When I decided to adopt Luna, a five year old chocolate lab 2 days ago, I knew I had to jump in with BOTH feet.
You can’t halfway care for a dog and love it halfway or something bad can take over. Resentment.
The truth is that dogs smell really gross to me. Their fur gets on to everything and they’ve seem ridiculously emotionally needy to me. The constant caring for them can feel like such a never-ending chore. But the reality is also that they need people. These pack animals get neurotic and socially dysfunctional without a predictable caregiver who serves as pack leader. (Yes, I’ve been learning for the Dog Whisperer, Cesar Millan.)
They easily sense apprehension. They need a non frustrated, calm leader–and I admit when she shoves me out of the way to barge out into the rain after school kids I get tense!
Having grace for her problems and retraining her to be a better fit in our family is the new mission of The DeLay Pack.
I’ll keep you posted. Soon.
In the meantime, what good advice do you have for me?
I submitted the following article as a guest post for Stuff Christians Like over the summer. I haven’t heard from Jon Acuff, so I’m going rogue and posting it here, in an edited form. (I’ve had a humor post there -on prayer- so, no, I’m not crushed or anything.)
Kick back, relax, and have a laugh.
Secretly Wanting to Have a Signature Fragrance
Now, before you say, “This is not really a Christian struggle. I, for one, have never wanted my own fragrance,” just hear me out. Because, before you finish reading this, the thought will take root, and even intrigue you. You’ll see that smells have always mattered somehow to your Christian life. And believe me, you’ll make a kind of internal agreement with yourself to sign a fragrance deal, if the opportunity ever arises.
Let’s face it: smell does matter. No one wants to be the “stinky kid”. Do you remember “the stinky kid”? In childhood, my brother spilled his vat of Drakkar Noir in his bedroom, and ruined that once-delightful fragrance for me…forever. No one hopes for that. So, be assured, no one in their right mind turns down a fragrance contract. You wouldn’t either. Let me explain:
Back when meteoric pop star Katy Perry was just pastor’s kid Katy Hudson belting out gospel songs to Christian audiences, a fragrance deal was an impossibility. But, now? Well, now she’s a big hit. The next obvious professional move is marketing a smell. A signature smell. And she has. Her (first) fragrance is called Purr sells for $45 for 1.7 oz. Her eau de parfum begins with the aroma of peach nectar and forbidden apple, then evolves with a distinct floral bouquet of jasmine blossom, Bulgarian rose and vanilla orchid, and slowly reveals accents of creamy sandalwood and musk. Plus it comes in a purple, cat shaped bottle, complete with rhinestone cat eyes, collar, and heart shaped id tag. Apparently, Katy has gotten some recognition for her naming her cat Kitty Purry; and from the looks of the Purr marketing posters, Katy likes being associated with felines, especially if they have a shinny, form-fitting coat.
But celerities aside…Being associated with a positive scent just seems to make sense with God’s message. As a Christian, you know, at some gut level, that you really should have a godly fragrance about you. Yes. In literal terms. It’s practically an evangelistic tool. Cinnamon for example. Imagine if every Christian, at the very least, smelled like cinnamon. You have to agree that the world would be a better place. Am I right?
So, now you might be thinking, “Hum. Girl, you’re not as crazy as I thought at first…” But, listen. I know this: If you’re worth your weight in salt as a good Evangelical, you’ll say to me, “But, Lisa, can you prove your point using Scripture?” To that I say, “Check, and….wait for it. Wait. For. It. …Mate.” I say “Check Mate” in Christian love.
You bet I can prove it. God is super cool about us smelling awesome. For instance, in Exodus 30:22-33, God has Moses go into 11 verses about making special perfume to anoint his priests, and all the things of the Tent of Meeting. We’re talking about God’s abode! Plus, after that, they made incense too, as an added touch. Since God doesn’t have a nose, I’m pretty sure that this was something for his people to enjoy. The fragrant oil was made with five sweet and delightful aromas: Liquid myrrh, sweet cinnamon oil, sweet smelling cane, or calamus ; and cassia. I actually bought a sample of this online right after I canceled my order for an old ossuary box (I made that last part up). For the record, prophets and kings got anointed with fragrant oil too. Boom!
Of course, there’s way more Biblical proof. I won’t include the actual wording of King Solomon’s thoughts on scents and sensuality, because it’s rated M for Mature. But, let’s just say the wise king found many smells very, very sexy. His palace and massage parlor probably smelled amazing.
