Dear Solomon,
Do you have any idea how many churchy people read a chapter of your stuff every day? They read it to themselves and their children hoping, praying, meditating, and trusting that your advice will infuse them causing their good choice meters to register more clicks than their bad choice gauges. And the sad reality is, like an archetypal hero, you were blinded by a tragic flaw.
You are a hypocrite.
It turns out the wisest guy ever, was also, a “wise guy” of the Eddie Haskell variety. Wally’s friend (from Leave it to Beaver) always said the right thing to Mrs. Cleaver, but his actions showed that he lacked sincerity. Knowing what to say isn’t the same as living it.
Proverbs 5 is a prime example of your glaring hypocrisy. (Note to reader: if you haven't read Proverbs 5 yet, now is a good time to look it over. In it, Solomon warns his son to stay away from adulterous women.) Your advice here reads like the moralistic speeches of notorious family values republicans (the ones who are later found to have been covertly engaged in scandalous behaviors). Reading your account, I imagine a Jerusalem overflowing with peep shows, strip clubs, and streetwalkers all out to destroy the morals of vulnerable young men.
So is that how you see it? Seductive women turned you into the Wilt Chamberlain of the Fertile Crescent? Seriously? Solomon, What’s up with that?
How can you tell your sons that “the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil”? Aren’t YOU the one responsible for the spiciest compositions ever canonized? I’ve read your lyrics. If you performed a modern day rap of Song of Sol chapter 7, you would be simultaneously denounced by the AFA and signed by Bad Boy Records. You were the smoothest operator in the Middle East. You were so busy climbing palm trees and grabbing clusters I’m surprised you had time to make the transition to moralistic advice columnist.
I guess it helped that your audience only included males. Females weren’t exactly reading your stuff or any kind of print for that matter. Of course, according to you, they were too busy walking around seducing upstanding, unsuspecting young men. So, when did you fit in time to write advice columns given your demanding wife and concubine schedule? I imagine it looked like a scene from Sister Wives - on a much grander scale of course.
Solomon: Have you seen my ochre tunic? I can’t find it and I only have my pomegranate belt here.
Sister Wife 838: You don’t look that regal in ochre. How about the purple robe with a saffron belt today and a simple white tunic underneath it? Why are you in such a hurry this morning? I only see you once every three and a half years as it is. Don’t rush off.
Solomon: I’m going to be campaigning at the Young Men’s Morality Association this morning, and I still have to finish up my speech.
SW838: Your speech? How exciting! Read it to me!
Solomon: Sure, (reading) My son, pay attention to my wisdom. Turn your ear to my insight that you may maintain discretion, and your lips may preserve knowledge. For the lips of… yada, yada, yada. BORING. (yawns) Really, this isn’t something you’d be interested in. How about, I read you one of my songs instead?
So Solomon, how can I, as a woman, consider chapter 5 as more than a warning to boy scouts working on their purity badge to avoid tramps?
And now that I’ve vented, let me say, I understand the importance of instructing young men to keep their rocket in their pocket and stay away from seductresses. Whether whores were lining the streets of Jerusalem or not, your advice does apply today. Modern video games, cartoons, and Victoria’s Secret catalogues contain more scantily clad hotties than anyone dared to put in the mainstream media when I was young. The pink building next to the sports arena with “GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS” written on the outside was pushing the envelope; and, from the exterior at least, everything was left to the imagination in the 1970’s.
But specifically, I would like to look at chapter 5 in a way that allows young WOMEN to take the heart of what you're saying without seeing themselves in the only female role as a tramp. So, I’m going to try a trick I learned in high school Bible class. I’m paraphrasing your advice column and re-writing it for girls. I’m also modifying your conclusion just a bit. I’m not entirely sure how you’ll feel about it, but here goes.
Proverbs 5 (version 2.0) - Advice to Daughters about Men
Verses 1-6
Girls, listen up. I have some insight to give you about men. Be careful. A man can easily sound like he’s totally “in to you.” But don’t confuse his short-term goal with true interest. He isn’t thinking a bout a life with you, in fact, he isn’t thinking at all. He doesn’t have a long term goal or purpose, he’s just wandering around in circles being led about by the magnet in his belt buckle.
Verses 7 - 9
Pay attention to what I’m saying. Don’t hang out in this guy’s neighborhood. Don’t be his Facebook friend. Stay far away from him. If you give him something to talk about, he will crow like your neighbor’s annoying rooster; and his cock-a-doodle-doos will humiliate you. He is insensitive and no matter what you do for him, he will disregard it and make you feel absolutely used.
Verses 10 - 14
Someday you’ll see this man all grown up, behaving decently with a wife and family of his own and you will regret ever having given him a tender thought or a loving look. You’ll remember how you felt judged by others when you confessed and repented, and, if he ever “came clean,” you’ll recall how shallow his repentance was. This will not be a happy memory.
Don’t give your heart away. I’m hoping it goes to someone who really deserves it, but the problem is, your heart is so special, I just don’t see how anyone could deserve you. But I do know this - it’s far better to wait, than to waste. Sex changes things. It changes YOU and your perspective of yourself. You don’t want to end up in the temple reading Proverbs one day and seeing yourself as the adulterous woman while the fellow you fooled around with won’t appear to have a guilty thought in the world. In fact, he’ll be preparing a devotion about the benefits of delaying sex until marriage while you’re dying of guilt and shame.
