Sit, Stay Awhile

My grandfather was a notoriously slow eater. I mean slow. Meals were not merely a physical necessity to him, a functional means of putting food into his body for sustenance, but rather more about everything else surrounding the occasion. Conversations. Stories. People. Relationships. Community. 

For the better part of a decade, my grandparents were fixtures at the local Amish restaurant every morning for breakfast. Typically the only day they didn't go was on Sundays and that was only because they didn't have a say in the matter. The place was closed. The creed of the US Postal Service really was the creed of my grandparents: "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds."  They were relationship couriers hell-bent on making their appointed rounds, just perhaps minus the swift part.

My grandfather would sit at that table like a king conducting the affairs of his court and all the courtiers that came with it. He was never in a hurry. He rarely had anywhere else to be and the coffee and conversation were always in steady supply. He and my grandmother would talk for hours upon hours upon hours. They came for breakfast but they might as well have stayed for lunch, maybe even dinner, too. And they didn't know a stranger. If a couple or a family were sitting a table or two away, minding their own business, inevitably, my grandfather would somehow draw them into a conversation. Strangers became friends who were welcomed into the affairs of the royal court. 

My grandfather was well-versed in the art of lingering. 

He knew what it meant to sit and stay awhile.

I, on the other hand, eat most of my meals standing at the kitchen counter.

Granted, I live alone and there's no one else around to share a meal with so I usually just stand or stay in motion, cleaning up the kitchen or doing more food prep in between bites. Always in motion, always moving.

I am not well-versed in the art of lingering like my grandfather was. 

And neither were the ancient Israelites.

As we move toward Passover in a few weeks, there is a part of the Old Testament exodus story we can easily gloss over and miss the depth of its meaning if we are not careful. We must linger here, just as I need to learn to linger over meals.

When we pick up the story of the Israelites in Exodus 12, they are still in slavery in Egypt, but their deliverance is drawing near. Nine of the ten plagues have been unleashed. The final plague - the death of every firstborn in Egypt, from man to livestock - is about to bring low the heart of Pharaoh himself. In preparation, the Lord issues a command to the people: prepare the Passover feast. Slaughter the lamb, put the blood on the doorframes, make the bread without yeast. 

And then the Lord gives this seemingly insignificant but very important command:

"This is how you are to eat it: with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand. Eat it in haste..." (Exodus 12:11).

When you are about to run for your very life, you have no time to linger over your meal. You make-ready to make haste because time will be your enemy if you don't. Now is not the time to linger, to pull up a chair, make new friends and chew the fat, figuratively speaking. Now is the time you eat in haste. 

When the final plague of death was delivered, Pharaoh would give the order to release all of the Israelites from slavery. And once that command came, there wouldn't be a moment to waste. So God made it clear to his people the stance with which they were to eat the Passover meal, to be like runners crouched at the starting blocks waiting for the gun to go off and the race to begin.  

You eat in haste when you are outrunning your captor.

You eat in haste when you are scrambling to set foot in the Promised Land.

You eat in haste when you are living on the brink of death.

For those who live apart from Christ, this is how you spiritually eat. Constantly on the run, nerves on edge, one eye on your plate, one eye on the door, shoveling spoonfuls in your mouth, eating in haste. And it's not just how you eat now, it's how you will eat for all eternity should you continue to choose to stand as an enemy of the cross of Christ. There will be no lingering over meals in hell because you will be perpetually starved of all things good and right and true. Hell does not come equipped with a kitchen table. 

For those who belong to Christ, however, the day will come when we sit down to eat another feast and God will not give us the same command he gave his people in Exodus 12.  The command he gave then is not how he intends his people to eat all their meals for all their days. It was for a specific purpose at a specific time under specific circumstances.

No, at the end of time, at the wedding feast of the Lamb, God will invite his people to linger. He will invite us to pull up a chair and stay awhile, to get comfortable, to take off our shoes and set aside our staff. He will invite us to become well-acquainted with the art of lingering. 

And he will invite us to eat slowly. 

You are no longer outrunning your captor. 

He has been vanquished.

You are no longer scrambling to set foot in the Promised Land. 

You are already in it. 

You are no longer living on the brink of death.

You have life everlasting.    

So, sit, stay awhile. 

You no longer have to eat in haste at the Lord's table.

"Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!” (Revelation 19:9).

Even If The Answers Never Come

My friend and I sat in the donut shop, basking in the glory of warm, freshly made donuts slathered in toppings of our choosing. The sweet smells of dough and chocolate and various other forms of sugar filled the air. Conversations from other patrons spilled over all around us as they waited in line for their own delightful donuts. My friend sat back in her chair, hands cradling her swollen belly - all 34 weeks of it. We spoke of baby gifts and nurseries and the wonders of pregnancy. Her face was as expectant as the rest of her body. A baby set to arrive any day, at any moment. It was just a matter of time.

I distinctly remember us talking that Friday morning - Good Friday, no less - how so often in life we can have seasons when it seems things couldn't get any better, seasons when it seems we are sailing along, anchored in our faith, confident in the character and nature of God. But those seasons inevitably are followed by the storms, the trials, the heartaches, the crucibles. The two often go hand in hand, don't they? We both knew from our own life experiences how true that dichotomy was.  

We polished off our donuts and I hugged her, her belly creating space between us. We parted ways that morning feeling light, hopeful of the day when her baby would arrive and we would celebrate.  

I wished our conversation hadn't been so prophetic. 

The next morning I woke early to a text message from her, a plea to come to the hospital as soon as possible. 

The baby's heart had stopped beating sometime in the night.

Thirty-four weeks of hopeful expectation.

Dear Jesus, no. Not this.   

I rolled out of bed, changed clothes, gathered my things and shot out the door. As I drove, the questions and thoughts and prayers tumbled around in my brain, like rogue waves breaking against the rocks on a shoreline, one after another after another.   

She's so close to her due date. How could you let this happen now?

Maybe it's just a fluke and the ultrasound equipment malfunctioned. 

What if the doctors are wrong and the baby really is still alive?

Jesus, it's Easter weekend. This would be a good time to perform another resurrection.  

How do I not be weird or awkward or say the wrong thing? 

What is the right thing to say anyway in moments like these?

And, of course - 

Why?

