Restoring Honor

Hal and I went to the Restoring Honor Rally on August 28 at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC. I will admit a little trepidation,

The Stuff of Earth

The late Rich Mullins wrote the line "The stuff of earth competes for the allegiance I owe only to the Giver of all good things" in his "If I Stand". It was very appropriate for today's lectionary readings in church.

First, from Ecclesiates 1 and 2, the Preacher proclaiming "all is vanity and a striving after wind." (Ecclesiastes 1:14, all scripture today ESV). The Epistle reading, from Colossians 3 tells us to "Set (y)our minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth." (3:2) - this reading talks about non-physical earthly things: sexual immorality, evil desire, greed, anger, slander, and other such "things" of earth. We who are Christians are supposed to have left the old self behind. I know that if you get me in NJ traffic, sometimes I allow the old self to slip out. I should not; I should hold to my "new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator" (3:10)

The Gospel reading today, from Luke 12:13-21, talks more about the physical "stuff of earth". The parable of the rich farmer, who has a bumper crop, and decides to hoard it. Eleven times the words I and my are used. There is no mention of family, nor is there mention of giving a tithe to the temple or a portion to the poor. He builds bigger barns to store his goods so that he may now live a life of ease. And then he dies that night. Great lot of good his new barns and his bumper crop did him, eh?

So what does this mean? Mullins puts it in the simplest of terms. We do not owe our allegiance to anything here on earth. Not our jobs, families, possessions, not even to the churches or synagogues where we worship. We owe our allegiance only to God, who has given all to us. This does not mean we should sit back, relax, do nothing. This does not mean we should not enjoy our possessions.

Rather, we should not put either our faith or our energy into what is truly vanity, that which is passing and will not be eternal. Our hearts should be turned to the Giver of those things that are ours for a time, for a season.

What's in a Name, Part II

So...I'm off on an establishment rant again...

Was thinking about my PA driver's license today, because a friend was talking about renewing her license. And I got ticked. Again.

When I married Hal, I had to get a new Social Security card. Chose to list my name as Connie Wagner Garlick, dropping my middle name (Marie). The Social Security Administration, seeing my birth certificate and marriage certificate, accepted this as my name. So did the Internal Revenue Service.

The state of Ohio gave me no trouble issuing a driver's license in the name of Connie Wagner Garlick, or Connie W. Garlick (I don't remember if they used middle name or initial).

The state of South Carolina - Connie Wagner Garlick.

The state of Nebraska - Connie Wagner Garlick.

You would THINK that this is a national trend, allowing someone to use the name that they have chosen upon their marriage.

Think again.

The commonwealth of Pennsylvania - the woman across the counter at the DMV - crossed out Wagner as my middle name and wrote Marie. I told her that was not my name. She insisted that it was. I told her that I had changed my name when I married. Showed her my Social Security Card again. She told me that using the name on the Social Security card "USED" to be legal. She insisted that my middle name is Marie, that she had to use the middle name on my birth certificate.

I went to my state representative's office shortly after getting a PA DL that does not match the name on my bank accounts, IRS info, SS card...and got a young woman behind a desk who called the DMV, would not let me talk to them, laughed with the person on the phone, and smugly told me that was the law. I told her it was a stupid law (I may have thrown in a non-preacherly word) and got up and left.

I still think it's a stupid law. Two entities of the federal government and three other states recognize me as who I choose to be. The sad thing is, I really like where we're living and don't want to move just so I can get my real name back on a driver's license. *sigh* I will just have to get our representative on one of his public appearances and get him to understand that this is a law that needs to be changed. Or just have a driver's license that matches none of my other information until I retire and move from PA.

Oh - and to top it off - the same woman HIT ON MY HUSBAND the next week, when he went to get his license. Thankfully, I was not in the building when it happened, or I'd be writing this from jail.

Home Again

Last week was the first time I attended the Creation Festival since 2006, when it was rained out. I have attended since 1986 (with the exception of one year I only attended set-up, and the last 3 years). It was good to be home.

Yes, good to be home after the festival - real showers and flush toilets.

But more than that, it was good to be back at Agape Farm. Good to see friends that I usually only see at the Fest. Good to camp with a great friend, who served as the "best chick" at my wedding. Good to be in the company of other Christians, regardless of denomination or theology. Good to breathe in the dust (remember, dust is our friend, our alternative being mud).

It was refreshing to unplug from technology, with the exception of a few cell phone calls to my husband, who stayed home to hold down the fort. I love you babe, and I missed you. And I thank you for letting me go on my pilgrimage without giving me a hard time about leaving - I know those whose spouses let them go, and others whose spouses do not let them leave their side. I appreciate the fact that you allow me to leave you for a week with the cat litter.

It was good to plug in to the messages that were out there. Not only the messages of the speakers or the musicians, but also the messages of those I encountered casually. Messages of hope, peace, God's hand in their lives. Messages that I needed to hear.

I am grateful for telephone, email and social media that allow me to keep in touch with the friends that I have made over 20 years. I am more grateful for the ability to attend the festival this year and reconnect with those people. I love you all.

What's in a Name?

In the mid-80's, I worked for a computer software company. We had one particular customer who was difficult. Ok, really, he was a pain in certain parts of the anatomy that shall remain nameless. He was always trying to get free product, and no-one wanted to deal with him. The salesman, the techs, the owner of the company were always in meetings or out of the office - even if it meant they had to step out onto the sidewalk - when he called. So, we foisted him off on a temp that was brought in at one point. She was very nice, very sweet, and very temporary. So, when he called back several weeks later, he asked for Pam, and was told that she had been a temp. I helped him as best I could, telling him that I would give the salesman his message, that I was sorry, all I could do was give him the message, that I understood his frustration, that the techs were not available...and he told me how helpful I had been, could he have my name? I don't know why, I don't know where it came from - but I told him my name was Nancy. The office manager turned around and gave me an odd look. When I hung up, I told her who I'd been talking to, she just busted out laughing, understanding why I had not given him my name.

Fast forward about six weeks, to his next call. I had just given 2 weeks notice. When the office manager answered the phone, she put the call on hold and started cracking up. We all kind of looked at each other, waiting to find out what was going on. She caught her breath, looked at me, and said, "Oh, Nancy, this call is for you." I picked up the phone, gave my real name, and told him that Nancy was no longer with the company - and heard him sigh. He went through his whole litany of reasons he HAD to talk to the salesman or tech, listened to my whole litany of reasons why he couldn't - and, at the end of it all told me how he was glad that he had been able to speak to me, and could he have my name. I told him my name is Connie - but it wouldn't do him good, as I was leaving the company. He asked how bad the company was to work for, that Pam and Nancy and I had all left - I told him that Pam had been a temp, that Nancy was a flake and we had to let her go ;) and that I had just decided to move on to another industry, that the company was a good company and that I was SURE that whoever they hired would be very helpful.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, this past weekend poetic justice hit.

This past weekend Hal and I were at the Penn West Conference of the UCC Annual Meeting. At one point, all new pastors were introduced to the gathering. I was surprised to hear the name "Nancy Garlick" along with Harold Garlick as the new pastors at Meyersdale. Realizing they meant me, I stood up and said "Connie" and heard several other voices say the same. The Conference Minister later apologized for misspeaking.

Odd thing is, this is not the first time this has happened. When Hal and I were first married, within the first month, we had to attend the annual meeting for the Methodist conference where Hal was serving. At the district dinner, his district superintendent introduced "Hal Garlick, and his new wife, Joyce." Hal and I stood up, and Hal said, "This is my new wife Connie. You weren't supposed to tell her about Joyce." Everyone laughed, the D.S. apologized, and we went on with dinner. I later found out that our neighbor in OH was Joyce.

And I won't even mention all the times I was called Constance, which is not my given name (if you must know, Connie is short for Confrontational).

Not a Morning Person

I am not a morning person (and yet, somehow I was up at 7 am today). My husband knew this when we married. That is, he should have known this. After all, I had repeatedly told him. And, well, there was that whole different approach we had to the 8 am classes.

Before we married, Hal would get up from his dorm room (the nights he wasn't back in Ohio), get ready, go down to the student lounge, get coffee, hang out, head to class. I, on the other hand, would roll out of bed in my apartment on the other side of campus, throw on some clothes, pull my hair back into a pony tail, brush my teeth, and - if I had time - make instant coffee to put into my travel mug, and dash across campus to slide into class 2 minutes before it started.

So he should have known.

We married on June 1, 2002. That summer, most of the time he let me sleep in while he got up and puttered around the house, doing pastor stuff like sermon prep and drinking coffee. Especially after one particular morning. I remember it well. He had gotten up, in a good mood, bright eyed and bushy-tailed (a saying which I have never particularly understood) - kissed me good morning, said he loved me, to which I replied "mughlorkingsplat" or something of the like. A little while later (after I had rolled over, pulled the pillow over my head and started snoring again), I felt a vice close around my ankle and this horrible pain on the bottom of my foot. Ok, really, he had just grabbed my ankle and started tickling me. But, well, at that hour of the morning...

Needless to say, more than mughlorkingsplat came out of my mouth. I don't think I said any bad words - but I do remember questioning his sanity and asking him what he thought he was doing as I pulled my poor foot out of his evil clutches. He got a terribly hurt look on his face, and said he was just tickling his bride's foot (he tells me now that on that morning, his beautiful bride was not to be found). Feeling badly, I muttered that I had warned him that I'm not a morning person, that I was sorry, but please leave me alone. I think I said please. I don't know if he remembers it that way or not. If I didn't say those things, though, I meant to. In my defense, it was early. I know that when Hal tells the story, something about evil incarnate overtaking his bride comes into play.

We now have an understanding when it comes to morning. I get up on the mornings that I absolutely have to. The rest of the time, Hal gets up and does what he does quietly. He warns me before he turns the bedroom light on in the morning (otherwise he hears the line from Gremlins: "Bright light! Bright light!"). At times he'll gently kiss me bye when he leaves for the office, otherwise he'll just wait til I get up and call over to the office to say good morning. And I try really hard not to growl - or whatever that voice was that came out of my mouth that morning 8 years ago.

Memorial Day musings

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, Canadian physician

I never met my great-grandfather Salter. He was from Liverpool, and a scoundrel. But that's a story for another day. He served in the Royal Army, we know in India and perhaps in Afghanistan as well. He is buried in Old Tennent Cemetery, in New Jersey. And every year, the Boy Scouts put a flag (of the US, not the UK) on his grave on Memorial Day weekend. There are flags at his son's grave, and at that of his granddaughter's husband (my dad), along with countless other graves of those who served, at that and countless other cemeteries around this country and around the world. Some, like my dad, grandfather, and great-grandfather, who came home, lived, loved, and grew old. Some who came home, tortured by their injuries or memories, unable to love or forgive themselves or others until they were taken home by God. Some, like the young man whose name I can never remember until I'm there, who rests near the corner across the lane to the right of Neff Chapel, who did not come home alive; his headstone tells the story: his name, dates of birth and death, and the simple "Died in France." I never knew him or his family members, yet I check on his grave every time I go home.

In 1989 I was in Germany. My friends and I found ourselves at a memorial to the German war dead. Sobering, because of the realization that they - "the enemy" - mourn their dead just as we do. Not surprised that they mourn, mind you. But sobering to come to a place where they are free to mourn those that they loved that fought, willingly or not, for their country. I say willingly or not, because in WWI one of my grandfather's duties was to guard German Prisoners of War. He spoke of the day that one of the POW's, who spoke some English, asked him if he wanted to fight. Pop-Pop looked at him, and said, "No, did you?" to which the POW responded with a shake of his head and said "No, not at all." My grandfather always got quiet around then. He hadn't wanted to go to war (another story for another day), but had, just as this German soldier had, to do his duty for his country.

