Merry Christmas from me and Momma Dunn. Captions welcome.
No worries, we got it sorted out and then were joined by the newest “Dunn” woman, Mary Clayton.
And the boys? Well, you know… they were there too.
And the man that made is all possible. 007 himself.
And then there were igloos.
And dog sledding.
And elk herding… obviously.
Merry Christmas from Montana (last year)
Howdy y’all. It’ me, the author and owner of this blog about…. not a whole lot.
I thought I’d post something with a little substance–something that has been rocking my world and changing my heart lately. I have mentioned the power and impact that music has on me and the way that God uses certain artists speak or shout to me. One such artist is Bebo Norman.
His latest album, my new favorite, is the only thing I have listened to for the past month. I play in the morning on my computer as I get ready, in my car on the way to work, on my iPod as I work out, etc. It’s always ringing in my ears. I know every lyric to every song. And every song, in some way or another, has hit home deeper than I anticipated.
I won’t introduce this song because Mr. Norman does the honors below… take a listen.
I think compliments are underrated. It’s as if people have become frightened to tell people something nice for fear of feeling silly or even being thought of as deceptive or strange. Why? When did that become the trend?
The reason that I wonder is because today I received one of the best compliments that I have gotten in long time. At it’s core, it was simple; nothing necessarily that was overly ornate or elaborate. But that was the beauty of it. It was simple, straight forward, and honest.
And that combination of kindness, truth, and sentimentality resulted in the greatest form of encouragement–it was a natural overflow of a genuine heart; an outpouring of edification and affirmation from one believer to another that the Lord used to remind me of how much He loves when my heart desperately needed reminding.
All because of a compliment. All because someone took a chance and told me something that (a) I didn’t know that they thought and (b) I have struggled to accept.
I don’t know if this registers with you at all, but it’s a big deal. Why? Because I don’t think that what this person did was as extraordinary as it was simply obedient. Is this not what we’re called to? According to Ephesians 4:29 it would appear that we are:
29Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.
Proverbs 18:21 also says that
The tongue has the power of life and death
That is to say, you have the ability to share the life, power, and freedom of Christ with someone simply by what it is that you say. You also have the ability to destroy that same life, power, and freedom by not speaking in truth and love.
Moral of the story–if you admire, respect, or simply feel the need to let someone know why you think they are “spectacular,” please take it. Please tell them how you feel and what you think because… what if no one else ever does?
I love the show “Dirty Jobs.” Now, when I say love, I mean that I have in fact dreamt about said show’s host, Mike Rowe. And if you are wondering if we lived happily ever after, I am happy to report that yes, we did.
Why do I like a show about a guy who just gets “dirty?” I honestly don’t know. Here’s all I can think of at the moment:
- He has a wicked sense of humor–seriously hysterical
- He’s a man’s man–that is to say, he does different kinds of jobs and work that are rough, rugged, and yes, dirty. What makes him impressive is that he’s good at almost everything he does–he gets it done.
- He’s exceptionally good looking. Really truly, hot.
That’s it. That’s all I got. There’s not a whole lot of rational behind my patronage to Tuesday nights beyond the fact that his wit and charm can hold my attention. What can I say? I’m low maintenance.
So, I have to tell you something. And by tell, I mean admit. It’s not that I did anything bad or wrong. I just did something… out of the ordinary, at least for me. I branched out a bit and had myself a little adventure.
Now, keep in mind, I only did it for the sheer use of blog and story-telling material. I never would have actually considered taking it seriously.
I might have gone to The Bachelor/Bachelorette auditions. And by “might have” I obviously mean “I did.”
I went with some girlfriends and, this is truth y’all, we were not going because we had any aspirations to be the chosen one. We went because (1) the people watching was top notch and (2) we had nothing else to do. Let’s talk about the “competition” shall we?
Now because I didn’t care (nor do I care the vast majority of the time) I showed up in jeans, a white v-neck, and a cardigan. Nothing flashy in the least, so it was perfectly me. You could say I was channeling the casual-weekend-librarian. *furrowed brow* Actually, let’s not say that. That’s pathetic. Moving on.
I told you that to tell you this–I stood out like a sore thumb. If I counted correctly ( and I make no guarantees) I think I was the only one not in stilettos and a mini skirt, with fried blond hair. Now I don’t mean to knock that look; for some, it is fitting. But yours truly didn’t have a shot.
And apparently, I didn’t get the memo that cattiness and competition were in full swing while standing in line just to sign up. As I stood and waited to put my name on the list to be interviewed (in front of cameras and everything) I got “the look” from every girl that passed by. When I say “the look” I am referring to the look that screams “if you touch my man (who has yet to be named) than I will claw your eyes out and hide your body somewhere no one will find it.”