There is often the danger in Christian circles with feeling like we aren't allowed to ask this question in our moments of deepest pain, that it's too taboo or too blasphemous or quite frankly, just plain ol' too honest and too raw. So we paste a smile on our faces, keep a stiff upper lip, raise our hands in a show of worship and count it all joy when the bottom drops out in our lives. And in all things, we give thanks and we don't dare ask why.

As I drove to the hospital, wondering what I would find when I entered that room, I just kept thinking one thing over and over and over again, the mental waves still crashing against the shorelines of my mind:

Just because we have faith doesn't mean we can't ask 'why?'. 

But because we have faith, we can walk on - even if the answers never come.

I parked my car, fervently praying with every step that took me closer to my friend that somehow God would give me the words - and the wisdom to know when perhaps silence was needed more than words. But still that thought that had bounced around my head while driving lingered. I crossed the threshold into that hospital room and I could feel the weight of the atmosphere change in a very visceral way as I stepped into the hushed silence. I pulled back the curtain shielding me from the view of my friend and her husband. As soon as I saw her face, the tears flooded our eyes. Weeping might have been an understatement on account of all parties.

I sat next to her bed, holding her hand, her husband on the other side. I don't know what I said, what they said, what the doula said. I don't know if doctors and nurses came and went. I don't remember any of it. 

But I do remember praying, out loud, there in that room, holding my friend's hand, asking God one question unabashedly, with tears streaming down my face:

"Why?"

Why, God, in all your sovereign ways, would you bring my friend and her baby this far and then allow his heart to stop beating? It doesn't add up. It doesn't make sense. Our finite minds desperately want reasons and explanations and logic and rationale thought to fill the empty spaces. 

Tish Harrison Warren wrote in her stunning book Prayer in the Night*, "It is better to come to God with sharp words than to remain distant from him, never voicing our doubts and disappointments. Better to rage at the Creator than to smolder in polite devotion. God did not smite the psalmist" (48). 

God did not smite the psalmist nor did he smite us in that hospital room for asking why. He's big enough to bear the weight of those three little letters.  

But we have to be prepared for either an answer we don't like or an answer that never comes. 

And we have to decide what we will do in the face of either of those responses. 

I can assure you my kindhearted and tender friend did not smolder in polite devotion. She came to God with her sharp words in the face of an answer she didn't like. She came with her doubts and disappointments. But I also watched her in the days, weeks, months and years that have followed since that not-so-good-Good-Friday decide one day at a time what her ultimate response was going to be:

She was still going to walk on, choosing to shift her focus to the answer to the question "Who is God?" rather than dwelling on why.

Because the answers to why have never come for her. 

The baby was perfectly healthy. The autopsy report reveals no abnormalities. The doctors don't know why. 

There are no reasons, explanations, or rationale thoughts.

Warren went on to share in Prayer in the Night of a friend whose son underwent surgery. While her friend sat in the waiting room, "she committed herself to deciding whether God could be trusted, regardless of the result of the surgery." Warren reflected,

[My friend] was not simply ratcheting herself up to affirm the goodness of God in spite of contrary evidence. She did look to evidence, though not the evidence of her life, nor the tally of the total amount of good in the world versus the total amount of evil. Instead, she looked at the life of Jesus. It's on this story that she anchored her decision about whether she would trust God, without knowing what would happen next (29).

I watched my own friend look to the life of Jesus rather than merely ratcheting herself up to affirm the goodness of God. I watched her ask why, and I watched her anchor her life to something greater than both the question and the answer - or lack thereof.

I watched her walk on, even when the answers never came.

Because her faith was built not on the question of why.

Her faith was built on the answer of who. 

In your moments of deepest pain and loudest lament, you can ask God why. 

But determine now to walk on in faith, trusting in who he is.

Even if the answers to why never come.

======

*Seriously. Read this book. 

Opportunity Does Not Equal Permission

On paper, it made so much sense. He was a pilot, good-looking, funny, kind, well-liked by his peers, adored by other girls, loved Jesus, was one of my closest friends and best of all? He cared about me, was interested in me, and wanted to date me, wanted to see if this thing between us would turn into marriage some day in the future. What woman in her right mind wouldn't date a guy like that? It was a seemingly obvious and open door of opportunity. 

The world told me to take it.

Only I didn't. 

I had long conversations with Jesus over that boy. Why not, God? Why can't I say yes to him? He loves you, and in some form or fashion, he loves me. What could be so bad about saying yes to him and seeing where this thing goes? 

There was no lightning bolt from the blue, no detailed reasoning from Jesus etched in the form of stone tablets, but there was always a check in my gut from the Holy Spirit. The answer simply was no. And not only was it a no, but there was a strong sense I would be disobedient if I forged ahead.  I knew without a doubt I had opportunity to date this tender-hearted warrior who loved Jesus, but I did not have permission.

In the life of a Christ-follower, discernment through the power of the Holy Spirit will be what shapes our ability to distinguish between opportunity and permission. We cannot operate like the world operates because let's be honest, the world is exceptionally gifted at getting opportunity and permission mixed up. The world thinks because you are presented with a chance to move ahead in a certain way with your plans, that it's meant to be. It's fate! It's destiny! It's your chance to speak your truth! You had been wanting to get out of your job, and then a company offers you a chance to interview out of the blue! Surely this must be a sign! Seize the opportunity! Or as in my case, you want to date and a man comes along who is textbook perfect. He's single, you're single. You both have a pulse. Surely this must be a sign! Seize the opportunity!   

That is how the world operates. Open doors equate to green lights which equate to permission. Elisabeth Elliot calls this the 'danger of coincidence' in her book Passion and Purity, saying, "More sins are defended by the claim of coincidence ('it was meant to be') than this world dreams of - or at least than it admits (59)." 

David knew the danger of defending his sins by the claim of coincidence. In 1 Samuel 24, he was on the run from Saul, the king over Israel, a man bent on ending David's life. But at that point, God had rejected Saul as king and David had been anointed by Samuel to serve as Saul's successor. Saul had zero interest in allowing this. David fled to the desert, hiding out in caves, constantly on the move to escape Saul's hand. 

On one occasion, David and his men were tucked far back into a cave. Saul had been pursuing David, and unbeknownst to Saul, he entered the same cave where David was hiding. David's men turned to him,

"This is the day the Lord spoke of when he said to you, ‘I will give your enemy into your hands for you to deal with as you wish.'" Then David crept up unnoticed and cut off a corner of Saul’s robe.

Afterward, David was conscience-stricken for having cut off a corner of his robe. He said to his men, “The Lord forbid that I should do such a thing to my master, the Lord’s anointed, or lay my hand on him; for he is the anointed of the Lord.” With these words David sharply rebuked his men and did not allow them to attack Saul. And Saul left the cave and went his way (1 Samuel 24:4-7)."

David could have ended Saul's life in that cave. His men told him as much. His sin would have been defended by coincidence. Look! Now is your chance to kill the very man who is out to kill you! God has surely brought him to this cave for that reason! But David knew opportunity did not equal permission. He could not afford to get the two mixed up. Saul was the Lord's anointed. Just because Saul had come to the very cave David was hiding in did not mean it was a sign from God to take Saul's life. 

We see the same when Jesus was crucified. He was unjustly beaten, flogged, stripped and nailed to a cross. Blood was pouring from his body. His lungs were screaming for oxygen. His shoulders were likely wrenched out of socket. It was an excruciating way to die. In Matthew 27, Matthew writes of the responses from those to either side and at the foot of the cross:

Two rebels were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!” 

In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him.  “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! He’s the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” In the same way the rebels who were crucified with him also heaped insults on him (Matthew 27:38-44).

Jesus could have stepped down from the cross. The mocking crowd told him as much and he no doubt had the divine power to do so. He really was the Son of God and being the Son of God meant he had the power to do the very thing the people said. But Jesus knew opportunity did not equal permission. He knew the danger of coincidence, that just because the people told him he could (albeit mockingly so) did not mean it was a sign from God for him to do so.

So he stayed. 

When he could have come off the cross, he stayed.

Jesus did not get opportunity and permission mixed up.

And because he did not get those two mixed up, you and I have both opportunity and permission to go from death to life (John 5:24).

Because he did not get those two mixed up, you and I have both opportunity and permission to spend all eternity dwelling with him (John 3:16).

Because he did not get those two mixed up, you and I have both opportunity and permission to sit at the wedding feast of the Lamb, eating and drinking until our heart's content (Revelation 19:9).

Because he did not get those two mixed up, you and I have both opportunity and permission to approach the throne of grace with confidence, assured that we will find mercy and receive grace in our time of need (Hebrews 4:16).

Because he did not get those two mixed up, you and I have both opportunity and permission to ask that out of God's glorious riches he would strengthen us with power through his Spirit in our inner being so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith (Ephesians 3:16-17).

This is one opportunity - the opportunity to love Jesus and follow him - you cannot afford to mix up.

Consider this your green light.

Seven Details To See in Your Past

January 2, 2022, will mark 25 years since I began putting pen to paper and chronicling my life. Twenty-four years of documenting, cataloging, recapping, rehashing, lamenting, praying and worshiping my way through life. My journals are without question my most-prized possession. I would be devastated if anything ever happened to them - or if anyone else ever got their hands on them and read them. They are equal parts mortifying, sobering, comical and painful. I've told two of my very dearest friends on numerous occasions - if I should die suddenly, you have strict instructions to immediately burn every single piece of paper in my journals without ever reading them. You light the biggest bonfire possible and you toss them in and you keep watch until every last square inch has been turned to ash and dust. I will haunt you from the grave if you or anyone else reads them before burning. I trust they will honor my request. 

Every so many years, I pull out the entire collection of journals and I read them from start to finish, from the very beginning until present day. It allows me to see the arc of my life, the broad strokes, the themes, rather than zeroing in on the details and finer points. It is both an exercise in remembering and forgetting. There are numerous entries I need to remember, where I need the reminder of all that God has carried me through, need the reminder of his illogical faithfulness to me, but also so many entries I wish I could forget - or at the very least take a black marker to them. Those kind of entries mainly related to boys, much to my dismay and embarrassment.

My first entry [enshrined in a brightly colored Lisa Frank* journal] was simply my new year's resolutions for 1997.  I was all of twelve years old and I clearly was not the most ambitious child. I was mainly concerned about personal hygiene and somehow seeing to it that my pets' happiness was accounted for. I aimed to set the bar low in life, even at a young age:  

January 2, 1997
11:05 a.m.

• Get up earlier
• Brush teeth every morning
• Get shower every night
• Wash hair every night
• Keep room clean
• Read Bible as often as possible
• Work with Bud [my pony] several times a day (patience!)
• Play with Maggie [my dog] more often
• Take care of fish tank often

The sad part is, if I stripped out the pet-related resolutions, this list could likely still be applied to various seasons of my adult life. Let's be honest - in the worst of my mental health crisis, showering felt like attempting to climb Mt. Everest. Washing my hair was icing on the cake. And that was at 33-years old. 

Those early years were mainly filled with the mundane reporting out of a kid who lived a pretty simple, uneventful life. Middle school librarian who drove me crazy. Lesson horse who wouldn't cooperate. Friends who ignored me. Class assignments that were bothersome. Brothers who were - well, brothers. 

But as the years passed, the entries became laced with much deeper, sometimes darker things. The simple resolutions of childhood were long gone. The complicated resolutions of adulthood were ever-present.  Entries became far less about reporting external circumstances and far more about pouring out internal uncertainties and quandaries. The laments and sorrows of the latter years far outpace the optimism and naïveté of the early years.

If I'm not careful, I can linger too long over the past mistakes I've been reliving through these pages. It becomes easy to see the sum total of all my bad choices, regrets, poor discernment and wrong turns. When those moments come, it is there that I have to stop, close the pages and walk away. 

And it is there that I have to see the redemptive hand of God in it all. 

Jonathan Parnell wrote an article that has been formative for me in recent years, a framework through which I have come to view my past. Parnell exhorted, "The exercise is to read your own history — to pinpoint where you are now and jump backwards, working your way back up to the present. And during this reading, there are some specifics for which we should be on the lookout." He then outlined seven things for which we need to be on the lookout:

1. See God's care for you.
2. See God's wisdom for you.
3. See God's grace for you.
4. See God's humility for you.
5. See God's goal in all your provisions.
6. See God's goodness in comfortable stuff.
7. See Jesus Christ as the way of God's mercy to you.

This exercise of re-reading my past is not merely an exercise in resurrecting regrets. It is an exercise in remembering why I need a resurrected Savior. Without his care, wisdom, grace, humility, goodness and mercy, the words that fill all 17 journals spanning 25 years certainly would be nothing but documentation of my foolishness and failings. They would be an archive, a snapshot, of a sinful, broken life. 

