Categories Everyday Life

Disaster Averted by SuperStar’s Brilliance

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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?”

Categories Rants

The Cost of Allergies

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Someone once said that you can determine a person’s priorities by looking at their checkbook register. If you looked at mine (and if I were a little better a keeping my checkbook register up to date), you would discover that “managing allergies” is definitely on my priority list. I spend at least $75 a month on medications used to control allergies.

But the cost of allergies is really much greater than a simple glance at my checkbook might reveal. That sort of calculation doesn’t take into account the cost of air conditioning my home and car (even when the outside temperature may be comfortable). It doesn’t take into account the cost of washing my sheets in hot water (as opposed to cold water). It doesn’t take into account the extra loads of laundry required by more frequent washing of drapes and throws and pillows. It doesn’t take into account the cost of using a dryer for all my laundry (instead of hanging it on a line.) It doesn’t take into account the extra cost of purchasing more effective furnace filters–and purchasing them more often. It doesn’t take into account the extra cost of bleach and of vacuum cleaner bags for less allergenic cleaning.

And those are only the financial costs of allergies. Once you start thinking about quality of life, the equation builds. Allergies mean that I have to take medication three times a day–and at just the right times in order to avoid the worst symptoms. Allergies mean that I have to shower and wash my hair before bed every night so that I don’t “track allergens” into my bed and sleep with them all night. Allergies mean that I need to be hyper-vigilant about cleaning my house (When was the last time you dusted your mini-blinds?). Allergies mean I have to consider what sort of exposure I’ll have before venturing outside for a walk, a game, a dip in the pool.

Then there are the miscellaneous, little things that start to add up after a while. The allergic blepharitis that keeps me from wearing eye makeup. The bronchospasm that often limits me to walking for aerobic exercise (and rules out “spur of the moment” exercising). The crinkle of the allergen-proof mattress and pillow covers.

I know that there are plenty of diseases out there that cause lots of problems. Allergies are certainly one of the least–especially my type of allergies, which are by no means life-threatening. But even so, considering the cost of allergies (even just “environmental” allergies like my own), don’t you think it might be worthwhile to invest something into searching out a way to prevent or cure allergies?

This post was thought up and written on June 25–that’s why I dated it as June 25. However, I got sidetracked and didn’t actually “post” it to the internet until early on June 26. Sorry!

Categories Faith, Rants, Reflections

You are a conqueror!

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Girls have a great longing to be wanted, to be desired, to be seen as valuable. Guys have great longings too. They want to be conquerors, to be protectors, to be providers. Both sets of longings affect their owners’ relationships with the opposite sex. When women are single for a prolonged amount of time (even if that’s only six weeks since they first got interested in guys!), they start wondering if maybe they’re unwanted, undesirable, worthless. Guys, when they’re single, start thinking that maybe they’re weak, powerless, ineffective, impotent.

We recognize this in women–and we have a hundred books and a hundred speakers to tell the women that it isn’t so. “You are valuable.” we tell our single women. “You are desirable not because some boy somewhere decided that he could get something from you, but because the King of the Universe wanted you so badly He gave everything for you.” Walk into any Christian bookstore and you can find plenty of resources for single women dealing with this topic.

The other side of the equation is a bit murkier. We don’t really say much to the single men. “Don’t lust.” “Don’t sleep around.” “Be a man–do what’s best for her.” Instead of encouraging the men, often we end up discouraging them. Our unspoken words sound more like, “You’re right, you aren’t really a man. You haven’t even got your own impulses figured out–how can you even think about marrying? You’re not a man–you don’t want to protect her.”

Maybe I’ve even been guilty. My younger brothers tease Anna and I about getting them some brothers-in-law and I say “That’s not my job.” I don’t clarify that it’s not necessarily the guy’s job either. So maybe the impression I’m leaving is that it’s the guys’ job to find themselves wives. If they can’t find themselves a wife–I guess they just aren’t doing their job.

Weak. Powerless. Ineffective. Impotent. Bad Provider. Bad Protector. Conquered. How often do we tell them that’s what they are? We rag on them for their lust–while we openly discuss “hot guys” and the relative merits of Colin Firth vs. Hugh Grant (okay it’s official: I’m getting old!). We play our little games of “You’ve got to protect me”–from the other Christian boys. We tease them with their powerlessness against PC culture–“Hitting you isn’t abuse. You’re a white male!” “Get yourself a date” we tell them, as if that’s all there is to it.

