Debit and Deficit

I find banking unpleasant, which is why I avoid banks.  However, refusing to enter a building doesn’t stop the people inside from trying to communicate with you.  I have learned to adapt to the banks persistence by ignoring the mail they send and stacking in on the counter until my husband sees it.   It isn’t my most functional behavior.  If you try shaming me for such conduct I assure you it won’t work.  It might seem un-empowered but I’m okay with it.  (I’ll have you know I used to spell womyn with a “y.”  I’m over it now.)

A couple weeks ago, the bank sent me a new debit card.  I didn’t ask for one, I got a new one only 4 months ago.  Naturally, I assumed the bank had made a mistake.  The new card was examined, deemed unnecessary and promptly destroyed; my life continued. 

Turns out, the bank also sent my husband a new card.  As a man who reads his mail, he asked me what I did with my newest debit card.  I told him.  My husband got patient and explained, had I read my mail, I would have known the bank sent me a debit card with a fancy microchip that would make my banking life better…stronger….faster.  I had essentially killed the debit card equivalent of the 6 million dollar man.   

I was unrepentant.  My husband informed me, my current bank card - the un-bionic one, was expiring in two weeks.  I responded by getting cross.   The next morning, I called my bank and confessed what I had done.  The teller seemed surprised that I would cut up a new card as opposed to activating it.  I assured her that it was normative behavior and that I cut up mail without reading it all the time.  She suggested that the bank only sent me mail that was important.  I assured her she was mistaken.  Sensing a personality clash, she changed the subject and ordered me a new debit card.  I practiced deep breathing exercises until the call was finished. 

My second bionic debit card came within the week.  I phoned the 800 number and activated it like a normal person.  I was pleased at my personal growth and considered the matter settled until the first morning my I had to use the stupid thing, two days later.

I was standing at a gas pump at Costco trying to swipe my bionic friend and getting absolutely nowhere.  I looked around for an attendant.  He was hiding in a small hut in the corner of the parking lot. 

“Hi, I wondered if you could help me.  I just got a new bank card, it isn’t working…. Maybe I’m doing it wrong, could you try?”  The young man put on his best customer service face, “Sure, they can be tricky sometimes.”  The fact that I had been using a debit card since this boy was born hung heavily in the air.  We ignored its presence.  Walking over to the station, he ran the card again.  Nothing.  No activity bionic or otherwise.  “I’m really sorry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  “No problem,” I replied cheerily, I’ll call my bank.”  I pulled my hungry car into the parking lot and called my husband, “My new debit card isn’t working!”  I complained.  “Darling, the bank is across the street, go and ask them for help.”  I couldn’t fight his reasoning, steeling my nerve, I crossed the street and entered the bank.

It was painful.  Really.  I walked up to the teller and explained that my new bionic debit card was malfunctioning.  I couldn’t make it work.  She looked at the computer in front of her and asked questions.  I confessed to cutting up my debit card without reading the paperwork.  She told me the bank didn’t send out debit cards without a good reason.  I disagreed and told her the bank had sent me many things without good reason.  I began to list them.  She became patient, I became polite, and it was going to get ugly soon.  Realizing she didn’t have the clearance to fix the problem, she sent me to a banker who got to sit behind a table.

The woman behind the desk listened to my story and nodded.  She didn’t seem phased by my senseless act of debit card violence.  Perhaps it was because she was sitting down.  “I understand,” she said, smiling sympathetically.  “Let me make a call and see if we can fix this.”  After 15 minutes, she hung up the phone.  “Well, the good news is the bank made a mistake, the replacement card has the wrong number on it.  They sent you a card with an expired number.  You can’t use this card at all.”  She smiled so happily, pleased that she had unraveled the mystery:  it seemed wrong to rip my hair out.  “The good news is, I can get you a new one sent to you in two days.” 
“Delightful!” I countered.  “Anyway you can help me withdraw some cash? So I can get my errands done?”  “Of course,” she gushed.  “We’re a bank!” she giggled.  I practiced deep breathing.  “Will $50’s work?”  I nodded, tasting blood on my lip.

