A little confused

It's been almost a year since I've started the Master's in Christian Studies Program.  As I look back I'm left feeling a little lost.  My first communications class, I had a talk prepared that I decided to tear up at the last minute and share about a season of great anger towards God and His great patience towards me.  I used the word "pissed" several times which apparently is offensive and gave a half flipping-off gesture to fully demonstrate how angry I was at God. A half flipping-off gesture is when you only lift the lower part of your finger, not committing to the full extension.  I literally saw mouths drop. I didn't commit to the fully extended "flip".  God is working in my life and I think He was proud that I showed the self control!  My talk was on how, life beating the crap out of you, can look one way when you're walking with God or look another when you are not.  The season I shared that involved the half gesture was when I was not walking with God.  I wanted to really drive the point home and I think I accomplished that.

My last class was on preaching and teaching.  I was terrified.  I fumbled, was way too demonstrative, and lost track of what I was saying but I never pulled a half gesture or used an expletive.  Yipee!  I think my classmates were disappointed though.  They clapped as I went to my seat and told me that they all had bets on whether or not I would cus; several shared that they lost.  I publicly rebuked them for their sin of gambling.

As I shared earlier, I'm feeling a little lost because I feel so completely inadequate to do anything for God.  I know the right answer to that statement but I'm still thinking that I'm just going to screw things up and piss God off.  I know that everyone messes up but I know how badly I can mess up and don't want to hurt anyone in the process. I don't want to dishonor God so my temptations is to do...nothing.  That can't be right though.

I don't know what God wants for me. I'm not really concerned about that.  I just want to submit to areas in my life that I am willingly rebelling against.  Some of these areas, no one can even see but they are there. I have seen a glimpse of what my rebellious heart is capable off and it's terrifying.  My rebellious heart is capable of damaging all my relationships.  I've rebelled against God so much and because I love Him so much, I don't want my choices to make Him look bad. Does that make sense? I know God's glory is bigger than me.  I'm just feeling a little confused.  Thoughts? Please!

Angela's Wonder Pets

I grew up in a very old house.  It was built in the early 1900's and my parents worked insanely hard to make it livable.  One huge and disgusting obstacle they faced was baby roaches that had been alive since the early 1800's.  No matter how brilliantly my parents planned their annihilation, they were never completely successful.  Because Angela, my sister, loved all creatures (and still does), I feared she thought they were her pets because she named them.  I don't have birth certificates to prove this but it's totally something she would do.

Angela had a lot of hamsters in her life.  She named all her hamsters Gus Gus from the mouse in Cinderella.  She loved buying toys for her hamsters.  Their favorite toy ("their" favorite toy was both Angela and the hamsters) was a plastic ball that the hamsters rolled around in and Angela chased after, singing and laughing hysterically. I'd be talking on the phone and see the hamster ball roll by followed by Angela skipping behind it.  What was really fun was when all three siblings were skipping, hopping, and singing manically behind the hamster ball.  They were like the von Trapp children without all the Nazis trying to kill them.

Along with hamsters and baby roaches, our house hosted turtles, fish, gerbils, birds, and dozens of cats and dogs.  They would all pack their little creature luggage however (all but the hamsters) because they refused to live with the baby roaches that had survived the recent air raid .  We would try to reason with the creatures, "They came with the house! We're trying to kill them!! They won't die!!!! "

I didn't blame the creatures for wanting to leave. I recall an evening in high school when I was having a Bible study and a baby roach showed up. No doubt, baby roach desperately wanted to hear the Gospel.  He made his courageous journey by way of the brownies I had made for the group.  When I saw his little head pop up, I gave a knowing smile (silly baby roach), placed him in a napkin, gave him a good talking-to, and feed him to the turtle.

Angela also had dozens of birds.  She named all the birds Petey (at my nudging). Three things need to be said about this. Firstly, Dumb and Dumber had just come out and I thought the line, "Our pets heads are falling off!!" was freaking hilarious. The headless bird was named Petey but don't tell Angela!!  Secondly, Angela named each creature group the same name over and over again.  The girl does not like change. Thirdly, we watched too many movies.

All her Peteys were allowed to fly freely around the house.  She usually had at least two birds at a time, both named Petey.  The Peteys loved to run back and forth on the windowsill and my younger siblings called them "Petey races".  Angela, Ryan, and Haley would watch them do this for hours.  I would walk past them with my classic teenage eye rolls reminding them how stupid all this was and how NO ONE GIVES TWO BIRDS THE SAME NAME!

I recall a tragic weekend when our grandparents came down to visit.  Because our house was constantly full of animals, my grandmother let in a stray cat thinking it was ours.  Because Peteys were allowed to fly freely, our living room soon became "a lovely room of death".  It was chaos. Everyone was chasing the stray cat while trying to save the Peteys. Angela was upstairs at the time and came running down only to find feathers hanging out of the cats mouth.  She was very sad for many minutes until she adopted the stray cat and named him Petey.  Seriously, the girl doesn't like change.

Another pet adventure was Angela's sandbox picnics.  These picnics were for her and her turtles only.  She would always lose the turtles in the sand until one bit her.  To this day, I have never seen anyone so happy while their fingers were bleeding. The picnics involved plates, cups, and blood.  Not to be confused with cups of blood.  That was a really dark statement...back to the tea party!  My role in the tea party was to bandage her bitten and bleeding fingers, bring more water to her finger biting friends, and make fun her the entire time.  Yes, I was mean, but I wasn't going to let her bleed to death or let the turtles dehydrate in the Texas sun! I'm not a monster!

I think back on those days and wonder what the frick we were doing living with baby roaches, biting turtles, free flying birds, and hamsters rolling around creation? Seriously, that's insane!  I discovered recently that we lived this way because we were actually living in a mental institution doing alternative pet therapy ran by my father. This explains a lot about my family.  Life was weird but it was fun!

Welcome to my world.

Speaking of stupid things...

There's a shop beside the Starbucks here in Murfreesboro that calls itself World Finance.  The first time I saw this I just looked at Evan and said, "they need to calm down." I think there's a Verizon or Sally's right next door. And... it's a shop.  You don't finance the WORLD in a shop.

I desperately want to pull a Will Ferrel from the movie, Elf, and run in yelling "Congratulations everyone!  Wow...financing the WORLD! Way to go!"

Speaking of stupid things,  Evan and I ate at Waffle House the other day and noticed all the quality photographs that read America's Best Chicken and Worlds Best T-Bone.

I hated getting this information late. Firstly, I would have reconsidered that waffle they made such a fuss over! Secondly, I would have loved to, yet again, play out the Ferrel scene.  "You did it! America's Best Chicken! Congratulations! Great job everybody!"

Call me crazy (you shouldn't call me that, I'll cut you. I'm totally kidding...),
but wouldn't it make sense for them to have the World's Best Waffle? No, Michelle Obama would get all jacked up on the super fruits she grows in her garden and fly down using her amazing bicep super powers to destroy the World Waffle Batter shop next to the World Finance shop here in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.

For the record, Waffle House is a super rad diner in my book of super rad diners. Also, I'm concerned that stupid people are running the World Finance joint. Stick with an America Finance or better yet, a Sanger, America Finance if there is one.  I'm right here to help with all your fiscally responsible needs.  I need to go pawn my dog now to pay the light bill.

The Lasik Experience

There are a few perks to being legally blind, 1) Christmas lights look cooler, 2) the right pair of glasses look super sexy 3) people think you're smarter even if you're a total dumb-dumb. When lasik was invented, the idea was both terrifying and wonderful; like Shark Week.  For people who had dealt with contacts and glasses for any length of time, lasik was a miracle from God.  When I was 24, my mom said she would pay for me to get lasik.  I was thrilled but there was a problem, the procedure was more expensive because my eyes were so bad.  I could only lasik one eye but which one would I choose?  I imagined my eye-mouth saying, "Jesus healed both eyes jerk!"

I chose the right eye.

Before the procedure, they gave each patient very strong pain medication and put us in a small room together wearing white robes and tube socks. As we waited our turn, I noticed that people kept staring at me.  Being drugged, I just assumed they all thought I was an Indian Princess because that's what I told them.  Someone finally spoke up and asked why I had a patch over my left eye with the word "NO" written in red marker.  After reminding them that I was an Indian Princess, I explained that we couldn't afford to get both eyes done.  This brought an on-slot of drug induced concern over my left eye. I let them go on.  I could tell it made my left eye feel better because it stopped twitching for the first time in weeks.

After they let me out of the little room (man I get tired of saying that), I was placed in a chair to begin the procedure.  Although I was drugged, I was conscience.  I was already freaked out because they put a medieval torture devise around my eye that stretched it open like in the movie Minority Report. Perfect time to give some reassurance and comfort but instead, the doctors started talking about their golf game. I then heard someone open a canned beverage.  I began preparing for eminent death. Death by freaking laser beams.  After one doctor started laughing about a "goof" he made on the course, I burst into tears and started screaming at them.  What I said in my head was, "Stop talking about your golf game, I'm totally freaked out".  Considering the state I was in both mentally and physically, what actually occurred probably looked and sounded more like a scene from The Goonies with Chunk in it.

The next thing I knew I was slumped over in a chair, completely alone with a patch covering my right eye waiting for my ride.  This exact scenario may have occurred in the book, The Stranger.

On the car ride home, I laid my head against the window with my eyes closed and waved at the people who drove by. I had a plastic cover that protected my patch and when my sister turned a corner it would hit the window causing me to wake up.  My sister continuously tried to wipe my face because I was covered in drool and gently persuaded me to stop waving because we were now home and I was confusing the dog.

All in all it wasn't a great experience but I can still see perfectly out of my right eye.  A twig-like something grows out of it occasionally but only when I'm around peat moss.  That was ten years ago.  Certainly technology has advanced and no one has to experience medieval eye torture and healing salves consisting of frogs and dirt.  I didn't use frogs & dirt for salves but I still hope you never experience that.

My reasons for picking the right eye are as followed:

1.When running from packs of wild dogs I always looked over my right shoulder.
2. My right eye being dominant made me feel like people would fear me more & I liked that.
3. My left eye droops and if it worsened from the procedure, people might think I was a product of Salvador Dali.
4. My left foot is fatter than my right which is so mean.
5. I assumed I'd marry a Republican and knew he'd be proud that I chose the right.

Are you there Coffee Pot? It’s me, Ashley

 My coffee pot and I do not have a symbiotic relationship. I need my coffee pot more than it needs me and I think it knows this.  It sits next to the toaster and now the toaster’s acting huffy. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think they talk at night.

Coffee Pot: “So how are we going to jack with their heads tomorrow?”

Toaster: “I’m gonna burn the left piece of toast.

Coffee pot: “Just the left? I like it.”

The coffee pot is certainly the mastermind.

I’ve had this coffee pot for a year. One year. It’s a Black & Decker which made me feel as if I had a serious coffee pot because it’s cousins are lawn mowers and weed eaters; heavy duty machinery.  My coffee pot did not get enough fish oil in mitosis because there’s nothing heavy duty about this pot (i just said pot. that’s funny). The clock and automatic timer just stopped working one day.  I think a mule got a hold of it one cold afternoon and dropkicked it into a well. My husband just smiled and walked away when I shared this completely rational explanation. 

Each morning, I drag my sloth of a self into the kitchen with one eye closed because I can’t see out of my left eye.  I had lasik done years ago but only on my right eye. It was a gift from my mom but she could only afford to have the one eye shot with a laser beam.  This is all true by the way. She assured me that I would one day afford to get the other eye lasered. That day has yet to come.

I only wear one contact in my left eye but seeing takes second chair to getting my coffee in the morning. I approach the coffee pot looking like Cyclops.  Perhaps it’s frightened of me?  No, I don’t think so because when it’s finished percolating, it always lets out this monstrous growl as if to say, “OK, one eye, your coffee is ready! Can I go back to sleep now?”

 Not only does the clock not work but also the button doesn’t work that starts the coffee making.  I have to stick a knife in where the button was to start the coffee. The first time my husband saw me doing this he half yelled, “are you sticking a metal knife into the coffee pot??” I cocked my head his direction with my Cyclopes eye and he quietly left the kitchen crying.  Yes, I have to stick a knife into my coffee pot every morning to get coffee. 

Wait! I’m having an “aha moment”!

Poor coffee pot, I owe you an apology! 

