Understanding Those Who Love to Explain and Expound

If you have a close relationship with a teacher, a detail person, or someone who loves to explain and expound, you'll resonate with what I'm about to share:

I get offended when someone tells me something I've known since I was eight or I've heard a hundred times. Wait, that was a lie. I get offended when MY HUSBAND tells me something I've known since I was eight and I've heard a hundred times. Especially when 99 of those times, I've heard it from him.

• Kangaroos are a type of marsupial--they have pouches to carry their babies in. 
• Black is not a color but a combination of all the colors in the spectrum mixed together. 
• Only domesticated cats meow--large cats like tigers and leopards don't. 

At my best, I sigh and roll my eyes. At my worst, I say something snarky like, "If you think I'm that stupid, why did you marry me?" (Sorry, God. I know that's disrespectful. But even Jesus got miffed at his disciples!)

Kevin and those in your life who have a teaching, explaining, or communication gift can't help themselves. They HAVE to tell someone what they know or they'll burst. It's in their DNA. 

I only wish the Lord would provide someone besides me as the listener. Some little seven-year-old who hasn't heard that there is more water on the globe than land...

I have a great idea! Tell me something I don't know! About yourself, an interesting place you've lived or visited, a Bible verse or book you recently read, anything. I'm craving new knowledge...

Must Milestone Birthdays Hurt?

My kind, thoughtful husband just passed a milestone birthday, and it hurt him worse than all the former birthdays combined.

I felt for him, but there is nothing I can do to turn back time. I wonder why these milestone birthdays hurt so much.

Could it be because our society worships those who have no wrinkles, sags, or many candles on their birthday cakes?


God tells us that gray hair is a crown of glory, and is found in the way of righteousness (Prov. 16:31, NIV).

In many cultures, older citizens are honored, not ignored, ridiculed, or sent out to pasture.

God and I think Kevin is pretty spectacular, even if our messed-up society doesn't.

Let's listen to God instead of others, and perhaps those milestone birthdays won't hurt so much!

Have you had any milestone birthdays? Did they hurt, or did you see them as crowns of glory? 

Fifty Shades of Orange

Since cooler weather is upon us, I decided my carrots needed to come out of the ground and into the freezer. I tugged and pulled alone for an hour, sweating, squatting, kneeling and squealing (not really, but it's a fun word that rhymes with kneeling).

The more carrots I lined up on the lawn, the more there seemed to be in the garden. We soon had fifty shades of orange. Were they multiplying, like their loppy-eared consumers?

Finally I prayed, "Lord, if you want me to get these carrots done today, will you please send Kevin out here to help me?"

Five minutes later, my hero-who-hates-to-garden appeared. "Need some help?" he offered. I took it.

Using our brains together, we came up with a tug-toss-rinse-tote plan that got those orange babies into the house lickety-split. Once inside, we scrubbed, chopped, blanched, and froze like pros.

The world calls it synergy: two or more people working together to accomplish far more than double the efforts of one.

God calls it unity: teaming up our talents and hearts to reach divine goals.

Whatever name you give it, the end result is fifty shades of orange. If I had continued to work alone, I'd be  shades of tired. Kevin set aside his desire to read a book or watch a movie to help me reach my goal. And it made me love him more than I did yesterday. Because...

he doesn't even like carrots!

Have you or someone you know set aside their desires to help another? How did it turn out?

Christmas Wedding Hero

How can you top first graders singing Away in a Manger accented by lisps from missing teeth as a wedding prelude? No one noticed the ruby poinsettia sprays draped over the end of each pew, or the candelabras’ reflection on stain glass windows. We were too busy peering around heads to catch those six-year-olds singing. And singing. And singing.

After the third round of Silver Bells, even the grandparents in the crowd started suspecting a glitch. The bride’s mother stilled our curiosity when she stepped to the front. “Is there an organist in the house?” she half shouted, half laughed. “Our organist is lost in Casey, and can’t be here for forty-five minutes. If you can play, please step into the pastor’s office to the left of the sanctuary.”

Gasps and nervous chuckles shot through the crowd. But I knew someone who could save the day. “Honey, you can play,” I whispered to my husband. “Go tell them you’ll help.”

“Oh, Jeanette, I don’t play the organ—only the piano. It’s a different instrument altogether. Surely in a crowd of this size, there’s someone who’s trained on the organ.”

 

Not to betray my German heritage, I persisted. “No one is moving, Kev. You can do this; I know you can. Just don’t use the foot pedals, and they’ll never notice!”

 

His eyes skimmed the room with a nervous gaze.  “No, I don’t think I could.”

 

“Yes, you can, now just go do it.” My elbow may have slipped into his ribs; I don’t remember.

 

With one final desperate look around the room, Kevin rose from his seat.  He moseyed to the door of the pastor’s study, eyes on the carpet. As he pulled the door shut behind him, I sighed in relief. Thank you, Jesus.

Five minutes later, when he took his seat on the organ bench, a collective smile embraced all 200 guests. He played the processional like the first snowfall, sprinkling each bridesmaid with music as they glided down the aisle.  He gained more confidence for The Wedding March, and the bride received a full-scale storm of Wagner. By the recessional, organ music avalanched from his fingers. As the ushers dismissed each row, he bounced on the organ seat like a kid on a toboggan, playing original compositions, carols, and classical pieces.

No need for stairs from the platform to the sanctuary floor. He floated down and out to the parking lot, his halo glimmering in the afternoon sun.

