"Oh...Hi...Umm..I'm living downstairs here..."

Have I mentioned what a blessing my friendship with the Smart family has been? They have provided me with a place to stay, with storage for my belongings so I don't have to pay for a storage unit, with companionship, friendship, lots of laughs and even car repair. Andrew has helped me with my car two or three times since I've lived here--in fact just the other week he put one of his car's battery in mine to help me get home and then two days later had replaced my faulty alternator before I was even up in the morning, and this afternoon he fixed my long-broken window! (Another thing that I've come to enjoy about having a man in the house is that he'll carry heavy suticases and boxes up the stairs for me. I could get used to that.) The boys are constantly encouraging me, and hugging me and even writing things at school that include me in the family. Amber is like another sister to me, and we have stayed up [too] late many nights hanging out talking about our lives and our faith and our future plans and hopes. As I grow and my closest friends from high school and college move away or travel the world, I'm so glad to add to their ranks a friend who is settled with her familiy HERE. So...yeah, I love the Smarts. Living with them has been fun and healing (going through the last 6 months living in an apartment alone would have been much harder for me emotionally), and I am so thankful for this time!

But sometimes living with a family can bring up strange situations. So...that brings me to today's humorous and slightly uncomfortable story.

Last night all the Smarts spent the night in Seaside, and then Andrew (who leads worship on Sundays at his church) came home today while Amber and the boys stayed for a few more days.

A little while ago, while Andrew was out in the yard, he was chatting with his next-door neighbors and mentioned that Amber and the boys were out of town. His kind-hearted neighbors invited him over for dinner so he didn't have to eat alone, seeing as how his family was gone. After he had finished working outside, Andrew came in to quickly shower and change before heading next door.

Meanwhile, I'm in my room in the basement wearing "laundry day clothes" (mis-matching shirt and ugly sweats), doing my laundry and watching the Olympics, completely oblivious to the the above-ground world. Boom boom, boom, boom, boom. I hear someone firmly pounding on the front door through the clamorous dialogue of the ridiculous sportscasters who were commentating on the event of the moment. I figured the door wasn't for me and waited for Andrew to answer it. But he didn't. Huh....well, maybe he went somewhere, I thought to myself. So, as a kind basement-tenant, I went to answer the door for him.

I open the door and the man standing there gives me an odd look. "Hi," he says slowly, "is Andrew there?"

"I think he is," I reply, then turn to call up the stairs "Andrew! ANDREW! Are you here?"

I hear Andrew's voice muffled through a closed door asking "what?"

"SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR FOR YOU," I yell back. Then turning to the man on the porch I asked, "Are you one of the neighbors?"

"Yeah. We live right next door," he answers, "Andrew was going to come over to our house for dinner."

"Oh.....Hi," I reply in a tone I'm trying to keep warm despite the neighbor's stare.. We stand there waiting for Andrew to come to the door and I'm acutely aware of the fact that this man is looking at me a bit strangely. I shouldn't have answered the door, I thought, this is weird. And then...I get it. Andrew had told his neighbors that his wife and kids were out of town, and they had invited him over so he wouldn't have to be alone. Then they come over and some strange woman opens the door. I quickly try to explain who I am: " Umm...I'm living downstairs here until I can get a house." It is clear to me now that Andrew isn't going to be able to come to the door for a while. I feel agonizingly uncomfortable under the neighbor's gaze, and I decide it's time to get rid of him.

"I think Andrew might be in the bathroom..." I suggest. Now, you have to understand that I have indeed been well trained by my parents to say something like, "he's indisposed right now" instead of "he's in the shower" or "he's in the bathroom." But at this point, I think the neighbor is looking at me like I'm the other woman, and I can't bring myself to say "he's indisposed," lest he interprets it all sleazy-like.

"Can you just tell him we're ready for him to come over?" he asks.

"Sure, I'll let him know."

