A couple of weeks ago, I blogged about some amazing people who came to snowblow my driveway and sidewalks. Since that time, we have seen at least three significant snow events, each depositing at least inches of the white stuff on the City of Mandan.
Being a relatively new home owner, I am still trying to get the hang of this snow removal game. You set the alarm a little bit earlier, get dressed into enough gear to climb Mount Everest and brave the cold to shovel yet another couple inches of snow off your sidewalks. Being a member of the Rheumatoid Arthritis club, I have to weight each swing of the shovel against how much torture I can wage on my joints before I can't hold a fork or tie my own shoes.
Last week, we got a terrific amount of snow overnight. I was on my way to suit up when my doorbell rang. At the door was a wonderful man that manages the apartments next door to my home. He had hired a bobcat to do snow removal, but had no where to pile the snow. He was asking permission to pile snow in my yard. He had also instructed the bobcat operator to remove my snow as well. The thought of another 30 minutes in my warm house brought tears to my eyes. He has no idea how close I came to kissing his feet! I gladly gave my blessing to pile the snow anywhere he wanted to, including my bathtub if necessary.
All of this brings me to my point -- I know, you were wondering if I actually had one! Yesterday a letter to the editor was printed in the local paper. The gentleman was one of those rare people who actually enjoys moving snow and has the equipment to do it effectively and quickly. He was called on the carpet by local law enforcement who had received a complaint from one of his neighbors regarding a small ridge of snow left in their cleared driveway. He had spent many winters clearing snow for his elderly neighbors, but was told to stop doing so.
Many people in my community are recipients of Random Acts of Kindness during the winter season. Snowblowing angels come to their rescue and save them hours of back breaking labor. To them I say "thank you"!
The response to this letter in the local paper has been enormous! While there are some that recommend he mind his own business, the overwhelming majority are supportive of his kindness to those unable to do their own snow removal. I hope that the complaining neighbor realizes that they have ruined it for those who truly needed this man's help. Who will dare to pick up a shovel to move some snow without wondering if they will be law enforcement soon? These officers are just doing their jobs, but I'm guessing they have better things to do than handle complaints of this nature.
Dare to care! Step up and help out those who can't help themselves. When you stand before the Lord at the end of this age, you will be able to say you were looking out for "the least of these." Happy shoveling!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Life with Lucy
I am going to risk sounding like a spinster aunt that lives in the guest room for 15 years, but one of my best friends has four legs, 2 beautiful brown eyes and a tongue six feet long. Like with Lucy began about this time last year.
My beautiful brown-eyed girl and Golden Retriever, Taffy, died very suddenly at the vet on December 20, 2007 from a brain tumor or aneurysm that we weren't aware she had. I was heartbroken. No more excited greeting at the end of the day. No guardian and protector from the noises you hear when you live alone. No sympathetic ear to listen to my trouble and take my side every time.
I had told everyone I had no desire or stamina for a puppy. Puppies are a lot of work -- housebreaking, chewing, getting up at night to taken them out. I just couldn't fill up this hole in my heart with another animal. It doesn't work that way ~ until.....
My father has a connection with a breeder near their home in South Dakota. They had a 10 week old Golden Retriever puppy that they needed a home for. The breeder sent pictures. I was in love!
Taffy always had a habit of putting her chin into my hand and would look up at me with her beautiful eyes. Well, you can imagine my reaction when the first picture I opened of the puppy had her chin in the breeders hand, trying hard to avoid getting her picture taken.
I made the trip down to South Dakota to pick up the puppy. After waiting impatiently, a huge pick-up pulled into the driveway, a big man got out and took a little puppy from the back and walked to the door. She was dirty from playing, scared and very sad. She was beautiful. I signed some paperwork and she was all mine.
We made the trek into the big city of Watertown to get puppy necessities - collar, leash, food, bowls, toys. Let's just say it was probably one of the most expensive Christmas gifts my parents have ever given me.
We discovered she gets carsick and she got her first bath in a utility sink that night. We spent many hours outside trying to get the hang of this concept "outside - good, inside - bad". I tried to kennel her that first night, but she cried and I caved. She likes to sleep with her muzzle across my neck and cuddling close as possible.
