Do your kids ever find themselves at some function or event at which they end up with a name tag sticker on the back of their shirt (thankyouverymuch, highsecuritychildrenswing@mychurch)?  And then you thoughtlessly toss the shirt or super cute dress into the washing machine?  Suddenly, the tiny homemaker joy of a clean load of laundry – fresh from the dryer – is turned into a petite homemaker panic attack because the laundry has reproduced in a span of one load.  Now you’ll have to take care of it, and it’s not going to be any easy task because the gooey sticky stuff is almost impossible to remove.

This happened to me just last week.  It was on a piece of nice Sunday finery and I only noticed it after I had taken the item from the laundry room and was about to hang it in the kids’ closet.  Deciding that I’d remember to tend to it, I hung it up any way.  And left it.  It nagged me anytime I looked in the direction of the closet door, because even I know that I’ll never get to it.

But last week was different.  Last week I took that cute little vest out of the closet and actually got the mess cleaned off with almost no real effort.  I stood there in the laundry room and had a real moment of joy, pride, and sincere elation.  My deep sigh of satisfaction was met with the hum of the dryer and the kids fighting in the next room.

It made me think of all those moments of honest to goodness triumph that us homemakers have in a day and I wanted to take a minute to give you all a shout out for the stuff that goes unnoticed and unappreciated.  Hat’s off to you girls who clean that area behind the toilet, who gather all the unused hangers from the closet, who keep a running list of socks without mates,  who know the trick to using hand dish soap in the dishwasher, who have an inner clock that alerts you to the rinse cycle.   It is a tough job and our biggest triumphs are often tiny.  Cheers to you and I hope you have a FANTASTIC day at work!

Growing up in the ever shifting Church of Christ community, I have heard one word thrown around more than any other.  You might think that I am going to say something like “instrumental” or perhaps “doctrine”, but you’d be wrong.  The word I hear more than most is “legalistic”.

Oooo.  Just typing it out made me cringe like chewing on tin foil.  Nobody wants to be accused of being legalistic.  It is something my generation often accuses the generations before us of and have devoted a good deal of energy to correcting.

Interesting to note, and really the whole reason for this post, is my more recent thought that my generation, and my parents’ generation to a large degree, has instead taken the ugly dark legalism we were presented with and painted it a lighter, more engaging color.  It’s still legalism, but because it looks different, we call it “better”.

Old school legalists believe that there is only one way to conduct worship and that style of worship is a salvation issue.  New school legalists believe that there are many ways to worship and that crimping someone’s style hinges on salvation issue.  Old school legalists would frown strongly on having a church dance team.  New school legalists think that a dance team is good if it feels good and even better if it makes the church more appealing to the world (the “lost”).  Old school legalists believe that the best way to reach people with the Gospel is to tell them about the five steps to salvation (hear, believe, repent, confess, be baptized) .  New school legalists believe that we need to make friends with the lost, feed the lost, clothe the lost, walk with the lost, and hope that our love for them translates into their understanding the Gospel.

Both the old school legalist and the new school legalist have the same tragic flaw: both claim interest in saving the lost and both execute their plans with a dogged commitment to socially derived ideology.  It would be funny, if it wasn’t so sad.  The pure message of Christ and our need for redemption is lost on both sides. We are eaten up with legalism and those who have it the worst are those who scream the loudest about those dadgum legalists.

Legalism is borne of great intentions to follow God’s will for His church and veers too far into the “I’m doing it more right than you are” way of thinking.  I don’t care if you think women should wear homemade, ankle length dresses or if you think a bikini car wash for Jesus is scriptural:  If you think your way is the better way and you can’t back it up with (the whole of)God’s Word, then you are a legalist.

Stop fighting with people who are pointing fingers at you and take a long look at the finger you are pointing at them.  God’s work is life or death in this world and rolling your eyes at legalists is not going to help anyone get the job done.

Oh yes.  I was living in a tent and attending an elementary school where I was a bit of a misfit.  I was made fun of for my torn up shoes, my ratty hair, and my hand-me-down clothes.  It was painful, but again, it was the necessary kind of pain that creates seriously funny people (ahem. like me).

Fast forward about twenty or so years and you’ve got me and my dear Eric living in a tiny apartment in what I affectionately called an “upper class ghetto”.   My parents would occasionally go out of town and we would happily go to their home to watch their dog, water the plants, stretch our legs, and enjoy the tranquility of their acre+.

On one such occasion, Eric and I were in the backyard enjoying our morning coffee when he started to talk seriously about us moving out of our apartment.  Our seats were facing the direction of Mom and Dad’s travel trailer.  They had lived in it while remodeling their current house.  Eric joked, “Wouldn’t it be so funny if we rented the travel trailer from your parents and just lived in their backyard?”

Soooo funny.

Long story stoopid: we moved into the travel trailer.  It immediately became clear that it was a great idea and we all enjoyed the fun of being around each other, even if our new place made the old place look like a mansion in scope.