Verses 15 - 17
Now is a good time to have a nice, cool drink of water. There doesn’t that feel better?
Someday you’ll have your own personal man, and it will be special and plenty of work all at once. You’ll be pouring yourself out enough just for him; don’t pour any of your life into another. A man that receives your affections owns a little bit of you, and he can become a stranger to you - one that owns piece of your heart. When you run into him in Walmart someday, he’ll grin a silly grin and you’ll force a fake smile and cringe inside and feel his claim on you.
Verses 18 - 20
But let’s not dwell on the negative stuff here. After all, you have your whole life ahead of you. With a little self control you can end up with the man of your dreams. So who is in your dreams? A gardener transforming your surroundings into a flowery retreat filled with fountains and tranquility? A farmer working the back 40 and whisking you away for romantic hay rides? (Nothing runs like a Deere you know?) A cowboy pulling you up behind him on the saddle and galloping off into the sunset? An adventurer lacing his hiking boots and throwing on a backpack to guide you through the woods and meadows stopping to enjoy gorgeous views along the way? A musician composing songs and tunes about you, his favorite audience? Why in the world would you want a fleeting physical attraction when you could have a soul-mate?
Verses 21 - 23
God sees your life. He’s there for you to break the cords of sin that so easily trap you up and to teach you to want to do what’s right, even though your tendencies lead you along a foolish path.
So Solomon, what do you think of my revision of your advice? Does it surprise you to see a female perspective? (I seriously doubt that’s possible.) Did you notice I replaced your consequence laden ending with something different?
Youth aren’t listening to any abstinence advice any better than YOU did. They need more than another moralistic lesson. They need the transforming power of God’s grace. Your wisdom portrays God as an eye in the sky waiting to whack foolish humans with a big stick for ignoring his commandments. There’s more to the story than God’s omniscience and sin’s ability to tie someone up. The good news is He’s provided a way to help anyone who’s ever HEARD good advice and IGNORED it. I’m sure even you, in all of your wisdom, could use some of that.
Until next time,
-bw-
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Dear Solomon - My Education IS My Life. How'd you know?
Dear Solomon,
Proverbs 4:13 Always remember what you have learned. Your education is your life – guard it well.
For a long time I’ve been contemplating education. What is education? What is the BEST education? How would I describe MY EDUCATION? How can I GUARD my education? You would think that a person who has spent most of her life working in education, would have well-formulated answers for these questions. Think again.
Formative Years
Experts say that I learned more in my first five years than the sum total of everything else learned for the rest of my life. In that case, my education began when I was born. As the fifth child, I was privileged to have four built in tutors. Barry’s specialty was teasing. His ribbing gave me the tools to stand up to any smart mouthed playground bully. Tim’s specialty was language arts. He taught me to listen to stories and appreciate puns and jokes. Rebecca taught me about compromise and getting along. Instead of emulating her example, however, I used her peace-making tendencies to my advantage, often accompanied by the plea “Don’t tell Mom.” Through Val’s example I learned how to organize, delegate, and make things happen. I also credit my siblings with teaching me many of the “tricks” I learned by the time I was 18 months old. According to family history, I could say my ABC’s, quote memory verses, recite nursery rhymes, and rattle off the Pledge of Allegiance.
School Years
My formal education began in the fall of 1970. I recall my excitement – I was finally going to school like the big kids. My sense of self-importance was amplified when I learned of the official kindergarten supply list provided by the school. Shopping for those materials – a box of crayons, a nap mat, a chunky pencil, a smock – is one my earliest and most vivid memories. My plans were sidetracked by the USMC, when Dad received orders to return to California. Thankfully, California had kindergarten allowing me to experience the joy of blocks, fingerpaints, carpet squares, bee stings, scraped knees, swings, and the bars. I was terrible on the bars.
My early years of formal education included some struggles. In first grade my teacher invited my mother to a conference early in the year. Her concerns included “Mary doesn’t listen or follow directions,” and “Mary ignores me.” My mom figured out the root of the matter quickly and explained to my teacher that I did not know my name was Mary. When she came home she asked, “Does your teacher call you Mary?”
“No,” I replied, “She (Mary) sits right behind me.” I wondered how Mom had found out about this troublesome student who appeared to exasperate Miss Kelly.
Reading was not a struggle for me. I grew up a household full of bibliophiles. Making friends with peers, however, was a challenge. In third grade the report from school was that I was sad, preferring to spend time in the janitor’s closet over the playground. Fourth grade was a mixed bag. I struggled with my times tables and had a couple of scraps with bullies. The highlight of that year was donning white pants and a white shirt and serving on the “crossing guard,” a highly esteemed position.
Fifth grade brought the biggest change. My parents took me out of the public school system and enrolled me in a small, Christian school. There were many adjustments to make. I wore a dress every day, struggled with a challenging Abeka curriculum, finally mastered my multiplication tables, and participated in my first speech meet. The best part of the year was forming friendships – some that will last a lifetime.
The school was sponsored by and located at our church campus. From 5th grade until I graduated in 1983, I spent 6 days a week (during the school year) on the CCS campus. My mother and sister drove busses. My brother married my little sister’s teacher. I participated in dramas, speech meets, World’s Finest Chocolate sales, newspaper drives, carnivals, student council, ACSI conventions, and a plethora of activities and events. School was a huge part of my life, and I loved it!
