From Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium:

 

"Mutant, when you look at me, what do you see?"

 

"Really pretty eyes?"

 

"No, I mean, like, do you see a sparkle?"

 

"Now, like glitter? On your face?"

 

"No, like, a sparkle"

 

"What kind of sparkle?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was going to stay in bed and watch movies today.

 

Then I realized...I'm down to one pair of underwear.

 

Funny what gets you out of bed some days.

I went to a NCAA game today with my hubby and in-laws.  It was a lot of fun. Kansas State lost to Wisconsin.  We sat by the K-State band.  I spent most of my time wondering what the instrument in the band was that looked like a mini-tuba (if you know, please post the answer.  it's not a french horn, and i'm pretty sure it's not called a mini-tuba?).  

 

On the way home, I stopped at the mall to look for something to wear tomorrow.   (It being Easter and all) 

 

Last Thursday, Sarah and I went in to Omaha for that very same reason.  I ended up buying Sarah an Easter dress instead.  I had already bought her one the month before.  She didn't need another one.  But, my need to avoid trying on clothes was greater than her already satisfied need for an Easter dress.  So, I threw in a pair of shoes and a spring coat for her too.  I'm so bad.

 

So, it's 6pm on Saturday before Easter, and I finally face the fact that Easter would be really scary if I showed up to church with no pants on, which is what would have happened if I didn't buy some pants tonight.  I'm not kidding.  I've gained 17 pounds, and NOTHING fits.  NOTHING.  I've been wearing the same pair of tan pants to church for the past month.  Last week, they officially became high-waters, for they too, NO LONGER FIT.

 

After trying on at least 15 outfits in the regular sized women's department, I finally humbled myself and walked up to the third floor.  I am, once again, a plus size.   Whatever. 

 

After my mood-killing shopping spree, I pulled through Starbucks to get a coffee for the drive home.  I must say, I enjoy my interaction with most Starbucks employees.  They're upbeat and cool.  They always ask me how I am.  One day, after the peppy Sbux lady asked me how I was, I answered  "fine" and then asked her how she was.  She said she was "SUPER."  I then proceded to ask her would she tell me the truth if she wasn't doing super?  I mean, if she was having a really crappy day, would she ever say:  "I'm having a really crappy day, thanks for asking?" 

 

Anyway, back to the happy Starbux guy du jour.  He did his shtick and asked me how I was.  I said, 'well,.....I've just been shopping so...."

 

He didn't let me finish.  Instead he erupted in a flourish (you know how some guys can have an extra amount of "flourish?") and said something like:  "OH, then you must be doing fabulous!  I always feel so great after I shop!"

 

I said, "Uh, well, can't say I've ever felt that fabulous thing that you seem to feel after you shop.  I tend to just feel......fat."

 

He said, "YOU ARE KIDDING ME?  Well, girl, you need to let me go shopping with you, then."

 

I laughed and agreed to take him up on it.  As I drove away, I wondered what it would be like to go shopping with him. I wondered what it would be like to hire him to follow me around all day for a day and just be himself.    He was so convincing during our 45 second conversation.  He may very well be a total blast to shop with.  Or, at least, he might, for an hour or so, help me to feel like trying on clothes after gaining 17 pounds is really a great time after all.

 

And then I thought, he's just doing  his job well.   His friendliness was just a result of hours and hours of training on how to peddle legalized stimulants....flatter constantly....act like making coffee is the best job on the planet.....convince even the most down-trodden-overweight-post-try-on-Easter-pantsopausal woman that life isn't so bad, especially since you are about to hand her the elixer for all of life's ailments.   

 

Well, Happy Starbucks Guy, whatever your motive, thanks for making me smile after a depressing few hours.  Cheers!

I made scrambled eggs this morning for breakfast.  After eating, my habit is to fill the pan with soapy water and let it soak for an hour or 9 to get that scrambled egg "skin" off of the bottom of the pan. 

 

I just went down to clean the pan.  After two scrapes with the spatula, I became fascinated with the challenge of trying to move the spatula all the way across the pan with out breaking the roll of egg skin that was being peeled from the pan.   It diverted me for a full minute or two.

 

 

 

 

 

I can't handle all of this excitement being packed into one day.

 

 

 

 

time for a nap

 

 

 

Last night at 3 am, I watched a documentary on Synchronized Swimming.

 

Two nights ago, it was a show about ferrets, and their loyal owners.

 

 I thought you might like to peek at one verse of this lady's 5+ verse song about her beloved pets.

 

 

and another stanza to end the big show:

 

 

 

Ah, the rich rich comedic soil of subcultures.  I'm almost grateful I have trouble sleeping.  How would I ever know about the world of ferret collectors?

 

Here's some more fascinating fodder for your ferret files:

 

 

 

Ferret oh ferret, gatherer of stuff....ferret oh ferret, when will you have enough.....

 

 

If I ever run out of songwriting opportunities, I'll know what to do.

Every time I get the Pottery Barn catalog, my mind starts racing. " OOOOOOOH, I think I need a giant apothecary jar filled with dried something somethings and a candle.  Maybe I'll buy three (you must buy chachkies in odd numbers) and then arrange them on my mantle.  And then, with every season, I'll change the dried somethings according to the season."

