SO, it’s the the season of the NFL Playoffs. I’ve noticed myself bending toward some folksy theology. Maybe you’ve noticed this for yourself. Or…just let me remind you. :)
Bring on the comments, friends! Can you think of any items I missed?
1. Caffeine is somehow linked to the Holy Spirit.
2. People who use the words “Demon Alcohol” don’t use the words “Demon Lactose”, but really, which one seems more demonic on a regular basis?
3. Gluttony of anything [but food] seems sinful, but eating until it almost hurts is a worthy epicurean goal, and probably some sort of “listening to God thing” or even a gifting of the Spirit.
4. Lack of a TV makes you more spiritual, but the possession of an iPhone helps you help God.
5. Twinkle lights in December and January help show the Light of God’s Love, but by March they are tacky, and used by Satan to distract people from the blessing of Spring and rebirth.
6. The ability to host a kickin’ NFL Playoff party with great food is called “the Gift of Hospitality” and it makes God proud when when use our gifts. [I’ll be over @ 4p.m.]
7. Routing for teams like the Cowboys, the Eagles, the Browns, the Lions, (and so on) develops the Fruit of the Spirit we call Patience. So, it’s a good thing, but like many spiritual lessons, it is learned through pain and struggle. Watching such teams fail each year helps those fans grow spiritually…more than Patriot or Steeler fans, let’s say.
So…That’s 7 nutty beliefs that can happen in January. Have you noticed anything weird lately? If so, please share.
What happens when you eat 14 year old pizza crust from Betty Crocker? We found out.
On January 1, 2011, in a short series of unfortunate events, my husband prepared a Betty Crocker pizza crust from a mix. It turned out terribly. We couldn’t figure out why. It was paper thin, and stuck so badly to the pan that it seemed to only come off in stamp-sized pieces, not to mention being brittle and tasteless.
I forced it down, and after the kids bemoaned their meal, I, being a proper mom, I had them finish most of it–by decree. It was only after I saw the varying package design of some just-bought Betty Crocker pizza crust, did suspect something was amiss. That little wave of electric panic fear went around on my back. This could be a long night in the bathroom, I thought.
The thought was sickening, but oddly the meal wasn’t, in a true sense. We were all fine. No harm done.
4 Proposals: 1. Betty Crocker Pizza crust is not food.
2. God spared us (because sometimes he’s wacky like that.) 3. Pizza crust couldn’t hurt us, even if it was 50 years old…’cause that’s how p.c. rolls. 4. We’ve just realized we are the real life version of “No Ordinary Family”
Do you have any ideas?
It was a mysterious way to start the new year, and things have only gotten stranger since.
What the oldest thing you’ve eaten recently? Or…What’s the strangest thing that’s happened to you so far this year?
Data on this blog reports that married men, ages 25-35, with children are the biggest frequenters of this blog. I’m really flattered.
It’s a throwback to being picked by the neighbor boys to be quarterback for both teams during the zenith of my football prowess, ages 9-11. I guess they just trusted my skills. (Or, maybe I was bad at tackling.)
It seems I don’t write like a chick. A Lady. Or what have you.
BUT! I KNOW I don’t seem to read like one.
Case in Point:
I’d love to be involved with the women’s book club at my church. I love books and the discussions that ensue. I put one together for Blue Like Jazz. 3 people came, including me. One of them was a friend I drove to it, because I begged her to come at the last minute. She hadn’t even read the book.
The truth is, in general, I like the richness of mixed gender book clubs, and I like to hear various perspectives (unless it devolves into gender battles and insults, like Sunday School this past week. ACK! The men were PENT UP. Arrows were flying!) Plus, I think, this gender war stuff gets old, fast. Hello, John and Stasi Eldridge, can you hear me? Um. You’re causing infighting. It’s the truth.)
But for the exception of the wonderful Brother Lawrence’s Practicing the Presence of God, that came up at book club, it’s been just a slew of girly books. I just cannot stop my gag reflex long enough to muddle through something Pioneer or Amish related. I can’t stomach “historical fiction/dreamy (and yet Christian-safe–in-all-the-right-spots) romance–with–a–God-twist”. This dominates our book club. Completely.
Thanks to a reader’s helpful link, you’ll find a really fascinating rendering of this issue here (Newsweek article).
(Bear in mind that my area can’t support a Walden’s Book store in the mall (which shut down a number of years ago) let alone something mainstream like a Boarders. Something like that is 31 miles away. And a cozy and bookish sole proprietorship? HAA! NEVER. So, it could be the situation that I’m just a fish out of water around here.) So, in a measure of self-soothing, I’ve come up with a quick list-
5 Reasons I Don’t Read (Christian) Chick Books
1. I don’t care about reading gooey, implausible stories about the Amish. I live near the Amish. You know what? They aren’t that interesting.(Basically, they just dress weirdly, frequent “dent and scratch” bargain grocery stores, and have gaggles of children.)
2. I like history, and I like (good) fiction. But, it always seems like the category so-called “Women’s Christian Historical Fiction” is just a mash up that’s two levels closer to crap than anything else.
I feel insulted by everything from the predictable plot-lines, to the saccharine Christian-evangelism tactics that snake through like, well, “like a string of pearls snaking between ample bosoms”.
3. Since I’m not a big fan of the macho man/Christian book market, I can’t start getting aligned to closely with mushy, girly books. It’ll trash my street cred. (Guilt by association, obviously.)
4. If it makes a guy wince to see a chick book, it makes me wince. I just don’t like feeling I should defend my gender for enjoying overly sentimental tripe, that often sacrifices intellectual integrity for dramatic episodes that involve a high- stakes rescue, or a whore-come-home riff. Call me silly.
