Tag Archives: Bible

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: What, Exactly, Is a Weed?

O my God, why, when You plant hardy, luxuriant flowers, do we yank out those “weeds” and plant fussy replacements? Yet King Solomon, who topped biblical best-dressed lists, couldn’t compete with these. OMG, thank You for these lilies that make my yard look like a field.

 

 

Divine Doughnuts

My church serves doughnuts. No surprise. As a pastor’s daughter and veteran of hundreds of ecclesiastical gatherings, I know “fellowship” is synonymous with “doughnuts.”

Some insist the tradition began when Jesus and his disciples made regular stops at an ancient Krispy Kreme. Despite intense efforts, I haven’t yet found that in the Bible.

Still, my childhood church’s divine doughnut ritual made a powerful impact. What kid does not feel her spirituality increase a hundredfold with a table-level view of big white boxes of fresh doughnuts?

DoughnutsThe memory lingers: my favorite chocolate-frosted, Boston cream-filled confections; sprinkles, glazes and powdery sugar like sweet fairy dust. Even jelly doughnuts, my last choice, looked as heavenly as the fellowship they represented.

Today, doughnuts no longer symbolize fellowship to me. Alas, they remind me of a major miscue.

As a young mother, I started a kids’ Bible club in my neighborhood, often serving doughnuts.

One swaggering 10-year-old declared himself the world doughnut-eating champion.

I couldn’t let this untruthful claim go unchallenged.

JellyDonutI stuck out my hand. “A doughnut-eating contest. You and me. Next week.”

He sneered, but shook it.

The following week, my excited Bible club assembled. Robby and I stared each other down as a fifth-grader ran the stop watch.

“Ready. Set. Go!”

We stuffed doughnuts with the ease of marathoners running the first mile. But my long-time conditioning began to win out. Robby slowed as I snarfed doughnut after doughnut. (How many? I’m not telling.)

“Ten! Nine! Eight! …” The kids counted down the last seconds.

I won!

I felt the rosy flush of victory.

Robby’s face, however, turned green.

“I don’t feel so good.” He went home.

Suddenly, I found my win hard to swallow — especially with a stomachful of doughnuts. What kind of role model made a kid sick? What would his parents think of my Bible program?

After repenting and praying for Robby — and my stomach — I mustered the courage to call his mother. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Silence.

 She’ll sue me.

 More silence.

Or have me arrested.

A howl of laughter erupted from the phone. Finally, still chuckling, she said, “He needs to be taken down a peg or two. Thanks!”

Robby showed up the next week. And the next. Apparently, I had earned his respect.

Although that scenario occurred 25 years ago, it replays every time I see doughnuts.

Writing about it now, however, my spiritual vision clears. Doughnuts do not have to symbolize my downfall. Instead, they recall God’s kindness in fixing even my dumbest mistakes.

ChocolateDonutPerhaps next Sunday, I should participate in divine Christian fellowship — especially if it involves the chocolate-frosted Boston cream-filled kind.

What’s your favorite kind of doughnut? Have they taught you a spiritual lesson, too?

 

 

Would You Marry a Writer?

According to Jewish comedian Sam Levenson, God has played matchmaker ever since he introduced Eve to Adam: “Have I got a nice girl for you!”

camelThe Almighty guided Abraham to Sarah, the Mae West of the Old Testament. He used thirsty camels to bring about Rebekah’s marriage to Isaac. He masterminded Boaz’s marriage to Ruth, the great-great-great-great-grandma of King David and, ultimately, Jesus Christ.

But finding a spouse who will stick with a writer? That task might make even God scratch His head.

Online dating services insist they can find the perfect partner for anyone — even writers. One website includes 29 dimensions by which future mates can be measured. (Why not a nice round number like 30? Just sayin’.)

These surveys never include correct questions for potential writer spouses. I submit the following in hopes of helping experts increase the reliability of the profiles they create.

Would you want to marry someone:

  1. Who wears a baggy sweat suit and feather boa to work?
  2. Whose house and yard officially have been declared a landfill?
  3. Who will awaken you at 3:00 a.m. to brainstorm a dozen new book titles?
  4. Who works 80 hours a week and nets 2.4 cents per hour, minus Xerox and Prozac costs?
  5. Who invites poison experts and chain saw murderers over for coffee?
  6. Who maxes out credit cards attending conferences where hundreds study “beats”?
  7. Who crashes weddings, funerals and Rotary meetings to develop characters?
  8. Who robs a 7-Eleven, crashes your car, and sleeps in a dumpster in order to research and “feel” a crime story?*  **
  9. Who needs years of psychotherapy to recover from her last fiction plot?
  10. Who vandalizes signs with apostrophes in the wrong places?
  11. Who drinks espresso to calm down?

*If a potential spouse boasts lots of rich relatives who can post bail money, the marriage’s survival chances increase exponentially. **Yes, I’ve listed 11 questions, not ten, for researchers who are all about 29 dimensions.

 

Some claim anyone who agrees to these conditions resembles the dependability of a JELL-O sidewalk.

Exactly. God, in His matchmaking wisdom, has designed special lunatics who voluntarily accept the impossible task of marriage to a writer.

Civilized society should be warned: these spouses often appear normal. My husband of 41 years eats Cheerios every morning. He serves as the rational voice on church and community boards.

Yet he regularly rescues my manuscripts from the Black Holes of cyberspace.

He attends my book signings, hauling and hovering as needed.

HeadlessGuyWhen I was writing biographies, he didn’t mind sharing my breakfast conversations with dead people.

Finally, he told me money and success weren’t important, as long as I was doing what God wanted.

And they say writers are nuts.

What special craziness in you or your spouse keeps you both sane — sort of — as you pursue an impossible occupation?