But through a different lens, through the lens of God's faithfulness, I can see more than that.  

I can see his care for me in the very darkest of seasons, when he sent friends I didn't know I needed, family who sat with me even when they felt helpless, and songs that would become my anthems.

I can see his wisdom for me when he shielded me from dating relationships that simply weren't meant to be, despite my longings and desires telling me otherwise. His wisdom told me that opportunity did not equal permission, and that outlook has spared me many a heartache, I imagine. 

I can see his grace for me when I sinned against another and spoke cruel, bitter words. His grace came running, even when my sin sent me stumbling.

I can see his humility for me when he stooped low and answered prayers that seemed so trivial, so inconsequential. But those prayers became stakes in the ground, stakes I would use as reminders of his faithfulness, even in the seemingly simple requests. 

I can see his goals for me in all my provisions when he transformed dreams and made a way for new beginnings. That riding scholarship I was convinced I would get and would desperately need as a provision to pay for college? Denied. But it turns out I didn't need a riding scholarship because he knew I wouldn't be riding for much longer anyway. His goals and his provisions were greater than I ever dared to dream. 

I can see his goodness in comfortable stuff. There is never a physical need I've had that he hasn't provided, from the greatest to the least, including that mouthwatering burger and insanely good milkshake I had in Kenya at Java House after being so sick of eating beans. A simple delight he chose to bestow out of the simple fact that he delights in caring for his children. 

I can see Jesus Christ as the way of God's mercy to me when he disciplined and corrected sin that he simply would not allow to continue, for my sake and his glory. 

It's all there - and more - in my past. But I have to look for it. 

You have to look for the same in your own. His care, wisdom, grace, humility, goodness and mercy toward you are there in your past, just as they are in mine. Will you choose to see it? You don't need to have chronicled it all through journals like I have; that's not the point. But can you recall and bring to mind the workings of God, the fingerprints of his goodness stamped across the seasons of your life even apart from the written word?

Parnell concluded his piece by saying, "Every detail of God’s goodness to you has come through the blood of Jesus. Look back on these providences and remember that you’ve earned none of them. They come by Jesus, or they don’t come at all. His cross is the most vivid demonstration of God’s love for us, and every little good we’ve seen has flowed from that glorious fountain. It did yesterday, and it will tomorrow." 

Every little good I've seen across 17 journals, 25 years and thousands of words has flowed from the blood of Jesus. I can look back on these providences and remember that I've earned none of them. They have come by Christ and Christ alone.

============

*I was obsessed with Lisa Frank as a child, and I am seriously considering buying one of these sweatshirts, purely for nostalgia's sake. Oh, the days of Casey and Caymus, Hollywood Bear and Panda Painter! Brings back so many memories. 

If Only I Had Twitter

It's been previously established I have no social media accounts. It's an intentional lifestyle choice, but  ironically enough, part of my big-girl job is to serve as the social media coordinator for the conference I plan. If you're scratching your head right now, that's okay. I do so myself on occasion. It was a bit of an accident and somehow I wound up taking over the responsibilities here a couple of years ago. 

I can't imagine the circumstances under which I would ever resurrect my own personal existence on social media, but once in a blue moon, though, I do have fleeting thoughts where I think, "Man, I wish I had an account on Twitter or Facebook." The key word is fleeting. F-L-E-E-T-I-N-G. Those thoughts last all of about 0.67 seconds, and it's usually because I want to tweet at someone, not because I feel like I have something to say otherwise. 

Alas, since I don't have Twitter (or Facebook or Instagram or TikTok), I'm going to resort to merely posting a collection of trivial tweets I've thought of recently, the things I would say if I had Twitter (or Facebook or Instagram or TikTok). Maybe I just need to coerce all my friends who do have social media to post these on my behalf?!

The real Jon McLaughlin
would be the one on the right

• @JonMcLaughlin: Did you know your long-lost twin is on the cover of DiAnn Mills' book Firewall? #DoubleTake

• @BenRector: Your lyrics to "If You Can Hear Me" greatly trouble me. "Sometimes the devil sounds a lot like Jesus, telling me I'm not enough." These lyrics make no sense to me, no matter how many times I listen to them. Please explain. #SoConfused

•  @HappyRantPod: What are the odds you have transcripts of your episodes? I am looking for ONE line said by Ronnie Martin in an episode sometime in 2020 that literally changed my life. That shouldn't be hard to find, right? #NeedleInAHaystack

• @LeagueLegacyUS: Once upon a time you made the world's most PERFECT ball cap. WHY DID YOU STOP MAKING IT? #BringItBackFromTheDead #PrettyPlease 

• @LazBoy: I swear my recliner is laced with sedatives. I blame you for my lack of productivity. #TheStruggleIsReal 

• @BathBodyWorks: You make a gazillion different scented candles. Why can't you carry the ONE scent I want (You're The One) on the ONE day of the year I bother to set foot in your store?! #WhatIsTheDeal #YoureNotTheOne #FirstWorldProblems

• @Subaru_USA: I made the right choice when I bought my Forester. #YoureTheOne

• @PilotPenUSA: You make the world's best pen. Just thought you should know. G-2 all the way! #Seriously #ILoveIt #IRarelyTravelWithoutOne

• @Techstyles Sportswear: I really wish you would sell direct-to-consumer. You make my favorite sweatshirt. And the only place I have found them so far is in a store in Jackson, Wyoming. Know anyone in Ohio who sells your sprinter crew sweatshirt??

• @SieteFoods: I typically buy no less than four bags of Lime Tortilla Chips when I go to the store. This is a problem. But occasionally I get a bag I swear is stale. This, too, is a problem. #WhatsUpWithThat

• @FoodShouldTasteGood: I would buy no less than four bags of Harvest Pumpkin Chips when I go to the store but you STOPPED MAKING THEM. Why does everyone feel the need to discontinue my favorite products? #HelpASistaOut #BringBackHarvestPumpkin 

If you're so inclined, feel free to post one of the above on my behalf. You'll just have to text or email me their response. #OldSchool 😉

Why Have I Been Forsaken?

