Jesus, You know that when The Weather Channel trumpets dire snowstorm warnings, I shrug and expect a flurry or two. This time, though, You joined forces with the meteorologists for a major surprise. OMG, thank You for a warm house and my snow-shoveling hero who doesn’t mind that my wussy efforts can’t compare to his.
O Lord, You know I’ve griped at two rosebushes because they refused to bloom. Lately, I’ve threatened, “Bloom, or I’ll feed you to the compost pile!” Finally, I consulted rose-raising directions … and discovered I’d been subjecting the bushes to feeding famine.
Likewise, OMG, if I go to You, the Expert, and read Your Directions, I might discover that smart nurturing, rather than negativity, will bud beauty in others.
O Lord, I remembered my name today, but apparently forgot to add that final cup of flour to the cookies. Thank You that my eternal destiny does not depend on turning out a perfect recipe — of any kind. OMG, how I celebrate Your love and forgiveness through Jesus!
“We are all of us from birth to death guests at a table we did not spread.”
—Rebecca H. Davis
Has an uninvited guest ever brought suitcases to your house? Plus, a hostile pet named Lovey?
When I was growing up in a pastor’s home, uninvited guests were the norm. Many brought suitcases and — if not Loveys — equally mean kids.
A penniless evangelist, his wife and five children spent several weeks. Again, my siblings and I slept on the floor. I worked overnight at Denny’s. Once, during a rare nap, a kid poised a pipe at my window and bellowed like a mastodon.
Another incident involved a lady preacher named Bunny who often stayed with us. One night, Dad, who also worked construction, arrived home after everyone had retired. He climbed into bed beside Mom.
One thought, though, struck like lightning. Hadn’t Mom said Bunny was staying overnight?
His pastor’s heart stopped. Dad yanked covers from the huddled heap beside him.
Mom glared. “Bunny’s coming Friday, not tonight!”
I could hardly wait until college, where I’d take control of my life.
One weekend, an unknown force roused me from sleep, swinging me in circles. Surely, a nightmare. …
No. The girl — half my size! — swinging me was real. So was my roommate, giggling up and down the scale.
I gasped to the stranger, “Who are you?”
“I’m Vicky!”
“Vicky, please put me down.”
She deposited me on my bed, singing, “O Lord, Won’t You Buy Me a Color TV?”
Other giggling, melodious strangers gathered. I took refuge in another party pooper’s room. Unfortunately, my discussion with my roommate afterward was not the last.
So … uninvited-weird-people incidents were not confined to parsonages.
That lesson has been confirmed again and again. Unlike our late parents, though, my siblings and I have placed gated fences around our lives.
Recently, I reflected on hospitality as I watered uninvited cosmos, seeded from last year’s planting. Volunteer zinnias inundate marigold borders. I never planted those petunias, yet they invade our premises, looking wild … and wonderful.
How did Mom and Dad’s uninvited guests ultimately respond to kindness? Perhaps some, like disruptive flowers, are blooming in the place God — not people — prepared for them.
Most humans need fences to ensure safety and well-being.
But maybe I’ll leave my gate open more often.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How do you react to the uninvited?
What do you mean, it’s 2023? Didn’t we just change millennia?
But if we’re going to be delusional, let’s take it all the way: Didn’t The Beatles just arrive from Britain?
Unfortunately, reality refuses to go away. I should believe the mirror and get down to the important — and now, bearable — business of making New Year’s resolutions.
Years ago, I revolutionized this prickly process by making only resolutions I could keep. A 100-percent success rate has confirmed my process’s validity. So, with confidence — and not a little smugness — I present:
Rachael’s Resolutions for 2023
First, I resolve not to embrace the Liver Diet.
I will add another size to my black pants collection. Probably not a smaller size.
Continuing the clothing theme: I will leave ink pens only in wash loads that include my husband’s best shirts.
I will lose 23 of my husband’s left socks. And zero of mine.
In 2023, I promise not to buy a Tibetan mastiff puppy for 1.9 million dollars, as one dog lover did. Hubby, not a canine devotee even when it’s free, breathes easier.
His mood improves further when I resolve to root against the New England Patriots, LA Lakers, Kentucky Wildcats, and St. Louis Cardinals during 2023. Forever and ever.
I will not attend Punxsutawney Phil’s arrival in full ball dress — even if he and his groundhog buddies are wearing tails.
Next summer, I promise to eat three cherry Popsicles® with real sugar.
I will clear the dining room table in 2023. When in-laws visit.
However, I refuse to disturb dust in my living room. Why disrupt an archaeological wonder in the making?
Ditto for four nonfunctional boom boxes and the garage bulging with 1980s computer equipment.
I resolve to pray for drivers who cut me off: “God, please bless my interstate enemy — and protect everyone in his path. By the way, could You also dismantle his transmission?”
I resolve to yell at my computer more than I yell at people.
That smile crinkles will outnumber frown wrinkles.
Whew. That last goal appears impossible.
Unless I also resolve to ruin someone’s bad day with kindness. Every. Chance. I. Get.
Together, those final two resolutions may blow my 100 percent success record. But don’t you think it’s worth it?
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What resolutions will you make for 2023?
O Lord, You know that recently, a hundred young voices tore through my sleep. A multitude marched down our dark street! Anarchy? Violence? Then … I recalled the local Christian college’s freshman tradition, begun in helping a convenience store stay open: students show up en masse to buy soft drinks. OMG, thank You for a riot rooted in kindness. But maybe they could shift their support to the day shift?
