Scripture standout: Mark 8: "33 But when Jesus turned and looked at his disciples, he rebuked Peter.“Get behind me, Satan!” he said. “You do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.”
Morning thoughts: That is rough! To call someone Satan for having human concerns? I mean, I know he's talking to Peter who denies him three times and all, but geez! Satan? Wasn't Peter doing the best he could, just like the rest of us? Isn't it enough to have concerns for others? Isn't that the harder thing to grasp...the peaceful, understanding place where you can discern the concerns of God?
I do like the "get behind me, Satan," mantra. I think I"ll try that today when I grumpus about something. "I'm going to rip someone a new one if the kids fight one more time today,"...Get behind me Satan, human concern here. "I am too tired to get it all done today, can't do it..." Get behind me Satan, human concern here. "Where's that icy glass of chardonnay and bad television for me to indulge my unsavory interests?" Get behind me Satan, human concern here..."Is that poop in the wave pool? Seriously? Is it?" Get behind me Satan, human concern here.
One more thing I forgot to mention yesterday, which is relevant here. I was running yesterday morning in the early morning Florida heat. This smiling woman runs by me. I smiled back and then noticed that her running shorts are totally inside out. They weren't inside out as in, seams on the outside no big deal inside out. This was like, the entire inner panty part, on the outside BIG OBVIOUS deal inside out. So she looked like she was running with a pair of granny panties over her shorts! I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say her shorts looked like this, with shorts under them:
She was completely oblivious. I mean, I've done this, too. Don't get more wrong. I've worn the front part of my shorts on my butt side, which isn't pretty. But this feat? Wow. I wondered in retrospect if I should have told her. Now I know...Forget the human concerns. Inside out shorts didn't hinder her from running happily that hot, Florida morning.
His Deed/The Day: I received an email yesterday that a friend's father had passed away and that a funeral would be at our church. This friend is not a close friend, but someone I admire deeply — and someone with whom I work in the local Solace community. She is extraordinary in many ways — tall, understatedly glamours and poised. She gentle and full of grace, always smiling. She's one of those women who calls you "honey" and means it in the most compassionate, "love ya" kind of way. When I'm about to lose it with my kids — ruminating about how they can act so stinkin' ugly to each other — I channel her. I pray for a transfusion of such a gentle presence. (even now I'm doing it as I attempt to write this blog entry. Marley is behind me at the kitchen table repeating "I don't get it" and punctuating her frustration with a stinging sigh each time, as she tries to do her summer homework. GRRRRRR!!!) I will her kind of patience. When I'm floating through a crowd, I imagine myself looking as glamorous and approachable as she is.
OK, bottom line? I'm secretly her biggest fan.
So when I heard that her father died and that a group was going to the funeral, I had the thought. It's the thought I know many people have about funerals. Would it be WEIRD if I showed up? Would people wonder, 'what the heck is SHE doing here?' In my case, I knew it wouldn't be too awkward for me to be there because of our charity tie-in. But I still felt, uncomfortable maybe, with the thought.
On the way in to the church, I spied Father Tom's truck. Its bumper sticker read, "Don't believe everything you think." I chuckled because it answered my question. I needed to turn this around for some perspective. When MY mother died, did I wonder what some people were doing there? Did I take inventory of who wasn't there? No. I was humbled by the community's support. I was grateful to have friends of varying degrees of closeness who would sit with me and my family for an hour — and remember my mom. And here's the biggest clincher — it's not about me, and how uncomfortable I could feel. Going to a funeral is for the person or family who has lost. That's it.
And what a beautiful service it was. This woman who I admire greatly spoke about loss and how we find blessings in life's lowest moments. It was inspiring. So today's deed was to overcome the me's, and to just go. Just go to the gd funeral. Why wouldn't I?
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