Big dogs are much easier to housebreak than smaller dogs, or so they say. January, 2008 was super cold. She was so confused as to why this crazy lady was dragging her around the backyard in the freezing cold. I couldn't understand why she never got a clue why we were outside in the middle of the night!
After about 3 days without a formal title except "no no, puppy", we named her Lucy. Those first nine months were tough - accidents, chewing of shoes, chasing of kitties. There were times when I would call my friend, Deb, and ask if she needed another dog. Through those nine months, we learned to read each other pretty well. Lucy has beautiful brown eyes and is a very good listener. I look forward to coming home at the end of the day to a hero's welcome every night.
Last night, we reached 25 below zero. I could hear the wind blowing outside. Lucy jumped onto the bed, all 90 pounds of her. She takes her side of the bed out of the middle. Laying with a huge puppy across your chest is not too relaxing, but soon she finds just the right spot with her muzzle on my neck. We settle in and I thank God for this gentle beast -- one of the best gifts I have ever received.
My beautiful brown-eyed girl and Golden Retriever, Taffy, died very suddenly at the vet on December 20, 2007 from a brain tumor or aneurysm that we weren't aware she had. I was heartbroken. No more excited greeting at the end of the day. No guardian and protector from the noises you hear when you live alone. No sympathetic ear to listen to my trouble and take my side every time.
I had told everyone I had no desire or stamina for a puppy. Puppies are a lot of work -- housebreaking, chewing, getting up at night to taken them out. I just couldn't fill up this hole in my heart with another animal. It doesn't work that way ~ until.....
My father has a connection with a breeder near their home in South Dakota. They had a 10 week old Golden Retriever puppy that they needed a home for. The breeder sent pictures. I was in love!
Taffy always had a habit of putting her chin into my hand and would look up at me with her beautiful eyes. Well, you can imagine my reaction when the first picture I opened of the puppy had her chin in the breeders hand, trying hard to avoid getting her picture taken.
I made the trip down to South Dakota to pick up the puppy. After waiting impatiently, a huge pick-up pulled into the driveway, a big man got out and took a little puppy from the back and walked to the door. She was dirty from playing, scared and very sad. She was beautiful. I signed some paperwork and she was all mine.
We made the trek into the big city of Watertown to get puppy necessities - collar, leash, food, bowls, toys. Let's just say it was probably one of the most expensive Christmas gifts my parents have ever given me.
We discovered she gets carsick and she got her first bath in a utility sink that night. We spent many hours outside trying to get the hang of this concept "outside - good, inside - bad". I tried to kennel her that first night, but she cried and I caved. She likes to sleep with her muzzle across my neck and cuddling close as possible.
Big dogs are much easier to housebreak than smaller dogs, or so they say. January, 2008 was super cold. She was so confused as to why this crazy lady was dragging her around the backyard in the freezing cold. I couldn't understand why she never got a clue why we were outside in the middle of the night!
After about 3 days without a formal title except "no no, puppy", we named her Lucy. Those first nine months were tough - accidents, chewing of shoes, chasing of kitties. There were times when I would call my friend, Deb, and ask if she needed another dog. Through those nine months, we learned to read each other pretty well. Lucy has beautiful brown eyes and is a very good listener. I look forward to coming home at the end of the day to a hero's welcome every night.
Last night, we reached 25 below zero. I could hear the wind blowing outside. Lucy jumped onto the bed, all 90 pounds of her. She takes her side of the bed out of the middle. Laying with a huge puppy across your chest is not too relaxing, but soon she finds just the right spot with her muzzle on my neck. We settle in and I thank God for this gentle beast -- one of the best gifts I have ever received.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Let It Snow -- OK, That's enough!
After enduring several winters in a row that gave us very little snow, Mother Nature has once again given us snow. Not just one winter storm, but two. The last one left quite a mess in its wake. We got about a foot of the white stuff with wind and a wind chill that makes even the most prim person say Wow!.
The storm moved in Saturday night and by 6 a.m. Sunday morning had dropped enough snow that I couldn't open my front door or get my car out of the garage. My puppy, Lucy, is a 90 pound puppy that stands about 3 feet at the head. She jumped out into the snow and sank up to her armpits. Looking at me pitifully, her eyes shouted, "Come get me!" Now I haven't been able to carry my "puppy" in quite some time. I had to coax her back inside the garage or she would be out there until Spring!
