This book is a good summary of the Bible. If you want to read the Bible together as a family with a story or two a night, this would be a good way to do it. There aren’t any pictures, so it’s not like a children’s Bible, however the stories are still easy to follow and good for continuing Christian education for those kids who are too ‘old’ for the ‘baby’ Bible. This definitely is not a study Bible and should not be used as a substitute for a student reading the Bible to learn Biblical details, facts, etc. Not every story from the Bible is in this Bible either, so gaining context of stories and the general culture is a little difficult for someone who wants to look more into the story. The wording of the stories is easy to follow and correlates decently with the actual text of the Biblical narrative. I would recommend this as a good starter to gaining knowledge about general Biblical stories. It also makes a good coffee table book to have around for visitors to skim through or to read while relaxing.
Relationships are a funny thing. There is a quote from Anais Nin that goes, “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born”. I think about this a lot; how people come into or leave our lives, meanwhile fine-tuning us into who we are meant to be. Each person is meant to change you. This change may not always be understood at the time. Infact, it usually isn’t. You may feel frustrated by the impact this person had. What right did they have to come into your world and change your life? How dare they upset your plan? Yet, days, weeks, months, maybe even years…you see it. You see how they shaped you. You see how you were refined in the fire and made into something different than you were before.
There are always two ways to react to change when it happens: embrace it or run from it. The people who choose to embrace it are the ones who learn from it. They are the ones who grow and become stronger, finding out more and more who they are meant to be. And the ones that run? I think we’re all familiar with running at one point or another.
We weren’t meant to be alone. We were meant to interact with other worlds to discover our own. This doesn’t mean that we change who we are for other people; it means by being with other people, we realize who we are to become. We don’t need others to tell us our hopes and dreams, our desires for our lives and our futures… but we do need others to challenge us, to laugh with us, to empathize with us, to love us. We leave a piece of who we are with everyone we encounter and vice-versa.
I appreciate every ‘world’ I’ve interacted with.
I was struck today with the realization that every place I’ve been has been part of a memory I have. I know this isn’t a very deep thought, but it was on my mind a lot this evening. I’ve become a contemplative person at times, especially when I’m alone.
You know those moments in movies where they show you a happy memory? Everyone sitting around a dinner table, laughing and smiling at each other. The sun is shining outside and the birds are chirping. The next scene is that same table. There is no sun, instead dreary gray skies and empty chairs where the laughing bodies once sat. Instead, one older man sits alone clutching a photo of his recently deceased wife. The table covered in memorial flowers and a tv dinner he can’t bring himself to eat. That table we once associated with joy is now associated with loss and pain.
Sometimes when I’m being contemplative I have my own moments like this.
This past summer, my family decided to go to an open house held at the house where I grew up. It was my grandma and grandpa’s house. The house where my mom first told my grandma that I was going to be born. The house where I took my first steps. Where I danced to Disney music for an admiring grandpa and pounded nails into the wall with a patient unique grandma. I made a lot of memories there. I made my first memory there.
So, my aunt, mother, grandma, grandpa and brother decide we’re going to come from our corners of the city to meet at this open house; a walk through a memory museum. As we walked up the driveway I saw four dead spots in the grass from the tires of my mom’s car. One day, she parked it on the side of the driveway and the next day it wouldn’t start. The transmission had given out. The car had been paid off for years and mom didn’t see the need to invest more money into it when she could put a down payment on a newer one. So, it became my brother’s play car (and we became white trash).
Our basketball hoop where the neighborhood kids would gather to play P-I-G and H-O-R-S-E was now lacking a net and half of a backboard. I think I still could have pulled off a granny shot from the end of the driveway.
It turns out, the house was foreclosed upon. The family that had purchased it from my grandma used it as a drug house and lost it in a bust. The open house had been canceled without any notice. The hosue was in rough shape and the realtor had bigger and better things to do.
As we peered in the windows we saw broken furniture and stained carpet. My brother, being the eternal snoop and rebel, climbed the fence into the back yard and unlocked the latch to let us all into our past again. I was reminded of the summer we spent building this huge two story deck that had as much square footage as our entire first floor. I remember being estatic about grandma agreeing to put in a sandbox by the garden so I could pretend to plant things while she truly did.
The inground pool hadn’t been taken care of at all. The place where I had learned to swim became the place was now the resting place for many unfortunate critters and foilage.
As we relived our past, I remember realizing that these memories could not be changed. Some of them were painful. The lessons I learned from them impacted memories I would make later on. Some of them were joyful and I would attempt to recreate them again and again to hold on to that joy. So many times, I’ve failed to live in the moment… instead attempting to cling to what I already knew instead of being brave enough to do what I did not.
Every day is an opportunity to make a memory. Today is the opportunity to live it.
So, about two months ago now I broke my door knob. That is not the story I am here to tell (but it’s the one I’ll end up telling).
Let’s back this story up even farther.