 

Sheeyeeeaaah....like I'm going to change the bits in my jars four times a year.   It all seems to work so perfectly...in my mind. 

 

Too often, I have given in to impulse while shopping at Gordman's, or while thumbing through the endless catalogs that land on my doorstep.  The treasures arrive home, get filled with pretty potpourri, are admired for a few days, trick me into thinking "yes! my life truly IS more beautiful and serene and happy" and then....

 

Become nothing more than one more thing I have to dust every week.   And then...

 

They end up getting packed in boxes in my basement.  I never know what to do with them.  I never know how to arrange them "just so."   My friend Keeli knows what to do with chachkies.  It's people like her that entice me back into buying these things.   I go to her house and she has cool rectangle wooden boxes with coffee beans and candles on her coffee table, and I want to be like her.   It looks like something out of a magazine.  She makes it all look so easy. 

 

I've made some good decisions in my decorating.  But, for every good decision that has landed on a coffee table or shelf, I have 2-3 bad decisions sitting in the basement, collecting dust.

 

Time for my guilt to be cleansed.

 

Time for a garage sale.  I think I'll title my ad in the paper as:  "Come and Benefit from my Chachkie Addiction."  Then, on every table that holds the chachkies, I'll put a sign:  "Country"...."English Country"...."Asian influenced"...."You Tell Me."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, here I am at the end of my blog, and as usual, I have no idea how to end it.  So, I'll just say:  the end.

 

 

 

 

There will be a few people in history who will be remembered for their radical commitments to Christ.  Paul will be remembered.  Martin Luther.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  Jim Elliott. George Mueller.  Their faith was real, and the way God called them to live out their faith was very visible.  The way they lived was dangerous.  The path they walked was impossible.   The voices they found were not their own.   

 

Any time you  live for God's glory alone, you're going to live a radical life.   It means taking no credit for accomplishments.   It means that others deserve great respect and they matter, not because they're nice or their relationships to you can benefit you, but because they belong to God.  It means extending lavish, extravagant, painful, love.  It means that your life is surrendered to God and that you are willing to accept and trust whatever way God chooses to use you to accomplish His purposes.  God's way is the only way to one who lives radically for Him.  It means that you are willing to accept that God's glory may cost you everything.

 

What blows my mind lately, is that some people are so.....so....radical...that I can't even fathom the depth of their radicalness.  And what is even more radical to me, is that they aren't the folks who are smuggling Bibles into Rwanda, or starting orphanages. (although those things are radical, too)  They are those who aren't so visible.  They are the invisible radicals.

 

They're the ones who forgive. 

 

They're the ones who serve and encourage and  honor those who are ungrateful and selfish. 

 

They're the ones who weep over their own sin as much as they do over the sins of their offenders.

 

They're the ones who live in ways that honor God, and yet go completely unnoticed by others.

 

They're the ones that have forgiven me for my ingratitude and selfishness.

 

They are the ones who let their lives speak louder than their words.

 

They are the ones who, in the middle of heartwrenchingly sad and hard situations, are just as quick to ask for deeper faith as they are to ask for relief from the hardship.

 

 They are some of you. 

 

To those who think their lives have been invisible, take great comfort in knowing that God sees. 

 

To those (myself included) who have tried far too diligently to pray on the public corners of their lives, God is blind and deaf to your spectacle.  Repent.

 

May Christ be our only boast.

 

 

 

We just got back from the eye doctor.  Jenna probably needs more eye surgery this summer. 

 

I don't like that a twelve year old has to deal with this.  I don't like that MY wonderful, funny, beautiful, smart twelve year old has to deal with this. 

 

I'm aware that things could be worse.  We are blessed beyond words.  Jenna is healthy and happy and well adjusted.  This won't threaten her life.  I will gain some perspective on this in a little while, and be more grateful and thankful and faith-filled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Since I was a kid, I've had vivid dreams.  Colorful, repetitive, stressful, random dreams where I fall, fly, get sucked into whirlpools and trains, and lose my teeth in the washer.  I've had dreams of missing final exams, of dozens of neon green spiders in the bath, of showing up for basketball games with only high heels to wear, of nuclear wars, getting locked in department stores, and on ....an on.....and on.....

 

This morning was no exception.  I woke up wondering if there truly were elevators that had walls that moved in and squashed you as you talked to the bellman through a tiny window about not believing in his religion.  Are there secret colonies who divert interstate traffic to their property and then steal their cars so people can't leave?  That was the substance of this episode of Dream Life.

 

The only consistent thing about my dream life is that my dreams are never happy.  There have been happy scenarios in my dreams, but I am always the one in the middle of the scene who is a hostage, or who has a giant rip up the back of her dress.

 

I'll take reality over my dream life any day!

 

 

 

 

 

 

God showed up at church.  I wanted to laugh when we hit the last note this morning.  I mean laugh as an offering of joy to God.   My friend Travis used to draw a happy smile with his finger over his heart when we were in the studio last year.  That's how I felt.  The music was worshipful, and fairly free of distractions.   As I watched the congregation sit down, I was struck by the fact that they had no clue what happened last night and today.   I'm the one who got to watch God pull things together that shouldn't have come together. 

