A Case of Mistaken Identities

 Mr. Grandquist was a kind man despite his massive bank accounts, but Mrs. Grandquist was about as arrogant and self-centered as a woman can come. The Grandquists had employed Pedro and Juan for about three years now, and overall the arrangement worked out quite well. Juan and Pedro took care of the outside work and general maintenance of the large Grandquist estate, and Mr. Grandquist was faithful to pay them fairly. The only downside of the job for Juan and Pedro was the haughtiness of Mrs. Grandquist. True to their upbringing, the cousins always addressed Mrs. Grandquist formally and politely, but privately they referred to her as ‘la Americana odiosa’- ‘the hateful American’. Mrs. Grandquist always referred to them as ‘the Mexicans’, and her direct address to them was always a command with no niceties whatsoever attached to it.

    One day Mr. Grandquist instructed his wife to have the cook prepare lunch for Juan and Pedro, and although this was bothersome to her, she called down and instructed the chef to prepare "something Mexican with lots of hot sauce" for the Mexican workers. Juan and Pedro appreciated the delicious food, but they chuckled to themselves at the amount of habanero chile sauce that accompanied the dish. They knew Mrs. Grandquist had a hand in that.

      It was a Friday and Mrs. Grandquist was particulary agitated. It seemed that some long-lost important friends were coming to visit, and Mrs. Grandquist had to make sure everything was perfect, so instead of doing their usual outside Friday chores, Juan and Pedro were confined to the house to attend to Mrs. Grandquist's unending slew of orders. It was nearing their usual quitting time when the doorbell rang unexpectedly, and, to her horror, Mrs. Grandquist realized that her guests had arrived early. She dutifully opened the
 door and let in a short older man with curly silver hair and a tall middle-aged woman who appeared to be his wife. “The Mexicans will get your luggage and take it upstairs for you,” Mrs. Grandquist proclaimed grandly, “come in and sit down.” “Oh! We just vacationed in Mexico!” exclaimed the tall woman, “what part of Mexico is your help from?” she inquired. “Puerto Vallarta is so beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I don’t know what part of Mexico they are from,” 
retorted Mrs. Grandquist with a wave of the hand, “we like to vacation in France.” "Ahhh…” said the silver-haired man (he had caught the underlying put-down), “France is nice, but Mexico has such friendly people. Where are you boys from?" the short man bellowed the question in the direction of Juan and Pedro. There was a moment of awkward silence as the cousins stood staring at the confident man. “Answer him!” Mrs. Grandquist barked at them like a mother ashamed of her fumbling child. “Um… well… we are from El Salvador,” Juan managed to get out through his nervousness. Now the awkward silence came from the other side of the room. “You mean you’re not from Mexico?” stumbled Mrs. Grandquist (she would not usually miss a beat like this, but it had been a stressful day!) The curly haired man roared with delight. “They’re not even Mexicans! You haven’t changed a bit, Sally! Remember how you thought that Pakistani family was from South America back when we were teenagers in Canada?” The man continued to laugh robustly. Mrs. Grandquist was not particularly amused at this insight, but she gave a polite chuckle. “Maybe you should ask folks where they are from before jumping to conclusions,“ the man suggested, “I bet you’ve been feeding these ‘Mexicans’ extra hot sauce when they don’t even eat that stuff!” The thought of this sent him into another round of laughter. Mrs. Grandquist turned to look at Juan and Pedro rather sheepishly only to see small grins tugging at the corner of their lips. “Honestly, Mrs. Grandquist,” Pedro said, “we went home in agony the day that cook fed us all that hot sauce!” Suddenly, the atmosphere broke, and Mrs. Grandquist began to laugh aloud along with the others. “And I bet you call me ‘that hateful Americana’ when I am actually ‘that hateful Canadi-ana!’” Now Pedro and Juan took on the guilty looks, but soon everyone was melting into laughter. “I tell you what,” said an oddly good-natured Mrs. Grandquist, “how about I just call you Juan and Pedro?” Juan and Pedro shook their heads in happy agreement. “Now there’s my smart sister,” exclaimed the short man, “now let’s all go eat some Mexican food- minus the hot sauce!”

