Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Year of the Insect

Every year I have hopes that the winter freezes and bitterly cold temperatures will destroy all forms of insect life around here.

Please don't argue with me and say, "But you can't mean the beautiful Monarch butterfly, or the useful earthworm." (yes, that is an insect in my mind.I don't even know if it is actually classified as one)

I do mean all insects. Mosquitoes, gnats and moths.I wish death and destruction upon them all. And they can take their gnarly house flies with them.

Mosquitoes are as prevalent as the grey hairs that are cropping out of my head this year. And way more annoying.

I am looking like I am being slowly eaten alive. Besides the bites all over my torso,head and limbs, I have a bite in my arm pit and and two bites in my ear.

Yes, my ear. Was I sleeping? Was it a stealth-commando mosquito armed with silencers on it's wings? I don't really know. But I do know that I look like either an itchy dog or a lazy orangutan picking at his arm pit. Nice.

Sometimes, when everything gets itching all together, I think I might remind you of your great Aunt Mary-Sue, (you, know....The Drinker) doing the Macarena at the family picnic. HeeeeeeYaaaaaaa!

And mosquitoes are just one of the insects I want to direct the anger of a thousand suns towards.

Last night, I was laying in bed reading with my reading lamp, when two demonic moths began fluttering blindly around the lamp (which is near my head, fyi.), making horrible flutter sounds and leaving their powdery moth residue everywhere. (I'm guessing on that last part.)

I began shrieking and doing an energetic and totally rhythemless Macarena trying to gently encourage them to leave using my inside voice, when Rod turned to me and said, "I like moths and I never try to kill them. They eat mosquitoes." Then he rolled back over.

Eating a mosquito is definitely a plus, but not enough to save their fluttery little lives. You'll be saddened to know they have passed and are no longer with us.

Earlier this week I went into my bathroom, which I have previously thought of a generally safe place. (Don't even go there.) Something on the ceiling caught my eye and I saw what at first looked like generic Oregon slug who had been on the TSFL program. And was consistent. In other words, he was thin.

Something in my sinful human nature made me look closer and I noticed thousands. THOUSANDS, I'm telling you, of legs. Little tiny waving appendages moving the creature from Jurassic Park across the ceiling and towards my bedroom.

Where I sleep.


Where I used to sleep. Now that I know insects like this exist I don't know if sleep will be possible.

Rod came running at my roar.After we studied this creepy-crawly creature for a while, and I took pictures, Rod shot it with his .30-06 Remington. (I'm not 100% certain what he used as I was huddled in a corner at the other end of the house, rocking and humming to myself. But it may have been a plastic spatula.)

He brought it out into the kitchen and began to throw it in to the garbage. I don't think so.

I made him throw it into the garbage disposal and turn it on for five minutes. I don't know if these satanic insects have zombie teandacies, but I don't put it past them. I am taking no chances, my friend.

So, long story short long, I really am hating on the insects this year. How about you?

The end.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Jobs and Job

B'ness has been slow lately. SLOOOOOW. As in DEAD. Work has been harder to come by than unicorn tears. So, each day we pray for work, and we ponder the feasibility of selling our children.
Only kidding.

Unless you know someone who is interested in the fastest barista in the Western Hemisphere or the highest ranked Call of Duty player in Oregon. And he comes with a wife and child. But I don't think I can legally sell them. Not that I would.
Call me.

Anyway, I was reading some Charles Spurgeon last night to Rod out on the deck. C.H.S. was writing about Job and his afflictions and trials.
I know, I know.
Mine don't even come close and yours probably don't either. But he said, "The best piece of furniture I ever had in my house was the cross of affliction. Adversity is the richest field in all the farm of life."

It is rich because we grow during these times. I need to be reminded of that, even in my small suffering and worry. (But honestly? The best piece of furniture in our house is the leather lovesest.Or the pillow topped bed. It is a toss-up)

Mr. Spurgeon ended his chapter on Job by writing this:

"God is glorified not so much by preserving us from trouble as by upholding us in our trouble. In trials we are tempted to grow impatient for God's deliverance, to doubt his wisdom, and to despair of ever being happy again.

As I read this 22nd verse (Job), I wetted it with a tear. In all Job's trials he did not sin by blaming God, yet I, who have suffered so little have often sinned and blamed God. Haven't you? If so, let your tear follow mine. But the tear will not wash away the sin. Fly to the fountain filled with blood and with it wash away your sins of impatience, bitterness rebellion and unbelief."

So this morning, as I went on my run on the Heavenly Loop, I was able to sincerely and honestly thank God for our small suffering, knowing that he loves us and will refine us, bit by bit. I looked at our situation in light of the incomparable immensity of God and the incomparable love of Jesus. It was the best time of worship that I have had for months. The burden of anxiety and worry have literally been lifted off and laid down.
Big sigh of relief.
Now I have to go get ready for the day because we get to watch baby Max today! And I have to post an ad on Craigslist.