Address change

Hello all,

My blogs have now moved to jessicawhittemore.com.

Please join me there.

Thanks!

Dumpster Diving

He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity.

Proverbs 21:23

Yesterday  instead of enjoying the day, I was a house cleaning tornado. I blew the place to bits, claiming as victim the relaxing Sunday my family could have enjoyed. 

During my ridiculousness, the kitchen island seemed to be the eye of the storm. Seeing it cluttered, I called my children to the kitchen and began expounding on the evils of disorganization. While lecturing, I began indiscriminately scooping up piles of papers, shoving them into the garbage while saying, "If they were left here, I guess no one needs them!" I covered all the "Moms' Greatest Hits" and I was obnoxious. Yes, the kitchen deserved some attention, but my family didn't deserve my sharp tongue or my angry eyes. 

Fast forward to early this morning when I sat down to finish some very important paperwork. Fast forward to me not being able to find said paperwork. I looked on my desk. Not there. I looked in my filing cabinet, not there.  

Remaining calm, I walked to the kitchen hoping to find it on, yes, you guessed it, the ISLAND! Realization then came, and calm left. The papers had been on the island, the very same island I'd cleared during my shaming rant. Making my stomach sink further, the kitchen garbage had already been emptied into the community dumpster. To make the rest of this disgusting story short, let's just say I spent my morning dumpster diving in a public trash repository. Because of my rashness, because of my annoyance, I spent the morning in putrescence.  

Ironic isn't it? Yesterday I chose gracelessness, today I sorted through a pile of trash. Yesterday I treated my family like garbage, today I was literally knee deep in it. Funny how this always seems to happen, isn't it? So here's a little advice from my morning misadventure, when you're tempted to give free reign to your tongue, picture used coffee filters and half empty cans of cream of chicken soup. Next time you feel the urge to give garbage rather than grace, think of me and my dumpster diving Monday.  

PS. If this doesn't stop you, let me suggest some Vicks under the nose. It masks the smell. If you choose to mess around with garbage you're eventually going to need it.  


   

The Chickens Must Go

 Therefore if any one be in Christ, they are a brand new.  The old things have passed away.   
Behold, all things have become new.

I Corinthians 5:17

I have 15 free range chickens.  For those of you unfamiliar with chicken terms, this means 30 chicken feet roam freely around my house and  property.  Yes, it can get a bit messy, but for the last two years I haven't minded.  However, I've recently had a change of heart and I can explain it quite succinctly.

We just finished our patio and deck, topping them off with new, off-white cushioned furniture and I'm sick of scrubbing off chicken you know what! 

Call me shallow, but I now unashamedly have 15 free range chickens free to a good home.  I simply won't have chicken droppings on my new stuff.  It's yucky. It stinks.  It's sorely out of place, and I came to this conclusion in less time than it would take to poach an egg. It's out with the old and in with the new here at the Whittemore house.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, my visceral reaction to this has created an uncomfortable thought I've been forced to wrestle with.  You see, I've been a new creation for quite some time.    To go with the present theme, my spiritual decks and patios were redone decades ago.  So in light of this, and to keep up the metaphor, I'm left wondering why I haven't gotten rid of my other chickens of sorts? For instance...

Why do I give my sharp tongue free range, when it is completely out of place?
Why do I tolerate my resentment when it leaves a stain?
Why do I bend my ear toward gossip when it just makes a mess?
Why do I harbor my arrogance when it always leaves a giant stink?

Sadly, the list could go on and I'm left wondering why I keep this stuff around when all it does is dirty up what has already been made white. Why do I tolerate it? It stinks and it has no place.

I'm a new creation, the old is gone, the new has come.  It's time to get rid of my chickens.

How about yours?

PS.  And seriously, 15 egg layers free to a good home (or butcher :).

The Man at the Well

Salvation comes no other way, no other name but Jesus has been or will be given to us by which we can be saved.  It is only this one.

Acts 4:12

Last weekend I spent a lovely time with the ladies from Lehman Church.  While with them, we studied the story of the Women at the Well , a familiar story many to many. (John 4).  I've read this story many times but last night my sister turned it upside down by saying, "You know the Women at the Well is the wrong title.  It's the Man at the Well that still makes the difference.

Well, Amen!

It was the Man at the well who transformed the life of the lonely woman, and it's the Man at the well who can transform ours.

It was the Man at the well who quenched the woman's longing. It's the Man at the well who wants to quench ours.

It was the Man who said, "Come unto me all that labor and I will give you rest" and it's the same Man who calls your name today.
 
 It was the man of the well who said, "There is no greater love than to lay your life down for a friend,"  and it's the same Man who then laid down His.

It's the Man who cried out, "It is finished." and then erased my every stain.  

It's the man who IS the well who said, "I am going to prepare a home for you," and it's this Man who's having the tables set and the beds made.

It's all about the Man who met a woman at her lonely well.  It's all about this Man who will meet you at yours.

It's the story of the Man at the Well.

Now grab your buckets and let's meet him there!


 

No explanation needed

 But you, children of God, flee from all skunks. 

Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. 

(I Timothy 6:11)

emphasis, of course, mine

Some analogies just write themselves.  

This weekend my big, dumb dog Truman decided to play with a skunk.  This is the fourth time in just as many months.  Sometimes I think our cat is egging him on, saying, "Oh, look.  Why don't you go play with that black and white one?"

This time it happened late Saturday night.  I was working at the computer when I hear a frantic banging sound at our sliding glass door, and look up to see poor Truman plastered to the glass.

I open the door and my big boy slinks inside, immediately trying to hide in our living room.  He's 170lbs of stink and shame; hiding isn't an option.  With the hour being late, and my humor being poor, I quickly rinse of his puffy eyes, then banish him to the laundry room.  This produces all sorts of whining and puling as he usually sleeps all snuggled under the covers of my daughter's bed.

The next day, things get even worse.  It's bath time. He doesn't usually mind his bath, but when he's covered in skunk he knows it's going to be rough.  His eyes are going to be thoroughly rinsed, his ears are going to be scrubbed.  There's going to be lots of shampoo, baking soda, and Dawn.  Buckets will be dumped,  and tomato juice will be flowing.  The whole time words like, "Why do you play with skunks?" and "Won't you ever learn?"  will be whispered and not so whispered in his ears.

Eventually he's all clean and snuggled up in my arms.  I'll remind him that skunks are never his friends, but I have a feeling we'll be back here again.

Like I said, some analogies just write themselves.