My mother went on this redecorate binge back around August. The binge was brought on by a mini flood due to our faulty washing machine. Against my own understanding, insurance paid for all the damage. The repairs included gutting part of the wall in the laundry room, which led to painting the room as well. The floor, of course, had to be re-tiled. This mini flood had made its way through the wall to my room as well as the carpet in the hallway (which is the same carpet throughout most of our first floor). So, long story short… the entire first floor received new carpet and a fresh coat of paint (or two). Somehow in the madness of this redecoration my mom decided we all needed new door knobs. Locking ones.
Now, most of you probably know me well enough to at least know I’m a klutz. I also lose things and forget things. I usually can’t stay on topic for long enough to tell a legit story. The word ’space cadet’ was most likely invented to describe me. And I probably could use one of those key finder thing-a-ma-bobs for Christmas (incase anyone is wondering). So, me having a locking door knob to my bedroom equals the worst possible idea ever.
Of course I ended up not carrying around my key and locking myself out. I meant to leave a spare key in the entry way key thinger, I just never did. So, after about ten minutes of jiggling the handle and praying for a miracle (the miracle being God saving me from the embarrassment of telling my mom I locked myself out of my room like everyone knew I would do), I gave up and asked for help. After laughing to the point of tears, my mom came over with a screwdriver and started hacking at the handle. No luck. I hacked away at it after she gave up. No luck. My brother saves me from a lot of things: bad car buys (he was out of state for the Cavalier), guys, myself. So, I figured he could save me from breaking down the fancy-schmancy door, since I was already going to have to replace a fancy-schmancy door knob. I promised him payment and he was there before I hung up.
To cut to the end of that story (to continue on to another), the brother got in and the door knob has yet to be replaced.
Now, on to the story of today and why I owe my grandma a door…
It’s not really that extreme. I’m dogsitting for my grandma. She actually owns the dog that my brother and I used our birthday and Christmas money on back in the day when we probably couldn’t even reach door knobs. Long story short, the dog was a real witch… bit us both a couple times and grandma took a liking to her. Anyway…
Grandma has an awesome California king sized bed that I adore. I can roll over five times before falling off. It’s awesome. So, I decided to sleep in her room since she had gone through the trouble of letting me know that the sheets were clean. Anyway…
This morning I woke up and went to open the door… the handle spun in circles. I sighed. Not being the creative type who can figure out this magical encounter herself, I went to turn on my phone and call my brother. As the phone turns on, I receive a new message. From grandma. Saying “Oh and don’t shut the door. I didn’t put the knob in right so it wont turn the latch”.
Oh.
So… now I play MacGyver. I figure my grandma must have a screw driver somewhere in the room (she has a collection of over 300. Why anyone needs 300 screwdrivers. *insert alcohol joke here*). I find one of those glasses kit type ones and get to work at taking the handle off the door. Being pretty proud of myself at this point, I get a little cocky and am not as careful with the screwdriver as I probably should have been (you always have more insight looking back).
I break the screw. I didn’t know this was possible, but I now know it is. So, good news is that I have the door knob off the door. At this point, I think I’m screwed (*insert pun laugh here*) so I call grandma. The conversation goes like this:
*ring*
Grandma: What’d you do?
Me: I shut the door.
Grandma: That’s the most rebellious thing you could come up with?
Me: No. I really did shut the door. And I broke a screw.
Grandma: Mmhmm, and I suppose the robbers (I had prank called her last night to tell her robbers broke in and stole the dog and all the food so I had no reason to stay) took your spare key so you can’t have your mom come over and help?
Me: Mom? Why would I call Mom?
And, after being told how to take the hinges off the door I pretended like that worked so I didn’t waste any more of Grandma’s vacation time. Then I sat on the laptop for a minute googling youtube videos on how to pry open a door. It seems the common way to solve the problem is to either remove the hinges (did not work), bust off the door knob (did not work), pick the lock (oddly enough you can’t do that from the inside where there is no keyhole), or turn this little triangular latch key inside the door. It seemed like the last option was going to be my only hope, but I couldn’t get the latch to pop (using the screwdriver). So I began to rummage around the room, thankfully found scissors and was able to pop it that way. I was so excited that I forgot the hinges were undone…
And then the door fell on my head.
I love adventures at Grandma’s house.
I never meant for you to feel as if this were all your fault. It’s not. Some days I’d like to believe it is, but it’s not. Things fall apart; shit happens and life goes on. We’re part of an equal opportunity failure here on Earth.
I wish I understood how life is supposed to move forward after a beginning finds its end. At what rate do the variables need to be set? In what gear should I be in? I always feel as if I’m stuck in first; my tires are spinning but I’m gaining no traction, no movement. Then, suddenly, when I expect it least, I’m shot into forward motion at eighty miles an hour (in a thirty-five mile per hour zone). You’d think I’d get pulled over for doing that, but I never do. No one ever stops me when I speed past the past and into the present. No one.
Speeding is a thrill. There’s an excitement from the danger and rebelliousness of doing something you are not supposed to do. Yet, when you are the passenger, you have no control. Sometimes, that makes the thrill even greater. The disappointment in speeding comes in the realization that you can take no time to look at what you’re passing. You miss a lot, but I suppose you can only truly miss something you were meant to see in the first place. Were you meant to see this? Was I? Who was driving? We’ll never know.
We did not crash and burn, we merely came to a rolling stop when we ran out of gas without a gas station in sight.