“You should keep your mouth shut”

Picture of Rebekah dressed as Raggedy Ann

I saw some young friends playing in their driveway this morning and went over to show off my Raggedy Ann outfit. H and C were excited about the outfit–and eager to tell me that C had a whole collection of Raggedy Ann dolls. Then, looking at me one more time, C announced “You should keep your mouth shut.”

I was a bit taken aback–I’ve never had a preschooler talk to me that way before, especially not one so obviously in a good mood. Her next words reassured me, though “‘Cause Raggedy Ann doesn’t open her mouth.” Oh, okay. I can understand that.

I explained that it was really difficult to keep my mouth shut. (I’m sure many of you can testify to that fact. LOL!) After all, I have to talk to people and eat and drink and all sorts of things. C continued to watch me during my entire explanation, and once I had finished, declared “You have a nice smile.”

I was, once again, taken aback–I’ve never had a preschooler talk to me that way before, especially not one so obviously in her right mind. I guess she could have been talking about the painted on black marks, but even so, it was a very nice compliment.

Thanks, C dear, you pretty much made my day.


Disaster Averted by SuperStar’s Brilliance

Picture of Rebekah in superhero costume

Rebekah Menter would have gone to work dressed immodestly, or at least ridiculously, had not a fortunate fumble on the part of SuperStar averted the danger.

Rebekah woke up fully prepared to wear very tight stretch pants with very brief shorts over top as part of her costume for “Superhero day” at work. Both items had been laid out on her futon–along with a pair of pants for “if I want to change”. Fortunately, the other pair of pants were on top of the pile and in her early morning grogginess, Rebekah put them on instead of the aforementioned tight and brief articles. She discovered that the other pants worked well for her purposes.

“SuperStar saved the day,” Rebekah declares. “If it weren’t for her I could have been the laughingstock of all campus–and might have had a horrible blot on my conscience.”

SuperStar was seen throughout the day at and around Harper Dining Services. She filled in for a missing employee on the grill during lunch–feeding hundreds of hungry Thespians grilled chicken sandwiches. During the afternoon, she was sighted at Housing, conversing with second floor staff. “It was so funny,” a housing employee claims. “She came in and I just had to take a picture.”

Although unable to prevent a young Thespian from tripping and unwilling to kill an unseen rat, SuperStar did show her heroics by rescuing a Dining Services student employee who was being held hostage by a coworker. SuperStar used her typical method of bad-guy elimination–making a star fall from the sky onto the bad-guy’s head. Jeff, the student employee, had mixed feelings about the rescue. “I could have been killed!” he said. “And SuperStar’s face is scary.”

SuperStar remained in the Harper serving area throughout the dinner period, greeting her admirers and posing for pictures. When she occasionally disappeared, her loyal fans begged for her return.

In an exclusive interview, SuperStar told bekahcubed: “The attention was gratifying. I enjoyed it very much. But somebody called me “SuperMama”. Do I really look that old?”


Remember Timothy? Apparently I’m allergic.

I went in for my allergy testing today and, after getting a whole rash of allergens (no pun intended!) inserted along my arms, discovered that I was allergic to…timothy, among other things.

It reminds me of Grandpa’s story about how Cotton (Grandma and Grandpa’s dog) got her name changed. A farmer a couple of farms down noticed that his dog was getting mangy–but it didn’t improve after treatment. So the vet started poking around–“Does your dog play around in the corn fields?” “Why yes, but he’s been doing that since he was a puppy.” “Hmmm… What does your dog sleep on?” “He sleeps on wheat stray in the barn–but he’s been doing that for forever too.” “What about other animals? Does he spend time with other dogs?” “He spends time with Charles’ dog all the time–they practically grew up together.” Then the farmer pauses, “But, come to think of it, Cotton’s been down at Charles’ a lot lately.” “Ah-hah!” the doctor says, “Your dog’s allergic to cotton!” So they changed Cotton’s name to Polyester and the other dog’s been just fine since.

I told Timothy about my newly discovered allergy–and he looked at me with horror. “What if I was allergic to timothy?” It’s a good question, and one that bears asking. What does a man do if he discovers that he is allergic to…himself? Would changing his name be sufficient? I don’t know.

Just as a precaution, I advise future parents to check the lists of top allergens before naming their little ones. Sure “Hormodendrum” sounds like a great name for your little girl–but you never know who might be allergic.


A Real-Time Parable

I was working next to a special-needs coworker when he scraped his knuckle on a pan. He noticed that it was bleeding, and was very worried. I got him a band-aid, put it on his knuckle, and gave him a finger cot to cover the finger with so the band-aid wouldn’t get wet and fall off. He couldn’t figure out how to roll the finger cot over the Band-aid–so I helped him with that too. He was like a child, upset by the sight of his own blood, even from an insignificant scrape, and helpless to deal with it on his own.

