we'll see what you learn to appreciate.
What's even more thrilling is that I did lot of the legwork on my own. I removed the towel rack from above the toilet and re-installed it on the door myself. That may not sound like much to you, but I am in no way, shape, or form mechanically inclined. I can hang a picture frame but that's where it ends. More importantly, I've been chasing the cat around the apartment with nail clippers all week, making sure there are no razor-sharp talons digging into the side of my new/used sofa. (Kitty is the reason we got rid of the last one.) It takes a lot of motivation to chase a cat with nail clippers - especially since ours has taken to hiding under the flaps on the BACK of the new/used couch. But I persist... me, with my nail clippers and bottle of ice-cold water to scare the bejeebers out of her, should she refuse to come out from under said couch flaps.
One man's trash is another man's treasure. At least usually, on Freecycle. And man must protect his new-found trash/treasure.
I told my mother about all of this tonight on the phone and she was fascinated. I was fascinated that she was fascinated, since my mother has always been very big on keeping up with the Joneses. I was shocked when she wanted details about Freecycle and Craigslist and asked me to show her how to sign up for both (she'll never figure it out), and she thought it was amazing that I had revamped the joint without paying so much as a dime.
This, of course, led to my mother asking her usual question - "Are you eating?" This implies that I am living with nothing but candlelight, a backyard fire, and scavenging for dinner in local dumpsters. I'm a starving writer, but I'm not THAT starving. I assured her that I was fine, and that, in fact, writing work kept rolling in. I told her I had submitted my first column for Fine Living Lancaster Magazine and my mother asked what I had written about. I explained that I introduced myself, saying how I had been born and raised in Lancaster.
My mother's ultra-supportive comment was:
Put them down? Why would I put down the very people giving me free stuff? Besides, it's not the Amish posting free furniture online.
If I keep playing my cards right, maybe someday I'll be able to afford to BUY furniture. Probably not brand new, because I don't want to insult the Haitians or the Ethiopians. But someday I might just get up, put some pants on, and visit an actual store, and give them actual sheets of green paper. As long as I don't insult the entire county, anyway.
In the meantime, I'll be here, blogging on my trash/treasure couch, working hard on my used computer, sucking on a popsicle I got at Sharp Shopper discount store, dreaming up new ways to horrify my mother. Pin It
If you've never been on Freecycle, you should totally check it out. It's a smorgasbord of free stuff! Some of it is very useful and practical, while some of it makes you wonder if the original owner might be a bit senile. These would be things like, oh, a shoebox full of sawdust, or mismatched socks with holes in the toes. I skip the weirdo stuff, but I am now constantly on the prowl for good stuff free.
This week, I redecorated my bathroom with rugs and a shower curtain that came from an older couple in town. Then, I picked up an enormous medicine cabinet from another dude in a neighboring town and installed it over my toilet. Almost perfect condition! Then, I got a huge deep maroon sofa from a lady I ended up befriending over email. Two recliners on either end, and the center folds down into a table with cup holders. FREE!!!
This is perfect for a struggling writer and her college student husband, trying to make ends meet. No down payments, no payment plans... hell, I don't even have to go to the store! I just sit online in my pajamas, eating a popsicle, and a whole new world is at my fingertips.
There was a time in my life when I thought thrift shopping was for losers, and freebies were for hobos. That time is long over, my friends. I grew up in a school where everything you owned had to be name-brand. I'm still down with the name brands, but I don't mind if I find them in a consignment shop. What do I care? The idea of spending $100 on a pair of jeans now seems akin to knocking a ham sandwich out of an Ethiopian child's trembling hands. lose a job or two and we'll see what you learn to appreciate.
What's even more thrilling is that I did lot of the legwork on my own. I removed the towel rack from above the toilet and re-installed it on the door myself. That may not sound like much to you, but I am in no way, shape, or form mechanically inclined. I can hang a picture frame but that's where it ends. More importantly, I've been chasing the cat around the apartment with nail clippers all week, making sure there are no razor-sharp talons digging into the side of my new/used sofa. (Kitty is the reason we got rid of the last one.) It takes a lot of motivation to chase a cat with nail clippers - especially since ours has taken to hiding under the flaps on the BACK of the new/used couch. But I persist... me, with my nail clippers and bottle of ice-cold water to scare the bejeebers out of her, should she refuse to come out from under said couch flaps.
One man's trash is another man's treasure. At least usually, on Freecycle. And man must protect his new-found trash/treasure.
I told my mother about all of this tonight on the phone and she was fascinated. I was fascinated that she was fascinated, since my mother has always been very big on keeping up with the Joneses. I was shocked when she wanted details about Freecycle and Craigslist and asked me to show her how to sign up for both (she'll never figure it out), and she thought it was amazing that I had revamped the joint without paying so much as a dime.
This, of course, led to my mother asking her usual question - "Are you eating?" This implies that I am living with nothing but candlelight, a backyard fire, and scavenging for dinner in local dumpsters. I'm a starving writer, but I'm not THAT starving. I assured her that I was fine, and that, in fact, writing work kept rolling in. I told her I had submitted my first column for Fine Living Lancaster Magazine and my mother asked what I had written about. I explained that I introduced myself, saying how I had been born and raised in Lancaster.
My mother's ultra-supportive comment was:
Well, I hope you didn't put Lancaster down and alienate all your readers. Whatever.
Put them down? Why would I put down the very people giving me free stuff? Besides, it's not the Amish posting free furniture online.
If I keep playing my cards right, maybe someday I'll be able to afford to BUY furniture. Probably not brand new, because I don't want to insult the Haitians or the Ethiopians. But someday I might just get up, put some pants on, and visit an actual store, and give them actual sheets of green paper. As long as I don't insult the entire county, anyway.
In the meantime, I'll be here, blogging on my trash/treasure couch, working hard on my used computer, sucking on a popsicle I got at Sharp Shopper discount store, dreaming up new ways to horrify my mother. Pin It
Friday, June 25, 2010
All's Not So Good In Da Hood
As if I needed to be reminded yet again... I have crazy neighbors.
It's Return of the Ghetto People out here in the country, if you can believe it. Yesterday around 2:30am my husband and I hear this guy rapping - yes, rapping... as in, you know... Snoop Dogg or whatever - something about "go ahead and call the cops, I'll f**king kill you." Husband looks out and there's Ghetto Neighbor's friend, who I'm starting to think lives here. A few minutes later, hubby looks out the window, and Ghetto Neighbor's friend is breaking into our car.
If I stop and think about it, it's almost laughable. He broke into the 1989 Buick. Nobody in their right mind would want to steal it. And the only thing he found inside was trash... oh, and my niece's blue Snuggie. HAVE AT IT! Still, it's not what he did or didn't take, it's the principle of the thing. Dude was breaking into MY PROPERTY. Hubby ran down the stairs and by the time he got to the bottom, Ghetto Neighbor's friend was already walking away from the car. Must have taken one look inside and thought, "Forget this!"
I debated what to do. I mean, really. He was out front rapping about killing anyone who called the cops, and not to stereotype, but... he looked the part. I decided to let it go last night, because he drove away with Ghetto Neighbor. I then decided this morning to confront them.
I took the sympathetic approach. Ghetto Neighbor is 20, his wife is 17, and they have a baby. I said I knew they were young, I knew they were struggling, and I didn't want them to get into trouble. But I also told them I knew "someone" had been in my car and to stay the hell out. The friend was sitting on the couch looking at me the whole time I gave my speech to Ghetto Neighbor, who was visibly stoned. Was I really sympathetic? It was about 10% sympathy and 90% please-don't-kill-me.
But then I started thinking. Hey, if I just let this go, these people OWN me. That's no way to live. So I called the cops, filed a report, and they told me they couldn't do much, but they'd have it on record. I called my landlord but didn't reach him. I guess that's on the agenda for tomorrow. You know the saying - 'evil wins when good men do nothing.' Or women, in my case. I wouldn't have cared about the rap session. I wouldn't have even cared about them being drunk and stoned. But in the end, I don't want to live with these people, and I shouldn't have to. Not only that, but there's a little girl living in this nightmare of a family. That changes everything.
I had just been talking to my friend downstairs about how quiet and peaceful things had been. JINX! It's a nice place to live, in a nice area. There's just total psychos living around us. When things get bad I say, "We have to move NOW!" but then I realize... you can't escape crazy. Know how I know? Because I've never lived around NORMAL. I've always had crazy neighbors, and I don't think location has much to do with it.
That doesn't mean I can't try to make it a little more sane, does it? Pin It
It's Return of the Ghetto People out here in the country, if you can believe it. Yesterday around 2:30am my husband and I hear this guy rapping - yes, rapping... as in, you know... Snoop Dogg or whatever - something about "go ahead and call the cops, I'll f**king kill you." Husband looks out and there's Ghetto Neighbor's friend, who I'm starting to think lives here. A few minutes later, hubby looks out the window, and Ghetto Neighbor's friend is breaking into our car.
If I stop and think about it, it's almost laughable. He broke into the 1989 Buick. Nobody in their right mind would want to steal it. And the only thing he found inside was trash... oh, and my niece's blue Snuggie. HAVE AT IT! Still, it's not what he did or didn't take, it's the principle of the thing. Dude was breaking into MY PROPERTY. Hubby ran down the stairs and by the time he got to the bottom, Ghetto Neighbor's friend was already walking away from the car. Must have taken one look inside and thought, "Forget this!"
I debated what to do. I mean, really. He was out front rapping about killing anyone who called the cops, and not to stereotype, but... he looked the part. I decided to let it go last night, because he drove away with Ghetto Neighbor. I then decided this morning to confront them.
I took the sympathetic approach. Ghetto Neighbor is 20, his wife is 17, and they have a baby. I said I knew they were young, I knew they were struggling, and I didn't want them to get into trouble. But I also told them I knew "someone" had been in my car and to stay the hell out. The friend was sitting on the couch looking at me the whole time I gave my speech to Ghetto Neighbor, who was visibly stoned. Was I really sympathetic? It was about 10% sympathy and 90% please-don't-kill-me.
But then I started thinking. Hey, if I just let this go, these people OWN me. That's no way to live. So I called the cops, filed a report, and they told me they couldn't do much, but they'd have it on record. I called my landlord but didn't reach him. I guess that's on the agenda for tomorrow. You know the saying - 'evil wins when good men do nothing.' Or women, in my case. I wouldn't have cared about the rap session. I wouldn't have even cared about them being drunk and stoned. But in the end, I don't want to live with these people, and I shouldn't have to. Not only that, but there's a little girl living in this nightmare of a family. That changes everything.
I had just been talking to my friend downstairs about how quiet and peaceful things had been. JINX! It's a nice place to live, in a nice area. There's just total psychos living around us. When things get bad I say, "We have to move NOW!" but then I realize... you can't escape crazy. Know how I know? Because I've never lived around NORMAL. I've always had crazy neighbors, and I don't think location has much to do with it.
That doesn't mean I can't try to make it a little more sane, does it? Pin It
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
My Theory on Pets and Heaven
I went with my parents and my brother to put the family dog to sleep this afternoon. It was the first time I'd done such a thing, and I honestly hope I don't have to do it again. Unfortunately, the odds are probably against me, since I'm an animal lover and a "pet parent". If you've ever lost a pet, you can probably relate to the notion that life would be far easier if we all became priests or nuns and never really invested in anyone or anything emotionally.
Aw, we say it, but we're pushovers. One puppy kiss, one kitty rubbing up against our legs and we're sold on the idea of adopting pets all over again.
The question is, where do our pets go when they die?
If you're an atheist, then pets go into the ground or into an oven and that's it.
If you're like me - over-spiritualizing everything from a good cup of coffee to a bad hair day - there's more to it than that.
Christians - who tend to take things way more literally than they need to be - are sort of divided on where animals go, if anywhere. Some say animals have souls, some say animals don't. Both sides are pretty determined to have the only correct answer. So here's MY theory, for what little it's worth.