I smile. Neighbor smiles. Neighbor leaves. I shut the door. Just then Andrew appears. "Your neighbor came to say they're ready," I tell him.

"Okay, great!"

________________


Apparently the neighbors asked about me that night at their dinner, and I'm glad that Andrew could explain to them who I am and why I'm there, and remind them that my car has been in the driveway for 8 months now (wow...I can't believe it's been that long). But it sure made me feel icky when I thought the neighbor might think ill of me. As I said, sometimes living in another family's basement can put me in odd situations. :-) But I love 'em (the family, not the situations).

My arm works just fine, thank you!

I used to think electric toothbrushes were for weak or lazy people. Hey, until I lose the ability to move my arm slightly back and forth, I'll stick with the manual toothbrush!

Recently, though I've decided that my gumline is maybe starting to recede a bit by one of my teeth in particular. I've been told that vigorous and extensive brushing (a favorite pasttime of mine) can chase those gums back even further, but an electric toothbrush that cleans without as much pressure can give your gums a break and allow them to grow back a bit. I specifically heard that in regards to a very expensive electric toothbrush. Well, I couldn't bring myself to pay $100 for something I'm used to paying $2 bucks for, so I comprimised and bought a $7 dollar one.

Having just completed my first brushing with the electric toothbrush, it is too early to see any change in my gumline. But I did notice a side effect that I didn't really expect. My teeth feel SO much smoother and cleaner than they usually do after brushing. I think I'm hooked. I thought I was doing a great, thorough job with my arm and manual brush, but I don't think I can go back. Alas! I too have become one of the lazy masses entrusting my dental hygiene to AA batteries.

Glimpses Into the Mind of Kimiree

The time is 9:30pm and the place is my parents' family room. My mom is hunched over a Charlie Brown puzzle and my 18 year-old sister is sitting near me and we're talking.

Kimiree (the 10 year old) is watching my mom work on the puzzle. Suddenly, Kimiree turns to me and announces, "I want you and me to get matching outfits and then have our picture taken together!"

How does she know what I want for Christmas?

It's dinner time at my parents' house and I'm over there for the evening. Kimiree is sitting to the left of me and she suddently turns to me and with pity in her tone asks doubtfully, "Kristi...do you really think you're ever going to get married?"

When Kimiree was younger, she nicknamed me her "Cushy Sister." Even though I sometimes was sensitive about my weight, I couldn't help but smile. She wasn't making a fat joke, she just thought I was the most comfortable sister to hug! :-) This last week she said to me, "Kristi, I am soooo sorry that I called you the "Cushy Sister."

Another evening when I was at my parent's house for dinner, my Dad's long-time friend was in town and staying with my family overnight. While we're at the table with our guest, Kimiree asks, "So...why is it that boys can't have babies? Is it because they don't have boobs?" (Yeah, it's past time for "The Talk.")

I love my baby sister--and I love the way she makes me laugh!

____________________________________
These pictures aren't current, but they're from a particularly fun day we shared in 2005!

Have I Mentioned That I Hate Sales Pitches?

I do. I hate it when people pressure me to buy something I don't want or need, or something that I just can't afford.

For several years I've been using a European-Based desktop publishing program (that I much prefer to Publisher, which came with my MS Office package). The software for this program always starts out at over $100 dollars when a current version is released, but I often end up upgrading just before the one after that is released, and get the soon-to-be second-to-latest release for $10-$20 dollars. It seems financially responsible.

The only thing that annoys me about the software is that each time it is installed on my computer I have to call for a registration code (the program is usable without it, but this annoying REGISTER NOW screen always pops up). Once, a couple of versions ago, I called the company and waited on hold for 45 minutes, at which point the service center closed and I was promptly told to call back another day and disconnected.

This morning I finally gave in and called to register the program that I installed on my new computer in January of 2007! (Thankfully, I was only on hold for a minute.) Now I purchased this version in 2006, which means it was probably released in 2005. The customer service operator told me, "Oh wow. That version. You know that's 6 or 7 years old, don't you? I could hear an upgrade sales pitch coming, so I tried to save him the effort. "It's a few years old," I agreed, "and I've thought about getting another upgrade sometime. But right now, I'm unemployed and don't really have money to spend on upgrading a software that for the most part works very well for me as-is."

Now, their whole registration process is built around getting us to buy other versions. They input my installation code and then they claim it "takes a few minutes to get the registration number" for me to input into my computer. In those "few minutes" the agent asks what I use the program for, and if I've tried any of their other software. I told him I had what I needed in the program I had.

He then began to tell me about the newest version that was released a few weeks ago and how it costs $130 dollars, but he had an upgrade offer for me of $59.95. I again reiterated that I'm unemployed, but I even told him that maybe once my job started up and I was in a better financial place I would reconsider. He told me "this offer is only good for you today!" (Total lie, anytime you call or check their "sale" website, you get that sort of deal.) When I said that a one-time-offer didn't it make me suddenly have $60 bucks I don't have, he left me on hold for a minute and when he came back told me, "I just talked with my supervisor and received permission to discount the sale price even further down to $49.95!"

At this point I was beginning to feel bad for the "suckers" who actually pay full price when the company obviously makes plenty of profit selling their product for WAY less. I was also getting frustrated with his lack of understanding though, and in a desperate attempt to see how low they would go I told him, "I appreciate the offer of that $10 discount, but I really don't have $50 dollars to spend on software right now any more than I have $60 dollars...the most I could spring right now is TEN dollars." At this point, I figured the sales guy was desperate enough for his comission that he just might be able to get it down to $10 bucks. Afterall, that's what I'll pay for it next spring! Unfortunately, he did not take the bait. In fact, after that, my registration number "arrived" VERY quickly and he ended the call very abruptly.

I wish this technique worked at the gas station. I pull up, the attendant comes to my window and asks, "What can I get for you today?" I eye the gas prices and say, "I was going to fill up, but you know, I don't think I can afford to spend this much money on gas right now." He replies, "Well, that's fine! Because today I'll offer you a discounted gas price of just $1.95 per gallon." (Take it, imaginary Kristi, take the deal!) "I'm really sorry," I counter, "but I just don't have $25 dollars now to fill up my tank." (Remember those days when gas cost almost $2 bucks and we thought it was outrageous? When I first started driving, I filled up the Tercel for $10 bucks or so. I actually remember filling up for 97-cents a gallon.) The gas station attendant walks inside the small building, rushes back out grinning and tells me proudly, "My supervisor said I could offer you $1.61 per gallon!" I reply, "I'm sorry, I just don't have more than 32-cents a gallon to pay!" Of course in real life, I would have taken the $1.95 and laughed at the suckers paying $4.25.

P.e.a.r.ls of Wisdom?

Guess what I have been craaaaving?!
It all started six weeks ago when I was in Missouri. I remember my cousin cutting up a pear for us to eat with our lunch. It was very yummy, but I forgot about it, because, well...it was a pear. Who remembers a pear?

This weekend however, I was at a friend's house and she put out a plate of freshly cut pears for the group to snack on. Oh my. Have pears always been this good? Tender and juicy and sweet...mmm. I remember liking them well enough when I was a kid, but these were amazing! So amazing that this week when I went shopping, they were the first thing I was looking for to put in my cart. Now the pears I bought are a little firm, so they are now sitting on my counter in a paper bag ripening. This morning when I ventured to find something for breakfast I eagerly opened the bag hoping for an overnight ripening miracle. But alas! My pears were still firm, so I had to settle for a banana.

You know how sometimes you can become so infatuated with something that if you can't experience it one way, you'll find another way? (Like how when I was little I couldn't be on Punky Brewster, but at least I could mimic her amazing sock-layers!) Well, I decided that since I still couldn't eat the pears, I would photograph them in all their delicious beauty. (I know, I know, I really need to get a life.)
Nom I'm starting to feel stupid about blogging about pears. And ashamed at wasting the time you spent reading this. Maybe I can salvage your time yet. I'm pretty good at slanting things, so I could probably come up with some analogy or lesson to be learned. Give me a second... How about this?:

Eat a pear! It's the chocolate of fruits.

Or maybe....

Enjoy the simple things in life. Like pears.

Hmm...maybe something deeper:

Sometimes in life I want what I want and I want it right now. Thankfully, God (in his wisdom) doesn't operate on my timing. This morning I wanted a pear for breakfast. You see, I could have eaten a pear this morning--but it wouldn't have tasted nearly as good as it will if I wait a bit longer. Sometimes when I want things for my life--a job, a car, a relationship, a position in ministry--I think that I need them right now, and I get impatient when God doesn't acquiesce. But if God is a good God (which he is), then I can be certain that in withholding something from me (whether for a time or permanently), he is doing what is best for me and that when I wait for his timing I will be satisfied.

There. See, pears DO relate to real life. Kinda. At least, what I said is true even if I it has nothing whatsoever to do with pears.

There's Nothing Worse Than...

...waking up with a spider bite on your face! Okay, I know that isn't true, but still it is one of my least favorite ways to wake up, for the obvious reasons. It means A SPIDER HAS CRAWLED ACROSS MY FACE--and who knows where else! And I can't help but wonder, where did it go after it feasted on my face?

Was it one of the seven spiders a year that experts say I swallow in my sleep (the only statistic that ever made me want to sleep with my mouth taped shut)? Or perhaps it crawled to the back of my head and is currently nesting in my hair? (You straight-haired people probably don't have to worry about this quite as much; you'd be able to tell if there were a spider in your hair!) Don't worry, I reassure myself, maybe it is not inside you or on you anymore. Maybe it just crawled down into your bed and is currently hiding between your sheets. I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Even if the monster managed to crawl back to it's home in the wall, what is to keep it from coming back out and crawling all over me again tonight? I'm reminded of the time my friend Jessica and I went to the beach cabin and someone had left the bathroom window open for over a month and there were hundreds of spiders all over the house. We hunted down as many as we could and then we pulled our bed out from the wall and sprayed a perimeter of Raid on the floor around the bed to try to make ourselves feel safer. But what will keep it from lowering itself onto me from the ceiling? Oh the horrors!

Plus, there's still the actual bite. On my FACE.

I can't disguise it. It's a big white bump surrounded by a giant red circle. It would take miracle makeup to camouflage this puppy! If it were on my arm I'd consider lancing it and trying to squeeze out the poison, but I've decided to let this one die of natural causes. (Of course, my paranoid mind is imagining my sad fate should it turn out to be a brown recluse spider bite and my flesh rots and they have to remove half my face. That would be sad. Although if movies and musicals have taught us anything, it is that half-faced people actually fare pretty well. They generally end up either ridiculously talented musicians, or at least rich misers with giant mansions. Well if my goal in life were to be ridiculously wealthy or astoundingly musical...maybe that wouldn't be so bad. But if I want to talk to people about Jesus, then it would be helpful not to frighten people away with my face.

I was going to write a short paragraph about the spider bite. How did this get so long? I'm stopping now. It's just a stupid spider bite. You'd never guess I once spent the night in a jungle hut that was infested with red ants. Well, I'd write more, but the spider bite is swelling so huge that there's no more room for my tongue in my cheek! ;-) I'm stopping now for real.

But Officer, I Only Had One Piece!

