Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
To start, it was my first 4th without fireworks. Believe me, I know, this was a great tragedy.
Instead, I helped friends move into their first house. After our second load, we took a bbq-break, followed by glorious strawberry-rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream. Later that night, completely exhausted from a full day of moving, a friend and I wandered back to my apartment and listened to some music, Spring and Summer, by John Foreman of Switchfoot.
Of course, I mustn’t overlook the controversy that developed during the move; there was a great deal of playful banter between me and my new acquaintance, Patrick.
Patrick goes to my church, but does not share my view of marriage. This bantering led to some tense moments, and some fresh insights. Patrick (the Banterer) challenged my selfish motives for remaining single, which mostly center on my desire to have time to write. Also, his criteria for a spouse differ widely from my own. He has 2 standards:
1) Christian
2) Someone who can put up with you
I asked, “Is that it?” I want to believe my higher standards are there for godly reasons, but I suppose they can sometimes be selfish.
He also challenged my stance that God has given me a season of singleness as a gift, out of which I can write with more focus.
“Authors can have spouses,” he argued.
I agreed, pointing out that C.S. Lewis experienced the blessing of marriage after 50 years as a bachelor. My friend James piped in and asked how long Lewis was a Christian before marrying.
“About 25 years,” I answered, “and I have only been a Christian for 11. I’ve got 15 more years of undistracted writing!”
~~
Forks
Also, as I was writing this post in a cafe with my roommate, an early childhood memory came up.
It was triggered when he asked me to switch out his laptop power cords, one of them being slighter higher voltage than the other. I told him about a time in Norway when I wanted to find out what would happen if I placed my American-made alarm clock into the double-voltage Norwegian outlet.
My roommate countered that things labeled, “Warning: Flammable” were rarely so spectacular. But there was a time from my childhood that was.
I have always been a bit of a doubting Thomas, and though I was warned, I wanted to see what would happen if I placed a fork into an electric outlet..
sparks, smoke,
a triggered fire alarm,
my mother’s yells in the background
my chicken legs carrying me out of spanking range
Of course, now that I’m an adult, I wonder what would happen with 2 forks..