Shortly after we moved into the travel trailer, I was asked to speak at a Ladies Retreat for a local congregation.  Being a bit of a drama queen (shocked?  shouldn’t be), I decided to memorize the book of Ruth and present it dramatically (the link is to the youtube video of the presentation).

When I arrived at the retreat, there was a lovely card from a woman who said that she had been specially tapped to pray for me as I prepared for the retreat.  Her name?  Pam Hicks.

What?!  Surely it can’t be…  She lives hundreds of miles from here…  What on earth….?

It was her.  She looked just as I remembered her: big smile, lots of joy, and curly hair that won’t quit.  I told her who I was and she searched her memory for a moment before saying, “I remember you!  You’re family lived in a tent for a while.  How are you doing these days?”

Hear me when I say this, America: I will never, and I mean NEVER, be able to express to you the comedic joy that I got out of my honest response.  ”We’re doing great!  I live in a travel trailer now!”

It was a fantastic weekend and Ms. Hicks was overwhelmingly supportive of my work.  So much of my growing up years was hard, but so very necessary to form me into who I am.  My work for that retreat was only powerful and available because I’ve been where life is hard and I get it.  My testimony about redemption has no weight if there is no need to be redeemed.

The theme of that retreat, serendipitously enough, was “Redemption”.  My ego was completely redeemed, my faithfulness rewarded, and the deliberate leading of my path confirmed.  May you all be blessed with such a time as that.

Our winner of the t-shirt is…..
BRIANA MILLS!!!
Also, my Mama has decided that little Dougy Arnold gets a t-shirt for being the first poster.
Congratulations to our winners and a big thank you to all who participated. Humor is a great salve.

Okay, kids, here’s how this works and why we’re telling jokes about Mamas to celebrate the life of one of America’s finest Mama’s boys.

Nathan and I regularly battled hard core with Your Mama jokes.  It was not unusual for hours to pass after after my victory when Nathan would come charging into my room with one he just thought of.  He almost always won.  Almost.

Today is Nathan’s birthday and to honor one of my favorite qualities about him, his incredible sense of comedy, we are holding our third annual Nathan Dodd Your Mama Joke contest.  To win, you simply leave a comment on this post with a joke about Mamas.  It can be your own original joke or one you copy from somewhere.

The Rules:

1.  One joke per person. Multiple entries per household are allowed.

2.  Keep it clean.  My Mama is the judge.

3.  All entries must be received by August 10.  That is Mackenzie’s birthday and she is also a fan of a good Your Mama joke.

4.  There is not a fourth rule.  I just prefer even numbers.

I’m excited to see your jokes.   As usual, I will start the games with one of my favorites:  Your Mama is so poor, her door bell just says, “Ding”.

Unless you’re new here, you know that I usually have a Your Mama joke contest today to celebrate the birthday of my youngest brother, Nathan.  He would have been 29 today and he loved a good joke about Mamas.

It has been 7 years since I got to tell him “Happy Birthday!”.  Seven long, grey years.  Every year his birthday comes and the days leading up to it I would feel a need to wake him up, dust him off and bring him out so that we could all have a laugh and share a small moment of Nathan’s world.

This year feels different.

This year, he doesn’t feel present.  He feels past.  He feels really gone.  The pictures are less and less current.  The stories are more historical than recent.    There are people that have been born and added to our family for whom Nathan is a mere ancestor.  Countless celebrations and memories have happened for which Nathan was not a guest.  He is gone. And now, this year, the reality of that is stark and oppressive.

I think there has always been a hint of thought lurking in my brain that somehow we just had to get through the agony of losing Nathan and once we got through it things would return to normal and fantastic.  Somehow he would return. We just had to get through the hard part.

So I soldiered on; weeping, wailing, and mourning.  Dutifully bearing the weight of grief because I somehow thought that this cloud would pass and we would get our normal lives back.  This year, the truth of what “normal” looks like is ever present and there is no escaping it.  It has been, in a word, depressing.  There is no bringing him back.  There is no going back to the old days.  There is no fixing this.

It has been a dark couple of weeks leading up to today.  I have done a lot of hiding from my family and escaping to quiet corners with vapid celebrity gossip columns and more chocolate than a person should eat in a lifetime.  I appreciate the patience of those who know me who have allowed me the space to feel this new ache.

So, the current state of grieving is that there is no getting over it, there is no getting past it.  There is only getting through it and I will spend my lifetime getting through it.

Depressed with me yet?

Turn that frown upside down.  Let’s talk about what’s awesome about the grief of the one who believes in Absolute Truth, shall we?  My belief is solid.  I absolutely know that there is a Heaven, there is God, there is The Holy Spirit, there is Jesus Christ, there is salvation for those who bear the name of Christ and there is no question of what Nathan’s reality is today.

