bekahcubed

Categories Everyday Life

Luci finds her man…elsewhere

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I’ve been in Columbus over a year now, and I have yet to find a mechanic in Columbus.

I’ve been blessed that Luci’s a pretty reliable gal. So long as I change her oil and give her some Heet in with her gas in the winter, she serves me well.

But even the best of cars occasionally develops a cough.

Luci just happened to develop her cough last week on her way to Grand Island.

When the steering wheel started wobbling and the car started shaking, my first thought was potholes (and then I thought “What potholes? I haven’t encountered any of those yet.”) My second thought was tires.

I had new tires put on Luci a couple months back while I was in Lincoln for the day–is there some sort of “bolts start getting loose” thing after buying new tires? I know that my bike mechanic told me to get my bicycle all tightened down after I put 50 or a 100 miles on it. Maybe cars are the same.

The maintenance man at work thought that was a reasonable scenario. I should get Luci’s wheels rotated and aligned.

So I did.

Then I drove back in the fog, unsure of whether she’d been fixed since my fog-driving (especially with the people that I had in front of me) was much different than my ordinary-clear-day driving.

Next day, I knew that it had not fixed it. But I didn’t have a mechanic in Columbus, and I was on-call to the degree that I didn’t feel I could just leave my car somewhere. I needed to be able to jump in my car and head to Grand Island at the drop of a hat.

So I didn’t get it fixed right off.

Monday night, it got worse and I decided that I would have to find Luci a mechanic in town whether my schedule liked it or not.

Then I went to Grand Island.

As I pulled into the parking lot, my brakes weren’t as smooth as normal–and I started to smell something burning.

Luci needed the emergency room. No more limping around. She needed a man immediately.

My dietary manager set up the meeting and we dropped Luci off with Kim.

Kim fixed her up right away. He was honest, fast, and affordable. He let me know exactly what the repairs would cost and even showed me the parts he replaced so I could see that he wasn’t just making up the need for replacement.

Luci’s found her man–but, once again, not in Columbus.

Geez–even my car figures she’ll have better luck elsewhere.

:-)

Categories Following Christ

A Juxtoposed Confession

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In seasons where the longing seems overwhelming, I’ll often sigh and think, “Lord, You know my heart” as the words of a Delirious song pour forth from my lips:

Lord, You have my heart
And I will search for Yours
Jesus, take my life
And lead me on

Every time these words and this melody burst into my consciousness, I wonder at my juxtaposition of “know” in my mind with “have” from my lips.

My mind tells the Lord–and myself–that He knows my heart. He knows what I desire. He knows what captivates me, what make my heart dream. He is familiar with my heart both in its baseness and its nobility.

My lips sing that the Lord has my heart–that my heart is captivated by, consumed with Him.

My mind speak the truth, my mouth what I wish to be the truth.

I close my musings with a resolution and a prayer:

And I will search for Yours

That I will seek His heart is a tacit confession that my heart is not His. I still desire my own gain, my own comfort, my own self. My heart is drawn to a hundred things that aren’t the heart of God.

But I want the heart of God, even if my heart disagrees.

Let my heart be taken prisoner, let it be enslaved. May my heart forever be behind bars, so long as it is a prisoner to the heart of God.

And with my heart your prisoner, I pray, take my body to be your slave:

Jesus take my heart and lead me on

A confession of a heart gone wickedly astray.

A confession of a soul longing to be disciplined by grace.

A confession of a woman who longs and does not long to be Christ’s slave.

“Batter my heart, three-personed God; for, you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I like a usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived and proves weak or untrue,
Yet dearly’I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy,
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthral me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”
~John Donne, Holy Sonnet 14

Categories Everyday Life

In which I lose something and gain a whole new me

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I made my haircut decision almost two weeks ago–but time is something rather hard to find. So Mr. Husband had over a week to “speak now”. He not having spoken, the deed is now down.

My hair before:

Pre-haircut

Gena brushes my hair out and tells me not to freak out as she suggests where she’ll cut.

She sticks her hand on the spot and I say “Okay”. I’m thinking “Isn’t that how long my hair already is?”

I say this out loud and Gena laughs “No, your hair is down here.” This time, her hand chops into my back below my waistline.

Oh. Okay.

Pre-haircut

She holds out my hair for the first cut while N. (Gena’s daughter) works to get the right angle. They want to coordinate to get a picture of that snip. I hear the camera auto-focusing, then the flash goes off and the snip is complete.

First snip

My hair is now at its finished length. There’s no going back.

Gena takes a picture so I can see the results.

Pre-haircut

Gena asks me how I feel about layers.

I give her the go-ahead.

We take another picture so I can see what’s happened.

Pre-haircut

Layers in front? Gena searches online for an example so I can see what she’s thinking.

I tell her to do it, but not too high. A few snips are enough for me.