College
I enrolled in San Diego Mesa College for summer school immediately after graduating. I spent the following summer at the Universidad de Madrid in a Spanish immersion program. I returned to Mesa College, married, moved, and resumed my education at American River College, followed by CSU Sacramento, and eventually CSU, Chico. At the same time that I was enrolled in each of these schools, I was enrolled in the school of becoming a wife and mother. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend taking both courses at once, but it lent itself to many adventures.
My first semester of college was fun. I loved school. I thought college was easier than high school, and I always scored near the top in every class (except for swimming). I did make it out of the little end of the pool though and considered that a success too.
My second full semester of college I learned what it was like to be swept off my feet by a young romantic transplant from Sacramento. I experienced wanderlust on dates built around long drives through the countryside. He schooled me in college basketball, the Raider Nation, indoor soccer, and football. I thought I already knew about baseball, but his insight was expansive. I attended romantic dinners, composed love notes, read up on body language, and accidentally discovered the formula for motivating someone into considering marriage. So absorbed was I in this course of study that I got a C in one of my college classes.
This romantic offshoot was interrupted by a summer abroad. This was my first opportunity to apply much of what I’d been learning in life up to this point. I used my Spanish skills to communicate, but I also used the language arts tricks that Tim taught me along with years of spelling and vocabulary tests to decipher roots and translate signs in French, German, and Italian. I used the organization tips that Val demonstrated to make things happen and plan excursions. I used the interpersonal skills that Becky taught me to get along with people from other cultures, age groups, and socioeconomic statuses. And I’m pretty sure I can thank Barry for giving me the backbone to stand up to peer pressure. Despite my youth and distance from my family, I didn’t feel pressured by anyone to party or do anything unseemly. I also learned that love can grow deeper through absence, and an engagement followed on the heels of my return to the states.
During the rest of my college career I learned how to juggle the responsibilities of work, school, and family. I learned that you don’t have to take out student loans, and that it is possible to stretch your life out of shape in order to accomplish a goal. I began college at 18 with no idea what I was doing or where I was going. I graduated at 23 with a toddler, another baby on the way, and an offer on a house in Marysville, CA. For the next 10 years I learned how to cook, sew, clean, homeschool, and what not to do as a parent. I didn’t master any of these pursuits except for the how-not-to-parent one, but I learned a lot. I returned to work and school in 1999 and finished my credential is 2000 when I left the academic portion of my education behind!
Post Graduate
But I didn’t stop learning. For several years I examined the charter school, independent study, distance learning side of California public education. Through repeated exposure to the terminology and the state standards I’ve learned how to talk educratic gibberish with the best. I’ve also learned that people homeschool for dozens of reasons and the best way to serve students and families is to care deeply about them. While on a detour from being an employee I started a small consulting business and took a crash course in feast and famine freelancing. I launched a ceremonial dove release business on a whim and became an amateur avian veterinarian as well as somewhat of a pigeon expert. And through it all, the life lesson of family and friends continue to shape my understanding and comprehension of life.
Last year, I took a position at a juvenile correction facility and was shocked to learn firsthand how jails and prisons succeed and fail. One position led to another and my work with inmates has taught me to appreciate the opportunities that I have been afforded. I have a close and personal look to scrutinize scars and examine deep emotional wounds. I’m learning about the sensitivity that is required to help people who are hurting. I added more words and phrases to my lifelong list of “What Not to Say,” and even made a few entries on my list of “Say This, Not That.”
So, Solomon, when I started this post way back in February, I shelved it because it seemed so “me focused” and pretentious. I couldn’t seem to tie enough of it to academia and the all the stuff I thought I learned in school. I felt like there was nothing clever, insightful, or interesting to say. (I might have been right about that.) And then, I discovered that I could not move on until I finished this post and published it. You win! Once again, you knew the truth a long time ago. My education IS my life. The two are intertwined and inseparable. Thank you for causing the teacher in me to reflect.
Proverbs 4:13 Always remember what you have learned. Your education is your life – guard it well.
For a long time I’ve been contemplating education. What is education? What is the BEST education? How would I describe MY EDUCATION? How can I GUARD my education? You would think that a person who has spent most of her life working in education, would have well-formulated answers for these questions. Think again.
Formative Years
Experts say that I learned more in my first five years than the sum total of everything else learned for the rest of my life. In that case, my education began when I was born. As the fifth child, I was privileged to have four built in tutors. Barry’s specialty was teasing. His ribbing gave me the tools to stand up to any smart mouthed playground bully. Tim’s specialty was language arts. He taught me to listen to stories and appreciate puns and jokes. Rebecca taught me about compromise and getting along. Instead of emulating her example, however, I used her peace-making tendencies to my advantage, often accompanied by the plea “Don’t tell Mom.” Through Val’s example I learned how to organize, delegate, and make things happen. I also credit my siblings with teaching me many of the “tricks” I learned by the time I was 18 months old. According to family history, I could say my ABC’s, quote memory verses, recite nursery rhymes, and rattle off the Pledge of Allegiance.
School Years
My formal education began in the fall of 1970. I recall my excitement – I was finally going to school like the big kids. My sense of self-importance was amplified when I learned of the official kindergarten supply list provided by the school. Shopping for those materials – a box of crayons, a nap mat, a chunky pencil, a smock – is one my earliest and most vivid memories. My plans were sidetracked by the USMC, when Dad received orders to return to California. Thankfully, California had kindergarten allowing me to experience the joy of blocks, fingerpaints, carpet squares, bee stings, scraped knees, swings, and the bars. I was terrible on the bars.