Today, as I was rolling on my coworker’s finger cot, I was reminded of a statement Jesus made. He said, “Whatever you do to the very least of these My brothers, you have done it unto Me.” Today I got to experience the blessing of someone being Christ to me–so that I could wash His feet with my tears and dry them with my hair. You see, today, I bandaged Jesus’ wound. Today, I rolled a finger cot on Jesus’ finger.

Not only did I get to experience someone being Christ to me, but at the same time, I got to be Christ to him. The truth is, I am helpless to deal with my own shame, my own pain, my own sin. I am incapable of understanding God, of comprehending His purposes. The “independence” I have is insignificant compared to the degree to which I depend on God for my every thought, breath, word, action. Just like my coworker was dependent upon me to help him deal with his scrape, I am dependent on Christ to deal with my situation. The difference, of course, is that I too often think that I am autonomous and rebel against dependence. When I scrape myself, I try to deal with it on my own. Even when I can’t roll the finger cot on myself, I refuse the proffered help. I don’t accept my dependence. I rebel against it–against what is best for me–because I think I know better and can do it better myself. I could learn a lot from my coworkers. Jesus said that we must become as little children if we are to enter the kingdom of God. In that respect, my coworkers may be closer than I–I still have a lot to learn about being dependent.

Most of Jesus’ teaching took the form of parables–stories, metaphors, things to make us think. And today, I heard His word in story form–a living parable, to make me think. “Who is my neighbor?” the teacher asked to justify himself. Jesus answered that today. “What does it mean to become like a child?” Jesus answered that today. “How can I serve Christ?” Jesus answered that today. A story. A metaphor. I play Christ and bandage a wound–and realize how often I refuse His help. My coworker plays Christ as I serve him–and I discover the joy of worship. Everyday life becomes theology–understanding that almost skips the head on its way to the heart.


Excuse me, did you know…

We’ve all seen it–that embarrassing thing that we can’t help but notice and can’t decide what to do about. Someone’s fly is open, their buttons buttoned up crooked. There’s spinach in their teeth, a booger hanging out of their nose. You can see down her shirt when she leans over–or worse, you can see her thong above her pants.

What do you do when something like that happens? Do you giggle to yourself? Do you point it out to a friend? Do you announce it loudly in the person’s hearing? Or perhaps you are too embarrassed by it to say anything at all.

If I’m ever that person, please, please do as my dear sister-in-Christ and coworker did today–take me aside to a private place and tell me what the problem is so I can fix it.

Thank you, Sarah, so very much!


Adios a los Estados Unidos. !Hola Mexico!

I’ve kept my summer in the realm of possibilities for months now–since last October when Caroline told me that she was looking for a tutor for Rebekah. At that time, I didn’t know which internship I would get into. I didn’t know what my financial status would be. I’m not even sure I had finalized plans for a job during my hiatus from school. So a summer in Mexico was only ever a possibility, not anywhere close to a reality.

But today I finally made the call that changed it all. Caroline is expecting me to meet them in Texas in the middle of July. She’s expecting me to be there for a month. I’m checking on prices for plane tickets, comparing them to prices for driving down. I need to talk to my boss about unpaid leave tomorrow. I’m on my way to Mexico.

It won’t be a vacation–but it won’t be a “missions trip” either. It’s my chance to minister to Jim and Caroline and to their children. It’s my chance to bless their family. I don’t have a lot to give–my Spanish is somewhere along the spectrum of bad to awful, sometimes I feel my faith is incredibly weak–but I can teach. I can teach grammar and spelling and reading and writing. I can teach math and science. Maybe I can help them develop healthy eating habits as they’ve requested that I do. I don’t have a lot. I don’t consider myself a missionary. Nor do I consider this a missions trip. Instead, it is a chance for me to serve God by serving His people.

“I could do that” was the first thing I thought when Caroline mentioned the need. But there was so much uncertainty. Where would I be? What would my finances be? I couldn’t say anything and get her hopes up and not be able to follow through. So I waited. The sense I had whenever I mentioned the possibility was the same as I had when I’d first heard God tell me to go to Florida. I was excited. I was scared to death. I wanted with all my heart to be obedient. I wanted with all my heart for God to call me to do something else.

“Mexico–Lord, what about my Spanish?”
I was Moses’ tongue. I can be yours too.
But work…
Do you trust Me, Rebekah?

It’ll be an adventure. It’ll be hard work. It’ll be exhausting. It’ll be exhilarating. But God didn’t call me to have a bag packed for no reason–He called me to pack my bag so I’d be ready to go.

So, adios a los Estados Unidos. !Hola, Mexico! Estoy viniendo a ustedes.