She shows me myself again and asks if I want more.

This time, I’m ready to be done for the day.

My hair, in its new raw form.

Pre-haircut

But Gena doesn’t want to leave it raw. Can she curl it for me?

Sure. A few minutes later, I emerge–a totally new me.

Pre-haircut

My hair may have been longer than I thought–but I definitely recognize that some of it’s missing now. Scratch that–a lot of it’s missing now.

As C. (Gena’s son) said, “It’s short.”

Not actually–but short for me. But it looks nice, and I’m eager to enter into the world of healthy hair. If I can keep it up until it’s long again…

Thanks, Gena, for offering to do my hair and for holding my hand throughout the process.

Categories Everyday Life

Snapshot: Argyle

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Apparently, my pastor has something against argyle.

Two weeks ago, he directed parents of teens to sign their children up for the winter’s youth retreat. “Just talk to Mike (Our youth pastor). You can’t miss him-he’s in the ugliest sweater you’ve ever seen.”

The sweater in question turned out to be a rather ordinary black argyle sweater.

Me in an argyle sweater
Pastor Justin was a bit surprised when 50 or so of his parishioners showed up this morning in argyle sweaters–in solidarity with the oppressed.

Categories Book Reviews

Book Review: “The Summer I learned to Fly” by Dana Reinhardt

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After my “eh” review of The FitzOsbornes in Exile (which I liked but didn’t necessarily feel was award-winning) and my definitively negative review of The Big Crunch, you might be thinking that I’ve gotten into a negative rut and won’t ever be content with a YA nominee.

But that’s because I hadn’t yet reviewed Dana Reinhardt’s The Summer I learned to Fly.

Thirteen-year-old Birdie has great plans for the summer. She’ll work long hours in her mom’s cheese shop, helping Nick (her mom’s employee and her secret crush) make pasta. She’ll take care of her pet rat Hum and visit with her mom’s other employee Swoozie.

This was her family after all, an odd mix of employees from her Mom’s cheese shop. It wasn’t that Birdie doesn’t have friends–she enumerates all six friends she’s had throughout her life–it’s just that she’s always felt more like a “one”. And her current three friends are all gone at elite summer camps anyway. It’s a good thing she still has Hum and Nick and Swoozie and Mom.

Except that Nick gets himself a girlfriend (and has an accident), Mom starts hiding things, and Hum gets lost.

When Hum gets lost, Birdie bikes back to the shop to try to find him. There, she discovers that Mom isn’t at the shop late as she’d told Birdie. And she discovers Emmett Crane.

Emmett is hanging out by the dumpster feeding Hum some discarded cheese. He’s a skittish fellow who reveals little but nevertheless becomes something of a friend.

And so begins the summer she learned to fly.

Unlike much YA fiction, this is not a sensational story. It’s not a romance and doesn’t include sex. There’s no violence or otherwise aberrant behavior. Birdie’s family is unusual-ish, but not dysfunctional (her father died while she was very young and her Mom is not quite sure how to tell her 13 year old daughter that she’s now dating.) Birdie complains about her mother and occasionally rebels, but in the ordinary (at least ordinary for my highly-functional family) way. Even as she complains, Birdie still loves her mother–and the author does not portray the mother as being a tyrant or an out-of-the-loop oldie.

The Summer I learned to fly is a delightful, moving coming-of-age story–and one that I highly recommend. This one had better be on the short-list, cause it’s a definite winner.

Rating:5 Stars
Category:YA Fiction
Synopsis:Birdie learns about friendship, dreams, and believing in miracles the summer she meets a homeless boy behind her mother’s cheese shop.
Recommendation: A sweet, appropriately-told coming of age tale that’s one of my picks for the YA shortlist (if I were a judge, that is!)

Categories Book Reviews

Book Review: “The Big Crunch” by Pete Hautman

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According to the book jacket:

“Jen and Wes do not ‘meet cute’. They do not fall in love at first sight. They do not swoon with scorching desire. They do not believe that they are instant soul mates destined to be together forever. This is not that kind of love story.”

Except that it pretty much is.

So Wes doesn’t start off considering Jen to be double-t-hott and Jen dates Wes’s dorky friend before she and Wes start going out–but those are mere footnotes to what this story really is–a sappy love story between high-schoolers.

Now here’s the thing. I love chick-flicks, I enjoy romances, I like love stories (especially sappy ones.)

What I do not like is sappy high school love stories.

Why? Because I think high school is the wrong time to be “falling in love”. And I especially think high school is the wrong time to be having sex.

Which is why when Wes and Jen started having sex (or seemed to me to be getting close to it), I shut this book for good.

I don’t need to be filling my mind with that sort of trash–and there was nothing redeeming in the plot to make me skip over the raunchy bits and keep going.

This may have been a Cybils nominee, but it’s certainly not a winner in my book.


