A Confession


I was on the phone with one of my baby brothers (who is 22, gorgeous, 6′ 7″, and messing around in NYC) while he made his long morning commute to work. He was talking silly brother talk quietly (always worried that someone will think he’s being a loud Southerner), and a woman who was reading a big fat Christian spiritual book turned around and told him to be quiet because she likes to read on the train. My first response was that he needed to tell her to stop reading because he likes to talk on the train. I say all that just to let you know where I am on my journey to humility. How did I get on this spiritual treadmill?

I think the treadmill (the run-of-the-mill, the mustard stains, chewed-up crayons, let the dog out, don’t answer the phone, I’m busy) is for the weary-tired, afraid of that invisible work on the real road. Being tired is why yesterday I flashed back to high school when I would sleep during class and slobber on my desk, when I would have Twizzlers and a Mountain Dew for lunch, and when about seven of us could pile into a Tercel and drive twenty minutes to Guntersville after school just for Taco Bell. What a whole bunch of stupid!

Yesterday I wanted Taco Bell, and so I apparently ordered a thin pate of purina cat chow smeared ever so generously on about ten wet paper towels. I put hot sauce on it. Then, I went to Walmart (don’t hate me, small business lovers), and I shopped as quickly as possible so I could get to the check-out line and devour a King-size Three Musketeers – that extra high-fructose kick.

My heart literally hurt after that – as in worry took me over like The Blob – or as in I swallowed a bomb – or I was lattice work under kudzu. It’s like one little bit of stupid just roller-coasters into a whole sea of it.

A little unchecked lust is a screwy compass, a grave shovel, that first fast domino before the shape of everything changes.

Photobucket

amberhaines
About me

8 Comments

brooke
Reply May 1, 2008

That last line really got me. I think, because I'm living and writing about indulgences 24/7, that every time I really get truckin' with God, the Devil ups the lust ante. Seriously. The roller coaster is worse than the diabetic, sugar flux caused by all that high-fructose corn syrup. I get so angry when he does that, and I just want to scream,"Bring it on Devil!" Except...I'm afraid he'll actually 'bring it.'

Such fear always makes me ask, "Now, where did I put my faith?"

Hunh. Maybe I stashed it in that bag of skittles? The one I just threw in the trash?

So.. You are not the only one who occasionally swallows a bomb. Wile E. Coyote does it all the time. But his heart isn't as fragile as your is right now. You are always in my prayers.

PS. Strange coincidence, that both of our blogs concern high fructose corn syrup today. I blame global warming.

Seth
Reply May 2, 2008

Brooxy, I love this comment; I love you. I pray for you very often, too. Thank you. You always get me.

Amber
Reply May 2, 2008

Crud. Although Seth does love Brooke, that was my comment.

brooke
Reply May 2, 2008

The 'Brooxy' gave you away. Seth would never say something so sentimental. How is your heart this morning?

brooke
Reply May 2, 2008

Oh shoot. That's not to say Seth isn't sentimental. He just wouldn't say something like that to me. Sorry Seth...

Seth
Reply May 3, 2008

Thanks, B. You hurt my feelings.

Joy Hui Lin
Reply May 5, 2008

the last line's a great poem, amber

Renae
Reply February 14, 2010

Oh, Lordy!! I love you!

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *