It’s Rude to Treat God Like Santa

Here’s why,

I don’t know about you but it’s pretty easy for me to make a list in my mind of things that I would like and “send it up” to God. This is generally the nature of my prayers, since I’m a ‘list person’. Even if you’re not a ‘list person’ though, I bet you sometimes do the same:

Dear God,

1) Please do this

2) Please change that

3) Please cause Janine, my least favourite co-worker, to choke on her banana this morning

4) I want more money

5) I want more happiness

6) I want more candy

7) A Ferrari would be nice

8) A McLaren F1 is my second choice

9) Please make Janine go mute

10) I will settle for a new Mazda 3

11) Please God, for the love of yourself, don’t let these maniac drivers on the road ram me into a tree. They all drive like idiots. Maybe it’s the snow… Okay it’s probably not the snow, they look like idiots too. Everyone is an idiot. God, why did you make a whole heaping world of idiots?

Lists, right? Admit it. You do it too.

But here’s the thing, as handy-dandy as lists are to write for ourselves to remember things, they seem to sometimes get in the way of our relationship with God.

Feel free to try and disagree with me. But I think I’m right.

God seems to constantly be asking for a relationship. If he wanted us to whip up a list and submit it to him, we might as well call him Santa Clause and treat every day like Coca Cola’s version of Christmas. Because that’s basically what we’re doing. But all throughout the Bible God had conversations with his faithful ones, relationships that were so strong that certain human beings actually changed the course of the world by having a conversation with God that made God change his mind about things. That seems crazy, but it also seems so obvious; why wouldn’t God value our opinion enough to be swayed by it? He is asking for a relationship. Moses was constantly conversing with God, asking him to give the Israelites another chance even though they became rude ungrateful whiner babies on more than one occasion. God made the animals but then let Adam name them. And God’s relationship with many others throughout the Bible was the same as these. God wants to know how you feel, what you think and he wants to ‘talk it out’. He doesn’t want your Christmas list. Save that for the fat fraud in red. What he really wants is to know the real you, not what you want, and for you to know the real him. He wants us to listen and wait for him to respond. But maybe we’re too busy reciting our list, trying to make sure we tell him everything we want in the ten seconds we reserve for prayer. But the joke is on us. God already knows everything we want. In fact, he knows all the desires of our hearts.

Do we know the desires of his?

I’m SO guilty of getting caught up in my list. What will I tell God in the end if I see him in person for the first time and he says, “I told you the desire of my heart. I told you because I knew you could fulfil it.” And then I say, “Well you see…I really wanted this car…and then there was all of this drama at work…and then the dog crapped on the floor…and I really just needed to get it all sorted out.”

He also doesn’t want us to simply surrender all of our hopes, dreams and passions though either. He gave us those things for a reason. If he didn’t want us to have free will, to have passions, opinions, or gifts, he would have built himself robots – not humans. But he made us human for the sake of relationship. He says, “I know your dreams. Bring them to me and let’s discuss them”. He wants to give you the desires of your heart. He doesn’t want you to toss them out the window and then turn to him and say, “God, what am I supposed to do? I need direction! What am I supposed to do with my life?” I like to imagine him sitting in a lazy boy with a cup of coffee and pondering this. Then finally he leans forward, smirking a little, and says, “What do you want to do?”

All I’m saying is that I think God cares more about what we think than we realize. He will sit with you for hours and ‘hash it out’ until you can both come up with a solution to the problem, if that’s what you really want. But he wants to sort it out with you. It’s okay to let him help, because no offense but he’s better at this life stuff than you are. He has a gazillion more years of experience. And if we’re willing to build on that relationship, we will start to understand his heart. And that’s where the fun begins. Because you never know, he just might say, “Go to Jamaica and preach the gospel. Then go to Mexico and build homes for the homeless so that the people can see that I love them, and after that, go to South Africa and minister to orphans and teach about me in the schools. You, precious one, are going to live a life of adventure.”

Can you feel it? He’s speaking to you.

Kropf out.

The Worst Kind of Turkey

Here’s what actually happened:

I was sitting with my husband’s family for our thanksgiving lunch. The children were running around wildly and mothers and fathers were chasing them apologetically while trying to carry on normal conversations at the same time with the other people in the room. It was hilarious. I can’t wait to have little stinkers of my own to put me in these awkward but irreplaceable situations. For a moment I glanced out the window where a heavy cloud started to creep over us, blocking out the sunlight and making a dark shadow crawl across the lawn. The noise died down, draining from my awareness as the landscape outside became my immediate surroundings.

I went on an adventure then.

They were coming like ants. The green grass changed colour as it was being covered by gobbling animals, which made it look like a long beige-brown moving blanket. With eyes. Hundreds and hundreds of dreadful eyes.

It was a fiery swarm of bone crushing wild turkeys with a vendetta.

A storm came. Thunder cracked over the house, shaking everyone from their previously comfortable state. But my eyes were still glued to the hoard that in seconds would consume us. The others didn’t see them. Only I did. And I had to warn everyone. I turned around, prepared to shout for someone to grab the children so we could escape from this near destined feeding fest, but the words got caught in my throat. They never made it out.

My eyes had shot across the house to the opposite window past which a replica hoard of wild turkeys was coming at us from the other direction. They were surrounding the house, trapping us inside. And I realized; not only were these turkeys hungry, they were smart.

Smart turkeys are the worst kind.

I didn’t speak, I just jumped to my feet and moved towards the front door. People looked at me oddly, confused by the intensity of my eyes, until I reached the door and flicked the lock. When I turned around everyone was staring at me. I wasn’t sure how else to explain it, so I said the only thing that came to mind,

“We’ve got company.”

Several heads turned to look around to see what I meant. But it was one of the children who saw them first.

“Look mom! Turkey!”

The innocent observation made all eyes in the room shoot towards the darkening yard. And panic broke out.

People yelled, hid, and grabbed their kids. I watched as my mind spun with my options. These people didn’t know what they were in for. They’d never encountered a hoard of dangerous wild turkeys before.

I had.

I headed for the stairs, darting up them in the midst of the chaos below, and went into one of the bedrooms that had a window that was cracked open. I pushed the window open the rest of the way and climbed onto the sill. The shrill calls of the turkeys met my ears and my gaze treacherously shot down to where they were swarming around the brick base of the house. I instantly squeezed my eyes shut to block them out. I couldn’t let myself get distracted. I felt for the top of the window sill and turned my body around to climb onto the roof. Only when I was facing upwards did I open my eyes again, and I saw that the storm was getting worse. Thick beads of rain came down in pellets, beating on my face and soaking the roof. In less than three seconds everything had become dangerously slippery. I reached over and pulled myself up with all my strength, grunting as I did, and then climbed to my feet once I was on top. I did a slow turn to survey the scene below and to calculate my chances of making it out alive.

They weren’t great.

I started to move to the far end where I knew I might have a decent chance at jumping over to the separate garage. I paused and considered the possibility that I might not make it. It was far, further than I’d anticipated. But I had to try.

I looked up at the clouds one last time, knowing that the precipitation was going to make it considerably more difficult to complete this task. My clothes were already drenched and droplets were falling from my hair every time I moved. I took a few steps back and took in a deep breath.

I can do this. I can. I…well if I can’t at least I won’t ever have to muster up the guts to talk on the phone anymore. I won’t have to use grocery carts. I won’t have to use vending machines. I won’t have to use elevators. I won’t have to engage in small talk. And I won’t have to put gas in the car or do any other terrifying things that make me want to become a hermit. There are a lot of things I’m not that thankful for.

But then again…there are a lot of things that I am thankful for.

Crap. I guess I better make it.

My eyes narrowed in on the long-jump. I was never good at long-jump. In elementary school I was a runner, not a jumper. Being a short scrawny tangle of limbs, jumping was basically my nemesis. But on this day, thanksgiving of 2013, I was going to have to find it within myself to be a long-jump champion. I started taking long strides across the roof, heart pounding and eyes wide, and I sprang.

There was a brief moment where I was suspended in the air. I glanced down at the swarming hoard of devils below me as they clapped their beaks together. This moment brought me back to the last time I’d faced these creatures. That encounter had left me in a hospital bed, covered in peck marks and barely alive. But that couldn’t happen this time. My eyes shot forward. I saw the edge of the garage roof coming at me faster than I was ready for. And my feet didn’t make it.

I stretched out my arms and gritted my teeth. I couldn’t fall into these creatures. They couldn’t scathe me; not again. Milliseconds that felt like hours went by as I came down, and at the last possible second, after I’d already deemed myself done for, I felt my fingers catch the edge of the roof. I came to a jolting stop, clinging for dear life. I made it.

After a moment of mentally healing myself from the horrific trauma I’d nearly experienced, I pulled myself over the edge in one desperate motion. I was running out of time and the threat of a personal meltdown was lingering over me. When I looked around I realized that rain had started to form into small puddles on the flat roof. I did my best to avoid them, splashing through the few that I couldn’t avoid, and when I came to the opposite end of the garage, I peered over the edge to find the window. Another tricky jump.

Oh perfect.

I turned around and grabbed the side of the roof to lower myself down, hoping that I didn’t mess this up and become the turkeys’ thanksgiving dinner.


Almost right away I felt my boots hit the bottom of the sill. I slid in through the window and landed on the flat cement garage floor. I started moving, even though my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, until I reached the wall of supplies. I blinked wildly, trying to focus on my options. There was a baseball bat. That could be useful, but it likely wouldn’t give me the kind of power I needed. Beside that there was a rake. And beside that…a blow torch.

The blow torch. Definitely the blow torch.

I grabbed it and headed across the garage, flicking the lever to power it up as I moved. It was time to end this war and get revenge on these menacing birds before they pecked their way through the walls of the house where my extended family was still inside. I kicked the garage door open and came out, blow torch raised, and I fired. Thank goodness the rain didn’t snuff out the fire. They went up in flames, all of them. Turkeys everywhere were getting cooked to perfection. I rounded the house to bring them down and only when the last one had dropped did I finally cease fire.

After all the delicious smelling carnage, one by one my family members started to come outside. I tossed the blow torch into the shrubs though. They couldn’t know what I’d done. It might expose other secrets that I needed to hide. But I bit back a subtle smile to myself at the unexpected downfall of the wild turkeys. Somehow, against all odds, I’d done it again.

After that we had the biggest thanksgiving dinner in the history of mankind. Revenge is sweet tasting. Or maybe it just tastes like a lot of gravy.

Happy thanksgiving.

Silence of the Pigs

This will be a different kind of blog post today. I want to give a glimpse into the uncharted territory of a place that is constantly moving through wisps of colour and untamed adventures in lost worlds. This place haunts me at times, but amazes me at others. And though I can be looking straight at someone; an acquaintance, a teacher, a consultant, this place is often travelling in a different direction than what it’s supposed to, making it exceedingly difficult for me to focus. On more than one occasion this area has been my downfall. It’s been my struggle – the one that others don’t know about or can’t possibly understand because it’s hidden behind my naturally deceiving green-umber eyes. This place is my advantageous yet treacherous ever wandering mind. It’s strange, in a way, to put the thoughts that spear in a hundred different directions every second into words, because usually they move too fast for me to catch a hold of them. But heck, why not give it a shot? I’ll grab my butterfly net.

I was sitting outside. The sun was warm, almost a little too warm, making me sweat in places I don’t want to talk about. But I barely noticed it. Because as I was sitting in my rickety rusted lawn chair and staring at my boring yet frustratingly addictive phone, I was rudely thrown into a mental state of panic when I heard the sharp rising squeals and screams that erupted from across the fields. My eyes shot up. Around me, miles of various crops stared back at me blankly as they drifted in the gentle wind. But my heart started to thud a little faster. Because regardless of the calmness in the fields that wrapped around my backyard for miles, usually screams only mean one thing; danger.

There was an eerie dancing in the breeze. Something was wrong.

I stood, eyes grazing over the fields one last time, and then headed for the shed. I don’t keep a lot of things in my shed, just what’s been tossed in there over the years; tools, gardening gloves, a shovel, a tarnished bike with only one wheel, a first aid kit, a hatchet, a few dead mice, extra gasoline and…my grandfather’s black bow.

My arrows were mostly destroyed, with notches chipped out of them and whatever glossy finish that once covered them being mostly disintegrated. But I still remembered how to shoot, though I hadn’t done it in a very long time.

I took what I needed, considering the history for only a moment before I slung the sheath of arrows over my arm, and then squished a spider that fell off beneath the toe of my boot.

Spiders. They don’t scare me.

I headed for the fields. At first, I considered that my best option would be to move into the corn so that I would be shielded on all sides. But my instincts told me it would be faster to go on a direct path through the wheat. So I went, gripping my bow so tightly at my side that I could feel a splinter edging it’s way into my pinky.

The screams began to rise again unexpectedly, sending chills through my bones and making me almost falter my next step. I swore, not using one of the worst words I could think of, but still one that might not have been appropriate to say out loud at my mother’s house. But I didn’t have a lot of options on this route. They would see me coming. I knew they would.

I broke into a run, hoping for the sake of the screamers that I wasn’t going to get there too late. My body drove forwards into a string of long strides that made the series of buildings before me draw closer, giving me better vision of what was to come. But there was trouble. I suddenly ducked left when I saw movement, and nearly plowed into a silo. I winced at the impact of my shoulder colliding with the blue metal wall before I was able to correct my calculation.

Okay, I swore again. This time it was the worst word I could think of. Bad Jen.

I put my back against the silo and slid down to a sitting position to clear my head and try to refocus from the throbbing that was making its way down my arm. The screams had died down, which made me nervous. I hoped I hadn’t missed my chance to intervene.

There was a noise that made me freeze. It was like the sound of someone crunching popcorn seeds in their teeth. But as the sound became a rhythm, I realized there was someone less than twenty meters away from me that was walking on gravel. And he was drawing closer. If I was going to move, it had to be now.

I snatched my bow out of the grass and peered around the silo, searching for the company. And when I saw nothing but an empty laneway that seemed to extend at least half a mile before it even reached a road, or any kind of civilization for that matter, I bolted for the next building over. As I approached, I heard a commotion inside, something that made me stop at the door before going in. I reached up slowly and drew an arrow, as my eyes narrowed in on something past the door that I couldn’t see yet. The screams, they came from this building.

The thudding began rising in my chest again. I held my bow up, a little nervously because there was a good chance my aim was rusty, and I inched the door open with my foot. Everything inside was dark. Shadows stretched across the length of the building that were almost too dark to be defined. But I could see movement. I could hear it too. I reached to my back pocket and pulled out my phone, which in addition to having a sweet Pinterest app also contained a rare high tech lens that would allow me to see in the dark. I held up my phone and kept my eyes glued to the screen as I scanned the room with appropriate caution. And then the noises began.

It started like a low pitched growl, similar to what might appear in a child’s nightmare. And then it rose, cracking into a tone that went higher and higher until the frequency was so startling it sent shivers rippling across my flesh. I dropped my phone in alarm and spun around, trying to blink away the blurriness that was starting to form. I peered down the arrow that shook slightly under my grip and tried desperately to make out the shapes that were positioned in the darkness around me. I needed to shoot, now, or it would get me, whatever it was. I opened my mouth but my throat was dry.

“Hello?” I rasped, hoping it wasn’t too late for friendly conversation. When there was no reply I started to shrink down to retrieve my phone, which had bounced a half a meter from where I was standing. I rose slowly, flicking the night vision back on, and raised the device in front of me, and as a sudden form appeared, filling the screen, I shrieked. Fear exploded through my limbs, making me spring into action. I released my phone and heard it clatter somewhere in the darkness. My hand shot back up to my bow and I shot the arrow, hitting whatever monster was before me right between its bright threatening eyes.

I couldn’t breathe.

I was ready to run but I’d heard a slump on the ground. And no more noises were coming from the darkness. So instead, I leaned forwards with my hands on my knees and tried to catch my breath. This felt unreal. Finally, I marched forwards and grabbed my phone, unable to stand it any longer. Whatever monster this was, I needed to see it. I flicked the light on my mobile to its fullest measure of brightness and tilted it down to see what I’d hit.