I was in a fairly foul mood when I left the bank.  What should have taken me 5 minutes had now taken 40 and I hadn’t even started my errands.  I pulled into the gas station up the street.  I texted my husband and surly note about how my morning had been sabotaged by the bank.  He sent me an upbeat text about “staying chill” reminding me that my problems were minor in the light of eternity. 

I responded by deleting his contact information from my phone.

Standing in front of a gas pump for the second time that morning, I started at the machine which was telling me to place my cash in a contraption to my right.  I inserted a $50 bill.  It hummed and spat the cash back out.  I straightened the bill and put it in again.  The machine hummed, blinked and spat it out again.  I took another $50 out of my fold, thinking that perhaps the bill was dodgy.  The machine gave that one back too.  Suppressing a scream, I put my head down and begged for mercy.  It was then I noticed a small notice, “This machine accepts, $5, $10 and $20 bills.” 

Thanking the Lord for clearing that up, I marched inside.  “Hi, do you have change for a $50?”  “Well, I don’t know.” Came the rather snotty reply from Cecelia, a young woman with a fascinating nose ring. I was barely containing my temper.  I looked at her sternly trying to figure out where I had seen her before.  I decided her large nose ring made her look very much like a bull I met in Swansea, England while crossing the moor, during a back packing trip.  I hadn’t gotten along with him either. 

Deciding that information was not helpful I said, “Look, your machine doesn’t take $50’s! I’m trying to buy gas!”  Cecelia looked up from the counter and straight into my eyes.  “Oh well let’s not worry with that stupid machine anyway!” Cecelia was treading carefully now, I was hanging on by a thread and was not as polite as I had hoped.   “I will ring you in here.  If you need cash back, come and I’ll have it for you.”  I thanked her tersely and went outside.

After filling my gas tank, I replaced the nozzle and headed inside for my change.  In my absence, Cecelia had decided something about me.  She was very kind.  She talked quietly, thanked me for coming in and looked at me when she said, “I hope you have a good day.”  She meant it.  She placed the change in my hand and moved on to her next customer.  

Counting my change, I had to laugh, of course it would be that amount.  Six dollars and sixty six cents, it had been that type of morning.  My irritation had gotten the better of me in front of at least three people that morning. My flesh was doing a great job and squashing my faith.   I wondered why I let life’s petty annoyances get the better of me time and time again. 

In truth I knew that answer.  Aside from my piggy mindedness and sin, I haven’t been giving myself enough space lately.  I was doing too much, too quickly with too little time spent on things that give me joy.  Life has been a bit of a grind and it’s been a while since I’ve taken some time out to play.  I’ve been running my life with a serious joy deficit.

Unless the LORD builds a house, the work of the builders is wasted. Unless the LORD protects a city, guarding it with sentries will do no good. It is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to his loved ones.  Psalm 127:1-2

What about you my friend?  Had any moments to yourself lately?  Have you spent and afternoon with a book or someone you love, sharing time and enjoying their company?  If you, like me, are finding the little things are causing you big frustration, can I suggest you take some time out?  We are not built to deal endlessly with issues and annoyances, every now and then we are supposed to laugh ourselves silly.  Try find some space for happiness this week, rescue a worm, eat a pear.  Breathe deeply and create some more space. 

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

Glimpse of Glory

Hot tears ran down my face as drove to the freeway.  “If this keeps up, I’m going to have to pull over,” I muttered at the Lord.  It wasn’t His fault I was crying but I’ve been blaming Him for a lot lately.  I smiled at myself, took a breath and tried to pull myself together.  Suddenly, a wave of grief rose up in my heart and tears filled my eyes again. “Fine then,” I hiccupped as if a question had been answered.  Pulling over before I had an accident seemed like wisdom.  I spotted the driveway of a closed restaurant and parked the car.  

After checking my surroundings for monsters, policemen and strangers, I put my head down on the steering wheel and cried. 

I wasn’t even sure why I was crying.  I had received some surprising news the night before, but truthfully I had so much to be thankful for the tears seemed misplaced.  I sat quietly and tried praying. 

Rebuilding a life after a trial isn’t an easy process. Ask anyone who has been through a divorce or who has done a round of chemo and they will tell you the same thing.  Some days, it is hard to look straight ahead.  Some days, you spend too much time looking over your shoulder at the destruction behind you.  Some days, the loss seems overwhelming.