It seems God has abandoned us, has he not? Or at the very least, he's in the process of waving farewell to us while his ship sails for the horizon line and we are left stranded on shore. If we're not careful, the tidal wave of doom and gloom will suck us under, give us a good thrashing against the reef below and throttle us to the surface above gasping for air. Millions of people dead from COVID in less than two years. Haiti ravaged by an earthquake - again. Louisiana hit by a monster of a hurricane - again. The West Coast decimated by forest fires - again. Cities like New York City are literally under water, experiencing unprecedented flooding. Mass shootings. Hate crimes. Heat waves. Droughts. Floods. Famines. War. Disease. And where do we even start with Afghanistan? Heck, even the chipmunks apparently don't stand a chance of making it out of this whole thing alive.

Depressing, isn't it? And all that is just if you're reading the front page of the newspaper. 

Knock on the front door of the people around you and you'll find equally devastating headlines. It's just that those headlines rarely make the nightly news or the Times.

The body count is stacking rapidly and we wonder where God is in the midst of it all, if he is here at all.

Oh, yes, it would be so very easy to believe he has vacated the premises. We would surely be justified in thinking so, as it seems every trace of the Almighty God has vanished. 

And he hasn't just forgotten us. He's forsaken us. Deserted us. Abandoned us.

Left us, quite literally, for dead. 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us? Everywhere we look is death and destruction. Where are you in the midst of it? A darkness has come over all the land, and we are groping our way through the inky black, desperate to find any trace of you, your goodness, your light, your hope.

I know that feeling, when you're left on your knees, questioning everything you thought to be true, and perhaps wondering most of all if God really has finally just left you for dead. Those thoughts come easily in the dark.

But is this not the very crux of faith: what will our response be when it seems every trace of God has vanished?

Job faced this question. All his servants, dead. All his livestock, dead. All his children, dead. His own body? Not quite dead. But he was stricken with sores from head to toe nonetheless. "Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes" (Job 2:8). 

Surely God had vanished.

David faced this question. A hunted man, spending more than a decade of his life on the run from a madman trying to slay him out of jealousy and insecurity. He moved from one cave to the next, under constant threat of attack, always sleeping with one eye open and a sword tucked close. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent" (Psalm 22:1-2). 

Surely God had vanished.   

Jesus faced this question. He spent his life under constant suspicion and scrutiny of the religious leaders. They delighted in scheming up ways to trap him with questions. And then when they finally had had enough of his blaspheming? They stripped, mocked, beat, whipped, punched, flogged, flayed, and crucified the man. Without apology or remorse, or so much as a second glance over their shoulders. "From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land. About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" - which means, "My, God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:45-46). 

Surely God had vanished.

And that's just if you're reading the major headlines of the Bible. Knock on the door of other characters and you'll find many more who were seemingly forsaken by God. 

It appears he is an equal opportunity forsaker, from the common man to the Son of Man.

But if our faith is based on our circumstances, on what we see when we look around at a world gone haywire, at a world that ebbs and flows like the rising tide, then it is no faith at all. If we choose to believe that our every storyline ends in death and despair, then death and despair is all we'll see. If all you have is a hammer, then everything is a nail.

When we find ourselves groping our way through the inky blackness, pleading the lights would finally come back on, we must believe and we must confess:

He has not forsaken us. 

Job believed this. He groped his way through the inky blackness of grief and sorrow, and said, "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him" (Job 13:15).

David believed this. He groped his way through the inky blackness of terror and trauma, and said, "For he has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help" (Psalm 22:24).

Jesus believed this. He groped his way through the inky blackness of hell, and said, "'Abba, Father, everything is possible for you...Yet not what I will, but what you will'" (Mark 13:36).

God had not forsaken them, despite what their circumstances screamed.

C.S. Lewis said in his classic book, The Screwtape Letters, "Satan's cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do God's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."

When we look round upon a universe from which it seems every trace of him has vanished, will we still obey, even when we no longer desire to? Will we still seek to do God's will even in the face of the stacking body count all around us? Will we still seek to grab hold of him by faith and believe he has not forsaken us despite what the news headlines tell us? Will we still intend to do God's will when everything within our frame compels us to run the other way?

Every trace of God seemed to have vanished while his own Son hung on the cross. Complete and utter darkness had befallen the land. Hope had been blacked out. The sunlight snuffed like the flame of a candle, without even so much as a few lingering wisps of smoke.

From his vantage point on a cross high up on a hillside, Jesus looked round upon a universe from which every trace of his Father seemed to have vanished and asked why he had been forsaken. 

And yet he stayed nailed to that cross. 

He still went to the grave. 

He still obeyed. 

Will we do the same? Will our response be that of Job, "Though You slay me, yet will I hope in you"? 

Dear God, let it be so.

____________________________________________

For further listening:

Though You Slay Me by Shane and Shane, featuring John Piper

Held by Natalie Grant

Give Me a Song by Will Regan and United Pursuit

Joy by Page CXVI

Wyoming 2021: Still Working on the Selfie Game

In case you've missed the memo at any point along the way, I really love Jackson Hole, Wyoming. A lot. And I love taking other people there to experience it, to see it fresh through someone else's eyes. Much like the rest of the world, I had a hankering to travel, particularly back to Wyoming. I rustled up some traveling companions in the form of my mother and cousin, and off we went last week. 

It turns out I still love the place as much as ever. I typically only ever go out in September, but had been wanting to experience the Tetons and Yellowstone in a different season. I think I will forever be more partial to the Tetons over Yellowstone, so we spent the bulk of our time in Grand Teton and spent only two days up in Yellowstone.

And it's probably for the better that we only spent two days there. While it was hotter than hades back in Ohio, I was wearing 3 layers of clothing, gloves, a winter hat and using a kitchen knife to scrape snow off the car windshield up in Yellowstone. Hey, when you don't have an ice scraper in your rental, you work with what you've got. Kitchen knife it is. We woke up early our first morning to get into the park before the rest of the world woke up, making a beeline straight for the Canyon area, but it was snowing so hard and the roads were just getting worse the farther north we went, so we aborted that mission. Doesn't matter how beautiful the waterfall is if you can't see it through blinding, blowing snow. And when we were leaving Yellowstone to head back to Jackson, it was nearly whiteout conditions, with visibility maybe less than a quarter of a mile. I'm all for cold but I do have my limits.

Our time in the Tetons, however, involved far less snow, and was spent exploring some new areas I hadn't been to before, while still revisiting some tried-and-true favorites. While browsing the maps, I stumbled across a lookout point called the Wedding Tree, about 30 minutes east of Jackson that most people don't know about, on a gravel road through the Bridger-Teton National Forest. How the heck did I not find this place sooner? It was stunning, and for a brief time we had it all to ourselves because no one else was around, so you better believe I sat and admired the view and the silence for a bit while keeping my bear spray close.