 

I feel like I know a cool secret.  Our pastor probably knows how this feels.  Anyone who has participated in leading corporate worship probably has had a few glimpses of God's quiet and miraculous workings.  He will be glorified, despite sick piano players and pathetic attempts at 10:30 pm to learn hymns in the key of A flat.   He will do things that surprise and humble us, and most of the time, it will be in secret. 

 

I hope I get to be in on many more of these kinds of secrets.  Praise God. 

Been Gone all day out of town

 

Got back at 8:30 tonight

 

There were two messages on the machine:

 

1.  My piano player is sick

 

2.  My tenor had to go out of town suddenly

 

Plus, we lose an hour of sleep tonight. 

 

I'm trying to remember that God will be there in the morning, so that I won't lose more than one hour of sleep tonight. 

 

 

 

 

Not since I was a wee sprout with wee sprouts of hair have I had short hair.  (ok minus the 2 years of the bi-level in highschool....do I hear the theme song from Facts of Life all of a sudden?) 

 

I don't know what happened to me today.  I either had a momentary lapse of sanity, or a momentary flash of lucidity.  Not sure yet which.  I was sitting at lunch with some friends and I said:  "I think I'm going to go get my hair cut short."  My friend Keeli said:  "You should!   You know me though, I'm all for change."  My friend Cathy said:  "Who will cut it?" (I'm currently estranged from my high-priced boutiquey haircut lady)  I said:  "I think I'll just drive out to Supercuts."  With a horrified look on her face she said:  "You're going to let a total stranger give you a drastic haircut?"  I said:  "yep.  I think so."  And then, I wondered to myself if I were indeed, losing my mind.

 

I picked up Sarah from school and said:  "Let's go get our hair cut.  What do you think about me getting my hair cut short?"  She said:  "Yeah! you should get it cut short."  I said:  "I'm kind of scared."  She said:  "Well, don't do it if you're scared then."  I said:  "Ok, I'll just get it trimmed."

 

I drove to Supercuts.

 

With a picture of Katie Holmes in my purse.

 

But, since I wasn't going to get it cut short, I left the picture in my purse.

 

I sat down in the chair, got up from the chair, and got the photo out of my purse.

 

My hands were shaking when I gave her the picture.  (I'm not kidding here)

 

I said...can you do this to my hair?

 

She said "sure."

 

I wanted to scream at her...."DO YOU REALIZE WHAT A HUGE DEAL THIS IS?"

 

Instead I said:  "Ok, well, then that's what I want."

 

15 minutes later, there were piles of 8 inch locks of hair on the floor.

 

I keep shaking my head, just to feel what not having hair feels like.

 

I've looked in the mirror more times in the last 6 hours than I have in the past year.  (It's been something I've avoided since my hoho consumption has increased to an alarming rate.)

 

Ok, I know we didn't hit the level of fabulousness of Katie Holmes, but we're at least in the neighborhood next to the fabulous neighborhood. (do I hear a train outside my window?)

 

I told Bart, I may go for something Annie Lennox-esque next time.  There aren't really words to describe the look he had on his face. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a crown put on today.  My dentist invited another dentist to come and watch the procedure.  The other dentist is considering having this crown-making thing installed in his office, and so he wanted to watch how it was done.

 

For the five of you who have been reading my blog for at least a year, you know from the last time I was crowned queen for a day that I have SERIOUS aversions to any kind of drilling in my mouth.  It's not the pain.  It's the noise and the grinding.  I'm sore for days because my whole body is tensed up and shaking the entire time he's carving my tooth down to nothing.    He offered to get me Valium this time, but I had to drive myself, and so I chose Daughtry on my ipod instead.  Even getting my teeth cleaned with that little thing puts me over the edge. 

 

The visiting dentist kept peering over my dentist's shoulder, and then his other shoulder, and then across me, to look in my mouth.  He was like the little dog that jumps around the "boss" dog in the cartoons.  He was here, there, here, there, all the time exclaiming, "beautiful!  It's beautiful.  Would you look at that!  You do beautiful work.  Lisa, you're doing a beautiful job.  I can't believe you're having a hard time with this!  You're doing a beautiful job."  My dentist kept saying...."try and find a lab to make a crown better than that, would you?  mmmhmmm, I'm telling you, this is an amazing thing.  Lis, hang in there, you're doing great."  

 

Then, they went into the other room to watch the machine make the crown, and I heard them talking excitedly about their little tooth toy that has revolutionized the world of fake tooth making.  It was kind of cute, really. 

 

Ok..I know that those two dentists were probably:  1.  Enjoying the company of their mutual admiration society....or 2.  Getting lost in their toothy subculture the way I get lost in my music subculture...or3.  The visiting dentist was trying to steal a patient away from my dentist...but...

 

I felt special for a few minutes.  All of their interest in my tooth and praise of my non-violent behavior made me feel like I really was a queen getting crowned.  It made it all worth the grinding and smoke and giant headache and backache I now have......