Let us not forget that Memorial Day weekend is not just the unofficial start of summer, or an extra day off from work, or a day of beach or park or picnic, or a day to snag some really good bargains at the mall. Let us remember that Memorial Day - Remembrance Day - is a day to remember those who served. I'm not saying don't have fun. I'm going to a picnic Monday evening; Hal will be speaking at a local observance of the day first. So as you go about your weekend, remember those who made it possible. Remember those who came before. Remember those, on both sides of any conflict, who are mourning those that they lost.

As for me, Lt. Col. McCrae, I will catch the torch. I will bear it high. I will not break faith.

Making Root Beer out of Lemons

When I was doing my Clinical Pastoral Education at Shadyside Hospital in Pittsburgh, I had a patient I'll just call J to respect their privacy.

J had cancer. J had been a nurse, and knew that the normal outcome of their particular strain of cancer was death. They had tried several experimental drugs, but the treatments had little effect.

J's parents had died, only sibling had 2 children and lived several hours away so visited rarely, and J's "significant other" had ended their relationship. J was, shall I say, slightly bitter. I don't fault J for that. J felt as though they were alone in the world.

One day while I was speaking with J, they remarked, "You know, if one more person tells me 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade,' I'm gonna slug them. 'Cause I think I'm doing a pretty good job of making root beer." I didn't respond verbally, but I did raise my eyebrows at J. J closed their eyes, and said, "Well, that's my problem. I'm trying to make root beer out of lemons, and I should be making lemonade." After talking about it for a little while, and letting J come to terms with things, I asked J if I could use this story as sermon material sometime, and they approved.

Because aren't we all like that sometimes? We get into a situation - sometimes life-threatening, like J's cancer, sometimes just annoying. We take what we have at our disposal - but instead of using what is available to help us, we do the wrong thing with the right resources, then wonder why things aren't getting better.

Sometimes the situation is not going to improve - J died of the cancer a few months after this conversation. But J's attitude toward facing impending death without the support system of family or "significant other" changed. J's bitterness never left completely, but it was tempered with the realization that being miserable wasn't helping, and some of the bitterness at being alone dissipated , as J got out of the room to interact with other patients on the ward more often.

Sometimes, though, the change to making lemonade instead of root beer (or simply letting the lemons rot, unused at all) changes the situation we are in, and allows us to improve things. Unhappy with your job? Find a way to change the things at the job that make you unhappy, or find a new job, or a totally new career path.

Caution: don't try to make others make lemonade with your lemons. Unhappy in your relationships? Change yourself - they are YOUR lemons, not the other person's. Don't tell someone that they need to do this or be that for you to be happy - happy is a choice you make for yourself, as is bitterness.

And just so you know, I have a glass of root beer (with a shot of lemon juice) every year on J's birthday, because it happens to be the same date as mine.

Food and Place Dreams

I have been dreaming lately of specific places and specific foods. Don't do that often. And they are the last dreams of the morning, so I remember them well. The first was this past Monday, dreaming of the Dog & Duck in Mt. Pleasant, SC. When I worked for Maersk Line, we occasionally brought food in for the staff. At one point, when they went from a 1-hour lunch to a 1/2 hour lunch, we were bringing in food quite regularly, so that people could "buy out" without having to get nailed in the traffic on Long Point Road, and Dog & Duck was one of the places we'd bring in food from. I grew to love their Belle Hall sandwich (http://www.dogandduckfamilypubs.com/index.html

Snakes are Stress-Reducing?

