Top Ten Tuesdays

Ten Annoying Things Related to Driving

Fog + floaters = frustration

10. Driving on a foggy morning with floaters obscuring my vision even worse than the fog

9. Driving on a foggy morning and the other drivers are too clueless to turn their headlights on

8. Driving a car right after a
person twelve inches taller than I drove the car and he didn’t return the seat and the mirrors to the car owner’s shortness

I miss my Jamaican singers.

7. Driving a car with a non-functioning CD player and I can’t listen to my Jamaican music which I bought in the straw market at Ochos Rios

6. Driving a car which apparently has Sirius XM radio, but it won’t work

5. Driving a car switching between two Christian radio stations. One plays a lot of songs with an too much annoying beat. Or the morning show hosts chat for ten minutes about the Appalachian Trail. The other station plays songs from fifty years ago, and always the same ten songs.

4. Driving the speed limit and being passed by every other vehicle on the road

3. On a rainy night, driving a car whose headlight covers are dull and no longer transparent. Or a snowy night. Or any night.

Where am I supposed to put my coffee cup?

2. Driving a car with not enough cup holders for my current beverage and all the half-finished beverages still in the car

And the #1 annoying thing related to driving is

1. Exiting the highway to visit a restroom or restaurant (or both) and hearing the know-it-all say, “Recalculating.”

L is for Loser

One definition of “loser” at www.dictionary.com is “a person who has failed at a particular activity.” I am forced to embrace this title because of my epic failure in the kitchen this morning.

Me sharing coffee truth

If you know me even a little bit, you know I have a special relationship with coffee. Maybe it’s a passive aggressive relationship. I aggressively pursue coffee which just sits there passively. I honor coffee with my Pinterest board entitled “the Coffee Driven Life,” which is a collection of funny and witty sayings about coffee dependence, and unfortunately these sayings are more true than funny. 

If you, too, are caffeine-addicted, then you may also realize that the person least able to make coffee first thing in the morning is the person who needs it most. Without my favorite drug, I am not smart enough to make coffee that will make me smart enough to make coffee.

The Keurig is a as close to being a no-brainer as any coffee maker I’ve encountered, although I sometimes have difficulty with the fill-with-water part and the press-the-button part. But occasionally I bring out my little 4 cup Mr. Coffee for a special occasion, and this month’s special occasion is that my former student Caleb brought me Hungarian coffee. From Hungary. That may seem an obvious point, but I’m sure a person could get Hungarian coffee without traveling to Hungary. After all, one can buy Jamaican coffee at TJ Maxx. But Caleb did not buy the Hungarian coffee at TJ Maxx. Or in Jamaica. He bought it in Hungary and brought it home on a plane and delivered it to my house.

So I’ve been enjoying a little carafe of Hungarian coffee each morning, even though several thoughtful steps are required of my non-caffeinated brain. 1) Position the paper filter. 2) Peel the top off the container. 3) Measure the coffee and place it in the filter. 4) Pour the water into the water area. 5) Press the on button.

Most mornings I stand and watch the machine’s magic, or make toast, or pour cereal, but this morning I foolishly decided to do something useful. I’ve been working on getting rid of excess plastic containers and having a neatly organized container storage area. Part of this process includes leaving lids and containers on the counter by the toaster for several days while I invent reasons to deal with it later. But this morning I put some of them away, with my back to Mr. Coffee’s wonderful aroma and sizzling music.

Not my kitchen, but you get the idea.

When I concluded enough time had passed, I prepared to reward myself with my first cup. Where was the carafe? Not on the hot surface collecting the freshly brewed coffee. I neglected one thing: step 6) Place carafe under filter. While the gleaming, empty carafe sat off to the side, coffee flooded the counter top. 

The water is supposed to run
THROUGH the filter.

This coffee maker has a feature which prevents liquid from flowing through the filter if the carafe is not in place, but even Mr. Coffee has his limits. The water had heated and been pumped into the filter where it was trapped, mixed with the grounds, and overflowed. I grabbed a few kitchen towels, unplugged Mr. Coffee, and dragged the whole mess into the sink. 

No colorful language spewed from my mouth in the early morning solitude of my kitchen, because I am a writer. Instead I exclaimed, “I can write about this!” Then I made a cup of Gloria Jean’s Hazlenut coffee with a K cup, which came from Grove City, Pennsylvania, not Hungary.

Cindy's Keurig disaster looked
something like this.

A few hours later at the Well Coffee House, I told my story to Cindy, my friend and fellow writer, who is also a loser, it turns out. She had a similar experience when she lived in Maine, only she used a full size, 12 cup Mr. Coffee. All of the floors sloped in her old house, so when she entered the kitchen, a brown river ran through it. She also managed more recently to make a Keurig overflow coffee and grounds. Cindy, I salute you. 

 After Mr. Coffee cooled down, I rinsed him off, so he’ll probably electrocute me the next time I plug him in. If so, I’ll write about it.

A Puppet King

            While in Jamaica early last March, one of my favorite songs we performed with the puppets was “Josiah.” We’d ask for an eight-year-old boy from the audience to come to the front and wear a paper crown during the song. The lyrics tell about Judah’s King Josiah, who began his reign while only eight years old. You can read all about him in 2 Chronicles 34 and 35.

