Truth be Told...

So...last week or so I started a small group study on this book Truefaced, which is about being real with people. And at about that same time I went to youth group with my kiddos and played Balderdash, which is all about lying to people.

As The Doors said so aptly, people are strange...aren't we?

On the one hand, we want people to accept us for who we are...warts (if you've got 'em...I don't!) and all. And on the other, we're always lying about something...(for instance, not having warts.)

Oh, you disagree? You're not a liar? You tell the truth all the time?

Well, I don't. I freely admit it. I find myself lying constantly...

To my son:

"Why no, Jake. There are no onions in that casserole. Now eat!" (it was an ONION CASSEROLE!!)

To my best friend:

"Your new haircut does not make your butt look big!" (sadly, she'd have a big butt regardless!)

To the girl scout:

"I've already bought two boxes of thin mints. Sorry!" (it was actually 7 boxes. And they were the peanut butter ones that I can never remember the name of...!)

We humans lie.

And one of the first lies we tell ourselves is this: Lying will 'fix' the situation.

Lying doesn't fix anything...in the long run. It has a tendency to complicate things, actually. But it's 'easier' to lie than to be honest sometimes. Isn't it?

"Who broke this vase?" "Not me! It was an alien..."

Kids can tell whoppers of lies, can't they? And why? To avoid getting into trouble, to avoid work, to avoid conflict.

I am a girl. And since girls are typically encouraged by society to avoid conflict, we are taught to do what? Lie.

We girls are taught to be 'kind' to people, aren't we? So we lie and say things to others in order 'to be nice'.

"That shirt looks good on you." "It's not you, it's me." "Your invitation must've been lost in the mail." "No, your feet aren't big. Size 13 is the new 6."


I'm going to cut in here and present the word "Tact" to you. Now tact is what we REALLY need to be taught. Boys and girls alike. And tact isn't about lying...or telling the truth. Tact is about timing.

A definition of tact is this: a keen sense of what to say or do to avoid giving offense; skill in dealing with difficult or delicate situations.

My tactful word is "interesting".

"Mmm...this liver pate' you've made for the first time has an interesting flavor."

"Interesting" is what I use when I am not sure that the truth is wanted by the other person or when I don't want to tell the truth and hurt someone 'at that moment'.

It's not lying. It's not truth. It's...well...avoidance.

For instance...the last thing a bride needs to hear on her wedding day is that white is NOT a good color on her.

Is it going to benefit her at all on that day to tell her that? No. The fact that she looks bad in white should've been pointed out months ago.

What I'm trying to say is that sometimes, conflict is a good thing to avoid. So tact comes into play.

However, tact is NOT supposed to replace truth. As I mentioned, the bride could've been told the truth earlier.

So is truth about timing, then?

Um...no.

Truth is about relationship...and we'll talk more about that later. Think about truth and lies, won't you? Right now, I have to um...do something else. This has been interesting...thanks for reading!

A Family Divided (by four)

Growing up, we went to the county fair every summer.

I loved it! There were rides, and food. Games, and food. Prizes, and food.

Mmmm. Fair food. I don't know about you, but despite my begging, I could not convince my Mom to make me funnel cakes for breakfast. It just wasn't happening!

And it just wasn't FAIR!

Speaking of that, I feel we've been friends long enough now that I'd like to share something with you. There's a battle going on at our house.

And I, for one, am ready to tear the white pillowcase off of my bed and wave it on a broom handle in surrender.

I cannot do this anymore, you see. It's worn me to a frazzle over the past 13 years and I simply don't have the strength or the math skills, to be honest. I'm tired.

What's the problem, you ask?

There are four people in my home. Four folks who eat together each day. And...each day I have to make sure that the amount of food I cook is divisible by four. You know, so that everyone gets the same amount.

I count olives...and pork steaks...and lettuce leaves. I count brats, and pizza slices, and tacos. Thankfully, no one's questioned my peas or corn distribution! However, just to be on the safe side, I don't purchase raisins or Oreos. It's just too painful!