I am not of those who grieve without hope.  If you are reading this and you are a flaky Christian, a non-Christian, or one who believes that there are many truths and we must find the one that best suits us: you must be told that one day every knee will bow and every mouth will confess that Jesus is LORD and that His reign will be forever.  There is no getting around that and my prayer for you is that your moment of bent knee and confession isn’t met with the awful, soul crushing reality that you hadn’t done so before His return.

How about we make this just a shade lighter before I sign off?  In a few hours I will be posting the annual Nathan Dodd Your Mama Joke contest along with the very serious rules for participating.  The winner will receive our fabulous t-shirt.  I would link to a picture of the t-shirt from last year, but I lost about a year’s worth of posts to a glitch.  Shame. Just trust me that the shirt is awesome and you want it.

Like most seriously funny and creative people, I had a very awkward and painfully uncomfortable childhood.  What follows is proof that, no matter the angst, God can redeem the times.

From the time I was pre-school age until the sixth grade my family lived in Odessa, TX.  Dad worked in the oil industry and it was in the early eighties.  A simple Google search of “1980s, oil, West Texas” will give you some idea of the economic climate.   By the time I was in kindergarten, my parents had four children, a mortgage, and a salary that had trickled to almost nothing.  I remember evenings spent in fields while my parents gathered abandoned industrial wires and burned the plastic off in bonfires to get to the copper wiring which they could sell for a profit.  It was dirty work.

Like a good many of people in Odessa, Dad and Mom put our house on the market.  The market became saturated almost over night and my parents were looking to at least break even.  Our Realtor was also a dear friend from church.  He knew that my Dad was a highly skilled craftsman and he offered my family a rental house he owned that needed a great deal of remodeling;  Dad would work on the house in exchange for rent.  In short order, we moved into the very damaged rental in a particularly rough neighborhood, our house was sold, and my parents purchased a red brick house that had been completely gutted by fire – purposing to restore the house completely while living in the rental.

I was in the first grade by this time and was accepted into a public school for gifted kids.  It was nowhere near to the side of town we had moved to and I had to be bussed across town each morning.  I was the second stop for the bus in the mornings and the second to last stop in the afternoons.  The bus’ first and last stop was for a group of about eight Hispanic girls who developed an immediate dislike for me.  They called me “Fifi” because I was like a “princess white poodle”.  Some afternoons they would get off at my stop and follow me most of the way home, mocking me, kicking dust at me and swinging my very heavily loaded backpack to make me stumble and lose my balance.  If I had any spare change at all, I could give it to them and buy myself some sweet peace since my bus stop was at an Allsup’s convenient store.  ”Give us some money, Fifi.  We know you got lots of it.”

Arriving at school was no relief.  I went from being the hated rich white girl on the bus to the poor white trash in my classroom.  In three years I was invited to only one class birthday party(remind me and I’ll tell you about it sometime.  tragic.).  My gifts to the teacher were unwrapped and my snack from home was usually cheap saltines and peanut butter in a baggie verses my classmates expensive individually wrapped treats of awesome.  My clothes were hand me downs and my shoes were a mess.

When the weather got warmer, my Dad set up tents in the backyard of the house that had been destroyed by fire and we stayed there so he could devote every spare minute of the day to making a house for his family.  This, while still restoring the rental house and working his oil job plus odd jobs.  The house was walking distance from my school, so I was given the sweet gift of no more agonizing bus rides.

My memory of my time at that school is a hazy patchwork of angry teacher faces, red marks on my schoolwork, and stacks of homework.  I never to rarely completed the two hours of nightly homework and this caused a great deal of gut wrenching tension for me at home and at school.  In my young life, it seemed that every grown up was a wagging finger of “We expect better of you” and every peer was an extended tongue and the scoff that I would never be anything more than trash.  On a scale of one to misfit, I was pathetic.

There was a fourth grade teacher at that school that every student hoped to get.  Her name was Ms. Hicks and she was the bright hope in my dreary existence.  She went to my church and I knew her more casually as Pam.  I believed that I was guaranteed a spot in her class and that if I could just hold on through the third grade all would be made right with the world.

I saw Ms. Hicks on occasion in the halls at school and one such meeting sticks out above the others.  I was being escorted by my teacher for what seemed like my weekly visit to the Principal’s office.  My frazzled third grade teacher was at the end of her patience with me (again) and had pulled me from my seat in her classroom by my wrist and was less than delicately marching me down the hall with my limp hand flapping by her shoulder and my feet tangling and tripping, trying to keep up with her brisk pace.

We happened to pass by Ms. Hicks in the hall and she smiled and waved at my teacher who smiled and waved back.  Ms. Hicks appeared to not notice the firm grip my teacher had on my arm and so I tried to play it cool like we were strolling hand in hand.  “Be cool, Amy.  Soon you’ll be in Ms. Hicks class and this will all be a distant memory,” went my calming self talk.

I never did learn if Ms.Hicks was going to save me, because a generous couple at our church took pity on my plight and offered to fund the tuition for me to attend a private Christian school.