The powers that be advised no travel as there was zero visibility and a dangerous wind chill. By 7 a.m. we had cancelled our worship services that included our Christmas Program. After waking up several people to give them the good news, I settled in to enjoy my snow day.
This only worked until about 9 a.m. when I once again returned to reality and tried to figure out how long it would take me to remove all of this beautiful snow from my driveway, sidewalks and car pad. If my calculations were correct, it added up to 2 years, 3 months and 14 days.
Wait -- do you here the trumpet as the calvary comes up over the hill?
Angels of mercy appeared with a snowblower and three shovels and whisked the snow away faster than you can say "Wow that's amazing that you would come to my house and remove the snow! You are my favorite people in the whole world. Merry Christmas to you, your children and your grandchildren!"
Accepting not so much as a cup of cocoa, they were off to rescue others trapped in their houses and I was free once again to enjoy my snow day. Lucy and I watched Christmas movies and napped. With windchills at 30 below, it was a wise decision.
Monday came soon enough with frozen cars, frozen people and icy exchanges as people inpatiently waited for tow trucks to arrive. But for one beautiful day, I enjoyed the snow.
The storm moved in Saturday night and by 6 a.m. Sunday morning had dropped enough snow that I couldn't open my front door or get my car out of the garage. My puppy, Lucy, is a 90 pound puppy that stands about 3 feet at the head. She jumped out into the snow and sank up to her armpits. Looking at me pitifully, her eyes shouted, "Come get me!" Now I haven't been able to carry my "puppy" in quite some time. I had to coax her back inside the garage or she would be out there until Spring!
The powers that be advised no travel as there was zero visibility and a dangerous wind chill. By 7 a.m. we had cancelled our worship services that included our Christmas Program. After waking up several people to give them the good news, I settled in to enjoy my snow day.
This only worked until about 9 a.m. when I once again returned to reality and tried to figure out how long it would take me to remove all of this beautiful snow from my driveway, sidewalks and car pad. If my calculations were correct, it added up to 2 years, 3 months and 14 days.
Wait -- do you here the trumpet as the calvary comes up over the hill?
Angels of mercy appeared with a snowblower and three shovels and whisked the snow away faster than you can say "Wow that's amazing that you would come to my house and remove the snow! You are my favorite people in the whole world. Merry Christmas to you, your children and your grandchildren!"
Accepting not so much as a cup of cocoa, they were off to rescue others trapped in their houses and I was free once again to enjoy my snow day. Lucy and I watched Christmas movies and napped. With windchills at 30 below, it was a wise decision.
Monday came soon enough with frozen cars, frozen people and icy exchanges as people inpatiently waited for tow trucks to arrive. But for one beautiful day, I enjoyed the snow.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Hey, Unto You a Child is Born!
A very talented, committed and fearless group of people at my church are preparing our children and youth for one of the biggest productions known to man - the Christmas Program. These words can strike fear in the heart of many of Sunday School teacher. It's not that we don't love to prepare for this worship time. Nothing is better than hearing the words of the ancient story of the birth of Christ being recited by children. It is so sweet seeing the little ones doing their verses and actions. Beautiful. You can almost imagine God smiling as they raise their voices to heaven as they sing "Away in a Manger".
The fear comes in when you understand that anything can happen in that Christmas Progam hour. Dresses are lifted over preschool childrens' heads as they grow impatient for the last "Amen". Stage fright comes with the territory as children confident in their parts at the last rehearsal look out over a congregation of big people they don't know and their parts just disappear. They are left to stare blankly at the video cameras rolling.
One of my favorite movies is "Simon Birch". It's a bittersweet tale of how a 12 year old boy comes to faith. One of the best scenes of the movie is the Christmas program. Everything that could go wrong does. Jesus, played by Simon Birch because he's the only one small enough to fit in the manger, pulls Mary into the manger in a fever of adolescent hormones, the shepherds and the Three Kings get into a fight and knock off the head of one of the turtle doves and the angel of the Lord vomits on the first three rows of spectators. The first full contact Christmas program.
I've been helping with Christmas programs for about 17 years and have devised some rules that I stick to when directing the programs.
Rule #1: Never try to suspend any child or youth from the ceiling with a pulley system or rope. No good can come from this!
Rule #2: Avoid real barnyard animals. Not only can they be unpredictable when encountering a crowd, but the carpet cleaning fees will be coming out of your checkbook.
Rule #3: Make it fun for the kids. The practices can be tedious as we block the program and work on speaking parts. You get much more help from the kids if you bring a little silliness into the process.
Rule #4: Pray, pray, pray. It's really God's story to tell. We are privileged to be picked by Him to tell it!
An old movie, "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever", tells the story of a Christmas Program that was taken over by a motley group of children that came for self-benefitting reasons. They took over every part in the nativity. On the day of the program, the Magi brought the gift of a ham for Baby Jesus. The Angel proclaimed the arrival of the newborn king, "Hey, Unto You a Child is Born. Get going." In the end, we see Mary, played be the meanest, cigar-smoking girl of the family, truly being touched by the miracle of the Messiah and crying at the end of the program. God had spoken to her heart as she pondered the Christmas story.
I pray that God would touch your heart as you watch the little children and youth tell of the story of that long ago night when God was born as a man, a Savior. Keep the kleenex handy and get going -- go to the manger to praise the King!
The fear comes in when you understand that anything can happen in that Christmas Progam hour. Dresses are lifted over preschool childrens' heads as they grow impatient for the last "Amen". Stage fright comes with the territory as children confident in their parts at the last rehearsal look out over a congregation of big people they don't know and their parts just disappear. They are left to stare blankly at the video cameras rolling.
One of my favorite movies is "Simon Birch". It's a bittersweet tale of how a 12 year old boy comes to faith. One of the best scenes of the movie is the Christmas program. Everything that could go wrong does. Jesus, played by Simon Birch because he's the only one small enough to fit in the manger, pulls Mary into the manger in a fever of adolescent hormones, the shepherds and the Three Kings get into a fight and knock off the head of one of the turtle doves and the angel of the Lord vomits on the first three rows of spectators. The first full contact Christmas program.
I've been helping with Christmas programs for about 17 years and have devised some rules that I stick to when directing the programs.
Rule #1: Never try to suspend any child or youth from the ceiling with a pulley system or rope. No good can come from this!
Rule #2: Avoid real barnyard animals. Not only can they be unpredictable when encountering a crowd, but the carpet cleaning fees will be coming out of your checkbook.
Rule #3: Make it fun for the kids. The practices can be tedious as we block the program and work on speaking parts. You get much more help from the kids if you bring a little silliness into the process.
Rule #4: Pray, pray, pray. It's really God's story to tell. We are privileged to be picked by Him to tell it!
An old movie, "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever", tells the story of a Christmas Program that was taken over by a motley group of children that came for self-benefitting reasons. They took over every part in the nativity. On the day of the program, the Magi brought the gift of a ham for Baby Jesus. The Angel proclaimed the arrival of the newborn king, "Hey, Unto You a Child is Born. Get going." In the end, we see Mary, played be the meanest, cigar-smoking girl of the family, truly being touched by the miracle of the Messiah and crying at the end of the program. God had spoken to her heart as she pondered the Christmas story.
I pray that God would touch your heart as you watch the little children and youth tell of the story of that long ago night when God was born as a man, a Savior. Keep the kleenex handy and get going -- go to the manger to praise the King!
Monday, December 1, 2008
I Survived Black Friday!
As I reached over to shut the alarm off at 3:30 a.m. last Friday morning, I thought about my company upstairs slumbering in my nice comfy bed. I stumbled out into the cold, dark morning to take my dog, Lucy, out before leaving for the big box store. She looked up at me as if to say, "why am I out here in the middle of the night, you weird person?!?". After tucking her back into bed with my cat, Monster, I headed off to pick up two members of our youth who had wanted to experience Black Friday for themselves. We picked up my sister-in-law and were off!
We reached our first destination and saw that they were letting people in to the store to stand by the merchandise that they wanted. A little disappointed that we wouldn't get to stand outside in the cold night, I shrugged off one of my layers and headed inside. The crowd was jovial and the store was providing fresh, free Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Now that 's worth a 3:30 a.m. wake-up call!