Now, I’m not a genius ( I know, shocking) but if you are standing in line with hundreds of other hopefuls, by technicality, the competition has not even started, so there is really no need to be playing class bully.
Then… there were the men. God love ’em, they were dumb. Dressed in suits and sneakers, the majority of them wore glasses and I have to be honest, I have a feeling none of them needed it. They stood around in herds, giggling like school girls, gawking at the playboy bunnies blonds.
Is this what I would be fighting for? A never-graduated-frat-boy? Negative ghostwriter.
After losing too many brain cells to overhearing the fribee-dish-deep conversations, we called it a night and headed home.
Could you have seen me on TV? Probably not.
Do I care? Not in the least.
Will I watch the show anyways? Heck yes.
Have you ever had one of those days that by lunch the thought crosses your mind “I should have stayed in bed today and saved myself the trouble”?
Yesterday was one of those days. It spiraled downward from the time my feet hit the floor when I rolled out of bed. Why? I have no idea, but it went a little something like this…
How is that if a person, me, wakes up at the same time everyday, goes through the same routine of getting ready, can leave their apartment 15 minutes later than usual. Just on this one day. Nothing was different. I did everything the same. And yet, I walked through the door 15 minutes later. Now if you know me, you know that I am stickler for promptness. I’m never late. I hate the feeling of rushing to avoid being late. Needless to say, I felt rushed before I even left the apartment. *que small snow ball rolling down a hill*
As a way of consoling my confusion, I took myself through the nearest Starbucks drive-thru. Considering that it was 9 degrees below zero (*que the pushing of the snow ball–I don’t do cold) and every school district was closed, I knew traffic wouldn’t be a problem. As I pulled into the lane, I noticed I was the only car. How convenient.
I placed my order and pulled to the window. I was greeted by an apparently peeved employee who I didn’t recognize me and could seemingly care less that I was in a hurry. She swiped my card and then instructed me to roll up my window while I waited. “Um.. what? How long do I need to wait?” She didn’t hear me because she closed her window and walked around the corner.
7 MINUTES LATER, she came back around, still miffed about life, and handed me my drink. “Thanks,” I said, only not meaning it. As I drove off, I waited for a mile or two before I took a sip of the liquid goodness because the roads were a bit slick. When I came to a red light, I lifted the festive cup to my mouth and …. what the?!
Not. My. Drink. *que snow ball growth*
Now, it takes a lot to upset me or even irritate me. I’m fairly understanding and patient. But mix my two pep-peeves, running late and bad customer service, and I’ll go postal.
As I turned left, I fell in line behind Grandma Suzy who apparently was out for her Sunday drive… 4 DAYS EARLY! Now don’t get me wrong, I love old people. Their full of wisdom and grace and faith and love. But Lord have mercy! I would gladly put more money towards social security to provide for a senior citizen chauffeur service.
As she weaved from left to right, making up lanes as she went along at 30 in a 45, I started praying.
“Dear Jesus, I need a large dose of grace. Please forgive…. the idiot barista that screwed up my drink. DOH! That’s not what I meant. Crap… I’ll have to get back to you.”
*que larger snow ball*
As I pulled into work, I had a feeling that, despite the joy of my work, the rest of the day would be plagued by the way it started. Why is that? Why can a day never seem to redeem itself?
Work actually went smoothly. After work, I began to head to the gym to blow off some steam, but a friend called needed a lift home. “No problem. I’m there.”
I picked her and dropped her off. I pulled into the gym an hour later, walked into the locker and began to change.
“Socks. Where are my socks? You have got to be kidding me… unbelievable.”
So I redressed and left the gym 5 minutes later. Calorie burn–1.5
From there, I crossed the street into Whole Foods, picked up a pizza and headed home. “Fine,” I thought to myself. “I’ll just eat my feelings.”
As I got into some comfortable sweats and settled in at home, I walked into the kitchen to put the pizza in the oven. Tricky little things, ovens. As I slid the pizza in, I also gracefully slid my arm into the rack and burnt a nice part of my forearm.
*insert curse word here*
The stench of burn arm hair lingered in the kitchen the rest of the evening.
The saving grace of the day? My friends that came over to laugh at me and help me laugh at myself.
I know that these things seem trivial, but when enough of the little, unexpected things flare up, it rocks me. I wish it didn’t. I know that the Lord knew what was going on. I also know that He wasn’t caught off guard or worried about my day because well, He was/is in control.
So… moral of the story? Life happens. There will be days that bite the big one. But remember, they can only last 24 hours.