I spent the next 20 years thinking of those first three years of school as brutal and pointless.  In my next post, I’ll tell how it was all redeemed for God’s glory in an instant and how on earth a travel trailer was involved.

1. I vowed to (mostly) give up Dr Pepper. Apparently, Dr Pepper over heard the threat and the last one to enter my house jumped off the counter and spewed its contents all over the floor, walls, and cabinets. Jerk.

2.   I never was any good at Pac Man.  I get too excited and make silly mistakes.

3.  Pac Man looks like cheesecake to me.  I especially love cheesecake.

4. 80 percent of the time I am on the computer is a direct result of my procrastinating doing something important. My arms are still sticky from the Dr Pepper explosion.

5.  I’ve been cheating on my blog with Facebook.  It’s nothing personal.  Well, kind of.  You just want so much more than 160 characters.  Ugh.  The pressure is exhausting.

6. I’ve never had my Facebook account hacked. This means that if I send you a video with a message that says, “lolz, fool, this is strate up funy!”, it’s really me. You should probably still ignore it.

7.   I started driving again a few months ago after nearly eight years.  This has been a real challenge for me and my natural blond tendencies.  I have a GPS, but we rarely agree.  Eric says that it is just fine that I spend half my time driving around lost and that he doesn’t mind filling up the tank with gas twice a week.  He’s just being nice

8.   When I took my behind the wheel driving test the nice DPS officer told me that I could go the whole rest of my life without parallel parking.  I sure hope she’s right.

9.   My hair was platinum when I was a child and then had the straight up nerve to turn a dish water color on me after I hit 30.  The last straw was when my Mom said to me, “Honey, I know this is natural, but it’s just not natural.”  I’ve got it nice and blond again.  And there was much rejoicing in the land.

10.  I knew John and Kate were doomed from the beginning.  Those poor kids.

11.  I recently went to get a hair cut and I told the girl that I wanted it short, but, “Not Kate Gosslin, mid angry time short”.  She knew exactly what I meant and I got a perfect hair cut.

12.  It was also during this hair cut that I realized the HUGE world of difference between me and the 20 year old girl cutting my hair.  It was one of my first, “I’m getting older” moments.

13.  The time before that was when Sarah Schopp and I went to the grocery store and I thought the bagger boy was flirting with us.  Sarah explained to me that that was how teenage boys talk to harmless old ladies.  Ouch.

14.  I really do like the pens my bank gives out.  Last time I cleaned out my purse and messenger bag I found 28 pens.  Maybe I have a problem.  Or maybe my bank has a problem.  Whateverdude.  Need a pen?

15.  My clothes from the Dr Pepper explosion are in the washer and I am pretending that I am doing something productive since they are actively being washed, even though I am not actually actively doing anything.  Play along.

16.  My tenth wedding anniversary is coming up in August.  For our first anniversary we went to Arby’s and Wal-Mart.  I’m thinking that for the Big Ten we might class it up a bit and go to Denny’s and Target.

17.  I have these occasional urges to put on a swim suit and go swimming in a nice clear body of water.  Thankfully, the feeling passes before I do anything drastic and find myself tagged in a Facebook picture of terrible.

18.  Speaking of being tagged in regrettable Facebook pictures, I am SO very thankful that Facebook was not around when I was 15-25.  I embarrass myself enough with the stuff I choose to put out there and I’m a full grown woman.  These kids today…

19.  I have the funniest story I could tell you about a joke I played on one of my brothers, but he would kill me.  It’s been 14 years and I know he would still kill me.  I can’t even tell you which brother or hint at the content, but trust me, it was HILARIOUS.  You would totally ROFLOL if I told you.  Totally.

20.  My son told me a few days ago that I am the nicest Mom he’s ever had.  We are still working on math with him.

21.  Last summer Eric announced that he wanted to be “that guy” who wears Hawaiian shirts and fedoras.  So, last summer I was married to “that guy”.  This summer I am married to the guy who wears Hawaiian shirts to mow the lawn.  I like this summer’s guy better.

22.  I think this will be the summer when I finally give up on making tan in a can work for me.  I would like to thank all my friends and family for playing along all these years.  You’ve been great, really.

23.  I bought stamps some time ago and my daughter asked me what they were.  She had never seen such a thing in our home.  Parenting: Fail.

24.  I wrote my Grandma a couple of real letters.  I’m talking actual ink on paper in a sealed envelope that gets put in the mail box and sent away.  I’m sure she was just as shocked as you are.

25.  I was baptized when I was 10.  I thought I wanted to get re-baptized until I talked to my Grandma about it.  ”Amy, I tell you, I was 10 years old when I got baptized and I never looked back.”  That’s the way to be.

26.  I’m ready to see Jesus return.  Every time I witness a baptism, I applaud and watch the sky to see if maybe that was the last one.  Not yet.  I’ll keep you posted.

27.  I think it’s possible to be misunderstood as a Debby Downer when I say that I am ready to see Jesus come and make everything new and awesome because this place blows, but I’ll have to take those lumps.  If you think this place with all its death, sickness, and poverty is as awesome as it gets, then I’ve got some FANTASTIC news for you.

28.  Eric bought me some Crocs.  I have to admit that they are surprisingly comfortable and I am happy with how easily they hosed off after the Dr Pepper explosion; I just worry that I might be mistaken for one of those people who thinks they look cool.  I don’t.  Please don’t think I do.  I know I look like a doofus.  A very comfortable doofus.

29.  I just now almost made a Facebook update about how I’m working on my 100 list and that I’m stuck at 29.  I think I have a Facebook problem.  I’ll get better.  Baby steps.

30.  My Dad grew a mustache a few months back and I now have the occasional dream that he has shaved it.  In the dream, I am always quite bummed.  I tell him it’s a sign that the ’stache stays.

31.  Eric is growing a beard.  Don’t tell I said so, but I think it’s a no.

32.  I’m not sure if Eric reads my blog.  I guess we’ll find out.  Nobody say anything to him about the Hawaiian shirts or the beard.

33.  I was once typing in front of Sarah and she saw me click on a word that spell check had underlined and fix it.  Mouth agape, she says to me, “What did you just do?”  I tell her that I had just used spell check.  She says to me, “Don’t you keep typing it over and over until you spell it right?”.  I want her to know that I did that with the word “Hawaiian”.  I can now spell it with no spell check crutch.  Thank you, Sarah.

34.  I sell jewelry for Premier designs and my mother-in-law is my upline.  It’s a fantastic company, a remarkable product, and it tickles me how much it means to my mother-in-law that she finally has one of her kids selling with her.  Let me know if I can hook you up with some free jewelry.

35.  I never really considered myself to be a saleswoman type.  I’m an actress, though, and I can ACT like a saleswoman.  You should see my bit.  HILARIOUS.

36.   I have this ring that I sell that is one huge piece of cz in a rhodium setting.  I like to wear it when I am using the computer because the flash on the keyboard makes me feel fancy.

37.  Something the ghetto taught me was the blanket meaning of the word “haters”.  That can mean people I have a minor disagreement with (like Dr Pepper-v-Mr Pibb) all the way to people who drive airplanes into occupied buildings.  It doesn’t take much to be a hater.

38.  Another thing the ghetto taught me was that I don’t ever want to live there again.  Of course, I will happily if God puts me there, but my preference is the farm in the middle of nowhere I keep daydreaming about.  It could happen.  It WILL happen.

39.  Back to the whole “getting older” thing, I have this incredible desire to go to one of those medi-spa places and get the top layer of my face chemically removed.  Just me?  Know anyone who’s done it?  Do tell.

40.  Also at those medi-spas, they spray you with fake tan.  I’m sticking to my new plans to stay super white, but the idea of having a healthy looking tan chemically sprayed all over my body is SO appealing.  Maybe just once.

41.  I totally get how people can be anti-glutens, anti-wheat, and anti-chemically altering your appearance.  I just hope they can get how I can be shallow enough to still dig all that stuff.  Don’t hate.

42.  I have one niece and two nephews.  One of them is Aunt Amy’s favorite.  I won’t say which, but I will say that you can have favorites when they aren’t your kids.

43.  When my nephew Nathan says my name, he sounds like he is eating each word, “Aunt Amy”.  I thought maybe if I typed it, you would be able to “hear” it, but no dice.  You’ll just have to imagine.  It is so cute.

44.  My niece Avery couldn’t stand me for the longest time.  Everything I said to her got the response, “No”.  Until one day I asked her if she wanted to watch videos of herself with me on my laptop.  That got her all snuggled up with me and I was her favorite for just a minute.  She loves to watch herself on film.  Just like her Aunt Amy.

45.  I totally get where she’s coming from.  Have you seen this video, starring ME?   The Book of Ruth Avery wouldn’t watch it, but I’ve seen it hundreds of times and I can’t get enough.

46.  Memorizing the book of Ruth will go down as a time of direction change for me.  I went from drama ministry that was cute skits to drama ministry that actually ministered.  Keep your eyes open for me and my girl Kathy Tope.  We’ll be coming to a church, prison, grocery store parking lot, whatever, near you soon.

47.  47 is my Dad’s favorite number.  I never met anyone who said it all the time until I met Kathy Tope.  She also has four kids and she also tells them to do things, “FORTY SEVEN TIMES”.   I never considered before that I chose friends who are like my Dad.  Weird.

48.  Whenever I call Kathy Tope, I always call her “Kathy Tope”.  I like first names that flow easily into last names.  I had that once.  ”Amy Dodd”.  Now it’s “Amy Peterson”.  The flow is gone.  I try not to get too bummed about it since I did get Eric out of the deal.

49.  Since I started this list, I have been approached by no less than three people asking me what I’m working on.  When I tell them it is my list of 100 things about me, I can feel their disappointment.  Note to self: stop talking about yourself so much.