Hidden Falls was another winner, but that place is fairly well-known and an easy hike into the backcountry, so by the time we were hiking out, the crowds were growing in size. Y'all - I cannot say this enough - if you ever visit the Tetons or Yellowstone, get your tookus out of bed early. This tactic pays dividends, and you will be so glad you gave up those few minutes of extra sleep.

Other highlights included:

• Seeing Bear 399 within hours of arriving. If you're not familiar with her, she's literally the famous famous grizzly bear in the country, if not the world. My mother is enamored with this fellow mother, and nearly did a happy dance when we came across 399 and her four cubs. Between seeing her and another grizzly, it's the most grizzlies I've ever seen. And to say it's the most I've ever seen, it's to say they are the only grizzlies I've ever seen out there, despite this being my fourth trip.

• Watched paragliders literally jump off the side of the mountain. My cousin and I took the Bridger Gondola up to the top of the mountain at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, and while up there, we were treated to a front-row seat of several people thinking it was a good idea to fling themselves into the wind off the side of a mountain. Tip: Don't buy the blueberry muffins at Off Piste. You'll wind up with sticker shock when you shell out $7 for a muffin that is somewhat of a letdown.

• The hunt for the world's perfect baseball cap. I bought a baseball cap the last time I was out to JH and it has proven to be my very favorite hat ever. I was determined to find another one just like it. Y'all. I practically scoured that town and could not find one in that exact style, by that exact brand. They had every other style, just not.that.one. It was maddening. I practically spent more time hunting for that baseball hat than I did for wildlife. Why is it that companies always feel the need to stop carrying the ONE product you absolutely love?

• Weddings. So many weddings! I can't tell you the number of brides and grooms we crossed paths with or saw from afar, getting their wedding photos. We even saw one bride in her gown, hoofing it up the path to Inspiration Point, on the far side of Jenny Lake in the Tetons. It's one thing to do that trail in hiking boots and regular attire, let alone in a wedding dress. The things we do for the perfect photo.

• I realized on this trip that every time I've been out to JH, I've been the one driving, which I don't mind, but it means I don't always get to take a good look at the scenery. Next time I go out, I need to find someone else who will drive. And I need to find someone who legit wants to hike. Not camp, just hike. I like a comfy bed, a warm shower and clean clothes, and I like those things on a daily basis. So no camping. And I can assure you I have zero interest in pitching a tent anywhere out in bear country, but there's so much hiking yet to do!

• I got mistaken for a boy. AGAIN. This time by a 5-year old on the plane. "Mommy, is that a boy or a girl?" I'm starting to lose track of the number of times I get mistaken for a boy. And it's always when I have a ball cap on, so I can't say that I entirely blame people, but seriously. It gets old. And discouraging. But not enough to make me swear off wearing my favorite ball cap.

• Gros Ventre Slide. I hadn't ever ventured over to Kelly, Wyoming, but one of it's more notable features is the landslide that occurred there back in the 1920s. It wiped out the town, killing 6 people and leaving a newly-formed lake in its wake. There's a trail that takes you to the base of the slide and literally looked like a bomb went off, even after nearly one hundred years have passed. 

• Lots of baby buffalo! It's calving season, so it seemed there were just bundles of baby buffalo scattered all over the place, mainly up in Yellowstone. This was the first time, however, that I saw exactly ZERO elk in Yellowstone. Not a single one.   

• Webcams. These can be your new best friend when traveling, and here's why: There are some mornings you'd really love to watch the sunrise, but you're also not sure if the view will be worth the effort to crawl out of your snuggly warm bed. Is it rainy? Is it cloudy? Can I even see the mountains? Enter webcams. There were several mornings I thought about checking out the sunrise but was also feeling mildly lazy. So, I would just check out a select few webcams, see if the view was worth it or not. If not, I rolled over and stayed in bed. If it was, I flung back the covers, grabbed my trusty ball cap, car keys and jetted out the door. #YoureWelcome.

As for the rest of the highlights, I'll let my camera lens do the talking. If you ever make plans to visit the Tetons or Yellowstone yourself, I will gladly serve as your trip advisor. And the first thing I will tell you is don't go to Yellowstone before June. And yes, you need to buy and carry your bear spray if you go hiking. And yes, you need to get your fanny out of bed at o-dark-thirty.  

 

Hidden Falls, just a quick boat ride and a hike across Jenny Lake

View from inside the Cunningham Cabin

The rubble at the base of the Gros Ventre slide. That patch of snow way up 
on the mountainside is where the slide originated.

Schwabacher's Landing. I mean, c'mon.
How can you not fall in love with a place like this?

Perfect mirror reflection at Schwabacher's

View from Wedding Tree. There was one stubborn cloud
that absolutely refused to move from the top of the Grand
the entire time I sat there.

 The view from Teton Point turnout

Heyyyo. Still working on my selfie game. It's been a work in progress since 2015.

My fellow sojourners, Old Faithful in the background

And, of course, no trip is complete without jumping photos
in front of the famous antler arches in Jackson's Town Square.

A Collection of Loves

If you have come to this post expecting any sort of wisdom or profound thoughts, you will be sorely disappointed. I have no such words to offer as of late. Some things just take awhile to percolate, and I've learned never to rush such thoughts.  

I do, however, have a collection of things I have been loving lately - podcasts, books, food, music, products. Just a little bit of everything. I've been reading books like a bear coming out of hibernation, searching for food. I've just been gobbling up one book after another. And I've been trying all sorts of new foods and recipes, some good, some not-so-good.  I offer this collective list merely as a means of recommendations and a peek into my wanderings lately. Perhaps you'll find a few will make it on to your own list of loves. 

• "Escape to the Chateau". This show has been on for years and I am only now just discovering it. I love Dick and Angel. I don't have cable, so I can only blame PBS for sucking me in.

• "Just Want You" by The Belonging Co, featuring Sarah Reeves. I cannot get enough of this song.

• Webcam at Turpin Meadow Ranch. I stayed at this ranch the first time I ever went to Wyoming. I LOVE this place and I just discovered there is a webcam there. I am hooked. I'm also obsessed with the webcam at the National Elk Refuge.

