Category: Uncategorized

Before we all die from the winter-storm-of-the-century, I thought we should get to know each other a little better…So let me know:

1) Your name

2) If you blog, the title of your most read post so far this year (with the link)

3) If you don’t blog, you could let us know the best post you’ve read. Or you could let us in on your favorite cereal (check out my Tuesday’s Top 10 list of all-time favorite cereals HERE)

Happy Tuesday.

(Please include the links if you can – this may mean your comment doesn’t show up right away, but I’ll get it approved as soon as I see it).

Learning too soon our limitations, we never learn our powers. ~Mignon McLaughlin

Self-doubt is a nasty old thing. Sometimes it drops me in a pitiful heap in my comfy armchair. Sometimes it just follows me around, like that monster in “Lost” that you rarely saw (at least in Season 1). Sometimes self-doubt holds me up and gives me a good, old-fashioned carpet-beating.

I’ve begun to realize something about self-doubt though – it cannot exist in a vacuum. It thrives when I’m comparing myself to others, their accomplishments or characteristics. But when I stop comparing myself, self-doubt starves for lack of nourishment.

Don’t listen to the voices shouting your limitations and comparing you to others. Keep moving forward – your powers are on the other side.

* * * * *

I’m guest posting for Brenda Boitson (aka Crazywidow) – it’s the story of my mad mini-van driving skills and how my family nearly got stranded in the snow last week. You can read it HERE.

1 – Good dialogue is unique and doesn’t just convey information but also helps develop the characters:

Don: Hey, Napoleon. What did you do last summer again?
Napoleon Dynamite : I told you! I spent it with my uncle in Alaska hunting wolverines!
Don : Did you shoot any?
Napoleon Dynamite : Yes, like 50 of ’em! They kept trying to attack my cousins, what the heck would you do in a situation like that?
Don : What kind of gun did you use?
Napoleon Dynamite : A freakin’ 12-gauge, what do you think?

2 – Your characters need to want something. And let them be brave enough (or stupid enough) to go after it.

Napoleon Dynamite: Well, nobody’s going to go out with *me*!
Pedro: Have you asked anybody yet?
Napoleon Dynamite: No, but who would? I don’t even have any good skills.
Pedro: What do you mean?
Napoleon Dynamite: You know, like nunchuku skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills… Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills.
Pedro: Aren’t you pretty good at drawing, like animals and warriors and stuff?
Napoleon Dynamite: Yes… probably the best that I know of.
Pedro: Just draw a picture of the girl you want to take out… and give it to her for like a gift or something.
Napoleon Dynamite: That’s a pretty good idea.

3 – This is a painful one – you have to let bad things happen to the characters, especially the ones you love:

Deb: It’s Deb. And I’m calling to let you know I think you’re a shallow friend.
Napoleon Dynamite: What the heck are you even talking about?
Deb: Don’t lie, Napoleon. Your Uncle Rico made it very clear how you feel about me. I don’t need herbal enhancers to feel good about myself. And if you’re so concerned about that, why don’t you try eating some yourself?

4 – If your story is falling flat, introduce someone completely unlike your main character:

Pedro: Do you think people will vote for me?
Napoleon: Heck yes! I’d vote for you.
Pedro: Like what are my skills?
Napoleon: Well, you have a sweet bike, and you’re really good at hooking up with chicks. Plus you’re, like, the only guy at school who has a mustache.
Pedro: That’s true.

5 – Finally, always end with a killer dance scene

“Hah ahm stenly,” he said, shaking my hand with what must have been a bionic appendage. His fingers were like miniature coils of steel cable.

The first time I spoke with Stanley, who was the gardener at Rocketer (which is the name of the estate on which our little cottage was located), I could hardly understand a word he said. His Welsh accent had so many meandering sounds that listening to him was like trying to write out the movements of a stream. Think Alex Ferguson from Manchester United, but with marbles in his mouth.

He was showing me where I could find cut up logs to split for firewood. He even gave me access to his axe and wedge and the shed where he dumped all the cut-but-not-split wood. I discovered that I could understand him better if I squinted and turned my head slightly to one side. He was a nice man. He probably thought I was a little touched, what with the squinting and head-turning and all.

“Chust doont cuh-ulf yrrr fult,” he said over his shoulder, laughing.

* * * * *

The whole reason I was even chopping wood was due to another half-misunderstood conversation. After we had been living in our quaint little drafty cottage for a few months the utility folks called, asking how we wanted to pay for the first quarter’s worth of electricity we used.

“How much do we owe?”

“480 pounds.”

“I’m sorry, it sounded like you said 480 pounds.”

“Ah did. Four hundred and eighty pounds.”

Ouch. We had just moved to England. We still did the conversion with every pound we spent. Four hundred eighty pounds was equal to about $750.

“Would you like to pay in installments?” the kind lady asked.

Yes please.

* * * * *

“It’s got to be those electric baseboard heaters,” Maile said. She was right.

“We’ll have to use that thing,” I said, pointing to the furnace in the wall. “And that thing,” I said, beckoning to the fireplace in the front room. So off I went to find the wood that our landlord had so graciously offered us months ago. Which is when I met Stanley. And he told me to “just don’t cut off your foot.”

* * * * *

That night we switched off the baseboard heaters and got the fire in the furnace cranking. So hot, in fact, that it heated up all the radiators in the house to scalding levels. So hot, that I had to get up in the middle of the night and open most of the windows, let in the winter before the entire cottage floated away like a hot-air balloon.

Then, when we woke in the morning, we could see our breath in clouds. We shivered our way downstairs and lit the fire again, crouching beside it, shivering.

“Wood burns too fast,” I said, my teeth chattering. “We need coal.”

* * * * *

To read other stories from our time in England, click HERE.

Today I’m guest posting over at The House Studio. They have published some great books, things like “The Kingdom Experiment” and “Economy of Love.” You can check out a full list of their products HERE. Or you can read my guest post, which asks the question, “Would I be a better Christian if I lived in the city?” That link is HERE.

Now on to today’s regularly scheduled programming.

* * * * *

I sat at the far back corner of the Panera. As I settled in for the morning, I couldn’t help but overhear three women talking at a neighboring table.

“So then I asked if they could put us in a room with a refrigerator, but the woman on the phone said that she thought that came with an extra fee!”

“What?” another lady said.

“That’s ridiculous!” spouted the third friend.

“I know! But then she asked me if I needed the refrigerator for medicinal purposes, and of course I said yes – just figured that way I’d get it for free.”

“Of course,” said the one, in a self-righteous voice.

“What else would you say?” said the third friend.

My first-born, judgmental, follow-the-rules brain automatically thought, People are so dishonest.

Then I caught myself, like someone who has taken a bite of chocolate cake at a party, only to remember that they were giving up sweets for the week.

That stupid judgment fast, I muttered to myself.

* * * * *

From morning to night, I judge people. My first impressions are laden with critical observations: in shape or out of shape, too heavy or too skinny, too loud or too reserved, ugly or attractive, nice car (obviously they must be materialistic) or junkyard piece of crap (they probably don’t work very hard). All of these thoughts sprint through my mind in an instant.

I have been awake for only three hours this morning, but already I have judged myself for waking up too late, mentally berated a gas attendant for being so judgmental toward a customer the last time I was there, judged the driver in front of me for tailing the person in front of them, judged the driver behind me for unsafe driving, judged the lady who took my order at Panera for not being very nice, and judged the lady for not wanting to pay the refrigerator fee. I also judged this guy next to me for wearing really ugly shoes.

It’s hard work, being so judgmental.

* * * * *

Francis Frangipane writes:

Perhaps the most life-changing fast is (when)… I ask them to take a month and fast from judging. It is interesting to watch their reactions. “What will we think about?”they query. I am only saying, do not let your concluding thought end judging a person; rather, let it end in a prayer for mercy.

The instinct to judge, to criticize, is a curse…and it brings death upon us as individuals.

When I say, “fast from judging,” I do not mean we should abandon discernment. No. But judging people is not discernment. Fault-finding is not a gift…When we see something wrong, instead of turning only critical, we must learn to pray for mercy for that situation.

* * * * *

Henri Nouwen raised similar questions in my mind before.

What would life look like, if I released myself from the responsibility of criticism?

What if, for one day, I gave myself the freedom not to automatically place labels on everyone I came across?

Wouldn’t that be true freedom?

* * * * *

Don’t forget to head on over to The House Studio and check out my guest post, Would I be a better Christian if I lived in the city?

That’s right, I’m going there. Today we’re talking about the top ten things from junior high. Can’t think of ten?

Join the crowd.

I’m breaking them down into three groups of three: footwear, fashion and relationships. Deep breath. Here goes: the top ten things about junior high:

FOOTWEAR – this one is easy

1 – Air Jordans – did I ever own a pair of these shoes? No. Did I ever dream of owning a pair, soaring over the heads of my 8th grade classmates, performing a reverse dunk with my eyes closed to win the intramural basketball championship for Mrs. Reid’s class? Perhaps.

2 – Bo Jackson’s Nike Air – when my best friend got a pair of these in junior high I finally knew the true meaning of the word covet. Was that the first of the 10 commandments I ever broke? Probably not.

3 – Reebok Pumps – I did own a pair of these. I cannot recall the exact number of times I stopped a neighborhood basketball game to “pump up,” but I’m pretty sure the number is greater than 300 and less than 40,000.

FASHION

4 – I may or may not have sported spikey hair for the duration of my junior high years. The spike is the coolest hair cut ever.

5 – I may or may not have pegged my trousers at some point in junior high, creating parachute pants out of an ordinary pair of khakis.

6 – I may or may not have had an entire wardrobe of Bugle Boys clothing

RELATIONSHIPS (many of my junior high friends read this blog, so I’m keeping it cryptic)

7 – The Note

8 – The Bus

9 – The Fieldtrip

#10 is still up for grabs. What’s your favorite fashion, footwear or cryptic relationship term from your junior high years?

* * * * *

(Other popular Tuesday’s Top 10’s include Reasons to Leave Paradise, Things I Always Said I’d Never Say, and Children’s Stalling Tactics.