Dear Coffee Pot,

Please forgive me for frightening you each morning with my one eye and for stabbing you with knives.  I can now see, through my good eye, why you growl at me like some primordial beast each morning.

BFF,

Ash

p.s I will toss you to the curb the first chance I get. Nothing personal, go live your dream.

"There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven"

Dear Friends,

It has been a while!  I haven't written a post since June and here it is almost Christmas. Since my last post, I have been blessed to start a Master's Program in Christian Studies!
I LOVE IT!!!
Many of you had a hand in getting me here and I thank you. What a blessing it has been for me.  I have been reminded of younger days when I would soak in God's Word.This program has been a great blessing for many reasons. One reason is because once again struggle has hit my family since last summer.  God was and is at work doing great things for our good and for His glory however.  God is infamous for bringing His Light into the darkness.

When I think of the cross, my heart grieves deeply.  I cannot watch any scene in a movie where my forever loving Savior is being tortured and killed.  I simply cannot bear it.  Could I bear watching this happen to my husband? There's no way.  However, God brought joy to this world out of that horrific event in history.

This is what God does when struggle and pain shows up in our lives when we rest in His presence.  It is unwise for me to share what has occurred in the last six months.  I will share that the Lord provided a great need that was nearly taken away from my family. He has also been at work in the heart of one of His children in a most challenging environment.  The last struggle is still being worked out in God's good and perfect timing.

If any of you have read some of my earlier posts, you'll remember that I shared a season of incredible struggle back in 2007.  In that season, I raged at God.  The stories others shared about trials and how close they felt to the Lord were nonsense to me.  I had never felt further.

The difference in this season of trial revolves around one huge difference: my closeness to Jesus.  In 2007 my heart was not close to Him and yet He still delivered us.  In this season, I understand others when they share how close they feel to the Lord when trials hit.  Once again, from my experience, bitterness or peacefulness of spirit revolve around one's nearness to Christ.

This holiday season, wherever you are in your journey with Christ, remember that He is doing the same work in all of us.  He is drawing us nearer to Himself.  We never "arrive" on this earth; we will always deal with seasons of struggle while on this earth.  God is always at work however.  His love is forever faithful.  We can trust Him.  I pray that you do.

Much love, ash

A Psalm of David
     "I will give You thanks with all my heart; I will sing praises to You before the gods. I will bow                               down towards Your holy temple and give thanks for Your name for Your lovingkindness and Your truth.."
-Psalms 138:1 & 2

Charlie Brown Christmas

Happy Father's Day!

In 1992, when I started high school, no one had a cell phone, but they did have car phones the size of Montana. Since the days of Nirvana and Sir Mix A-Lot, a lot has changed. I read an interesting article in USA Today about the changes in the US over the last 20 years. One change is men are living longer! There were lots of other great facts, but I really like this one. The 85+ population of men increased from 1.2% in 1990 to 1.8% in 2010.  Be encouraged! News on not dying is a good thing!

I am blessed to have a loving and supportive husband, dad, step-dad, and father-in-law.  I like the idea of keeping them around a few more years.  Men can be great and still make unwise decisions.  My dad is a wonderful man but he can worry me.  I have to remind him that “tinkerin'" with the foundation of his house is a bad idea.  I don’t care how much the house is “tiltin’”.

Me: I love you.  I don’t want the house to crush the life out of you.

Dad: I take my cell phone.

Me: I feel much better…what?

I love my dad.

Most would agree that having a great dad is important.  My husband, son, and I are all blessed to have great dads.  I hope we all know men who put time, energy, and effort into loving and caring for their families.  Great dads don’t always get the attention and recognition they deserve.  To the men who are working hard to be great dads and husbands: thank you.

   

I believe that great dads make society better.  It’s hard to be great at anything when you’re not being encouraged though.  Encouragement is a great motivator.  I love the quote by Morgan Freeman in the movie Glory when he tells the troops to, “Ante up and kick in like men. LIKE MEN!” To the dads who are kicking in like men, thank you!  To the dads that are not: ante up, yo.

Men are living longer now.  I think that’s great.  Having said that, I think women should get some credit for this addendum to life.  Without women, men would crawl under their house with a car jack and rely on their cell phone to protect them from being crushed by a house.  Twenty years ago they would have been S.O.L

Happy Father's Day!!!