Sorry it's been a while, but life gets so busy! Last Thursday was our last regular Thursday youth group--and it went VERY WELL! I'm glad that I got to preach my last message to an attentive and receptive group of kids. :-) It made me feel good. This week was my last Sunday at Cascade, and I was thankful for the opportunity to publicly thank the congregation for all their support over the last 25 years. It was sad, but not quite as sad as I had feared it would be. I guess things are already changing so much that it makes it easier to leave. Yesterday we had our final small groups. That was kind of sad, but both of them went well. Tomorrow night is our youth group's Finale Banquet. I've got a lot to do to finish preparing for it, but I'm looking forward to the evening. :-)

As if all these "lasts" aren't enough, Friday night will be my last night in my apartment. On Saturday the 22nd I will be moving in temporarily with my dear friends the Smarts, who have been gracious enough to clear out and fix up a room for me. Since I'm going to be moving so soon, I've been trying not to buy any groceries and instead eat up my canned goods so I don't have to move them! Well, I had some friends over last Saturday for home-made pizza and I had some extra pizza dough that I left in the fridge for future use. Today I decided to make a pizza that I could eat for my meals until I move. The dough smelled odd today--as if the yeast had fermented. In fact, it smelled very much like a nice red wine--great for drinking, not so great for pizza crust flavor. I quickly whipped out my trusty laptop and allowed my old pal, Google, to assure me that sometimes dough smells like that, but that the fermenting scent/flavor bakes out. Hooray! So, I rolled out the dough, smothered it with sauce and topped it with turkey kielbasa and TONS of olives and cheese (trying to get rid of what I had left).

Fourteen minutes later, I pulled it out of the oven, and cut myself a slice. That's when I discovered that Google had betrayed me. In fact, the pizza did still smell AND taste fermented. I forced myself to finish the whole piece (because of course, there are children starving around the world who would probably be happy to eat fermented pizza). But by the end of that piece I was looking for ways to rationalize throwing it out. I was, afterall, going to the store later on--what if the pizza crust impaired my driving abilities? In the end I comprimised: I peeled all the abundant cheese and toppings off of the pizza and saved "slices" of toppings in the fridge for tomorrow (or else I'd only have canned corn and frozen spinach to eat), but I tossed that nasty crust! Unfortunately, after eating one "topping" slice, I'm not sure if I'll be able to stomach it tomorrow. It's odd how a bit of bread under the cheese and meat make it more digestable, but without the crust the other stuff seems really bad for the stomach. Anyhow, I need to go work on some stuff for our finale banquet, but I just wanted to relay my fermented pizza experience and leave you with a photo of my "topping" pizza.

I Am Woman, Hear Me...Google!

My family is mechanically illiterate. Yeah, we know how to change our oil and our tires and maybe replace a battery or an air filter. But that is about as much as we do. So having never tackled my headlight or the windshield wipers before, I was tempted to rely on someone else. It would be easy enough to let Jiffy Lube fix everything up, but you know how much they charge for simple repairs. I was sure if I mentioned it to one of several of my friends, they would volunteer to help. But for some reason, I wanted to do this one myself.

The old windshield wipers came off easy enough, it's torn blade flapping in the wind, but I was seriously confused by the diagram on the packaging of the new one. After quite some time trying to figure out what the teeny diagram was referring too, I finally just tossed the instructions and eyeballed the parts and the screws they had given to me. I pulled something back, pushed something through, shoved something on (and then realized that I needed to redo the past two steps and push the something through in the other direction), and then, voila! It looked right! All I had to do swas screw it back on and for the first time in almost a year I had a complete driver's side wiper! Here's the not-so-complex-looking part that took me a while to figure out. :-)

It only took me a few minutes to replicate the process on the passenger's side, and suddenly I had two beautiful, windshield wipers which actually WIPE the windshield when I turn them on! Aren't they shiny and pretty?