**Side Note: The title “The Big Crunch” comes from a scientific theory Jen’s science teacher teaches as fact–that the universe expanded in the “Big Bang” and will someday contract in a “Big Crunch” in preparation for another Big Bang. While I wouldn’t be surprised at this being taught in a high school (since high school science is generally around 15 years behind true science), it still managed to tick me off that it was presented as truth in this book. You see, that theory, known as the oscillating universe theory, was devised in an attempt to avoid the most obvious implications of the Big Bang–the necessity of an infinitely powerful uncreated Creator who is outside our space-time continuum. Problem is, there’s absolutely no evidence for an oscillating universe–which is why today’s astronomers and cosmologists have, by and large, abandoned this theory (the honest folk for what one astronomer called “the first church of the God of the Big Bang”-generally Christianity; the naturalist ideologues for unfalsifiable theories such as multiverse theory.**

Rating:0 Stars
Category:YA Fiction
Synopsis:Wes and Jen meet, are attracted to one another, begin sleeping together. Imagine that.
Recommendation: Don’t read it. It’s trash with nothing whatsoever with which to redeem itself.

Categories Book Reviews

Book Review: “The FitzOsbornes in Exile” by Michelle Cooper

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This time around, I was determined to end up with the real Cybils nominees, so I compiled my list and checked what the library had prior to taking my trip into Lincoln.

Either my technique was completely wrong the last time I went, or my library is better at having new YA than Middle-Grade fiction, but I ended up with a treasure trove this visit.

Which didn’t mean that I didn’t spend some time second-guessing myself once I got into The FitzOsbornes in Exile.

“I thought that all the YA I’d gotten this trip was Cybils nominees–but this can’t be a Cybils nominee, can it?”

It’s not that The FitzOsbornes in Exile is bad. In fact, it’s the sort of book I really enjoy reading. It just isn’t, well, it isn’t very literary.

The book is written as the diary of teenaged Princess Sophia FitzOsborne of Montmaray. She, her brother and sister, her cousin, and their retainer (who happens to be the illegitimate son of the late king) managed to escape to England after the Nazi takeover of Montmaray–thus the “in exile”.

Sophie is a rather ordinary girl–but the rest of the family is quite extraordinary. Her cousin, the late king’s daughter, is a strident Bluestocking and socialist whose beautiful face and figure makes her seem the perfect debutante, but whose unregulated tongue often creates trouble at dinner parties. Sophie’s brother, the new king, is a rather worthless chap who cares nothing for his studies–and nothing for the many women his aunt keeps throwing at him. Henrietta, Sophie’s little sister, is a perfect hellion, causing even the sternest governesses to pull out their hair.

The plot, I suppose, is about how the children try to get the British government to assist them in getting Montmaray back. But the plot takes back stage to the gently-moving anecdotes of crazy cooks, deranged would-be-assasins, red journalists, and nervous ladies maids.

Like I said, it’s not very literary. It is neither plot-driven nor character-driven. I’m not sure that it’s driven at all. Instead, it’s a meandering float through appeasement-happy Britain in the calm before the storm.

I enjoyed it, but it’s nothing particularly spectacular. I’m still rather surprised that it was nominated for the Cybils.

**Content Note: The young king of Montmaray is a practicing homosexual, which plays a rather significant role in the interpersonal relationships within the story. Nevertheless, there is nothing sensational or explicit about the discussion of homosexuality–or anything else–in this novel. The most “YA” part of the novel is when Sophie has tea with a newly married friend and is invited to ask whatever she wants to know. The record of the conversation is as follows: “Well! Thanks to Julia, I now know how married women avoid having babies. Suffice to say it requires a round rubber object that one has to obtain from a doctor, except doctors refuse to hand them over or even discuss the issue till immediately before one’s wedding day. The whole business sound horribly messy, not at all romantic.” So, yeah, not much on the racy front (which is a great relief to this particular reader!)**

Rating:3 Stars
Category:YA Fiction
Synopsis: A mostly-teenaged royal family attempts to interest the British government in intervening in continental affairs after the Nazis take over Montmaray.
Recommendation: A fluffy sort of novel almost reminiscent of Meg Cabot’s Princess Diaries, only vastly cleaner and with a bit of pre-WW2 history thrown in. A good choice for light reading.

Categories The Week in Words

WiW: Rooting Out Bitterness

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In her Laudable Linkage last week, Barbara linked to this article on how to serve “The Singles” in your church.

As a single woman in the church, I appreciate McCulley’s advice to church–and greatly appreciate those individuals who serve singles as McCulley suggests.

For me, one specific section stood out:

“Don’t be afraid to challenge bitterness.

Extended singleness is a form of suffering. There is an appropriate time for mourning with those who mourn. This is especially true for women who see the window of fertility closing on them without the hope of bearing children. Don’t minimize the cumulative years of dashed hopes for unmarried adults.