Photo credit: wikimedia commons 

Forbes Johnston from Winchester, UK

The Uglies

 

I am tired of the Uglies. Maybe you also have seen them hanging around. Honestly, they seem to be everywhere. Even worse, it seems like every human being has an Ugly or two hanging around with them. Some Uglies are extremely obvious; you can see them from a mile away, but other Uglies hide behind a pretty curtain. With time, they will always peek their little heads around the curtain to peer at you and the more you look back at them, the uglier they seem to be. The saddest part is that some of the ugliest Uglies I have ever seen are the ones staring back at me from the mirror. Sigh. It gets discouraging looking at all these Uglies in the world. You have probably met a few of them too. They go by names like selfishness, violence, disloyalty, manipulation, boasting, abuse, gossip, criticism, disrespect, apathy, deceit, anger, betrayal, unfaithfulness, corruption, oppression, greed, unkindness.... oh, and there are a whole lot more of them! The tricky thing about an Ugly is that it takes on the face of the person who carries it, so we say that Mary is a gossiper and Kyle is greedy, and we fail to divorce the person from the Ugly. Mary is afraid and Kyle feels inferior, so the Uglies jumped on their backs for a free ride. Mary needs affirmation and Kyle needs support, but the power to love them lies dormant when all we can see are their Uglies. 

Picture credit: Ben Crowder, Wikimedia.com

      Just One Sock

     If you do laundry, then you are probably familiar with the missing-sock phenomenon. Right now there are 9 socks (I counted them!) sitting in my laundry basket wondering why they aren’t snuggly tucked away with their partner in a cozy drawer. I am as confused as they are because I have no idea where their partners are. I suspect there are a few lurking down behind teenager beds or maybe a couple of them have been unjustly mismatched with another sock. I assume that whenever we move we will find at least half of these absent socks, so I let the lonely socks sit in the basket and wait. There are times in life that feel like one-sock moments. I felt this way when I could not have children. It seemed like every woman in the world could have children except me. I felt like I was sitting in the one-sock pile. I have heard single adults describe one-sock feelings as they search for that elusive mate. Sometimes we feel one-socked in our spiritual journey. When will the door open? When will God set the wheels in motion? There are times that our whole lives feel like that buried sock at the bottom of the pile. Take courage one-sock people! The Master of the Universe knit you (Psalms 139:13-16), and He knows your name (Isaiah 43:1). So do not look around and let your heart be afraid, but look upward and let your faith fly! There are about 28,800 YouTube videos that come up on a ‘one sock craft’ search. Some really neat ideas! I am starting to envision these 9 solitary socks as snowmen, bunnies, puppets, dog toys, koala bears, pencil cases, flowers... thanks to YouTube creatives. Despite popular belief, single socks are not useless! They just need an open mind and a creative touch to be transformed into something useful and noteworthy. Today you might feel like that lonely sock, but start looking up because the Creator’s eye is fixed on you.

(Photo credit: By Scott Bauer - United States Department of Agriculture (link), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26970)

It's a Deep Subject

It's a Deep Subject

     Two men stood on the seashore. Both men stood in silence as they drank in the wondrous scenery. After five minutes, the man in the red shorts exclaimed with great enthusiasm, “I wonder what is beyond that horizon! How I wish I could just get in a boat and go find out!” The man in the blue shorts slowly turned his head to give a critical look at the source of such a disruptive outburst. After a few seconds, the man in the blue shorts said slowly and steadily, “I was just wondering what is down at the bottom of that ocean - I mean the very bottom. I bet there are things down there that no one has ever seen before.” The expressive man in the red shorts shot him a rather odd look; some might say it was even a bit degrading. “You want to go to the bottom of the ocean? You mean just go straight down for miles into that dark, cold, deep water?” Suddenly, the man in the blue shorts became slightly animated and said, “Yes! Exactly! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to explore that depth and discover all the beautiful and odd things it contains?” The man in the red shorts took a step back at the unexpected excitement he felt coming from the man. Mr. Red Shorts wasn’t quite sure if Mr. Blue Shorts was dropped as a baby, or if he simply had no life. He was genuinely surprised to see a wedding ring on his finger, and immediately felt sorry for what must be a poor, bored-to-death spouse. “Well, good luck with that,” he said to the now dreamy-eyed man, “I’m thinking that I’m going to rent a huge boat, get all my friends together, and see how far we can go out into that ocean!” “Well,” started Mr. Want-To-Be Diver, “first you need to consult the Coast Guard, then you need to make sure you have the right vessel, then you need to…” “Oh, I’ve got people for those insignificant details,” interrupted Mr. Red Shorts, “what I am really hoping is that I can get the CEO at my new job to join us. I just know I could make a good impression on her when she sees how bold and adventurous I am! Her name is Ella B. Introvert, and I plan to invite her!” Now it was Mr. Blue Short’s turn to give this ultra-confident guy a strange look. “Ella B. Introvert is her name?” he asked. “Yes,” replied Mr. Red Shorts, “and I expect her to be awed by my out-of-the-box style.” Mr. Blue Shorts turned his head to look out over the azure expanse. “So you must be Mr. Extrovert?” Mr. Blue Shorts said slowly, “I’ve heard all about you.” “Wh-What? How did you know my name??” demanded Mr. Extrovert, “I’ve never met you!” “Well, apparently you have met my wife,” stated Mr. Blue Shorts rather smugly, “because her name is Ella B. Introvert!” For one of the few times in his life, Mr. Extrovert was at a loss for words. Mr. Introvert gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Don’t worry, Mr. Extrovert, my wife is already impressed with your forward thinking at the company.” “Oh, thank you,” answered Mr. Extrovert rather awkwardly. “And don’t worry about renting that boat,” added Mr. Introvert, “you can use one of ours.”

