When you’ve got some mail To put in the box, Clive can deliver!
To send to Fig Newton or that dastardly fox Clive can deliver!
If you don’t mind That the mail is slow, Clive can deliver!
To send to friend Or send to foe, Clive can deliver!
I proudly present to you, Clive the Snail Mailman. Or should that be Clive the Snail Mail-slug? He’s intelligent, he’s friendly, he knows the neighborhood, he’ll never let you down. Clive can deliver!
I discovered something important while working on this project. I bought some wool blend gray felt for the mailbox instead of the usual cheap felt made from plastics because I needed a bigger piece. I think I’m ruined now for working with the cheap stuff. The wool was so soft and easy to work with. You get what you pay for. You can quote me on that.
I’ll probably turn this post over to a competent slug in the morning.
If you want to start at the beginning of this series: Adventures Part 1
Recently I saw a new Christian in his 60’s talking about his experience. He was a somewhat well-known podcaster, but unknown to me. His enthusiasm and zeal for this new-found faith was endearing, which made it easier to overlook the bad theology that sometimes emerged in the conversation. This is they way of it when you come to Christ as an adult carrying lots of pre-conversion baggage. And so it was with me.
I read something very early on that said that life is eternal, for the saved and for the unsaved – all will go to either heaven or hell. There is no other option. What? I had somehow missed that memo on my way in. I was appalled at the thought! Could people like my parents go to hell? Surely not! They’re such GOOD people. I had this idea that everyone is born good and the potential for good in them is never destroyed, no matter how they may have strayed. The fact that I was setting myself up as someone more just than God never crossed my mind.
The reality was that I knew I had been saved but I really hadn’t thought about what salvation meant. I wrote: “It’s like taking a child off the train tracks where sooner or later he would have been killed and then telling him that you saved him and shouldn’t he just jump and down for joy. No – that child is not going to know the full meaning of what happened, but someday when the child grows up, he will go back and look at those train tracks and see the inevitable passing of the train, and he will thank God that he was saved from that fate.” I was the child. I had never really understood the danger. “I did not reach for His hand to save me from being hit by a train…I reached for His hand because I was hungry for His love, His blessed unconditional love. I reached for His hand because I needed Him and He was there.”
Ah, such sweet, childish love I had for the Savior. There’s nothing wrong with baby Christians that time in the Word and in worship and in fellowship with more mature Christians can’t cure. It’s the same thing we need no matter where we are in our walk with Christ. I would eventually learn that no one is born good. There is no nature versus nurture debate when it comes to the sinfulness of man. We sin because we are sinners – that is our nature from the very beginning.
I had a lot of zeal, but still worried about turning into something or someone that I wouldn’t recognize as being me. I feared becoming “a smiling hollow robot with no mind whatsoever.” I was somewhat hesitant to tell my family about this new faith, especially since I had kept the whole journey to myself. They’d think I’d gone off the deep end, for sure. But on the other hand, the Lord gave me a huge desire to see the rest of my family come to faith in Christ – I not only had to tell them, I was already praying for them.
One thing I knew for sure – I needed to be baptized and make my faith a public thing. I don’t think I even remembered that I’d been baptized as an infant and really didn’t need to do it again. I hardly knew what baptism was, to be honest. I went to a church that did full immersion baptisms and I invited three close friends down to Rochester for the Big Event. Maybe it was unnecessary in the larger scheme of things, but I cannot regret that I went through with it. That was a great day.
I didn’t have much interest in keeping my room clean when I was growing up. When we were young, Saturdays were the day we had to clean our rooms and I will admit that I gave as little effort to this as possible. If I could stuff it under the bed, hide it in a closet, cram it into a drawer or in other creative ways hide my mess, that’s what I did. When I finally got my own room down the basement, the rules had become much more relaxed (i.e. we wore our parents down) and I could could neglect cleanliness to my heart’s content. You could say my parents gave me over to my slovenly tendencies. I used to have a photo of my room from this period of time, which demonstrates the point, but I couldn’t find it, so I’ll have to use one of the top of my desk. Just multiply the disarray on the desk and you’ll have a good idea of what my room looked like.
I threw my dirty clothes on a heap in the corner on the tiled floor and occasionally put some of them in the washing machine. One day, I decided I should pick all of them up to put them in the wash and found that at the bottom of the pile, some bugs had been happily eating away at my underwear. This had an amazingly motivating effect on me. Suddenly I had a reason to care about where I put my clothes. This was exactly what Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle might have ordered for me, if she’d been consulted on my case. My habits improved a little. The next transformation occurred when I moved into an apartment during my college years. During the interview for the apartment (currently inhabited by two other college students), my prospective roommates asked me about my general attitude toward cleanliness – it turned out that this was an important factor in the decision. I assured them that I was quite neat (oh, the deceit of it all) and when they chose me to live there, I felt bound to keep up my end of the bargain. Somewhere along the line, I realized that it was much more pleasant to live in a clean apartment, in spite of the draconian rules about cleaning out the tub after every use and wiping down the kitchen counter after making a meal. My own room stayed rather rumpled, but I was in earnest about making sure my roommates had no reason to regret picking me.
And so it has continued over the years, small moments of graceful transformation. I will never be fastidiously neat, but I can no longer enjoy living in a mess. The work involved in sanctifying my home has become less of a burden and more of a blessing.
How very like what God does in our lives when He begins to sanctify our souls. There’s no hiding our mess from Him. First, He illuminates our sin for us by allowing us to wallow in it; He gives us over to it and in His grace lets us truly taste the bitterness of our choices. In a series of small graces, He transforms us over time, giving us hearts that long for righteousness and despise sin. He is at work in us giving us the will to please Him and the ability to do the work that pleases Him. He starts with messy souls, declares us clean in Christ, and then sets about making us clean indeed, teaching us how to keep our spiritual house clean and giving us joy in the process.
For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6
Full disclosure: I originally published this on my previous blog (Further Up and Further In). I was headed up to bed and realized I’d forgotten to post today. Desperate times call for desperate measures…like copying and pasting.
I’ll probably…I’m tired now, just let me go to bed.
We started out from the tavern, following the directions that Arbin Goodbarrel had given us. It wasn’t long before we saw the area where he described being accosted by the bandits. Arbin had told us from which direction they had come, so we went that way, hoping we could at least find a trail of some sort. We found much better than that. As we came out of a woodsy area, we were on low terrain and looking ahead, we could see a small tower upon a nearby hill with two guards dressed in red at the door. It looked like a lonely little outpost.
We took cover immediately and held consultation. Radagast suggested that one of us do some secret reconnaissance to see if we could learn anything before approaching the tower. Finbul volunteered, being small and fast. There was enough tree and bush coverage along the way for him to make the approach without being seen. He came back in about 10 minutes and said he’d gotten close enough to hear the guards talking, but they said nothing of importance. They spoke only of a dog named Flint that had given birth to puppies. Finbul stole around to the back of the tower and took note of a window that was too high to climb up to without help of some sort.
It seemed clear that these guards dressed in red were from the same group that had stolen the gem, so there was nothing else to do but make direct contact with them and see what we could learn. Finbul and Sir Kelsier volunteered to go, suggesting that Radagast and I stay back to offer support if the contact somehow went awry and violence broke out. I was quietly relieved to stay behind. What I would do if the need for support arose I did not know. Kelsier told us that if they were allowed in the tower, that we should make our way to that back window and they’d send down a rope for us to climb up.
From our vantage point, we could see Finbul and Kelsier having animated discussion with the guards. One of the guards disappeared into the tower for a few minutes and upon returning, our two men went in. That was our cue to go around to the window. I found out that it is possible to be excited and sick with apprehension at the same time, a new experience for dull little Herda.
Once in the tower, we found ourselves in a cozy little room with two tables, upon one of which was a small chest with inlaid gemstones on the lid. A dog was lying on a rug in the middle of the room with two puppies. Ah, so this was Flint.. Finbul and Kelsier told us that they’d told the guards that they had business to discuss with their master and found out that the guards were in the service of a woman named Calamity. At first the guards were reluctant to let them in at all, but Kelsier apparently told them of his credentials as a nobleman and they were intimidated into sending one of the guards to check with Calamity. When he returned, he told Finbul and Kelsier that Calamity gave them permission to enter the tower, but they could only talk to her if they could find her.
Finbul went to open the chest on the table and found a circlet of some sort that looked as if it was meant to be worn on the head. He stuffed it into his bag and at this point we realized that there was no exit from the room other than to go back out of the tower the way Finbul and Kelsier had come in. Finbul suddenly shooed the dog and puppies off the rug and then lifted the rug up to reveal a hidden door in the floor. If I had been by myself, I’m not sure I would ever have thought of it. He pulled up the small door and we peered into the opening to see a ladder leading down, but it was dark and hard to see what was at the bottom.
Down we went, me bringing up the rear as usual. There was no discussion between us, just huffing and puffing as we made our way down the somewhat unstable ladder. When I came down, I could see we were in a stone hallway that sloped down., but it was still dark and hard to see what was at the end of it. What now? Radagast asked Finbul for that circlet and then upon taking it into his hands, it began giving off light, so he put it on his head to light the way for us. This must have been some sort of spell that he cast, reminding me that I’d been told that I had certain spells available to me, too, things that were written down and wallowing somewhere in my pack. I’d had two days to study them, but had neglected this small duty and was filled with regret.
This time Radagast and Kelsier led the way, proceeding cautiously. And where was little Herda? You know by now. Suddenly the hallway itself burst into flames ahead of us, causing us all to shout in dismay and run back. Kelsier had been in front and had taken the most damage, with Radagast also suffering from some minor burns. This was our first major defeat and I am ashamed to say that I was ready to turn back. At the very least, we’d have to regroup and come up with a strategy for going forward.
I heard a voice: “Herda, what are you doing here?” It was me, talking to myself. No one else paid any attention to my muttering.
Well, I’m not sure how much farther I can take this story. My notes got pretty vague at this point, although I could probably get us to the end of the mission. I’d have to know that someone out there was interested enough to find out what happens, though. And no offense will be taken if there are no takers. I might be relieved to stop right here. I’m wishing there was more dialogue in this part, but was rushing to get the basic narrative down.
I started getting threatening messages from Apple about my iCloud storage getting so full that it wouldn’t be able to do back-ups anymore. Sheesh. It’s hard enough keeping a house clean without having to spend time cleaning out my photos as well. Nevertheless, I’ve been taking an hour or two a day this week to turn my Live Photos into still photos and download photos from my device to our computer. You really can’t expect me to do all that AND write a blog.
I’ve also made progress on Clive the Snail.
Making and sewing on the glasses and antennae was way harder than I anticipated. The mailbox will be next.
Lastly, I want to get some opinions from you about what to do with a cross-stitch I started around 1989 when my oldest son was a baby and finished the year he graduated from high school. I thought it was really cute when I started it, but now it looks hopelessly old-fashioned and dated. I always planned to give it to him, but it might be more of a curse than a blessing at this point. And how do I finish it off? Help me, please!
Okay, that’s enough for today. See above above needing someone to fan me and feed me grapes… ha ha!
I’ll probably give this the Clive to put in the mail tomorrow, unless I delete it first.
The next day we came across a small village. Finbul had been there before and said it was Pendant’s Fork – he didn’t think there could be more than 250 people living in the surrounding area. He grinned when we saw a tavern in the clearing. “Ah, I hoped to see this place again. Come along – we’ll get good food and drink, here.”
We walked in; Finbul with a confident stride was first, followed by Kelsier and Radagast. I lagged behind, as has become my custom. It felt cramped inside, and though it was bright daylight outside, the darkness inside was only somewhat lightened by a fireplace and candles on the tables. We sat at a table and got something to eat, with ale to wash it down. Barely had we started eating when a small man nervously approached our table. I did not like the look of him – he reminded me of a rabbit with his nervous twitching.
“Allow me to introduce myself, good folk. I am Arbin Goodbarrel, and I am in need of some help.”
Knowing looks passed between us at this.
