A Mockingbird

Psalm 139:13-14 For you created my inmost being, you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, and I know that full well. 

I’m pretty good at bird calls.  I make a mean goose call, and you should hear my whippoorwill song.  I can screech with the best of the hawks, and my owl hoot?  Well, don’t even get me started.   Confession time -  everything I’ve written up to this point has not exactly been true.  Oh, who am I kidding, it’s all a lie.  But, I’m trying to make a point here, so stick with me for a few moments. 

When I say I’m good at bird calls, I’m really not.  But, what I am good at is imitating people.  No, I’m not talking about the Saturday Night Live type of caricatures, but another kind that’s not so healthy.  Let me start with an example.  In high school, I sang in both the choir and show choir for three years.  My second year I was voted most valuable junior.  This was all great, but there was something going on that wasn’t so great.  The problem?  I could make my voice sound like anyone else’s.  When I’d sing, I’d pick a voice around me and sing in just that way; same tone, pitch, timing etc.  I was so busy trying to copy someone else’s voice that I never figured out what my own was.   

Lately, I’ve realized that I’m good at emulating others - especially people I admire.  If so and so thinks that flying kites in the rain is a good idea, than so do I.  Even if it’s really not.  What’s so bad about copying other people, you might think, especially if their ideas and ideals are basically good ones?  While I don’t think it’s bad to want to pattern myself after someone, I still can’t help wondering one important truth;  if I’m so busy trying to become something I’m not, then I’m not really becoming the someone I am meant to be. 

 God’s been teaching me that sometimes I just need to stand on my own two feet - to figure out what I believe.  I’m not saying that I can’t learn from others, but what I am saying is this; God made me one-of-a-kind unique.  There’s no one else like me in the whole wide world – the snowflake effect.  So why do I try so hard to be someone or something that I’m not?   

Maybe it’s because of envy.  So and so seems so much smarter, important, educated, wise.  I’m just, well, little old me.  To be honest, I don’t really think that’s my issue though.  My problem stems more from a feeling of inferiority. I don’t think I can do it.  My opinions aren’t good enough.  My thoughts, my ideas, my feelings aren’t worthy enough.  I have to admit I’m a pretty simple person.  I don’t concern myself with things that are too great for me to understand.  In fact, sometimes I feel a little too simple.  Whenever I start to feel this way God reminds me of one very important truth. I’m not meant to be anyone else.    

How about you, you one-of-a-kind snowflake?  Do you believe that you are fearfully and wonderfully made?  If you don’t, you might want to reevaluate.  Chances are you’re not appreciating the beautiful person that God has made you to be.  So do yourself a favor.  Figure out what your opinions, your ideals, your thoughts are.  Learn from others, but don’t blindly imitate them.  Be yourself, and let the voice you speak to the world be your own. 

that crazy garbage disposal

It’s confession time.  Do you know what household “appliance” scares me the most?  I guess there’s really no surprise since it is the title of this entry.  But humor me anyway.   It’s the garbage disposal; yes you read it correctly, the garbage disposal.  I’m telling you, it’s an apparatus to be feared.  Don’t ask me why, but ever since I was a little girl, my fear and dread of the garbage disposal have been like thorns in my flesh.  All right, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but, nonetheless, the garbage disposal has truly mystified me for the past 38 years. 

First, it was the warning from my mother.  You know the one . . .  “Never, ever put your hands into the disposal while it’s running.  You could cut off your fingers.”  This warning was enough to scare the living daylights out of me.  Of course, I was grateful for the information.  No mangled hands for me, no sirree.

As an adult I figured keeping my hands out of the disposal was the only rule to follow.  I had that one down, no problem.  But, hold on, when I entered college a second warning from a roommate made me wish I’d never even heard the word garbage disposal.  Now I had two rules to follow?  Too much pressure.  It happened one night while I was cleaning the kitchen.   I was pouring the rest of my yummy Raman noodles down the drain and was set to switch on the garbage disposal when my roommate grabbed my had and firmly told me, “Never, ever (there’s that phrase never, ever again so I knew this was  serious.)  Never, ever run the disposal with hot water.  Always use cold.” 

Suddenly my brain was spinning.  Could this be possible?  Did I miss something?  For the life of me I couldn’t recall this rule at all.  Had Mom forgotten to tell me?  Oh, the dilemma.  But being a girl that likes to play it safe, I added this rule to my manual on garbage disposal etiquette.  From now on, I would use only cold water when I ran the disposal.  Once I’d begun to follow this rule faithfully, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Surely there were no more rules to follow.  I was safe and well informed on the finer points of disposal use.  

But then I got married, and once again I was forced to acquire a new rule.  To make matters worse it came from my husband.  While I was cleaning the kitchen one night and using the disposal very appropriately, I must say, his advice blindsided me.  “Honey, aren’t’ you running that disposal a little long?  I remember in Home Ec the teacher told us to run it for only short spurts.”  I gave him a cold, calculated look.  Now I know my mother had never, ever given me this “never, ever” advice.  Did I really want to change everything up just because some home ec teacher told my husband something fifteen or so years ago?  And the answer was, of course, yes.  Why take a chance?

Sighing, I shut of the garbage disposal and added the new “rule” to my list.  I vowed from then on to follow these three rules faithfully.  Each time I used the disposal I muttered my three rule mantra, “Hands clear.  Cold Water.  Short Spurts.  Hands clear.  Cold water.  Short spurts.”   

By now you may be thinking, “This gal is crazy.  Who’s afraid of the garbage disposal?”  But my fears are real deep-seeded ones.  Which leads me to a question; what exactly am I afraid of?  You’re going to laugh, but I really think it all boils down to one thing.  I’m a rule follower.  One of those who pours over a recipe to ensure that I’m using the right amount, of the right ingredients, in the right order.  Rarely do I just creatively “throw something together” for dinner. 

What’s worse my son is following in my footsteps.  At conferences, his teacher informed me that whenever another student in class does something wrong; he’s quick to tell them that they “broke the rules”.  And with that, I realized that I need to try to be a little less anal about “following the rules” and a little more open to the possibility of making a mistake.  After all, I don’t want my children to grow up with the same insane fears I have. 

And while I may never completely get over my fears of the disposal, the lesson in this will perhaps be a good reminder.  It’s okay to mess up.  It’s okay to not doing everything perfectly all the time.  Except, of course, for the mangled hand thing – I probably want to get that one right.  But the others?    It’s okay if I don’t follow the manual all the time.  So as I close this silly tale, I will ask for only one favor.  If you know of any more rules about running the garbage disposal, please don’t send them my way.  The “rule follower” in me thanks you.