            Judah had another boy king less well known, Joash. You can read about him in 2 Chronicles 22, 23, and 24. Though separated by two hundred years, Joash and Josiah began their reigns in similar circumstances: Each boy, younger than ten years old, lived in an idolatrous society. A priest, Jehoida, mentored Joash, while a prophetess, Huldah, advised Josiah. Each repaired the Temple, and saw idolatry decline and the nation return to God.

            There the similarities end.

            It seems Joash was a puppet:  His performance reflected the man controlling him. After the priest’s death, Joash followed the ungodly officials of Judah, abandoning the Temple and worshipping idols. He even murdered Jehoida’s son who rebuked him. God’s judgment followed.

            Conversely, Josiah’s faith was his own. “Neither before nor after Josiah was there a king like him who turned to the Lord as he did—with all his heart and with all his soul and with all his strength…” (2 Kings 23:25)

            In the New Testament, young Timothy could have become a puppet, controlled by Grandma, Mama, or Paul, but the Apostle deemed Timothy’s faith authentic:  “I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.” (2 Timothy 1:5)

            Working with young people—whether teens at school or five-year-olds at church—I face the same challenge:  I want them to follow Christ for real, not because I or their parents or some other adult controls them.

My Brush with Dance

            In a Secret Place devotional, Norma Vera writes about attending a dance recital where a toddler—not part of the class—danced in the aisle throughout the event, oblivious to everything but the music. 

            Reading that reminded me of my own brush(es) with dance.

            One December, a bunch of us packed a borrowed church van—which by the way, had no heat—and drove to Philly for a performance of the Young Messiah. The "Hallelujah Chorus" overwhelmed me as a dancer, garbed in layers of floaty white, twirled to the joyful music. I wanted to be that woman, unreservedly worshiping God.

            Several years later at a women’s conference, I leaped at the opportunity to participate in a worship dance class. Our instructor taught us simple motions to accompany a powerful, encouraging song. (Simple, but unfamiliar to my muscles. I could barely walk or move my arms afterward.) On Sunday morning I experienced my Young Messiah moment as we danced to the Lord in the worship service. 

            Pure joy.

            People don’t dance in my church. If we did, someone would call 9-1-1. So I’d not repeated that experience until I left the United States with my students and my co-chaperones.

            In a Jamaican church, I encountered the dancing grannies. One especially looked like an old-fashioned, reserved grandmotherly type with her graying hair and conservative dark green skirt and jacket. But when the music started, watch out! Those grannies pulled as out of our seats, and soon we were all awkwardly dancing in the aisles. No way could we match their moves, though. Not even the seventeen-year-olds.

            I’ve danced in that same Jamaican church three times now (and Grandma always wears the same dark green suit), but when I’m stateside I worship in a stately (spelled b-o-r-i-n-g) fashion. 

            However, a few years ago, Donna Bridge of Kingdom Kidz taught me to use puppets in a ministry team. To my surprise, my puppets are not at all reserved in expressing their praise to God. They clap, lift their hands, and dance exuberantly…while behind the curtain I tap my feet and move to the music. 

Set me free from my prison, that I may praise your name. Psalm 142:7, NIV

Slippery

            The sky is blue. The water is inviting. The drinks are cold. The people are as warm as you remember.

            The television ads are Jamaican me crazy.

            A year ago I was preparing for my third trip to the island. Each time I traveled with high school students and their other chaperones, and we offered our muscle to help churches improve their facilities. We also worshiped in those churches (which included dancing in the aisles), visited orphanages, and most fun of all, took the puppets (including my own Joey Manzoni) to schools and churches.

            We saw a side of Jamaica that most tourists don’t. However, we also saw the side advertised on television. Except our cold drinks were some Ting different.

            On my first visit in 2003, I even climbed Dunn’s River Falls in Ochos Rios. To get an idea of how unlikely this is, Google it and see tourists climbing through the rushing water. Try to picture me there. It’s true. I have photographs and video to prove it, and this written account, adapted for my blog:

            I looked up warily at the 600 foot waterfall. Though our Jamaican guide jumped nimbly over the wet rocks, I doubted I would do as well. Following our guide’s directions, our group of 14 American teenagers and their chaperones each grasped the hand of the person before and behind and began to climb through the chilly rushing water.

            The guides had combined our group with a few others. This was especially troubling for one of our girls, who found herself following a portly stranger in a Speedo.

After a few minutes in the waterfall, our boys pranced as sure-footedly as the leader, but I continued to struggle. As I ascended, I grew wetter and colder, while the rocks seemed steeper and more slippery. Our human chain had long ago disintegrated, but my friend Vicky gripped my left hand, and my student Becky clutched my right. In some places they almost carried me up the cascade. With their strong support, the situation became less frightening, and I experienced the thrill of reaching the top.

Pondering this milestone, I’ve concluded that what I face daily feels more threatening than slippery rocks in a waterfall. So I’m thankful for five different Psalms—37, 66, 73, 94, and 121—which tell how God keeps his child’s feet from slipping while climbing through the difficulties and dangers of life. My favorite includes this verse:

When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your love, O Lord, supported me. Psalm 94:18, NIV

If I had been on the NIV translation committee, I would have used "screamed" instead of "said," and added multiple exclamation points after "slipping." Maybe we need a Bible paraphrase for overly emotional people who experience life more intensely. But I digress.

Thanks to Vicky and Becky, I cherish a tangible memory of what God’s supporting love feels like. I thank God for his love that keeps me from crashing on the rocks and for the friends he’s given to share the climb.