50.  Another thing really funny about me is my inability to take a hint.

51.  I like the idea of only eating meat that is produced as a result of hunting because it means that the animal had a nice live versus one raised in a herd for the sole purpose of being turned into food.  I just wish it was common to hunt cows in the wild.  Is there even such a thing as a wild cow?

52.  When I was a kid my friend’s Mom served us some stew that her dad called “Thumper Stew”.  I didn’t understand what I was eating until I was much older.

53.  Last year I totally bombed a cognitive thinking test given to monitor MS patients.  A month later I began my Spirit-led efforts to memorize the book of Ruth.  This year I passed the test with flying colors and the tester said it was because of Ruth.

54.  When I do the voice of Naomi, it comes out like a Jewish lady from the Bronx.  It comes out so naturally that I am certain I must be just a touch Jewish.  I have a great aunt who told me that we have some Black Dutch in our line.  I Googled Black Dutch.  That may be it.

55.  This same great aunt told me that when she was 18 she asked God if she could live to see the return of Jesus.  She has now officially older than any member of that line has ever aged.  Last time I saw her she says to me, “Here’s hoping next time I see you it’s on the other side!”

56.  I have always had a fondness for old people.  Especially the ones in my family.  I could sit for hours and listen to them talk.

57.  I saw every episode of LOST and I think it was one of the dumbest shows ever.  Right up there with ALF.

58.  Eric does a lot of very smart things in his leadership of our family.  Getting the television out of the house eight months ago is near the top of my list.

59.  My kids do not have cell phones or personal computers.  They haven’t figured out how deprived they are.

60.  As the years go on, we grow even more committed to continuing homeschooling them.  Let’s see: no cell phones, no television, no personal computers, homeschoolers.  Yep, our goal of raising a couple of weirdos is coming along nicely.  Please be kind if you see them in public.

61.  I am a fan of Wal-Mart.  I like shopping there and I’m not afraid to admit it.  GoWal-Mart!

62.  I think Target and Wal-Mart are basically the same except Target is red and has a Starbucks.  You would have a hard time convincing me otherwise.

63.  I’m not a fan of Starbucks.  I think it’s the whole idea of trendy coffee that bugs me.  Drinking trendy coffee makes you about as unique as girls who got lower back tattoos back in the day.

64.  I have a lower back tattoo that I got back in the day.

65.   Eric and I watched a documentary some time ago about the common use of pagan symbols in American culture.  It almost turned me into one of those weirdos who can’t go anywhere.  Almost.

66.  Eric is a big fan of documentaries and I suppose I am as well by proxy.  I wonder if there is a documentary about people who watch documentaries.

67.  It was a documentary on “Big Sugar” that ruined Dr Pepper for me.  It said that soda was essentially candy and not to be considered just another beverage option.  I’m still quite sad that I can’t unlearn that information.

68.  Something else I wish I could unlearn, or rather, “unsee”, is the you tube video that went around of Saddam Hussein’s execution.  I saw a picture that referenced it a few days ago in an edition of Time magazine.  It’s not pretty no matter what side you’re pulling for.

69.  That same article said that 2000-2010 was the single worst decade in American history.  Interesting.  2000-2010 marks my first decade of marriage.  Hmm.  Let’s try and get our acts together in 2010-2020.  Shall we, America?

70.  Eric got a motorcycle a few months back.  I must admit that I LOVE being the girl on the back of a motorcycle.  Finally, a place where my tattoo makes sense.

71.  Sometimes I toy with the idea of having my own motorcycle, but then I remember that I am a huge pansy.

72.  When I had my wisdom teeth removed Eric spent the whole day on the sofa with me watching “Golden Girls”.  Thank you for being a friend.

73.  While I was totally under the gas, I had the terrifying notion that I was Highlander and that the dentist wanted to take my head.  It was way scary, but I played it real cool.

74.  Eric and I watched the entire Highlander series.  It’s a recent hobby of ours to watch canceled series from beginning to end.   So far we have completed Highlander and LOST.  I’m a bit dumber for the effort.

75.  I often hear from people that I have no accent.  How is that possible?  Surely I sound like I come from somewhere.

76.  When Eric and I went to get our marriage license I had to get a copy of my official birth certificate.  That was the day I found out that the State of Texas has my birthday wrong.  It was too much trouble to fix it, so now all my legal documents have the wrong birthday on it.  I like to think that it is a test of my real friends.  Only the true friends know the real day.

77.  Lacking a real accent and official documents about my date of birth sometimes makes me feel like I’m in that disappearing picture of Michael J. Fox in “Back to the Future”.  I hate that part when he hits his head on the pavement.  It makes my head hurt to hear that , “thud”.

78.  I had a pretty huge Michael J. Fox crush when I was younger.  ”Doc Hollywood” got me over it.  Whiny baby.

79.  I’m not a fan of Sharpies or most office supplies. This sets me apart from a good number of my girlfriends.

80.  Anytime I have a task I don’t want to do, I somehow include a Sharpie and I’ve got at least two friends who will do it for me.

