Tuesday, July 29, 2014


I have lived in my hometown for (most of) my whole life (save three unfortunate months at a college located one city to the east and many bad choices to the south). In today's world, with the ease of mobility and the fluctuation of jobs, when people find out that I have, in fact, a) lived here my whole life and b) have no plans to move from here, they look at me with a mixture of surprise and pity (they feel sorry for me, never having experienced living in other places--or any places--and being stuck here in my little bubble).

Here's an observation about my town (but not necessarily a fact): it's segregated. Divided into little segments that people hardly ever leave. At least not unless they want to go play Putt-Putt on the north end of town. Obviously, where you work plays a part, so someone who lives in North County might work downtown, but this says nothing about the stink that was raised about the final location of the brand-new (well, brand-new a couple of years ago) rec center. If you live here, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

So you'd think that someone who has lived in the same town with the same confusing roadways (ours tend change names but are actually still the same road quite often) would know her way around fairly well.

Well, here's a news flash for you: I don't.

So when my dermatologist appointment came up, and I looked at my calendar for the name of the office, and I discovered that I hadn't written it down, nor had I chosen to include the name of said new dermatologist, and then I had to google local dermatologists in the hopes that her office would come up AND I'd somehow recognize the name of the doctor I'd made an appointment with three months ago, well, I was understandably flustered. Sometimes I'm just not successful in life. This was one of those times. The good news is that I found her and her address (still didn't write it down, but whatever, that's not the point), but I had no idea where the heck I was going. The corner of blank and blank did not ring a bell with me. So there I was, riding down the road, kids safely strapped in, hoping this GPS was taking me to the doctor's office and not a lake or pond somewhere (you'd have to have seen The Office GPS episode to appreciate this).

Thank goodness for a phone with GPS capability. That's all I can say. (Which got me to the building; however, I still had to ask where the dermatologist office was, because the sign of the office I had gotten to said "Treatment for Kidney Disease and Dialysis".)

google images

I know my way around "the Christian walk". I grew up in the church and know most of the rules. I've actually stayed in the church for most of my life (save a few summers ago where I just quit going, period, and then that same stint in college where church was the absolute last thing on my mind). I feel like I know what's expected of me, I know most of the books of the bible (but not in order, well except for the first 5 books of the New Testament, and there are a few random ones like Nahum and Haggai that I had no idea even existed--note to pastors around town to concentrate more on these, just so we'll be in the know), and I know how things work. But nothing can substitute for the directions that God's Word offers.

I've discovered that His Word brings a very astute and specific knowledge to the generalities of faith and religion that I think I know. And while I thought I had it all figured out, God has proven to me that 1) I did not and 2) I still have a lot to learn. His Word is there for life directions. Like a life-map.

A GPS, if you will.

But just like with anything, you have to be smart when you use it. Learn it. Keep it close to your heart.
Remember it.

Write it down.

Fix these words of mine 
in your hearts and minds;
 tie them as symbols on your hands
 and bind them on your foreheads.
{deuteronomy 11:18}

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