As my watch hit 5 a.m., I looked over to be sure that my two teenage companions were doing okay. I followed their terrified glances as they saw people running to the front of the store from electronics clutching their great buys in their arms. It was like watching the people run from Godzilla! Pulling them out of harm's way, we proceeded to collect great deals dujour.
Seven stores and five hours later, we met my brother and nephews for brunch. Nothing like shopping on five hours to work up an appetite. I got most of my Christmas shopping done on Friday and saved more money than I spent.
It was later on Friday that I heard on the news that a man had been trampled to death as people knocked him over on their way to snatch up the discounted merchandise. Coworkers who came to his aid where also knocked down as they tried to rescue him. Police said that the shoppers were angry at being asked to leave the store so they could secure the crime scene. Now that has gone too far.
One of the big reasons I shop on Friday is that I have more time than money. I can give special gifts to my family and friends that I couldn't afford otherwise. I also enjoy the company of the family and friends that join us to shop. I have encountered those fellow shoppers who obviously are NOT morning people and are best left alone until they have had enough caffeine to be civil.
Being a Christian person who enjoys celebrating Christmas to share the news of a promised Messiah, I am not saying that the gifts are the most important part of the season. I am the first person to be disgusted as I see Christmas displays go up in October. I think that maybe I can infuse a little goodwill and kindness into the Black Friday environment as I wish my first "Merry Christmas" to a frazzled checkout person.
Mission Accomplished!
We reached our first destination and saw that they were letting people in to the store to stand by the merchandise that they wanted. A little disappointed that we wouldn't get to stand outside in the cold night, I shrugged off one of my layers and headed inside. The crowd was jovial and the store was providing fresh, free Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Now that 's worth a 3:30 a.m. wake-up call!
As my watch hit 5 a.m., I looked over to be sure that my two teenage companions were doing okay. I followed their terrified glances as they saw people running to the front of the store from electronics clutching their great buys in their arms. It was like watching the people run from Godzilla! Pulling them out of harm's way, we proceeded to collect great deals dujour.
Seven stores and five hours later, we met my brother and nephews for brunch. Nothing like shopping on five hours to work up an appetite. I got most of my Christmas shopping done on Friday and saved more money than I spent.
It was later on Friday that I heard on the news that a man had been trampled to death as people knocked him over on their way to snatch up the discounted merchandise. Coworkers who came to his aid where also knocked down as they tried to rescue him. Police said that the shoppers were angry at being asked to leave the store so they could secure the crime scene. Now that has gone too far.
One of the big reasons I shop on Friday is that I have more time than money. I can give special gifts to my family and friends that I couldn't afford otherwise. I also enjoy the company of the family and friends that join us to shop. I have encountered those fellow shoppers who obviously are NOT morning people and are best left alone until they have had enough caffeine to be civil.
Being a Christian person who enjoys celebrating Christmas to share the news of a promised Messiah, I am not saying that the gifts are the most important part of the season. I am the first person to be disgusted as I see Christmas displays go up in October. I think that maybe I can infuse a little goodwill and kindness into the Black Friday environment as I wish my first "Merry Christmas" to a frazzled checkout person.
Mission Accomplished!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Giving Thanks
A wonderful family from my church gave me a book about Thanksgiving last year. The book is a history of how Thanksgiving came to be, the peril of the Pilgrims as they tried to tame a new land and their continuous worship to God for His goodness.
I took the book out again this weekend and read about the Pilgrims' journey across the Atlantic ocean. I admire their courage as they boarded the ship dreaming of a better place where they could worship as they chose. As they battled seasickness, terrible storms at sea, unkind ship's crew and poor food rations, their praises to God could be heard from the steerage of the Mayflower. Now, I'm prone to motion sickness and can't even imagine how awful it would be to travel in a confined area with no windows surrounded by people just as sick as I was. I could identify with their joy at seeing land for the first time in two months!
As we prepare for Thanksgiving, I have tried to spend some time each day giving thanks to God for his many blessing in my life.
My family, who brings such joy to my life. My nephews who keep me grounded and in touch with a childlike faith.
My friends, who have seen me at my worst and love me anyway.
My church family who stick together and lift me up in prayer daily.
My pets, Lucy and Monster, who keep my life colorful and my bed warm at night.
Clean sheets right out of the dryer.
