When Surviving Becomes a Game in Life

Survivor. When I mention the word, what thought comes to mind? Gloria Gainer’s song, I Will Survive? Breast cancer survivor? Or do you to think Jeff Probst? In our household, Survivor only means one thing. Eleven years, and twenty two seasons—along with names like Boston Rob, Russell, Jerri, Johnny Fairplay, and Parvati. Our family has scheduled our lives around watching the show with our best friends each week since the inception of Survivor. Jeff Probt’s dimples and receding hairline are as much a part of our lives as eating and brushing our teeth. There is always a little bit of sadness when a season comes to an end, an ultimate Survivor is named for the season and we have to wait until the new season begins months later. (And I wonder if my husband will apply again to be one of the castaways)


This season was no different for our family, but the questions asked after Rob Mariano was announced as the sole Survivor were different than previous seasons. It seemed this season, perhaps more than others, the producers focused on the friendships and bonds that are created when strangers are thrown into survival mode together for 40 days. Were the strangers different in personality this year or did the producers allow us to see what they’ve seen all along—whether you are playing a game on the field, on the court, or at a table, people are fragile individuals who are real people not just actors in a show. When a football player goes out on the field to play a game, is his attitude different than the individuals who are dropped in the middle of nowhere with strangers to play a game of survival? Should we fault players who have won Survivor by lying, cheating, blind-siding or stabbing allies in the back in an attempt to win a million dollars? It is a game, right?
 
Boston Rob declared he had spend 117 days physically playing Survivor and 10 years of his life masterminding how to win the game—perhaps even at the expense of his relationship with his wife, Amber, and his daughters. He also stated he went into the game with the attitude that he would do whatever it took to win the money for his family—there were no lines drawn in the sand for him. I wonder how Rob’s wife, Amber, felt about Rob snuggling up to two of the young women in an attempt to gain their loyalty?
Rob’s plan worked. Rob even blind-sided Grant, with whom he had a bond, as Jeff Probst intuitively noticed "like none other he’s seen over the years." Yet Grant, even as a former NFL competitor didn’t look at Survivor as a game but as an opportunity—and being back stabbed was personal. Finally, everyone else thought Phillip was crazy, yet Rob saw something in Phillip no one else saw and befriended him. But, was befriending Phillip all a part of his mastermind plan or was he sincere in his friendship? I don’t have the answer to the questions—I guess for me it causes me to take a look at my life...at myself.

Now that Rob has won, what will he do now? Does he have integrity in ‘real life?’ What happens when someone ultimately is able to accomplish a major goal in their life? Will his life all of the sudden change for the better? Will the longing for something bigger in his life subside? Only time will tell. The bigger question for me is personal—I need to worry about me and not about everyone else. I need to be treating others as I desire to be treated not as I am treated. Only I am responsible for my behavior—not anyone else. What about you? Are you at a place in your life where the longing in your heart is being filled?

What Do You Do When God Feel Like He's a Million Miles Away

Do you ever feel like God is a million miles away? Maybe you wonder if God has gone on an extended vacation. He has no fixed time line as to when He is coming home. Perhaps you wonder if God has permanently blocked your prayers. Maybe if you just did more for the church, you would move you up on the prayer chain—because surely God will love you more if you just did more for Him.

The other night my daughter came into our room and sat up on our bed with her book. We didn't talk about much, really—she had her book and I had mine. It was that she simply wanted to be with me—near me. Occasionally she would mention some funny thing about her book or remember something she forgot to tell me about her day. But the most important thing to her at the moment was having her momma close at hand.

I wonder if I didn't take those one on one moments with my daughter--how that would make her feel? What if I simply called her when I needed something—asked her to show up for family get togethers so I could impress my family members. What if I stayed really busy doing stuff for her but never had time to just sit with her on the bed or hang out. I realized that often, I approach my relationship with God with that kind of attitude and then I wonder why God feels so far away from me.

Whether I look at my relationship with my daughter or my relationship God, neither will be healthy if I don't spend one on one time. It doesn't matter how much I do to impress them, how many gifts I give them, or how much I learn about them. None of these by themselves will make the relationship stronger...these things definitely help when the relationship is strong but won't do anything for the relationship if I don't take the time to sit and be still with them. It's not about waiting for them to move closer to me—it's about me taking the initiative to go to them and give the most valuable thing I have—myself and my time.