“How can we help you, Friend Goodbarrel?” Finbul inquired politely. He had apparently decided to be our spokesman. It made sense.
“Ah, well, oh dear, oh dear…,” the little fellow was having trouble getting started. “I work for the great wizard Elwinol -perhaps you have heard of him?”
We looked around at each other – it seemed this Wizard Elwinol was not known to any of us. We shook our heads.
“He is an exacting man to work for, very exacting. I cannot think he will treat me kindly when he finds out what has happened. Oh, it’s just disastrous!” He was wringing his hands in dismay and I wondered if there would be much more of this kind of talk before getting to the meat of the matter.
“I shouldn’t have taken it, I know it, I know it. I wasn’t really going to keep it, I just wanted to carry it for awhile. No harm in that, no harm in that.”
Rabbity man, get to the point! I thought it, but stayed silent.
“You see, the wizard has in his possession a beautiful red gem, a gem with magical powers. He has gone on a short journey and left it in my care. What harm could come of having it in my pocket? Oh, the gods were cruel today! All is against me!”
At this, he began anew with the wringing of his hands and some accompanying fretting noises. Kelsier and Radagast looked a little disgusted, a look I imagine was mirrored on my face as well.
“Did you lose this gem?” Finbul asked, no doubt with the intent of moving the tale along.
“Oh, no! No, I would never have lost it, never! But as I was walking not far from Pendant’s Fork, I was accosted by 3 bandits dressed in scarlet clothing. Before I could run away, they grabbed me, frisked my pockets, took the gem, and knocked me down, threatening to do harm to me if I tried to follow them or retrieve the gem. I have just been recovering from this ordeal over by the fire when I saw your brave looking company and dared to hope that you could retrieve this valuable item for me. I am utterly lost without your help, utterly lost.”
There was no need for any private consultation between us. This is what we’d been waiting for.
“Friend Goodbarrel,” Finbul announced, “This red gem is as good as in your pocket again. We are at your service. Give us leave to finish our food and drink and we shall set out with stout hearts to accomplish this worthy quest. You need only to point us in the right direction.” I admire eloquence when I hear it – I have not the gift of it myself.
Arbin Goodbarrel bowed down repeatedly in gratefulness, grabbing each of our hands to shake them. I pulled mine out of his rabbity paws quickly, but he did not notice my distaste.
And as we went back to our food, the hex-blade, which had been silent since the beginning of this journey, began to hum.
All of the felt creatures I’ve made have been different and unique, but one thing has been the same for each: “turn right side out.” Those four words are printed very casually in the instructions several times per project. The next part of the sentence continues on as if you haven’t just spent 10-20 minutes trying to turn that small felt contraption inside out without poking a hole in the felt in the process. Our friend Clive, the snail, presented unique challenges because of his thin little neck. Turning that body inside out was akin to giving birth to an elephant through a thimble. Admittedly, I’ve never experienced that, so I can only guess.
A work in progress.
Each time I’ve finished one of these, some aspects of it have been so hard that I’ve solemnly sworn I will not make another one of that kind, ever. I had to break that vow once when I decided to make a twin brother for Colonel Purslane (the hedgehog) as a gift for my friend Teresa. His name is Percival, if you’re curious. Teresa very kindly sends me photos occasionally so I can see how Percival is doing in his new home.
Colonel Purslane on left, Percival on rightPercival is a true Minnesotan!
Today as I was contemplating the fact that I couldn’t possibly make another one of these snails, it occurred to me that I’ve been using the wrong mantra. Instead of “never again,” I really should be thinking to myself, “I’ve done it once, I can do it again.” It’s hard to give up old habits, though. When my daughter was around 13 years old, we were discussing her general attitude of “I can’t do it!” She remarked in despair, “I’m tired of being the family pessimist,” to which I responded, “Then quit it!” “I can’t!” she moaned, “I’ve done it so much it’s become a hobby!”
Well, it’s easy to see that she came by it naturally.
I’ll probably turn this post right side out in the morning.
