Setting Theology Aside for a Second

The other night Matt, Gurley, and I went to a show and saw a Christian band. I can’t say that I’m super fond of these sorts of shows, but Matt really wanted to go and I really do enjoy this band’s music. So we went, and it actually was a pretty good concert. Except for one thing: In the middle of one of the songs, the singer asked everyone to raise their hands. (I felt skeptical so I did not participate, which was a good choice on my part.) He then asked everyone to start clapping. A couple thousand people were clapping above their heads when the singer happily said, “This is what we’ll be doing in heaven forever and ever and ever and ever and ever!” And the crowd DIDN’T SEEM BOTHERED.

Damn it! I hate clapping! Oh sweet Jesus, tell me I won’t have to clap in heaven forever. I only enjoy clapping to Deep in the Heart of Texas. And that song’s only like 30 seconds long.

After the singer said that, and after I momentarily panicked, and after I remembered that singer-man doesn’t really know, I started thinking about how I would want to spend my time in heaven, assuming there’s a choice in the matter. I imagine Jesus and me floating in a pool alternating between watching Friends on a floating screen and chatting about life and literature while eating all the foods that we crave, mainly ice cream and gorgonzola fries.

But I won’t have to clap. Right??

Being Well-Dressed Should Start on Day 1

All weekend long, Matt talked about how much he needed a neck pillow for his upcoming trips. By Sunday evening, he was still neck pillow-less, and MYGOD I was sick of hearing those words. I told Matt that if he would please just stop talking about it, I would go on a hunt for one on Monday.

My hunt failed. Where the hell can one obtain a stupid neck pillow?!!!

I went to Target on my search, and while I was there I thought I’d pick up some baby clothes for our friends who have had babies in the past two weeks. (Three new babies!) And next week, Matt and I will be in Arkansas and get to meet two of the babies, so naturally I want to bring gifts. But why must all baby clothes have some sort of creature sewed on? Every time I found a really cute looking pattern or color, I’d pull it off the rack to find a squirrel in the middle doing a dance or a bear waving while flying a plane. Is it just because I’m not a mom that I don’t find these sorts of things especially cute? Why does a lovely striped onesie have to be ruined with a choo-choo train? The print doesn't really bother me; I don't mind a shirt with something like ducks on the fabric nearly as much as I mind a huge duck sewed to the center of the shirt. You know, like a patch or a huge fuzzy sticker. It’s like the poor babies of the world are forced to go out of the house wearing one too many accessories. And that just doesn’t seem fair.

But good news: Matt bought himself a pillow this morning. We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Now if only I could solve the baby clothes crisis…

(Also, I want to personally apologize to Nikki and a certain Sunday School teacher. I did not realize I was frustrating you with my absence. I will work on it. And I do believe this is kind of a lame post, so I am also sorry for that. But I am afraid if I wait much longer for an exciting event to post, someone will tell Jesus and I’ll get kicked out of heaven because my Sunday School teacher filed a complaint against me. And that would make me immeasurably sad. And Nikki, please don’t send me any more hate mail and computer viruses. You used to be such a good friend.)