Do you do this in your home? I am sure I am not alone on this. And I don't really understand why it's such as isssue, as my children are constantly told over and over again that Life Is Not Fair.

I was constantly told that Life Is Not Fair while growing up.

Were you told this? How do you handle it? Because I try, I really try...to make things fair. But the fact of the matter is: hot dogs come in packages of 10, hot dog buns come in packages of 8. The odds are stacked against me. I'm not always going to be able to divide by 4. I cannot guarantee that fairness is always an option.

So what do you do when you feel you've been unfairly treated? When you've been shorted a hot dog bun? Do you get angry? Do you feel sorry for yourself? It's difficult, isn't it, when it appears that everyone else has things going for them and we don't. It's not fair that I work as hard as her and she's promoted. It's not fair that my neighbor has a new car and I still drive this old one. It's not fair that he's well and I'm sick.

My friends, the only consolation I can offer is this: there is ONE fair thing going on in this world. We all experience 'unfairness' in our lives. WE ALL EXPERIENCE IT.

There isn't one person around that hasn't felt they've been unfairly treated at least once or twice or twenty bajillion times. That's the good news. The tricky thing is trying to remember that the next time we want a hot dog...or a funnel cake for breakfast.

Think about that the next time you find yourself faced with 10 brats for 4 people. Who packaged these things?? Thanks for reading!

A Limited Understanding

This is not the first time it's happened.

And what frustrates me the most about it, is that it happens at the WORST possible time!

The other day, I had a smarillion things to do. And like most people, I was trying to save myself some time and go a little over the speed limit.

Okay, maybe a lot over the speed limit.

However, it wasn't long before I found myself "stuck" behind someone who was actually obeying the law and not speeding.

"COME ON!" I threw my head back and wailed, "I HAVE PLACES TO SEE AND PEOPLE TO GO!"

This 'people' wasn't 'going', though. At least not over 55 miles an hour.

"AUGH!" I groaned. It felt as if my van had just stopped in the middle of the road. Like there had been some sort of Star Trek time/space continuum thing...and I was frozen on Ridge Road. Unable to move ahead. 'Quick, Scotty,' I thought, 'Beam me up and over this slowpoke so I can get to where I have to be!'

Finally, after seventeen years, three months, two weeks, nine days, fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes and five seconds...I was able to pass this person safely.

As I drive by, this gal smiles at me and waves.

I do not wave back. She is oblivious to the torment that she has caused me. I have a lot to do! Doesn't she understand that there are only 24 hours in the day and I've already used up EIGHT of them! The items on my To Do list are barely checked off! I'm behind schedule! I don't have time to wave! Besides, my cell phone is ringing...!

What a day that was! I was frazzled that entire time. Trying to get things checked off, adding more things to the list, pushing myself to do more.

But someone was trying to tell me something that day...

As I passed that gal on the highway, I saw a speed limit sign fly by.

At the grocery store, I was going to stock up on shredded Cheddar Cheese and grabbed five packages. Then I saw the "Limit Three per Customer" sign and had to put two packages back.

At the mall, The Limited was having a sale. On tanks, not cheese.

Later, while watching t.v., I saw that a cable channel was running an Outer Limits marathon. Then a commercial came on and told me that I could buy this amazing item that was being offered at this amazing price 'for a limited time only'.

And finally, when I was breaking up yet another argument between my children over whose turn it was to be on the Playstation, I heard myself saying, "That's it! I have reached my limit! I'm tired of the arguing! Now give me the guitar and I'LL be the Hero!"

And that's when it hit me.

I have limitations. Limits.

The word 'limit' is often looked at as a 'bad' thing. We want to buy more, drive faster, spend fifteen hours on the Playstation wailing on that Aerosmith song.

Okay, maybe only I do those things. What I'm realizing though, is that limits aren't bad. They can actually be very healthy. We can't do it all. We need to have boundaries. Too much of a good thing is indeed, too much! Setting boundaries on our time, money and items is not a bad thing! By staying within a boundary, for instance, I still get what I need. I get enough. Not too much.