Why don’t we tell them what they really need to hear? Why don’t we say something constructive? Why don’t we tell them what God thinks of them?

Why is it that we’ve been so sensitive to the women’s feelings of being unloved, unwanted, undesirable, worthless–and we’ve been so insensitive to the men’s inner longings? Instead of affirming them in their manhood–we continue to tear them down.

Well, I’ve got news. You, single man, are a conqueror. You are a champion for truth, for righteousness. You are not a captive to your lusts, a bondservant to your base desires. You are a beacon of integrity. You are strong. You are effective.

You’re not a bad provider because you’ve failed to “PWN” yourself a wife. Rather, you’re a good provider. I’ve seen how you paid for someone’s lunch when she didn’t have any cash handy. I’ve seen how you denied yourself to move someone on that hot afternoon after you’d been working all week. I’ve seen how you volunteered for the sound ministry, the children’s church ministry, Royal Rangers, and ushering. You’re a good provider.

You haven’t failed at protecting–I’ve seen you walk that girl to her car when the night was dark. I’ve been the girl you walked to the car. Thanks for not worrying about what people would think. Thanks for not trying to be PC. Thanks for standing firm and protecting–even when the world would leave us helpless. Thanks for being men and lifting the body up in prayer. You may not have a “family” you’re protecting–but you’ve protected us–and I thank you.

It’s not your job to find yourself a wife–that’s God’s job. I’m sorry I ever implied otherwise. I’m sorry I held on to my “feminist ideals” at the expense of your self-worth–thanks for serving me anyway. I’m sorry I tried to manipulate you into doing whatever I wanted, that I acted as if your heart wasn’t worthwhile. I’m sorry that I spoke lies to you about who you are. I’m sorry I stayed silent even when I knew the truth.

Please forgive me for staying silent. I can’t stay silent any longer. Because the truth is that you are a conqueror. You are powerful and effective. You are needed. You’re not less because you’re single. You haven’t failed because you’re single. You don’t need to hurry up and get a move on. You’re doing just fine. Actually, you’re doing more than fine. You’re doing a great job. We need you. Keep up the good work.

Categories Reflections

What is a picture worth to you?

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“They” say that a picture is worth a thousand words. I think that it all depends on who you ask. For my part, a picture is worth only as much as the words used to describe it.

Take movies. Probably one of the most “picture” driven media, right? I don’t get them. I don’t ever get them. That is, unless they’re subtitled. Unless I can read the words on the screen, I won’t be able to follow the visual action taking place on the screen. It will pass by me unnoticed. The words on the screen are the anchor that allows me to follow the action.

Picture books? I can do with them or without them. I enjoy having pictures–but they are definitely secondary to the words. I read Dr. Seuss and don’t even notice his drawings unless the text points out a specific detail for me to search for. Books that are entirely pictures, with no text at all, are torturous. Even in books for which the pictures are presumably the primary draw–like a book of home decorating ideas–I read the text first. I like the pictures, I study them carefully–but only after reading the text. Sometimes I agree and sometimes I disagree with the text, but I can’t not read it.

I force myself, when visiting museums, to look at exhibits first before reading the information–just as a mental exercise. It’s tough. Even if I’m looking at a painting or a quilt, my first instinct is to read the caption. Then I try to see the quilt or painting through the author’s eyes, or the artist’s eyes, or whatever. I love art. I love gazing at it. I can sit and stare at a piece of art for hours. I stand back for perspective, I get in close so that I can see individual brushstrokes or stitches. I look at it from this angle or that. But I must read the “comments”.

Once upon a time, I envisioned a blog that would include pictures on almost every post. Many others do it. It’s not that hard. It’s easy to take a picture, easy to download it online. But I’ve discovered that from my point of view, the picture is only an accessory to the story–not the story itself. The picture is only as important as how it contributes to the text. So, a lot of times, I discover that including a picture is pointless.

I love pictures. I love taking them. I love looking at them. I love cataloguing them (yes, even that!). But the stories, the text, that goes with them is my first love. My favorite artifact is a letter, a notebook, a scrawled poem, or passed note. The photo may be interesting, but it’s even more interesting to see what my great-grandma saw as important about the photo. The exact location where the photo was taken. That it was the last photo of Joshua with my grandpa before Grandpa died. Anna may have been cute in that photo playing with her new shoes–but the important thing is the story–how Grandma insisted that she go to the special shoe store and get specially fitted for her first shoes–heaven forbid Anna learn to walk in homemade booties!