• The Spatty. Say hi to your new best friend. I've known about this product for awhile, but never bothered to buy one. But then I had a few lotion bottles and tubes that I wanted to clean out. Enter "The Spatty." I've used it nearly every day since I got it.

• Rebol. Such.good.food. This place is my guilty pleasure. Just minus the guilt actually because all their food is ultra-healthy and follows the mindset of functional medicine, which says, "Food is medicine." And their Paleo cookies? I had one over the weekend and it was a magical moment.

• Shrink Art. It's like magic. Equally entertaining for children and adults. I had done shrink art before but rediscovered it after thinking through what activity to have for a women's ministry I've been volunteering with. I just bought whole sheets of it, traced some images I found online, colored them, baked them and voila! 

• Whole30. This has literally changed my life. I started doing it several years ago and it has been a total game-changer. I started a round at the beginning of this year and I feel so much better. The wonder of good sleep is incentive enough to follow through with this approach.

• Harvest Sheet Pan Dinner. In the midst of Whole30, I've been exploring new recipes. I've been loving this one.

• Bacon. I know, I'm late to the game on this one. I'm not a huge bacon fan. (You can now pick up your jaw from the floor.) I felt kinda 'meh' about it. I had never bothered to purchase bacon at a grocery store, on my own, as an adult, until the last two weeks. And now I just want to eat it all the time. 

• Jesus, My Father, the CIA and Me by Ian Morgan Cron. This book. It had me laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants. I gobbled it up in one night. It was both sad and hilarious all at the same time. I also read The Road Back To Me by Cron, which I likewise recommend.

• Happy Rant Podcast. I'm not much of a podcast listener, but this is the one podcast I listen to faithfully, and routinely laugh out loud while doing so. And Ronnie Martin's Twitter feed - I wish I could write half as well as he does. He is a fabulous writer. 

• The Doctor's Farmacy Podcast. I don't listen to this one quite as faithfully, but I still listen to it a fair amount.

• Breath by James Nestor. Who knew there was a history to breathing. SO fascinating. I learned so much from this book.

• Hoopla. I use this app pretty regularly to access and stream music, but I do it for free through the public library. It's not like Spotify or Pandora that shuffles songs based on a few 'seed' songs. This gives you much greater control and lets you just straight up listen to entire albums of your choosing.

• Internet. I know, it's about like the bacon situation. I just got legit, hi-speed internet for the first time in my life. Go ahead and re-read that sentence again. I'll wait until your head is done exploding. Yes, I have gone my entire adult life without ever actually having internet. I would either use my phone, go to the public library, or use a mobile Wi-Fi 'Jetpack,' which really couldn't do much. I now have 5G, wired, unlimited internet and it is uh-mazing.

• Macadamia nuts. Add these next to bacon and internet. Clearly I've been living under a rock my whole life. How have I not discovered these before now?? The price tag on these little suckers is the only thing stopping me from eating my body weight in macadamias. 

• Fed Up documentary. Very enlightening.

• Food: What the Heck Should I Eat? by Mark Hyman. Can you tell I'm a fan of Mark's? (See also the Doctor's Farmacy podcast above and the Fed Up documentary, which he is in.) 

• Sanditon. I first watched the series on PBS. It was Jane Austen's last unfinished, unpublished work before she died. Spoiler alert: the guy does not choose the girl. Which annoys me. Greatly. But Theo James is just way too good-looking for me to be upset with him for very long. I also read two different versions of the book. Austen had only written eleven chapters before she died. One book took Austen's original chapters and then the author finished the book as she imagined Austen would have. The other version was just the book form of the TV series. (I also re-read Pride and Prejudice and re-watched both the Kiera Knightly movie version and the BBC series. I was clearly on a Jane Austen kick for awhile.)

Despite all of these things I've been loving, there are a few things I would not recommend:

• Sardines. I can't. I just can't. I thought I'd try to branch out some in the food department. This was a branch too far.

• Seaweed snacks. Again, trying to broaden my horizons and be a bit adventurous in the food department. It's a definite 'no'.

• Hazelnuts. I love Nutella, but I'm less of a fan of the raw nut. Kinda boring. And chewy.

• Book of Fire by Brian Moynahan. It's on the life of William Tyndale, the man who translated the Bible into English and was persecuted for doing so. Obviously, Tyndale's life is fascinating, but the book itself was a bit dense and the writing style left a little something to be desired.

• The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab. I was pretty excited to read this book because the plot summary sounded so intriguing, but I wound up pretty disappointed. It is no doubt wildly imaginative and creative, but it had several sex scenes that I just didn't care to read, and quite frankly, really great stories can be told without those elements

On Which Side Will You Sing?

Last weekend, I moved for the third time in a little over three years.

Let me just say this in light of this fact: I'm tired of pulling up tent pegs. 

I look back on my 20s and marvel, wondering who on earth that girl was who delighted so much in bouncing around the globe, restless at the mere thought of even being in one place for every long, aching far more for wings than roots. 

My mind and body must have been inhabited by some other woman back then because now in the latter half of my 30s, I am going kicking and screaming at the prospect of not being in one place for very long. I ache far more for roots than wings these days.

The decision to move is one stemming all the way back to mid-August, and the months in between were filled with stress, tears, meltdowns and temper tantrums of the adult variety. Life felt like a rollercoaster and a yo-yo all rolled into one, first searching for a house to buy, not finding anything, then deciding to rent, then deciding to search for a house again, and finally just deciding to rent again. The reasons behind the decision aren't all that significant - it was practical things like getting a new landlord who raised the rent, wanting to save more money for a downpayment on a house, and generally being sick of living below people who owned two large dogs who felt the need to turn their apartment into their own personal tumbling gym.    

And through it all I felt like God was silent. Oh, there were whispers of his promptings, but were they really him or my own thoughts? I struggled to discern, there was so much racket in my head. 

In the seeming silence, I doubted. I protested. I worried. I stressed. I complained. I panicked. I became anxious. I became fearful, consumed with self-imposed pressures and timelines. I practically begged for the heavens to open up, for angels to descend and declare, "Behold! This is the house you should buy," or "This is where you should live." My belief that God could provide evaporated in a cloud of unbelief.

No angels descended from on high, and there certainly were no words of gratitude flowing from my lips, no song of praise pouring from my heart. Not on this side of the matter.

I have thought often of the Old Testament Israelites as of late, people of tent pegs and tents, wanderers and nomads. 