A VERY SPECIAL DAY!

I worked today. Not much to that. Eight plus hours of making recipes, smiling at customers, and cleaning up. If that were all I had to report, it would be a fair to middling day.

Last night, I received one of the largest scares of my life. It turned out to be nothing–just someone’s carelessness. After it was all over, I bawled and shook for about twenty minutes–then I got over it. Nothing scary happened today. That makes today pretty okay.

My family was all out of town today, enjoying themselves at da CLAN nonathalon. They started the morning early by racing in the fun run–I hear that Liz took first in the ladies 5K, Joe took second in the men’s 10K, Steve took 2nd in the men’s 5K, Joshua took 3rd in the men’s 5K, and Aaron(?) placed 5th in the men’s 5K. Pretty good showing for our modest clan :-P After a lunch of my mom’s runzas, the nonathalon began. Events included giant Jenga, Memory, croquet, and rope jumping. Then came the talent show–takeoffs on American Idol and Last Comic Standing. It sounds like it was a blast. I was working. It’s a bummer I couldn’t go. Today was pretty depressing for me…

or it would have been…

EXCEPT THAT
I arrived home to find
that my new roommate had arrived-
had completely moved in
and since she just happens to be
my very best friend,
that makes today
A VERY SPECIAL DAY!

Welcome home, my friend.


The Power of a good book

Perhaps you’ve been watching the news and noticed the huge storm system traveling through the Midwest–it stretches from Mid-Kansas up to Minnesota.
weather map from weather.com
Now generally when you think of a storm system like that, you think of a system moving perpendicular to its line. You imagine it working like a squeegie, traveling across the nation. But that’s not what this system’s like–instead its like a string of beads being pulled along a table by one end. Which means that every point along the line experiences one storm after another after another.

I was just coming back from my final break at work when the tornado warning was issued for our area. I immediately started gathering co-workers and moving everyone downstairs. The tornado warning was scheduled to expire at 8:00–45 minutes later (when I was supposed to be clocking out).

Thankfully, I had been reading Pride and Prejudice on my break and still had it in my hand. After we learned how long we would be stuck in the basement, I offered to read out loud. Five women took me up on the offer. So I started, “It is a truth universally acknowledged…”

The warning was extended to 8:15. I read “Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate.” I had just finished “The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ending only with the visit.” when the announcement came that the warning had been extended to 8:45. I went for a drink, then returned to begin the sixth chapter. We were a page from finishing the sixth chapter when the warning was finally allowed to expire.

My coworkers said I need to come read to their children–they want their children to learn to read and learn to love reading, but they cannot help them. Three of the women listening were from Sudan, one was from Vietnam. None of them feel that they read well enough in English to adequately train their children. But they loved the book. And they want their children to learn to love such books too. So I have a standing invitation to come and read to their children.

I might just have to do so before too long.


Tradition and the Generation Gap

Advice columns and other popular parenting resources may not agree about much, but on one point they are firm: Your parents are hopelessly outdated and you will disagree with them about how you should raise your child.

This idea is so firmly entrenched in the minds of popular culture, that it seems unimaginable that it was ever not this way. But, believe it or not, the “generation gap”–which is now so great and seems to be still widening at an incredible pace–once was almost imperceptible.

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, people had lots of kids. The older children observed how their parents parented–and had “hands on” training while taking care of their younger siblings. The older children married and had children of their own in their late teens or twenties. They parented their children as they had been trained–in a manner very similar to how their parents had parented.

The younger children in the big family didn’t have little siblings to practice on–but their older siblings lived nearby with their own children. So the younger children of the first generation grew up observing how their older brothers and sisters parented–and helping their older siblings with their young nieces and nephews. The younger children of the first generation learned the same parenting techniques their own parents had used for them, only this time at the hand of their older siblings. Thus parenting practices were transmitted from generation to generation.

Compare that to today, when most of the experience young adults have had with children is from doing a bit of babysitting while they were teens. When they start their own families, the only experience they have is from babysitting someone else’s children–which anyone could tell you is a far cry from parenting one’s own. With no other frame of reference, these young parents rely on the advice of their peers, or of the “experts” for developing their parenting techniques. Thus every generation reinvents the wheel–learning from scratch how to raise their children, making up the rules as they go along, certain of nothing except the “conventional wisdom” that their parents’ parenting was necessarily wrong.


Another area in which I have noted the generation gap is weddings. Have you ever noticed that every generation has its own “traditional wedding”? –And that somehow each generation’s “traditional wedding” looks completely different than that of the preceding generation?

Most people today only start attending wedding or being involved in weddings when their peers marry. Their peer’s weddings and those that they have seen in movies or in bridal magazines are what inform their knowledge of wedding “traditions.” As such, nothing remains “traditional” unless it is profitable to the wedding industry.