My early years of formal education included some struggles. In first grade my teacher invited my mother to a conference early in the year. Her concerns included “Mary doesn’t listen or follow directions,” and “Mary ignores me.” My mom figured out the root of the matter quickly and explained to my teacher that I did not know my name was Mary. When she came home she asked, “Does your teacher call you Mary?”
“No,” I replied, “She (Mary) sits right behind me.” I wondered how Mom had found out about this troublesome student who appeared to exasperate Miss Kelly.
Reading was not a struggle for me. I grew up a household full of bibliophiles. Making friends with peers, however, was a challenge. In third grade the report from school was that I was sad, preferring to spend time in the janitor’s closet over the playground. Fourth grade was a mixed bag. I struggled with my times tables and had a couple of scraps with bullies. The highlight of that year was donning white pants and a white shirt and serving on the “crossing guard,” a highly esteemed position.
Fifth grade brought the biggest change. My parents took me out of the public school system and enrolled me in a small, Christian school. There were many adjustments to make. I wore a dress every day, struggled with a challenging Abeka curriculum, finally mastered my multiplication tables, and participated in my first speech meet. The best part of the year was forming friendships – some that will last a lifetime.
The school was sponsored by and located at our church campus. From 5th grade until I graduated in 1983, I spent 6 days a week (during the school year) on the CCS campus. My mother and sister drove busses. My brother married my little sister’s teacher. I participated in dramas, speech meets, World’s Finest Chocolate sales, newspaper drives, carnivals, student council, ACSI conventions, and a plethora of activities and events. School was a huge part of my life, and I loved it!
College
I enrolled in San Diego Mesa College for summer school immediately after graduating. I spent the following summer at the Universidad de Madrid in a Spanish immersion program. I returned to Mesa College, married, moved, and resumed my education at American River College, followed by CSU Sacramento, and eventually CSU, Chico. At the same time that I was enrolled in each of these schools, I was enrolled in the school of becoming a wife and mother. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend taking both courses at once, but it lent itself to many adventures.
My first semester of college was fun. I loved school. I thought college was easier than high school, and I always scored near the top in every class (except for swimming). I did make it out of the little end of the pool though and considered that a success too.
My second full semester of college I learned what it was like to be swept off my feet by a young romantic transplant from Sacramento. I experienced wanderlust on dates built around long drives through the countryside. He schooled me in college basketball, the Raider Nation, indoor soccer, and football. I thought I already knew about baseball, but his insight was expansive. I attended romantic dinners, composed love notes, read up on body language, and accidentally discovered the formula for motivating someone into considering marriage. So absorbed was I in this course of study that I got a C in one of my college classes.
This romantic offshoot was interrupted by a summer abroad. This was my first opportunity to apply much of what I’d been learning in life up to this point. I used my Spanish skills to communicate, but I also used the language arts tricks that Tim taught me along with years of spelling and vocabulary tests to decipher roots and translate signs in French, German, and Italian. I used the organization tips that Val demonstrated to make things happen and plan excursions. I used the interpersonal skills that Becky taught me to get along with people from other cultures, age groups, and socioeconomic statuses. And I’m pretty sure I can thank Barry for giving me the backbone to stand up to peer pressure. Despite my youth and distance from my family, I didn’t feel pressured by anyone to party or do anything unseemly. I also learned that love can grow deeper through absence, and an engagement followed on the heels of my return to the states.
During the rest of my college career I learned how to juggle the responsibilities of work, school, and family. I learned that you don’t have to take out student loans, and that it is possible to stretch your life out of shape in order to accomplish a goal. I began college at 18 with no idea what I was doing or where I was going. I graduated at 23 with a toddler, another baby on the way, and an offer on a house in Marysville, CA. For the next 10 years I learned how to cook, sew, clean, homeschool, and what not to do as a parent. I didn’t master any of these pursuits except for the how-not-to-parent one, but I learned a lot. I returned to work and school in 1999 and finished my credential is 2000 when I left the academic portion of my education behind!
Post Graduate
But I didn’t stop learning. For several years I examined the charter school, independent study, distance learning side of California public education. Through repeated exposure to the terminology and the state standards I’ve learned how to talk educratic gibberish with the best. I’ve also learned that people homeschool for dozens of reasons and the best way to serve students and families is to care deeply about them. While on a detour from being an employee I started a small consulting business and took a crash course in feast and famine freelancing. I launched a ceremonial dove release business on a whim and became an amateur avian veterinarian as well as somewhat of a pigeon expert. And through it all, the life lesson of family and friends continue to shape my understanding and comprehension of life.
Last year, I took a position at a juvenile correction facility and was shocked to learn firsthand how jails and prisons succeed and fail. One position led to another and my work with inmates has taught me to appreciate the opportunities that I have been afforded. I have a close and personal look to scrutinize scars and examine deep emotional wounds. I’m learning about the sensitivity that is required to help people who are hurting. I added more words and phrases to my lifelong list of “What Not to Say,” and even made a few entries on my list of “Say This, Not That.”
So, Solomon, when I started this post way back in February, I shelved it because it seemed so “me focused” and pretentious. I couldn’t seem to tie enough of it to academia and the all the stuff I thought I learned in school. I felt like there was nothing clever, insightful, or interesting to say. (I might have been right about that.) And then, I discovered that I could not move on until I finished this post and published it. You win! Once again, you knew the truth a long time ago. My education IS my life. The two are intertwined and inseparable. Thank you for causing the teacher in me to reflect.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Dear Solomon - Maybe You Should Make an Infomercial
Dear Solomon,
Today, you can buy a solution for almost every problem. A quick dial of an 800 number, and a life-changing product will be delivered to your doorstep within days. I can’t help but notice how interested others are in my solving my problems, restoring my health, making my life easier, and in fixing my hair. That’s right, my hair. In fact, the only ones more interested in my fixing my hair problems are my two teenage daughters – and their interest is mainly self-preservation. At 14 and 16 it’s possible to die of embarrassment.
My personal perspective about hairstyle is decidedly Calvinistic, and unfortunately, I am not one of the predestined. Still, great hair and the latest styles hold a fascination, much like the feelings that sweep over me when watching a contortionist. I can’t imagine experiencing it, but it’s mesmerizing to observe.
"As Seen on TV” hair products fall into one of four types. Volumizers, like Bumpits and special hair growth stimulating shampoos, are intended to create the illusion of more hair. Styling aids, like Hairigami, the Revo styling brush, and the Hair Zinger promise to transform the user with amazing styles from sophisticated to sexy. Many of these products come with a detailed instruction book or video that makes sense to the pre-ordained, but is gibberish to me.
The category of hair products that tempts me are the “Disaster Remedy” products. The disaster of split ends is discussed by a fabulous male stylist with a thick European accent. He describes his treacherous encounters with split ends with the gravity of a Dr. Salk. His invention, the Split Ender promises to eliminate the scourge of split ends forever. Greyban, a root concealer pen is essential for covering up pesky gray tresses. Hair removal products like Smooth Away and the Facial Hair Trimmer promise to break the cycle of endless shaving, plucking, and tweezing. Most promise a “painless” remedy, a relative term, as anyone who was suckered into buying an Epilady can attest.
A very long time ago I went to bed with a wad of gum in my mouth. My subconscious mind, unaware of the peanut butter solution, directed my body to the kitchen where I proceeded to snip the gum out of my hair. When I awoke the next morning, my conscious mind assessed the situation and came to the conclusion that Mom was going to kill me. I decided a baseball cap would look especially good with my outfit that day. Mom, in the kitchen, was contemplating the loose hairs scattered about the kitchen floor. She had little time to speculate. I arrived for breakfast, baseball cap strategically positioned over the exposed area of my scalp. I’ll never forget the look on Mom’s face as her face sunk into her hands. The rest of that morning is a blur.
My next hair disaster didn’t occur until my senior year in high school. I was a fashion late bloomer. My older sisters were “frosting” their hair and somehow I was swept up in the potential of sporting a sophisticated new hairstyle. Val and Rebecca gave my hair a frosting. I liked it! I became almost giddy with admiration for my new look. I decided to jump all the way in and add a “perm.” Sixty of my hard earned dollars were wasted at the salon on what I now refer to as the “Great Hair Calamity of 1982.”
The interaction of the chemicals used to produce the highlights and the chemicals used for the perm leeched all the color from the highlighted portions of my hair leaving it GREY. The timing couldn’t be worse. It was a week before my senior pictures, and I had a head full of gray hair. The hair professionals decided that my pelt was badly damaged – additional attempts at chemical restoration were not advised. “Did I want my hair to fall out?” Looking back, I should have replied with a hearty “Yes!” A flowery scarf tied about my bald head, and sympathetic glances would have been more desirable than the attention I received from my schoolmates.
I washed my hair daily with a brown rinse (temporary color) to cover up the gray. I also had a mess of a perm to deal with. Perms require very little maintenance; I could just run a pick through it. The stunning results were that I resembled a poodle – one that desperately needed an appointment at Petsmart. When my curls finally grew out, I was hesitant to try anything permanent.
The temporary solution was the curling iron. I bought fat ones and skinny ones. Some came with steamers, and others were coated with precious metals. I studied the instructions and observed my sisters, my friends, and even my sisters’ friends. No amount of studying can compensate for a lack of natural ability. I was rarely successful. When I stared at my mirror image I was confused about which way to turn. Somehow each twist produced unexpected results. A pattern may have been emerging, but I couldn’t grasp it. I felt like I was parallel parking a 24 foot Suburban with a camping trailer hitched to the bumper.
Later, as a young mother with two toddler boys, I entered the age of hot curlers. I jumped on the bandwagon late, but made up for it by purchasing two sets of CONAIR Hot Setter Pro's. They were much easier to use than curling irons. I settled into a routine. Thanks to CONAIR, I was able to keep the big hair look well into the 90’s, long after it was passé. I secured my loose, bouncy mane with AQUANET EXTRA HOLD so I could face hurricane force winds with every hair glued firmly in place.
Most recently, hair straighteners arrived along with a cultural preference for sleek and tidy arrangements instead of the flowing, playful locks of yesteryear. Volume is still preferred which makes the desired look, straight but not flat, impossible. I purchased a straightener, and had my hair cut in the style of the gal from The Devil Wore Prada – the young one, not Meryl Streep. My commitment to using a straightener is sporadic. It’s easier to operate than a curling iron, but it still requires time and patience, and the effort expended rarely matches any feelings of satisfaction I receive. I’m still waiting for a product that I can apply to my husband’s eyes so that he can be under the illusion that I have the hair of his dreams.
