A penny for your thoughts... on mine

A Short Reprieve

I will say the nicknames “Shorty” and “squirt” do about as much for me as the Titanic did for winter cruises. 

As I don’t really have the bird’s eye view I thought you might enjoy joining my perspective on a typical event in the life of a shorter person:

      Cheri is already frustrated because she couldn’t see over the dash to see the curb, and most of the paint from the bottom of her car is on the parking lot. But not letting that get her down, she quickly un-wedges herself from the seat of her car (because the seat has to be kissing the steering wheel for her to reach the pedal) and starts towards the doors.

She is greeted at the door by the thirteen year old cart boy who is giving her the one-over because he thinks she is also thirteen. She quickly takes the cart and rolls away without making eye contact.

Passing the in-store ice-cream counter, she casts a pitiful glance at all those tall people. They don’t loose the calories before eating the ice-cream by jumping up and down to see the flavors.

On to the main event: spaghetti and sauce sounds good- so she heads towards the pasta isle. She pushes her way through and at times under people- abandoning the cart in order to survive. Finally she finds the spaghetti and holds onto it for life itself as she head towards the sauce. She likes Hunts best but of course that would be on the top shelf.

She looks right, then left, and goes vertical. She is scaling the shelf walls with the agility of Cat Woman and finally makes it to the Hunts. At that exact second, she hears a throat being cleared somewhere behind her.

Oh no- it’s the unsympathetic giant of a clerk from last week who asks
“May I help you?”
 She can tell at once he also thinks she’s about 13, and has escaped from her mother…
“No thank you” as she jumps down and brushes skirt…”I’m fine”

Now at the rotating belt of truth and dare she takes mental bets on whether the checkout lady will realize she’s twenty-three. Or does she ask for truth? You know- there are so few daring people these days,
“I’m sorry, I need to see some I.d. if you want to use that card.”
On providing proof that I am now, indeed and adult, she then exclaims
“Wow, I thought you were so much younger, you are tiny- bless your heart!”

Wearing the Umbrella

I dare say all of us remember a time when our mothers dressed us.

                      
     After living the press pass life of a homeschooler- I found the change of “going to school” exciting, but also terrifying. However one new concept eclipsed all others on that fateful day. I could not wear my P.J.s to school.
    
       After waking up simply shaking with the excitement of seeing a chalkboard in actual use, I excitedly jumped into my hot pink mini-shorts, favorite T-shirt and sneakers. I polished the look with my plastic pearl necklace and pulled my hair into an up-do (AKA: pony tail). I floated down the stairs to start my socialite career, when I caught a look from my mother.

                                     “You are NOT wearing that.”

      Ten minutes later I was in tears, as I oozed back down the stairs a shadow of a once vibrant youth. I had been re-dressed in my most despised nemesis- The Umbrella. It was simply horrid. It had a printed flower skirt that stood out so far I couldn’t see my shoes, and see-through lacy sleeves that *gasp* puffed. Adding insult to injury my mom had even curled my hair.

It is amazing how much like this dog I felt:

      I prayed desperately for the rapture as we pulled up to the school. Walking into the classroom I felt as conspicuous as a balloon in a pin factory. The other students were kind, since they did not laugh to my face, I decided that I would only use red lipstick, instead of permanent marker to deface the dress.

Years later, I found that dress exactly where I had left it- in the basement behind the water heater. I laughed to myself as I touched the faded print. It struck me how the terror of my past seemed so harmless now that I had grown out of it. I think a lot of times as we grow in our Christian faith, many things that used to seem so big and so terrible really are not that bad anymore. When was the last time you tried witnessing or singing a special in church? You might try it again and see if it isn’t so embarrassing now. 

8 Reasons NOT to run away

 Running Away can be a medicine or a poison depending on your view of God…If you are thinking about running away for any of the above reasons- unpack your bag and tell your self you are a very young person and have a lot to learn.

               Bad Reasons to Run Away Learned the Hard Way

                                  by: Cheri M. Anderson

1. Because you are tired of difficult situations

2. Because you do not want God to change your plans

3. Because your friends are rubbing you the wrong way OR You think you are hurting your friends.

4. Because you want to feel balanced again

5. Because you are in debt (and debt does not have to be money).

6. Because you have lost the ability to come up with good ideas in work or play

7. Because you cannot prove by prior experience what the world offers is not good

8. Just…Because. This one is the most dangerous, because every form of entertainment: Music, Movies, Books, and High School Hormones all tell us that this is “Adventure” or “Life!”

Let me ask you: what is more exciting: standing in a puddle or standing in the sand and letting the ocean waves hit you full on? Running away for this reason is the World’s shallow imitation of the adventurous life God has for you.

Coffee: a fruit of the Spirit

I have always known I am caffeine sensitive, but when I cheat my guilty secret is Coffee. It is my quick ticket to feeling so alive, and engaged in life. At home when I am with my friends and under temptation, they intervene and say:
                          “Friends don’t let friends drink irresponsibly”
 But on one fateful day when my Caffeine Anonymous group was absent, I stole away to the happy supplier who would take my money and give me a very tantalizing high blood pressure. 

Once there I looked over the possibilities outlined on the chalkboard menu: Cappuccino, Regular coffee, hot chocolate … my eyes drifted rather fuzzily as the fumes started taking their hold then I saw it- my mouth went dry: 
                                             MOCHA BIANCA

             Just the very thought of it brought back the taste delight of it

There was a moment of suspense as I waited for anyone to speak up, cancel the order and end the life of my bliss. But none was forthcoming from the poor unfortunate soul that had escorted me. As the the fuzzy cream melted on my tongue nothing short of a disaster of Biblical proportions could have shaken me. It was - ethereal.

The full rush hit me like a tsunami wave as soon as I stepped out the door. The word was so full of color, bluebirds singing, and happiness I just let out a giggle. My friend looked at me and kept walking.

All I have to say is: When you hear stories of people “dying of laughter” don’t always dismiss it as hyperbole.

I very rarely drink coffee anymore, (especially after I found myself asking complete stranger if their lives are also in technicolor). But I still need something to get me going in the morning. So tomorrow, like most days, instead of drinking coffee, I’m drinking in God’s word and you know what? Sometimes I cannot even tell the difference. :-) But don’t take my word for it- try it yourself.

There’s Room at the Cross for Cheri

My favorite church experience occurred in the Bible belt state of: Georgia.

We were obviously predestined to find this church because it was tiny. By tiny I mean the whole church was all of thirty die hard, fried chicken eaters, congregating on a basketball court. The magnolia trees out front basically hid the entire church.

We walked in and were instantly surrounded by- well- everyone. We received more literature in the first five minutes when most small town print shops see in a month. The men shook our arms off, and the ladies did their part in the asphyxiation through hugs and perfume. They (all) ushered us to our seats - in the very front row. It was memorable.

The pastor was a rather portly gent and when he and his white seersucker suit took the podium I realized we were about to experience some southern old-time religion. His first order of service was jumping off the stage and welcoming the newcomers of navy and white HEARTILY.

This church really wanted to get their money’s use out of their hymnals because we sang no less than 10 songs. My throat was bursting from the exertion but if I tried to stop singing I got the “look” from my mother. Then we prayed, we called out to God, we interceded and beseeched, we came to him with our supplications and then at last entreated His presence for the gathering of believers.

I glanced at the clock- two hours had passed. At last the pastor resumed the podium and began his message. From all sides your ears were attacked by a chorus of AMEN’s, YES’s, PREACH IT BROTHER!’s , and HALLELUJAH’s. The more encouragement the more fervently he preached until the whole place was roaring. Then the organist stood up and all off a sudden - our heads were bowed and our hands were folded…

Now coming from a large church, it is easy to fidget without really being noticed. Ho ho - How now brown cow.

 
As the pastor was pleading for our hearts, and while we were singing the 8th verse of Victory in Jesus (the one the author gave exclusively to this church) my nose started to itch.

Without thinking,

I scratched it.

“RIGHT THERE IN THE FRONT ROW - EVERYONE - WE HAVE A NEW SISTER IN CHRIST TODAY! AND ISN’T SHE A SWEET LITTLE ONE AT THAT “

Hallelujahs were coming from everywhere and it seemed as if he had seen the very gates of heaven open. I don’t think I have ever been so red, I also had a feeling like that of a baited fish being reeled in

At that moment I so wished I wasn’t saved- just so I could have committed my life right then at that church.

After the service the pastor came up to speak with me, about my new found faith and how I needed to live a life of character and he told me all about this guy called Bill Gothard (some of you may know him) and how meditating on Matthew 5 would be my best bet to begin with. Little did he know I could have quoted him Matthew 5. I just didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth - so I took the armful of literature, and said “God Bless you” and had a good laugh about it later

This story always reminded me of how careful we must be with our actions. So many people look at us to be encouraged in their walk with the Lord, to see if the Gospel is affecting our lives like it should. It is a grand responsibility- let us not take it lightly.