Betty Blabbermouth

Have you ever known a Betty Blabbermouth?

I've been one. Not proud of it...now.

I have been in the past. I've been proud that I've been privy to such scandalous information or any information, really. And then I have taken it to the rooftops to blah,blah,blah it for the world to know.

And that works for a while until someone blabs on you.

And you feel that awkward embarrassing moment of your face turning red and the promise you instantly make to yourself to never share a lick of information with that person again.

Ever again.

Sometimes I find myself with a delicious gossipy piece of news. It's just ripe for someone to taste it and eat it and instantly go tell someone else all about it.

But at what cost?

The cost of friendship.

I'm learning to lay a hand over my mouth. To keep others secrets. To be a brick wall that things get whispered to.

And then I whisper them to Jesus.

I know He won't blab. He's good for it.

When you don't have a square to spare...

I got this email today and I just had to share.

Enjoy!

When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
you check for feet under the cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It
doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your
pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom,
no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door
hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around
your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the
FLOOR!)

Down with your pants and assume 'The Stance'. In this position, your
aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down,
but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on
it, you hold 'The Stance.'

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.

In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you
had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet
paper!' Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday -
the one that's still in your purse (the purse around your neck, that
now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same
time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way
possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door
hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the
toilet.

'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing
your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the toilet
seat.

It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too
late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and
life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet
paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet
seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of
diseases you could get'.

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire
hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water
that covers your bottom and runs down your legs and into your shoes.

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab
onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in
too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the
wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a candy
wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to
the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic
sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and
walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the
very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from
your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?)

You yank the paper from your shoe, plonk it in the woman's hand and
tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and
left the men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and
why is your purse hanging around your neck?

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest? you've GOT to be kidding!!).

It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It
also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to
the toilets in pairs. It's so the other girl can hold the door, hang
onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Anyone relate?

I was in my Toyota screaming at the radio, yo!

Every special moment that happens in life you can recall where you were when it happened.

I was sitting on the pavement steps when I realized I was finally done school.

I was in a tree house when my boyfriend (now husband), Jeep, gave me a promise ring.

I was staring into the fridge wanting mayo and chicken chili sauce mixed together when I realized that I was pregnant with my second child.

I remember where I was when Canada won Olympic Gold in Hockey at the Vancouver 2010 games.

Where were you?

Loving the Unlovely

Lately, I've been praying a prayer that goes something like this, "God, send me to the unlovely. Send me to the least loved, I will go and love them. I will be Jesus to them."

Yesterday, as I walked to work, the Spirit of God was stirring in my heart. I could tell God was preparing my heart for something but I didn't know what.

About ten minutes after we opened the store, a man came in. He looked at us and started sobbing. His daughter had committed suicide the night before. He wept for a half hour and continually cried, "I want to see my child. I want to see her again. Just one more time."

Then his story came spilling out. A horrid childhood and a life of crime as a gang member of Hell's Angels. An alcoholic to drown out the pain that rings in his ears of the years of committing murder and other acts of violence. It made him a bad father, he said. I wasn't a good father and I couldn't help her, he said. I'm worth nothing, he said.

I told him about Jesus and His love for him. And he said, "I keep hearing that. Everywhere I go."

So we had a discussion about how God gets our attention. He chases us down, He is not content until we know His incredible love for us.

His love ruins us to what would seem like the pleasures of this life. Those things taste chalky and dry compared to His love. His overwhelming love. His perfect love. I can't fathom it, I can only ask for more of it. More of it to have...to give away.

After this man left the store, I hid in the employee lounge for a few moments and fell on my face before God. I was overwhelmed with God's heart for this man. And I heard Him ask me, "Are you still willing to love those who others reject?"

I thought for a moment. This man was drunk, in despair, rambling, smelly, snot-covered and tried to hug me twice inappropriately. I, myself, didn't want to stand and cry with him. I wanted to walk away.

But then God's heart of love for this man overwhelmed me. And I had to stay. I had to tell him that he was loved. That forgiveness of all the sins that play over in his head every night was available to him.

"Am I willing to love those who others reject?"

I am. And I know that I cannot do it in my own strength but He can love through me.

How about you? Are you willing to love the broken? Are you willing to lay yourself aside for the things that are dear to God's heart?

Happy Valentine's Day

I hope your day is filled with surprises and loads of love, love, sugary love!