The headlight was more challenging. I popped the hood and found how to pull the light out of the casing quickly enough. But then I couldn't figure out how to unplug it from the wiring! The most frustrating thing was that I wasn't sure if this was a brain-issue or a brawn-issue. When I thought I just needed to pull harder, I broke some pieces of plastic off of an attached part, so that made me afraid to pull. I ended up running inside to google the parts to see if I could learn anything more. Google confirmed my prior suspicions that I was doing what I needed to do, I just needed to pull harder. I tugged and pulled, and yanked at that part, but I wasn't budging. I was starting to get frustrated. I hated the idea of admitting defeat and taking my car to a friend's house to ask them to pull since I wasn't strong enough. I'm a single woman! I have to be able to handle these things on my own! This is not that difficult! Finally I muttered a plea for help, "Lord, please. Help me get this thing off!" I thought that I had been pulling as hard as I could before, but now I really was. (I'm sure my neighbors were laughing at me doubled over the headlight of my car, foot on the bumper and grunting as I pulled with all my might!). And then, with a beatiful POP, the old lamp came out! "Thank you, Lord!" And to my delight, after plugging the new one in, the light worked!

Here's a picture of the offending piece! The green arrows point to broken pieces of plastic that fell below.

I can't wait to drive at night while it's raining! I'll be able to see! :-) The final result is below, which I captured for you despite the odd looks from my neighbors as I finally stopped fighting my car and then began to photograph it! Isn't she a beaut, though?

It Made Me Smile When...

A boy was trying to steal a girl's spot on the couch and in the process he hurt her finger. She made an overly big deal about it, which made him really mad. I talked to him about letting go of his anger, but he seemed unable to do so and seethed in the corner for at least an hour. After a while, I glanced across the room to see the girl he "hurt" and him apologizing to one another and giving each other a big hug!

Sunday morning I was emotionally and physically drained from dealing with students who had been telling lies and trying to steal another student's property. The mood of the entire group that morning was somber as half the group was waiting to see who would face consequences for the night before. Three girls (who are never behavior problems) came up to me and gave me a card that said they hoped I would cheer up and feel better soon, because I seemed sad. They had also drawn me pictures. At the bottom of the card they each printed their name and signed in cursive above the printing--all official-like.

In the car, on the way home there were two girls who seriously asked me "are we there yet?" and "how much longer will it be?" every 10-15 minutes! (It was just like the family vacation movies). One of them didn't seem to get the concept of cities and towns.
--She asked, "Are we still in Tillamook?"
--"No," I replied, "We left Tillamook about 15 minutes ago."
--"Yes! So we're in Portland, now?"
--"Uhhh...no."
--"Well then where are we?!"
--"We're in the mountains...on Highway 6...between Tillamook and Portland."
--"Oh."
Then about 15 minutes later...
--"Kristi, now are we in Portland?"
--"Nope, we're still in the mountains."
--"Are you sure we're not in Tillamook?"
--"Yep, I'm sure."
Just a couple minutes later...
--"That sign said Tillamook on it!" she shrieked accusingly.
--"It said Tillamook State Forest," I explained, "we're still in the forest, but not the city."
--"Oh, good," she sounded relieved, "so we're in Portland now?"
At this point I decided it was time to explain something to this carload of kids.
--"Everyone look up here," I called, interrupting a serious argument between two girls over whose dad or stepdad was the horriblest father. "Have you guys ever seen one of these weird things? It's like a big piece of paper." I drew an imaginary rectangle on the windshield of the van. "There are little dots and circles on the paper with names of cities and towns, and inbetween them are lines that represent the roads that connect the cities and towns."
--"They're called maps, Kristi," called a seventh-grader patronizlingly.
--"Oh yes, thanks. I always forget things...anyway these maps. If we had one right now, it would show Tillamook over here," I said as I pointed to a spot on the windshield near the passenger side, "and it would have a bigger circle over here that said 'Portland,'" I pointed to the driver's side. "Now there are roads connecting the two cities and we would be right about here, inbetween the two." I pointed to the center of the windshield emphatically. "We're still in the mountains--in the mountains in-between the cities of Tillamook and Portland."
Everything seemed fine until Highway 6 dumped out onto Highway 26, then...
--"Kristi, now are we in Portland?"
--"No, we're still about 30 minutes away."
Several minutes later the same girl read a sign on the road announcing that we would soon be reaching the Hillsboro exits.
--She turned excitedly to the student next to her and exclaimed, "Hillsboro! Yesss!!! We're in Portland!"