I could go on and on. I know that there are people in our community who do not have a roof over their head, a door to close that shuts out the world and food to keep their children fed. I have infinitely more than I need or deserve.
I often challenge my youth groups to list their blessings. After parents and friends, they loose steam quickly. Giving thanks isn't something we often spend much time doing.
As I have gotten older, the thanksgiving has gotten easier. You have experienced enough life to know that there are others in our world that struggle through each day. You become thankful for the stuff in life that makes the living sweet - warm summer sunsets, a still lake while fishing at dusk and a tiny hand in your hand as you cross the street.
I am thankful for that small band of believers that risked everything to find a place where their voices could be lifted to heaven in praise to God. I am also thankful to the Lord for his mercy and the creation of a drug named Dramamine!
Have a blessed Thanksgiving!
I took the book out again this weekend and read about the Pilgrims' journey across the Atlantic ocean. I admire their courage as they boarded the ship dreaming of a better place where they could worship as they chose. As they battled seasickness, terrible storms at sea, unkind ship's crew and poor food rations, their praises to God could be heard from the steerage of the Mayflower. Now, I'm prone to motion sickness and can't even imagine how awful it would be to travel in a confined area with no windows surrounded by people just as sick as I was. I could identify with their joy at seeing land for the first time in two months!
As we prepare for Thanksgiving, I have tried to spend some time each day giving thanks to God for his many blessing in my life.
My family, who brings such joy to my life. My nephews who keep me grounded and in touch with a childlike faith.
My friends, who have seen me at my worst and love me anyway.
My church family who stick together and lift me up in prayer daily.
My pets, Lucy and Monster, who keep my life colorful and my bed warm at night.
Clean sheets right out of the dryer.
I could go on and on. I know that there are people in our community who do not have a roof over their head, a door to close that shuts out the world and food to keep their children fed. I have infinitely more than I need or deserve.
I often challenge my youth groups to list their blessings. After parents and friends, they loose steam quickly. Giving thanks isn't something we often spend much time doing.
As I have gotten older, the thanksgiving has gotten easier. You have experienced enough life to know that there are others in our world that struggle through each day. You become thankful for the stuff in life that makes the living sweet - warm summer sunsets, a still lake while fishing at dusk and a tiny hand in your hand as you cross the street.
I am thankful for that small band of believers that risked everything to find a place where their voices could be lifted to heaven in praise to God. I am also thankful to the Lord for his mercy and the creation of a drug named Dramamine!
Have a blessed Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Black Friday
Thanksgiving is just around the corner and I have started to prepare for a family tradition - Black Friday. This tradition was introduced into our family by my sister-in-law and has been going strong for many years. For those not familiar with the concept, I will explain. Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving when retailers slash prices on big ticket items (think televisions, computers, game systems) and open early in the morning - 5 a.m. It is said this is the first day of the year that the retailers are actually in the black and making a profit.
I, too was once skeptic about getting up before dawn to stand in lines in the freezing cold only to battle through crowds for the chance to snatch up merchandise at rock-bottom prices. Now I am a committed shopper with the battle scars to prove it.
More strategical planning goes into this shopping expedition than most ground wars that have been fought. You starts weeks before Thanksgiving scouting out "Black Friday" websites, looking for the best deals. On your way over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house, you pick up the Thanksgiving edition of the paper to pour over the ads while the turkey is digesting. You make lists, check opening times and then draw straws to decide which poor soul gets to stand in line while everyone else stays in the car until the doors open. One year, my brother and sister-in-law announced that a new addition would join our family in June. Guess who stood outside that year? Me.
Actually, standing in line isn't too bad. Everyone is surprisingly jovial at 4:15 a.m. You are all there for a shared purpose. And if you're lucky, you'll get your face on television as local news networks show up every year to document the insanity as the doors open and you are pushed along with the flow of a crowd desperate to get the two Wiis the store is selling.
Most people will just shake their head in disbelief when you talk about getting up at 3:30 a.m. to get in on the bargains. They really dont' realize what they are missing. The adrenalin rush of being shoulder to shoulder with perfect strangers in a quest for an MP3 player. This is the only time of year that it is permissible to run through the mall without being chased. The amazing buys that keep us coming back each year.