A pig. It was a pig.

I grunted.

Well that was a whole lot of drama for nothing.

Yesterday I was sitting outside on my phone. Lame. I know. But I do love Pinterest. And as I was sitting there, I overheard the legitimately startling sound of our distant neighbour’s pigs squealing so loud that it really did sound like I’d woken up in a horror movie. What really happened was I took a look across the bean field, shrugged to myself, went back to pin a cool recipe and then headed inside for a pomegranate. But in those short moments of looking out towards my neighbour’s farm my mind took me through a completely different scenario, all in a matter of seconds. And I thought it would be interesting to share.

It can’t stop it. It does it on it’s own.

….and now I feel like bacon.

What the crud are you doing? Stop that.

Today is…MEDIA HECKLING DAY!! Yaaaay! This is one of my favourite days of the year! Or week. Let’s start with a fun fact:

  • The media bombards the young girls’ minds. As time passes, it has been observed that the girls who are becoming weight conscious gets younger and younger—for instance, about 80% of nine-year-olds are on diets and that the number of eating disorder cases has been rising. (1)

First of all, this is gross. Second of all…this is gross. Did I mention how gross this is?

Mothers, fathers, protect your daughters. This world has chosen to go after them to make a buck.

My reasons for media-heckling today are closely related to what I’ve been seeing – and trust me I’ve been seeing a little too much if you know what I mean. So many of us are deeply insecure and it’s driving us into a downwards spiral that seems impossible to get out of. I’m talking in particular about the way we dress. The way we act. The way we see ourselves. What happened to all the ladies? Sometimes I feel like we’re inviting the men we meet to treat us like garbage because we’re not acting like ladies, thus giving them a reason to not view us as ladies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a stuff-the-wad-of-spaghetti-all-in-my-mouth-at-once kind of girl, and when people look at me they likely don’t think of a Stepford-wife. But I feel a little bummed about how many young girls I meet that struggle with depression, anxiety, low self esteem and worst of all, suicidal thoughts. Because of the deeply rooted lies that cause these issues; “I’m alone”, “I can’t do this because I’ll screw it up and people will get mad”, “I’m not as pretty/good/talented as others”, “This world would be better off without me…” we are trying to make up on the outside for how we feel on the inside. These tragic thoughts are leaking into our subconcious. And they don’t come from God. They break His heart.

I had to experience and deal with some of these things myself at one time, I think most of us do, but the truth is that if we believe these things then we’re believing a bunch of lies. The media lies. The devil loves to manipulate you with whatever lies you’ll believe. But God created you for a greater purpose – to thrive and inherit His kingdom. One of the devil’s most cunning plans to trash God’s world is this; Go after the girls.

Females are a force to be reckoned with. We do have the power to strike down the enemy’s plans. We are emotional beings who thrive on building each other up emotionally, as long as we aren’t believing lies. If I was Satan, I’d do it that way too. Why not target the ones who have the potential to take me down? And don’t get me wrong – there are lots of men who are fighting the same battles. But I’m talking specifically about girls that have a powerful destiny of striking down the enemy’s plans. Those are the girls I’ve been watching him go after, and likely for that reason. He wants us to believe little of ourselves so that we don’t pose a threat. So if you’re struggling, it’s likely because you have the power to be a real threat.

One of my all time faves when it comes to ancient leaders is David. Yes, he’s a dude, not a lady, but his story is deeply grafted into my heart. And I think the beginning of his legendary life of battles is the coolest – because it started with him slaying a giant as a boy. Some kid, with a rock, killed a giant (who may or may not have had superpowers…that’s theologically debateable) but this kid had God. And a rickety sling shot. But it was enough, because he didn’t believe the lies. The rest of the Israelites were shaking in terror, talking themselves down, believing that this giant would kill them, even after God had promised them victory. But David was all like, “What the crud are you doing? Stop that. You’re embarrassing yourselves.” Because Israel had forgotten about God’s truth and fallen prey to the lies. So David did what he had to do, and he killed the giant. Epic.