Think about that, my friends, while I set my timer for fifteen minutes of Guitar Hero. That's my new limit! Thanks for reading!

Go Ahead....make my day...

I approached the customer service desk with some trepidation.

Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. And because you're my friends, I'm going to tell you the truth and admit something about myself.

I don't like dealing with customer service desks. I really don't. I mean, nine times out of ten I don't have the right receipt (it was the one I accidentally stuck my chewed gum into), or the item I want to return cannot possibly ever be returned (on a particular 'bad Mommy' day, I spent 27 minutes trying to get the gal at Best Mart to take my temper tantrum throwing three year old off my hands), or there's no one actually at the customer service desk (seriously, it was like a ghost town! I think, at one point, I even saw a tumbleweed go by!).

At any rate, those are the reasons I generally dread going to the desk. However, today I was going to try something different. Because, you see, it's my understanding that insanity is doing the same things over and over and expecting different results. So today...I'd try something new. I formulated a plan. It wasn't very complicated. It was a simple, easy to do plan. This time, as I approached the desk, I was going to do something I hadn't done before.

I was going to smile.

That was my plan. A big ol' grin.

So, as I was saying, I slowly approached the desk, smiling. The gal behind the counter was taking care of a customer when another person stepped up to her and demanded attention from the clerk. She (the clerk) was amazing! She smiled and said in a friendly voice, "I'll be right with you. I'm taking care of this customer right now."

Well, the other gal was having none of that, and continued speaking...at which point the customer service clerk politely asked the other customer to wait a moment and handled the 'squeaky wheel'. She got her out of there quickly and took care of the first customer. I patiently waited. (After all, I was just relieved that there WAS actually someone behind the counter.) And I still smiled.

As the first customer moved away and I stepped forward, the gal behind the desk began muttering as she tidied up her area. It sounded a little like this:

"Tell me that you need--garbled mumbling--mezzarazza something--why don't you--something something--growling--that's the last time I--ragafraggle--"

She saw me standing there at the counter then.

"Oh," she said mechanically, "Welcome to Best Mart. How can I help you?"

My jaw beginning to ache a little from the smile, I say, "Well, you see-" and I hand her the receipt that I managed to keep my chewing gum out of this time.

"Can you believe some people?" she says, interrupting. "I mean, what do they expect? Am I just supposed to drop everything for them? Just create stuff out of thin air for them? It's like, you know, they want me to wave some sort of magic wand and POOF! There's their stuff! I mean, what has happened to common courtesy, I ask you?"

"Well, I - " I began, my smile faltering a little. Just then the store phone rang.

"Excuse me." she said. And she answered the phone. And I continued to wait...patiently. I found myself pushing up at the corners of my mouth a bit. It looked less like a smile and more like I had a severe denture issue.

Still, I attempted the grin. And marveled as I watched the clerk manage to talk on the phone and take my item at the same time. With ruthless efficiency I see her print out a new receipt, staple one to the other, ask me to sign on the dotted line, and hand me back my cash while hanging up the phone.

Without missing a beat, she continues our conversation.

"People just don't know how to treat people nicely anymore. I don't understand it. It's like there ought to be a class on courtesy! But you know what? I'll bet no one would show up!"

I stand there, receipt in hand, slightly smiling. I look down at my purse on the counter.

"Well, thank you!" I manage to say, taking two steps back.

"SEE? No one says that anymore! Thank you! You made my day!" she says. "And go Cards!"

"What?" I ask, confused. And then I look down and see that I'm wearing my Cardinals tee shirt.

"Yes," I respond weakly. "Go Cards! Well, you have a good day."

"You too! Thanks for being such a great customer!"

As I sat in the car, I pondered over what had just occurred. I hadn't done anything truly remarkable. All I had done was smile.

And I think that smile made a difference.

My friends, consider smiling at just one person today. Just one. See what happens. You might make someone's day!

The MOREL of the Story

First of all, I think he was lying about the gunshot scaring them into showing themselves.