5. These books all seem to severely lack in the sense of humor department. This. is. not. okay. This is perhaps the biggest reason I just can’t do it. I need more. I want to be challenged. I want to laugh and cry, but not because “his heart has been too scarred to let her love in, despite their undeniable attraction…but he unknowingly gave himself a milk mustache on his curvaceous and stubbly upper lip, and her heart skipped a beat.” (You get the idea.)
If you are a fan of these books (or a writer of them, or an agent of them (like Chip MacGregor, my agent)), I apologize for being so brash. I’m not trying to be a guy about it.
It’s just my opinion that these books are for women what the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show holiday tv special is for men. They offer something superficial, that aims to scratch an itch, but ends up inflaming the whole thing. Less, not more, is the remedy, but no one wants to give it up.
Image by cattias.photos via Flickr
I realize writing this will mean I’ll never get a Christmas card from:
For a long list of these books, click here. If you start to feel ill, even at the sheer multitude, I wanna hear from you.
Here’s the surprise ending:
If any of these authors will have me over for dinner, and try to change my mind, I will indulge that. (In stereotypical male form, you may get to me through my stomach. And that’s a chance I’m willing to take, especially if there is PA German Apple crumb pie involved.)
What do you think about this genre? Are you a woman who gets embarrassed by what’s available in the “Women’s genre”?
Ladies, if you like these books, have your say.
And guys, what’s your take on any of this? (If you were given $20, would you read a “bonnet ripper” and contribute at a book discussion? Or would you just break out in hives?)
Quaker Oatmeal has a new tag. I have to say, I love it. It just excites me. It probably won’t prompt me buy their oatmeal… I’d eighty-six porridge for eggs or coffee cake any day.
Nevertheless, I felt a sense of well-being just watching the Quaker Oats commercial. A rugged construction man, sits back, high upon a skyscraper girder. From a thermos, he peacefully enjoys his heavily textured cooked oats . The voiceover asks, Does your breakfast make you amazing? (The build up to that was the scripted: “Rome wasn’t built in a day; and it wasn’t built on a coffee and a danish.”) Well, I think Rome was built on mead, or sambuca, but whatever.
In keeping with pop Evangelicalism, I’ll do the obvious. I’ll do the proverbial. I’ll take this inspiring tag line, and do a Christian parallel. (Isn’t it some sort of moral duty to take catch phrases, or witty wording, pilfer it, and spiritualised the thing ad nuaseam, in the name of edification, of course? I think the Biblical backing for this comes from II Leviticus 2:1, “Thou shalt copy they neighbors clever word-smithage. I am the LORD.”
Is it an epidemic religious and cultural kleptomania? Um. Yep.
And, right now, me fingerz feelz sticky, too.
So, here we go: “Does your God make you Amazing?”
Of course, this is a wildly self-centered question. I don’t even want Christians to “go there.” This is a preemptive, cut-Christian copy cats off at the pass, post. It’s meant to subvert a horrible Christian propensity, or worse, an ill-advised “evangelizing tactic”
I’m making an executive decision. I’m going to hijack the hijacking of, at least, this tagline.
Are you surprised?
BOOM. Amazing!
A basic truth: We like to be inspired to be amazing. Oh. Yes. We. Do. We either think we’re pretty amazing already, or wish we were.
So, what about that?
AND–What breakfast, or attribute of God (or both) propels you towards “AMAZING”?
Hi. Welcome.
If you’re here to get your Wednesday funny fix, because Jon Acuff is serious on Wednesdays, thank you for stopping by. Everybody else, I think you’re pretty great too.
hint. I’m now plugging shame-free for this entire paragraph. If you click the Alluring Button (on the top left) you won’t miss anything funny on Wednesday–when you need it most. No funny from Jon on Wednesdays threw me into early onset seasonal depression this year. You too? I feel your pain. So, these Wednesday posts are really just my way to survive. Enjoy.
EXHIBIT A: The Faith Tones. Bad girls of 1960sChristian Music. Y or N? You decide.
Singing hairdressers for Jesus?
10 Things I LOVE about this album cover:
1. Big 60s hair. The higher the groovier, baby!
2. Healthy (I guess) round faces, like the Campbell’s Soup Kids.
3. Prophetic sense of bowling shirt fashion (as seen below with Lavern and Shirley). (Also could be hairdressing attire. Your guess?).
Lavern and Shirley, behind the times in fashion, compared with the Faith Tones
4. Subtle use of colorful, patterned or floral fashion, 60s hip blouses (under the matching uniform shirt) that says to the cool kids, “We know how to have fun…the way Jesus wants us to.”
5. Good vintage example of how you could be a Christian singer and still have crooked or subpar teeth. (Seriously. I defy you to spot a Christian album cover with an unattractive or crooked-toothed girl on it now, or for the last 20 years.)
6. Almost daring use of the album title, “Jesus Use Me,” and maybe just a hint of double entendré to spice it up for the Christian male audience. The 1960s were a time of sexual experimentation. Not so much in the Christian sphere, but a “clever” or edgy title couldn’t hurt sales. (Remember Stryper, “To Hell with the Devil”?) What do you think, was it purposeful, or just piety shinning through?
7. Girls use high tech (for the time) Stereo enhancement for our listening pleasure. Rock it, out, ladies.
8. The middle girl looks like she knows how to party. Whoot.
9. A vintage reminder that Aqua Net (not flower children) is what held the 1960s together.
BEEHIVE IT, BABY!
10. This shows us that 50 years ago, much like today, music ministry tries too hard, but–sometimes–in a lovable sort of way.
Do you dig this photo? ANYBODY have audio sample of the faith tones? Please, please, hook me up!
I’d like to hear them.
Golly, I sense some boss three-part harmony a-comin’!
