Skip to main content

struggling to love my old socks


Last night my friend Tina threw a BBQ off. Her husband likes to smoke......no, not what you are thinking......meat. He spent the day making a brisket and then they hit 3 of the most popular local BBQ places. She then put them all in cups, labeled with letters so we didn't know which was which and we had to taste and rank them. It felt a bit like the old school Pepsi/Coke taste tests ( whatever happened to those??).....but was fun and yummy. Todd came out the winner and I went home with a stomach ache. ( me and red meat are not friends).
Several partygoers mentioned something a bit odd. If they had bought meat from any of those places and put it out we all would have been happy. It would have tasted like BBQ and surely some of us would have commented on how good it was, even the one that came in last place. Side by side we noticed all kinds of things. One even seemed to taste like old socks to me, next to the others. Like I said, if I didn't have Todd's prize winning BBQ to compare it to directly, I would have been perfectly happy eating the old sock BBQ. Comparison seems to get me in trouble. Suddenly things that were perfectly fine before don't seem to be good enough. I worry that my son isn't talking enough when I compare him to Maddy who can speak in entire paragraphs. I don't feel skinny enough when I try on my friend's pants. I am definantly not pretty enough when I look at those dumb magazines. My home isn't big enough when I compare it to the one next to me. My clothes seem dull and old when I compare it to people I work with. Suddenly everything I have, that I used to be content with seems like old socks.
Paul, you know the guy who was knocked off his donkey, blinded, beaten, improsoned, mocked among other things, seemed to know the secret to being content.
Phil 4:12-13 "12I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13I can do everything through him who gives me strength."
I also suggest that Todd tone down his BBQ, my friends eat a lot, excersize less, clean less, and wear clothes from Goodwill.

Comments

It's those sideways glances that get me in trouble as well. If I'd just look upward instead of outward, I'd be in much better shape heartwise.
Sars said…
Love the parallel. Thanks for the kick in the butt.
spaghettipie said…
I miss you! When does school get out for the summer again??

Popular posts from this blog

preachers and parades.

Months ago, I sat in a pew and tried to not think about the fact that you could count on one hand the number of white congregants in the room.
And I was one of them.
 I did not want to draw attention to myself, but despite the fact that I have been to church most Sundays of my life, I had no idea what to do. When to sit, stand, pray or the lyrics to any of the songs. The rules here seemed so different than my own church, just a few miles away. Filled with people who mostly looked like me.
 A few elderly African American women were seated next to me and were kind enough to attempt to make me feel welcome and tell me what to do. At some point Eunice, in a bright purple dress, slid her arthritic hand on top of mine, squeezed and tugged me to the front to pray.
 I let her lead me, because I didn’t how else to respond, and because she seemed so genuinely glad that I was there, singing off key next to her.

 It was not lost on me, that my slight discomfort was one of choice and ended just …

The annual REAL Christmas letter

One of my favorite traditions for a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter.  Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot more entertaining. Last new year, I had a friend ask me to come up with a word for 2018. I joked that my word was just going to be “done”. I was partly kidding, partly serious. The year ahead seemed daunting rather than full of promise and resolutions.  I had so many things to finish in the upcoming year that I needed to be “done” with: my degree, my job and my thirties. A few weeks later, my friend showed up with one of those string bracelets with the metal word “done” hammered in the middle. I wore it often, especially in those home stretches. Not taking it off until I had my last chapter writte…

game day

“But I don’t want to go to soccer, I’m tired”
says the boy who has been running circles around the living room for the last hour.

“No, I don’t want to wear my jersey”
says the same boy that slept in his uniform just last week.

And so I do what any good mom would do, which is start bribing my kid.
I promise him ring pops or pizza or new toys for having a good attitude, listening to his coach and trying his best.
But those things are not quite enough to make him eagerly lace up his cleats.

Owen actually loves soccer practice.
And is one of the best dribblers on the teams.
And he loves kicking the ball around the living room and in the front yard.
But games days are hell.
Instead of being a proud momma on the sideline snapping pictures
I am usually trying not to cry.
Because Owen has realized that he isn’t really good at it.
That the other kids are bigger and faster and score more goals.

And today his team won. And they haven’t won many games.
And they cheered and lined up eagerly for patches and sna…