Here's the deal: I'm not a big fan of texting. When someone is speaking at a conference, or during worship in church, or while on the phone or computer, texting is uncommonly rude. My 2 cents. I'm fine with texting quietly any other time. But not when our attention is to be given to others. Especially God. Imagine saying, "Excuse me, Jesus. I have a couple of texts here I need to read first. I'll get right back to you.In fact, I'll send you a text, How'd that be?"
"A double minded man or woman is unstable in all his ways...."
So here's my current problem. I just added texting to my new phone. Granted, I was dragged kicking into it. Sort of. But now I have a dilemma - how NOT to be a hypocrite about this worldwide obsession called texting. With my toe in the ring about 48 hours, I'd love to hear from you about your own boundaries regarding texting, for you or your kids.
Here's what I hope to do:
1. Save text messages until it's a private time to read them, just like voice mail.
2. Try to give others my full attention even when a text comes in.
3. Not irritate others with constant messages.
4. REalize it's no sin to answer later.
5. Never listen to others on the phone or in person when my cell or keyboard are in my lap demanding my attention.
6. Use the English language as its meant to be used.
Pray I can do that. Now don't all text me at once!
Virelle
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
More Than Jelly Beans
I slammed the car door, hopscotched through the spring slush in the parking lot, and dashed into the store. Scanning like a hawk, I found them. Jelly beans! How could I have forgotten them? Imagine Easter without jelly beans.
At the checkout counter I realized my calculated rush was a waste. In front of me stood a woman holding not one, but two heavy baskets full of Easter goodies. I counted three plastic baskets with a small chocolate bunny for each one, jelly beans and peeps, little marshmallow eggs, plus that insidious cellophane grass. Then I noticed her.
She was young, very young, not much older than my daughter in college. Her maroon wool coat pulled tightly across her back. It needed cleaning and a little mending.
As she set each item carefully on the counter and opened a worn black leather wallet, I worried she lacked enough to pay for all this. I hoped I had extra cash.
"Twenty-nine forty-one," announced the clerk in a flat, loud voice.
The young mom counted out the bills one at a time. "Easter is so expensive," she mumbled softly. Then she grabbed her heavy bags and left.
"Next!" Automatically I moved forward and placed my jelly beans on the counter, but my thoughts followed the young mom out the door. I wanted to run after her, hug her, and say, 'Yes, Easter IS expensive! It cost God everything He had!'
But my feet were cemented in place. I came home with jelly beans and a heavy heart.
At the checkout counter I realized my calculated rush was a waste. In front of me stood a woman holding not one, but two heavy baskets full of Easter goodies. I counted three plastic baskets with a small chocolate bunny for each one, jelly beans and peeps, little marshmallow eggs, plus that insidious cellophane grass. Then I noticed her.
She was young, very young, not much older than my daughter in college. Her maroon wool coat pulled tightly across her back. It needed cleaning and a little mending.
As she set each item carefully on the counter and opened a worn black leather wallet, I worried she lacked enough to pay for all this. I hoped I had extra cash.
"Twenty-nine forty-one," announced the clerk in a flat, loud voice.
The young mom counted out the bills one at a time. "Easter is so expensive," she mumbled softly. Then she grabbed her heavy bags and left.
"Next!" Automatically I moved forward and placed my jelly beans on the counter, but my thoughts followed the young mom out the door. I wanted to run after her, hug her, and say, 'Yes, Easter IS expensive! It cost God everything He had!'
But my feet were cemented in place. I came home with jelly beans and a heavy heart.
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