Even though Jesus had a beard, some lady in the village of Bethany gave him this really expensive aftershave cologne called spikenard that they used back in olden Bible times. (Mark 14:3) I’m actually wearing some spikenard right now, because I love the earthy, mossy, dark oriental qualities that seem perfect for any occasion…from feasting to, well, execution.
But, wait, there’s more. Paul specifically instructs Christians, and the church to be a sweet smelling fragrance of Christ in 2 Corinthians 14-17. Yes. Those are his actual words. (He was REALLY ahead of the curve in marketing and public relations…well, sort of.) He also mentions that though we’ll smell like life to some, we will stink like death to those who reject God. This is an obvious downside; and I can imagine Katy Perry’s perfume could have a dead furball smell, in a manner of speaking.
So, really! Why don’t Christians get with it and get their own fragrance lines? Especially celebrity Christians. Rick Warren should have one for sure! I think it would have a breezy sandalwood odor with a light musk and juniper scent about it. Don’t you?
Francis Chan’s scent would be slightly more exotic. I would have woody, amber, and oriental overtones, with hints of mandarin, clove, and a marine finish of Gorse Flowers, obviously.
But, wait. Want about more controversial folks? Would it still work? How about Mark Driscoll? Simple. His would have leathery, resin of Myrrh undertones, Tonka bean, and a hint of grapefruit. A mannish hint, mind you.
I can imagine John Piper as a velvety spearmint, black tea, Oliban Wood, and just a smidgen of nutmeg.
Rob Bell: Lavender, Vetiver, Sage, Cardamom, Iris, Cocoa Bean, Amber, Vetiver, Rosemary, with a hint of German Leather.
I would be remiss if I left out the ladies. Nancy Leigh DeMoss? I’m thinking Jasmine, creamy Amyris Woods, with accents of fruity basil.
Joyce Myers is a trickier one. Probably Gardenia, musk, and pine needles with just an edgy hint of frankincense.
So there you have it: Plenty of reasons to smell fantastic. And God is okay with it.
What would your signature fragrance smell like?
Can you imagine any famous Christians and the scent that would be associated with them? Give it a whirl!
Things have been sort of heavy around here lately, with Lent, and Jesus dying and everything. Easter-wise, I think we’re in “tomb time” at this point. It’s where Jesus is physically dead from execution. Everybody in Jesus’ world has had a super crappy day. They put him in the ground, and seal it up. He’s dead. Their hearts and dreams are broken and shattered.
Jesus is in paradise or Hades… or maybe someone should explain that to me…hang on… Okay. Checked on that. If that bit is confusing to you too, try this article. (Then get back here, before I lose my train of thought.)
Anyway, I’m writing this from home. No. I should say, I’m writing this from a place where my mother lives, and where I spent a few college breaks, and one horrid 6 week summer stint before I got married almost 16 years ago. So, actually not home at all. There’s a dislocation all over.
My mom still lives here. It was her late husband’s house. A guy who wasn’t my father.
There’s a guy here, now. I call him Jerry, she calls him fiancé. They met on the computer, in February. I thought he would go back to his place by now, but it’s almost 11pm, and he’s still hanging around. We’re slated to see him, at his place, tomorrow, and most of Sunday, here. Trust me, it’s weird to be in my head, right now.
It feels much like I’m the protagonist in a very awkward Ben Stiller movie. But I haven’t had a chance to figure out my lines. The plot is sketchy. The characters are underdeveloped. I wouldn’t be able to explain it all, even if I tried. But, this picture may reveal much of what I can’t. (I’m the one on the left.)
(me with mom)
Kind of funny picture, no? Laugh for me, if you can.
So, I ate my feelings today. Which, in this case, means about a half a cup of Rasinets, and other sugar and carb no-nos. It feels like Tomb time. Things seem ruined, or broken, and altogether not right. I will acknowledge this.
I won’t shove it aside, or pretend I can’t feel it, see it, smell it. Life can really suck. (That’s a theological term. It means…oh nevermind.)
YET! I know this thing. Nothing can keep the dawn from coming.
I really like Easter and Spring. And well, life. Rebirth is also–excellent. Brighter days are ahead. Death has no victory. The tomb cannot keep us. Even the tomb of discontent, or broken dreams.
We are poised to celebrate life and renewal. Come, Lord Jesus.
I usually encourage responses to my posts. But this time, I’m just letting it all hang out without a care of that. You can do what you’d like, I just need to sit here for a while.
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)
