Have Dinner With Me

I was in the Word recently and I read something I thought was cool.

When Jesus is being delivered into his persecution, he first wants to have dinner with his disciples, aka Passover. Eat with me, he says–but first do this.

Prepare the way for me.

And the disciples are kind of just like, well ok Jesus, sure. How do we prepare Passover for you?

And Jesus tells them when they enter in to the next place they will not only be looking for a specific man doing a specific thing, but also that this specific man would be looking for them.

They were to keep their eyes peeled like onions looking for a man carrying a jar of water. To us this is no big deal right? It seems pretty ever day. But in the day and age of Jesus, the ones who brought the water from here to there were the women. It seems kind of sketch–but stay with me for a second. When Moses met his wife in the Old Testament, what was she doing? She was carrying water, by the well. When Jesus met up with the Samaritan woman, what was she doing? She was lugging water, too.

So the disciples would look for this man doing something out of the norm, and if there was any worry on their part like oh oh–Jesus, what if we can’t find him? There’d be no need to worry because once again, this man would be looking for them too.

And once they encountered this man, he would lead them directly to the place of Passover. They’d arrive there and lo’, the place would be private, and out of the way, and furnished, and perfect.


Because Jesus said–

Have dinner with me.

Merry Christmas!


Measure Twice, Cut Once

In optics, when we measure a person’s seg height for progressive bifocals we have to dot their pupils to know where that imaginary bifocal line is gonna go. When I measure people, I always measure where their pupils are at with a marker, erase it, then measure again. It’s not because I can’t see where their pupils are. It’s because I want to know that I know that I KNOW the measurement is correct. It’s kind of like the carpenter’s rule–measure twice, but only cut once. Why? Because you want the finished product to be what it started out to be.

My friend Judy told me awhile back I should write a blog post on transition. It seemed like a good idea at the time but it’s been so hard to get anything down because of well, transition. You see, I’m neither here nor there. I am right now.

I’ve been thinking so much of the effect I have on the people around me and the influence, if any. I’ve been thinking how when I’m sad, the people who love me are sad too. When I’m tired, that tired attaches itself onto the person next to me. And it’s really easy in the middle of a transition or even with this time of year, with Christmas coming and stuff, to just be like


when the truth is, the person next to me is feeling that way, too. Maybe on a scale of 1 to 10 they’re at a 4 and I’m at a 6, but they’re still feeling it too. I guess my point is this….

man up, dude. Measure twice, cut once, and man up.

There is a place that we come to that is neither here nor there. Do you understand? It’s in that place where regardless of how much faith you do or don’t have you just need to toughen up.

I heard someone say last week, set aside time to be holy, and I thought that was stupid. I thought it was stupid because first off–no, I am not holy. And secondly, well, I’m a little spit fire.

Then I read it again the next day, only phrased slightly different, set aside time for holy communion. And I began to understand.

I began to understand this thing, that you and me and all of us are somehow, in.

Whether I’m here or there or nowhere or right now or not quite right now, the Holy is there. It is there so we are there and we are here and we are nowhere and we are.

I am.


Even Rats

I want you to curl up with a good book.

I want it to be my book.

A girl can dream, can’t she? It seems to me that’s what these rainy days are for. Dreaming.

I’ve been dreaming all day. Lost in a haze. I get tired when it rains like this, but so tired I cannot sleep. It’s like the whole world waits, but it knows not what it waits for. This is the day you won’t remember, next year.

I kind of feel like writers are sponges. We soak up everything we can until were rung out, and all the fluid just leaks and lathers. Then we get dry, and repeat the process.

I am in the absorbing process as I write this. I’m absorbing many things. I wish they were tangible. Oh so tangible, and easy to grasp. Ok, maybe not even easy. But just graspable period.

But they are not. And neither is this rain.

There were no empty seats inside when I stopped for coffee earlier, and my mom called. I sat in my car talking to her until I ended up at my grandparent’s house. I went around back and knocked on the glass. My grandma looked at me for a second, making sure of who I was. Let me in. It’s cold and wet out here.

Even rats want out of the rain.