A Day in the Life of our 9 Week Old Puppy...and My Slipper

What is it in our nature that always wants what we cannot have? I have two pairs of North Face down slippers. One pair is old and the other is fairly new. Enter in our 9 week old yellow lab puppy who no fault of her own is the spitting image of Marley, from Marley and Me. Annabelle's behavior is unfortunately exactly the same as Marley, The other day I caught her in the closet grabbing my husbands expensive leather loafer. I know she understands she is not supposed to chew on it because she got a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye and she took off like a bat out of hell. It probably only encourages her behavior when I take off running after her. It becomes a game of catch me if you can and as long as she is in the lead and continues to keep the item at large in her jowls then she is winning.

Rewind back to the two sets of slippers. Both pairs are down slippers. Both pairs are blue in color. Both smell like my feet-enough said. So, I figure I don't need to sets of down slippers and I decide to let Annabelle have the old set of slippers. Fast forward to this morning when the monster dog is let out of her crate for the evening. After doing all her business and we are all getting ready for school and work I give her, out of the kindness of my heart, my old slipper. Not fifteen minutes later she comes flying around the corner with...you guessed it....MY new slippers. Apparently the old ones are good enough for her, or...is it she just wants what she knows she is not supposed to have?

It's not a new problem. It dates all the way back to the beginning of mankind when God told Adam and Eve they could have ANY of the slippers in the garden...I mean eat of any tree in the garden—except ONE. Just one. If I gave Annabelle an REI store full of slippers I'd place wagers that she would still want the slippers that I've said are off limits. Why is that? What in our nature drives us to desire to have what we are told we cannot have? Is is the rebellion in us? The excitement of trying to get away with doing something we were told we shouldn't? Either way, it's obviously not only apart of my puppies life but I know it is apart of mine, too. So, I need to ask myself, What can I do in my life to make sure I'm okay with having the old slipper's?

The Person Behind the Mask

Sitting in church this morning seemed like a normal Sunday...but, things changed when the pastor asked us to turn around and greet those around us. My husband, Tim, had decided to step out of our comfort zone and sit in a different section that morning. We've gone to the same church for 15 years and always sat in our "assigned seats." Ok, they are not assigned, but we sit in them enough that they seem like assigned seats. I don't like change unless I instigate the change. But, alas, here I was sitting in a group of people that I don't normally sit with on Sunday morning. And now I was having to turn around and greet them AND shake their hands. Seems like an easy enough task, right? What happened next kind of surprised me, though.

The gentleman sitting behind us was very quiet. I didn't recognize him and when I said hello and went to shake his hand he seemed rather timid. His handshake matched his demeanor and was soft and almost afraid...if you can call a handshake afraid. I had to ask myself what made this young man so timid? What has happened to him in his lifetime that seems to have rather sucked the exuberance out of him and kept him introspective while others around him seemed happy and carefree—excited to see one another.

While I chewed on these thoughts my mind jumped to another individual who wasn’t at church that morning. Probably a bad experience at church years ago was keeping him away. A person who was missing out on spending time with family and friends. All because of the past. But we cannot escape the past. Maybe the two individuals weren't all that different? Perhaps they'd both had bad experiences at church but one decided to step out in faith and give the people another chance?

What about those exuberant people sitting around me. Are they all just happy as larks or have they learned to put their masks on with their Sunday best and put their best effort forward on making sure everyone at church thinks all is well in their lives. I'm the kind of person that wears her heart on my sleeve. If I'm having a bad day, you know it! But it took me many years to realized that that mask I hide behind was really only hurting me. It hindered others being able to come along side me and help me get better. Getting better doesn't mean I get happy—it just means that I've learned not to hide how I'm really feeling and I deal with it.

Overall, I think there are maybe four kinds of people then... Those who show up at church on Sunday mornings that have an unpleasant history but they're willing to give God another try. There are those who refuse to leave the past behind and decide they're better off without all those hypocrites that say they love God but don't live like it every day of the week. Those who come to keep the pews warm on Sunday mornings. They don't know why they come; maybe it's because it's a cultural thing. Maybe it's because they're afraid of what people might say if they don't come. And finally there are those of us that come because we know we are messed up and desperately need God. We've long gotten past the place where we care what others think about us (at least most of the time). We know that we are hypocrites on a daily basis because we are human---we say one thing and do another.

Maybe there's even a 5^th group—the group that is somewhere in between all of these...just not sure what to think about God and all this religion stuff. Or even the person that doesn't fit into one of the categories. Then again, God doesn't fit into a one size fits all package...why should I expect His creation to do so?

So, next time you are sitting in church (if you attend) or contemplating attending, remember that everyone is messed up, insecure and overall, human. Take a chance on God and on His children, a leap of faith as it may. You never know—it could be a life changing experience for you as today was for me.

If You Don't Do It Right the First Time, Do You Have Time To Go Back and Do It Again??

