glittery idols

I wish God would fight for my attention.

The world feels like Vegas. Lights. Noises with a base you can feel in your bones. Like a 4-year-old at the swimming pool vying for his mother’s attention. “Watch me! Watch me!”

I’m thinking about this tonight as I read Acts 7 and thinking about idols.

In biblical days, idols were flashy. Usually birthed of gold. Glittery in the sun. Ornate and overdone.

What a contrast to the tabernacle – beautiful and glorious, but called a “tent shrine” here in the Message.

But I shouldn’t be surprised. This seems to be God’s way. He’s not off for show. He doesn’t fight for my attention like a beggar. He beckons me like a Prince. He’s sure of Himself and doesn’t have to play games.

Every day I choose.

Glittery idol: being well-liked, entitlement, being right, harbored sin, position, money

Jesus

lisa

Lisa, in blue, surrounded my beloved friends last year on her bday. (Before the days of Runzas.)

Last night at 3 a.m. I woke up in a cold sweat.

How could I have blogged on sweet Lisa’s birthday and chose an image of a Runza instead of an image of her? What kind of friend am I?

The kind that makes amends.

And the kind that brought her camera to Lisa’s house last night and took no pictures.

So the next best thing is displaying – for all to see…or, perhaps, the 23 of you (or so my blogstats tell me) – a photo of our Lisa-celebration last year.

All these cute moms and me (sans kiddos) dined on a Thai lunch, Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory overpriced dipped strawberries, and a big ‘ol sale at Kohl’s.

runza

Nothing says happy birthday like a homemade Runza.

A Runza is the famous (ok, or at least we Nebraskans think so) German-inspired…um…pocket of goodness.

My friend, Lisa, had never experienced one, so I told her I’d bring make ’em and bring birthday dinner to her and her menfolk.

I never knew how many dishes we had until I pretty much dirtied every one!

And, if I may say so, they turned out pretty good! Ronnie, her sophomore, ate three. Yum.

turn your eyes

One of my favorite hymns is Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. Vicky Beeching gives it a new-sound spin. Love it.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus

Look full at His wonderful face

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim

In the light of His glory and grace.”

Here’s to living this next moment with Jesus eclipsing whatever around me has been shining so brightly.

a book not to carry with you

Amazon just sent me a list of books they think I’d be interested in based upon past purchases.

What are they trying to say with recommending this book? I’d crown it with the award for the longest book title…and the one you don’t want to be caught carrying. Everyone who sees you will think, Am I the reason she’s reading that?

first in line

There was no tape to break with chest-out pride. (Oh how I wished there had been; we all know I’m never running a marathon. This might have been my lone opportunity.)

I was the first customer at the grand opening of Subway at Moss Park and Narcoossee.

The funny thing was I had no idea today was the big day. I would’ve worn something more festive. Maybe something teal.

They gave Virginia and I free sodas. But my sandwich – their first sandwich made with such care  – wasn’t free. What?

• 6 inch turkey on wheat with the works minus pickles plus banana peppers: $3.84
• being first in line, immortalized on a giddy employee’s camera: priceless

inspired to rest: gramp’s legacy

Today would have been Gramp’s 90th birthday. Tonight, with a Starbuck’s tall latte in hand, I pondered what I most missed. And I had an a-ha.

Gramp never rushed.

My clearest memories of him involve activities that displayed his at-ease-ness: gardening, long roadtrips, playing backgammon with me, drying dishes at the sink, playing a duet with me on their organ.

How did I never stop to realize that about him? Maybe it’s because I don’t often stop. Or even take my foot off the pedal to coast.

Oh, Gramp, thanks for the gift you gave me, today, on your birthday. A reverse gift of sorts. Thanks for modeling an unhurried life.

As a believer, Jesus is my rest. Yet how often I spiritually speed in the passing lane through my day. Much of it stems from acting like the world holds its breath until I can save the day. Yuck.

It’s not all up to me. I will say it again.

It’s not all up to me. I’m beginning to believe it.

It’s not all up to me. Thank you, God, it’s not.

Selah.

Thanks, Gramp.

faith=capacity to see reality

My best friend, Lisa, and I take turns reminding each other of truth.

The other day it was her turn.

“Faith is not some currency we use to get God to do something, it is the capacity to see things as they really are.” – Steve McVey

invincible

If you’re looking for a movie that can motivate you in real life, check out Invincible. Watched it tonight with the roommates.

From the producers of The Rookie, it stars Mark Wahlberg as a 30-year-old Philadelphia Eagles fan. He decides to show up for an open tryout for his favorite NFL team.

A telling moment was between Mark’s character, Vinnie, and his dad. Vinnie’s wife just left him and he lost his teaching job. (Can it get much worse?) He sits on the front steps with his dad, talking about the possibility that he’d try out with the Eagles.

“Don’t do it,” his dad says. “There’s only so much failure a man can take.”

I sucked in my breath. How could he say that? This echos a letter penned by his ex-wife telling him the same thing – that he’ll never make it. (Note to self on how not to encourage a man.)

And Vinnie proves them wrong. Go underdog! Go mis-understood, unknown, down-and-out man!

pizza in first class

Walking past first class demands a plan to be made. Ahead of time.

Do I look them in the eye?

Do I avoid the suits and ties and trendy glasses in my important search for 18A?

Well, on Sunday night, flying home, I looked. And I couldn’t believe it.

Two boxes of pizza sat in front of a college-age student in first class. (Never mind you that the seatbacks and tray tables were to be in the upright and locked position.)

I thought, Buddy, you’re in first class! Didn’t you know you don’t have to bring your own food? And pizza? In a triangular, cardboard box like you got it from a hole-in-the-wall joint. Make that two boxes. How long do you think we’ll be on this plane?

It seemed so crazy. So sad. Like he didn’t know who he was in 1A or what provision came with that identity.

Oh.

Sounds a bit like me when I forget who I am. No, it’s never as obvious as bringing pizza as a carryon when I’m in first class (which doesn’t happen anymore). It’s subtle. Little Miss Independent takes control when I don’t see her coming. She doesn’t like to wait. She loves her own plan.

But then I turn red in the face when I smell the greasy pizza (or whatever my self-made provision is) I brought and realize my foolishness. Why do I forget? I think I may have been the one to whom Jesus spoke the words of Matthew 6:25-33.

Ok, me and the kid in 1A.