It wasn't always that way. They had roots for over 400 years in one place and it was their undoing. They sank roots deep into Egypt, roots that would eventually enslave them. I wonder what songs they sang in those 400 years? Surely laments, but were there songs of praise? If they knew their prophecies, then they had to know that some day the 400 years would end, that it wouldn't always be like this, that they wouldn't always be slaves to a slave-driver. 

After 400 achingly long years of breaking backs and breaking hearts, God gave the Israelites wings and they took flight,  pulling up stakes, and fleeing Egypt.

But even with wings, there still was no song. They had the cloud by day and the fire by night, but no song. (None recorded anyway.) They had the very presence of the living God with them, but no song. They had been liberated from four centuries of bondage, but no song. 

And then their wings lead them to the Red Sea. A dead end. A brick wall of water before them and an angry army behind them. "As Pharaoh approached, the Israelites looked up, and there were the Egyptians, marching after them. They were terrified and cried out to the Lord. They said to Moses, 'Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die? What have you done to us by bringing us out of Egypt?'" (Exodus 14:10-11).

There is no song on this side of the Red Sea, only unbelief and doubt cloaked in terror and panic. The God who liberated us, provided for us, led us, surely he can't save us now!

But save He does. The wind roars, the waters part, the people pass and the army drowns.

And then - and then - a song. 

"Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord:

“I will sing to the Lord,

    for he is highly exalted.

Both horse and driver

    he has hurled into the sea. 

The Lord is my strength and my defense;

    he has become my salvation.

He is my God, and I will praise him,

    my father’s God, and I will exalt him.

The Lord is a warrior;

    the Lord is his name...

Who among the gods

    is like you, Lord?

Who is like you—

    majestic in holiness,

awesome in glory,

    working wonders? 

You stretch out your right hand,

    and the earth swallows your enemies.

In your unfailing love you will lead

    the people you have redeemed.

In your strength you will guide them

    to your holy dwelling...

The Lord reigns

    for ever and ever." 

Exodus 15:1-3, 11-13, 18

It's amazing the difference parted waters can have on a departed perspective.

Will we be like the Israelites and only sing on the other side of our Red Seas? Will we only worship after we've been delivered, after we know how it all ends, and after the happy ending? Or are we willing to worship in the space between beginnings and endings, pronouncements and deliverance, prophecies and fulfillments? Is not the song on the far side of the Red Sea, when the waters have not been parted, far more powerful than the one on this side of the Red Sea? Must we always wait for hindsight to inform our worship? Why do we not lean more on our foresight, our foreknowledge, which is built on the character of God, to inform our worship? 

I want there to be a song flowing from my mouth no matter which side of the Red Sea I'm standing on because the God who saves me on one side is the same God who saves me on the other. He is worthy of praise either way. I don't want to wait for hindsight to inform and determine the song I choose to sing. 

I want God to catch me singing on both sides, no matter whether I've got roots or wings.   

Similes in the Time of Corona

Sometimes the best way to describe something is not to describe the object itself, but to compare it to something else. Similes can be of great value in writing, heightening the imagery of the text and enhancing the reader's understanding. 

In these strange times, I've had many a moment of reflection and time to myself, pondering the how's and why's of life, collecting my own list of similes, gathering them up in a basket in my mind. A good many have come at the hand of personal experience in recent months. Please, allow me to share but a few here.

COVID-19 is a little bit like sin: it robs you of your senses. 

Literally. I managed to contract COVID somehow along the way earlier this summer, and like many others who have had it, I lost all sense of taste and smell for a couple of weeks. It was surprisingly depressing to not taste or smell anything I was eating. I resorted to just drinking bone broth on occasion for meals because I thought resignedly so, "Well, why not just drink your meal? It's not like eating it is any more enjoyable." Sin is like that. Eventually when you're in so deep, you lose the ability to detect right from wrong anymore, desensitized to what is true, apathetic to the pursuit of right living.

Getting a COVID nasal swab test is a little bit like a Pap smear for your nose. 

I need not comment further. Only women will understand this. 

Quarantine is a little bit like an introvert's dream come true. 

While in quarantine, there were friends and family who were genuinely concerned not only for my well-being as it pertained to the virus itself, but also to my being alone in quarantine. I always wanted to say, "Ha. Are you kidding me?! I'm living the dream here. Alone for weeks on end? Bliss." One of the very first social media posts somebody sent me back in March said, "CDC: To prevent coronavirus, stay home, avoid physical contact, and don't go into large crowds. Introverts: I've been preparing for this moment my entire life." Yes and amen.

Sometimes dealing with your health is a little bit like playing a game of Whac-A-Mole. 

Both are maddening. Pre-COVID, I was sorting through a laundry list of health issues, and it seemed that every time I would go a follow-up appointment with one of my healthcare providers, some new issue would have surfaced in the interim. Whack. And then COVID hit and that presented its own issues. Whack. Now its dealing with my body post-COVID. Whack. For once, could one of you moles just go down and stay down?

Hunting for crickets is a little bit like a game of Marco Polo in the dark. 

I hate crickets. With a passion. One of God's creatures that I absolutely do not understand why he made. And for whatever reason, they have decided to take up residence in my house, not just merely outside my house. I found one in the dishwasher. In the shower. In my bedroom. In the hallway. In the kitchen. In the dining room. And they chirp all the time. They seem particularly fond of the hours between 1 am and 3 am. One woke me up the other night around 1 am, and I could tell he was in the kitchen somewhere. It was all-out guerrilla warfare. With the lights off, I stood in one place and he stopped. I moved and waited in silence. He started chirping again and I moved closer to the sound. He stopped. I waited. He started again. I moved closer. One of us eventually lost that game of Marco Polo. It wasn't me.

Hunting for apartments is (presumably) a little bit like online dating. 

I have never done online dating, but if it's anything like shopping for a place to live, then there is good reason why I won't be signing up for eHarmony anytime soon. Good heavens. What an overwhelming, exhausting, frustrating and annoying process. My landlords informed me (on the same day I got out of quarantine) they were selling my place unexpectedly, and I was sent scrambling to find a place to live. I visited a half-dozen complexes and looked at dozens more online. About a week into it, I told my brother I was just going to move into his basement. If by some strange turn of events, online dating becomes the only means to marriage, then I'll stay single forever, living in my brother's basement.  

Since this pandemic doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon, I'm certain there will be no shortage of similes yet to be formulated. Whether those are dispatched from my brother's basement or not remains to be seen.