81.  I am known to call my awesome army of girlfriends my personal assistants.  By this I mean that they personally assist me in keeping me living a pretty awesome life.  Left to my self, I would never get out or know half as much as I do about stuff.  MS could debilitate me more than it does, but my personal assistants keep me out there and on my A-game.  I’m like the poor man’s Oprah.

82.  I participated in national “In Over Your Head Week” last year.  My challenge was to create a global media empire that rivaled Oprah’s.  I totally bombed.

83.  Unlike Oprah, I believe in absolute Truth.  She’ll believe it one day just as strongly as I do.

84.  When I was younger I read books all the time.  It was rare to find me not reading a book.  I haven’t read fiction for pleasure in over five years now.  The Shack doesn’t count.  That wasn’t pleasure.

85.  I’m never sure how to answer when I am asked if I enjoy reading.  I suppose I do because I read everything in front of me: shampoo instructions, hairspray warnings, the tags on clothing, etc.  Clearly I enjoy the ability to read or I wouldn’t take advantage of it so often.

86.  Having kids that can read has added a whole new level of complication to life.  No more spelling out words over their heads, no more casual strolls past people wearing foul language statement t-shirts.

87.  Any time I have purchased a new car, I suddenly see that model of car every where.  This did not happen when we purchased our Suzuki Forenza two months ago.  I have only seen two.  One was in CA.  I wanted to stop the lady for a Suzuki Forenza high five.

88.  Mom and I got to teach at a ladies retreat in CA in May.  It was my first time to ever go to CA.  Eric still hasn’t been so I try not to brag too much.

89.  Every time I fly, I prepare small talk with random celebrities in my mind in case one happens to be seated next to me.  You really can’t over plan these things.

90.  I enjoy being in new and exciting places, I just am not especially fond of traveling to those places.  Tele-porting will change my life for the better.  I just know it.

91.  One time I was asked why I didn’t do community theater and I answered that there wasn’t a community theater big enough for me.  Kathy Tope was there and she says, “Stop it.  It’s because you’re too big of a flake to commit.”

92.  My girlfriends/personal assistants keep me honest.

93.  I would make one of these about what a joke I think Al Gore and global warming is, but that wouldn’t be fair since his personal life is such a wreck.

94.  I like aerosol hairspray so, so much.  Also, Al Gore is a joke.

95.  My Dad and I watch “The Wheel of Fortune” as often as we can together.  I am certain that if I ever went on that show all I would hear from Pat is, “Lose a Turn, Lose a Turn, Bankrupt, Lose a Turn… Well, the wheel just wasn’t on your side tonight…”

96.  I was in the hospital when I was 17 and my room mate and her husband watched The Wheel together every night.  It was either play along or sit lonely on my side of the curtain.

97.  Ian was sorely disappointed when he found out that I didn’t actually win any money for watching The Wheel.  I wish.

98.  I eat my peanut M&Ms sorted into color families.   I like to see what six brown M&Ms surrounded by ten or so red M&Ms look like or what four orange M&Ms lined up by four blue M&MS might look like.  It gets complicated and I get a little testy if someone (Eric) mindlessly grabs a handful that I am working on.

99.  One of my dear friends keeps me supplied with peanut M&Ms.  I love her for many reasons and regular deliveries of warehouse purchased chocolate is one very good reason.

100.  In the 24 hours since the Dr Pepper explosion, I have had a Sprite tip over and a Coke Zero spew.  I really, really think soda is upset with me for watching the “Big Sugar” documentary.  I’m sorry, soda.  You’re candy.  I can’t go back to the way things were.  Now, where’s my M&Ms?

If my blog was a lounge act, this would be the part where the lights come up a little and the music starts to get jazzy.  I’d grab the microphone and say, “It’s been getting a little heavy in here.  Let’s lighten things up!”.  And the audience would cheer, oh how they’d cheer, and I’d start a great salsa number or some such. That would be so awesome.

But, my blog is not a lounge act, it is a blog.  And I think that the best way to lighten things up when you don’t have the luxury of a jazz piano and stage lighting is with a Top Ten List.  Are you cheering?  Sure, you are.

Top Ten Reasons Eric and Amy Made it to the Big 8.

Some people may say, “Now, Amy, ‘8′ isn’t really a milestone year.  I wouldn’t say ‘Big’ until it’s the ‘Big 10′ or some such anniversery.”

I know, I know.  8 is not a very big number.  It’s rather tiny when I compare it to the 50th wedding anniversary party Eric and I attended on Saturday night.  FIFTY years.  That’s BIG.

But you don’t get to 50 until you’ve gotten to 8, so that’s got to be something.

Also?  This marriage thing is work, people.  Maybe it’s just us, but it seems like Eric and I are always working on it and adjusting to each other as we grow and change.  I am talking about a near full time j-o-b keeping this marriage on track.  Just us?

