I have not a blow dryer to my name. Mom very generously gave me the one from Josiah’s bathroom, but he showed up demanding its immediate return. I can’t quite visualize the necessity of a blow dryer for ½ inch long hair, but I returned the item in question to its rightful owner and added a blow dryer to my rather lengthy wish-list. My wish-list being defined as the running list of items I think, “Oh, that would be nice to have”, but never get around to buying. Buying things is such a waste of time and money, anyway.
Josiah informed me of an interesting conversation he had with Zach, after the Bible study last night. A very lengthy discussion of being careful around girls led Zach to comment: “But I never worry about Abigail. Dude, she’s just like a sister. No,” a pause. “Worse. She’s like a mom.” The concept of such filial affection from a twenty-two-year-old is rather novel, but I suppose it’s better than the alternatives.
We reported a jail-break today. Our sticky, spotted salamander escaped his cage sometime this afternoon and is now at large in our house. He is armed and extremely dangerous, and it will be a pity should he be squished.
The price of produce these days is almost steep enough for a black diamond ski slope. My grocery list vanished somewhere between Dollar General and the Supermarket. In this world of modern conveniences, I called home and strolled the store, stocking up as Mom relayed the list over the phone. When I think of the inventions of my lifetime, I am struck with awe: cell phones, internet, computers not to mention electronic gadgets like mp3 players, CD players, DVD players, ipods, iphones, PDAs and all the ridiculous sorts of toys that have complicatedly simplified our lives. At any given moment, the average person could erupt with multiple alarms. Once upon a time, people lived tranquil, quiet lives, and had good excuses for not keeping in better touch.
D-town is a town of trust. So many of the shops are so careless—it would be so easy to lift something. Strangely, the thought has entered my head on multiple occasions lately. Not actually to steal something, I don’t believe, since there’s no struggle or deliberation involved, but almost more of a shock at how easily I could pocket something and continue on my merry way. Only, I would be rather less than merry. I remember the only time I ever took something from a store—it was a fake flower, lying forlornly on the cold, tile floor, and my four-year-old mind reasoned that it would never be missed or cared about. Surely the Hobby-Lobbyists would just sweep it up and throw it away anyway. So I rescued the poor blossom from an untimely demise. Mom discovered my heroic effort halfway out to the car and turned me around, marched me back inside and made me return the flower with an elaborate apology. Something like, “Sniffle…I’m sorry I took this…sniffle…it was on the floor…sniffle, sniffle…I’ll never do it again. SNORT.” Why do I do what is right? Why do I shudder at the thought of taking something that is not mine? Is it a fear of punishment that keeps the thought spinning through my mind, polishing it like a stone in a tumbler, but never allowing it to hatch? Is it my conscience that would never allow me to enjoy something taken through deceit? Is it a fear of disappointing my parents? A horror of displeasing my Heavenly Father? All these facets are in place to keep me from sin—like a hedge of thorns around me, keeping me on a path of purity. It’s the same way with many sins—lying, sexual sins, sins of excess, rebellion. But how often I forget that these same hedges guard the pathway to keep me from secret sins? I trample my conscience, I push away fears of punishment from the One Who sees what is done in secret, and I indulge in sins that stain my heart—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life. I shrink in horror from breaking the commandments against lying, murdering, stealing and fornication and glibly go my way, trampling underfoot the two greatest commands: to love God first, and my neighbor as myself. Oh, that I would shrink from impurity of heart as quickly as I shudder at impurity of actions.
Lord, Thou art a perfect Master,
Which would seem a huge disaster,
Had Thou not been born of dust
So as to sympathize with us.
May my life not be a lie
As studied to please human eye
But lived in perfect purity
To bring delight to even Thee.
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