That said, we single adults need loving challenges when we have allowed a root of bitterness to spring up and block our prayers to God, our fellowship with others, and our service to the church. deferred hopes cannot be allowed to corrode our thankfulness for the gift of salvation.”

~Carolyn McCulley

This section is a double-edged sword. It comforts the single person with the realization that mourning is okay, that sometimes singleness is suffering. But at the same time, it challenges the single person to root out bitterness.

I love this.

I love those who remind me of this.

Those who recognize the suffering that is sometimes present in singleness, who truly mourn with me as I mourn–and those who speak truth into my suffering. Those who remind me of the riches of God poured out on me in Christ Jesus. Those who remind me of the sovereignty of God in all circumstances. Those who encourage me to fix my eyes on Christ instead of on my suffering. Those who come alongside to encourage and to exhort.

“Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another…Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.”
~Ephesians 4:25, 31

The Week in WordsDon’t forget to take a look at Barbara H’s meme “The Week in Words”, where bloggers collect quotes they’ve read throughout the week.

Categories Memes

The Name I Call Myself

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Just a bit of silliness found on Facebook…

Everyone has 6 names

  • Your Real Name: Rebekah Marie Menter
  • Your Detective Name: Black Cow
  • Your Soap Opera Name: Marie Dreams
  • Your Star Wars Name: Menmar Reter
  • Your Superhero Name: Charcoal San Realto
  • Your Goth Name: Black Apollo

Erm… Maybe not. A little black/gray heavy.

Actually, I have quite a few names, only one of which is listed above (hopefully, you can figure out which is which :-P)

Other names by which I’m known include:

  • Bekah
  • Bekahcubed (imagine that)
  • Bekahbekahbekah
  • Becky Jane (or Becky Jo)
  • Bek
  • Menter-bek
  • Bekah-lekah-high-techa-sinky-soah-a-la-Anne
  • Buns of Steel
  • The pediatrician (from one of my residents: “I need to talk to the pediatrician about what I’m eating!”)

Wanna play yourself?

The key is:

  • Your Real Name: Duh
  • Your Detective Name: Favorite color & Favorite animal
  • Your Soap Opera Name: Middle name & Street you live on (of course, I didn’t actually use the street I live on–I’m not giving out info like that)
  • Your Star Wars Name: first 3 letters of last name, first 2 letters of middle name, first 2 letters of first name, last three letters of last name
  • Your Superhero Name: 2nd favorite color & Favorite drink
  • Your Goth Name: Black & the name of one of your pets

And even if you don’t want to play that game, I’d love to hear some of your nicknames.

Categories Everyday Life, Following Christ

Swearing Oaths

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“Will you swear to be my friend for ever and ever?” demanded Anne eagerly.

Diana looked shocked.

“Why, it’s dreadfully wicked to swear,” she said rebukingly.

“Oh no, not my kind of swearing. There are two kinds, you know.”

“I never heard of but one kind,” said Diana doubtfully.

“There really is another. Oh, it isn’t wicked at all. It just means vowing and promising solemnly.”

“Well, I don’t mind doing that,” agreed Diana, relieved. “How do you do it?”

~From L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables

Anne convinced Diana that this kind of swearing was okay–but, in fact, this was the complete opposite of Christ’s words.

“Again you have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but shall perform to the Lord what you have sworn.’ But I say to you, Do not take an oath at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not take an oath by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.”

~Matthew 5:33-37

Christ intended that His followers not swear oaths–because He wanted their word to be their oath. He intended that every word from our mouths be truthful, and that we do everything we say we will do.

So what happens when a Christian swears an oath–say, that her hair belongs to her husband, that he can do with it what he wishes?

Then say a dozen years passes and her husband is nowhere in sight.

She’s been doing little with her hair, waiting for that husband to come along and tell her what to do.

Then say a hairdresser friend comes along, points out her split ends, and offers to cut and layer her hair.

What should she do?

She’d sworn an oath, she’d made a vow–not under compulsion, but willingly. Her hair belongs to her husband–the husband she doesn’t have.

How would he have her care for her hair?

And there we have it.

Care for her hair.

Surely he would have her care for her hair. Not leave it to develop split ends and ragged edges. Not ignore it until he shows up to give her cues.

He would have her care for it, right?

And that is why I am resolved. I will take Gena’s offer and let her cut and layer my hair. I will care for it.

Husband of mine, should you wish any different, speak now or forever hold your peace.

Lest any of my readers also be Facebook friends and be fearing that I am making my decision in reaction to a resident’s ill-judged attempt to tell me what to do with my hair (I may not know who my husband will be, but I do know with certainty that it will not be him)–I am not. I had already made my decision and written this post prior to that conversation.

Though it does help to know that at least three of my aunts are in favor of the chop :-)