I just squealed like a (very geeky) 2 year old because I managed to download and install a Facebook Like button on my blog ALL BY MYSELF.
Do you see it up there at the top of my post? ISN’T IT AMAZING?
In its virgin state it says, “Be the first of your friends to like this.” And since I’m a very kind friend to myself, I did the honors of “liking” my own post on my own blog JUST BECAUSE.
And then when I went back to refresh the page it said, “Jen Zug and 2 others like this.”
TWO OTHERS!
Two people like me besides my mother and my husband!
I frantically clicked all around the page to try and figure out who these other people are that like me, but I could not ascertain this very important information.
So whoever you are that likes me: THANK YOU.
In related news, you can also TWEET my post if you’re hip like that. Oh yeah, check out that retweet button down there at the bottom – you know you wanna hit that.
It’s only a matter of time, now, before my page loads go from the high 70’s to, like, much higher than that.
For more than ten years this song always seems to find me in my darkest hour.
Whether I am depressed, wallowing, full of rage, or drenched in the stench of my own selfishness, the Truth in these words sets my heart straight.
And it’s not just the words themselves, but the way in which I get to shout them out at the back end of the song – a full body submission to the true Owner of my heart.
I did this tonight in my kitchen. On repeat.
I’m struggling in particular with my selfishness these days. Sometimes I think I’d like to spend my days walking alone, writing the great memoir, drinking tequila, and listening to really loud music. I’d spend my nights similarly, only maybe without the walking & a little more tequila.
The fantasy never includes disobeying children, hard conversations with husbands, and poop-eating dogs.
I hear a lot of messages out in the wild. I hear that I deserve to be happy, that I need to do what’s right for myself, that I’m in control of my own destiny. These are very tempting messages for me because I think I would make a very good brooding & reclusive writer if I put my mind to it.
I also possess just enough sass and mystery to drive the men wild.
But when I find myself in this dark place where it’s me & Lisbeth Salander against the world, I am shaken by the fact that I am not the center of the universe, that it’s not my destiny to do what’s right for myself, and that happiness doesn’t come from getting whatever I want.
On the contrary, I am called to worship Him – to set aside everything I ever thought I wanted for myself and trust that He knows me better than I know myself.
Jesus calls me to unclench my fisted heart. In turn he fills it with joy no matter what circumstance I find myself in.
And so tonight I sang in my kitchen. I turned it up to eleven and I yelled into the window as I did the dishes:
take the first of my thought
take the first of my time
take the throne of my heart
crush all other gods
you alone sit on the throne
Ruthie finally came in and burst my little worship bubble and yelled at me that she couldn’t hear her movie on the Hallmark channel (there’s many things wrong with that, believe me). So I stepped back into the real world and practiced living according to my re-set heart.
I pray I never give into my fantasy. I pray the lies of that false happiness are destroyed. And I praise God for songwriters who point me back to His Truth.
Every Thursday we host a small group of friends in our home. We eat dinner together and hash out the challenges of living a meaningful life.
Our friend Bob usually brings dessert because he shows up a little late, after he gets off work.
Bob is now Bob the Dessert Guy in the eyes of my children. Thomas actually believes that Bob’s home is lined with shelves of cakes and brownie bites.
He begs me all the time to take him to Bob’s house.
Last fall when we were in California, Grandma served up ice cream after dinner. There was discussion around the table re our favorite desserts, and Thomas said, “Do you know Bob?”
I had to dash into the kitchen, laughing uncontrollably as Thomas talked about Bob and his desserts as if everyone knew who Bob was. I mean, why wouldn’t you know who Bob was? Bob is the Dessert Guy!
But this is who Thomas is. He invites you into his experiences. He wants you to see what he’s seeing, to taste what he’s tasting. It’s never a complete experience until he can share it with you.
So Thomas knows Bob the Dessert Guy, and he thinks you should too. Wanna come over this Thursday?
I’m not really sure what I was thinking, signing up for this @postaday thing. While I like writing and feel compelled to do it, I don’t want it taking precedence over things like…I don’t know…sleep.
I also don’t want to fill my blog with a bunch of content that’s not really even blogworthy.
I often tell my kids they talk too much, and that what comes out of their mouths is foolishness. Yada yada yada is what I hear, but none of it means anything. Don’t open your mouth unless you have something to say of value, I tell them.
But they lack self control.
So to avoid sounding like an eight year old, I’ll make a deal with you.
(Well, I’ll make a deal with myself, actually, since I would write in this space even if you weren’t here to read it.)
The deal is, I promise to write more, but I won’t post if it’s not bloggable.
Yesterday Ruthie told me she was writing a story at school about visiting her Auntie Jody’s farm in Iowa.
It was 2007 when we last visited the farm. Ruthie was only 4 years old, but she still carries the memory of that magical summer.
So do I.
We were on our way to the mall for some girl time when she told me this. She was chatty in the car, and I sadly realized how long it had been since we did something fun together, just the two of us.
I’m such a grouch at home, caressing my precious agenda.
I’m a lot more fun when we get out and Do Things, so I was glad to be at the mall with my big girl. She bought some new earrings and gave me fashion advice.
Apparently I need more heels, pencil skirts, and blazers in my life.
This is Thomas. I believe I had asked him to put the laundry basket back into his room, and he spent about 20 minutes crying about how that was so hard. Or something. After awhile I start tuning out his drama, but I guarantee you it was less about it being hard than it was about it not being his idea.
I should note that his room is just across the hallway there, about three feet in front of the basket.
This may come as shocking news to you given that I posted only ONCE in December, but I’m going to give the WordPress Daily Post thing a shot.
It’s true that I have a few things going on these days, and I have a highly creative job that tends to drain my creative energy, but I still love to write, and I still have things to write about.
It’s become far too easy to ignore my blog lately. I fear the longer I ignore it the harder it will be to jump back in, and I’ll end up whining like Thomas about something that’s so easy and right in front of me.
So into the deep end I jump.
To keep it simple, I’ll use photos as a writing prompt.