Today on msn.com, I read an INTERESTING article about different methods of stress-reduction. I would link it, but it's already gone. One of those ways was, and I do not lie, having a snake massage. Yes, that's right. Lie partially unclothed while non-venomous snakes of various sizes and weights crawl over your body. The problem, the article said, was that the snakes are not trained to target specific muscles.

No, I think the problem is that THERE WOULD BE SNAKES CRAWLING ON MY BODY! I don't care if they are venomous or not, THEY ARE SNAKES!!! What, are they kidding me???

Now, I readily admit that when I was a teenager I wanted a python. I was prepared to raise the mice and rats to feed it. I thought it would be cool. The problem was the cost. My mom told me that I could not afford a snake. I told her that I had researched it - that I could afford the snake, the aquarium and "fixins" for inside and on top, the cages to raise first mice, then rats as the snake got bigger... But them Mom told me no, I could not afford to have a snake - because it would mean having my own apartment and there was no way I was in a position, at that age, to sign a lease, let alone afford the rent and utilities. *sigh* Mom won out. I was bummed at the time, but as I look back...WAS I NUTS??? The answer is, perhaps, yes, I was. Blame it on teenage hormones.

So what am I trying to get at here? Just to let you all know - if I ever tell you I'm stressed - please, please, please - do not invite me for a snake massage. Please. Thank you.

Easter Signs and Wonders

Around this time of year, probably around 12 years ago, I went to a local grocery store in my hometown which is now out of business. I was a little perturbed at the difference in 2 signs in the window, but did my shopping and then went to my car. Then I went back to the store and asked to see the manager. Why? What were the two signs? Well, one was a picture of a leg of lamb on a plate, with a goblet with a Star of David, and read, "We would like to wish all of our Jewish friends a Happy Passover." The other one was a picture of 3 bunnies in some flowers, and read, "Happy Easter. Closed Easter Sunday."

This was before I was a pastor, and probably before I was in seminary. I was annoyed. I wrote a pointed letter to the corporate office (because I knew it was not the store manager's fault - he only put up the signs that corporate sent him). I told them that I was offended because one referred to their Jewish friends, with a symbol of Judaism, while the other did not mention the word Christian, or friends, or have a symbol of Christianity for what is the most important holiday for Christians - rather, it had a picture of 3 rabbits - a pagan symbol for fertility. Had they pictured chocolate bunnies (something that could have been purchased at the store), or a plate with a slice of ham and a goblet with a cross, or referred to Christianity, I would not have taken any offense at all. And, I asked them to please not tell me that they had 3 bunnies to symbolize the Trinity. I got a letter back from them, apologizing for the offense, they didn't mean to offend, and they would never do it again. Their December signs, and their signs the following Passover/Easter season were much more equitable in the recognition of the HOLIdays of Judaism and Christianity being HOLY days.

As I started writing this, I was eating a Peep. Why do I tell you this? To let you know that I don't have great heartburn with chocolate bunnies, Peeps, jelly beans, or egg hunts at Easter. As a matter of fact, when I get done writing this, I'm going here: www.shop.oldmonmouthcandies.com
to see if I am still able to order their jelly beans this year.They have wonderful candy shows in their warehouse this time of year and at Christmastime, and I miss going. It was a big treat for us to go during Lent to choose what candies we would get after Easter. And we never got to sample any until Easter Day(that is, not until we were old enough to go buy our own). For a child (and a teenager...and an adult) it was a place of glorious smells, colors, and anticipation.

Do we anticipate Easter itself though? The first disciples were terrified. Jesus was dead and buried. It's easy for us to look backwards and tell them to come out of hiding, not to worry, it'll all be ok. But they didn't have the advantage of our perspective. One had betrayed him, another denied him. They either witnessed or heard about Jesus' arrest in the garden. They may have been in the crowd that chose Barabbas for release. They saw him crucified - if they had dared be in that crowd. He was dead, gone.