This morning was an espresso kind of morning... and not just a small espresso but a large espresso. Last night our 7 week old puppy, Annabelle, just couldn't get comfortable in our bed. She would flop from one area to another panting at first and then switching to sighing. We bought her a crate and watched the DVD's on how to crate train her. The problem is when we got our Beagle several years ago the way we potty trained him was to keep him on our bed at night where he couldn't jump off the bed (he was a mini Beagle and when full grown he was a mere 12lbs). Potty training him that way worked wonderfully—and I like to go with familiar and what I know works. But Annabelle would have none of it and decided she doesn't like sleeping on our bed. Go figure. About midnight I gave up on trying to satisfy her every whim in allowing her to get comfortable. Out of desperation I put her in her crate. Surprisingly, she loved it and I didn't hear from her again until 6:15 am when it was time for Tim to head to the gym.

Annabelle's antics reminded me of potty training my girls. Our eldest daughter seemed to be a nightmare to potty train. Looking back it was more like I was the one trained to make sure she went every few hours rather than her being trained to tell me when she needed to go. Once our 2^nd daughter came along, I dug my heels in and refused to start the potty training process. I just couldn't bear to think of being imprisoned by the restrictions that go along with potty training. There's far too many things to remember—an extra set of clothing—possibly two, locating bathrooms along your route, giving yourself and your child pep talks along the way, just to name a few. The funny thing is our youngest didn't wait for me to potty train her she decided she wanted to be trained and pretty much did all the work herself. Two kids and two different methods of training. Two dogs and two different modes of training.

The one thing I know that holds true no matter whether you are training children or training a puppy—you either put the time to train now or you put the time in later—and it will take twice as much time and energy later. All training, whether it's children, puppies, athletic training, or spiritual disciplines, takes energy and effort. We have to make a decision to put the time in now so we won't have to later. Like the old saying goes, “If you don't do it right the first time do you have time to go back and do it right the second time?” I know I don't want to do twice. What about you?

I've Moved!

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Do It Yourself First Aid

I wonder if some families attempt 'do it yourself' first aid because they desire to save the money or the truly hate doctors. I can think of two times when my parents decided to try their hand at, what was at the time, a procedure done by medical professionals, but ended up at the doctor anyway.

The first was when I got my ears pierced in first grade. Back in the day there wasn't a place to get piercings in every wing of every mall. One had two simple choices - you either did the piercings yourself—ouch! or you had a nurse do it at the doctor's office. My aunt Winnie was a cosmetologist. She had pierced ears before and was therefore going to come over and pierce my ears. It was a reward for straight A's. My mom placed ice on either sides of my ear lobes and we waited. Once my ears were nearly frost bitten we were all ready to go, except for one small problem. My aunt had not shown up. No problem, my mom just took matters into her own hands. I can still remember the burning sensation of the thread as she pulled it briskly back and forth in an attempt to stretch the skin so the earring would fit through the microscopic hole the needle made. My ear thawed pretty quickly and the screaming commenced immediately there after. My parents decided to forgo the 'lets save a buck' plan and eventually took me to the nurse to have it professionally done.

Our second try was not too long afterward. It involved the riding of a Big Wheel. The lot several down from our house had recently been covered with white decorative rock. Some of the rock had spilled over onto the sidewalk. This created the perfect environment toget going fast, pull my skid brake, and slide. I guess I was a drifter even before I watched Fast and Furious Tokyo Drift, but I digress. Unfortunately I couldn't have foreseen tipping over and having my elbow dragging along the ground. Creating not only road rash, but a rock lodging itself in my elbow. I ran home crying. My dad set me up on the counter and proceeded to dig and try to get the rock out of my elbow. I wasn't really too hip on that idea, so they resorted to tempting me with the distraction of a new reel for my fishing rod. My mom grabbed the box while my dad explained how cool it was. My mom tried to sneak a peak at my elbow, but I wasn't hearing any of it. I simply was not going to cooperate. So off to the doctor's office we went. I remember them numbing up my elbow so they could dig out the jelly belly sized rock that left a scar that is on my elbow to this day.

I suppose there is a time and a place for 'do it yourself' first aid. Life requires a balancing act and each occasion must be measured on the scale of common sense and wisdom. Maybe we should ask ourselves if saving a few bucks is worth the potential emotional scars that occur from the fix it yourself approach. We do the best we can as parents with the information we have at the moment. My parents did the best they could with what they knew at the moment. I hope and pray that when I'm faced with these crazy situations with my girls that I'll stop and ask God for wisdom and a little common sense to make the right choice.