I think he was.

I think...

Still to this day, I'm not positive. I mean, I wanted to believe him. Because I trusted his judgement on so many things, I wanted to trust it on this. After all, he'd been doing it for years. He must know what he's talking about, right? So, it kinda made sense, in a way.

I know that for myself though, if someone fired a pistol around me, I'd want to hide. Not show myself.

But he assured me that it would work. The gunshot would scare them into showing themselves.

So he fired the pistol...
and later that night, while we ate, I wondered at his practices...but enjoyed the result.

I learned a lot that day, in the woods.

And mushroom hunting has never been the same...

You see, my friends, several years ago my father-in-law Gordon took me mushroom hunting for the first time. In fact, the whole family went along. The more folks, the merrier! The more folks, the more mushrooms!

Do you like mushrooms? I like mushrooms. But they're not an "in between" food, are they? I mean, you either like them...or you don't.

And as I said, I like them. So the idea of hunting for them was intriguing. I'd never done it before. How hard could it be, right?

We headed out one fine morning in April to this patch of trees that belonged to a friend of Gordon's. He'd let him hunt on the property. I don't know if Gordon paid his friend back in mushrooms or what, but this had been going on for a while, because Gordon was very familiar with the land.

However, it was not easy to get to the land of 'shrooms. We had to hike along a fenceline for what felt like 12.7 miles. It wasn't like there was a sidewalk there; it was work to get over those big ol' dirt clods! And those big ol' dirtclods were really more like mud...so I was hot and a little sweaty before we even started to actually hunt. I began to wish I had some sort of native guide...or a pack mule or something...

Eventually we entered the woods. It was like another world. Dark, quiet. Gordon gave me some tips on hunting.

"Kick the logs first. Then step over them." Gordon directed.

"Does that help with finding mushrooms?" I asked.

"Scares the snakes!"

Great.

I'm not going to find mushrooms now. I'm going to find some snake neighborhood! Um, maybe mushroom hunting is not for me after all.

"Once you find the first one," Gordon continued. "You'll see 'em all over the place!"

SNAKES? Once I find my first SNAKE? EEEEEK!

But he was talking about the mushrooms.

"And be careful. Some mushrooms look like Morels, but they're poisonous."

Great. As if I wasn't worried enough about the snakes...now there are 'bad' mushrooms to be on the look out for!

I can't really explain the joy and excitement I felt when I found my first Morel. It wasn't very big. And I could've sworn that I'd looked in that same spot about 27 times...but there it was!
"Is this one?" I asked, gingerly holding it up.

"Yep!" Gordon clapped me on the shoulder. "You found one! Now let's scare the rest of 'em out of the ground!"

And he fired his pistol into the air.

And I about wet myself.

It was almost too much excitement for one person to experience.

I'll never forget that day in the woods. You know what? We found enough mushrooms to make one meal. Just one. It was a lot of work and effort for what seemed like very little payoff...but they were SO delicious!

There's something, my friends, to be said for working hard towards a goal. There's a delicious reward at the end of the day. What we have the hard time with, however...is the job itself. Because the job can be muddy, lengthy, and possibly full of snakes and gun shots. It can make us weary, and we can discourage easily...because sometimes all of our hard work doesn't look like much.

Stay strong, though. Here, have a Morel. I just picked it.

The Easy Button

There are few things I'm scared to talk about with folks. I love swapping a good grandchild story, or sharing really bad jokes...sometimes I even enjoy a rousing discussion of an economics class syllabus, or a healthy back-and-forth about the subtle differences in brands of house paint.

Still, I realize that there are some things that you're NOT supposed to talk about. Ever.

Like politics...or religion...or The Donald's hair.

People have very strong feelings on these things. Whether they want to or not. Countries have been known to war over these very issues.

And there is a topic that everyone has an opinion about...good or bad...right or wrong...and it is WEIGHT.

I hate to talk about it. I would much rather have to endure Chinese water torture or a Barbra Streisand concert....than talk about weight. Loss or gain. Diets, plans, food guides, point systems...these things can, within seconds, reduce me (no pun intended!) to tears.