One year, we were all at my folks' for Thanksgiving. We got up at 3:30 a.m. to go into Watertown, South Dakota for the sales. My brother and I stood in line while my father, sister-in-law and nephew stayed in the car until the appointed time. The doors open, we were caught in the rush of bodies moving forward and off we went to get our chosen items. The rest of the family ambled in after the doors opened to get carts to carry our cornicopia of great deals. I put my vacuum cleaner, DVD player and crockpot in a cart with my purse and left my father in charge of the booty while I went off to take advantage of a sale on pajamas with feet. Upon my return, my father was nowhere to be found, but the cart stood right next to a bench full of older gentlemen holding their wives' purses. As I approached the cart to check and see that I hadn't been relieved of my wallet, one of the men questioned me as to my identity. My answer was, "who are you?" The man proceeded to tell me that he was watching the cart for Warren and no one was to take anything from the cart. Even at his advanced age, I think he could have "put the hurt on me". I tried to assure him that I was Warren's daughter and had every right to be rolling away my own purchases. He was not convinced. Just about the time he reached for his cane to protect his territory, my father appeared and thanked the man for his vigilence. Questioning my father's sanity for leaving the valuables with a man we didn't know, he simply replied that his name was Bill and although he didn't know him, he looked like a trustworthy fellow.
The legend of Bill and the Black Friday shopping that brought him into our lives is still relived at our thanksgiving feasts. Black Friday is not just about the great buys. It's also spending time together enjoying each other's company and knowing that in a place where it's every man for himself, you have someone watching your back and keeping your crockpot from getting stolen. I pray that you have a blessed Thanksgiving. See you in line!
I, too was once skeptic about getting up before dawn to stand in lines in the freezing cold only to battle through crowds for the chance to snatch up merchandise at rock-bottom prices. Now I am a committed shopper with the battle scars to prove it.
More strategical planning goes into this shopping expedition than most ground wars that have been fought. You starts weeks before Thanksgiving scouting out "Black Friday" websites, looking for the best deals. On your way over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house, you pick up the Thanksgiving edition of the paper to pour over the ads while the turkey is digesting. You make lists, check opening times and then draw straws to decide which poor soul gets to stand in line while everyone else stays in the car until the doors open. One year, my brother and sister-in-law announced that a new addition would join our family in June. Guess who stood outside that year? Me.
Actually, standing in line isn't too bad. Everyone is surprisingly jovial at 4:15 a.m. You are all there for a shared purpose. And if you're lucky, you'll get your face on television as local news networks show up every year to document the insanity as the doors open and you are pushed along with the flow of a crowd desperate to get the two Wiis the store is selling.
Most people will just shake their head in disbelief when you talk about getting up at 3:30 a.m. to get in on the bargains. They really dont' realize what they are missing. The adrenalin rush of being shoulder to shoulder with perfect strangers in a quest for an MP3 player. This is the only time of year that it is permissible to run through the mall without being chased. The amazing buys that keep us coming back each year.
One year, we were all at my folks' for Thanksgiving. We got up at 3:30 a.m. to go into Watertown, South Dakota for the sales. My brother and I stood in line while my father, sister-in-law and nephew stayed in the car until the appointed time. The doors open, we were caught in the rush of bodies moving forward and off we went to get our chosen items. The rest of the family ambled in after the doors opened to get carts to carry our cornicopia of great deals. I put my vacuum cleaner, DVD player and crockpot in a cart with my purse and left my father in charge of the booty while I went off to take advantage of a sale on pajamas with feet. Upon my return, my father was nowhere to be found, but the cart stood right next to a bench full of older gentlemen holding their wives' purses. As I approached the cart to check and see that I hadn't been relieved of my wallet, one of the men questioned me as to my identity. My answer was, "who are you?" The man proceeded to tell me that he was watching the cart for Warren and no one was to take anything from the cart. Even at his advanced age, I think he could have "put the hurt on me". I tried to assure him that I was Warren's daughter and had every right to be rolling away my own purchases. He was not convinced. Just about the time he reached for his cane to protect his territory, my father appeared and thanked the man for his vigilence. Questioning my father's sanity for leaving the valuables with a man we didn't know, he simply replied that his name was Bill and although he didn't know him, he looked like a trustworthy fellow.