A picture may be worth a thousand words to you; but for me, pictures are only an accessory to the truly valuable text.

Categories Family & Friends

Remember Timothy? Apparently I’m allergic.

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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.

Categories Everyday Life, Reflections

A Real-Time Parable

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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.

Categories Everyday Life

Excuse me, did you know…

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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!

Categories Everyday Life, Following Christ

Adios a los Estados Unidos. !Hola Mexico!

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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.

Categories Everyday Life

A VERY SPECIAL DAY!

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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.

Categories Rants

“In a relationship”

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Facebook has six “relationship status” options. They are: “single”, “in a relationship”, “married”, “it’s complicated”, or “in an open relationship”. MySpace (who I will not link to because I am philosophically opposed to it) offers five options: “Single”, “In a relationship”, “Married”, “Divorced”, or “Engaged.” Does anybody see any problems in these options?

I do.

I see one glaring problem. Neither of them, anywhere, offers “dating someone” as a relationship option.

I know, I know, that’s what “in a relationship” means. Right?

Wrong.

According to my dictionary, “relationship” has four potential meanings. Definition 1: “The condition or fact of being related; connection or association.” It just so happens that I am related, connected, or associated to many people. I am in many relationships. “In a relationship” doesn’t really do it for me. Definition 2: “The connection of people by blood or marriage; kinship” Strangely enough, I am also connected by blood or marriage to a great deal of people–at least a hundred that I know of off the top of my head. “In a relationship” just doesn’t cut it. Definition 3: “A particular kind of connection between people related to or having dealings with each other.” As Pride and Prejudice might describe it: “a particular friend.” Well, I also have at least a handful of particular friends. “In a relationship” doesn’t really fit.

In fact, the only definition of “relationship” that relationship status option refers to is the fourth and last definition: “A romantic or sexual involvement.” This is (or should be) a singular type of relationship–one that is exclusive. But that’s not what the word “relationship” in its essence implies.

The problem is, despite the fact that the word “relationship” has three definitions that allow plurality and only one that implies exclusive romantic involvement, Facebook and MySpace have affected popular culture to such a degree that one cannot say “I’m glad our relationship is restored” after an argument without people making assumptions about the kind of involvement you have with one another.

This same sort of thing happened in our church when some people decided they didn’t like “dating” and prefered “courting.” Unsure of what to call the person that if they were dating would be referred to as “boyfriend” or “girlfriend”, they resort to the term “friend” in quotation marks. Problem is, when “friend” becomes redefined as “romantic object”, where does that leave those of us who actually are involved in platonic friendships?

I see more and more broad categories used to define connections between people (since I can’t use the word “relationship” anymore) narrowed to define only romantic relationships. Apparently, in the world in which we exist, where single person households compose the largest “family” group, platonic relationships no longer exist. And perhaps that is so. With the advent of “hooking up” and “shacking up” and “friends with benefits” are there any relationships (sorry, it’s the best word for it–as long as you can figure out what it really means) that aren’t sexualized?

But it shouldn’t be so. Sure, I was made a sexual being. But I was made something much deeper than that. I was made a relational being. I was made with the capacity to give and receive love, to understand and to be understood. I was made to be in relationship–and not just in “a” relationship, but in many. I was made to be interdependent–to be helped in my weakness, and to help others in theirs. I was made to reflect God’s image–to reflect a God who is so relational that He is three persons so perfectly related that they are completely one. While sin inhibits such perfect relationship among humans, that doesn’t mean that we are not called to walk in relationship with one another.

So I rebel against the redefinition of relationship in our current world. If you want to say that you’re dating, say dating. Don’t steal perfectly good words that have a whole range of wonderful other meanings and twist them to make them mean “dating.” We need those other words to keep meaning what they do–because without them, we may lose some of our most precious, well, relationships.

As an addendum, I also have difficulties with the current use of the word “Single.” It seems to me that if “single” is used as a “relationship status” it should mean “unmarried”. A person does not cease to be “single” simply because they are dating someone. It seems to me that until a man and a woman leave father and mother and cleave to each other and become “one flesh”, they are still each “single”.