Mean people

Why do people have to be mean? Why do they have to be arrogant?

A customer today had one of the worst cases of "the world revolves around ME" that I have ever, ever seen. Example: Our store is in "Seattle". We live in "Seattle", but actually it's Bothell. We deliver to "Seattle" or Mountlake Terrace, Edmonds, Shoreline, Lake City, Ballard, Woodinville, Redmond, Kirkland - you get the idea. When I asked her to which city is the refrigerator going she replied with a HUGE Valley Girl DUH in her voice... "To SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, you know... the city where we ARE right now????" Whatever!!! I so wanted to stand up and put my hands around her throat and shake her back and forth like a rag doll. I did that, in my mind. It made me smile a little. But only a little.

This woman was so condescending to me that it was almost a joke. She even instructed me to clean the appliance before touching up the ding in the paint because it would not be good to paint dirt. Really????? Oh I'm so not worthy to be in your presence. Argh.

Kirby nailed it. He said she was probably insecure. Insecure people tend to belittle other people to make themselves appear to be better. Secure people accept other ideas and people and suggestions, and don't feel the need to step on everyone else. I believe he got that right.

In her defense, she had purchased the exact same fridge at Home Depot, and somehow they lost the paperwork and not only neglected to deliver it, but sold it to someone else! That's gotta make ya mad. But it wasn't MY fault! Goodness. I know she partially took it out on me. She arrived with a little dog on a little harness, and that should have been warning sign #1. She wore super expensive clothing and shoes and that should have been warning sign #2. But I don't think money itself is guilty of making people into insufferable wretches. I think if I had a million dollars I'd be the same scatter brained feed you ignore me kinda guy. Don't you? I hope to prove this soon. ;-)


Speaking of feeding you, I marinaded chicken all day while we were at the store. Right now it is the most amazing shade and is glistening on the grill beside a pan of water. Fresh corn on the cob is ready. I dished up Trader Joe's apple sauce and made baked potatoes. We're in for a real treat here in a few minutes. The witchy woman will fade into yesterday's news, which is one of the purposes of blogging... you get it all out of your system. I'm not convinced anyone really READS this drabble, but anyway...

Don't be a mean people. Don't step on others to make yourself appear taller. It really doesn't work in the end. You appear very small when you lash out at everyone around you. Plus your funeral doesn't score a high attendance.

You are a doll for reading this. Really.

Emery is my friend

Oh, I'm sure they add every fan that requests it, but still. Of course I'm talking about MySpace. Something about that band. I love listening to them, and they are my best house cleaning inspiration if I'm not listening to Blindside. In the past 3-4 years I have been introduced to a lot of new bands. My musical taste has expanded considerably. I still love reggae, and Celtic music, and Louis Armstrong. I'm glad that Justin, Greg and Laura have shared their musical experiences with me all along, so I'm educated and well exposed to all sorts of new sounds. I don't like them all. I CAN'T listen to 'Me Without You'. It irritates me. With or without you! Ha ha.

I guess I've been opinionated musically since I was about 4. That's when I was taught harmony by my sisters. I always sang, and even led the music in Childrens Church at Northeast Assembly of God in Fresno when I was about 9. Maybe 10? The first time I sang seriously I was 16 and asked to sing with a group of 3 teens from Full Gospel Tabernacle. I think we had a name... Goodness, I can't remember. We even got to sing on the radio and on TV. OH YEAH we were 'Branch'. We got together and prayed in the basement of our church, and practiced down there. All we had was a piano.

I was raised surrounded by mostly worship music. In our household it was expected that you would do music in church. Paul played the trombone and I TRIED to play the clarinet in the little church band, but it was a sad attempt! We sang in youth choirs, small groups, large choirs, whatever came along. My sisters always sang together and with other girls. My aunt used to solo often at church and I remember her borrowing the pastor's glasses because she forgot hers.

When we moved to Rodeo, California, I started a kids group called 'M-Ajn', pronounced imagine and standing for "making a joyful noise". They were taught 3-part harmony and it was absolutely magical when it came together. The youngest was 4. We sang constantly. We would sit around the little old coffee table at our house in Rodeo, and it didn't matter that we were SO poor and things were rough; those kids sang their hearts out. Several of the kids in that little group went on to lead worship at church, and I believe all are still involved in music.

Recently I found old tapes I had sent my mom and dad when the kids were little. Carol had packed them away for me as the home was boxed up and sold. It made me cry to hear a 3-year-old Greg singing so sincerely "I'm happy today, I'm happy today, in Jesus Christ so I'm happy today, because He took all my sins away at the cross and that's why I'm happy today." But he said Ine, rather than I'm.

Something about music that makes an impact in our lives...

Meeting Johanna Chase this past week really got me thinking about how many issues are expressed and often resolved with music.

In musical groups you find the deepest bonds, and the deepest hurts. Music is different than any other expression a human being has. I think it may be one of God's most precious gifts, and that He loves and enjoys music too.

One of my very favorite expressions, and you hear it fairly often in Christian songs, is "sing over me". When I used to put the kids to bed, I would rub and pat their backs and sing over them. I would sing softly, songs of safety and God's care. Singing over them. So that picture of God singing over us, angels singing over us, "Host of Heaven, sing over me" as the Newsboys put it, is so comforting and encouraging. We are a friend of God. That is way more impressive than Emery being my friend on MySpace.

I wonder if Justin remembers hearing me sing "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. There's just something about that name. Master, Savior, Jesus. Like the fragrance after the rain." Many nights it took about 3,567 repeats before he'd fall asleep.

I'll say yes

For no particular reason, out of the blue, came the words to an old, old song we used to sing at Valley Bible Church. 'I'll Say Yes, Lord, Yes'. Maybe it's because it was Sunday evening, and at Valley, Sunday evenings were "blue book" time, and old choruses were sung with gusto out of that old, blue little folder filled with typewritten lyrics. "I'll say 'yes, Lord, yes', to Your will and to Your way..."

Easy, mostly, to say "Yes" to salvation. Oh, certainly, I would rather spend eternity in heaven than hell. No brainer, right? As long as you see your NEED for salvation, that is. But after that, saying "yes" to His will and way, not so much. I'd rather say yes to my own way, thank you very much, but it would be nice if I could please get all the things I ask for on my knees.

Going to Canyon Hills has been probably the best thing that could have happened to me. There is absolutely NO compromise. Little things are not okay. I'm even feeling like canceling cable TV, as I said, and certainly I'm being very selective even thinking about movie watching. Not that I watch movies these days. Between the gorgeous outdoors and getting back to reading, there is little time. But that pursuit of holiness is very contagious. It's just a call back to where we used to be.

I'll say yes. Not reluctantly. Not feeling like I'm giving something up.

It's a lot like saying yes to colon cleansing. I know I lost you on that one, but really. Seriously. There is crud in there that just needs to be cleansed out so the body can operate properly. Toxins inside cause a slow death. Toxins in your soul are worse. Canyon Hills has proven to be a soul cleanse.

I met a rather intense young lady last night. Johanna Chase did a small concert at Canyon Hills. We didn't go to the Saturday nite service or go to the pizza thing, we came just for her concert. She blew me away, both of us, really. Her talent on the guitar was almost unbelievable. I kept looking for that second or third guitarist but no, it was just her. Check her out on myspace music. Or go to my MySpace www.myspace.com/momshap and click on her photo. Johanna has been smacked between the eyes by certain truths and she sings passionately about this with no regard for the world's opinion. I want to get to know her better, and maybe feed her dinner. At the very least, she needs to sit and have tea and cookies with Mom Shap.

God's way, no matter what your argument, is always the best way. You get the idea that perhaps the One who created us might have a clue as to what helps us live better lives. HUGE revelation there.