But instead of purchasing products to solve hair problems, I’m interested in products that solve life’s problems. When I think about Wisdom, the way you personify her, I am filled with dread. I’ve felt the sting of her reproof when I reject her advice. She’s laughed at my disasters, mocked me when I’m overtaken by calamity, and ignored me when it was too late. She makes me feel like all my missteps in life have put me on a path where I will be paying the piper for a long time. I’m reminded of an interview I saw with a man who’d survived the Tsunami in Sri Lanka. His son was torn from his arms; he lost his entire family. He was a devout Buddhist, and from his perspective, it was Karma. “I must have done something terrible in a past life,” he reasoned, “to have something this bad happen to me.”
By Proverbs 3, I was reflecting upon all the wrong I’ve done in this life. I thought of the discouragement I’ve caused, the disrespect, disloyalty, anger, and pain I’ve inflicted. If wisdom and lack of wisdom is limited to the constructs of Karma, then I have some bad times ahead of me! I have reaped negative consequences from the mistakes I have sown. In the interest of changing my future harvests, I decided to do things differently and was hoping your advice would take me in the right direction. When it came to applying the wisdom you recommend, however, it is a bigger task than I initially thought. It is SOOOOOOOOO big, as a matter of fact, that I sometimes feel like giving up. The more I try to “understand,” the less I really know. It’s easy to feel like a failure.
I sought wisdom and understanding in tackling the problem of a malfunctioning ALL-IN-ONE printer, copier, scanner. I read the manual, examined the inner parts, and observed the movements in a printing cycle. I tried cleaning and dusting all the parts. I found a place where ink had leaked and pooled and spent hours cleaning it. I felt like I was tried EVERYTHING. Still, it didn’t work.
God, in His mysterious ways was preparing me for the path straightener. My knowledge is only part of the equation. So, in the interest of NOT leaning on my understanding I began to acknowledge God in my “office machine repair” ways. I thought of the broken printer and confessed how far my understanding and troubleshooting had gotten me. I then leaned on God to supply what my understanding lacked. And that morning, the printer worked.
I meditated on the path straightener instructions of Proverbs 3:5-6. “Trust in the Lord with all my heart. Don’t lean on my own understanding. In all my ways, acknowledge Him. And He will keep my paths straight.”
To be honest with you, office machine repair is just a beginning. I can think of dozens of applications for a path straightener: tangled conversations, scrambled emotions, jumbled intentions, and a rats nest of hurt feelings to name a few. As much as I appreciate understanding, what excites me most is the moment when the announcer says, “But wait, there’s more!” and Proverbs 3:5-6 was that for me. All that I comprehend pales in comparison to knowing that something greater than my understanding is available to me. And I don't have to pay shipping and handling to get it.
Today, you can buy a solution for almost every problem. A quick dial of an 800 number, and a life-changing product will be delivered to your doorstep within days. I can’t help but notice how interested others are in my solving my problems, restoring my health, making my life easier, and in fixing my hair. That’s right, my hair. In fact, the only ones more interested in my fixing my hair problems are my two teenage daughters – and their interest is mainly self-preservation. At 14 and 16 it’s possible to die of embarrassment.
My personal perspective about hairstyle is decidedly Calvinistic, and unfortunately, I am not one of the predestined. Still, great hair and the latest styles hold a fascination, much like the feelings that sweep over me when watching a contortionist. I can’t imagine experiencing it, but it’s mesmerizing to observe.
"As Seen on TV” hair products fall into one of four types. Volumizers, like Bumpits and special hair growth stimulating shampoos, are intended to create the illusion of more hair. Styling aids, like Hairigami, the Revo styling brush, and the Hair Zinger promise to transform the user with amazing styles from sophisticated to sexy. Many of these products come with a detailed instruction book or video that makes sense to the pre-ordained, but is gibberish to me.
The category of hair products that tempts me are the “Disaster Remedy” products. The disaster of split ends is discussed by a fabulous male stylist with a thick European accent. He describes his treacherous encounters with split ends with the gravity of a Dr. Salk. His invention, the Split Ender promises to eliminate the scourge of split ends forever. Greyban, a root concealer pen is essential for covering up pesky gray tresses. Hair removal products like Smooth Away and the Facial Hair Trimmer promise to break the cycle of endless shaving, plucking, and tweezing. Most promise a “painless” remedy, a relative term, as anyone who was suckered into buying an Epilady can attest.
A very long time ago I went to bed with a wad of gum in my mouth. My subconscious mind, unaware of the peanut butter solution, directed my body to the kitchen where I proceeded to snip the gum out of my hair. When I awoke the next morning, my conscious mind assessed the situation and came to the conclusion that Mom was going to kill me. I decided a baseball cap would look especially good with my outfit that day. Mom, in the kitchen, was contemplating the loose hairs scattered about the kitchen floor. She had little time to speculate. I arrived for breakfast, baseball cap strategically positioned over the exposed area of my scalp. I’ll never forget the look on Mom’s face as her face sunk into her hands. The rest of that morning is a blur.
My next hair disaster didn’t occur until my senior year in high school. I was a fashion late bloomer. My older sisters were “frosting” their hair and somehow I was swept up in the potential of sporting a sophisticated new hairstyle. Val and Rebecca gave my hair a frosting. I liked it! I became almost giddy with admiration for my new look. I decided to jump all the way in and add a “perm.” Sixty of my hard earned dollars were wasted at the salon on what I now refer to as the “Great Hair Calamity of 1982.”
The interaction of the chemicals used to produce the highlights and the chemicals used for the perm leeched all the color from the highlighted portions of my hair leaving it GREY. The timing couldn’t be worse. It was a week before my senior pictures, and I had a head full of gray hair. The hair professionals decided that my pelt was badly damaged – additional attempts at chemical restoration were not advised. “Did I want my hair to fall out?” Looking back, I should have replied with a hearty “Yes!” A flowery scarf tied about my bald head, and sympathetic glances would have been more desirable than the attention I received from my schoolmates.
I washed my hair daily with a brown rinse (temporary color) to cover up the gray. I also had a mess of a perm to deal with. Perms require very little maintenance; I could just run a pick through it. The stunning results were that I resembled a poodle – one that desperately needed an appointment at Petsmart. When my curls finally grew out, I was hesitant to try anything permanent.
The temporary solution was the curling iron. I bought fat ones and skinny ones. Some came with steamers, and others were coated with precious metals. I studied the instructions and observed my sisters, my friends, and even my sisters’ friends. No amount of studying can compensate for a lack of natural ability. I was rarely successful. When I stared at my mirror image I was confused about which way to turn. Somehow each twist produced unexpected results. A pattern may have been emerging, but I couldn’t grasp it. I felt like I was parallel parking a 24 foot Suburban with a camping trailer hitched to the bumper.
Later, as a young mother with two toddler boys, I entered the age of hot curlers. I jumped on the bandwagon late, but made up for it by purchasing two sets of CONAIR Hot Setter Pro's. They were much easier to use than curling irons. I settled into a routine. Thanks to CONAIR, I was able to keep the big hair look well into the 90’s, long after it was passé. I secured my loose, bouncy mane with AQUANET EXTRA HOLD so I could face hurricane force winds with every hair glued firmly in place.
Most recently, hair straighteners arrived along with a cultural preference for sleek and tidy arrangements instead of the flowing, playful locks of yesteryear. Volume is still preferred which makes the desired look, straight but not flat, impossible. I purchased a straightener, and had my hair cut in the style of the gal from The Devil Wore Prada – the young one, not Meryl Streep. My commitment to using a straightener is sporadic. It’s easier to operate than a curling iron, but it still requires time and patience, and the effort expended rarely matches any feelings of satisfaction I receive. I’m still waiting for a product that I can apply to my husband’s eyes so that he can be under the illusion that I have the hair of his dreams.
But instead of purchasing products to solve hair problems, I’m interested in products that solve life’s problems. When I think about Wisdom, the way you personify her, I am filled with dread. I’ve felt the sting of her reproof when I reject her advice. She’s laughed at my disasters, mocked me when I’m overtaken by calamity, and ignored me when it was too late. She makes me feel like all my missteps in life have put me on a path where I will be paying the piper for a long time. I’m reminded of an interview I saw with a man who’d survived the Tsunami in Sri Lanka. His son was torn from his arms; he lost his entire family. He was a devout Buddhist, and from his perspective, it was Karma. “I must have done something terrible in a past life,” he reasoned, “to have something this bad happen to me.”
By Proverbs 3, I was reflecting upon all the wrong I’ve done in this life. I thought of the discouragement I’ve caused, the disrespect, disloyalty, anger, and pain I’ve inflicted. If wisdom and lack of wisdom is limited to the constructs of Karma, then I have some bad times ahead of me! I have reaped negative consequences from the mistakes I have sown. In the interest of changing my future harvests, I decided to do things differently and was hoping your advice would take me in the right direction. When it came to applying the wisdom you recommend, however, it is a bigger task than I initially thought. It is SOOOOOOOOO big, as a matter of fact, that I sometimes feel like giving up. The more I try to “understand,” the less I really know. It’s easy to feel like a failure.
I sought wisdom and understanding in tackling the problem of a malfunctioning ALL-IN-ONE printer, copier, scanner. I read the manual, examined the inner parts, and observed the movements in a printing cycle. I tried cleaning and dusting all the parts. I found a place where ink had leaked and pooled and spent hours cleaning it. I felt like I was tried EVERYTHING. Still, it didn’t work.
God, in His mysterious ways was preparing me for the path straightener. My knowledge is only part of the equation. So, in the interest of NOT leaning on my understanding I began to acknowledge God in my “office machine repair” ways. I thought of the broken printer and confessed how far my understanding and troubleshooting had gotten me. I then leaned on God to supply what my understanding lacked. And that morning, the printer worked.
I meditated on the path straightener instructions of Proverbs 3:5-6. “Trust in the Lord with all my heart. Don’t lean on my own understanding. In all my ways, acknowledge Him. And He will keep my paths straight.”
To be honest with you, office machine repair is just a beginning. I can think of dozens of applications for a path straightener: tangled conversations, scrambled emotions, jumbled intentions, and a rats nest of hurt feelings to name a few. As much as I appreciate understanding, what excites me most is the moment when the announcer says, “But wait, there’s more!” and Proverbs 3:5-6 was that for me. All that I comprehend pales in comparison to knowing that something greater than my understanding is available to me. And I don't have to pay shipping and handling to get it.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Dear Solomon - I'm Working on My Grip
Dear Solomon,
Before I report on my current progress I’d like you to consider how well I’ve done with some of the practical applications in Proverbs 1 and 2. I was stellar in the “do not” department. Here are some examples of ways I’ve heeded your warnings:
• I didn’t waylay any harmless souls.
