Discerning Minds Want to Know...

I know it is time to vacuum when I put my G-boy on the floor and five seconds later, I am plucking petrified raisins, toenail clippings, rogue Legos or hairy dust balls out of his chubby hands.

If he would just leave all that crap alone, I wouldn't have to vacuum. 

But he doesn't.  You know why?

My one-year old G-babe (miracle that he is) lacks DISCERNMENT.

Okay, maybe I skipped a few core developmental stages in there. 

First, my G-baby will need to develop enough Knowledge to understand what toenail clippings are. But Knowledge alone is not enough. Knowing what a toenail is doesn't mean he won't put it in his mouth because, you know... he's a guy. 

It will take him a bit longer to learn Right from Wrong, and even longer to determine Good from Evil. By then, he'll have grown so tall that the dust balls are no longer eye level. (Though he may still choose to eat petrified raisins in full Knowledge and Understanding that they are going to taste Evil, ala Garden of Eden.)

This is where Wisdom comes in. But only with experience. And often from mistakes. For example, every parent knows to pick up the Legos before getting up to pee in the middle of the night.  It only takes one barefooted misstep to gain such wisdom.

Hopefully, Wisdom eventually leads to Discernment.

I say 'hopefully', because the older I get, the more I realize Discernment is not a developmental tool in everybody's arsenal.

Facebook has taught me this lesson well. The sparsity of Discernment on my news feed is downright depressing. Never more so than during times of social and political upheaval.

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We are at war, y'all.

But our enemy isn't angry young men wielding AK-47's or pressure cookers. 

Our enemy is Satan.  And his weapons to destroy us are many.

He uses hate, bigotry, ignorance, deception, defeat, doubt, division. He breaks our hearts, he confuses our minds.  He paralyses our souls with fear...

Then he sits back in satisfaction, watching as we destroy each other.

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These people we call “extremists”...? 

They are making extremists of us all.

We're acting like a bunch of soulless knuckleheads.

When did we forget that we are spiritual beings having a human experience? 

We.Are.Spiritual.Beings.

Our hearts may be broken, but are souls are intact.  We are not defenseless.

The Holy Spirit dwells within us.

Just writing those words gives me chills.  

Yet there are so many believers who never unwrap this God-given gift.  It reminds me of those little wooden Russian dolls that stack inside of each other.  How sad it would be to never figure out how to open the biggest doll and discover the other little dolls nesting inside.

So it is with the Holy Spirit. Open up the Big Gift and you will find seven more:

Do you realize what a gift this truly is?  We have within our possession – within our very soul – every single tool we need to be More Than Conquerors.

Doesn't it make sense to develop these gifts and put them to use? 

Isn't it time?

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This world can seem very dark. We The People, perpetuate that darkness with our divisiveness and judgment. We rush to jump on bandwagons and leap joyfully into piles of false assumptions, seemingly driven by a self-serving desire to be right. 

Discernment is not self-serving, but considers the common good. 

Discernment relies on the Holy Spirit for guidance.

And if our guidance is coming from anywhere else, we're nothing but a bunch of fools...

(Which reminds me, I need to go vacuum.)

No More Excuses

My husband is a wonderful son.

Every Sunday after church he goes by the nursing home and then goes to church again, this time with his Mama. 

I know. Thatsalottachurch. But he loves it, looks forward to it every week.

Except yesterday. Yesterday, he came home sad.

According to him, his Mama was 'out of sorts'. She had missed her hair appointment earlier in the week and refused to eat dinner two nights in a row. She seemed to be having more trouble than usual communicating, which made him feel as though she was slipping further away.

Generally speaking, poking and pestering the Dickman are high on the list of my favorite activities. I'm really good at it, too. But when my guy is sad...? It absolutely swamps me. His sadness is my Kryptonite.

I knew there wasn't anything I could say to make him feel better. Sometimes there just aren't enough words. But I knew there was something I could do that might help.

I didn't want to do it. Just the thought of it made my stomach all wonky.

'Cause I really don't like to go the nursing home.

There. I said it.

It's not something I'm proud of or even understand. I mean, I work with geriatrics all the time. I've taken multiple courses on how to deal with Alzheimer patients. I know all the tricks of the trade.

But it's a whole nuther deal when it happens to be YOUR geriatric in THEIR nursing home.

I could blame it on logistics, as she naps most of the day and is usually up and alert only for meals.

But that's not really the truth. 

The truth is that I am a wuss and it breaks my heart to see her there. And after I see her, I hate telling her goodbye. I hate driving off without her. Even though I know she's much more contented and settled than she ever was at my house, it makes me cry. 

Every. Single. Time.

But I did what any self-respecting slacker of a daughter-in-law would do. I put on my Big Girl panties, packed up my hairspray and headed out.

She was asleep when I peeked into her room. I stood in the doorway and watched her for a moment, hating to disturb her peaceful rest.

My heart squeezed a little as I took note of her weight loss and her messy hair.

“Dora B?” I said as I gently shook her shoulder; “Dora B... your girl is here.” (She had forgotten my name months ago, but still referred to me as 'her girl'.)

Her eyes opened slowly in confusion. She blinked at me as she sat up, no sign of recognition on her face.

“Dickie told me you were having a bad hair day. I came to make you pretty.”

She smoothed her wrinkled hand self-consciously over her hair and stuttered incoherently at me, still trying to figure out who I was and why I was there. 

“I'm Robin. I belong to Dickie. Remember Dickie? He came to church with you this morning.”

Finally, the look of confusion disappeared and her face lit up in a beautiful smile. “Ttttthat's my boy. He, he comes here. Church. Every time. I love him.”

“And he loves you. He loves you very much.”

“Yyyyyyou, you know Dddddd...? I have tttttttwo boys,” she told me proudly as she held up two fingers.

“I know! I know both of them. The other one comes and sings to you all the time, right?”

“Yyyyyes. Oh, yes. And he, he is GOOD!”

I began to comb and curl as her tangled words came out in a jumbled stream. I couldn't understand most of what she said but I got the jest: her beautician didn't show up this week and her hair was ugly and she didn't want anybody to see her like that and she wasn't eating because she didn't like the food and I was a good niece.

After much backcombing and hairspraying (the bigger the hair, the closer to God... amiright?) I walked her into the bathroom to look in the big mirror.

“Oh, my. Tttthat. Gggggood. Better!”

Her delighted expression had me blinking back tears, while giving myself a good kick in the butt for not making more of an effort to spend time with her.

“See how pretty you are?! You're gonna have to fight the fellers away at dinner!” I teased.

And I'll be danged if I didn't catch a glimpse of that old ornery twinkle in her baby blue eyes.

“Seriously, Dora B? You still looking for a boyfriend?”

She grinned up at me coquettishly and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Why not?!”

We laughed even harder at my pathetic attempts to take a picture of ourselves for the Dickman. I hugged her tight and promised to be back soon.

And I meant it.

Cause sometimes you just need your girl...

(RUTH 1:16)