And for those of you who do read this and wonder about the confrontation resolution I have been seeking; there was one resolution of sorts. Not from the one who responded by lying, but from the silent one. The injured party did not approach me, but sent an agent (spouse) to do the resolution. There was not, in a direct way, a real RESOLUTION, but there was something of understanding in the end. The conversation, although sometimes intense, was easy and friendly. I, for once, stood my ground without getting hostile, and stayed on topic. I defended my position humbly, but firmly, and I thank God for wisdom and patience. Because I went into the confrontation with the goal in mind of HELPING and not hurting, I had no regrets or remorse. Still, I do wish the wronged one had come forward.

One day perhaps we will talk in person about this. But until then, at least my motives were conveyed and the tenderness I intended was received. Again; God is to be thanked.

I am having WAY too much fun with MySpace. Laura created a page for me, and I went to a pimping page and snazzed it right up. Felt pretty good about myself for that one. It really pleases me that almost all my "friends" are under 25. I did find one classmate from McLane Highschool from the 70's. She remembered me. How could she not???? I was one of the loudest kids in the school. Go figure!

Take care.

Race is a fact, but doesn't have to be a factor

I got two phone calls from them before they came into the store. Both asked the same questions, and were given the same answers. Yes, I have cheap refrigerators. Yes, stoves too. I detected a bit of an accent with the first caller, and the second sounded like she might be a black woman.

About two hours later, in walked the group. Two younger women and one older, looking tired and apprehensive. The older woman was such a perfectly typical little black grandma, and I figured the other two to be her granddaughter and a friend, because I wasn't sure of the race of the second young woman. Her skin was a beautiful brown shade, but light, and the other young woman was a strikingly beautiful young black woman.

The older woman pulled me to her, and confided that she was from L'eesiana, just visiting, and hadn't seen her daughter in nigh onto four years. She was weary, bone tired, and not wealthy, but she needed a good refrigerator and stove for her daughter. You see, her granddaughter was graduating the next day, and they had no working refrigerator or stove, and her daughter had no money.

I set them up, and promised delivery that day as soon as possible. She nearly hugged me. She praised me up and down and thought I was the most wonderful person she had ever met. She tried hard to find something else to buy, but I reminded her that nothing we sell would fit on the plane...

Delivery time. I went along just to see these people again. I discovered the second young woman was this older woman's youngest daughter. When I walked into the house, the woman informed her older daughter that I was "family" and became family the moment she first met me. She punctuated this by taking my hand and kissing it, twice. She said to the other family members "Did you see that? Did you see what I did? This is the first white woman that I have ever kissed on the back of the hand." She was impressed with herself, and it made me wonder.

Is SHE used to not being accepted by white people, or is she not used to LIKING white people? Living in Louisiana, I would imagine she is not necessarily immersed in a variety of skin colors. And while there are some cultural differences, it hadn't occurred to me that she would treat me in some other way than anyone would in the situation. That's when I thought up that phrase - "race IS a fact, but it doesn't have to be a factor". It's a fact that she is black and I am white. But it's a fact that I would have taken her home in an instant, and race wasn't a factor.

We talked about a lot of things there at the house. The daughter seemed apologetic about the worn condition of her wood floors. I told her that my kitchen looks much the same, and to me it was a blessing because then I didn't have to worry that any of my many children would mark up the floor. The older woman patted her on the leg and said "Didn't I tell you she was something special?"


It turned out that the first caller was a rather healthy looking man from Africa. He proved to be a very able helper for David in loading the old appliances up and moving them out, and bringing in the new.

It humbled me deeply to see how grateful these people were for the "new" appliances we brought.

I got "mama's" address and phone number; she INSISTED I take both her home and cell numbers. I plan to send her a little Starbucks mug and a card. She made my day.

Conflict resolution

Resolving conflict is a lot harder when
1)The other involved party simply lies to you
2)The other involved party does not answer you

Not having been born yesterday, I am pretty much aware of it when someone tells me a whopper! My natural side wants to laugh out loud and say "OH COME ON!!!!" and then just walk away. My spiritual side is trying to figure out what to do with the lies. Or if there is any point in resolving this conflict. If you just "let it go" it's a relationship gone, not a relationship in conflict.

The other, the un-answering party, is not so much a "conflict" as it is a needful confrontation and what almost feels like intervention. I don't hold all the answers to life's decisions, but there are some decisions that are so outrageous that they call for intervention. This is especially true when the decision made will affect not only the make-ers, but the make-ee and all the surrounding support people. So what do you do when you bite the bullet and send the information and silence falls? It's as if there never was a request for opinion, and then a very definite opinion given. It all vanished. Sooner or later there will be evidence that this thing will still be attempted, against all good advice, or it will be abandoned, having considered and then acting on the advice. Either way, it would be nice to have the communication acknowledged. That's probably one reason Pastor Steve advised against conflict resolution via email. I knew he was right, but as usual it's so much the "easier" way to go...

But the first conflict resolution was attempted via phone call. It's that one that was answered with a lie. What is sometimes comical about one who is in the midst of telling the lie while they are composing it, is how the first part of the communication of this lie is stilted and a bit stuttered, and then the story forms in the mind of the teller and gains momentum. You can almost see them visualizing the components of the lie, and the telling becomes easier as the fiction takes on a picture. I'm not sure why people do this, because that's a lot of detail to remember later if the subject should come up again.

In this case, I am hurt to have been lied to. Actually, this one was a three-part lie, and I don't really think I deserve to be lied to. But as I told my sister, lately God has impressed on me that the only thing sinful humanity DESERVES is death, and God in His great mercy has granted us not only life, but life abundant. When we whine and cry that we "deserve better than this", on what are we basing that statement? I deserve to die. But Christ died for me, and I've accepted His death as payment for my sin. Now I get to trust God with the details of my life. But the only evidence that I have accepted that payment and have determined to live as a new creation, is my daily life choices. My works don't save me, but the things I do most certainly display either a new creation or a sinful fallen human being. The two conditions don't live in the same body in peace and harmony.

Now I must fold up my soap box and become useful.

On my list of things to do today are some fun things and some not so fun things.
Fun: Making home made bread
Fun: Mailing birthday present to Sarah, LATE
Fun: Going to Woodinville to get some exceptionally cheap shelves
Fun: Mopping and dusting and vacuuming with Emery playing loudly
Fun: Watering and feeding birds and squirrels
Fun: Making a wonderful dinner for my valuable employees

Not fun: Cleaning toilets
Not fun: Shopping for all the food
Not fun: Re-making the guest beds


Not fun will also be this continued mental conversation about conflict resolution. Do you drop it, and let the person just drift on? Or do you "push" it, and say that you are well aware that you are being lied to? I am tending to want to take the easy way out, especially since 4/5ths of my family is urging that. As I said before; Pastor Steve believes you are giving up on a person (self-called "believer") if you see an obvious violation of God's laws in their daily lives and you fail to confront, with the goal of restoration. But if the initial conversation is answered with a quickly-constructed but rapidly embellished lie, how can that indicate a tender heart which would respond to godly correction?

Hmm.

A Tail of Two Rodents

On Wednesday afternoon David was home and saw what he described as a RAT run through the family room and dart under the couch. I was sure he was kidding, since it's impossible for me to imagine having rodents, especially with our two cats who love to hunt and kill.

When I got home that evening, our little kitty StrongBad was intently staring at the bottom of the range. I figured little rat was hiding under there, so we pulled the oven drawer completely out and BabyBad stayed right there, under the range. She stayed there into the night, even when Greg and Michael arrived at midnight. Greg was preparing to fly out of SeaTac Thursday morning for his camp counsellor duties in Colorado. Michael brought him, and also brought a large basket of dirty laundry. I stayed up until 2am washing and drying his clothes, as mentioned in my last blog. Sometime between the hours of midnight and two, I heard a scuffle and some pitiful squeeks coming from the rat. I thought the little hunter had done her job. Later, I looked for a body or body parts but found none.

In the morning, or rather later that same morning, I decided the boys could have toaster waffles to make things easy. I heard the tell-tale sound of a little creature under the stove again. I figured I'd crank up the heat in the oven and maybe flush the sucker out. I turned it up to 350 and Greg had his toaster waffle and all was well. He woke Michael up, and Michael sleepily came to the kitchen for his small breakfast too. As Michael and David were standing in front of the stove and toaster, the heat trick worked and the MOUSE, although it was a large mouse, scurried up behind the stove and onto the counter, but they didn't notice...
Michael's waffle was in the toaster and suddenly, from the toaster, intense squeeks came. LOUDLY. I could hear them from the living room. The toaster waffle popped up, and then so did the mouse, and he tried to make his way back to the hiding place under the stove. Michael tried to corner him, and David grabbed StrongBad and let her see the little prey. StrongBad was not too interested, and when David tossed her aside, Steffy the dog came up and gave her a verbal lashing. The mouse got past Michael's hands, and Michael securely grabbed the little guy by the tail. The mouse was determined to get away, so it pitched itself behind the top of the stove, clawing its way down. Michael was left holding just a tail. Much laughter from the kitchen. Michael sat down to eat his toaster waffles, and prayed that God would protect him from the "toasted mouse germs".

I drove Greg to the airport, and felt like I'd hit a wall by the time I got home. I tried to take a nap, but I just couldn't. So I turned my attention to the rat-mouse. I got a metal stake and went at the area under the fridge and the stove, banging away like a mad woman. The dog and StrongBad were both watching me, at a little distance. Sure enough, the mouse limped out as if to say "I give up". He had construction sawdust sticking to the stump left from the tail incident. He just sat there. I called StrongBad. She could care less. The mouse limped over to the dining room and sat under the table. StrongBad watched. She took her paw and patted at the mouse, but it didn't even make an effort to walk away. I considered getting a broom to smash the thing with, but I just couldn't do it. Instead, I gave the little mouse a ride out to the grass on a piece of junk mail. I set the mouse down, and now both cats and the dog were watching it with interest. The cats let that mouse just hobble over to the rock area and sit in plain view on the dirt. I started watering, and even sprayed in the direction of the mouse, but it didn't budge. Finally Steffy, the mild-mannered K9 who wouldn't hurt a flea, walked over to where the mouse was, took it into her mouth, and just crunched the life out of it in one crunch. She dropped it back onto the dirt and walked away. If only dogs could talk. I am just sure she was thinking "My goodness. I have to do everything for these lazy cats!" The mouse looked like it had been run over by a truck.

But it had survived an encounter with StrongBad, a full toasting, and being hunted by the wild metal stake in the hands of Mom. This was a strong, although not too bright, mouse. And now it was also flat.

So after that long day finally ended, I was in the kitchen and I heard the most awful sound coming from the back yard. My first thought was that it was another mouse being killed by someone, but this was LOUD LOUD. I looked at the bird feeder, and a brown squirrel was helping himself to the larger seed. The whole time he was eating, he was YELLING. When he would chew, the yells would be choppy, like "Nyang nyang nyang". I thought I was losing it... He got louder and louder, all the while fishing the best nuts from the feeder (I put squirrel food in the upper feeder so they can still feel sneaky, but I do it for them). Then I saw the cat. So that was what all the fuss was. The squirrel didn't want to leave any doubt that he was not to be interrupted.

I love living here.

But I definitely do not want any more rodent wars in my kitchen.

Now, one unsolved dilema, is what to do with the toaster. Laura brought that up last night. How DO you clean a toaster that has toasted a mouse?????

So much, so much

So many things to tell.

It's almost 1 in the morning, and I am waiting for Greg's dark load to be done so I can start the whites. He leaves for Colorado in the morning, and I have to drive him to the airport at 7am. This will be difficult, since I will not be going to bed until probably half an hour from now. No matter; I am doing the MOM duty and I am happy to. Only moms can understand this. Michael and Greg are safely tucked in in the guest room. Michael in the twin bed, and Greg on the double futon. They each have night lights and there is a clock. Sweet Michael with the look of constant surprise. Two very godly boys who put most peoples' faith to shame.

Greg didn't do half of what he was supposed to do in preparation for this trip. I had hoped that he would arrive here at around 7pm, but, no... and so much is left undone. His camp counsellor application is in his backpack. Not done. He reports tomorrow to the camp. Oh Greg. Michael is in awe that I am staying up to do the laundry AND driving him to the airport. I tell him it's a mom thing, and truth be told - I am happy to do this. It's my little Greggy.

So many times, as David and I walk up to the doors at Canyon Hills Community Church, I am reminded of the first time I went there. It was several years ago. I think Laura and Julie were 15. Maybe they were 14, but I think they were 15. I'm pretty sure it was four years ago. On that fateful night, I arrived at Canyon Hills to take Julie and Laura to a concert and youth lock down with food, play equipment, and a wonderful Christian rock band. I helped serve pizza and pop to the several hundred kids. I said I hoped to attend that church one day.... and oddly enough, David and I are going through membership classes there now.

But that first night...

I actually have to force myself not to think about it or I get a sick feeling in my stomach and I actually feel the guilt and condemnation pour over me again. Greg says I am silly, and it is and was NOT that big of a deal. Yes, yes it was.

Greg had a "new" car. It wasn't expensive, and it wasn't pretty. But he loved it and he was so proud of it. He parked it in the garage on Fuller street. Well, SOMEONE came home that evening and decided that was where he should have parked. So he "taught" Greg a lesson by re-wiring the car.

You know, the pain of that just doesn't get to be any less, no matter how much time goes by...

Greg was so sad. He was so confused and hurt. It was "his" garage, and yet this friend of his to whom he had offered his entire world, assaulted him, basically, for daring to park in it. He didn't know what to do, or why the car wouldn't start, or why this happened to him. They both called me that night. I stood in the parking lot of Canyon Hills Community Church and I didn't know what to do.

The friend was a guest. I took him in as a son. Greg brought him to me, knowing I would "mom" him. He didn't know and couldn't predict what that would take away from him.

This assault was to be one of several, and yet I stood by and not only watched, but brushed off and forgave. And Greg did nothing to earn this treatment. Not from him, and certainly not from me. The last assault came verbally, or in writing I guess, in an email. It was the most vile, insulting, God-dismissing and threatening thing I have ever seen from a "friend". Still, I forgave, and begged the offender to come back. Greg, too, forgave. And when I try to apologize to Greg for my neglect, my failure to be Mom to him, he says it was no big deal, it's okay, etc. And if I think on these things too long I am reduced to tears.

Packages that came addressed to Greg, he was SO excited to get, were held up with a taunting sneer, and he was told "I PAID FOR THIS. IT'S MINE. I'M GOING TO OPEN IT NOW". Gentle Greg, had no idea how to fight this bullying treatment. And yet, the supposed "money" used to purchase those things "for" Greg came from MY credit card. And I sat by and allowed this. The yelling at Greg for taking "his" parking spot. Throwing a fit and telling ME that I treated Greg preferentially because he is my son. And I explained all of this away. I was a fool. I was fooled.

So I see my Greg, tired and yet excited to be going to Colorado, and he's got a basket full of laundry. What will I do with this? I will wash it, of course. As he sleeps. I can never make up for what I've allowed to happen to Greg. But that's not the only reason I am happy to do the little task of laundry.

I also see a great man of God developing. I see a chance to invest in his life, and through my investment, see hundreds of returns in lives affected, and many saved.

Dad would have stayed up with me, and would right now be praying that God would bless Greg's efforts and words as he works with these tender children at summer camp in Colorado.

Oh God, take the tender heart of your servant Greg, and use him to his absolute fullest capacity. Forgive me for allowing him to ever be hurt. Heal my heart as you've healed his.

In God's record keeping system, I do not know how all of this is logged.

I do not know much about many things.

I know that the house smells like the new candle, and it is good.

I know that the cat is on a relentless vigil for the rodent that wandered in today, and it is good.

I know that two boys find safe shelter here and that is good.

I know that the whites will be bright and the darks will be clean and sweet-smelling, and that is good.

I know that I will be one TIRED mama tomorrow... or later today... and that's not so good, but the reason behind it is good.