Toward the end of our car ride, one of the students needed to use the restroom very badly. To keep her mind off of her desperation, she decided to teach the rest of the van how to count in Spanish. The other students listened respectfully to her as she rattled off her spanish numbers: "once-uno, once-dos, once-tres....doce-uno, doce-dos, doce-tres...", etc. But my favorite came after the "treces" when she said, "Sometimes I forget forty--oh yeah, it's quartito! Quartito-uno, quartito-dos, quartito-tres..." I thought about correcting her, but it was keeping her mind off going to the bathroom--and besides I wanted to see what she would call fifty!

Sunday night, one of the girls I had sent home without ice cream called me after 10:00 PM. "I was in bed, but I couldn't sleep," she explained, "and I decided it was because I needed to apologize to you for being bad this weekend." I thanked her and told her I had forgiven her and then we had a great talk during which she admitted to me, "I'm sad that even though I was telling the truth you couldn't believe me because I have told so many other lies."

In one of the small groups last Tuesday one of the students had just shared something semi-personal, when she suddenly asked, "Can I make a rule for this small group we're having?" I told her to go ahead, assuming that she was going to request that we not share her story outside of the group. Instead she said, "Let's say that we cannot chew chips while other people are talking--sometimes chewing is really loud!"

In that same group we were talking about kindness. "What sorts of people are hard to show kindness to?" I asked. One student's hand shot up into the air, "I know: cheerleaders!"

I was looking around the room and I happened to notice one girl burp, and then puff out her cheeks, holding the burp in her mouth. She looked like a chipmunk with nuts bulging in her cheeks and I watched (unbeknownst to her) as she held her burp-air in her mouth for about 20 seconds before slowly blowing it out.

In the evening life group, we were sharing with one another how we rated ourselves at showing love to people the past week. I told the group I felt that I had done very well at loving people that are difficult to love, "I asked God for love for them," I told them excitedly, "and that love was just pourin' out!" One boy looked up startled, "Did you just say that love was porno?"

The Nerd in Each of Us

My hypothesis is that everyone is a nerd about something. Several years ago a group of people from our church wanted to redesign the exterior landscaping to make it look more attractive and inviting. I thought it sounded like a waste of time. Who cares about shrubberies, anyway? But the landscape work was done and to my surprise I heard several first-time guests comment on how nice it looked. That's when I understood. Some people are landscaping nerds and a well trimmed lawn surrounded by symmetrical shrubs and small boulders really shows them that people take a place seriously. Some people are interior design nerds, feeling the need to put up wall-paper and paintings in a restroom furnished with wicker chairs. Me? Well...today I'll just share one of the many diseases of nerdom from which I suffer: I'm a paper design nerd. Again about the church, I couldn't care less how the lawn and landscaping looks or how the bathroom is decorated. But the paperwork--you know, like the logos and letterhead and business cards--that's the stuff that shows me how serious people are about the structure and well-being of an organization. It's dumb, I realize. Most people feel the way about logos and websites and business cards the way that I feel about shrubberies and wall-paper. But then, I guess that's why God makes us all different. Not that ANY of those are the heart of a church, but it just is one silly example of how each of us are different and play a different part in the body of Christ.

Okay, so that was a little bit of an explanation to why it makes me feel so loved people take the time and energy to make me laugh with nerdy paper things! :-) My poor friend, Amber, sent this to me in the mail very soon after the postcard from Eric, but I didn't check my mail for over a week, so she had to wait patiently for me to find it! Anyway, I received notification of my acceptance into the BHCC (Baby Holding Crazies-Club), as well as my very official-looking, laminated membeship card complete with a fake barcode on the back.

This paper-product and graphic-design nerd is signing out saying thanks to the people who spend time and energy making life fun. I love you guys!

Baby-Holding Crazies Club - It's REAL!