Wherever there is Light

The North Texas storm had left its mark. The fierce winds brought down trees, left electric poles hanging at odd angles and flung lawn furniture around like toys. In the aftermath of the storm, we were counted among the 100,000 inhabitants left with no electric service. As the sun slowly set, we decided to leave our darkened house and explore the neighborhood. Most of the houses were unlit so we headed off to the commercial areas where a few stores were running on generator power. After taking full advantage of whatever stores offered us a lighted refuge from the night, we headed back to see if our power had come back on yet. As we drove towards our house, I recognized a familiar glow in the sky; it looked like the local high school had the stadium lights on. “Look!” I happily pointed out, “It looks like the stadium has lights!” It was then that my son chuckled as he said, “Mom, you are just going wherever the light is!” His statement struck me. Only a few hours earlier the last thing on my mind was a search for light, but now here I was rejoicing over a dimly lit Target store and flying like a moth towards that lighted stadium. The power outage had left me acutely aware that I was the denizen of a dark world and I longed for the comfort of light- even the stark light of a Wal-Mart store. The world is getting darker as each day passes. People are running from the nightfall. Where will they go? Where will they flee? Just as the stormy experience showed me, they will go wherever there is Light.

Photo credit: Full Moon in Oia by Κλέαρχος Π. Καπούτσης. Retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.

Ugly Love

   Hello! My name is Love! I am everywhere. You may have noticed me in the glistening eyes of the young couple, in the demure face of the beaming bride and in the sweet sleep of a newborn. I am brilliant, enchanting, seductive and mysterious. I am the stuff hope is made of. I am the essence of all that is beautiful to the human heart. I am the invisible substance that every person longs to embrace, experience and possess. Nothing can really compare to me. I stand alone in my power. I reach to the highest pinnacle of human idealism; however, my greatest power is that I also sink to the lowest depths of earthly despair. I am not as easily recognized in the lowlands of the human experience. I don’t look so beautiful when I am contained in the heaving chest of a patient wife, or in the silent resolve of the committed husband. I no longer seem so attractive when the hands that hold me are arthritic and trembling. I can seem downright ugly when I stand in the midst of bellowing pain and hurt, feeling the whip of injustice tear into my soul, yet I remain. I am manifested in the blood on the hands of the rescuer, the fear in the eyes of the kind confronter, the sweat on the brow of the struggling provider and the bloodshot eyes of the vigilant parent. Contrary to popular belief, I am not always lovely- sometimes I am downright ugly- standing there quite disheveled in my tattered apron of reality. Often I find myself covered in the blood, sweat and tears of the lover. The greatest example of this was when I hung on a Cross. I am not the stuff that movies are made of but rather the stuff that moves people to believe that life is worth living- that there is always hope. I am Love!

Photo credit: By Louise Docker from sydney, Australia (My heart in your hands) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Leftovers

You either love ‘em or hate ‘em. Some people love leftovers! To them, the cold pizza left over from last night’s social is even more delicious the second time around. Other people hate leftovers. They feel the restaurant doggy bag is just that- a bag meant only for the dog! In our house, my mom was the leftover queen of Pennsylvania. Not a speck of food was to be wasted! It was destined to be recycled as leftovers. Leftovers are the result of abundance, blessing and prosperity. They are the manifest overflow of what we could not consume. Needless to say, we live in a society that is filled with leftovers. Our garages are overflowing, our closets are stuffed and our refrigerators hold rotting food. We claim that we are “not rich”, but our leftovers testify against this claim.  If you have ever seen true scarcity, then you know that there are no leftovers there. Every crumb is valuable, every drop of water is precious, and every pair of shoes is treasured like gold. Those trapped in poverty dream about luxuries like soft pillows and real cooking utensils. We might see our extra stuff as worthless, but they look like riches to those who know no surpluses. My mom’s supper rule is a good life rule- all excess is to be used! We have become good at recycling our trash, but what if we became just as good at sharing our oversupplies? Leftovers have the potential to make the world a more beautiful place. It’s up to us to share them.  

Photo credit: http://www.ethicalfoods.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/tgtw.jpg