Last year I told my story of coming to Christ. This year, I thought it would be interesting to tell of my early days, months and years in Christ – quite an adventure! I hope you’ll join me. If you haven’t read the other story yet, you can start here: My Story Part 1
The euphoria of my new commitment to Christ carried me along. There was no doubt that I was not the same person that I was before…and yet, the transformation to this new creature that had emerged from the chrysalis was an ongoing process. “In many ways I feel very different. However, I feel also some of the same questions and fears about Christianity as I did before – it’s just that now I feel them as a Christian. What a difference a day makes.”
Less than one week into this new adventure, I was musing in my journal about how much I needed to learn as a Christian, how far I had to go. I was uncomfortable with my friend Tamie’s zealousness. “Some of the pat Christian phrases still seem so trite to me and I have to trust that as Christ walks with me, God will reveal what I need to know at my own pace. I’m on the other side of the fence now, but I’m still grazing on the grass nearest the fence post. It may be a long time before I frolic in the field.”
It’s interesting going back and reading the things I wrote in those early days and months. The struggle with overeating (or at least being obsessed with perceived overeating) was a continuing source of distress for me. I viewed it as the main battlefield in my life. I confided to Tamie that I was struggling with a particular demon, but didn’t tell her what it was and asked her to pray for me. Keep in mind that I was not overweight and was neither bulimic nor anorexic. One can only wonder what things may have leapt to her imagination upon hearing my confession. I had a very rigid and legalistic view of what it meant to be righteous in that area, my “most miserable sin.” In retrospect, this preoccupation seems wildly out of balance, but there’s no doubt that in the moment, it kept me on my knees with an attitude of humility.
When I’d been a Christian for two whole weeks, I wrote in my journal, “God I stand before you a wretched specimen of sinfulness.” The next day I wrote “Today has been nothing short of glorious!!!!!!!! …This is a joy unlike all earthly pleasures. So many new thoughts came to me as I spent the day walking in Christ.” Things continued in that up and down way as I read the Bible and tried to understand this new life. I was afraid to go to church, afraid of the commitment I’d made, and yet I was determined to be baptized. I felt inadequate as a Christian and puffed up at the same time, wanting people to think I was wise and discerning.
Early on, I had an amazing thing happen to me, just when I needed a boost. I had met a young woman named Jodie in the nursing program who was living in the same dorm and going to the same church. She invited me up to her dorm room for a little chat, having discovered that I’d become a Christian. As we talked, I realized how mature her faith was and how much I could learn from her. I prayed a silent prayer, ‘Lord, I’d really like to be mentored by Jodie.” I had no sooner prayed that prayer when Jodie said, “Lynn, I’d really like to mentor you in the faith. Would you be interested in that?” I was astonished! And of course I said yes. We decided to meet weekly to pray together (I’d never prayed in front of anyone – gulp!) and discuss the scriptures. She told me to write down any questions I had and we’d talk about them. It was just what I needed. I copied Matthew 7:7-8 into my journal:
Ask and you shall receive, Seek and you will find, Knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives, He who seeks, finds, And to him who knocks, it will be opened.
I had asked and received. I had sought and found. I had knocked and the door had opened up. I moved a little farther from the fence post.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning, like I usually do. Ha!
Some relatives of ours got a nice wooden game when their first baby was born. The instructions on the game read as follows:
“Let the baby guess you shoot the color in the checkerboard position, and deepens in the game to the color position distinguishes the ability, inspires baby’s thought space.”
I wish I’d thought to take a photo of the actual game when we saw it at a post-Christmas party. The parents said they never really figured out how the game was supposed to be played, which isn’t surprising considering the word salad instructions. Well, translation from one language into another isn’t always easy.
I was really captivated by the final phrase “inspires baby’s thought space.” It’s awkward and poetic at the same time. I like to imagine telling someone that the book I just read inspired my thought space. Or being at an art gallery and commenting to another visitor, “I just love that painting – what an inspiration to my thought space!” And don’t we all need to have our thought spaces inspired?
If your thought space was inspired by this post, let me know. Otherwise, it gets shot to the checkerboard position and deepened. And we all know what that means.
Lynniebeemuseoday 