I don't know if animals have souls. I tend to think they do, only because they have distinct personalities, they supposedly feel love, they are loyal, and God created them to not only help us but keep us company. Do I think my dog is up in Heaven playing with my brother's dearly departed cat? Yes. If I'm wrong, do I think I'll have to answer to God on Judgment Day? No. I can't picture God getting mad at me for thinking Winston is in Heaven.
That being said... I don't know for sure whether or not they have souls.
Anyone ever read "Heaven" by Randy Alcorn? His interpretation is that Heaven will be a familiar place where we are surrounded by everything we love. Sounds pretty biblical to me. So why WOULDN'T our pets be there?
And since there are no tears and there is no sadness in Heaven... even if our pets WEREN'T there... the rest of Heaven would be so perfect, we wouldn't know the difference.
Either way, I think the odds are in our favor... at least as far as Heaven goes. Pin It
Aw, we say it, but we're pushovers. One puppy kiss, one kitty rubbing up against our legs and we're sold on the idea of adopting pets all over again.
The question is, where do our pets go when they die?
If you're an atheist, then pets go into the ground or into an oven and that's it.
If you're like me - over-spiritualizing everything from a good cup of coffee to a bad hair day - there's more to it than that.
Christians - who tend to take things way more literally than they need to be - are sort of divided on where animals go, if anywhere. Some say animals have souls, some say animals don't. Both sides are pretty determined to have the only correct answer. So here's MY theory, for what little it's worth.
I don't know if animals have souls. I tend to think they do, only because they have distinct personalities, they supposedly feel love, they are loyal, and God created them to not only help us but keep us company. Do I think my dog is up in Heaven playing with my brother's dearly departed cat? Yes. If I'm wrong, do I think I'll have to answer to God on Judgment Day? No. I can't picture God getting mad at me for thinking Winston is in Heaven.
That being said... I don't know for sure whether or not they have souls.
Anyone ever read "Heaven" by Randy Alcorn? His interpretation is that Heaven will be a familiar place where we are surrounded by everything we love. Sounds pretty biblical to me. So why WOULDN'T our pets be there?
And since there are no tears and there is no sadness in Heaven... even if our pets WEREN'T there... the rest of Heaven would be so perfect, we wouldn't know the difference.
Either way, I think the odds are in our favor... at least as far as Heaven goes. Pin It
Friday, June 4, 2010
Yee Haw Summer is HERE
Happy Summer! Have you made your first foray to the swimming pool/beach/lake yet? I did, and it was every bit as wonderful as I remember it being… though I got no tan whatsoever. There are things about the pool that I truly despise – wet toilet seats in the bathrooms, and little kids splashing me and almost pummeling me in the face. I put up with it for the satisfaction of roasting under the hot sun like a popcorn kernel waiting to explode, reading a good book, and the relief of jumping in the cool water when I can’t take the heat anymore. Those of you with swimming pools of your own – consider yourself extremely lucky.
Ultimately, my dream is to one day own a home out in the country where I either have my own swimming pool or a pond. I’ll even settle for a creek, if I must. I don’t need a mansion. I just want to look in one direction and see the woods, then look in another direction and see swimmable water. I’m not motivated by fancy cars or big houses, just water.
There is a stream that runs alongside my home and yesterday I got bored waiting for my husband to get home so we could run errands, so I made my way down to the water’s edge. I managed to slip on the damp grass and bury my right sneaker (my pink and silver Skecher!!) in the mud. Ok, actually… I never would have slipped on the damp grass had I not been lunging after a toad that was stupidly staring up at me. In the summer, toads regularly sun themselves in our parking lot. Maybe the heat and lack of water makes them sluggish or lazy, because they’re always very easy to catch. Not the case when they’re in the water. I did manage to find and catch two itty bitty turtles, neither of whom seemed to give a damn that they were nose-to-nose in a human being’s palm. I happen to think turtles are adorable; my husband happens to think they look like snakes with a shell, and he hates snakes. When I showed him Dumb and Dumber (as I would later name them), he scrunched up his nose the same way he does when I buy myself an artichoke at the grocery store. Then he told me to wash my hands because turtles are nothing but salmonella on legs.
He’ll freak out over turtles having salmonella, but he merely swats and West Nile-infested mosquitos.
Welcome to summer.
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