My desire is not to just see the outside of someone. To judge their abilities based on the way they look....because I know....I KNOW...that we don't look the same forever...we are constantly changing.

Just like the information on weight constantly changes. And do you know why?

I think it's because we want an Easy Button.

We want things to change easily...without much effort on our part. We don't like the situation we're in...we hate our boss, or our couch, or our size...and we wish these irritable items would just 'go away'...like Kevin in Home Alone...sometimes we want to make our family just....disappear.

It is frustrating, though...when things do not happen overnight. When we wake up the next morning and it's the SAME! And sometimes, we scream inside. Because the Easy Button didn't work this time...

About two weeks ago, I decided that I need to do something (besides slapping an Easy Button) about my weight. And I've been keeping track of the good choices I've made...in an effort to encourage myself to keep going. To stay on track. I even had someone on Sunday ask if I'd been losing weight! I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going...feeling good about myself...

and last night I visited a nursing friend of mine who informed me that she too, is trying to lose weight and she'd just purchased a new scale...would I like to use it?

Since I felt pretty confident about myself...I thought, "no big deal"...and I assuredly stepped over to the scale and weighed in.

And in the blink of an eye...in one small second of time...everything changed.

When I saw the number on the scale...and really considered the task at hand...I got very frightened.

All of the encouraging thoughts I'd had went right out the window just then.

Because I realized...that this will NOT be an easy thing to do. It WILL require work. Diligence. Determination. Effort. Sacrifice.

So...what to do? Give up? Grit my teeth and dig in? Ignore what truth I saw there on the scale and pretend that everything is 'okay'? Listen to the lies that tell me that even the small things I've done don't matter...because that number is SO big?

My friends, what do you do?

Sometimes, the truth can hurt us. Especially when it means changing something...without an Easy Button. It is not pleasant. It is not...easy.

Politics, though they seem to be ever-changing...are basically the same as they ever were.

Religion, while one is in the spotlight more than the other at times...doesn't really change.

The Donald's hair...sadly...will never change. I promise you that.

But you, my friend, CAN change. You can.

You just can't do it all on your own.

Lucky for you, there's Someone who can help...

Everyone Needs a Kennel to Call Their Very Own

I hate to say it, but yes...it's true.

I yelled at the kids the other day.

Oh....don't judge me. I had my reasons...all perfectly reasonable ones.

It was Spring Break. They were being what the French refer to as TRES' annoying. And I wanted quiet.

So I hollered.

(and yes, I see the irony. Thanks for pointing that out!)

Speedy, our dog, took his big ol' dog be-hind off the couch and quickly trotted it into our bedroom.

Into his kennel.

That's where he goes when he wants to feel safe. Loud noises generally make him move in that direction...or he'll go there when he wants to protect something. Like his Chewie.

It got me to thinking.

Do you have a kennel?

Not necessarily for your dog...altho I highly recommend one.

Where do you go when you feel threatened? Do you have a safe place to lie down in?

See, sometimes...sometimes we need to get away from the loud voices. Sometimes we need to go where we can breathe easier. Or regroup. Sometimes we need to go to a place where the worries, the pressures, the stresses of the world don't seem so pressing.

For some of us, this place is called Hawaii.

:)

For the rest of us poorer slobs, well....we need to locate somewhere closer...

and you know, I'm not necessarily talking about an actual place...so much as I am about boundaries. About keeping things balanced, maybe.

We are hit with a lot of stuff in the course of a day. A lot of 'mom's hollering at the kids in the house'.

What do you do then? Do you join in the yelling? Do you run out of the house?

Do you go to your kennel?

The more I think about it, perhaps this isn't the best analogy I could come up with. But what I do see when I watch Speedy is kind of interesting. He doesn't stay in the kennel for very long during those times. And he seems to be pretty well behaved for the most part. Perhaps he recognizes when a 'fight' isn't something he needs to be involved in...

I dunno...it's just making me think today...