In ancient times they faced different kinds of monsters; demons who claimed to be gods, giants, ancient beasts like Leviathan, Behemoth, evil spirits, maybe even dinosaurs…(again, some of those are theologically debatable but each one fascinates me), but what I know for sure is that because of the times we live in, we’re forced to face monsters that come with this age. One of the biggest predators doesn’t come with waves of thunderous growls, it comes quietly and conquers in the silence of our homes, through our TV’s, Ads, mags and other forms of medium. But though it’s silent, it yells.

What I find the most heart-wrenching is looking at the girls my age or younger that have taken a hit from this modern day beast. We were never meant to be like the Israelites that were shaking in terror and insecure in their own abilities while Goliath was yelling. We were meant to be like David, who was unaffected by Goliath’s words. Well Goliath is yelling. Why are we listening?

The truth is that you have the power to force Goliath to topple over with nothing more than a pebble. And that’s not because the pebble comes from a magical unicorn. It’s because the Lord God, the King of Kings, lives inside of you. You have the power to tell the liars to shut up, and to stop yourself from listening. But you need to make the choice to do it. Aren’t you tired of living under a haze? At what point do you stop being the victim and choose to be the bold one? Are you the Israelites or are you David? No, you can’t wait for your circumstances to change. Many have tried that. You’ll be waiting forever. You can’t wait for someone to come along and fix the problem for you either because as soon as they’re gone you’ll fall again. Time to wake up ladies. Time to grab your weapons and fight back against the monster. Truly, when you turn on it to strike, you’ll find that it’s a weakling.

Be set free. This is my prayer for you today. The Spirit of God is on the move. Get in on the action.

Peace out.

1. Facts About the Influence of Media on Young People. (2013). Retrieved from

Lattes with a dude that has a really cool beard, historically. We think.

People just need to know that Martha wasn’t crazy. In fact she was probably the normal-est one in the building. She was just busting her butt, preparing food for Jesus and his disciples, organizing the details and getting things ready for everyone so they could all chow down. My first impression of her was that she was the true hero of the story – the one we should all be more like. When I was younger I never understood why Jesus sided with Mary, the lazy one. At least that was how I saw it. Mary sat at Jesus’s feet instead of helping Martha who was doing everything. Truly, I never got this. If I was Martha I’d have started coughing really loudly to get Mary’s attention at this point, and then when she looked I would have mustered up my most grotesque death-stare. How come Martha had to do all the work? And again, why in the world would Jesus side with Mary? I’d be all like, “Get off your arse Mary, and start killing some chickens!”

Clearly it never sunk into my mind the importance of spending time with Jesus versus organizing things for one of His inspirations. This story always baffled me, right up until this year.

Some of you may know that at the end of August I’m putting on an event called, “The Love Encounter”. It’s been a real faith jump for me and it’s freaked me out to the point of a near-psychotic meltdown on more than one occasion. This is because I tend to invest a lot of time into details. I went to college for Advertising, so I’m really good at promoting events like this. I’m also really fancy with posters, creating promo materials, videos, web, fundraising and a variety of other things that would have been PERFECT for this event. But God said to wait.


That’s the worst. I hate waiting. It’s like how a two year old probably feels when she has to wait to eat her birthday cake after it’s been sitting out on the counter all day. Even as a child I had issues with that. My birthday, my sisters’ birthday, my brother’s birthday, my mothers, fathers, who cares. I would steal the candies off the top of the cake regardless of whose cake it was, which usually resulted in a lot of annoyed people investigating later. But nobody gets to dangle a chocolaty masterpiece in front of me for a whole day. It’s basically rude.

Well what God showed me from this simple story, and what I hope you take from it as well, is that the details; the flashy lights, the colourful costumes, the loud music, the tiny little pamphlets that someone hands you at the door…those things are a nice touch but they aren’t as important as His ministry time. I think it’s natural to fuss over the details – there’s a lot to do and a lot to get ready. And frankly I like flashy things. But God has been pressing the story of Mary and Martha into me hard, saying, “Just do as Mary did. Spend time with me. That’s all. I’ll take care of the rest.” That was basically an invitation for anxiety to take over and send me plunging off the nearest bridge. I lack self-control and have too much control all at the same time. God wanted control of this event though. And so I waited, checking my watch every few seconds mind you, but I waited. I put all the details on hold and started just hanging out in God’s presence. I’ve done basically nothing for this Love Encounter so far, because God keeps telling me to wait and simply rest at His feet. And you won’t believe what’s been happening.