The legend of Bill and the Black Friday shopping that brought him into our lives is still relived at our thanksgiving feasts. Black Friday is not just about the great buys. It's also spending time together enjoying each other's company and knowing that in a place where it's every man for himself, you have someone watching your back and keeping your crockpot from getting stolen. I pray that you have a blessed Thanksgiving. See you in line!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Allow Me to Introduce Myself
I really like how the munchkins introduced themselves to Dorothy after she landed in Oz. With great song and dance, they each stepped forward, extended a quick greeting and moved into the background. Due partly to my Methodist upbringing and lack of coordination, there will be no dancing from me. I can sing, but feel most comfortable doing this in front of people who already love me for who I am, ie church family and my pets. Budget constraints prohibit any big band background music and special effects are out of the question -- I think that the witch in the movie was burned pretty badly. I have a history of being somewhat accident prone, so we'd best make this simple.
I can pretty much guarantee that I have very little to say that anyone would think profound. I am the daughter of a two preachers and am now serving in ministry myself. This has taught me that although you may be talking, that doesn't mean that anyone's listening. I just hope to give another perspective on what the Lord promised would be "life, more abundantly".
I serve in youth ministry, which makes me a little different from the average person. I can pull allnighters with the ease of a college student, know how to create a bible illustration with just a laffy taffy and masking tape and have a fondness for doritoes at 6 a.m.
Working with youth definitely keeps you humble. Pride deflates quickly when the kids reminisce about the time I scared some junior high boys at 3 a.m. when my uncontrollable hair was illuminated by lightening in a dark sleeping area.
Youth ministry isn't for the faint of heart (or stomach). Being a seasoned youth worker means you've come through years of ministry unscathed and know which battles need to be fought. I have been serving in youth ministry for 15 plus years and still feel like a novice. I have many youth worker collegues who have worked in this ministry field for 20 some years and stand in wonder at their longevity. You can spot these veterans from across a crowded cafeteria. They are admired for their willingness to put their comfort aside and sleep on an air mattress in a cold gym with 200 other teenage girls at a weekend youth event. They have been asked questions in confidence that keep them awake at night. They have spent three days on a bus with a group suffering from stomach bugs collected at a Mexican mission project site and sign up the next year. They can sing the "dead reindeer song" in their sleep -- and probably have.
I love that God has called me to this ministry. It is awesome to see God work in the lives of His children. Despite the tough stuff that goes with this occupation, I couldn't imagine not having this in my life. My prayer is that God would be reflected in my life and people would recognize His fingerprints all over me.
God bless --- and pass the doritoes!
I can pretty much guarantee that I have very little to say that anyone would think profound. I am the daughter of a two preachers and am now serving in ministry myself. This has taught me that although you may be talking, that doesn't mean that anyone's listening. I just hope to give another perspective on what the Lord promised would be "life, more abundantly".
I serve in youth ministry, which makes me a little different from the average person. I can pull allnighters with the ease of a college student, know how to create a bible illustration with just a laffy taffy and masking tape and have a fondness for doritoes at 6 a.m.
Working with youth definitely keeps you humble. Pride deflates quickly when the kids reminisce about the time I scared some junior high boys at 3 a.m. when my uncontrollable hair was illuminated by lightening in a dark sleeping area.
Youth ministry isn't for the faint of heart (or stomach). Being a seasoned youth worker means you've come through years of ministry unscathed and know which battles need to be fought. I have been serving in youth ministry for 15 plus years and still feel like a novice. I have many youth worker collegues who have worked in this ministry field for 20 some years and stand in wonder at their longevity. You can spot these veterans from across a crowded cafeteria. They are admired for their willingness to put their comfort aside and sleep on an air mattress in a cold gym with 200 other teenage girls at a weekend youth event. They have been asked questions in confidence that keep them awake at night. They have spent three days on a bus with a group suffering from stomach bugs collected at a Mexican mission project site and sign up the next year. They can sing the "dead reindeer song" in their sleep -- and probably have.
I love that God has called me to this ministry. It is awesome to see God work in the lives of His children. Despite the tough stuff that goes with this occupation, I couldn't imagine not having this in my life. My prayer is that God would be reflected in my life and people would recognize His fingerprints all over me.
God bless --- and pass the doritoes!
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