Shame and wanting to poking out your own eye

There’s a feeling you can get, after you’ve done something horrible. It’s so bad, that you might consider poking your own eye out (if for nothing else than a viable distraction.)

My first job (besides babysitting) was as a hostess at Eat’n Park Family Restaurant. A woman about 10  years older transferred there. She had been a waitress for a long time (even a decorated one. Yes, Eat’n Park is special like that.) She also had the name “Lisa,” just like me. That’s about all the ingredients needed for good communication and lasting friendship, right? um. No.
Background:
Sometimes I’d goof off and crack jokes in passing with Lisa. No big deal. (If you know me, this is all highly typical behavior.)
WELL-
One day, like a stoke of non genius, it came into my head to wisecrack when I noticed Lisa had a blue pen scribble on her forearm. I noticed it was actually a very sloppily rendered mark of her own name. The “L” was super long on the bottom, and not in a cursive way. It was just odd. It struck me as humorous. I already knew she had a 4 year old daughter. Her little girl had probably been playing with her waitressing pen and wrote out her mom’s name all by herself. Or maybe Lisa had done it–for a joke, or because she was bored. So, feeling my comic Einstein vibe coming on me (which is inversely proportionate to my rational thought and good judgment), I said–rather flippantly, I might ad–“Hey, what’s that on your arm? Is that so you don’t forget your name?”

Sudden. Dead. Powerful stare.
Awkward pause. I could hear a spider near the salad bar blink.
Then I noticed she had a sort of sad “How could you, you freaking jerk?” look on her tired face. (I picked up on that because I’m really good at feeling people out!)
It was a tattoo.
A horrible one.
A mistake.
Perhaps a drunk boyfriend or trashed stepdad scrawled it there. Who knows. But whatever the story was, it was part of a painful past. A past she did not want thrown in her face by some stupid and insensitive quip from a dumb teenager.
My heart froze with panic. It’s the kind of panic where you start to smell yourself. A cold sweat mustache erupts on your lip usually, too
.
Would she stab me with a steak knife?
Plan to burn me “accidentally” with a scrod entrée platter? (Wicked hot, they are!)
I fumbled around, and got out, “um… hahah… I’m just kidding.” I was trying desperately to appear nonchalant. I considered whistling a tune to prove it.
Still, she just looked at me–steadily.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up the nerve. It felt like a blanket of shame washed over me. Self-loathing–all over the place.
She shook it off, and went back to work. From then on I tried to be extraordinary nice to her, in every way I could think of. I bused her tables, and got her refreshing beverages, and tried to be as pleasant, and positive as I could. She didn’t hold it against me, beyond a day or so.
Once, after a 10p.m.-5 a.m. shift when my dad failed to pick me up, she even drove me home in her weary beater of a car.
I still wonder about her.
It was poke-your-eye-out shame.
I’ll never forget it.

Have you ever had “inner death by shame”? (you can just answer yes or no, unless you want to be brave and tell your story)

The Precious Rest

early twilight

I was allured by this Flickr picture the second I saw it. It seemed beautiful, yet also strange. A genuine napping red fox in a field of tall clovers? Curious.

The image info told that it was indeed this fox’s last rest. Possibly rabies did him in. What a mournful occasion, but what a comely little beast.

(I apologize that I haven’t been able to find the image again, to properly link to the artist. If anyone can help me with that, I’d appreciate it.)

Come to Rest

From madness to rest

You’ve wandered too far and then too close

You’ve grown weary

You find yourself in the soft clover

Feeling the pull of death’s slumber

There is some precious beauty about you

In this early twilight

In your last breaths

In your grassy bed

So fragile, mortal, yielding

What was wild and fierce, unpredictable

Now laid down, quieted, helpless

Will you awake in another field with new rabbits?

Will you suffer no more?

Lay your head down

Come to Rest

Your thoughts or comments are welcome.

Nothing says Crucifixion like pastry!

Being Crucified with Christ has never been so Sweet!

Yes, this is “Something Christians Like” in Jon Acuff style… you can’t make stuff like this up.
Besides the Lamb cake, (Lamb of God or maybe spring lamb… the jury is still out. See previous post.) my sis also brought over a Crucifix Pastry. She said a local Catholic-owned bakery in Mt. Lebanon (PA) makes super, delicious products, including religious themed items.

(To be honest, I found it a bit dry. This was remedied by dunking it in good coffee, and soothing myself with chocolate.)

I can’t help but wonder, if Jesus Christ had died by stoning, would it have looked like a pile of stones? Or, if the electric chair had been around…. oh never mind.

What do you think about religious baked goods?
1. No way-Not for me!
2. Not sure.
3. Delicious!
4. Other ___________ (explain)

God vs. death

 

by: Michael Busselle

 

Tonight in class Dr Buckwalter discussed how the plagues of Egypt each took on an Egyptian god. God was showing his power and supremacy to his people who had been exposed to what seemed like amazingly powerful gods, of fertility, health, etc. The final plague was a display over the power of life and death itself. This shocking plague, brought the Pharaoh to his knees, as it defeated his most powerful deity in one swift shot. He sent his throngs of free labor away.

As the nation of Israel fled, Pharaoh reconsidered. Pharaoh’s armies charged, and pinned the ambulating nation between the sea and the force of Egypt’s finest military. The sea didn’t just promise a watery interruption, but certain death. For the people of those times, and many today, the sea is still a symbol of death. Without rescue, none can survive her.

Narrative speaks volumes to us here. At the linear climax what happens? What does God do? Does he send legions of angels to lay waste to the huge army? Does he cause a sound or distraction that confuses the approaching troops? Does he smite the army with blindness? No. All these would have saved his people, and all  were miracles implemented at certain times in biblical narrative. What does he choose to show them?

He shows them, that he is trustworthy. They need not even fear death. He does the impossible, and creates a dry path right through death itself. He holds back the deadly waters, and dries up the land beneath. Animals, children, mothers, fathers, fearful youth, elderly women, and all the rest can simply stroll through, and away from impending danger. This would not just save them, but penetrate them with symbolism that would hit hard–very hard.

What giants are in your way, and how might you respond with this story in mind?

Want to take part? Leave your thoughts, reflections, or feedback of any kind.

AND~Feel free to promote your blog, or current project as well.

Thanks for reading.

Peace with God (A Prayer)

 

Peace with God

(Prayer)

(Written for individuals, or use in hospice, end of life, or redemptive ministry.)

God,

I know you are my Creator, and I am not simply material that will return to the earth.

I desire peace with you, and to lay my burdens down.

(Here one may add specific concerns, guilt, offenses, or things that have made one’s heart heavy.)

I know you offer me relief, forgiveness, grace, and acceptance, freely–as a gift. I gratefully receive this from you.

You are the Highest, a Three-in-One God, who made me. Out of pure love, you redeemed me before time began, and during human history through the life, death, and resurrection of your Incarnation, The Christ, and you will comfort me with your Presence now. As I leave this world, receive me into your most loving Presence.

I am your child, coming to you.

Amen.

(Download your own copy for use, or distribution click here)