First, I’ve had people come up to me and basically volunteer to do things for this event before I even had to form the sentence to ask. My team has started falling into place without me having to raise a finger. Everyone has been stepping up to the plate the moment I say the words, “The Love Encounter” and somehow all the fidgety flashy details just don’t seem that necessary, and the ones that are necessary are coming together on their own. It’s still a trust thing – I have a fear of the weekend coming and looking ridiculous and going off poorly and having that all come back on me. But God keeps his promises. And I had to realize that if I want God to move at this event, I need to do things His way. And if under twenty people show up – that’s His way. That was his plan. Those twenty people are his priority. If two hundred people show up – that’s His way. I think part of the reason that God told me not to advertise was simply because I know how to do it. I think this is him testing me. He wants to see if I’ll really let him take care of the details Himself when I know exactly how I could do everything. Well, so far He has been taking care of it. I’ve been chillin’.

My only job for this for a long time was to drink a latte and spend time with a guy who in most historical paintings has a great beard, and who loves me beyond what I can imagine. Crap, how can I say no to that? All He wants to do is show me His love. His power exceeds my understanding. The details are all coming together, without me fussing over them. Quite frankly, God doesn’t need my help to plan an event. Maybe it’s time for me to just get out of His way.

God’s been pressing into me that in order for me to speak of and demonstrate His love at The Love Encounter, I need to first experience it and see just how far and how deep it goes. God loves me. Wow. I really don’t deserve that. But He needs me to see it before I preach it.

Now I command thee again (or recommend I suppose, to be nice) to spend ten minutes with the King of Kings yourself, even if you haven’t done it in years, even if you’ve never done it in your life. Just see what happens. Sometimes God likes to blow our minds. Sometimes He’s just asking us to spend a little time with Him and it can be enough to transform our anxiety into peace and give us a better understanding. So be with the one who loves you – there’s no need for shame. God doesn’t dig that. He has no hidden agenda. He doesn’t want anything from you. He just wants you. (Thanks CS Lewis).

Later players.

Wipe your Butt with Silk

Just saw a commercial for Cashmere toilet paper. I don’t know if any of you will remember this but Cashmere actually used to be called “Cottonelle”. But I guess cotton isn’t soft enough for some people wipe their arses with.

Sometimes I wonder about the media and their constant portrayal of normalcy. *Sigh* Oh the tragedy – that some people can’t afford to buy the “good” stuff. Poor them. They wipe their butts with Value Brand.

What an interesting concept. Who was it that first presented to the world that one brand of toilet paper is needed over another? Commercials can convince us of the oddest things. Somehow we actually have it in our minds that if we buy the cheap brand, we’ll practically be scrubbing a layer of skin off our butts with sandpaper. But it’s just toilet paper. It gets flushed. It’s so like our nation to fuss over things like that, when really the whole mindset is just a fancy load of BS. No pun intended…but you have to admit I’m on a roll. Ha! Okay, enough.

Hasn’t anyone ever tried camping? Use a leaf. Pitch a tent. Make a fire. Eat some wild berries. Get diarrhea. Use a leaf again.

I’m sometimes cautious when it comes to commercials. It’s a sad sort of accomplishment for a company when they’ve convinced us that we shouldn’t be satisfied with what we currently have. And we tend to fall for it – a lot. It goes without saying these days – We need to get the better stuff because our reputation depends on it. Or our health. Or our relationship status. At least that’s what we’re told. What we have is just never good enough. What a bummer. (Ha).

Personally I have to keep myself in check. Some commercials or advertisements have been playing for so long that I’ve forgotten to question them. If you are a pray-er, then pray today that God would show you a truth. Sometimes it’s hard to separate the truth from the noise. And usually The Voice of Truth speaks a little softer than the clamour. Turn off the TV, sit in the silence and wait for God to speak. I dare you.

Peace out. Literally, I’m praying for peace to go out and find you. Don’t be surprised if it does.