At the reception, guests lined up to congratulate the wedding superhero. He grinned and nodded between bites of cake, “I was happy to help;” “It was the least I could do;” and my personal favorite, “No problem at all!” 

I finally snatched his wallet and held up his driver’s license next to his face. “What are you doing, Jeanette?”

“Checking to see if I came with the right man.”

He grabbed the wallet out of my hand. “I just didn’t want to steal the show from anyone else who could play. Everyone might think I was showing off.”

“No way would they think that about you, hon. Everyone could see you only wanted to help some friends out of a jam.” I jabbed him in the ribs one last time, and straightened his wings.

The above is a chapter from my book, Two Sceoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top. Just in time for Christmas, we've reduced the kindle price to only $3! Click on the link above to order

 

 

 

 

Another Chance at Love: A Story for 9-11

As I stared out the car window, Kevin’s words jolted me alert: “Today is the tenth anniversary of my crash into Sugar Creek.”

I sucked in air, blinked. “Oh, wow. I’ve been thinking so much about 9/11, I forgot that just a few days before, I almost lost you.” My sigh filled the front seat. “I’m so thankful you lived…”

10 years rushed back. Kev and I stood on the bridge over Sugar Creek, our arms tight around each other. We watched, numb with shock, as the towing crew worked for hours to drag our overturned car under the bridge and up the bank. A copse of trees along the bank nearest the car blocked the way for them to tow it up that side. It was between those trees and the bridge railing that Kevin had sailed, flipping upside down into the creek.

“I remember thinking, ‘I need to get control of this car,’” he told me. “I must have blown a tire, but I felt like I was driving on ice. The next thing I knew, I was covered in water from my waist up. It took me a few seconds to realize I was hanging upside down by my seatbelt. The water had come in through the open window.”

My husband does not swim. If the crash had knocked him out, he’d have drowned. And because the car settled under the bridge, no one driving along would have seen it. He might have lain there for days before anyone discovered him.

I shivered at the thought. “How did you get out?” I said.

“I wrestled my seatbelt open and crawled through the window. I couldn’t find my glasses—the impact knocked them off. But I managed to crawl up the bank and walk down the road to Bill McConkey’s. He called the sheriff to report my accident.” I looked up at his eyes, clear brown and alive, then down again quick into the murky water.

Not until later that night did I let the tears flow. I sobbed my remorse to the Lord for the creekful of times I’d been impatient with Kev, the harsh words, the stubbornness. I admitted how I’d taken him for granted; not appreciated how he enriched and nourished me. And how quickly a single act can snatch a loved one from your life.

9-11 might have been Kevin’s burial day. For many it was.

I won’t pretend to understand why thousands had to say an early goodbye to loved ones 10 Septembers ago, and I circumvented that grief. I know God didn’t will the horror of 9-11. Evil men planned it, and He never allies Himself with evil.

But just as He caused gardens to grow from the rubble and gave hope to broken hearts in the aftermath of 9-11, He has given me another day, another decade, another chance to love. I don’t need to figure it out to say, “Thank You” for that.

This article was previously published in the Paris Beacon News, Friday, 9-9-11.

Controversy is Essential

When my husband, Kevin attended a political forum recently, he came home frustrated. He turned his thoughts into a post on his blog, Jesus in the Real World, and then a letter to the editor. I thought you may be interested in reading what he had to say:

POLITICAL CONTROVERSY

Last night we had a forum of candidates from both parties for local offices in our community. The opportunity to present questions to the candidates was given, but I didn’t turn one in. Why? Because they said they weren’t going to read any controversial questions.

What’s the matter with controversy? If there were no controversies, there would be no politics at all. Has political correctness gotten so out of hand that we can only bring certain things to the table in an election? There is no such hands-off attitude by politicians after they are elected. Once in government they legislate with regard to every area of our lives and finances, but we are not to probe into the thinking of our candidates before we give them a license to make or enforce laws?

Such meetings are something in the nature of a job interview. Since when was an employer kept back from asking the questions of an applicant pertinent to ascertaining whether the applicant is in synch with what his company was doing? We are electing people, not platforms. Our government officials are doing our business. It is only right that we see if they are qualified to do it the way we want it done. Not only that, but I think it would be a good idea if there would be an open mike at such a meeting where the citizens could express themselves on their thoughts and preferences to the candidates rather than just letting the candidates speak. Government has become too unilateral. It’s time to get it back to being a two way street.

Let us not shy from controversy. Euphemisms destroy perception and never touch reality. The issues don’t ever stop being controversial. We don’t really know what people think if we don’t force the controversy into the open. If a candidate is in the public arena, he or she has, in a sense, a responsibility, as if they had taken an oath, to tell the whole truth about not only their skills and experience, but also about their thinking.

--copyright, Kevin Don Levellie

Do you shy away from controversy? Or do you feel it's needed in this case? What questions would you ask your political candidates?



What About YOU? Most Influential Clergy

Since today is Clergy Appreciation Day, I’m asking my What About You question a day early.


What pastor, preacher, or priest has made the biggest difference in your life?

Of course, my husband Kevin has affected me the most, and I don’t say that because I’m married to him. He reminds me of Jesus more than any man I’ve ever known. He listens patiently, shares wise advice, loves the Word of God, and genuinely cares for each of his sheep. He is committed not only to our marriage, but to me as a person. He wants me to succeed, and has greatly encouraged me in my writing journey. No wonder I’m crazy about him.

Your turn…