Friday Flashback: Olympic Flame

Here is a memory for us from a little while ago:

This morning we went and saw the Olympic flame. It was running through our town and so we bundled up the crew and stood in the cold waiting for the flame.

We are huddled together with all sorts of community members, including an elderly couple, a guy who keeps starting his sentences with 'man' and a few families.

We watch as the Coca-Cola truck and the RBC truck come by blasting music and cheering us up. Followed by the local vehicles and a few police cars.

"Man, this is one time I don't mind seeing the police drive by, " says the guy who starts his sentences with 'man'.

Oooookayyy, I think.

The runner who is going to do our 300 feet of road arrives. She smiles and tells us that since her company is a sponsor she was drawn randomly to carry the flame.

She lets my girls pose with the torch.

Man, she was so nice to let us hold the torch.

She was, I think.

Then people from all around take photos with her. Interspersed with "Do it quick, here comes the flame."

Here comes the flame!

It draws closer. I jump up onto the wall and steady my camera to capture the moment. Crowd frenzy is starting to build.

Suddenly, I realize that a stampede of running kids who are following the flame are heading straight for us. It results in a shaky video and bad photography. If you squint you can kinda see that the flame is lit. But you can't really tell, since I'm trying to take photos and shield my kids as the local Bulls of Pompleno head our way. But...

The torch is lit. And she's running our stretch of road.

Shouts and hoorays fill the air as she makes her way down the road. Suddenly, everyone feels connected and we're all screaming and shouting and encouraging the girl who let us hold the torch.

"Go! Go! Go! Come on, Ashley! " we scream.

She starts to fade away as she heads further down the road, the flickering flame shining above her head.

"Man, Canada does it right, eh?"

Yeah. Canada does, I think.

My name is not Inigo Montoya

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

I did not watch Princess Bride yesterday.

And even if I had--which I didn't--I would never say, "Stop rhyming and I meant it! Does anybody want a ________?" I wouldn't say that with the actors because I don't speak out loud when I watch films. I am quiet like a stone.

In fact, finding me giggling at Vizzini saying, " You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - The most famous of which is "never get involved in a land war in Asia" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line"! " Me, giggling at that? Inconceivable!

And I don't get scared when Buttercup is swimming in eel-infested waters. I did that when I was a kid and I am so not afraid of shrieking eels growing closer and closer and aaaahhhh! Becoming afraid like that would mean I've become totally engrossed in the film and I find I am watching the film as though I was little again. I never pretend to be little again. Ever.

And I did not pick up on jokes that I missed when I was younger. Because I am astute and nothing gets by me. Not even when the man in black says, ' Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.' I think I would've caught the first 20 times I watched it. After all, I am observant like a stone.

And I did not snicker when the clergyman said, " Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam... Snickering isn't something I do. It sounds like you are coughing through your nose and I don't know how to do that.

And I never imitate the Albino. Imitating requires skill and a good ear to be able to deliver the lines, "The Pit of Despair" with a raspy voice. I don't have a raspy voice, even though I am an albino. And I never guffawed as Prince Humperdink says to Buttercup "Please consider me as an alternative to suicide." Guffawing is awkward out loud laughing that draws attention to yourself. I don't draw attention to myself. Ever. I am part of the background. Like a stone.

And I didn't have the biggest smile on my face when Princess Buttercup flies through the air in her wedding gown looking like a beautiful falling star. I wouldn't get so much joy over seeing a beautiful bride, after all it's only a fairytale. And I don't believe in fairytales.

And I would never think about my own love story and the romance that I have with my own hero. That sounds so girly and silly. You'd have to ask me to dream to do that. And you know what I'd say to that, don't you?

As you wish.

Friday Flashback: Flushbacks

This has been my week.

We now keep all doors to the bathroom closed.

Anyone want to guess what my third child is busy doing these days?

Keeping his Mom employed in the department of rescue services

Love is in the air...mail

We're getting all our love packaged up and shipping it out to those who live far away. We may have snuck a few candy hearts along the way.

F is for...

...February!!!

We're under the blankets recovering from the flu.

Wishing we could keep down food.

Reading about flies swallowed by ladies, fudge and full moons.

Counting down the days to the upcoming fun with the Olympics, and following the flame.

And getting ready for fruit salads and funny valentines given on the fourteenth day of February.

What F words are you celebrating today?