We, though, have the perspective of time. We know that death lost. Our Lord won. I wonder, though, if we have forgotten what we know. Have we looked the other way while our Holy day is becoming a secular holiday? Have we focused more on the hidden eggs than the risen Lord? Have we paid more attention to the chocolate and the pretty dresses than to the resurrection and triumph of Jesus Christ?

Let us use these last few weeks of Lent - ok, let us use these last days of our lives whether it be tomorrow or a hundred years from now - to focus on the reality of Easter. Jesus is not dead, He is risen!

The comfort of the trains

I did not grow up near trains. I never heard the lullaby of the train whistle or the engine or the wheels on the tracks growing up.

The last three places where I have lived, though, I've learned to love the sounds of the trains going by. It started in Summerville, SC. Through the woods at night, I would hear the trains at bedtime. The whistles were my clock. They did not come through often, but they came through on schedule, every night. And the second time I heard the whistle, I was ready to let myself go to sleep.

We lived closer to the tracks in Nebraska. Not close enough for the windows or dishes to rattle, but close enough to hear the train all the time. The town we lived in was on the main line of the Union Pacific Railroad, and we had 60-80 trains go through a day. Driving across town became frustrating at times, especially when they closed the viaduct for repairs and we no longer had a way to go over the tracks. But again, the sounds of the trains became a comfort, a normalcy.

We now live in Meyersdale, PA, which is on the main line of the Chessie system. We are a block and a half from the tracks. When we first got here, I was a little concerned, as the trains mainly come through at night. And the whistles are LOUD, being less than 2 blocks away. But, again, it became a lullaby. It's odd at night to lie in bed and not hear the train come through. It's been muted, since the church put new windows in the parsonage. I know that this summer it will again be loud...and I look forward to it. Oh, yes, sometimes I will wake up when a particularly long blast is sounded. But sometimes it just becomes a part of whatever I'm dreaming.

Government (Waste) Spending

Today in the mail we got an envelope from the U.S. Department of Commerce. I'm sure you did, too - if not, you will soon. Inside was a letter. To resident. Telling us that in one week we'd get our Census form in the mail. There was one line, in 5 other languages, on the bottom.

First - HOW FREAKING MUCH DID IT COST TO SEND THIS OUT?????? To everyone in the country?????

Second - why only 5 languages? And why was only one line translated? Who chose which 5 languages? And frankly, how can they determine the languages, since we're supposed to only have to answer how many people live in the house, we're not supposed to have to answer any other questions, like ethnicity or ancestral background. Tell that to the people that sent out the last Census. I was not happy that we were one of the houses chosen to do "the long form" (read "the entirely too intrusive, many of the answers which they were seeking being none of their darned business, form")

I know, tell you how I really feel.

Mind you, this reminds me of other government waste. I worked for the Department of Defense in my early adulthood. When I left, I cashed in my retirement so that I could pay for my first 2 years of college. So, first, I received a letter telling me how much money I would receive. Then I received a letter telling me that I would receive a check. Then I received a check. Then I received a letter making sure I had gotten the check, and what to do if I had not. The problem was, when I cashed it in, it was figured wrong. SO, I got a letter telling me that the calculations were wrong, and that I would receive a letter telling me the correct amount. Then I got a letter telling me the correct amount - they owed me SIXTY-FOUR CENTS. Then I got a check for 64 cents. Then, I got a letter making sure I had gotten the 64 cent check, and what to do if I had not. All the additional mailings cost, I'm sure, a bit more than the 64 stinking cents. I could have lived without it.

So...why do we put up with this wastefulness?

Hal says he'll miss me while I'm in solitary confinement for posting this. I'll miss him too.

Feline Theology, Part 1: Cats = Sin?

In seminary, we had a professor who, in a class on world religions, spoke of Zoroastrianism as having two distinct sources of good and evil. The good god produced good things - like rainbows and puppy dogs, while the evil god or spirit created (and here he paused and his voice deepened)...cats.

I do not believe that cats are inherently evil. Black cats don't freak me out. But I do see the parallel, at least for me, between my relationship with my cats and my relationship with sin.

You see, I'm allergic to my cats. Have known this for some time. And, yet, I have not one, but two. I am not as allergic as some of my friends or relatives, who cannot come to my house to visit. But I AM allergic. I sneeze, my nose runs, and I have difficulty breathing. When I am stupid enough to touch my eyes after I have been petting my cats (which is quite frequently), my vision is disturbed. Oh, I can take an antihistamine or a decongestant, and I can wet a washcloth and hold it over my eyes, or use eyedrops. But wouldn't life be simpler for me if I avoided having cats in the first place?

Aren't we the same with our favorite sins? Overall, I'm sure we try to avoid sin...at least the big ten. But don't we try to rationalize some of our sins like I rationalize having cats? After all, I've never ended up in the hospital because of them. I can take a pill. I can keep them off my bed (ironically enough, a place where many sins take place because our society has convinced us that sex outside of marriage is no longer sin). I can wash away my clouded vision.

Don't all sins cloud our vision, though? The first time that we do something that we know we shouldn't - the first time we do something that we know, either through our study of His word or through our guts, is displeasing to God - don't we try to rationalize it? Either by comparing our sin to someone else's sin that we perceive as worse that what we did, or by saying we only did it once...isn't that clouding our vision as to what we have done? Romans 6:23 reads "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (ESV). I did my undergrad work at a Roman Catholic women's college, where I had to disagree with Father Norman (r.i.p.), who in a class on religion spoke of mortal and venial sin. He had to explain that to the Presbyterian in the back of the room. But Romans doesn't say the wages of some sin is death, the wages of others, eh, not so bad.

I could get rid of my cats. Ok, probably not, unless my allergies get to the point where I cannot have a cat in my presence.

More importantly,though, I cannot get rid of my sin. I will not ever be free from sin in this life. But I can make a conscious effort to stop doing things that I know are displeasing to God. Like clean up my language. And my attitude. I can choose to not put myself in positions where I will be faced with choices and temptations that lead me to sin.

Thankfully, I don't have to get rid of my sin on my own. God has provided a way. Which is a good thing. Because otherwise, none of us would be here.

Clothes Shopping

Ok, so I hate to shop for clothing. First, I'm cheap. How cheap, you ask? I don't like to pay $5 for something at the thrift store. Two of my all-time favorite thrift stores are almost across from each other on Rivers Avenue in North Charleston, SC, just off 526. Community Thrift is CHEAP - I could get clothes for the grands for 25-65 cents. Yup. And I could buy dresses for myself for $1.99. Name brand dresses, some designer, some with original tags still on them. Across the street and down the road - Goodwill Outlet. $1.49 for a POUND of clothes. Y'know, silk does not weigh much.
But cost is not the only reason. Have any of you considered the names of lines of clothing for women? SAG Harbor. Yeah, remind me where I'm headed...thanks. Faded Glory...am I that far gone?
I thought I was doing well a few years ago. I found a new line. Ok, it was Sears or Kmart - remember, for me, that's spending a lot on clothes. Bold Spirit! That's me! I'm not faded, or sagging - I am BOLD!!! Until the first time I washed it, that is. Tagless Tee. Some of the lettering peeled off after one wash. Alas, I was no longer Bold Spirit...I was...old Spirit. At least I wasn't old spi..t (until like the 3rd wash).
And Hal wonders why I get grouchy when I go shopping.

Hello!

Well, I've finally done it - broken down and started a blog. Not that I don't have other stuff I should be doing. Like, right now, I should be fixing supper. Or trying out my new washer and dryer (I've only had them since Wednesday). Or filling out the paperwork for substitute teaching or foster care. But no, I'm sitting here typing this. Look for this blog to change looks as I figure out what I'm doing. Which will probably take a while. But I'm going to go finish fixing supper now.

Friday Night