• I did not lie in wait.
• I avoided throwing in my lot with thieves. (Unless Mafia Wars counts – does it?)
• I didn’t rejoice in the perverseness of evil.
• I did not follow an immoral woman along the path to death (And, for extra credit, I didn’t lead anyone along that path either.)
I’d give myself a passing grade in the following areas as well.
• I paid attention to parental advice.
• I sought wisdom and understanding
I’m not sure how you’d score the final item, but I’m confident that I made progress. I listened more, criticized less, and saw things from another perspective. I get the feeling that you’re setting me up. Just as I began to ooze confidence, I encountered chapter 3.
LOVE and FAITHFULNESS are big ideas. The amplified version gives me a greater sense of my shortcomings. Love = mercy and kindness, shutting out all hatred and selfishness. Faithfulness = truth, shutting out all deliberate hypocrisy. The message puts it this way.
How is my grip on love and loyalty? Does the tablet of my heart resemble the art young lovers carve into trees? Or is it more like an inner city pedestrian overpass tagged with hatred, selfishness, and hypocrisy? At the risk of exposing my inner jerk, I will confess that I love my family, and I love Chipotle; but I consistently communicate more approval and satisfaction towards Chipotle. My husband is much more valuable and worthy of my adoration than anything on their menu. Yet my heart is so marred by selfishness and hypocrisy that it ignores him and turns somersaults when the tantalizing aroma of a carnitas burrito wafts into my olfactory range. As much as I’d like to think of myself as a work in progress, sometimes, I’m just a piece of work.
My heart is difficult to fix, but reformation through fashion neckwear could be the answer! I’m experimenting with a silver engraved heart necklace that daughter #2 gave me for Christmas. Each morning I follow your advice and "bind" this symbol of love and loyalty around my neck. Throughout the day I touch it gently to remind me keep my grip. It seems to be effective for everyday circumstances, but it was no match for the conflict I faced at work earlier this week. No amount of toying or fiddling generated warm and devoted feelings toward my employer. For those circumstances, I’ll need to upgrade to a scarf – something more substantial so I can give it a sharper tug. I’m looking for one to keep in my desk drawer.
Can you believe I only made it to verse 3? This project is much harder than I thought it would be. Your advice is changing my life – one nugget at a time.
Thanks,
-bw-
Before I report on my current progress I’d like you to consider how well I’ve done with some of the practical applications in Proverbs 1 and 2. I was stellar in the “do not” department. Here are some examples of ways I’ve heeded your warnings:
• I didn’t waylay any harmless souls.
• I did not lie in wait.
• I avoided throwing in my lot with thieves. (Unless Mafia Wars counts – does it?)
• I didn’t rejoice in the perverseness of evil.
• I did not follow an immoral woman along the path to death (And, for extra credit, I didn’t lead anyone along that path either.)
I’d give myself a passing grade in the following areas as well.
• I paid attention to parental advice.
• I sought wisdom and understanding
I’m not sure how you’d score the final item, but I’m confident that I made progress. I listened more, criticized less, and saw things from another perspective. I get the feeling that you’re setting me up. Just as I began to ooze confidence, I encountered chapter 3.
“Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablets of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.”
LOVE and FAITHFULNESS are big ideas. The amplified version gives me a greater sense of my shortcomings. Love = mercy and kindness, shutting out all hatred and selfishness. Faithfulness = truth, shutting out all deliberate hypocrisy. The message puts it this way.
“Don’t lose your grip on love and loyalty, tie them around your neck; carve their initials on your heart. Earn a reputation for living well in God’s eyes and in the eyes of the people.”
How is my grip on love and loyalty? Does the tablet of my heart resemble the art young lovers carve into trees? Or is it more like an inner city pedestrian overpass tagged with hatred, selfishness, and hypocrisy? At the risk of exposing my inner jerk, I will confess that I love my family, and I love Chipotle; but I consistently communicate more approval and satisfaction towards Chipotle. My husband is much more valuable and worthy of my adoration than anything on their menu. Yet my heart is so marred by selfishness and hypocrisy that it ignores him and turns somersaults when the tantalizing aroma of a carnitas burrito wafts into my olfactory range. As much as I’d like to think of myself as a work in progress, sometimes, I’m just a piece of work.
My heart is difficult to fix, but reformation through fashion neckwear could be the answer! I’m experimenting with a silver engraved heart necklace that daughter #2 gave me for Christmas. Each morning I follow your advice and "bind" this symbol of love and loyalty around my neck. Throughout the day I touch it gently to remind me keep my grip. It seems to be effective for everyday circumstances, but it was no match for the conflict I faced at work earlier this week. No amount of toying or fiddling generated warm and devoted feelings toward my employer. For those circumstances, I’ll need to upgrade to a scarf – something more substantial so I can give it a sharper tug. I’m looking for one to keep in my desk drawer.
Can you believe I only made it to verse 3? This project is much harder than I thought it would be. Your advice is changing my life – one nugget at a time.
Thanks,
-bw-
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