In honor of our Big 8 year anniversary, Eric has actually worked with me on this list.  Just so you know, the two of us together are a laugh riot at parties.

10. A truce was called in the fall of 2002 regarding the amount of mattress allotment for each.  An agreement was reached giving Eric 57.8% of space, while Amy received 42.2%.

9.  We don’t blame each other for the pets’ deaths.  (No worries.  Charlie’s fine.  For now.)

8. Amy responds with enthusiasm and encouragement when Eric talks about his “plans” to be dropped by parachute on a mountain in Africa, or China, or Colorado, whatever, with only a knife and a compass to help him find his way to civilization.

7. Eric pretends that it is cute that Amy has no idea how to get anywhere.  She is directionally challenged beyond aid of a compass and Eric pats her on the head and declares it precious.  Through gritted teeth, he declares it precious.

6.  Amy cooks.  Eric eats.  This one was easy.

5.  Eric makes money.  Amy spends money.  This one was also easy.

4.  The “Toilet Seat Treaty of 2001″, amended in 2004 when two toilets were introduced to the household, is agreed by both to have been the source of much peace.

3.  Eric finally stopped getting all huffy about Amy having never watched, nor ever caring to watch, any of the “Star Wars” movies.

2.  Amy finally quit hounding Eric to read her blog and just hacked into his e-mail and subscribed him instead.

1.  Eric thinks he is funnier than Amy and Amy thinks she is funnier than Eric.  We are careful to always play it up like the other one is funnier, but secretly?  We know the truth.

Deuteronomy 6:13-15 (New International Version)

Aren’t you so glad that we aren’t like those crazy Israelites in the Old Testament? I know for a fact that there is no chance that we would ever be found bowing to a golden cow, or a pig, or really any kind of hand crafted idol.  Give those Israelites five minutes of time to tinker, and it seemed like somehow an altar was built and a foreign god was worshiped. God got a bargain with us.  No need for him to repeat all this business about “other gods” where we’re concerned.

We’d never be so easily deceived.  By a golden cow.

But what if it was a god that looked and sounded much like the God who has been proven, yet with just the slightest of adjustment?    I would submit that a good many people who claim to worship “God” are actually worshiping a god created in the image of both man and God.  He is a god who conforms in so many ways to the notions of modern man, be it in the way of women’s rights, global warming, or absolute evil of war.  He is easier to understand because he approaches this world in the way man would. This god is presented beautifully in “The Shack”.

After very careful consideration, I have chosen to focus on only one statement made by the “Jesus” of “The Shack” in a conversation with Mack, the main character.  I think that I could use any one of several, but isn’t it true that one lie is enough to ruin it for proper instruction as to God’s person?

“Remember, the people who know me are the ones who are free to live and love without any agenda.”

“Is that what it means to be a Christian?”  It sounded kind of stupid as Mack said it, but it was how he was trying to sum everything up in his mind.

“Who said anything about being a Christian?  I’m not a Christian.”

The idea struck Mack as odd and unexpected and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.  No, I suppose you aren’t.”

They arrived at the door of the workshop.  Again Jesus stopped.  “Those who love me come from every system that exists.  They were Buddhists or Mormons, Baptists or Muslims, Democrats, Republicans and many who don’t vote or are not part of any Sunday morning or religious institutions.  I have followers who were murderers and many who were self righteous.  Some are bankers and bookies, Americans and Iraqis, Jews and Palestinians.  I have no desire to make them Christian, but I do want to join them in their transformation into sons and daughters of my Papa, into my brothers and sisters, into my Beloved.” (p. 181-182)

So, it turns out that Jesus is not interested in us becoming Christians.  He is not a Christian.  Why would we want to bear a name He doesn’t bear?

The name “Christian”, meaning simply, “follower of Christ”, was first given to the disciples at Antioch.  This is recorded in Acts 11:25-27.  Christian is a Biblical term, not something contrived by people who create religious terms to make sense of things unclear.

I believe that Jesus, the Jesus of the Bible, made clear his intentions.

Mt 28:18 Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
Mt 28:19 Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,
Mt 28:20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

We are to obey everything He has commanded us.  We are to follow Him.  We are to be Christian.

What harm is a little lie?

Ask Eve.

“Did God really say that you would die if you ate of this fruit?  You won’t die.”

Some of you rightly called this book a piece of fiction which should be handled as such.  I completely agree.  The problem is that this piece of fiction is being peddled from pulpits as being “inspired” fiction to the hands of people who would rather have their ears tickled by all things lovely and magical instead of solid Truth.  The problem is that the god of “The Shack” is becoming the god of many who have no clue they have eaten the cake.

My final thought on “The Shack” is that you can read it if you want to.  I don’t think it is necessary to show you any side of God that is not revealed in His Word.  If there is any new “truth” about God revealed to you in “The Shack”, I deeply implore you to test it against the Word.  And I encourage you to avoid the urgings of the publisher to purchase more copies for your friends and family. They’ll just have to settle for a plain ol’ Bible.