It’s always exciting when you’re skimming Scripture and you find yourself suddenly singing the words you’re reading. Normally this happens when I’m all alone, attempting to untangle some unfamiliar passage in Isaiah. Then – Boom – a block of recognizable verses jump out of nowhere, and my head breaks out into song.

This was the case the other night in our living room. Jess has been reading a Psalm a day. As she read her NASB version, she stopped and exclaimed, “O my gosh! We sang this last year in Christmas Choir!” It was Psalm 3. “O yeah!” I exclaimed. Then, since it was the Old King James translation we had sung, I pulled out the ancient version, dusted it off, and we began singing Psalm 3 together, minus that part about God breaking the teeth of the ungodly, of course.

“But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; the glory and the lifter of mine head…”

Now, old English isn’t typically my speech of choice, but that night it sounded wonderful.

Categories: Christianity, Life, Music
6 Comments »

There is a little secret hanging in my closet. It has sleeves, a collar, and buttons, and it never, ever gets wrinkled. Give up? It’s my magical wrinkle-free shirt. I found it folded on a table in Kohls for $19.99 one rainy, February day. An iron has never touched it, which has automatically improved my life. I hate to iron, and my wrinkle-free shirt hates to get wrinkled – the relationship works. I mean, it could spend the night wadded up in the dumpster, and after a gentle shake and a light dusting off – BAM – it’d look fresh from the dry cleaners. Remarkable! If I could get away with it, I’d wear it every single day. But since that would be dirty, I keep it handy throughout the week for emergencies, like when I’m running late for work. My advice for those who are down in the dumps: get yourself a wrinke-free shirt, and if you can, get it in black, so it hides stains – double bonus!

Categories: Fashion
2 Comments »

I hit the sack last night in the third quarter of Monday Night Football. There was little pleasure in watching my FantasyFootball team sink into oblivion, and sleep, I’ve tested and learned, is the best for forgetting things – well, for a while anyway. My head hit the pillow, as I geared myself up for a good eight hours of forgetting. 1 and 3 for the season so far- could anything be worse?

It was pitch dark, the clock read 3:30am, when the tremors began. It startled me at first, but then the sleep left my brain and I regained my bearings. It all felt too familiar. The restrained jerks, the stiff jolts, the silent struggling – our dog Phoebe was experiencing another seizure, a mild one, but a seizure nonetheless.

Seizures have become somewhat of a trademark for Phoebe these days. She typically experiences one about every other month, and when asked, the vet reassured us that it was common in little dogs (“Toy breeds,” he called her). Their blood-sugar level drops quickly, or something, and that’s what triggers it. It was quite frightening the first time Jess and I saw Phoebe do this, but now it’s become much a part of the routine of caring for her, like feeding her or giving her a bath.

Jess was first to call it, “She’s having a seizure.” She stated this more matter-of-factly than in alarm. Then she moved in clockwork fashion, like a surgeon who sees past the gore of an ER patient to the list of immediate procedures needed to be performed.

“Get the white towel,” barked Jess. She had Phoebe sprawled out on the bathroom floor.

“Where?” I asked.

“In the closet.” In the middle of the night, I had woken up to find myself as Jess’ surgeon aid.

I came back with the white towel.

“Lay the towel down.”

“Why?”

“No questions. Just do it.”

After the towel was under Phoebe, the inevitable happened, her bladder let go. This was the predicted stage 2 of the seizure. Next, after things had calmed down, we moved into stage 3, and I carried her to the dark, dewy backyard. There, she had plenty of room to work out the rest of the shakes. I watched Phoebe finish her business from the back door window while Jess made up a new place for Phoebe to spend the remainder of the night.

From beginning to end, the seizure lasted nearly a half hour. Before I crawled back into bed at 4am, I checked espn.com to confirm my FantasyFootball defeat. It was official. I had lost, and my prize was a dog low on sugar.

Categories: About a dog, Life
1 Comment »

It happens now and then; I catch an irrational fear of writing. Yesterday late afternoon, I decided to sit down and document the weekend. Nothing. The keyboard glared at me, taunted me, almost dared me to try to write something. My fingers refused to obey, as they sat paralyzed in the home keys position.

So much happened over the weekend: Jess and I were a part of our church’s annual Open House choir, and afterwards we invited both sides of the family over for an afternoon brunch. And even though the game never really took off, Cornhole was set up outside for anyone who was willing. So, it’s not like I’m lacking content. I’m just short on confidence.

But, as always, I’ll continue to battle it out, and my confidence is sure to show up again. It always does, usually in the midst of reading someone else’s work. Inspiration will fall from the sky and hit me in the head. Either that, or I will eventually get sick of being afraid, and just write.

And, as you can see, I’m forcing myself to write anyway, banging away at the keyboard, not really knowing or caring where it takes me. Sometimes this is the only remedy. So bear with me.

Categories: Uncategorized
No Comments »