(WARNING: You will enjoy this blog more if you've previously read the entry titled "Babies" posted on September 17, 2007)

I love my brother! There are a lot of reasons why he's awesome, but ONE of those reasons is that he's utterly hilarious. Let me show you one of the ways his humor enriched my life recently.

So yesterday I worked 12.5 hours and then went to the grocery store to buy some food for dinner. On arriving home, I dropped by my mailbox and pulled out the two things inside. One was a junk mailing, the other looked like this (well except the addresses weren't blurred out):

My first thought was, "No way! I can't believe this!" Then I flipped the card over and saw the back.

Now I was standing alone in the dark outside my apartment's mailboxes just after 10 PM and I was cracking up laughing. "What in the world?! Who would take the time and energy to pull such an elaborate prank?!" I went inside my apartment and put my groceries away before I took the time to sit down and read it. Once I looked at it again, I noticed three things:

(1) Whoever it was from knew my middle name (but that's no secret).

(2) Whoever it was from knew one of my childhood friends, because the return address was her old house. (I changed the addresses, but wanted you to see the card in all its unblurred glory!)

(3) Whoever it was from was pretty good at whipping up a logo and had some desktop publishing experience.

Then I flipped it over and read the back in detail, which gave me a couple more clues.

What are the clues from the text of the card?

(1) The BHCC was founded by "your mom." (My favorite jokes to tell when I'm tired.)

(2) The testimonial quote is none other than Nancy Hicks Gribble (a character on King of the Hill which Eric and I used to watch when we lived together.)

All of this evidence led me to believe that my brother, who has computer and design experience, who grew up friends with the younger brother of my childhood friend, who listens constantly to my "your mom" jokes and who freakishly quotes King of the Hill, loves me enough to dedicate 4 or 5 hours of his time to create a card to make me laugh! Isn't he great? :-)

Laugh With Me

All right, so with the recent state of affairs this blog has seemed semi-melancholy. Not today. Today was very joyful and encouraging as we had our first small groups of the year with the 6th-8th graders. To get to know one another we shared our "faith stories" and three of the girls shared that they had not known Jesus until this past year when they started attending our youth program. What an affirmation of God using the humble attempts of a struggling group of believers to reach out and communicate his truth and love to lost and hurting kids!

Then one girl told me a story that I had to laugh at, and I thought I would share it with you. This is how she told it to me....

"Kristi, you remember that time you were talking at youth group about prayer and you said 'Wouldn't it be cool if we had a 1-800 number to talk to God?'" [I don't remember, but it sounds like something I would say.] "And then you told us that we didn't even need to pick up a phone, but we could just talk to God anytime and he would be listening. Well, a few days ago I was thinking about that and I really wanted to talk to God, and then I started thinking, 'What if I really could call God and talk to him. So I picked up the phone and dialed 1-800-TALK2GOD..."

[At this I pointed out to her that there were 8 digits in that number and she said, "Well, it rang!" leading me to assume that the first 7 digits were actually dialed and the last one was just a superfluous number pressed right before the ring.]

"Anyway, the phone rang and it didn't even go to an answering machine or anything. Just this lady answered the phone and said 'Something-something-something-something Law Offices,' or something like that. And I was kind of confused and I said 'Jeesuus?' and she was quiet for a second and then she said, 'Ummm...I'm sorry, Josephine doesn't work here anymore.' So then I felt dumb and I was really embarrased so I just said, 'Okay, thank you,' and hung up really quick."

By now the other girls and I were cracking up and I said to her, "You missed the whole point of what I was saying. I was saying that we don't need a phone to talk to God--we can talk to him whenever and wherever!"

"I know," she admitted, "but for some reason when I was thinking about it I just got all excited and then I really, really felt in my heart that it was going to work."

The moral of the story? Just because it feels like it should work doesn't mean it will, whatever your "it" may be, I'd recommend making sure "it" is grounded in truth. :-)