Feet

I hate feet. To annoy me all you have to do is put your feet near my body. (just ask Sarah, the little sister) Feet are eternally dirty, they usually have at least a hint of foul odor, and they are home to several different types kinds of fungus.

No, you may not borrow my shoes.
No, I do not like your socks either.

Keeping my hatred for feet in mind- a verse in Mark chapter one (in the Bible) intrigued me. The verse in John the Baptist saying that when Jesus comes he (John) would not be worthy enough to help Him remove His shoes. When I got to this verse I pictured John dressed in camel's hair potato sacks afraid to touch another man's shoe.

Not out of disgust
But out of self- unworthiness

What kind of man is this that we dare not even touch his dirty shoes when they are attached to his feet?

Confession: Probably if Jesus was walking on earth today and He came to my house and I needed, as a good host, to wash His feet (though it is no longer a custom) I would most likely debate- on whether I wanted to touch feet today (or ever). I would contemplate using rubber gloves... and finally, mentally scold myself with the reminder that-
"This is the Man that was beaten and crucified so you have never-ending life and fellowship with God... and you think you're too good to just wash his feet"

"Jesus... um... could I- uh, help you take off your shoes?"

Love to all!
Lizzi

Nonsense

I am going to write a bit of nonsense in this blog purely as a writing exercise. I read my blog posts today and realized on paper I am quite a serious person. That made me surprised because I am never serious about anything in person! (Usually on a daily basis that is). So, here it goes.

Every superhero has their enemy, their arch nemesis. I, being the heroine of my own life story, also have an arch nemesis. The enemies I face change with time and place and on how soon I can defeat them. I have found one enemy that is unconquerable- crickets.

Black, ugly, loud bugs that have a fondness for chewing on clothing. I HATE THEM. This year we have an epidemic of these creatures on the Briggs “farm.” They are under our cabinets, our couches, in our closets and any other dark place they can find to hide. When I come into my room I must announce my arrival so they (the enemy) can run and hide before I turn on the light and discover them.

While Sarah (the little sister) was home and an unfortunate cricket happened to emerge while we were in the room the sighting would end up in a slapping, jumping, yelling match.

The scene: We are both watching tv on our wonderfully comfy leather sofas and suddenly Sarah whispers my name, “Lizzi, give me your flip flop.” She is squinting intently at a spot on the floor about two feet away from me with her tongue between her teeth, poised over her top lip. (That is her “something is going to die” look) I catch the enemy in my sight and slowly slip off my neon green flip flops, one for me and one for her. We take our positions.

The next minute is a flurry of slapping and flashing green. We jump around trying to keep it from getting under anything and smack as hard as we can, missing it half the time. Finally we are victorious, settling back in our spots on the couch and our enemy’s carcass lying crushed on the floor. We leave the bodies for daddy to pick up :)

My theory is though, if I leave the bodies around any cricket in the vicinity will see the corpse of his dead friends and think, “I better not enter here, this is the cricket massacre place.” and turn around and leave. This may sound disgusting but, after leaving one dead cricket on the floor I have a week without seeing another one in the same room.

Maybe autumn will give me some relief.
Love to all!
Lizzi