Thursday, August 2, 2007

Fountain drinks, words, and being real

Here's a question - how long does a fountain machine for soda have to be before several people can stand there and pour their drinks at once? I mean, technically just two levers would be enough for two people right? So why do I feel the need to wait for the person in front of me when he is the only one standing at a line with, like, 10 levers? I think it was the way he was standing. He was using a lever smack dab in the middle of the machine and - I don't know - his posture or something. It was like he had both arms out to his sides strongly suggesting he needed the entire space in order to pour his Dr. P. So I waited.

At a previous restaurant today I overheard my 5-year-old son say something extremely shocking and inappropriate. I scolded him a couple of times and then scolded his older brother for good measure too. But I'm also planning to whip out the ol' Psalm 19 speech. It's one of my favorite scriptures - Ps. 19:14, May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight (I love this part), O Lord, my Rock, and my Redeemer.


I always prided myself on being real, the one who would ask the question everyone else was thinking. The one who never even considered hiding my emotions no matter how unpleasant they were. I still believe in being real. But several years ago, I started thinking about that scripture a lot and I started praying - Couldn't my reality just not be so annoying? Maybe rather than being fake to the person no one could stand - maybe I could actually find some reason to truly appreciate them. Maybe instead of giving in to the dark cloud that is my crappy mood when I'm hot and/or hungry and/or exhausted - maybe I could find a happy thought, hang on for dear life, and speak to people from that place. So I still strive for honesty, reality, whatever you want to call it. But I also keep trying to make the reality something worth showing - you know, the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart . . . .

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