As the older child of one of the older children of a large family, I grew up going to weddings–the weddings of my aunts and uncles. I learned what a “traditional” wedding looks like for my family. And let me tell you one thing–it doesn’t look a thing like what passes as a “traditional” wedding today. Sure there’s a white dress and a church ceremony–but that’s where the commonality ends.

In my family, a traditional wedding means a church ceremony–generally using a liturgy. It means everyone in the family has a part to play–although “bridesmaid” and “groomsman” may not be the part. While the closest sibling or best friend may stand up for the bride or groom, the real “wedding party” consists of the cake cutters, the gift carriers, the flower pinner, the guest book attendant, the punch pourers, and on. Each member of the family has a corsage or boutonniere identifying them as part of the party. The whole family takes pictures together before the ceremony–even though that means the groom sees the bride before the ceremony.

A traditional wedding in my family means a reception directly following the ceremony, in the church fellowship hall. The meal is set up buffet-style and consists of trays of bread, deli meats and cheeses, and other fixings that people can make their own sandwiches from, salads made by the aunts, and cake and punch, homemade cream cheese mints and nuts.

A traditional wedding in my family means that the men (my uncles and any of the groomsmen) gather together the children to go out and decorate the car.


The generation gap has grown as people have fewer and fewer children and wait longer and longer before getting married. Without siblings with which to interact, they learn to rely on their age-segregated peer group. Then, when they start making these monumental life choices, they rely upon their peers and the “experts” to inform their decisions. It’s too late for the parents to transmit their wisdom. Since the children have never seen, learned, nor practiced this wisdom, it all seems hopelessly outdated. The new tradition has become no tradition–starting over with each new generation instead.

I, for one, intend to break with the new-fangled tradition: I’m going to do it like my parents did. ‘Cause I’ve seen how they did it–and it works pretty well!


…as to the Lord…

And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not to men.” Colossians 3:23

I’ve always interpreted that Scripture to mean that I should always work as hard as possible–put everything I have into my work. But recently, I’ve been forced to re-evaluate that position.

We’ve been incredibly busy at work, putting in overtime and working at least six days a week. I’m blessed that my bosses have honored my decision not to work on Sundays–some of my fellow employees are working 8 or 9 days in a row before they get a break.

With the busyness, I’ve shifted into warp speed. I go into the dishroom every night about fifteen minutes before we close the serving lines and stay there until the last dish is cleaned, the machine is shut down, and the floors are mopped. It takes at least an hour and a half. During that time, I’m flying–running from one end of the room to grab some pans, rearranging dishes on the belt, putting pans on the line, scrubbing some pans for a while, zipping back to the belt, helping out with trays coming in, then back to more pans. Around and around I go, moving a hundred miles a minute. By the time the dishroom is done, so am I. Done for, that is. I can’t do anything else that evening. I’ve exhausted myself. I drop the moment I get home and can’t do anything productive until I drag myself to work the next morning at 11.

And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not to men.” If that means working as hard as possible, putting all that I have into my work, I’ve been doing it. But somehow, I’m starting to think that my original interpretation needs some tweaking.

See, when I’m moving a hundred miles a minute, I’m not doing it for the Lord–I’m doing it for me. I want to get done. I want others to see how hardworking I am. I want to take responsibility for everything. I’m doing it for the accolades. Ultimately, I’m doing it for my pride.

Heartily, as to the Lord. What does the Lord expect and require from me in regard to work? With what attitude would He have me work?

I did an informal word study on “work” today–and discovered that the primary reference to work in Scriptures is, amazingly, in reference to the Sabbath. God worked 6 days. Then He rested. Man is to do all his work in 6 days. Then he is to rest. What is the penalty for breaking the Sabbath? Death.

I’m beginning to formulate an idea in my mind. Maybe God doesn’t want me to give my all to my work. Certainly He wouldn’t have me be slothful. But maybe God’s plan is actually that I work diligently, with excellence, but in such a way that I am not consumed by work. I know we usually use the phrase “consumed by work” to refer to someone who lives, eats, and breathes work–and has no life outside of work. We use it to refer to a workaholic. But in reality, to be consumed means “to be used up, to be completely destroyed.” I’ve been working to the degree that work is using me up, destroying me. And that’s not honoring to God.

So maybe, just maybe, God wants me to not work so hard. Maybe He wants me to take a Sabbath–even at work. Maybe He considers me more important than my work, and wants me to do my work in such a way that I can remain healthy in the midst of it.

So this week, I have an assignment: to learn how to work heartily (with warmth and sincerity, thoroughly, completely, with zest or enthusiasm, with great appetite or enjoyment) as if working for the Lord instead of for my pride.