I spent my prayer time telling the Lord I didn’t understand.  I didn’t understand my circumstances and I certainly didn’t understand why my prayers went unanswered.  I confessed I was having a hard time looking forwards when all I saw over my shoulder was ruin and ashes.  I asked for help, because I knew I was lost in self-pity and impatience. 

Then something special happened. 

I looked in my rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of the sun rise.  Full on sunshine as I looked over my shoulder.

In that moment, I remembered that I’m not going to understand.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isa 55:8-9

In that moment, I remembered it was God’s job to make things beautiful. 

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end Ecc 3:11

In that moment, I remembered that He is lovely even when I am not.

Giving them a garland instead of ashes, The oil of gladness instead of mourning, The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting So they will be called oaks of righteousness, The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.  Isa 61:3

I am praying for you this week my friend, if you are looking over your shoulder at what has been, what has hurt and what has gone; that you would find moments of His providence.  Moments where the Son shines so brightly through the darkness, it causes you to smile through tears.  I pray you would see His fingerprints all over your life, all over the pages of your days, because He lovingly hovers over you. 

May peace rest on you this week,

xoxKaren  

Some Assembly Required

Then the LORD God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”        Gen 2:18

The weekend before school begins can be a frenzied time.  Summer is over and real life is about to hit full force as alarm clocks, bagged lunches and homework come back into focus.  Labor Day weekend is a time to take a breath and gear up for the next season.  If you are mindful, you can make it significant by setting a beautiful table and sharing summertime memories over a special meal.

I am not mindful.

Ask my husband and he might mention that sometimes not only am I not mindful but sometimes I am not thoughtful either.  Which is ironic because it was my desire to bless him that got us into trouble in the first place.  Like any homemaker, I am forever looking for ways to improve my surroundings without spending any money.  My latest budget adventure had been to purchase a second hand Ikea loft bed (for a screech of a deal) from a dear woman and to bring it home to him unannounced.  He looked surprised.  When I suggested that he help me put it together, he didn’t look surprised any more.  He didn’t look anything actually, because he has a really good poker face.    What should have been crossing his countenance was a look of amazement, then horror, then frustration.  Instead he stared at me blankly, plastered a grin on his face and said “Okay.”   

He is a prince.

It is a well-known fact that people who write instruction manuals for a living hate people.  Not just people, but humanity at large.  Masquerading as individuals who pay attention to detail, these maladjusted wordsmiths are out to take anyone down who fancies themselves handy with a screwdriver.  Equipped with translation software, they hate in many languages.  Something should be done to stop them.

Instructions can be helpful if you learn by reading.  If you are a kinesthetic learner, you might as well bash your hand with a hammer at the outset of the project because the manual writing reprobates have your number.  My husband is aware that written directions mean little to me; armed with this knowledge we began to assemble the bed. 

If anyone asks me how I know Jesus is alive, I won’t quote scripture, I’ll point to my man.  Without the Lord, neither of us would be here. When we were in our 20’s we had to instate a rule of silence before church on Sundays, because it was the only way we could get to church on time.  Without fail some quarrel would break out Sunday morning that was so volatile we would sit in the parking lot and argue.  I would have blamed spiritual forces were it not for my vicious temper.  I would rather have taken the credit.

For the first 7 years of our marriage my husband would continually tell me, “We are on the same side.  We don’t need to argue, we are on the same team. In fact, we are the team!”  It was a mantra and it was sorely needed.  I didn’t play well in groups.  But God is amazing.  We were now 4 hours into a project, laughing because we had come to an impasse.  I had interrupted him three times after asking his opinion and in retaliation he ran away with the tools so I couldn’t do anything. We managed to put the darn bed together without arguing. Shouting, laughing, teasing, eye rolling, but no arguing.  I can tell you honestly, that only the power of Jesus made that possible.  Without him, it would have been war-zone.  At the end of the day, I was very thankful.

What about you friend,  

How is your husband or wife? When the tension rises, do you know how to argue lovingly?  Are you arguing the point or the person?  Are you known as people who work together or against each other when things go sideways?   I hope as the years pass you are learning how to play on the same team.  I pray that when you argue, you will pray at the same time. That by asking for help, the Lord will get you on the same team.  If He can do it for me, He can do it for you. 

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren